Chapter 62: I Swept Up Classic Cars in Mexico
After crossing the border and driving south for about eight hours along Federal Highway 15, one of Mexico’s major arterial roads, we arrived in Los Mochis, a small city in northern Sinaloa.
(Translator’s Note: Federal Highway 15 — A major north–south highway running along Mexico’s Pacific side. It passes through several northwestern states, including Sinaloa and Sonora.)
“The cartels still have a strong influence in Los Mochis. Thanks to that, outsiders can’t easily break into the market, so there’s still something left for people like us.”
By outsiders, Lucas meant Americans.
Come to think of it, if I had been alone, I would never even have considered coming this far into a local city deep inside Mexico.
“¡Marco! Ya llegué. Ábreme la puerta.”
“Marco! I’m here. Open the gate.”
We were standing outside a sprawling storage yard surrounded by a concrete wall approximately ten feet, or three meters, high, with barbed wire strung along the top.
Lucas made a phone call in front of the solid steel gate, which offered no view inside.
Clatter—
With the sound of chains being undone, the gate slowly opened.
“¡Marco, hermano mío!”
“Marco, my brother!”
“¡Lucas! ¡Bienvenido!”
“Lucas! Welcome!”
A young man who looked not yet thirty emerged from inside and embraced Lucas enthusiastically.
“Jason! This is my bro, Marco.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Jason.”
I shook hands with Marco, a slender man wearing a gold necklace and an expensive watch.
Lucas had introduced him as his brother, but in Mexico, people called almost anyone a brother, so I could not misunderstand.
“Oye, ¿este tipo es de fiar? Se ve un poco sospechoso... y tiene la cara muy dura.”
“Hey, can this guy be trusted? He looks a little suspicious... and his expression is really stiff.”
After shaking my hand, Marco spoke rapidly to Lucas while maintaining his smile.
“Sí, tranquilo. Es amigo de mi padre.”
“Don’t worry. He’s a friend of my father’s.”
“Ah... ¿de don Rafael? Entonces está bien...”
“Ah... Don Rafael’s? Well, if that’s the case...”
After finishing their conversation in Spanish, which I could not understand, Marco gestured to me with the same smiling expression.
“Come, this way!”
What? He could speak English too.
After following Marco farther inside, we emerged into a wide-open lot.
The storage yard, made from packed red earth, was nearly the size of a soccer field, and more than a hundred classic cars were parked throughout it.
Oh... There’s a VAM Javelin, a Chevy Nova, and even a Datsun pickup.
Marco’s yard had not only a large number of vehicles but also a wide variety, and they had been surprisingly well organized by type.
There were even corrugated metal roof structures to protect them from direct sunlight.
“This is better than I expected.”
“Hahaha, right? He has the largest inventory anywhere around here. He’d sooner die than tell anyone how he gets them, but they all have titles and clean paperwork.”
The source of one’s vehicles was part of each dealer’s trade secrets, and considering that this was Mexico, there was no reason to dig too deeply.
“I see. Then let’s start with the Volkswagens.”
“Marco! Show us the Combis first!”
Among the vehicles on the list, the one relatively easy to find in Mexico was the 1963 Volkswagen Type 2 Samba, also known as the T1 Microbus.
The Microbus’s beginnings were as distinctive as its charming appearance.
(Translator’s Note: Microbus — A common English name for the Volkswagen Type 2 passenger van.)
In 1947, a Dutch importer touring a factory in Germany supposedly scribbled down the idea, “What if the Beetle were made into a bus?” That rough sketch eventually led to actual production.
The vehicle became a major success in the United States because of its charming appearance and practicality.
The 1960s in particular saw the rise of hippie culture in America, and the Microbus perfectly suited their ideals of freedom, travel, and community.
There were countless other legendary stories associated with the Microbus.
In Britain, Paul McCartney of the Beatles once got into an accident while driving one with his friends.
Guitarist Jimi Hendrix also used one during his American tours.
There were enough stories surrounding the Microbus to keep someone talking all night.
“There really are more of them here than in the United States.”
“We can find even more if you want. Outside of Germany itself, Mexico probably has the most.”
Seeing my surprised expression, Marco shrugged.
The reason so many Volkswagen Microbuses, made by a German manufacturer, could be found in Mexico rather than Europe was simple.
The model had been manufactured directly at Volkswagen’s Puebla plant in Mexico.
