Tino

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Tino

Sunday, July 24, 2011

So I’m stuck in the brewery and hotel with a broken down motorcycle. Again, not the worst place to be stuck, but I will want to leave. The brewery really is in the middle of nowhere. But the little dirt road that leads to the brewery passes a little shack of a house. Outside the house always sits a man smoking cigarettes. On the other side of the road from his house he has a small junkyard of motorcycles which sit in front of a backdrop of green mountains adorned with clouds. In one glace I can see that he doesn’t have the parts I need for my motorcycle, but if he is a mechanic and is quite cleaver, maybe he can fabricate what I need.

At 7:30 am Sunday morning, I stroll down the dirt road towards the house. I had spoke with the man the night before and he said it was his nephew who was the mechanic and that his nephew could look at my bike on Sunday. The man is squatting down sitting on his heals in the corner of the small junk yard smoking a cigarette. His nephew, of course, is not here yet for it is early, but I stop and chat with the man. It really seems that this man spends many of his days in his yard watching the world go by. We talk about the ills of the world. The man tells me how people with money always want more and that he sees people he knows move away to the US, but they are not happier there. He shares his opinions on Obama, Bush, and Clinton with me, and tells me that the US spends too much money on war.

Around 9:00am his nephew shows up. We get to work on the motorcycle. The problem is that the rear sprocket is mostly detached from the wheel. The snap ring that holds the wheel on is broken, the metal parts that go between the snap rig and the sprocket have completely broken and are probably on the highway somewhere. And the rubber that is inside the wheel to absorb the shock of accelerating is melted and mangled. I have fixed this part of the motorcycle before, and I know the parts for it don’t exists anymore (my motorcycle is a 1981 Honda CM400T). The nephew looks at the motorcycle and knows in one glance that he can’t fix it, but I persuade him to try and fabricate something that will hold the wheel on well enough that I can drive the 60 kilometers to San Pedro Sula. There I can look for a mechanic familiar with junkyards or a metal worker who could actually fabricate the parts. But I know this might really be the death of my motorcycle. The chances are slim.

With some sheet metal and a cut piece of pipe we make secure the wheel to the sprocket. There is still too much play in the sprocket, but I understand the mechanics of my bike well enough now and decide it is worth a try. I know well that I might wind up on the side of the road tomorrow trying to get a kind-hearted Honduran to put my motorcycle in the back of a pick-up and finish taking me to San Pedro Sula. But people with pick-ups helping out people with broken motorcycles is actually pretty normal in Central America.

I ask the nephew and the man if they know anyone in San Pedro who can fix the bike. They say some name that I know I won’t remember and when I ask where this mechanic’s shop is and they tell me they don´t know, I realize it is not worth looking for. They tell me to hail a taxi and have the taxi lead me the mechanic´s shop. This sounds absurd.

I spend Sunday afternoon on a motorboat on Lake Yojoa. Some Honduras were staying at the hotel with me and were borrowing a boat from a friend. I invited myself to join them and we sped across the lake jumping out of the boat and swimming in different coves. I enjoyed my afternoon, but I knew that the fate of my motorcycle would be decided the next day.

Monday, July 25

Monday, I wake up early and leave for San Pedro around 6:30. My official plan is to drive around the town looking for a mechanic. I wish I were back in Xela, Guatemala and that I could take the bike to Roberto. Roberto could find a way to fix it, not all mechanics are so creative.

Around 8:15 I stop at a motorcycle shop with a parts store across the street. But really it does not look promising. All the bikes in front of the shop are newer China made bikes. This is not the place to get my bike fixed. But I talk with a mechanic, and he tells me to go to the next block, turn right and then go down the street 4-5 blocks and I will see a shop with a bunch of motorcycle in front of it. At least that is what I think he says; my Spanish is not yet perfect.

I find the shop and pull up to the garage door. Inside sits a man in a folding chair eating his breakfast. As I pull off my helmet, the man sees I am white and says hello to me in English.

I start telling him what is wrong with my bike, but he understands the problem before I can finish explain it. I look behind him and see his shop is full of old motorcycles; many of which are similar to my own. I ask him if he if he knows my bike. “I know this bike better than I know my wife,” he tells me. I ask if he can fix it and he says yes. I ask if he has the parts. He says he will check, but he explains a plan to fix it even if he can’t find the parts. The man tells me his name is Tino. I look at him startled: This is the mechanic the man and his nephew told me to look for.

