It was our first trip in our converted bus to Mexico. We had been to Mexico by car and by plane, but this was a whole new adventure. We hooked up with Ed and Gail Michayluk, fellow BC Bus Nut members, in El Centro, California (then we went to a New Year’s Eve party in Wickenburg, Arizona, which is another story), and entered into Mexico January 11. We had a great trip, driving almost all the way to Puerto Vallarta.

When we got to Mazatlan, I noticed that our bus was high on one side. On a recommendation from Stan Stanbridge (another BC Bus Nut who stays in Mazatlan all winter), we went to a mechanic shop to see if we could get it fixed. The mechanics put on a new leveling valve, and while we were there Ed asked if they could install a new 10-speed transmission in his 1964 Prevost. No problem, they said, only 14,000 pesos, which was about $2200 Cdn. Ed said he would think about it, and maybe have it done on the way home. We proceeded on to San Blas and Rincon de Guayabitos.

Ed and Gail decided we should stop in Mazatlan and have the transmission changed, so we left Rincon de Guayabitos on March 15. This would entail spending three days at the taller (pronounced tah-yer, meaning "workplace" in Spanish). We made arrangements with Carlos, the owner of the taller, to arrive by 9 a.m. on Monday, March 19.

This taller actually consisted of six different shops specializing in different aspects of bus repair, including electrical, mechanical, body, framework and tires. The areas of jurisdiction between the different shops seemed to run together or overlap, and mechanics with different skills worked in their specialties in each other’s shops.

"Shop" is a loose word, because most of the work is done outside while tools are the only things stored inside. Some of the shops were only crude lean-tos. I think the Spanish word taller is much more appropriate than shop. One taller even had pens for goats and pigs. The owner of the taller’s nickname was "Ferocious," but he showed his soft side when he fed one baby goat with a bottle from his "office," an old kitchen table. Abandoned parts are everywhere, oil is poured right into the ground, there is no concrete, and there are no bathrooms or outhouses, so the smell of urine and grease is everywhere. And this was to be our home for the next three days.

The mechanics had Ed run his bus up on wheel rims that they used for blocks, and Myrtle and I found a corner where there was not a lot of grease and set up our awning, outdoor carpet and chairs, which was to be our joint living room.

The first day they pulled the transmission out of Ed’s bus. They used a transmission jack that had seen better days and put an old piece of tin on the dirt so they could slide the jack around. The mufflers had cracked around the exhaust pipes so they brought in a welder from the adjoining taller and worked on it at the same time. One wonders how they can work in such conditions, but efficiency seems to be the order of the day. Mechanics in Canada would take one look at these surroundings and head for home.

All the tools are owned by the taller, and are usually at least 100 yards away from where they are working. But the workers seem to take with them to the job just the right tools. We were amazed to see that if they don’t have a tool, they simply make one!

We brought out our lawn chairs, finding what shade we could, and watched the proceedings. There was a girl hanging around the taller who asked me if Ed was married. She said she wanted a husband, and I had to inform her that he was very married. Seems you can even find a mate in a Mexican taller, if you are looking for one!

Carlos, the taller owner, arrived late the first afternoon with the new 10-speed transmission. It had only 80,000 km on it, as it had been in a wreck. We looked inside it, and it seemed perfect. Carlos declared it an excellent transmission.

We faced our first night in the taller with a little bit of trepidation. Was it safe? Would we be robbed in the middle of the night? Our fears were put to rest when a night watchman came around and told us that he would be there all night and that there were other watchmen in each of the tallers, and even a big dog in another who would advise them by loud barking if something was amiss. We had a nightcap in our outdoor living room and went to bed for a surprisingly good rest.

The next day was a repeat of the first, except the transmission, which appeared to be going in without a hitch, was discovered to have too long of a drive shaft. Carlos took it to a machine shop to get shortened. That evening, we decided we needed relief from the dirt and smell, and went across the street to a restaurant where we enjoyed great meals of fish and shrimp. (Mexican eating could take up another entire article!) We came back to the taller, had our nightcap and went to bed.

About noon the next day, Carlos the owner and Carlos the mechanic asked Ed to start his bus and drive it off the blocks. "Just drive it off?" Ed asked, wondering if I had translated right. I even wondered myself; weren’t they going to run it through the gears, work the clutch, etc. to see if everything worked? Nope, drive her off, they said. So Ed did, and it worked. Now we all climbed in for a road test, 26 kilomtetres up the toll road. The transmission worked flawlessly. Ed had a huge grin on his face as he drove up the road, the shifts working perfectly. He now had the advantage of shifting without the clutch, as he had not been able to do this with the 4-speed. Carlos told him to take it to 1900 rpm in 10th gear. Using the km counters, he calculated we were doing 140 km an hour!

The only problem was that Ed’s old speedometer was mechanical, and the new transmission used an electrical sender, so he was without a speedometer for the rest of the trip. I have no speedometer either so it was a case of the blind leading the blind. (As I did all of the leading, this is a comment I heard quite often from Ed.)

After a few adjustments to the shift lever, we left on Thursday and headed for Los Mochis. Ed was happy with his transmission and we were happy to be out of the mess and smell of the taller. However, we did learn several valuable lessons. We need not be afraid of having work done in Mexico; the rough appearance of the place did not reflect the excellent quality of work. Also, spending three days in a taller was not nearly as bad as we had feared. We left with lasting friendships with all of the great people we met there.

If you are in Mazatlan and in need of work, these tallers are where the toll road and the free road meet on the east side of the highway. The restaurant across the street is highly recommended as well!