The day I was clothes-lined while standing on top of a moving bus

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Here's the roads that lead to the farm

I was just reading one of Tucker Max's books today, and I couldn't help but think how many times people had read about my antics from my Europe blog and said, "Tom, a lot of ridiculous things happen to you. You are kind of like Tucker Max, but a tamer version." (Aka, I have respect for human kind).

And then I was thinking, what the hell have I been doing not sharing my stories over the past year in Nicaragua with you guys?

I have my reasons, but as my high school football coach, Coach Ryan, used to say, "Excuses are like assholes. Everyone has one, and they all stink."

Butttt since we all have an asshole, why don't I just give you my excuse? The truth is, I have been worried that if I post my stories, Peace Corps will see them and they might kick me out. But, after getting used to it here, and knowing I work my ass off, and do my job well, these stories are just the treasures that come along with such a fun ride. So it's almost obligatory I share them with you.



Let me tell you about the time I decided to play my new favorite game of riding on top of a moving bus, and how that almost led to me being decapitated.

It was Christmas Day, and I already live in a real mountainous rural town in Nicaragua, but to celebrate baby Jesus' birth, we decide to take a trip up further into the mountains to our family house "on the farm" to go kill and roast a pig. There are some people in my Nica family that really like to drink heavily out on the farm.

If you know nothing about Nicaragua, it has been the second poorest country in the Western Hemisphere for the past decade, so when you told of rural farm houses, it's modest means. It's also beautiful, pristine land and wonderful, humble people.  But it explains this:

I kid you not, this one day, this one man brought with him what appears to be an old gas tank canister, a reeeaallll dirty one, and he announces "Tom, quiere un trago."

He was like, "Tom wants a shot." It wasn't a question, just a statement. But he is a jolly man and probably only wants me the best for me I think. So, I kind of gave him a suspect look (you know, the one where you kind of squint your eyes a little, purse your lips, and just look at the other person). I was obviously insinuating that I was intrigued, yet not saying yes, nor no. I wanted to see where it went. And what substance came of out the old gasoline canister.

And WOULD. YOU. BELIEVE IT. What came out of it was nothing shy than the most crystal-clear liquid I have ever seen in my life (well... besides water, which I see every day... and is just as crystal clear). But I'm sure you can imagine my relief, and utter astonishment at seeing something clean just come out of a canister that I would believe you if you told me it had been through a World War II skirmish and back (but heavily wounded).

So anyway, all the men are sitting around drinking soup and ripping shots of "kousoosa." Yea, that's the wrong spelling, but I've asked like 4 people how to spell it, and half of the letters are different than the spelling of the last person. Anyway, it's home-made liquor from corn, and everyone is getting hammered off of it.

I almost never drink since I joined the Peace Corps, which makes holidays and friendly gatherings dangerous because College Tom Ford wants to join in on the fun, and College Tom Ford keeps forgetting that after college, you drink less, and alcohol may or may not affect you way more than before.


I'll skip right to the bus: I get in, and I'm sitting next to a woman, and I'm like, "do you think they would allow me to ride on top of the bus?" She was just totally perplexed in general. I proceed to tell her I've always wanted to.

Now, this is a bus that is here in Nicaragua because the U.S. ships their buses here when they don't pass inspection, from what I'm told. Its hard to disagree because it has a hole in the floor the size of my foot, and I kid you not, one month ago the bus that does a mountain-route that I used to take in the morning to school, the brakes failed while going up a huge incline. (It was a Sunday, so I wasn't on it). To avoid crashing into a river at the bottom of the incline, the driver wisely (I'm serious) crashed the bus into the side of the mountain, and all 32 people went to the hospital. None died. I stopped taking that bus.

The steepest parts of the mountain are paved. Just fyi, horses are more common travelers than cars on the mountain roads

Now, I've ridden on top of MANY other trucks and moving vehicles since being here, usually out of necessity, because it's too packed to get on the vehicle otherwise (and the bus workers always tell you there is room). So, I was kind of already a pro at riding on top.

