CHAPTER 17 Look a Gift Horse in the Mouth I guzzled a bunch more water trying to compensate, filling my belly until it bulged. Sometime within the next half an hour of riding, I finally felt the urge to pee. I left Ville to hold my bike on the shoulder of the road and skittered into the bushes in an overgrown vacant lot and squatted to pee. Only the tiniest amount came out, followed by a burning fire. In my young life I suffered through a handful of bladder infections, so painful it had always ended in emergency room visits followed by the maximum amount of antibiotics allowable. I knew this fire was a bladder infection. We were in the middle of nowhere in the mountains between the border and a village called Chancuva with no clue where to find a doctor. This brought instant anxiety and tears to my eyes. I pulled up my pants, waddled back to Ville, and told him the grim news. He suggested we ride until we found somewhere to pull over and get cold water and electrolytes. With my burning fire, I climbed back in the saddle and kept pedaling south until we came to a roadside tienda and makeshift restaurant, specializing in bagged chips and soda. Ville told the sweet, smiling lady behind the counter that we needed water and electrolytes. I went to find her toilet, basically a hole in the ground with a ratty half-used toilet paper roll next to it. And still the fire. The tears burned my eyes. I couldn't hold them back. As I walked back out to Ville, I was in so much pain I could not hide my tears. The woman looked really concerned. Ville explained my predicament and she immediately took charge of the situation. She doused paper towels in cold water and made me sit down in a chair and put them on my stomach. She ordered Ville to get onto the back of a motorbike with her portly, prepubescent son, who looked barely old enough to walk, let alone drive a motorbike. Ville kissed me, climbed aboard, and they zoomed off in a black plume of smoke. Unable to talk over the deafening roar of the strained motorbike engine, Ville said he clung to the back of the bike as it bumped off the pavement onto a dirt road, bounced and weaved around potholes for another mile before they turned into a dead-end street. The son drove the motorbike right onto the front porch of a block-building without a door surrounded by a mishmash of wood and concrete houses and buildings. Inside, a bookshelf against the back wall was littered with pill bottles and labeled medical boxes. A young man popped out from behind a curtain and stood inquisitively behind the counter as Ville and the son attempted to explain the situation and my symptoms. A young wife then appeared from the back of the shack, which Ville noticed was possibly their house, with a young baby on her hip and toddler in tow. Through broken Spanish and sign language, the young man gave them a package of pills for pain and another package for infection. Ville profusely thanked the young couple and turned to go. "Wait, wait, Gringo. Can I ask, what are you doing here?" the young man curiously asked in Spanish, implying both El Salvador and the middle of nowhere. "My wife and I are traveling by bicycle from Alaska to Argentina. About ten months and 12,000 kilometers so far to get here." Having given the same response so many times, Ville had perfected his responses to any question about our ride. "Do you like El Salvador?" the husband asked, a common question for us. "Oh yes! We love El Salvador. People are very friendly," Ville said. "What do you think of the food here?" the husband asked, the second-most-common question we were asked. "The food is very tasty. I really like the pupusas," Ville added. The young man pauses, looking inquisitively at Ville. "How old are you?" "Thirty-six." "Where are your kids?" the young man asked, genuinely confused. This was quite a common question since we crossed the Mexican border. In Latin American culture, family is important, and children are the lifeblood of the family. By the time a Latina is in her twenties, it is very common to have at least one child. "We don't have any kids," Ville responded with an awkward smile. The young man looked shocked. Then his face softened. He glanced over at his wife, the look of pity swept across their faces. The young man bent down, pulled out a small box from below the plywood counter, placed it on the countertop, and slid it towards Ville. "Es un regalo," he said. Ville looked down at the gift and the bright red name across the package: VIAGRA. Excerpted from Joy Ride: a Bike Odyssey from Alaska to Argentina by Kristen Jokinen All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
