Dominical Dot Biz

Part III of III
If you are just finding these articles, this is Part III of III. You might want to start the series by clicking the following links: Part I || Part II
After sitting there for awhile in that post-terror state, I decided to walk around. Opening the door I stepped down into the water and found that it came up to just above my knee. My cell phone has a flash light in it, so I put that on and began to walk upstream. The night was gorgeous. Now that I was away from the lights of the car, the blackness seemed to lift slightly and there was a glow from the sliver moon, and the countless stars. Then I had my second scariest moment, but this one was entirely from the contents of my mind.

As I waded along through the river, looking for the outlet of the road on this side of the river, the thought occurred to me: “Ben, you’re in Samara Costa Rica, in the middle of nowhere. It’s a rather wild place. Mightn’t there be some crocodiles about these parts?” Suddenly, all of the floating river debris, of which there was quite a bit, suddenly became crocodiles stalking this lost gringo. It didn’t last long, but there for a moment I felt the presence of one of these behemoths in the water and sent an additional dose of adrenaline through the system, just sort of as aperitif to the main course. After that I just simply decided that there weren’t any crocodiles, since I really had no choice with respect to being in the water there, and I calmed down a bit.

Finally I found the out-ramp, about 25 meters upstream from where my car sat burbling. In my natural chemical induced state of giddiness I started to think about my predicament. The car was stuck, and not just a little bit. You know how when your car gets stuck and you put it in gear to try and coax it forward, or you put it in reverse to ease it out of its stuckedness? You can kinda feel the car lurch forward and backward. Well, my car felt like it was in neutral even though all four wheels were in motion. There was no motion whatsoever. So I was what I would call, stuckisimo. This means that I would need to get some help. The problem with this conclusion was that I was 6 kilometers from the nearest resort, and I had no cell reception. And even when I found someone, what were they going to be able to do to help? No one else would be able to get out there to my car. So I felt just a little consternated by the situation. So I did what any red blooded, lost gringo male would do in this situation. I walked aimlessly around. This seemingly aimless activity yielded some pretty good fruitage. I found a signal area for my cell phone. I was able to call my family and let them know of my predicament. They in turn were able to notify the resort people of my situation, who in turn, responded as I had: they ran around, without really knowing what to do. So I signed off hoping that the situation would change and that somehow magically, my car would get out of the river.

The area that I was in was affected by the tide of the ocean. The tide was, as luck would have it, high at the moment of my crossing attempt. Now the tide was starting to recede and I noticed that the muffler sound was no longer a blub-blub-blub-blub, but a normal, muffler-in-the-air sound. This, I felt, had to be good. So, lacking a clear purpose, I waded back down to my car and decided to sit there.

After some time, jungle up above the out-ramp showed some illumination as a car passed along, illuminating the trees with dancing shadows. The fellow arrived at the river and wisely stopped. He noticed my car’s headlights shining askew down in the part of the river where a car ought not be and did what any red-blooded Tico male would do, he honked. So I waded back up to him. He had a coupe that had no hope of crossing this high-ish tide waterway. So he asked me if I was stuck, to which I replied, in my still chemically induced silly-state: “oh no, everything is fine. I thought it would be a nice time of night to cruise the river and see whats up.” He did not grasp that I was joking and so ignored my comment. So I attempted to sober up and admitted that I was indeed stuck.

Well, so at this point, I am deciding to make a long story short. He took my cell number, drove back up into the jungle to another crossing that he knew about that was shallow and crossable (Why hadn’t he just gone there to begin with? I don’t know, nor do I care, and actually, I’m glad he didn’t.) He got to the nearest establishment where lo and behold, there was a back hoe that was able and willing to come to the river and pull me out for a fee of 10,000 colones ($20.00 US). I have here attached a photo that didn’t turn out so well but they do give an idea of what it all looked like.

The process of getting pulled out of the river was enhanced by the usual Tico (Costa Rican) friendliness and the conversation was vibrant as the recently arrived resort staff member joined in the festivities of me getting pulled out and all was fine. I paid the 10,000 plus a 5,000 colon tip and the staff member led the way to the resort where the festivities were under way in what is an extraordinarily beautiful beachside resort. The area was lit up with just the right sort of torch lights, illuminating the dance floor and the outdoor tables and buffet that they were putting away when I arrived. I was late, but it wasn’t over, so I guess you could say that I made it. (The staff was extremely attentive and had made a plate for me which they insisted I sit and eat, and fussed extensively about making sure that I was OK)

I hadn’t seen my entire family together in nearly a year. My two daughters, my son, my two grandkids (I know, I’m not old enough to be a granddad, but my daughters each have a child of four years, so apparently I am), my wife whom I hadn’t seen in months as well, and some dear old friends from Colorado that I had not seen for some 9 years. The oddly silly effect of the trauma had diminished some but had not disappeared entirely, and so now gave way to the wonderful human emotion of extreme appreciation for the simple fact of being alive, and having so much. My heart welled with emotion as I got numerous hugs and concern was expressed. I told and retold my tale, while hearing of the hub-bub of running about that my situation had caused to the goings on there, with everyone trying to locate someone that could help me out and, was I alright, and so on.

The lesson that I have learned from this is “Dumbest Thing That I Have Ever Done” is: the next time that I encounter a river at night, the bottom of which I cannot see, and that I have never driven across, I’ll not drive into it. Oh, and next time I’ll use a map.

This entry was posted on Thursday, January 31st, 2008 at 10:08 pm and is filed under History, Lifestyle, Mental Meanderings. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.