Tino continues eating his breakfast and tells me he doesn’t want to work today. Yesterday was Sunday and he had to work on Sunday, so today, he wants to rest. I am somewhat confused and wonder if he will fix the bike, but he is friendly. I enter the shop and ask if I can look around. The shop is a museum of old bikes. I lament my broken camera, and think, of everything I have seen so far on my trip, this shop is what I want to take a picture of. I feel like I have somehow found some guru at the top of a mountain at the end of a quest. And this small man who sits quietly, nodding his head to questions he knows the answers to, and speaking broken English seems to somehow guard the history of these motorcycles.

He finishes eating his breakfast and tells me to push my bike into the shop. He pulls off the back tire, looks at the repair done the day before, and nods as if amused. As I said earlier, I had already once fixed parts of the sprocket, and inside I had jammed cut up pieces of dense rubber to replace the original rubber that melted on a trip I did to El Salvador in March of 2010. He pulled out this rubber and I told him that I had fixed that myself. But he knew. He walks to the back of his shop and returns with the exact same rear rim as mine and original rubber stoppers. He tells me he wants to use the entire rim he has instead of mine because mine has been rebuilt and is not as strong as the original.

We fix the rear tire and do some other small repairs. When I start the motorcycle, he doesn’t like the way it sounds. Well, I will spare you all the technical details of the rest of the day, but we worked from 8:30am to 6:00pm fixing the inside of the engine. He keeps telling me about a farm he has. He wants to retire, leave the shop to his son, and live on the farm. He says he will work in the shop maybe one more year. I think about the knowledge that will be lost when he leaves.

Every time I thank him for fixing the bike, he simply responds, “It is my job” But it is clearly more than a job to him. He won’t stop fixing every part of my bike. He is driven by his love for these classic bikes. And to find one as well preserved as mine is a treat for him. He wants to make sure that this bike will safely carry me on all my journeys. And I think he too is living vicariously though my adventures. Other clients of his come and go from his shop, but he tells them that he can’t work on their bike today; he is too busy. He spends the whole day with mine.

He tells me of his family. He has a son in the United States, an unmarried daughter who as a daughter of her own, and a youngest son, Alvaro, who lives with him. Tino tells me that he used to have other employees who worked in the shop for him. But he wants Alvaro to take over the shop for him when he retires to his farm. He worries that if he has employees, Alvaro will delegate work to them and then not learn everything himself. He explains that working in this shop is Alvaro’s college education.

I realize that I will have to spend the night in San Pedro Sula; I didn’t want to do this. I ask about hotels. He says there are good ones nearby, but he can rent me a room in his house for a night. This is perfect; his house is attached to his shop. I am tired and don’t want to look for a hotel. I shower and then he and I go out to dinner.

At dinner, Tino tells me that he is happy. He has a good life, has everything he needs, and has a few extra toys. It is clear that he is not a rich man and that he has worked hard for what he has, but he has enough to be happy. He talks about his granddaughter, Alejandra. Alejandra lives with him and his wife. She sometimes runs around the shop while he is working. (Earlier in the day I said hello to her. Tino told her to say hi back. She just shyly and defiantly said, “No quiero” (I don’t want to) and ran off.) He wants his granddaughter to have a good life and a father. Maybe she will go to the farm with him when he moves.

Tino is also worried about my carburetor. He thinks it is too dirty for my bike to run well. But he is apprehensive about fixing it because tomorrow I need to leave and he needs to attend to his other clients. But at dinner he tells me, “Tomorrow we will clean the carburetor.” This means I will probably leave tomorrow around noon instead of 7:00am like I wanted. It also means possibly facing afternoon showers. But Tino decided this and I accept his judgment without hesitation.

After dinner, we drive around the city, I on my motorcycle and he on his, looking for a cash machine so that I can pay Tino for his labor. It is fun riding with someone else at night through the lights of a city. I always avoid the big cities in Central America, but it is different with the security of being accompanied by a local. (For those of you wondering, Tino charged me $150 to fix my rim, give me a new rear tire, weld a bar on my bike, dismantle the engine and replace the timing chain, 10 hours of labor plus parts.)

