Previous: Chapter Eleven: Mérida
“I don’t believe it,” said Frances.
In the Perrera-Perez’s back yard lay a pair of shiny steel rails.
“Our tram only seats six,” explained S. Perrera-Perez as the couple rolled the vehicle out of its shelter. “There’s a one-peso tram that comes through on the hour, but the market will be closed by then.”
Feliz, MaryLiz, Jo, and Frances joined the Perrera-Perezes on the tram. After a thirty second wait for another tram to climb the hill past the little backyard station, the switch signal changed to green and the journey into town began.
MaryLiz looked between her feet at the ballast and sleepers whizzing past underneath as the tram rolled downhill.
A red light blinked on the dashboard. MaryLiz had an astronaut’s aversion to blinking red lights, and it showed.
“Regenerative braking,” came Gaby’s answer. “We’re storing energy for the trip back up.”
At the bottom of the hill, as the track leveled out, the tram automatically shunted into a siding to allow another tram to climb the main line in the other direction. Then they were off again, at a more leisurely pace along level grade.
Fifteen minutes later, the tram pulled into the Market Station. The Perrera-Perezes rented a rail stall for the little tram, and led the Ranchers down the stair to the market.
Gaby led the Ranchers among the narrow passageways between stalls to a brick-and-mortar building tucked down a side alley. A relative of Gaby’s, elderly, with Mayan features, was putting away a display table filled with used and new satellite phones.
Gaby spoke to them softly, in Spanish. Feliz could hear the words “gente pequeña” said by Gaby. The shop owner paused and turned to the ranchers.
“La gente pequeña. El bosque tiene muchos caminos.”
Gaby thanked the elder, who smiled and returned to closing shop.
Gaby asked Feliz, “You heard it? You want to tell them?”
Feliz said, “Yes. ‘The Little People. The forest has many paths.’ And there was a name, one I couldn’t make out.”
MaryLiz asked Gaby, “Do you know what that means?”
Gaby replied, “Si. It means no one in Yucatán will stop us from going where we’re going.”
The ride back to the Perrera-Perezes took much longer than on the way down. The couple were proud to point out its hand-built features, from the satellite-grade solar panels on its awning to upcycled electric wheelchair motors geared to every driving wheel. Gaby also told the incredulous Rocket Ranchers the origins of the miraculous system of light rail threaded throughout the inhabited parts of Yucatán.
At the end of the 20th century, narrow gaugue rail built for commercial purposes fell into ruin. Right of ways and repair contracts were abandoned by their nominal corporate owners, some of the old rail was stripped for salvage, and track beds lay repurposed as grassy hillside walking trails.
But even after a century, hundreds of kilometers of rail still remained, crisscrossed here and there with the modern rail ring surrounding the peninsula. Some of the network remained in semi-commercial passenger and light cargo service operated by local village concerns.
As to what the government of Yucatán might have thought of this potential source of tax revenue, and regulator’s nightmare, operating under their noses, little was said. And there were those occasional under-the-table shipments of fresh track ballast occasionally delivered to remote villages in the middle of the night….
“So,” said Gaby, as the tram pulled into their backyard siding. “The name Feliz said he couldn’t make out.”
“Hunpoo?” asked Feliz.
“Hunahpu”, said Gaby. “It’s Mayan.”
“And where is it?”, asked Frances. “In the forest, presumably?”
“It’s not a place,” said Gaby, “But it is in the forest. Hunahpu is an old railway, a very old one, and we all have a ticket to ride.”