Satan's Taken Over
Sunday February 22, 2004

Ometepe, Nicaragua, which means "between two hills," rests on Lago de Nicaragua, or Cocibolca, which means "the sweet sea". Ometepe is a small island of two giant volcanoes, separated by a connection of land called an isthmus, from the cooling of lava and generation of vegetation, plants and habitation of animals. The island is really just that. Two volcanoes; Volcan Concepcion is perfectly coned at 1610 meters, and Volcan Madera rises softly at 1394 meters. Small communities line the waterfront, and a gravel and very dusty road snakes around the perimeter of the shore. We stay at Casa Hotel Istiam, dead smack in the middle of the two volcanoes, with a fine cuisine of meat, chicken, and fish.

ometepe (postcard)

the boys on the "refugee" boat to ometepe

On the morning of Sunday I awoke from a deep sleep in the hammock, ordered my Gallo Pinto, rice and beans for breakfast, ready to tackle the day. As almost always the sun broke from under the horizon and filled the rice plains, and plantain palm trees with golden streaks of light, slowly awakening even the most heavy of souls. With no Sunday buses, and little traffic for hitchhiking, we were stuck in the hotel premise till about 2 pm, constantly saying we would get around to accomplishing something sooner or later. The magnificent waterfall was a 3 hour trek just to the trailhead, and another 1 hour up. Internet was too far away, and our beach was treaded full of dried up cow dung. We spoke of our travels, played cards, and I drew tattoos with a black felt marker on Mitch, and the Nicaraguan hotel dude. On Mitch's arm I tattooed a large "MISERY" as following the inspiration of the great DJ Keoki. (Foreshadow number 1).

Around 2 pm, The Boys decide that doing pretty much nothing gets boring, and with time running out, Ometepe must be tamed with some kind of fruitful activity. So the horse guy got an order for 4 horses. That's for 3 guys, Mitch, Jason, and Damien and one girl Trish. Jason and Damien are two fellows from the fishing community of the Canadian West Coast, and we hit it off right away, sharing many days of drinks, laughter, sun, stories, and recuperation practices. They have one week off from fish guiding in Costa Rica, which they do for many moons a year. Umm... did someone say DreamJob.Com? Trish is a Canadian traveler, who's seen her share of the world, and horses. I blatantly express my dislike for horses seeing as how the last two times I've gone, my connection with the beasts has been met with zero aptitude. My deeper concerns are rubbing my legs on another horse's ass rather than the ride itself as it strolls with retarded stride behind the others.

The only way I am going horse riding I say is if the horse goes fast. All eyes around the table are met with excitement as I express myself with great detail, and comical action, as to how I'm going to ride the sucker like a true cowboy, but not like the coolness of John Wayne. That is way too slow, way too boring. I want to go fast, and that is the only way I'm willing to spend the 9 dollars for 3 hours! I mimic a cowboy pulling down on the horse's side and hanging on shooting his guns. "Yee ha!" I shout like a little kid. Great, (Foreshadow number 2).

Damien, who has never been on a horse, sits across from me, making fun of Superman, Christopher Reeves, and imitates his current immobile state. Simply... (Foreshadow number 3).

The horses arrive. Everyone except me gets on and the group sets off leaving dust behind. I am left by myself for about 30 seconds when the hotel dude suggests I take his bike and follow the crew! I'm all for it of course; grabbing the bike to start ripping after my buddies. I catch up, and yell "Vamos!" from behind (come along!), pedalling quickly in between everyone, startling the horses, and riding up ahead. The group is happy to see me, and it is actually quite of a funny situation pedalling as hard as I can to keep up to the giant leaps of the horses. I ride ahead of the group. Stop shortly and wait for them to catch up.

Damien rides by, holding one had on the front straps, and one hand behind the saddle, it looks like he's holding the horses tail or something, its ridiculous, but totally funny! The horse nearly takes his head off as it runs under some branches. The twenty-five year old Nicaraguan horse guide runs behind on his horse smacking Damien's horse on the ass with a stick. Damien enjoys it for about 5 seconds before yelling "no amas, no amas" (no more!). As his body shakes on the horse, he passes me and asks if I would like to take over. He is not at all enjoying his first horse experience. Well, the impulsive and adventurous me jumps at the idea, despite my disgust and lack of attraction to horses. We switch. He takes the bike. I take the horse. It is only about 30 minutes into the trip.

The group starts up again after I mount the horse. We trot at a steady pace on the gravel road that is broken up with many potholes, rocks of all sizes, and occasional concrete slab. I am now riding for about 2 minutes. The group picks up the pace while my horse increases speed. All of a sudden there is a massive increase of speed as my horse jolts forward like a rocket. I realize the horse guide is behind me, hitting my horse with a stick. My horse goes FAST! All of a sudden he becomes possessed! As I hang on to the straps for dear life, I start to laugh uncontrollably as I would if I was driving a car too fast. We all know that feeling, don't we? I yell to the group "YEE HA!", and I hang on tight as my horse goes nuts. I look down at his legs pounding back and forth like a steam train blazing across the plains. The guide keeps hitting my horse. At this point I'm having fun. All told it is about 10 seconds. I yell again, this time "I LOVE THIS HORSE!!"

