The Columbian tourist family who stopped to give them a ride chattered in rapid Spanish. Dan had no trouble following the excited conversation, but Sky was lost except for the occasional phrase of basic words.

Traffic whizzed by them as they got closer to the capital, and Dan turned to him touching his shoulder to get his attention.

"They're going around on the bypass. They have relatives in a town right on the rail line. They've even seen locomotives sitting on the siding."

"Perfect, offer them a bottle of whiskey to take us to the family they're visiting. It'll be that much less we have to carry with us."

Sky turned to pull his pack forward. The car they were in was an older Suburban with seats for seven passengers plus storage behind that. Digging into it, he found one of the five twenty six ounce bottles of a mediocre of whiskey from an unheard of distiller somewhere in South America. They would have been better off with rum from the same country.

"Give me two of those things," Dan requested. "One for the papa here, and one for the family they're visiting. We might be able to trade for another meal."

"Gracias, gracias," the driver nodded his head excitedly.

"De nada amigo," Dan responded and turned to translate,

"His brother runs a small street food business. They'll see we get all the tacos we can eat. He feeds the rail crews and yard men."

They stopped in a parking lot across from multiple rail lines. It was empty except for a maintenance freight. The crew who manned it was scattered in the meagre shade provided by elephant trees stuffing tacos into their mouths.

A quick conversation between the cook running the food cart and their driver, brought a wave beckoning them. Dan went straight over and handed over another bottle of whiskey.

"Get over here, grab some of those," Dan gestured toward a stack of wax paper wrapped tacos. "Chili and chicken with refried beans, tomatoes, onions and avocado. I can't wait to dig in."

Sky took his first bite, and the explosion of flavor was so intense his eyes watered.

Dan giggled at the expression on his buddy's face.

"Told you, chilies."

"Love it," Sky said once he caught his breath. "Does he have anything to drink?"

Another quick exchange of excited words, and the cook pointed to a cooler to the left of his grill. Dan opened it and pulled out two frosty bottles of water tossing one to Sky and opening the other for himself.

"I'm going to talk to the crew over there. You might want to find some shade too," Dan said as he ambled toward the group of men.

If he could, he was going to see if these guys could get them on the next train. Maybe they could catch a ride without having to sneak aboard and jump every time they slowed down.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Sky looked out the window of the locomotive. Dan had always been able to talk to the locals. Iraq had been no different. Hid friend's talent with languages and easy going personality solved problems before they even began. This time, the maintenance crew introduced them to the guys who would take over the next freight.

He never thought he'd be grateful for the easy climb up into the front. Handrails and steps were so much easier. They dropped their packs behind them and stood behind the two engineers as they pushed the buttons to release the behemoth from the grip of its brakes. Shoving the throttle forward, he felt the powerful throb of the diesel engines as they built power and inched forward.

The next hours were wonderful. Air conditioned comfort in the cab of the giant diesel locomotive were a far cry from the dehydrating rush of hot desert air outside. The cost? Well the last bottles of whiskey were gone. Apparently, any alcohol was better than nothing out here in the desolate central sections of Mexico.