another fantastic yet nearly tragic story brought to you by the dominical road

it began yesterday, on a particularly hot early afternoon (particularly hot for costa rica would be hotter than it ever gets in indiana) when the sun was high and the dust was blowing on the road to dominical.  for those who aren't familiar with this road (which i realize is the majority of you, but for those who have been on it, you will immediately begin to sympathize, yes, just being on this road is cause for sympathy) i can sum it up briefly for you:  dusty when dry/muddy when wet, very rocky, very bumpy, rutted, pitted, potholed, jolting, uncomfortable, painful, jarring, bone-shaking, and jerky, and that's in an suv.  now, imagine this road on a 125 cc, non-dirt bike motorcycle.

i was only twenty minutes into the journey, and only ten minutes onto this road when i found myself cruising at a modest 65 kph which is slower than i would typically go (as i would rather indure a shorter, more intense type of pain than a longer, dull, prolonged pain).  as i was on this particularly good stretch of dirt and rock (i still have difficulty even considering it a road) the back tire exploded and i began a sort of frantic fishtailing.  i am sure that many if not all of you have been in this situation in a car during the wintry months as have i, but let me tell you, that it is a much more serious situation when on a motorcycle.  in the instant that i realized that i had lost control (which was the same instant that the tire popped) my only thought was to quickly assess to which side the motorcycle was going to crash, so i could jump off in the opposite direction, or at least jump far enough away so as to not crush my leg.  at this speed, and on this road, trying to maintain balance without a back tire was not even a slight consideration.  i just wanted to walk away scrapped up all over my body with possible a broken wrist rather than a broken leg; this was my concern.  after what seemed like 2 seconds, when in reality, was probably more like 6 seconds, i found myself still on the bike and completely stopped.  you see, balance is one of those involuntary things, and while my conscious was occupied with escape routs, my subconscious was working overtime and with great efficiency, to which i am very thankful.

so i found myself on the side of the road, covered in sweat and dust, thinking to myself, here i am, what next.  i began to call eileen, who was already down in dominical, to let her know what had happened and that i would be late.  just as i was getting off the phone, i saw my friend tim barreling down road in his toyota prado.  he slams on the breaks which kicks dust into the air which sticks to my sweaty skin, but i am glad to have this break.  after we tried to put the motorcycle in the back seat, we tried to get it on the roof.  had we been a little stronger, that may have worked.  at this point, i have sweat out the last ounce of liquid in my body.  

we flagged down a truck (we stopped a truck) that was barreling down this road at a speed which clearly indicated that they were completely  unaware of any of the potholes, rocks, or any other potentially fatal obstructions in the road.  after coming to an agreement, though they said they were in a hurry, we threw the motorcycle into the back of this truck.  had i know what foreshadowing "we are in a hurry" meant, i would not have gotten into that truck.  i assumed that it was a "costa rican hurry" which would be roughly translated as an "american slow roll."  i was wrong.  there were no ropes to tie the motorcycle down; i stayed in the back with the bike to steady it, manually.  the tailgate did not shut properly.  there were no noticeable shocks on the truck.  upon starting up the truck, they took off with an acceleration that reminded me of the last spring meet i attended at churchill downs.  my muscles were immediately put to the test.  as the driver was forgetting that there was a untied motorcycle and a human being in the back of the truck, i was straining myself in such a way that i initially estimated that i would be able to keep up this type of energy exertion for one and a half minutes.  i was sitting next to the bike: left hand on the handle bar and right hand on the back of the bike.  the bike was teetering between crushing my legs, which were under the bike, and flying off the back of the truck.  with my head bouncing against the metal bed of the truck, my body was sliding further and further under the bike until i ended up almost laying down under the bike still trying to stabilize it.  as my arms were numb but still full of pain, my head was hurting from heat exhaustion and inhalation of massive amounts of dust, i figured that it would be better to let the bike fall of the truck than for it to crush my torso.  i relented that at the next major acceleration, turn, or large bump, i would give it a good push and let it fall of the back; these people were not going to stop for anything.  thankfully, they began making stops less than two minutes later in order to make the deliveries which were obviously very overdue.  After a total of over 15 minutes in the truck, these stops allowed some time for rest.  within 5 minutes, we were at a workshop where we left the bike with a promise to pick it up the next day.

