Brian and I headed to Copan Ruinas for the weekend. It has been over a month since either of us left town and it was a much-needed break. Our main reason for going was to attend the Grand International Copan Rodeo, a rodeo we had heard about in passing but never been able to track down… more on that later.
We left on Friday afternoon, directly after work. We decided to drive. I know I have been terrible about writing this year, but just as a quick update: We bought an old Toyota Corolla at the start of this year and drive it around town, to work and such. It is falling apart and is held together with mostly good thoughts, duck tape and lots and lots of luck. We have only taken it out of town twice before this and both times were precarious journeys of their own, which is why I just have to get this tale down before another disappears into our memories.
So back to Friday, we left after work, filling the car with gas and double-checking that our spare tire was aired up. Roads in Honduras are unimaginably dangerous. There are potholes everywhere. Some of these holes can be up to a foot deep and a car length wide. Whole parts of roads are washed away or have been shaken apart by earthquakes and never repaired. Speed bumps, humps and skinny ditches are prevalent, used to slow motorists down, since there are no highway patrol and speed limit signs are more use as casual advice, rather than law. Motorists drive on whichever side of the road suits them and there are no lines on the pavement or shoulders on the roads. Giant buses may slam past you at 70 miles/hour and then 2 minutes later slam on their breaks to go through a police checkpoint. Driving is exhausting and takes your full attention; ten seconds of zoning can easily result in a blown tire or an accident.
This said, Brian and I both love driving in city. The lack of laws leads everyone to drive offensively and defensively at the same time. Each trip to school or the grocery store is like a real life video game, careening around cars, crossing into oncoming lanes, disobeying red lights, dodging speeding trucks and driving the wrong way down one-ways, because you just can’t be bothered to drive up another street. Returning to California, it always takes a few days to adjust and remind ourselves that passing people on Main Street is frowned upon, especially if we have to drive on the sidewalk to do it.
Driving long distances is another thing altogether, I personally can’t concentrate on the road for that long before zoning out. I have always loved I-5 for its straight pavement and high speeds; I love it even more now for its lack of potholes and death bumps. Brian has become quite awesome at driving the distances, though, and so, he decided that instead of taking a bus, he would drive, which was great for me, because car rides are something I adore and relaxing with the window down and the radio up is something I miss from Cali. Away we went.
The first few hours of the ride were uneventful. Brian is great at dodging holes and shifting down to first seconds before crossing speed humps, so as to not bottom out the car over and over again. As soon as we climbed above the city the views were striking and towns quaint. It was gorgeously sunny and warm and with both windows down we could have been cruising in Northern California sunshine. Brian was driving quickly, trying to stay above 40 m/h most of the time. We so rarely drive outside the city, so 50 seems like 100 and occasionally I would hold my breath as we soared past people walking along the side of the road carrying bundles of sticks and machetes. Every 30 minutes or so, we would speed into a small town and pass a handful of houses, a pulperia or two (small shop selling local snacks and soda) and a llantera (tire shop). But in a wink of an eye we would be back to the open road climbing into the hills.
After about an hour and a half we sped into a small town like all the others. Women walked down both sides of road talking and selling things, children played soccer next to speeding cars and men crossed back and forth carrying stuff. Ahead of us one old man began to cross the road carrying a stick twice the length of himself. Brian didn’t notice right away and held steady at his speed. As we approached, the man reached the middle of the road, Brian saw him and honked twice, warning him to step back. The man spooked like a deer and dove in front of our car, darting across the road. Brian began to hit the brakes, yelling out, I took a deep breath and prepared for the impact…
The car flew past, barely brushing the stick on the man’s shoulder. We both let out breaths and stared straight ahead, unbelieving at how close we had just come to hitting a man. Brian eased up on the gas and glanced at me, “You saw that right?” he said. “You saw him dart in front of me like a deer?!? Right?” I nodded yes. And we both thanked god, the stars and anyone else in hearing distance for the miracle of the day.
For the next while we cruised along, our heart rates returning to normal and our brains quickly turning a horrifying experience into one that we relished retelling to each other, since no one had been hurt. We drove up and down hills, swerving around blind corners and deep ruts. We sang songs out the windows and discussed how nice it would be to reach Copan in the daylight. BAM!!
A loud popping sound followed by the telltale “thump-thump-thump” of a blown tire. The Corolla limped its way over to the 6-inch span of dirt overlooking a shack and tree covered hillside. Half the car was still on the pavement and there was a blind corner just ahead, but it was the best we were going to get. We looked at our back tire. It had blown up. I had never had a tire blow up before and I was amazed. It was shredded with little wires sticking out everywhere and big pieces of rubber hanging off. There was no way we would ever drive on it again. Brian pulled the spare from the trunk and got to changing it.
Our tire iron has been a constant source of grief for Brian over the year and this time was no different. It is a short little thing with no leverage. The lug-nuts had been screwed on tightly and wouldn’t budge. He pried and pulled and even tapped it with his foot but it was a no-go. I went to the back of the car and tried to wave someone down. In Chico, I know from multiple experiences, the next car to pass would have stopped and offered help, but not here. Every car flew past, and I couldn’t blame them, we would have too.
Eventually, I mentioned hopping on the tire iron. Brian explained that this could cause things to break, he knew this from prior experiences, but agreed we were pretty much out of options. We weren’t going anywhere and there was no help in sight. He attached the tire iron and jumped, I heard the screech of a loosened lug-nut. Hooray! I threw my hands in the air and did a little lug-nut loosened booty shake. He jumped 4 more times and 4 more lug-nuts loosened, after that it was 5 minutes and he had the tires switched out and the spare on. I threw extra thanks to god and my lucky stars, kissed Brian on the cheek and settled back in for the ride to continue.
Our next goal was to find a llantera (tire shop) that would have a tire to replace our spare. Llanteras are prevalent in Honduras. Tires pop all the time, for all the reasons I have listed, and they exist on every road and in every town, usually situated right near a big pothole or an especially deadly speed bump. They are usually wooden shacks, held up by old fence posts with pieces of scrap aluminum or palm branches as a roof to keep out the rain. They are easy to spot because every one has a giant tire clearly placed along the road with llantera spray painted across it and piles of used tires scattered around.
To be honest, I had never noticed the amount of llanteras until this year. But once we started driving and having tires go flat regularly, I began to pay close attention to the ones in our neighborhood and along our drives. I keep them in mind so that if, and when, a tire goes, I can tell Brian just how far away we are from the closest one. In this case, we just wanted to replace the spare so we just figured we would continue to drive to Copan and stop at the next one we came too. This turned out to be easier said then done. Each place we stopped at had 10-15 used tires but none that would fit our car. Darkness soon filled the sky and the road became more and more precarious. So, though it made us nervous to continue to drive with no spare, we had no choice and continued on at a slow pace, both of us scanning like crazy for potholes and the like.
Eventually, we reached Copan Ruinas and pulled up to the B&B we were staying at. We promised ourselves we would be sure to get a tire before leaving town, no question. We threw one more thanks to the great gods for getting us there in one piece and collapsed into bed exhausted from our drive.
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