Month: September 2013

it was 9ish.  in the am.  it had rained all night.  i got on my piece of shit bike and zig zagged my way to hwy 200.  lots of big clouds billowing amongst the tall mountains.  the air was clear.  it was both warm and cool.  probably 75.  i had a shirt on.  the front derailer on my piece of shit bicycle was rusted stuck in the small ring.  nothing i could do about it at the moment.  i was feeling good though.  a tailwind was in affect, and mostly downhill where i was going.  i was headed to main beach hoping to see some monsters get ridden.  the indicator flag was showing medium offshores.  again, i was in the zone, and had so many reasons to feel that way too.  more than anything, i was grateful & satisfied.

and then i saw the dead dog laying in the highway.  now if a similar sketch could be drawn up in The States, it likely wouldn’t have been a dog afterall.  it would have been a skunk, raccoon, maybe a cat.  if it were a dog in the US, there would have been five people crying, one person suing, two policeman policing, a pet insurance agent, a pet cemetery rep, and 20+ lookie-loos.  here in puerto, there was a dead fucking dog on the road.  a young dingo style female.  blood and guts everywhere.  eyes were closed.  if that dog were mine, it would be alive today, and, after a life filled with every possible opportunity to understand mankind, that dog would die a different death.  but this dog wasn’t mine.

when i first came here in 2005, that dog would have been mine.  when i began coming here in the winter for two months time, that dog would have been mine.  the past few years, as two months were converted to six months, that damn dog just might have been mine.  but today…that dog wasn’t mine.  i gestured up.  i thought about a dog or three.  but that was it.  there was a dead dog on the highway, and it was my time to deal straight.  at least it was good and dead i thought.  versus perhaps a starving, dying dog.  i decided to handle the situation like the dogs mother, brother, or pack buddy would have coped with the plight.  i put it behind me, and rambled on down the road.

He must have chuckled when he heard my promise.  puerto escondido was being sandwiched by Manuel and Ingrid.  heavy rains had made it near impossible to venture out anywhere.  the injury to my foot made all matters laughable.

I told the kid that i would pay ALL my rent up front if he would give me my fair asking price.  his knees wobbled.  he pretended he was uneasy.  he told me that he normally would have to check with his wife.  how cute!  he was using all MY moves.

He agreed to 5000 pesos per month, which is $400 to you and me.  so I needed 25,000 pesos and the ATM only gives out 6000 per day.  so each day, for 4.17 consecutive days, i found a way to get to Central in order to keep my promise.

I think he was surprised at my due diligence.  truth is, i didn’t have to keep my promise.  nobody keeps their promise around here.  i just figured i would perform the unthinkable, hoping that it would lend itself out to a groovy brotherhood.

He handed me the four keys it takes to fruitfully live at his three room hotelito.  two keys for the front door, one key for the gate to the stairs, and one key for the gate to the compound.  the over/under bet on keys lost by March opened at 11.

I asked his age.  he told me he is 37.  i asked him his birthday.  he said June 23rd.  no way..that was my grandmas birthday i told him.  and it’s mine too I said with a wink.  he is 6/23/76, and i am 6/23/67.  numbers can mean everything.

He offered up his truck to help with my move.  i passed on that kind gesture for the time being.  i told him that my game plan was to perform solo on a dozen or so stealth missions using just my backpack and my bicycle.  he understood perfectly.

44 hours later

Friday The 13th

I showed up lame with ice-cold ice in my hand.  The taxi kid said he couldn’t continue any further, forcing me to limp up the muddy incline towards the iron gate surrounding the compound. I was only 36 hours removed from stepping on something razor sharp with my bare left foot.  Could have used a shot of tetanus.

The boys mother was in the kitchen.  She said her middle son would be home shortly.  I began icing my foot.  Mom brought me some chia seed water and a plate of brown rice with cooked platano.  My foot was freaking killing me.  The Assassin showed up at three sharp.  His younger brother and father led him into the ring.

Before we began, I wanted to make sure he understood the en passant.  He said that he did.  He wanted to make sure that I knew who the current world chess champion was(is).  I told him that I hadn’t a clue.  “Well it was this 19 year old Russian, but a 12 year old boy from India just took him down.”  He opened first.

We played ten games in six fast hours.  I won games 3, 9, and 10.  Throughout the painful ordeal, his mother brought us whole bean soup, and homemade tostadas. After all the rain had fallen, I was searching for excuses.  Not surprisingly, so was The Assassin.  His father drove me home.  Heavy rain had once again begun to fall.