the rest of the trip to dominical was uneventful, though there had already been enough events to call the trip generally eventful.  we went to dominical to celebrate the hebrew festival: the feast of weeks.  this is a whole different story, but basically it can be said that i learned quite a bit and had a very enjoyable time.

we had arranged to get a ride back with a couple that lived in quepos the next day.  our plan was for them to drop me off at the  shop and for me to ride the bike back to quepos.  well, in my previous disheveled state, i had forgotten to mentally mark the location of the bike shop.  we passed it (i later found out that the road actually splits into two parallel roads for about 2km; we were on the wrong one).  i eventually told them that i would just go back and pick it up later because by the time that i knew for sure that we had passed it, we were a half an hour passed it.  

i began to make plans to go back and get it as soon as we got back to our apartment.  i was in a hurry because it was just around 1 o'clock and i had just enough time to get down there and back before the inevitable daily downpour came.  the bus didn't leave until 3:30 so i was really debating on taking a bus or hitchhiking.  if i took the bus, i would arrive in mata palo at 5:00 which would really be too late to avoid the rain and the bandits that come out on that road after dark which is around 5:30.  the bus takes an hour and a half and a car can do it in an hour, so i decided to take my chances hitchhiking.  this is not really equivalent to hitchhiking in the states.  every car in costa rica is a potential taxi.  in fact, this is the occupation of some without an official taxi cab.  almost every local will offer their car as a taxi before they head off somewhere calling, "taxi a manuel antonio?"  when you hitchhike, you are expected to pay just like a taxi.  so, i took a taxi out to the airport which is like the beginning of the road to dominical, and i began to walk with my thumb for all to see.  also, the thumb in not the signal used in costa rica for hitchhikers, but i used it anyway; i like it.  after a little more than an hour of walking (which was very unusual) i finally was picked up by a man and a woman in a truck.  just as we had been underway for about a half an hour, PSCHYOUAP!  well, i wonder if you guessed correctly in your mind what that sound was.  if you guessed a flat tire, you guessed correctly.  At that moment, the couple asked what had happened to my bike; they saw the helmet i was carrying: ironic.

i offered my services to change the tire.  as i was laying in dirt and rock, i see the bus slowly roll past.  that would be the last i saw of the bus as we would not catch up to it as the driver adopted a much, much slower driving technique after the tire incident.  

i arrive at the bike shop as the rain begins to come down and the sun begins to set.  as i walk in to what would look to any of you as a badly kept junkyard, i'm wondering where my bike is.  "that couldn't be the front half of my bike could it, no way, he said it would be done by morning?" i asked myself.  out pops the old man from behind some unrecognizable piece of reconstructed metal something or other.  you don't have to be able to understand much spanish to know that "tu moto está muy mala" is not what i want to hear at this point.  it turns out that yes, the motorcycle is disassembled and what's more, he tells me i have to go buy this part at some shop.  so i walk, in the increasingly strong rain, to the other shop and buy the part.  when i return, i begin preparing myself mentally for all the unpleasant possible endings to the story which is titled today.  

of course prayer is key.  also key: the rain suit which i brought.  i put it on.  lightening.  over one inch of rain in less than an hour.  watch forest gump's description of a jungle rain in vietnam to get an idea of what i'm talking about here.  several answered prayers later, he tells me it's put together, but strongly advises me not to drive back to quepos.  if i had any other option, i may have taken his advice; i used the last bit of money to pay for the repairs on the motorcycle.  

long ride home in the dark jungle rain.  i arrived safely, happily.  i thought to myself after all of this: i wouldn't change one detail; i love life, and i love God.