Chihuahua city, Chihuahua Mexico was frantic despite the late hour. Long stretches of unlit, narrow streets teemed with pedestrians unconcerned with the traffic and obscured by woodsmoke from street side food vendors and blaring music almost indiscernible with volume distortion.
I missed a Pemex entrance, down shifted and powered my Land Rover V8 Defender 90 around a corner through a yellow light. Millimetres and every ounce of power from a worn-out 50 cc’s are what saved the life of delivery man on a scooter; from my driver’s seat I could read the tag on the collar of his shirt. He had cut the corner through the gas station and powered out of the driveway in front of me. There was no point in yelling or honking - he’d driven on like it was just another day in the chaos of Chihuahua.
At the Magna Sin pump the familiar sound of the metallic clank of the pump nozzle and the rush of fuel was calmingly familiar. While the attendant squeezed the trigger I took a moment to deal with my frazzled nerves. I missed the blanket of darkness and my tape deck Willie Nelson on the lonely road south of Agua Prieta.
Pulling the door latch, standing and stretching uncoiled every muscle in my body. It was my plan to find a room for the night and end the transit stage of this trip; the fuel stop to fuel stop process of gaining ground and watching the world go by.
The pump stopped as I reached the back of the Defender. Interesting, 80 litres squeezed into a 55 litre tank. The pump jockey looked at me defiant. With my Spanish I could order a burrito and a beer and find the bathroom - I couldn’t argue my way out of a fuel scam. I paid and shook my head.
I did have this happen a few times on the trips south that followed and endeavoured to solve the problem with a locking fuel cap. Fuel attendants are still common in latin America and the temptation is to not zero the pump from the previous customer and quickly start filling your tank. Even with the locking cap, in Guatemala I was distracted talking to my daughter about Howler monkeys, heat and humidty. I unlocked the cap and turned around to the sound of diesel flowing and found the pump was already at over 25 litres.
Vehicles equipped with a fuel door are still an easy target - the release is generally located at the drivers seat. Lock your cap, keep your eyes open - this can get expensive and arguing is futile.
This information is in no way meant to condemn a place, culture or people. Having had the good fortune in my life to have lived and travelled in different cultures and worked in vastly different fields - I have learned that there are always written and unwritten rules. The challenge is to learn and adapt with a sense of humour and a thick skin. The purpose of this article is simply to help fellow travellers with one small, unwritten rule.