BeJesus Part 1

As posted earlier, we've naturally befriended all that come within a 40 kilometer diametre of our Can of Lard. Our buddy Henry, a local boy and our guard at the Coco compound, is a great guitar player. He plays the local genre, which is all 3-3 timing. He can make the guitar sing. Sweet melodies and interesting runs up the neck keeps us interested.
I've lent him my guitar a couple of times. He would take it home, about a 12km bike ride, into the jungle. For this simple favor he has been super friendly and most appreciative. He has asked to buy my guitar or have me donate it to his church. I can't do it because it's my only acoustic, one that my family bought me long ago. And sorry churchy people, I think the church, whatever denomination, are blowing it and the dark side has it's benefit's too.

So Henry - being a quality guy - invites us to his home. He lives in the jungle close to the coast, down a burly road with giant old growth trees and cattle patches. We eat some acid and mushrooms which we had smuggled into Nicaragua, against all common sense and guide book advice. We arrive. We meet some of his family, then go on tour into the woods to check out the sights and meet the rest of family, which, as it turns out, is the entire village. We see Howler Monkeys, which is delightful, because I can now communicate with them. I've trained one to get me a beer from the fridge, and another is now our driver. We also ran into a 3 toed Slough. He just smiled. Just like us...the trip was starting. Armando rolled on by with his mighty team of yoked up oxen, he carried the biggest chicken I've ever seen on the side of a belt strap. He told us that is particular chicken was a descendant of the most vicious fighter in all of the country. His name was Clubber Lange. While telling us stories of Clubber's greatest fights and that of his ancestors, the sky turned a blood red and thunder shook the ground. We knew the Beach Witch was close......

Janjaweeeeeddddd!....This image encapsulates the rum fueled vibe a couple nights back. Our merry band of heathens joined forced with a neighboring cabal of degenerates from the great Canadian North. Together we decided a wild night in town was in order. These boys are an interesting and well traveled lot, many of whom work white collar jobs abroad, as in Yemen or Saudi Arabia. They were understandably a bit leery about our drunken enthusiasm for nighttime high speed travel on poorly maintained dirt roads. "People get robbed" they said. Yeah, other people, not us, we replied. "If you get in an accident you will be responsible" they whined. Get in the fucking car and hold tight, we said! We stacked the land cruiser 7 deep and proceeded to town. As we rounded a curve a couple K's from the casa, the wheels came off. Not figuratively, literally......as in, the rear fucking wheel spun right the hell off and we were driving -skidding- on brake drum, till we ground to a stop on a downhill curve. Kind of a buzzkill. Our tiny jack was insufficient for the job, so we began to stack rocks and boulders trying to lift the vehicle enough to get the wheel back on. Short story long, a nice fellow came along with a second jack, Milner somehow found most of our lug nuts strewn out along the road behind us, and we managed to limp home a couple hours later. There was no pillaging that night. We licked our wounds and bided our time. Oh, and we got a new ride.