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I knew there were two bridges on the way, I knew they were going to be bad, I had planned a strategy to get help, or a truck, but I was onto the first one almost before I realised it and besides, there was no-one around and a line of cars not far behind me, spur-of-the-moment time….skinny rail tracks on shaky sleepers, shee-it…..I rode on. <br /><br />On each side of the tracks were planks, two wide (about 350 mm total) rough-cut, unfixed, splits, cracks, uneven heights, nasty gaps, all balancing on randomly placed and spaced sleepers….….on my right was the rail track with a six inch drop to the random sleepers, to my left the random sleepers and the remains of a “safety” rail, wouldn’t have stopped me from plunging over, it is simply, a railway bridge, the facility for pedestrians and vehicles, a temporary afterthought by desperate people.

BOCAS BRIDGES AND BRAVE BIKIES

Bill Shum
2006-08-21 17:10:19

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blur, then off free…

Here I am by the pool, in the hotel, in Puerto Viejo, smiling benignly on the faux rastas, bead selling hippies, drug dealers, good luck to them all…just hand me another beer. I catch up with Grant and Mary who had done this yesterday, Grant and I can’t get over this little adventure, we agree it’s probably one of the worst, for me definitely the scariest, and don’t worry, there have been contenders for the “scariest ride” award along the way. There is no way in the world I would do that again, truck it, walk it, anything, but I would never ride it!

Now, to back-track…the night before….I’d had confirmation from Grant that the 2 bridges were as bad as we’d heard but this was not going to stop me. I pushed thoughts of the bridges aside with the assistance of G&Ts, beer and red wine. I pigged out on the snapper I’d caught the previous night. Mike cooked it up, it was indescribably fabulous, go on, drool all you like, nothing quite like fresh snapper, grilled, an asian sauce with my personal, high, chilli level, piquante, other diners in the restaurant looked on, horrified, as I tucked into the huge platter, a little Oz red to wash it down, another banquet from Mike’s kitchen.

And despite the looming terror of the bridges, it was genuinely hard to leave such a pretty much perfect place as Bocas, I’d met some really nice people and had some great times, maybe next time as well.

Desultory is the word for Puerto Viejo, I think I used it last time I was here too, very slow, people move, ooze, cruise around like honey.

Here in my little cell, no, it’s a room, of course, the ceiling fan gyrates disconcertingly, threatening to tear out it’s support and plunge, spinning wildly, onto my sleeping body, another relaxing ponderance to make sure I sleep like a rat, where’s Rita? There’s a light in the centre of the fan, the globe seems to be affected by the wobbling ...