motorcycle diaries... stories that should be told and retold and retold again...

This, is a Honda 90, much like the two that I owned while living in the Dominican Republic.  I however, thought the mirrors were dorky as well as those dumb mud guards so I removed them.  And mine were both green, because I like green.  And yes, I had two, because the first one, my pride and joy, was stolen while I was eating lunch at D' Lo Ultimo, not so coincidentally for the ultima vez.  The story of how it was stolen can be told another day.


Today we are going to retell the story of Grace Ann's moto lessons.    


I was the teacher, and a damn good one at that.


Day 1 - Lesson 1 - The Soccer Field
Grace Ann had expressed interest in learning to drive a moto.  So one day after school I offered to give her a lesson.  We would drive circles around the soccer field.


It went well.


She learned to shift, accelerate and brake.  I sat behind her while she followed my instructions.


She received an A on day one.


Day 2 - Lesson 2 - Avenida La Confluencia
I decided that Grace Ann was ready for the road.  We headed down la Confluencia and turned back when we got to the river.  It wasn't a busy road so she was able to practice without the stress of other drivers cutting her off and whizzing by her.  


She received an A- on day two.


Day 3 - Lesson 3 - El Pueblo
Now you may think people in other countries drive crazy and that crossing the street is like playing frogger.  Well, Jarabacoa is notorious for being well known for its crazy driving -- throughout the country.  Natives from other parts of the country think that people in Jarabacoa drive crazy.


Anyways, I was confident that Grace Ann was ready to go into town.  However, we were again doing an after school lesson, which happens to be the busiest time of day.


As we entered the center of town we passed Agencia Pueblo, where I said, "Oh Grace Ann, remind me to stop there on the way back so I can see how much flights are."


She was doing well.


We went down the hill through "La Canchita," where there is usually a mess of motos and gua guas and people everywhere.


Then we arrived at colegio de las monjas where I said, "Oh turn up here so we can go to the agencia!"


"TURN!!"


"TURN!!"


"OH GEE, STOP NEVERMIND, JUST GO STRAIGHT!"


[Grace Ann then hits the accelerator, jumps the curb and pegs a little old chubby lady against a wall, who then flales her arms while screaming bloody murder.]


The moto tips over, later needing a little maintenance, a crowd of people forms, my face turns bright red and the lady begins yelling,


"ESTAS MUJERES ME QUERIAN MATAR PERO LOS SANTOS ME SALVARON!!!!"
(these women wanted to kill me, but the saints saved me)


______________________________________


So anyways, to make a long story short, the lady refused to allow us to walk her to the hospital, which was literally next door, after she pulled her pants down and dramatically massaged her bruised thigh while continuing to yell obscenities at Grace Ann and me.


Don't worry, I saw her a few months later walking down the street with no notable limp.


So day 3 Grace Ann got a C+ for effort.  It wasn't her fault the lady got in her way and was walking on the sidewalk.