Production had ended at the German factory in 1979, but the Mexican factory had continued producing them until 1994.
Naturally, the number of surviving vehicles was bound to differ.
“So, how many of these do you need? It’ll take us a full day to inspect them all...”
“Hmm... Just a moment.”
After briefly answering Marco’s question, I approached the first Microbus.
It was a sky-blue and white two-tone 1965 model.
Like the other vehicles here, it looked reasonably good on the surface.
However...
—————
[1965 VW Type 2 T1]
(Translator’s Note: Volkswagen Type 2 T1 — First-generation Volkswagen Type 2 van, introduced in 1950)
Exterior: A
└ Paint Match: 0% — Completely Repainted
Interior: B-
└ Minor damage and stains on seats and carpeting
Engine: D
└ Main bearings currently wearing down
Oil leak present
Coolant leak present
—————
According to my appraisal skill, the vehicle was suffering from severe heart disease.
When I opened the engine compartment, everything had indeed been polished until it gleamed.
As a result, the oil and coolant leaks were difficult to detect with the naked eye.
Under ordinary circumstances, I would never have purchased it, but right now, it was exactly the kind of vehicle I wanted.
After spending about a minute examining the interior and exterior, I immediately turned my head.
“Marco, how much for this one?”
“For a vehicle like this, you’ll need to pay thirty-five thousand dollars.”
It was not a bad price.
Especially considering how wildly prices were rising in the United States these days, there would still be plenty left even after covering the repair costs.
“I’ll give you thirty-three thousand. Without starting the engine.”
At my words, the corner of Marco’s mouth curled upward.
Classic-car brokers really are all the same, whether they’re in America or Mexico.
When purchasing a classic car, buyers sometimes bought one without even attempting to start the engine.
Usually, this happened when a glance inside the engine compartment made it obvious that the engine would not start.
If it somehow started through sheer “bad luck,” the attempt might damage even the parts that were still intact.
In this case, the engine compartment looked excellent on the surface, but the moment I mentioned not starting it, both Marco and I immediately understood the other’s intentions.
“Heh. Sounds good.”
“Jason? Even if we urgently need inventory, shouldn’t you inspect the vehicle more carefully before buying it?”
Unlike the broadly smiling Marco, Lucas’s expression had turned stiff.
“No. This is more than enough.”
Without hesitation, I moved on to the next vehicle.
—————
[1965 VW Type 2 T1]
Exterior: A
└ Paint Match: 35% — Mostly Repainted
Interior: B+
└ Seats and carpeting in good condition
Engine: C+
└ Scratched crankshaft journals
└ Low oil pressure
Oil leak present
Coolant leak present
—————
This one is even better. It won’t show much under normal circumstances, but if the oil pressure drops, the engine could seize.
“I’ll buy this one too.”
The second vehicle also “passed.”
After casually opening the engine compartment and rear door to inspect it, I spoke.
Once again, the entire process took barely a minute.
“What? Are you serious?”
Lucas’s eyes grew even wider than before.
“Of course. This is exactly the kind of vehicle I need right now.”
“No... How could you even... Whew. You’d better not blame my father later.”
“Don’t worry. I made every decision myself. I won’t blame anyone else afterward.”
Only after I stated this clearly did Lucas let out a short sigh and begin writing the purchase list.
After that, I continued selecting and purchasing vehicles that did not have overly obvious exterior damage but suffered from hidden mechanical problems or defects that would likely require expensive repairs later.
Among them, however, there was one vehicle in quite good condition.
The engine and transmission are both decent. And it has the twenty-three-window trim.
What determined the market value of a Microbus was none other than the number and arrangement of its windows.
Including the split windshield, side windows, and rear window, the standard total came to fifteen.
The rarest and most expensive version added eight roof windows known as skylight windows.
This particular vehicle, however, had dented body panels and damaged chrome parts.
Its engine compartment had also been left covered in dust.
“Marco, how much for this one?”
One of Marco’s eyebrows twitched slightly. Until then, he had been smiling continuously.
“Hahaha... As you can see, that one isn’t in very good condition. I’d feel bad selling something like it to a customer buying so many vehicles...”
“Is that so? Then that works out perfectly. I’ll buy it so I can practice restoring it. Since it’s in poor condition, it must be cheap, right?”
At my words, Marco scratched between his eyebrows with an odd expression.
When he raised his head again, his expression had changed completely.
