Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Three Motorcycles

I know that I haven't been posting much lately, but that's because I've been too busy. Yes, things here have been happening at an extreme pace, which leaves little time for blog posts. However, it looks like I have a little downtime, and am going to start catching up. There is too much (or I'm too lazy) to tell you all in order, so I'm going to break it up into stories for you. Much better that way, if you ask me. (Well, you didn't, I know, but this is my blog, so back off).

The traffic here in Sri Lanka is, to a Canadian eye, out of control. Actually, when you spend some time here, you can see that it operates according to its own rules. Of course, those rules include the right of weight on the road, people cheerfully passing whenever they think they can wedge the car through a gap, and lots of ducking and weaving. I've gotten to the point where I am comfortable as a passenger in car. Now, the fact that I'm comfortable in a car is an important one. For it is more than just cars, vans and other four wheeled vehicles on the roads here. There are three wheelers, which are little three wheeled taxis that zip and dart all over the place. Then there are the motorcycles. These are everywhere, from small scooters, to enormous bikes, and everything in between. People ride on them in pairs, in trio, occasionally, whole families, with Dad driving, Mom hanging on behind, and the kids stuck in and around them, wherever there is a bit of space and room to hang on. The motorcycle drivers weave in and out of traffic, going up between the lanes, driving on the shoulders, anything to get a couple of car lengths ahead.

Many is the time that I have looked on the motorcycles on the road, and given thanks that I was not on one. The traffic may be bad, I would tell myself, but at least you have a solid vehicle around you (and occasionally a seatbelt) to absorb any impact.

I was spending a couple days in Nuwara Eliya last week. This misty hill station is called "Little England" for it's cool wet climate. English vegetables can be grown there, but the main crop is tea. Tea covers the rolling hills that surround the town, tea as far as the eye can see (which isn't far because of the mist). I was staying with Fr. Lalith, the rector of Holy Trinity parish.

One morning he told me that a parishioner, John, was going to take me to a tea factory. "OK" I said happily "that sounds great. I can't wait!" John arrived as we were having breakfast, and as soon as we finished, we prepared to go. I walked out the front door, looking left and right to see where John had parked his car. "Oh, right" said Fr. Lalith "You'll need these", and he handed me a helmet and jacket. "The bike is just over there".

This was unexpected, but what could I do? Surely I could survive a few minutes on a bike. I tried to put the helmet on. Then I tried again. I realized that there was a little problem... well, a big problem. You see, I was blessed at birth with a plus sized cranium. This has its advantages in life, such as when brain sizes are being measured, or prizes given out for largest head circumference (hasn't happened yet, but I'm waiting). It also has its disadvantages, such as when I am trying to wear any kind of head gear. Hats must be picked out with care. Hard hats, when I was in the habit of wearing them, would be cranked to the largest size. Helmet must be properly sized, for there is not much stretch in a helmet.

It was clear that Fr. Lalith had been expecting a man with a pint sized noggin. This helmet was at least a size, maybe two sizes too small. I managed to get it on the back of my head, did up the strap under my chin, and hoped it would not be needed.

I got on the bike. Now, I had been observing the motorcyclists in Sri Lanka, and noticed that it is not the done thing to hold on to the driver. The cool rider holds on behind, or not at all. Well, the latter was not an option for me- I was going to be holding on to something! So I reached behind me, found a little grip, and held on for dear life.

Actually, the first couple rides went well. The roads were bumpy, but I managed to stay on the bike. After a couple of stops (to a Youth for Christ office and a waterfall), we got on the bike again to go to the tea factory.

I was determined this time to put the helmet on properly, and I jammed and I crammed until the bulk of my head was encased in plastic. Sure it was a bit tight, but we wouldn't be going far, or so I assumed.

Half an hour later I made John stop the bike. We had been riding out into the hills, into the gathering mist with no signs of stopping. My head felt like it was about to implode. With some difficulty, I levered the helmet off, and returned it to its old loose position.

Upon leaving the tea factory, it started to rain. When it rains in Nuwara Eliya, it comes down in torrents, as if the sky was anxious to be rid of her burden of water, and was pouring it all out at once. It rained so much that the bike, not a very powerful specimen, couldn't make it up the hills. One of us was left to walk up the hills, and it wasn't the driver. After lunch at his house, John announced that we would leave the bike and take the bus. I was grateful for an end to my motorcycle adventures.

Flashforward a week or so. It was Sunday morning, and I had just finished breakfast. I was then in a town called Moratorwa, visiting Holy Emanuel Parish. I was supposed to meet Fr. Nilanga after the 6:00 am service to go to one of the other points of the parish, but he had not appeared, so I went home for breakfast. Just as I finished, the door rang, and Oceln, my host went to answer it. It turned out to be a young man waiting to take me to the service.

I ran out the door, excited to see another church. I stopped dead when I saw his mode of conveyance... another motorcycle. This wasn't the tame dirtbike size of John in Nuwara Eliya, either. This was a full sized beast! The driver gestured for me to get on. He didn't provide a helmet. To be fair, he didn't have one for himself either.

We roared off, over the narrow bumpy streets. To give the driver credit, he managed to avoid most of the pot holes. It wasn't his fault that the road was mostly one big pot hole, due to the recent torrential rains.

Upon arriving at the church fifteen minutes later, I carefully felt my head all over. It appeared to be whole. I swore that was my last time on a motorcycle

Until the next day. Fr. Pradeep, a curate at Holy Emanuel, had offered to take me to the School for the Blind and the School for the Deaf. The only catch was that we would have to take the bike. I didn't want to ride, but did want to see the schools. By some miracle of sizing, the helmet he handed me actually fit. I thought that this ride would be different, that this time it would be safe, and maybe even fun...

Until he wheeled out the bike. The thing was twenty years old, and tiny. It was made to fit two very svelt people, and there was just barely enough room on the saddle for the father and I. Still, just barely is still enough, and we got on. I asked Fr. Pradeep where to hold on. "There is nowhere!" He shouted cheerfully "You'll have to hold on to me by my cincture!"* I found my own hold on the underneath of the seat.

We were off, cutting and weaving through the heavy city traffic, breathing in the exhaust fumes, jumping off the stop lights, and going very, very fast.

After an interesting time at the schools, we got back on the bike. This time it was beginning to rain. As we took off down the street, getting soaked within the first couple minutes, I could hear over the rain and the traffic Fr. Pradeep shouting back to me "There's a Sri Lankan theologian who says that you have to be baptized in the theology of the island! I guess this is your baptism!"

He was loving it. Loving being out on his bike in the rain and the traffic, loving the speed and the passenger. As I listened to him laugh at his own joke, I realized that I was loving it too. Somewhere along the line I had stopped expecting to die with every turn, and had begun to enjoy the ride.

I'm still not ready to try driving here though.

3 comments:

  1. oh dear, make sure you hold on tight!

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  2. You made your dad and I laugh out loud. Perhaps we should begin praying a bit longer for you every day.

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  3. You kill me, Will. Glad you're still in one peice and enjoying the experience...

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