Our Race to the Race

On Saturday morning, I woke up at 6am to catch the first bus into Concepción, where Tia Gloria lives. By car, one can get from Coelemu to the city of Concé (as it is referred to by the locals), in about 45 minutes. By bus, the journey borders on 2 hours and the accommodations are considerably less favorable. Nonetheless, I arrived in the city and walked the ten blocks to Gloria's apartment. 

When I arrived, a very crabby and impatient Nelson was waiting for me in the living room in shorts that were much shorter and tighter than I would have preferred. Tia Gloria had just woken up. Two hours, a shower, several wardrobe changes, and a packed picnic basket later, Tia Gloria was ready to go in her white jumpsuit (because white allows her to channel better energy, she tells me). Apparently she called the "race people" to inform them that she was going to walk the race course without a number and because it was a public street, they couldn't stop her. Gloria calls the shots and what she says, goes. 

The three of us piled in the car at 10:55. The race was in Chillán...an hour away and the race was to start at 12pm. For those of you have ever ran in any kind of race, you know that you are supposed to arrive with ample time to check in, get your number, stretch, and warm up. Under normal circumstances, I would have been completely stressed out.  However, in my worldly travels, I have come to find that having utterly no control over my life doesn't really allow me to accommodate some of my more anal tendencies...or Gloria for that matter. So there we were, zipping between the mountains at 150 k/h (the speed limit was 100k/h if you need a reference point). I was just SHOCKED when we got pulled over....

Sidenote: In Chile, the policeman don't chase you down. They run out in the highway in front of your car, and stand there with their arms crossed and a stern look on their face. So, you can either pull off to the side, or run them over. Gloria picked option C. I screamed, she swerved, clipped his radar gun, and ran off the road a few yards past the fuming Chilean officer. 

She immediately jumped out of the car, ran over to him and started yelling at him for making her late. We had a race to attend, after all. When that tactic (not surprisingly) failed to soften him, she told him that her father is a police officer (he's a mechanic). Nope, that didn't work either. Then, I heard her say she had an American in her car. I sunk low in my seat and locked the door...but like I said, Gloria calls the shots. She unlocked the car, dragged me out of my seat (despite my feeble protests), and marched me over the the cop. His face lit up when he saw my passport and he asked if I knew Lady Gaga. I considered lying for Gloria's sake but told him that, "regrettably no, I have not had the pleasure of meeting Lady Gaga." Disappointed but otherwise unfazed, he asked Gloria to take a picture of the two of us with his iPhone. 

Things were looking up...until he informed her that he was still going to write her a ticket because 150k/h was inexcusable. How does Gloria react? Naturally, she smacks him with her purse and let's out a slew of indistinguishable Chilean profanities. So much for that channeling of positive energy. 

In the US, she would have done some time for disorderly conduct, assaulting a police officer, fraud, and bribery. I scampered back to the car. With her crumpled speeding ticket in hand, an enraged Gloria sped off again. The speedometer hit 160k/h before she let off the gas. Oh me, oh my.  We arrived in Chillán at 12:30pm. Good thing Chileans seem to all be on the same page and the 12pm race wasn't even close to starting.