Chihuahua Express wrap-up: tech inspection

After penetrating the border and passing the military checkpoints, our only hurdle left to clear before racing was the technical inspection. After an abbreviated sleep following our long drive down, we dragged ourselves out of bed, headed down to breakfast, ate some amazing little balls (insert your own joke here to play along,) said hi to some friends who raced la Carrera, and went outside to unpack the car.

I was going to show a picture of what unpacking the car looks like, but it looks a lot like driving a car out of the rear of a trailer, so... HOLD ON! THE VAN!!!


















I thought the van escaped my lens, but I just found this pic. Would you let these two guys into Mexico in that black van with no windows towing a big white trailer? Neither would I. This is a testament to how cool Mexico is.

Ahhh the van.

We drove the car down to the tech area and passed without incident; not surprising since it was the same gentleman who cleared our car at the panamericana. Once you pass tech you can pick up your car number. We had asked for our standard, fabulously successful number 43. The officials informed us the number was taken but we could have our second choice. We picked 34, figuring in a spin at least we'd have good luck going backwards. They gave us 91.



We were pretty much ready to race the next day, other than checking the tire pressures and shaking some stuff in the engine compartment (we're not mechanics, but it makes us feel better to shake some stuff to see that nothing falls off in our hands. "What if something falls off?!" you ask? You obviously haven't seen our bomb-proof Subaru.) The last thing on the prep list was a bit of vanity: replacing a side skirt we left as a souvenir in the last race in Mexico.



We quickly gave up on this plan, opting to take a quick nap before picking up the amazing Denise "DeJeronimo" Jerome. We literally could not have finished the race without her help, more on that later.

The driver's meeting started on time, something we had not experienced before in Mexico. Props to Chacho (soft 'sh' sound) the organizer, for running a tight event. Just as the meeting gets going, some dude who goes by "Shields" walks in with a towel around his waist and a cigar hanging out of his mouth. Kevin and I both thought, "we need to meet this guy." He apparently felt the same, walked up to us and threatened/offered to "pour tequila down our throats" if we lost. No disrespect to Shields, but it would turn out we would have to take a pass on the tequila.