There is only so much you can say about teeth. I have now done close to 550 surveys. It’s definitely time to wrap this up. Mostly I spend the day making a valiant effort to look excited and engaged as I talk to child #437 about how many confites they eat per day, but every once in a while something funny happens. I was asking a 12-year-old boy what grade he was in a few days ago. I have always found it precarious that the word “sixth” in Spanish is “sexto.” Poor kid told me he was in “sexo” grade. Yup, sex grade. In front of his mom and everyone. He was a young twelve, I mean, he still had innocence about him, and he blushed furiously. Everyone had a good laugh and I told him how I had recently asked a girl how many “anos” (anuses) of kindergarten she had attended. That’s another precarious word, and that girl had already been annoyingly giggly.
Friday did not include any such moments of hilarity. It was also another day that I cursed my trusting nature that believed the woman who told me I didn’t need a mud tire on the front wheel of my motorcycle. Halfway between San Nicolas and San Antonio Baltazar asked me to walk. This happens from time to time, so I wasn’t concerned until Baltazar stopped and parked the bike about 50 yards later. I knew we weren’t at the school yet. As I walked toward him, slightly confused, I totally wiped out. The rocks under me just slid away. I wasn’t confused anymore. We walked the next mile, straight up, in the mud.
I already told my only good survey story, so let’s skip to the ride later that day to La Esperanza. I had packed my weekend bag and we were riding at a moderate pace to try to outrun the afternoon storm. Up ahead, a bull was grazing by the side of the road. Around here, you control your cows by tying ropes around their horns. If you want to park your cow somewhere so it can graze, you tie the other end of this rope around a tree. This rope can also be used to take your cow for a walk. I assume it doesn’t work quite the same as walking a dog, but it kind of looks like that. The best was a man walking a cow that was easily three times his weight. I could almost hear him telling it to sit and stay. Picture the exact opposite of the flamboyant men with toy sized dogs on Katy Trail.
But I digress. This cow had spotted some delicious looking grass across the road from where his rope was tethered creating a trip line for us. We stopped the bike. The bull looked at us and tossed his horns menacingly. I thought of Pamplona. I think in Pamplona you run away from the bulls. Instead, Baltazar revved the engine with his red helmet flashing in the afternoon sun and started herding the bull out of the way with the bike. The bull obeyed. I waited for it to give us an indignant kick as we skirted past, but it didn’t. I’m not going to try that on my own.
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