Next thing I know my body starts to fall out of rhythm. I ever so slightly slide down to the left side of the horse, still hanging on to the saddle! Okay, I'm in trouble I think to myself. I look down, and all I can see is the road, yes, this is it. The saddle slips down the horse's side, and I am catapulted through the air like a stuntman... flying parallel to the ground... descending... keeping eye contact with the upcoming catastrophe. BOOOOOM! My body slams the road, bouncing with fierce momentum. I tumble across the road, and up into the air again like a ragweed or stuff doll, landing after a second bounce.

I feel my skin shred like from the grip of a hungry shark. I land and roll and almost instantaneously get up to stand on my feet!

The world around me has completely changed but I know what has happened. A blanket of silence and abstract peacefulness covers the deadly blow and thrashing of skin. Ave Maria plays ever so silently and the camera rolls above me... The only thing is, this is not a movie. Things are clear to me. I look down at my body; there is blood and lots of it. I am covered with abrasions, with holes in my hip and I think I can see my stomach. I limp to the side of the road, look up at the sky, raise my fists in the air and yell "GERONIMO! " like the great Indian warrior I thought I was.



The world then slows down. I see Mitch, with large pupil eyes get off his horse and rush to me. There is an intense, and overwhelming feeling of fire caressing my body, then lashing out at it with the breath of a dragon, fangs like wolverines sting my skin, my hip, and bones. Pain comes like thunder! I look down at the road; it is filled with large and small jagged rocks, triangular shaped and razor sharp pebbles and cracks. Pretty much the worst part of the road yet.

We all look up the road about 200 meters, where a group of bikers has just stopped. Some guy does an "endo" (flip over the bars) and is lying on the ground... What the hell is going on here? The scene makes me think of a crash in the Tour de France. I collapse on a boulder on the side of the road, my head feels tight, so I take my brown bandana off, the one I've been travelling with for 6 weeks, and I never see it again. I am met with an over curious crowd of my hip, I look down, and there are three gruesome sized holes in my waist. I start to panic, looking down as if I have been stabbed. I go into shock. My muscles clench and shiver. The horse guide loads me onto his horse and I take a rather interesting slow trot one kilometre up ahead to the next town as I am pressed between the end of the saddle and the horse guide's ass. Way too close for comfort!

But I am hurt and there is nothing I can do about it. I put my arm up on his shoulders for stability and we ride just like in the movies, my blood smudged on his back. Little children, and parents look with puzzlement at the injured soldier riding into town. "Where are you taking me," I ask. "Hospital," the guide says.

We arrive at the hospital. Which in fact ladies and gentlemen, is a side of the road restaurant. Third world style! There is a massive table under a thatch roof I lay on. Along with three young girls, a Nicaraguan woman in her late 60's comes out with a medium sized first aid kit. At this point my body starts to go into convulsions and I am met with the worst pain I have ever felt. A local man holds my legs stable as I shake. My friends comfort me, and I comfort them with jokes. Not breaking my ankle, not breaking my wrist, or even splitting my forehead on the edge of a coffee table with a flying superman back during soccer days in Prince George even comes close to the pain I am feeling. I am on fire and delirious with laughter!

Lucky was a good horse, until... scarrage factor... granted

my grannie nurse

The peculiar and gentle grandma pours water over my sores. She cleans my wounds, and I continue to laugh. I am filled with so much pain yet relieved that not one scrape touched my face, and not one bone broke, that I just naturally pour the air with insane laughter... Here is this stranger among the most common surroundings for these people, lying on a table bleeding like a bastard, laughing... I just could not help it. On the table I feel like a soldier brought from battle with missing legs. All told I receive 7 medium sized abrasions, 3 large palm sized abrasions, and one area of 3 deep lacerations in my swollen hip.

As this is all happening, Damien jumps on the bike and heads back to the hotel for help. On the way he too does an "endo" onto a sandy patch of the road, walking away unscathed. He brings back a local with an SUV to take me back to the hotel. I lay on the back seat on top of a towel as not to stain the seats, and out of the blue "Take my Breath Away" the famous song from Top Gun comes on through the speakers. Good base, nice sound and how appropriate.

On the way back, if anything could have gone wrong it would not because the worst already had. However, Mitch tells me that it almost did. Returning from the nightmare, as Mitch was approaching the hotel on his horse at throat clenching speeds, his horse becomes crazed and almost throws him off!

I arrive at the hotel, where I immediately order a meal, take some super strength horse tranquilizer Ibuprofen's chased with Cerveza. That night I take some more pain killers, and we drink mucho rum well into the darkness... We joke around with the guide who in the end still wants to charge us for 2 and half hours of the ride, which only 45 minutes were spent in real riding time. Also we joke around about any negative karma I wiped clean for the group. Sleep comes after midnight, but at 3 am I awake inside a pit of hellfire as the devil scorches my body with pain. I take more painkillers...

In the next 5 days, I finish off a bottle of Ibuprofen, not to mention the liquor I so helplessly consume... I look at my injuries; hoping one good scar comes out of it.

This truly was Satan's Day.