Animal and Motorcycle Rehabilitation

Post date: Feb 16, 2011 10:55:40 PM

2-16-11 Frade, Brazil

Animal and Motorcycle Rehabilitation

What are the chances of being rescued by an English speaking angel with money, time to spare, and a I-can-do-it-myself attitude? Rod and Carol are this well-travelled and well-made couple from Brazil/Argentina/England/California living on a gorgeous property adjacent to a golf course and forested mountain, in front of which my motorcycle and a bus had an argument. A neighbor on the mountain was at the scene of my arrogance, noticed I didn’t understand Portuguese, and called Rod to see if he could help because he “speaks funny like you.” Thus I met Rod.

Both are retired after long, hardworking business careers. Carol was in the sugar biz, and Rod was in commodities trading, especially spices. Both also have slews of stories and knowledge to share, and thankfully, their sharing skills don’t put me to sleep. After many a breakfast, lunch, and dinner we conversed about politics, the environment, local conspiracies and intrigue, bizarre customs of the north, religious traditions throughout Brazil, the cultural differences between nations, and more.

For example, the hospital I was treated at, Praia Brava, once received a very sick man. The organ harvesting crew had arrived from who knows where, prepared to pull the guys guts out. The doctor luckily intervened and said, “This man isn’t dead yet, and he isn’t going to die. Once we remove the tumor from his brain, he’ll be fine!” Rod says I was treated like a star just because I am American. Brazilians fare far worse there, I am told.

This area, Frade, is loaded with millionaires and billionaires, some of whom own personal helicopters that land just down the hill from the house here. With such wealth comes power. The mafia has infiltrated the area as well, and at least once a person near here has been assassined by a hitman from a Rio de Janeiro favela.

The local churches are widely known to be businesses. Anyone can start a church here, and the variety extends far beyond the traditional menu of Christianity, Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, etc.

I needed a notepad to jot down all the crazy things they told me about Brazil. To sum it up, this isn’t the United States. Or any country for that matter. How it was settled by conquistadors, missionaries, and slaves alike birthed a culture that has grown into a complex mix of generosity and greed, candor and lies, wealth and poverty, politics and equality among humans. Here, a stranger off the street can hop into the ambulance of a foreigner. Here, you can buy something at the store and say, “I’ll be back tomorrow to pay you.” Here, a politician can almost literally buy votes from the poor.

I wasn’t expecting the treatment I received from Rod and Carol. They put me up in their guesthouse, which is top class. With AIR CONDITIONING! Three meals a day. A gorgeous view of the mountain. They have pet peacocks that they feed daily when the birds arrive at the patio door, ready to be tossed bread. Marmoset monkeys, the size of guinea pigs, come every morning and evening, during the cooler hours, to steal the peeled bananas from the tray laid out for them outside the glass walled living room. Guinea fowl, humming birds, and any other animal that wants to eat visits regularly for a serving of loving nutrition. Lizards creep around the property. Snakes of the deadliest variety lurk in the 50 foot tall stands of bamboo. Capybara have raided the nearby gardens, and deer grace the estate from time to time. It’s a nature-lover’s paradise with a 5 star camp to view it from.

I became their latest wounded animal to nurture back to health. Like the parrot, monkey, and cat before me, they gave me food, water (Fanta, too), and a bed to rest in. They ensured my wounds were regularly cleansed and rebandaged. They monitored the administration of my antibiotics. The couple has profound love for life; they do not allow any of their gardeners or constructions workers to kill so much as an ant on their property. They observe the seasons, the fluctuations of animal populations, and the behaviors of the various species inhabiting their land with eyes and minds trained to the importance of balance in an ecosystem, the whole of which is marvelous and invaluable. It was a daily topic- the feeding habits of William the Peacock, or the infestation of thousands of caterpillars whose falling feces filled the trees with the sound of rain, or speculation as to the primary predator of capybaras. Thus it was an honor to be rendered care among the likes of their beloved neighbors, the birds and the beasts of the tropics.

There’s little I could do to repay their generosity. They asked that I return the favor to some other poor traveler in the future. There’s no doubt I’ll be doing that. My social debt will be passed on to my children, I imagine. Still, I donated by snorkeling gear, a fishing pole, and my slack line strap to their home. Perhaps their guests will find them handy.