We get back to Tino’s house and we sit on a balcony off the second floor of his shop and sing 70’s rock songs as Tino plays the guitar. Tino loves his classic rock, although I must admit that the words are sometimes quite funny through his thick accent and limited English. (Tino always insists on speaking to me in English even though I understand him much better when he speaks Spanish. But I continue to speak with him in English; it is clear he liked practicing his English.)

Tuesday, July 26

The next morning, we drink coffee and hot cereal in his shop. (I don’t drink coffee, but his wife brought it to me and I didn’t want to be rude.) Then we sit and eat the second course of breakfast: fried banana, beans, eggs, and ham. We wash it down with some Coke. (I also don’t drink Coke, but…) His granddaughter joins us. Today she is no longer shy and it is clear I am her new friend. She is two years old. She looks at me with her big brown eyes and disheveled wavy brown hair. She knows she is a cute kid. She keeps calling me “vos”. Let me explain what “vos” means. In Spanish there are 2 words for “you”, they are “tu” and “usted”. “Tu” is informal and “usted” formal. But in some countries they also use “vos”. “Vos” is even more informal than “tu”, but its exact use varies from country to country and it can be a dangerous or disrespectful word for a foreigner to use in the wrong context. But in this context, it was like this adorable little girl was calling me “friend” or “uncle”.

We finish breakfast and get to work on the carburetor. Tino has to leave for a moment to go buy carburetor cleaner. As he is sitting on his motorcycle about to leave for the store, his granddaughter runs up to him still in her night gown. He picks her up, sets her on the gas tank in front of him, and takes off. From the perspective of someone from the US this probably seems like a very dangerous thing to do. In the US we expect a certain level of safety and don’t accept danger or risk as a part of life. But I saw this act as a very tender act of a grandfather spending time with his granddaughter.

Around noon, the carburetor is rebuilt. And Tino, almost somewhat abruptly, tells me that I can hit the road. I think I had gotten comfortable there and I didn’t want to leave. I was learning about bikes, Tino and I had fun in the evenings, his granddaughter was great fun, and his clients would chat with me. This was the Honduras I wanted to see and know. I was also nervous to go back out on the road, and sad to leave. But Tino had worked hard to help me on this journey, and it was time to continue. I tried to pay him for spending the morning fixing the carburetor, but he said it was a gift.

He asks me if I remember how to get out of the city, and I tell him I will need some directions. Then he says he will lead me out of the city.

We stop at a gas station on the edge of town. He goes inside to buy something. I fill up my tank and his. He comes out with two energy drinks and gives me one. He says I will need it for the road. I think of all the caffeine I will have consumed today. (I certainly don’t drink energy drinks, but this was our breaking bread together.)

We say goodbye, and I ask the gas station attendant to take a photo. We pose for a few goofy shots, and I am off.


Driving, I reflect on my journeys. I fix something on my motorcycle almost every day I drive it. I think about how much easier it would be to have a new reliable bike. But I realize that all my best experiences are from when it breaks down. I drive most of the day. I pass through Tegucigalpa and wind up spending the night near the Nicaraguan border in a town called Danli. And I reflect on my day and a half spend with Tino.

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Photos

Bella Esperanza
My motorcycle not broken down on the side of the road in Honduras

Tino's Shop
Sorry the photo is so blury. My camera got damaged by SCUBA diving and this is the best photos it takes now.

Comments

[Aunt Elaine]

Easy Rider
Get your motor runnin', Head out on the highway. Lookin' for adventure, in whatever comes your way. Born to be wild! Your story made me think of Dad. I think he could have been a Tino. Thanks again for sharing. Travel safe! Love!

[Scott]

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
If this book hadn't already been written, I think you would have been the one to write it Phil. Thanks for sharing this story about Tino -- he sounds awesome.

[Colette]

Great story
This is a great story. So enjoyed reading it.

[Marilyn Gorun]

Adventure
Excellent adventure, Phil. How will you return to CA and teaching kids who are probably a lot less interesting than Tino? Thanks for sharing. I see a travel book in the future.