Tuesday, November 30, 2010

The End of the Unlucky Streak

My friend Connor said that whenever Bryan and I travel together, we always get into some ridiculously difficult situation, yet we always seem to get out of it perfectly fine.  Our last trip together faired no different.  I don’t know what it is, but our travel styles mashed together seem to spark disasters that in a flash resolve on their own.

We rode to a rock structure on our bikes.  A friend had told me about this “interesting rock formation near Escuintla.”  Bryan knew where it was, and it is close enough to Antigua to go by bikes for a day trip.  We left after midday, coasting on the mostly downhill highways.  Although buses and cars sped by, I felt safe in the wide the lane to the side of the road.

At around four we arrived to our destination, a formation that looked like a jumble rocks with a point at the top in the shape of a thumbs up.  The man that worked there said he would leave at five, so by the time we came back down, he would be gone.  The hike should take 45 minutes, he said.

To start on the trail, you needed to cross over a large fallen tree that stood in for a bridge over the river.  What did they do before the tree fell and what will they do when the tree decays, I wondered as a crawled across.

The hike could have easily taken 45 minutes as the man had mentioned if the path to the top had been clear.  We had no idea where to start and figured we could follow the path of garbage strewn on the ground.  I normally get so frustrated to see the litter all over the roads and sidewalks, but I was surprised how little they look after a park in which you need to pay an entrance fee.  Bottles and food wrappers led us in the wrong direction, and by our third reroute--and 30 minutes in--we had made it on the right track.

At a fork on the path, we thought we should continue straight rather than turn because the other path seemed too steep.  Once we entered a field that led away from our final destination, we  turned back around.  The correct way up became so steep at certain points, I had to rely on the trees’ roots to hoist myself up.  Create a mix between rock climbing on a very easy angle and hiking and you have our trip to the summit.

We walked close to the top to see an unspectacular view of corn fields cut through by highway.  I convinced Bryan to head back down since it was dusk and soon it would be pitch black.  Especially with the unclear path and steep slope, I did not want to risk any problems.

We made it down perfectly on time right before it was too dark to see your hand in front of your face.  Success story!  I was so happy that for once Bryan and I had a problem-free trip.  Right as I wanted to pat ourselves on the back, Bryan said, “Oh no, mate.  We have a problem.”  The key to our bike lock broke in half inside the lock.  We were stuck two hours by bike from Antigua.  Although buses passed by, we couldn’t leave the bikes because Bryan had borrowed his from our roommate. 

Bryan’s innovative mind put a rock in his hand, and he began to smash it against a tree with the lock resting against it.  No luck.  We broke the plastic, but could not get through the metal.  With no other option in mind, we stood on the side of the street, waving our hands to the cars that passed.  We had no idea we were on a dangerous part of the highway and no cars would stop for strangers.  The ones that would stop are probably those that you don’t want to help you.  Again, we were stuck, unsure what to do.

 Our calls for help on the side of the street came with no answer.

Finally, Bryan realized the masons from my work lived in a town nearby.  I called him and frantically rambled about our situation.  The moment Carlos heard we needed a ride and a saw, he said, “I’ll be right there.”   He came with Mario another Constru Casa mason, and together they broke our bikes free.  


Saved!
 
It would not have been a good ending to our travels if we had passed the trip carefree with no problem.  Nope.  Bryan and I had to live our tradition through until the very end.

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