Frank was explaining that we would need to make at least one more stop to fill the radiator before we arrived at Peter Bentley’s place. He went on to explain that there was a small stream a short way down over the side of the road where “I” could go and fill the empty Red Stripe bottles but he wasn’t saying why “HE” couldn’t do the same thing. It was getting dark and we were getting nowhere. I thought it over and weighed all the options before agreeing to go. My wife did not like the idea but, at that point, it was either me or her, so I went with my little dollar store flashlight leading the way.
In the dimming light, it was two quick steps followed by a bauxite mud slide down to the small creek below on the seat of my white drawstring pants. I took a minute or so to catch my breath and do a quick inventory of my bones. Check. Red mud everywhere. Check. I filled the empty bottles and climbed back up to the car.
Frank seemed amused but did not say much as we pulled out to continue the trip up the mountain. I kept glancing over at the temperature gauge as both we and the gauge kept climbing. Anxiously, I was trying to anticipate how far we would get before having to stop again. I made up my mind there and then that a repeat trip down the side of the road to get more water was not in the cards for me. Period.
Rounding a sharp corner, I saw a bar named Foxy’s at Peter’s Rock Road and before I could ask Frank a question about it, he volunteered that Peter’s place was only a few chains up the road. That did not help me much as I had no idea how long a chain was but, frankly, I did not want to know right now.
The radiator was steaming again as we pulled up to a house with a young couple sitting on the verandah next to a sign that read “Sense Adventures”. “This is Peter’s place”, announced Frank. I do not know when I was ever so happy to get out of a car in my life. While Frank had the boot open to retrieve the Red Stripe bottles, my wife grabbed our backpacks as I walked over to the couple on the verandah to ask about Peter’s whereabouts.
Gus and Inga from Holland were their names and they had been staying in a bedroom for about a month. I asked about Peter and they told me he would “soon come”. A phrase that I would hear often in Jamaica. I walked back to the car next to Frank who was refilling the radiator when I heard a voice calling my name. I looked around and there was Peter confidently striding towards me with an outstretched hand.
What the Hell??
