Bang

Wracked with worry of how I was going to keep going with oil leaking out of my engine, it was surprising how fast I reacted to the car in the opposite lane turn directly in front of me. At highway speed of around 90 km per hour, I immediately cried out ¨NNNOOO!!!¨ and prepared for impact.

I had milliseconds to improve my situation. Tining on the brakes, I tried my hardest to turn the bike and somehow avoid it but it was no use. The bike slammed into the rear bumper, and the next few moments was like riding a 600 pound gorilla. It was as if the bike was abruptly ready to lay down and begin its onerous slide into the ditch, and then suddenly it slammed itself upright, only to do the same thing on the other side. My legs were flailing trying to keep balance and somehow regain control in case of oncoming traffic. I was reeling from the impact.

I momentarily found myself parked on the side of the road. Miraculously the front tire looked intact, although 2 of three head lamp lights were popped right out of their sockets, and a 1 inch thick round metal guard was bent back on itself right onto the right foot brake. I heard a woman wailing, and the sense of people gathering. There was no hesitation, and no opportunity to complain, cry, or get upset. I needed to get help. My leg was starting to hurt a bit at the ankle and knee, but I ignored it and started walking back to the scene. Was it my fault?

The car´s driver approached me as soon as I arrived on foot, and I realized right away he knew his guilt. ¨Tranquillo, tranquillo¨, he kept saying in a hoarse voice, his stress apparent. I thought later he was just as surprised as I was to be impacted suddenly by such a massive force. I told him ¨listen, I dont want money but I do need help to get my bike going again, and to find a hotel and some food.¨ He was assuring and staying calm, which was a relief.

By now a large crowd had gathered around the bike, inspecting the situation as often happens in small town Latin America. I took charge, and asked if anyone had a bar long enough to bend the guard back into place, and take it off the brake. One guy said he did, and promptly brought it back. Two of us held the bike back, as he jerked the bar hard enough to show movement in the guard in the right direction. It was working so well, we went too far the other way, and put a gash in it. I was fine with that, saying I would just get a welder to fix it up. In all honesty, I just wanted to get away from all the attention, and somehow deal privately with what had happened.

Before I had a chance to really appreciate being alive, I heard a grinding noise coming from the tire, and knew I had to stop. My 1 month forced vacation may have been slightly shorter, and cheaper if I hadnt pushed it the first time I heard serious problems. So I promptly turned around, and found someone to ask where a hotel was. This had to be looked at in the morning. Found a guy, and he said Jinotepe would be the best bet, 7 km down the road.

A welcome was soon to come my way, with a nice little hotel and a receptionist who spoke English. I was so messed up, I didnt want to speak spanish anymore. My knee, and ankle were starting to throb, so I was glad when she offered for me to bring the bike into the lobby, and gave me a close room. I showered, changed, asked for a restaurant, promptly went there and downed 2 rum and cokes, and 2 beers. The restaurant staff came over and sat with me for a bit, as I invited them to come and join in my happiness to be alive.

The next day was spent finding someone to repair the front disc brake. Several stores denied us, us being me and the hotel staffer who volunteered to help me find a solution. We ended up finding a brake store, who made new brakes for me, then grinded down the areas that were rubbing on the metal, on my suggestion. A lengthy process, but only cost about 7 bucks. I went back to the hotel and threw all my stuff on the bike.....which was leaking a lot of oil still. I was cursing that mechanic let me tell you.

70 km later, the clunking started. I knew I was going to be stranded, but I decided I wasnt going to sweat it. I realized whether it was going to happen or not, me stressing about it would do me no good. The bike just stopped moving forward. It was revving, and engine sounded good, but not moving. So upset but couldn´t let it out. Changed my shoes, and started pushing. Luckily news came that a mechanic was only 2 km away so I headed that way. It was 35 degrees out and me in my leathers. Two young local guys felt sorry for me, and started pushing me. When we got to the mechanics, his wife told us he was in Managua, so we had to turn around, as I thought my chances would be better on the road. We then met a truck who offered to take us to Leon for 50 bucks I said no too expensive. The one young guy suddenly says his buddy would do it too. That felt better, so I told them to toss off.

Soon, I would find a way to justify the hemmoraging of money as my way of donating to the Nicaraguan economy. And they didnt have to pry it away from my dead hands.

We got the bike to Leon a couple hours later over some very bad roads, then found a mechanic. Drive shaft is damaged. Must have been in the accident. I am lucky to be alive, so you wont hear me complain. I will get home when I get home. No. Use. Sweating.