Due to its graphic content and foul language, this post has been rated “R”
If you’ve been following along you know how we got here, and we’re glad you’re back for more!
But if you’re new, why don’t you start with the begining.
Part 5 of a 6 part series. (see bottom)
Part 5- WTF just happened?
I just had to suck your d@#K?
He’s speeding quickly away from the scene and I’m looking back and seeing no headlights and hearing no motor.
We’re good. We’re totally good. OMG, we’re out of it! “Baby, wait, lemme get this straight, we got held up at gun point and the worst thing that happened is I had to s*** your….?”
My head falls back a little to let out the laughter that was supposed to follow but instead of the sound of my chuckles….
He didn’t give me time to fully enjoy that moment of relief, now he’s following suit.. his bike way faster than ours, catching up quick, and let’s not forget the loaded gun.
But now we’ve caught up to the straightaway that connects our dirt road to the almost parallel main drag and Gaby goes for the more-than-90-degree turn (more like 120) without barely hitting the breaks.
In the dark
He’s my hero
Buddy slows down but not enough, his bike is way faster and we’re two thirds of the way to the main drag when he catches up to us.
Gaby pulls a sly little maneuver. Hit the breaks and fakes a right swerve, making the guy slow down and veer right, while Gaby immediately downshifts and gives her all she’s got again.
For a split second he was level with us again and managed to yell out a “Please just come back and help me find my battery” before we were yards ahead of him again, and instantly doing another 90 degree left turn.
From that road you can’t really see what’s coming from the right, but you have a clear view of the left, we’re going back toward Cabarete, so Gaby makes another perfect high speed turn in the dark, onto oncoming traffic.
Within a split second he’s done a head check, veered into the right lane, turned on his headlights, has told me to get aerodynamic and has his finger tight on the horn.
The only time I’ve ever felt like I was going anywhere close to this fast was Volcano Boarding in Nicaragua. (82kph on a piece of plywood on volcanic pumice, another story for another day)
Don’t go home!
I look back, He’s nowhere to be seen. This time I think we’re ok. We’re being super loud, he’d be really stupid to try to get us now, but still, what if he’s following from far.
“baby, don’t go home”
… except for the incessant horn… silence. I can briefly see the faces of the people we pass looking up from what they’re doing in confusion
“you ok, did you hear me?
“yeah, just trying to figure out where to go”
… we’re back to populated areas now, we’ve got streetlights, we’re ok
well, I mean, kind of, these are apparently the most dangerous driving conditions in the world, so speeding down them at night on a motorcycle isn’t what I’d normally consider OK, but it’s all relative right?
…somewhere that we can blend into the crowd and disappear for a while… where can we go?
“Lax” I blurt out.
Lax is a beach bar, it’s always busy, and in front of the bar all the motoconchos park their motorcycles, we can disappear.
“Alright” he says and we keep going full speed, flying past traffic, until we get there.
The high speed chase got my brain to catch up and the adrenaline too. Now I’m shaking. I get off the bike while Gaby tells the conchos what just happened in a few words and tells them if anyone asks about the bike not to say shit.
“Oh if anyone asks” one of them stands up to say “We’re fucking him up!”
Two beer, Two shots.
I walk in first and pass the long bar on the left, and without stopping, or thinking, order “Dos tequila, Dos Presidente” and sit down at the first table on the darker beach side of the bar, my eyes finally understanding what it must be like to be the eyes of those deer that stop dead in your headlights.
Gaby follows me in and takes his shirt off just when my ex-coworker and our waiter walks up to take our order.
“Aye pero tu ‘ta fuerte!” he says to Gabriel, complimenting my hero’s upper body, while our wide eyes are stuck to each other, locked in a reciprocal gaze that spans eons of conversations.
The waiter looks at both of us like, “Wait, what did I just walk in on” and Gaby turns around to ask me to get the sand off his back, revealing a giant gash across his right shoulder.
“I gotta get the sand out of my eyes” he says
Only then do I process that I’d seen the fucker throw sand in his face while we were wrestling for the gun… why didn’t I think of that?!!?
He steps away toward the Men’s and I start blankly recalling what just happened to my friend.
The drinks come, Gaby’s come back and has taken over the story, expresses his lack of interest in the alcohol, so I pound all 4 drinks down.
“how do we go home?” I say
“Eric” he says.
This is where we remember the guy just ran off with Gaby’s phone.
“Fuck, he’s got all your contacts… aw baby, that’s scary, what do we do?”
We end up going straight to Eric’s house (which we can easily sneak to from the beach, unseen if someone was following) where we ask the guard to call Eric.
Turns out we interrupted a fancy dinner with his parents, but he’s a pal and he shows up quick. By now I’m sorry he was the first person I thought of when this whole ordeal started.
We tell him the story and he listens with a bunch of “holy shits” and tells us he’s got a metal detector coming in the next day that he ordered for Semana Santa.
He gets us home safe, but I’m having trouble falling asleep…
skip on over to Part 6- The Aftermath…