The bus stops at someone's farm to load up stuff, and I get on top. This is where the magic begins. When the bus starts going, I immediately feel a power that I can only imagine is what a god would feel. It was like having wings and flying through a mountain, like I was dreaming, it was like...

Well, it was like standing up on top of a moving bus on a mountainous, non-paved, pot-holed, shitty road, which is exactly what was happening. Now, it's not like I was standing straight up (that would be dumb), so I was wisely crouched in an athletic position.

There were branches immediately above the level of the bus, appearing about every 50 yards. It was awesome. It became a playful game of my survival.

Or... the branches were apparently closer than ever 50 meters. But who's counting

I would be standing up, and with about 10 yards to go, I would fall flat down, and the branches would wiz over head. It was exhilarating. My mind was racing. All I could think of was how I was going to have my friends over to try this. All of them- I had to show them all this wonder I just discovered.

I'm going to start a revolution in extreme athletics! I am going to call it Bus-Surfing. When my brother comes, we will do it. When my fellow Peace Corps Volunteers come to visit, we will do it. When my friends from 'Murica come to visit, we will do it. When my mom comes to visit, we will ... Just kidding. I'm not stupid, guys.

(Aside: Actually, I've never even told her this story happened, so I hope she enjoys reading this.)

Okay, so Bus-Surfing last for a half hour til we are pulling up to my town. The dirt and rock road becomes "smooth cobblestone" (does anyone else who speaks Spanish know how to say "adoquinado" in English?) and I need to get one more look back at the utter beauty of the mountains surrounding my town before they go out of site.

I look in front of me, make sure there are no branches (we are about approaching the small residential area), and there are none in sight. I'm clear.

So, I turn around keep my feet facing forward, and only turn my torso and my head around so I'm looking back. I'm just totally soaking it in. And then as I am turning my head back around...

BOOOOMMM!

I am smacked SO hard in the face with something, and thrown so fast onto the floor of the roof. I can't imagine others inside the bus weren't concerned when they heard that sound above them.

 I was searing in pain, curled up like a little baby bitch in fetal position, totally trying to capture what had just happened.

I was in so much pain I couldn't move for several minutes.

So, it turned out that apparently, since my town has electricity, there are these things called telephone wires. And those wires are a little bit hard to see ahead in the distance when the sun is setting! You would think those idiots would put a sign up that says "watch out for mischievous telephone wires," or something.

But no, nothing.

The telephone wire had caught me right on my cheekbone, totally off guard, and for those of you who know where your cheek is located, it's right above your neck. Can you imagine what would have happened if that line landed 5 inches below where it did?

Moreover, let me tell about someone you haven't considered yet.

Now, I was directly in the middle of the bus when this happened. When a bus is moving forward at 25 miles per hour, and you are therefore moving at the same speed, when you get stopped, and the bus keeps moving, that means you "fly back." Know what I mean?

Well, luckily for me, these buses move a lot of cargo, so there is about an 8-inch guard rail along the top of the bus. That's is precisely what caught me from falling off the back of the bus.

my hand that hit the guard rail

My town is pretty small, so I knew our bus stop (aka, at our house), would be coming up very soon. So sure enough, as I try to get down from the bus, I become very lightheaded. I've felt this feeling before. I am going to pass out.

I don't know how I did it, but I got down. I pretend like nothing happened, apart from the blood that was running down my hand. I proceed to get down on my hands and knees (because I thought that would help me feel better?). Then I pretend to tie my shoes. Then I was ready to walk in.

I would like to tell you I had the balls to get back up there and try it again, because hell, I'm no quitter. But, you know, sometimes you've gotta make a wise decision, and decide not to stand on top of a moving bus again after you've been drinking, and try to dodge approaching objects that could potentially kill you.

a pic of me walking back on that road with some friends one day