“Whew... You already seem to know everything, so let’s speak plainly. That one is a Samba Deluxe, the highest trim, and it has twenty-three windows. I’ll need at least forty-eight thousand dollars. Even that is a low price, since you’re buying so many vehicles.”
(Translator’s Note: Samba Deluxe / Twenty-Three-Window Microbus — A high-specification passenger version of the Volkswagen Type 2. Its numerous side, corner, and roof-level skylight windows make surviving examples especially desirable among collectors.)
Forty-eight thousand dollars was more than ten thousand dollars higher than the other Microbuses I had purchased.
“Yes. I’ll take it at that price.”
As Marco had said, considering its rarity, it was actually inexpensive.
“Lucas, mark this vehicle separately on the list.”
“Okay.”
Scratch, scratch—
Lucas wrote the vehicle identification number in the notepad he was holding and placed a small star beside it.
I can’t hand a vehicle like this over to Blackwood.
After that, Marco finally lowered his guard around me, allowing us to speak more honestly about the vehicles’ conditions and prices.
As a result, excluding the forty-eight-thousand-dollar vehicle, I purchased a total of nine Type 2 Microbuses at a reasonable average price in the mid-thirty-thousand-dollar range.
I also bought two Jeep Grand Wagoneers for forty thousand dollars.
Three first-generation Ford Broncos for sixty-three thousand dollars.
And one 1964 Mustang for thirty-one thousand dollars.
That makes sixteen vehicles purchased here, for a total of around five hundred thousand dollars.
Once company-scale capital became involved, even the number of vehicles and the sums being moved were on a completely different level.
I had never possessed this much money in my life, much less spent it, but I was not particularly worried.
As expected, the larger the scale, the more stable the margins become.
Even among the vehicles purchased today, some were priced barely differently from what they would have cost in the United States, which effectively meant a loss considering the time and labor invested.
Others, however, had a substantial price difference.
When averaged across all sixteen vehicles, there was still more than enough margin.
“Then we’ll organize the documents like this. A separate importer will come for the vehicles, so just hand them over to that company.”
A short while later, Lucas, apparently experienced in handling this kind of work, completed everything from payment and the necessary paperwork to transferring the vehicles to the import-export company.
“Okay. Today was a huge success, thanks to you. I’ll buy you a drink next time.”
It was a deal that left me, Marco, and Lucas, who had acted as the intermediary, completely satisfied.
“Oh, and Jason. I don’t know what kind of magic you used, but you definitely have a good eye for cars. Contact me again if you’re looking for anything else.”
Marco scratched his head as he came out to see us off.
“Understood. Thank you. Then, until next time...”
“¡Nos vemos, Marco!”
“See you, Marco!”
“¡Venga, cuídate!”
“Yeah, take care!”
Clank, clatter—
Behind us, the thick steel gate closed, followed by the sound of chains being wrapped around it.
“Then we should get moving while it’s still light.”
Vrooom—
I leaned back against the passenger seat of the Chevrolet Tahoe and looked out the window.
Before I knew it, the sun was sinking between Mexico’s low concrete-block buildings.
Sixteen vehicles in one day. That’s not a bad result.
Growl—
As my tension slowly eased, my stiff stomach finally began sending signals.
“You’re hungry, aren’t you, Jason? Is there anything you can’t eat?”
“No, not particularly. And right now, I think anything would taste good.”
“Hahaha, then would you like to try some Mexican seafood? The ocean is about fifteen miles, or twenty-four kilometers, from here. There’s a small fish market there.”
Lucas looked extremely cheerful as he spoke about food, as though to prove he was Mexican.
“A fish market? That sounds good.”
I also loved seafood, so the suggestion was more than welcome.
Rattle, rattle—
The distance was short, but the road was in such poor condition that we could not drive quickly.
Only after nearly thirty minutes did the sea finally begin to appear.
Caw, caw—
“This is the Port of Topolobampo.”
(Translator’s Note: Los Mochis and Topolobampo — Los Mochis is a city in northern Sinaloa, Mexico. Topolobampo is a nearby port on the Gulf of California and serves as the region’s principal maritime outlet.)
“Wow...”
As I stepped out of the vehicle following Lucas’s introduction, the cries of seagulls swept overhead, and a sight unlike anything I had ever seen before unfolded before my eyes.
{@PIC:824959}
[Twenty-Three-Window Volkswagen Microbus]
CC BY 2.0, photograph by Brian Snelson