Trips to the regional capital of Rivas are an occasional necessity for things not available in my very small town. The bone shaking highway from San Juan del Sur has been described in a previous post, but there is also a winding dirt track through the countryside, rough in patches and muddy at this time of year, that will get you there just as quickly. With no traffic or construction and a relatively smooth surface, it's a far more enjoyable alternative.
As soon as I turned my motorcycle onto the Chocolata Road, I stopped briefly to remove my helmet and stow it in my backpack. No police bother watching this route, so no chance of a ticket. Of course, I wouldn't ride without a helmet in North America. The roads are much faster and you never know when a police car will appear. It's one of the little things that I enjoy about living in a place where the rules and regulations are in practice more like suggestions and rarely enforced.
The forty kilometres to Rivas turned out to be a unexpectedly entertaining ride, all the more so without the sweat and restricted peripheral vision caused by protective head gear. Was it foolhardy of me to ride that slippery road without a helmet? A little, perhaps, but I consider it a worthwhile risk.
Puddles had formed after the recent rains, some the size of swimming pools, that had to be waded through with my feet on the handlebars, but after a few kilometres they became fewer and small enough to be easily avoided. In some places I was forced to slow for a rut in the track or where a portion of the road had washed away. A couple of rambunctious young bulls were rough housing in the middle of the road at one point and I was content to pull over, waiting with the engine quietly idling for them to tire of the game and move on. As their play continued, one of the beasts put its horns into the other's side and started to push. In a moment a ton of beef was five metres away and careening towards me as I stamped the gear lever down into first and twisted the throttle open. The Yamaha leaped forward as the two animals surged past, still tussling, and a flailing hoof struck the rim of my rear wheel with a loud clang as I accelerated.
As the houses and pedestrians became more numerous, I knew that I was in the outskirts of Rivas and slipped my helmet back on. No need to give the local cops an opportunity to make a some extra income. My business in town only took an hour and I pulled off my helmet again as soon as I was back on the Chocolata. A few kilometres along the road I saw a young girl, arms straining with the weight of shopping bags, put her thumb out. She looked so exhausted I had to stop and offer her a ride. Christa had gone into town to do the grocery shopping for her family and was now making the four hour walk home. As she was explaining this, a movement caught my eye and I noticed a baby grey squirrel pop its head out of her purse. The tiny creature scurried onto her arm and surveyed me curiously as I laughed in surprise. A few minutes of trial and error were required before I had Christa and her bags arranged precariously on the motorcycle. As we moved off, her pet squirrel climbed up onto my shoulder and she began singing softly in a lilting soprano. Without my helmet to deafen me, I could hear every note.
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