So last Thursday, when we left the ruins, we took the direction of San Pedro Sula. Our next stop was supposed to be Masca, on the Caribbean coast, where I know some people from Global Block, a foundation with ties in Brooklyn, NY.
The map of I bought just before leaving New York shows that there was a connection between Cofradia and the coast, going through the mountains. Around 2 p.m., we left the main road to try the mountain road. The first step on the road was Tomala, a village half way between the main road and the coast. As we entered the mountain, it became clear that the dirt road was not going to be as easy as previously thought. Huge changes in altitude, narrow path, animals on the road and river crossing were at every curve.
In addition, as we were advancing and questioning people, we got a lot of conflicting answers about the road condition and time estimates to reach Tomala and the coast.
After two hours, we already knew we would have to stop at Tomala for the night, as the light was dimming. And when we finally arrived there, it appeared that the road stopped there as well. Locals quickly confirmed this. There was no road, our map was wrong. The following day, we would have to backtrack to San Pedro, and use the main road to go along the coast. That was bad news, but after all, we were hay to see this tiny village. When we arrived, there was some kind of town meeting, and participants decided to give us the keys of the church where we could have access to water.
The day after, we were up by 4:30 in the morning, determined to make it to the coast. Then, after few hours going down, as I was driving, something went wrong with the steering, causing us to crash on the side of the road. The good side, fortunately.
We quickly assessed the damage, and realized that the steering gear was broken, the radiator and differential were leaking and the welding on the exhaust pipe cracked.
As I was keeping our belongings, Nadia got a ride to San Pedro, and came back with a mechanic who took the steering gear out of the truck. Then they went back to the city to try to get the part in junkyards. Two hours later, they came back with the US$450 part. It was expensive, but we had no choice. No tow truck will come get us there, in the mountain, and we could not let the truck here, with all the equipment inside. We had to make it to San Pedro before dark.
After changing the part we went down the mountain in the most nerve wracking way.
The mechanic and Nadia in the truck, myself and the son of the mechanic sitting on the tail of the truck, running for water in every river, filling the leaking radiator every minute, the worst noises coming from the distorted steering elements now touching the transmission. In addition, as we got to San Pedro, the traffic got terrible, and thinking about the engine overheating made me drive crazy.
But we finally made it to the house of our mechanic, in the poor suburbs of the city. By then, it was dark already, and we accepted the offer to stay at their place for the night. Once again, and like in every country, we benefited from the help and welcoming attitude from the local population.
The following day, I woke up at 5, and work continued on many parts of the truck. Trying to get the radiator fixed, unbending parts and myriads of other little things were done by 2 p.m.
At this point, the truck could run, but not in the best conditions. It was now Saturday afternoon, and we decided to make it to Masca, on the coast. Few hours later we were there, but by then, we realized we would have to go see a more legit mechanic, and probably a Toyota dealership would be the best.
