A Complicated Journey

Wherein a simple trip becomes a day-long adventure.

A true story

Written by Kenny Bruce

And inspired by the creativity and humor of Davey Jank

“Are you sure you won't fall off? Be careful...” Our friend's mom worried for about the fourth time. The six of us kids were sitting in the back of a pickup truck while both sets of parents rode inside. Rather, we were sitting around the rim of the bed of the pickup – we couldn't have sat in it because that was all full of the various cargo we were planning on hauling up the mountain. I guess we looked precarious to their mom – or maybe it was just that we were so obviously unconcerned with the possibility of bouncing out of the back and getting our clothes all muddy on the dirt road. Mothers can be like that.

“We're fine,” we insisted for the fourth time. As the adults seated themselves in the safe, boring interior of the truck, I wondered aloud what she was worried about.

“After all, we're MKs,” I opined. “Next best thing to superman.”

The trip continued smoothly for something like half an hour. By 'smoothly', of course, I mean that none of the bounces were enough to shake us out of the truck, and none of the mudholes in the road were bad enough that we had to hop out and push. We were all having a grand time in the back. It was the first time the six of us had been reunited in a year and a half, since Andy and I now had embarked on the grand adventure that is college in the US of A, each leaving two younger sisters behind here in Ecuador. We were happily reminiscing about all the most miserable moments we had spent together growing up, when suddenly the pickup rolled to a halt.

Looking up, I quickly came to the conclusion that our unscheduled deceleration had something to do with the mass of red-brown clay that had decided to spend the day rather squishily encamped upon the road, leaving no way to get the vehicle, and all our stuff, to our destination. Having concluded this remarkably astute observation, I proceeded to wonder why the bright yellow bulldozer sitting near the landslide was, err, sitting. Lunch break, perhaps?

A quick consultation between the national worker sitting on the bulldozer and the dads soon revealed the nature of the problem. I overheard something about 'transmission'. Apparently something important had choked with the strain of coercing the placid mud to make its squishy home somewhere else, and the part wouldn't be here until possibly later in the day, they said, which of course meant next week.

However, all was not lost. Although we had too much stuff with us to carry all the way to our house several hours walk distant, we would be able to shift it all over the landslide by the simple expedient of all the boys making several trips to carry all the heavy stuff. There there was a truck which had been caught on the other side (thereby unexpectedly finding itself in the very monetarily profitable position of being the only vehicle in working condition on that side of the road) and while it was too full to take us and our pile of stuff at the moment, the driver assured us that he would be happy to return and take us and our belongings as soon as possible. So far so good.

In the meantime, our spirits remained high, and as soon as the work of transporting the pile of items to the far side of the landslide had been accomplished, we set out to amuse ourselves. Although Andy wanted to lead an expedition across the river to investigate a large mudslide that had utterly devastated several hundred feet of a ravine over there, no one else felt much like adding a couple hours hiking through the jungle to our journey, what with the scorching tropical sun and all. Instead, we passed the time throwing rocks (and spears), weaving baskets, splashing in the nearby creek, and finally by sitting around Andy's emergency reflective blanket and playing cards.

My uncle, who was waiting at the other end of the road (or rather, at the next impassable part of it) with the horses called us via cell phone several times, mostly to tell us that the truck driver seemed to be in no particular hurry to turn around.(In fact, he was stuck in a further landslide – my uncle ended up helping to push him through it) Although this wasn't particularly encouraging news, it was still all just an adventure, and I proceeded to unconcernedly lose a game of rook as badly as I ever have in my life. I think Andy won. Eventually, the truck did turn around, and after some time, arrived back at our end. We all crammed ourselves and our stuff (“watch out, this pack has eggs on top!”) into the back, which was covered by a heavy black tarp effectively obscuring the view. Finally, we all – sort of – fit (my dad was standing on the back hanging on) and the driver eased the vehicle along the narrow road towards our destination. This trip wasn't quite as lighthearted as the previous one – we were more tired, and the invigorating possibility of falling off was deplorably absent (except for my dad, who did nearly fall off at least once). However, soon we were passing all the stuff out the back, and as the truck drove off my uncle arrived with the two horses.

View from the back of the pickup ;-)

The rest of our hike trip up was unremarkable – that is, the sun was hot and we didn't see very many snakes. Actually, that's not entirely true – there was one interesting bit as we passed the school (the local community center) and the locals were apparently becoming 'cultured' for they had adopted the national custom for this particular few days of January of putting on bird masks and requesting money by swarming around unfortunate passers-by and holding out a cup as they made trilling noises. Andy gave them a dollar and then stood menacingly with the various knives he had stuck through his belt plainly visible as the rest of us passed by. Anyways, eventually we made it to the houses – only to find that in our absence an invading army was conducting search and destroy operations throughout them. The vicious but tiny commandos had pursued their enemy into the wooden structures and were aggressively cornering them, and then hacking them into small pieces and carrying them off as provisions. Army ants are fun to watch -- especially when they catch cockroaches. However, they also bite, so as we tried to get ourselves cleaned up from the hot, muddy hike, we had to constantly watch our feet so as not to hinder their maneuvers.

Anyways, the day did eventually wind down, leaving us all rather more tired than we had anticipated. However, in a sense, we weren't surprised – the road is a dangerous thing, and when has once set his foot to the road, there's no telling what adventures might befall him ere again he rests his feet.