Following is a tentative outline of activities (excluding the 3 meals and post-meal discussions per day and visits to the Health Clinic), with Day 1 being the day after the accident:

Day 1 We picked up my antibiotics and tylenol. I’d received a tetanus shot at the hospital, just to be safe, so that was comforting. I changed my bandages, as I’d do each day for the next 10 days, at the Posto Saude (Health Center). I should mention that all of the health services have been free for me here in Brazil. Just the cost of the meds. We also picked up some side mirrors from a neighbor whose hobby is restoring old Honda motorcycles. We inspected the bike some.

Day 2 I drove the bike home (still drivable, woohoo!) and set to work on it. Pulled pieces off the bike. Bent the fairing/dash bracket back into decent shape.

Day 3 More bikework. Bent the clutch lever back into shape. Pounded luggage racks and boxes back into position. Epoxied the dash back together and installed it. Fixed the broken switches on the left handlebar unit. Changed bandages at home. Nasty.

Day 4 More bikework. Finished pounding luggage racks and boxes back into position. Fixed the tilt sensor in the alarm. Glued the broken plastics into correct positions in prep for the fiberglassing.

Day 5 More bikework. Fiberglassing, painting. and installing the busted plastic fairing. Replaced visor and reglued one of the helmet’s rubber linings.

Day 6 More bikework. Installed everything.

Day 7 Installed new clutch cable! Cancelled my clutch cable order via Ebay after 1 month of nightmarish customer service. Test drove motorcycle and everything feels GREAT! Still need to change front fork oil, that can wait. The fear of the road has returned- should keep me from eating pavement for a week or two. Hiked 3 miles around the jungle snugged valley, visiting a waterfall and some sheep.

I’ve become something of a celebrity in town, which has only bolstered the reputation of my Good Samaritan host, Rod and Carol. Rod is asked by townsfolk how I’m doing. He tells them the story of my journey, and they just can’t comprehend how or why someone with very little money, knowledge of motorcycles or local languages, could or would want to drive from California to Argentina. Three local papers have published news of my accident. I assume that’s customary, but still, after Manaus’ television appearance, my cameo in a Brazilian movie, and my news article, I’ve infiltrated more forms of media here in 3 months than I have in my life in the United States. To top off the honors, Carol named the new baby calf born three days ago “Gary.” I imagine I will have to keep in touch with the couple if only to check on the livelihood of my namesake.

Now that my clutch cable dilemma has disappeared (for $12), I am free to roam wherever without Sao Paulo lingering in my mind’s propped open closets. Tomorrow, it’s Maresias, reputedly the nicest beach for hundreds of miles. Then it’s inland to Curitiba, where I’ll meet my friend Yara, whom I met 4 years ago in Rio. From there, it’s either Florianopolis or Foz do Iguacu. In Buenos Aires, I have a friend from Colombia to meet around the 8^th, and on the 12^th is one of my favorite electronic DJs, Tiesto. B.A. will conclude my civilized pleasures for awhile as I will be journeying 2000 miles south to Ushuaia, either along the east or west coast of Argentina. Funds, health (remember the motorcycle and I are one in body), and interest providing, I will then return halfway up the continent to ultra-poor Bolivia to visit the salt flats, the jungle, and maybe finally tangle with the monster pirarara or piraiba that escaped me the first time through the jungle. I doubt I’ll go up to Cusco or Macchu Picchu because I hear it’s best to sell in Bolivia or Paraguay. But, once I reach Ushuaia, I will be putting the word out that my better half is up for sale.

There’s nothing like a good near-lethal-bus -smashing to put things into perspective. And sometimes the clearest answer arrives in the cloudiest state of mind, such as a concussion, when all the superfluous inanities of petty everyday worries vaporize and leave only that pure nugget of truest desire. Adventures are just through that door in front of you, and every door is the same door. But what is missing in the room I’m already in is that special someone to join me through that door. Half of my adventure is not here. With this realization the magic of my quest fades, and I suspect the gleaming peaks of the Patagonian mountains may not imbue my eye with such luster as does the heart of my chosen one.