Shocks Update

You may recall the Shocked post about our floppy shock absorber that found itself insufficiently attached to the rattlevan.  I got that business taken care of today and the van now sports a couple of proud, shiny yellow Monroe shock absorbers.  The biggest challenge of the project was securing a couple of first-world quality shocks.  This was a lot easier than we thought it would be.  Turns out, some parts of Belize are all mosquitoes and shacks and other parts are Pennsylvania.  We asked around in Belmopan, which is the capital of Belize, and they didn't have the shocks we required but said that we could find them about 20 minutes away in a place called Spanish Lookout.  Unsure of why we were driving away from the capital towards a small town to find rare parts, we departed.  Then we took a right and found ourselves in a twilight zone of Belize, the US mid-west, and the 4H club annual jamboree.

We've seen the Mennonites sprinkled around Belize. At first, we thought they were Silver Lake hipsters at the burning edge of some ironic farmer trend, but one smiled, so we pulled out the guide book and discovered that a bunch of Mennonites immigrated here and got to farming.  It's interesting seeing their horse-drawn carriages, suspenders and spiffy-dressed kids among the Garifuni, Mayans and coconut palms. What we hadn't seen though, were the liberal ones - the ones that figured out maybe God wasn't worried so much about internal combustion engines and microchips, so they branched off and started riding scooters to jobs at the auto parts store.  That's why I was so confused when I walked through the glass doors and into the bath of fluorescent lights shining on a collection of sparkling auto parts that would make your local AutoZone manager wish he cared more.  I walked up to the long counter staffed by a phalanx of well-dressed and smiling guys and explained the woes of the rattlevan.  I've never encountered such professionalism and depth of knowledge about automotive parts before.  While my helper was searching the computer for the answer to my problems, and other helpers, curious about an unusual vehicle, looked over his shoulder and provided enthusiastic input, I looked around for the hidden cameras and TV producers.

The day before, Beth and I were scanning empty shelves at a local "grocery" for dinner options and thought that our chances of getting a shock for the van that would fit would be slim.  Then, I'm weighing the pro's and con's of nitrogen charged, auto load-sensing shocks with a guy sporting a subtle yet inexplicable accent and a thorough knowledge of suspension systems.  We left with a couple of shiny yellow Monroe, heavy duty shock absorbers perfect for the rattlevan and questions about where the hell we were.

We found wireless, I found Wikipedia and answers.  I learned how the Mennonite guy found his way from Germany to Belize, out of one church, into another and wound up expertly working at an auto parts store while his brother clomped a horse-drawn carriage down the street with a fully bonnetted wife at his side.   Belize is weird.

Shock parts secured, I needed a welder to make those two broken bracket parts back into one bracket part.  We don't have a smart phone or cell service and google doesn't really work like it does back home so I used the local version - I asked people.  Starting with the tire guy, I worked my way to the suspension guy and on to the general mechanic and eventually to the shop down the street next door to the other shop with the sign.  ("No, don't go to the shop with the sign - no good man.") It's like Google and Yelp, but not as efficient, with more driving but more human interaction.  I liked it.  The guys at the shop with no sign shook their heads at the rattlevan.  After lecturing me in mixed English and Spanish about high loads on insufficient suspensions and asking if I'd reconsider my entire mode of transport and even lifestyle, they agreed to climb under and get to work.

I hated this part.  One of the reasons that I didn't remove the part myself and just take it to a welder is that I don't have any jackstands to support the van after I jack it up so that I can get underneath safely.  I went to a shop so they could do it right.  They didn't.  They dragged two, leaky hydraulic jacks from the shop, slid them underneath, added more fluid to the one because of all the leaking, and climbed under.  I asked them to throw some jackstands, or even cinderblocks under the van but they laughed off my silly concerns and slid their entire bodies on sheets of cardboard under the overloaded and precariously perched rattlevan.   Some of you may know that I'm a tiny bit of a safety geek.  As much as I like to put my first-aid kit into action, I'd rather things were safe in the first place and avoid that fun.  Things weren't, but luckily nobody got hurt and I got a rather well-welded part, a couple of shocks installed, and a bill for $30 US(!). 

We went from a developing world store with bare shelves, to a shiny parts store better than any one I've seen in the states, to a shade tree shop with no safety standards or minimum wage, apparently.  Belize seems to be a strange brew and I haven't figured it out.

The rattlevan seems happy with its shiny yellow shocks. I imagined before I drove away that we'd have to change the rattlevan's name because of the new cloud-smooth ride, but knew it wouldn't be the case. It bounces less but it's in no danger of losing its name.