Thou Shalt Not Curse What Is A Blessing

Post date: Jan 3, 2011 4:23:19 PM

Still in Manaus...

What in life goes as planned? And yet we must continue to try making plans because the alternative means a lifeless life. So then life may be one long exercise in adaptation to the unexpected. Some call my journey an adventure. I have affectionately called it “going wild.” But the other most appropriate phrase for adventure is really “big pain in the arse.” Have I said this already? Expect to hear it again. I am reminded of the wisdom of Senior Castanza, “Serenity now! Serenity now!”

My boat was cancelled again. This time the guy said there was insufficient cargo on the cargo ship. I think the real reason is that no one wants to work on the holiday, which I totally understand, but you don’t tell someone to build their life around a certain event if the event is not going to happen. I must now wait until Thursday. What until then? The dude, who seems like a steroid or speed crazed fitness instructor or injured football player paid for another night here and said I can move onto the boat on Monday. I don’t like the idea of being unable to drive on and off the boat for 3 whole days though, so I’m exploring other options.

Last night I saw the Christmas concert. 80,000 were expected to attend. It was a dramatic show, a full on play, choir, orchestra, light show, and fireworks at the end. The stage was huge, probably 75 yards long in two directions, shaped like a T. I don’t quite understand the symbolism of the ballerinas and dudes rappelling down the side of the historic opera house though. Anyways, it was a huge event for this area. We were showered by fireworks debris. It was interesting that they’d be setting off fireworks and climbing all over the most prized historic monument in Manaus. But that’s one main difference between the U.S. and here- the U.S. wants to put everything in a climate controlled, NO TOUCHING ALLOWED!, glass case to preserve it forever. Here, if something is appreciated, it is enjoyed and used maximally. Things deteriorate. That is the condition of life. They may better understand and accept that fact in Latin American culture.

They put ketchup on their popcorn here. I LOVE ketchup, but I do have my limits.

Anyways…

I had time to reflect on many things and fight all the negativity building in me from weeks of disappointing outcomes. I eventually took it to be a lesson on humility. Patience is a virtue, they say. Patience is for people with nothing better to do. So there I sat for 3 hours, doing nothing but waiting in the rain for my ride to return to take me home. I’d tried that morning to fix the bike. It quit the night before for no apparent reason. My investigation that night revealed a loose airhose to the carburetor and gas leaking out of the carb. I fixed the hose connection, waited for the engine to unflood, and tried a variety of choke, idle screw, and throttle positions. At one point a whole lot of throttle started it with a cloud of smoke, but after I gradually released the throttle, it died. Hmm… I figured it was a carburetor issue. A similar problem happened in Guatemala. I let it sit overnight, and that fixed it that time. So I let it sit.

Returning the next day, no luck. So I swapped the spark plug to the plug I’d put in the day prior. The plug I pulled out which was practically identical, visually, but missing an “R” in the part number. Well, it was wet when I pulled it out. I cleaned up the old plug, which was working but on its way out, I could hear, and gave it another go. Still nothing. Just a bunch of gas smell. There must be a plug, I thought. I wasn’t in the mood to dismantle the bike there in the alley and rip apart my carburetor, so I sent my driver a message and ended up stewing over my place on earth for three hours.

A river dumped on Manaus during that time, as if I wasn’t feeling introspective enough already. But as I sat there I watched this limping, thin, unattractive black woman with a great aura of domesticity go about her household chores. She looked like a maid to me. I thought, “This woman has never left Manaus. She grew up in the house across the street and was raised by an alcoholic deadbeat and a hypercritical mother. She will never leave this city. She will carry a laundry basket at a moderate pace every day until she dies. My motorcycle hates me and so I cry. What am I doing in Brazil anyways? My ride eventually came. I returned to my couchsurfer host’s place and enjoyed the company of travelers and locals alike until we finally crashed at midnight.

I did some research and now have a lead on a good repair shop (Plan B) and 4 more ideas for correcting my flooded carburetor and potentially stuck float in the carburetor. What’s annoying is having to wait for rides, but, as my sister Tam is so fond of saying, “Beggars can’t be choosers.” No, I still have more reasons to be thankful than not, and this is just one more trial attempting to teach this phenomenally stubborn ass how to cool it and go with the flow.

But what I’d like to be doing is camping along this river near Presidente Figueiredo, 75 miles north of here. I suspect the fish are either holding in deeper water (which I cannot access without proper equipment), or well up the tributaries. The Urupu is one such tributary I can reach by motorcycle and shorefish, and there is also a dam in that area. Catfish love dams. But, first the motorcycle. My boat leaves Thursday or Friday, depending on who you talk to, so I’ll straighten that out soon. I may have to postpone my ticket up the Madeira to P.V. until after New Year’s if my bike proves trickier to fix than hoped.

Skipping ahead (again). God likes someone. Not sure who or why. But I’m receiving the benefits. Turns out that 11 months of motorcycle maintenance (minus the zen) are paying off; I fixed It’s A Secret. I knew before the research that something was up with the carb. I thought something was stuck. I smelled gas so figured something was plugging the gas line and flooding it. What I had thought was that letting it sit overnight would allow it to drain, but what my beloved KLR650.net maintenance forums revealed to me was that one must manually drain the float bowl of the carb to release the gas. If only I had such a screw in me… The little girl in the hammock next to me just coughed as if to give me a sign that she’d caught wind of my misopportune release. Well, draining the bowl and tapping the carb in case the float was stuck, then adjusting the idle screw and starting it with the throttle wide open almost started her, but the battery is weak, and I am beginning to suspect that the Bogota mechanic was right- that my alarm (which I’d reconnected three days prior) is putting a heavy drain on the battery. Given that it wasn’t a problem for several months, I wonder if my battery’s capacity has diminished or if there’s an open circuit somewhere in the lines. Ah well, start it up every two days should alternate sufficient current back to the battery. Or, so the theory goes.

I learned from my pal Tim in Merida, Mexico how to run-start-pop-the-clutch-in-first-and-give-her-throttle technique to cure battery blues. This time I had a hill and gravity to help me, so I started her with such ease I almost didn’t believe it. I felt like a bird flying for the first time. Vroom Vroom! Woohoo! The half dozen folks who’d been watching over me and my bike in their alley for the last day and a half smiled. Oh how good it feels to deny “Gary, how long are you going to wait until you take it to the mechanic?” So many people feel a bump in the road and go straight to the mechanic or hospital. We’re a world becoming more and more hypochondriatic.

With a working motorcycle I whipped by a bike shop to see if they had the exact spark plug I needed, but they didn’t, and although the one I’d put in previously was probably alright and uninvolved in the latest crime, I decided to just run out my old one, which I’d cleaned up and reinstalled. Who among us knows what the “R” means on a spark plug? I need a dpR8…. Not a dp8…

I ran to the fishing shop I love. Zenizir, the owner, is a sunshine of a man with his own fishing show. He said he’ll put my picture of a big piraiba or pirarara on his show if I send it to him. I’d bought from him my newest rod, a full on heavy saltwater treetrunk with rollers. This time I bought a “Lifestraw,” a water purifying straw that filters enough water for one year’s consumption. May come in handy, especially if I can head off into the jungle river on a boat for a few days in Porto Velho.

Then I hit up the hostel to verify my boat’s departure. Thank goodness for doubt, I guess. The translator last week had told me “Thursday,” but the call to the booking agent said “No, Tuesday, today at 6pm.” ! A fixed bike and now I’m told I roll out on my boat? Wham! I got serenity now!