Joco boat show
Thousands of you missed the Joco boat show, hot attraction at the west end of what was once Lake Chapala, before lirio (water hyacinth) covered it up, marring and scarring the colorful state of Jalisco.
A retired U.S. Marine and his family came into the genuine Mexican village of Jocotepec, slowly trolling a very big boat on an extra-large trailer behind a muscular, red Jeep Grand Cherokee.
As if on signal, children popped up everywhere, like dandelions on a fancy lawn. Eyes danced with curiosity. They had never seen an ocean-going vessel navigating the cobblestones and larger bumps on Rivera del Lago, first street up from Lake Lirio.
You've heard of one-car funeral processions? This was a one-boat parade without marching band. But, in a matter of moments, it had much the same impact as the circus coming to town. The ship was a child's delight. Children clapped their hands in glee. Happiness was off the charts. One lad got so excited, he had to go to the bathroom.
The captain trimmed from about two knots per hour to a gradual stop. He was studying the scene and situation, determining just where he was going to put down anchor. He stood in the street, evaluating the ground-level parking space built into the front of the two-story house his family would occupy. You could see the wheels turning.
I didn't volunteer the information but I could see there was no way that giant craft would ever fit into that little cubbyhole designed for an overweight Volkswagen. Never happen. Can't be done.
The obvious dilemma did not properly disturb the captain's wife. She appeared calm, cool and collected for such a hot day.
Have you compared measurements?
"Yes, she said, "before we left Belize."
You pulled that thing from Belize?
"Well, we pulled it from Virginia to Belize - and from Belize to Jocotepec."
The captain didn't notice my disbelief. He was on the move, repositioning the rig.
Heaven help us, he was going to back the ship into that slot! Several adults who had joined the audience looked skeptical but had no idea they were watching mission impossible.
The wife broke away from the crowd and lined up to provide navigational support. Her first signal was a little to the starboard, mate.
Maybe the rearview mirror was tilted and the captain missed the message. Maybe he encountered a unexpected gust of wind or a current not on his charts. Alas, the trailer fender struck the edge of the wall. There was a crunching sound. One little girl covered her face and said, "Oh my."
The captain edged the rig forward, adjusted the Jeep steering and made another approach. He did not make the same mistake twice. But, the other fender hit the other wall.
I, being an old man with many varied experiences, understood his frustration. I once tried to back a large boat along the edge of the Chesapeake Bay. Not the entire bay, from Norfolk to Baltimore, just a few feet from Point A to Point B. I accomplished almost nothing in several aborted attempts but I reconfirmed what I already knew, how not to back a boat.
Sarah, 52 years with this man who has trouble backing lawnmowers and wheelbarrows, went to the Jeep window and spoke gently with the ex-Marine. They both laughed. She could have been offering a cold Pepsi. In fact, she dispatched common sense -- at just above a whisper. She said if he chose to unhook the trailer, the whole neighborhood would help push the boat into the boathouse.
The captain took the hint, realigned the rig, stopped blocking Rivera del Lago and allowed three cars and the Jocotepec water delivery truck to move along. Several children lost interest and also moved along, to climb trees or play with puppies.
Hitches and figure-eight knots were untied. Ropes and duct tape were removed. Under the tarp, filling the hull to overflowing, were many family items. New friends formed a relay team and hustled the stuff inside. Sarah does know our good neighbors.
The captain cranked down the adjustable front wheel and unhitched the trailer. Without the load, the boat was perfectly balanced and relatively easy to move. He stayed in front, to steer, and pointed a course, dead ahead. Men, women and children, several more than needed, pushed the stern.
Miracle of miracles, the great ship, at one precise angle, fit the hole -- with an inch and a quarter to spare. The Joco boat show was over. Spectators applauded. The captain closed and secured the wrought-iron gates, stood for a moment as if in prayer, turned and gave Sarah a smart salute.
As is sometimes the case with great admirals when off duty, she acknowledged with the slightest of nods and just a hint of a smile. She was already thinking that if the wind blows and the lirio flows to Ajijic, the Marine family might want to go boating.
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