«Due to a premonition Alberto didn’t want to drive, so I sat up front thought we only did a few kilometers before stopping to fix the failing gearbox. A little further on, as we rounded a tight curve at a good speed, the screw came off the back brake, a cow’s head appeared around the bend, then many more of them, and I threw on the hand brake which, soldered ineptly, also broke. For some moments I saw nothing more than the blurred shape of cattle flying past us on each side, while poor Poderosa gathered speed down the steep hill. By an absolute miracle we managed to graze only the leg of the last cow, but in the distance a river was screaming toward us with terrifying efficacy. I veered on the side of the road and in the blink of an eye the bike mounted the two-meter bank, embedding us between two rocks, but we were UNHURT.»
Kasualitateak existitzen ez direla esango dute batzuek, estatistika kontu soilak direla besteek. Arrazoia batzuek zein besteek dutelarik ere, idazteko nahikoa argudio da Laos-eko hegoaldean motoz nenbilela, gertatutako bitxikeria. Izan ere, ordu bakar batzuk igaro ziren “Che” Guevararen liburuaren pasarteak irakurri eta bertan kontatutakoak errealitate bihurtu zirenetik. Ñabardura gutxi gehituko nizkioke hark idatzitakoari, eta biok bizitako pasadizoen artean diferentziarik izatekotan, gertaeren ordenan bakarrik egongo dira.
Nire bizipenen kronologia jarraituz:
Ernesto «Che» Guevara
The Motorcycle Diaries (62.orr)
Pronostikoa: jertsearen hirugarren botoiaren apurketa, dozena pare bat puntu galtzetan (ipurdi aldean) eta 4$ hurrengo herriko tailerrean kolpeak margotzeko. Beste zauririk ez!
Eta arratsalde berean…
«We found a space in the best garage in the area and someone who would be able to do the soldering, a short and friendly boy called Luna who once or twice took us home for lunch. We divided our time between working on the bike and scrounging something to eat in the homes of the many curiosity seekers who came to see us at the garage. Next door was a German family, or one of German origin, who treated us handsomely. We slept in the local barracks.
The bike was more or less fixed and we had decided to leave the following day, so we thought we’d throw caution to the wind with some new pals who invited us for a few drinks. Chilean wine is great and I was drinking it unbelievably quickly, so much so that by the time we went on to the village dance I felt ready to take on the world. The evening progressed pleasantly as we kept filling our bellies and our heads with wine. One of the particularly friendly mechanics from the garage asked me to dance with his wife because he’d been mixing his drinks and was not feeling very well. His wife was hot and clearly in the mood and, full of Chilean wine, I took her by the hand and tried to steer her outside. She followed me meekly but then… «
Ernesto «Che» Guevara
The Motorcycle Diaries (61.orr)
…bakoitzak imajina dezala bukaera, dena ez dut publiko egingo eta! Jeje