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(01/23/23)
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Junglepixiebelize - Recollections of a Gringa Pioneer
Nancy R Koerner - Copyright@2023 - All Rights Reserved
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
"Butting Heads on the Hawkesworth"
It is likely that testosterone is the most dangerous drug in the world. It drives all manner of male conflicts: sports competitions, striving for physical superiority, wealth or social status, rivalries for fair maidens and sexual conquest. And, unfortunately, warfare.
Machismo: a strong sense of manliness, or masculine pride, an assumptive attitude of virility, power, courage, strength, and entitlement to dominate. And never was machismo more evident than in Cayo, on the Hawkesworth Bridge, back in the days when every crossing from either side between the Twin Towns, had become a race to the middle.
The first time I had crossed that bridge, there were the pillars of the iconic structure, narrow single-lane of majestic steel and cables spanning the Macal, and the rumbling staccato of wooden planking as we trundled across. In those days, there were few vehicles in Cayo; we had no opposing traffic. I had never given a thought to “right-of-way.
Machismo: a strong sense of manliness, or masculine pride, an assumptive attitude of virility, power, courage, strength, and entitlement to dominate. And never was machismo more evident than in Cayo, on the Hawkesworth Bridge, back in the days when every crossing from either side between the Twin Towns, had become a race to the middle.
The first time I had crossed that bridge, there were the pillars of the iconic structure, narrow single-lane of majestic steel and cables spanning the Macal, and the rumbling staccato of wooden planking as we trundled across. In those days, there were few vehicles in Cayo; we had no opposing traffic. I had never given a thought to “right-of-way.
But soon afterwards, it had started. As I was about to cross over from Santa Elena heading west, a truck appeared on far side, heading east. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I pulled over, and waited for him to pass. Then, shifting the truck back into “drive,” and making another attempt, I saw another truck coming from San Ignacio. To my surprise, this truck seemed to be accelerating. With attitude. OK, OK. No big deal. I yielded again, and awaited my turn, thinking there really ought to be a sign.
(Wait. What was I thinking? At that time, there wasn’t a single road sign in the entire country. Anywhere. No road signs.
No stop signs. No traffic lights. Really. Oh well. It was part of the charm. (sigh…)
RULE of LOGIC: The first truck to enter the bridge, no matter from which direction, had the right-of-way. Right. I maintained this polite illusion until the day I saw a truck coming from the San Ignacio side and, two seconds later, another truck from the Santa Elena side – I know, because I was right behind him. Clearly, this was going to be a dual. Both trucks SPED UP, and I cringed.
In the States, reckless teenage boys were known to play “chicken,” a deadly game, two cars aiming at each other, testing their nerve in a would-be head-on collision. Note: Teenage girls do not do this. (This is not only an example of testosterone at its worst, but they are usually also driving their parents’ cars. Hijo mio!) Two potential outcomes: 1) one of the boys swerves at the last second, avoiding collision, after which he is teased as being “chicken.” Or 2) neither swerves, there is a head-on collision, nobody is “chicken,” and they are both dead.
On the Hawkesworth, there was no place to swerve -- not on a single-lane suspension bridge, steel railings on either side, and 50’ above the water. Apparently, the goal was not only to accelerate to get to the middle first, but still have time for both vehicles to stop short of collision. (Yikes!)
Soh, di too bali, dehn di kohn haad. Laik too stoban bili goat… Bamsideh! *
Sure enough, the two trucks raced towards each other, and screeched to a halt about ten feet apart in the undefined middle of a 480-foot span. True to their testosterone-inspired insanity, they got out of their trucks, faced each other, and began gesticulating and shouting. By that time, onlookers had gathered on the distant sidelines, grinning at the now highly-entertaining show. Neither man would give in, each demanding that the other back up. The heated argument persisted much longer than it should have, I thought, and the elevated vocals from afar seemed to take on a whole new level of acrimony.
Then I realized there were two factors in play: the “one-up-man-ship” in getting to the center first, and the fact that each driver was likely unable to maneuver a long skinny bridge in REVERSE for a distance of 240 feet. A double-blow to MACHISMO, no? If either man gave in: 1) he would not only lose the race, but 2) also suffer the embarrassment of ineptitude.
With the natural increase in traffic in the 80’s, this became so common that it happened almost every time I came to Cayo. I, myself, was guilty on several occasions -- only because I would be driving across, passively, already more than halfway, and an aggressive driver would floor it. Sometimes I won, and sometimes I lost. But, at least I was good at reversing. And, if forced to back up, the other driver would still have to pass by -- giving me the opportunity to verbally shame him. Besides, I was a "local gringa" now, and often knew the driver.
“Bwai, yu faysi-bad!” I would chide him, playfully. “Fu yu mami noh teech yu beta? **
“Sari, Mis Nancy!” he’d sing out, and wave with a sheepish grin.
Finally, the San Ignacio Police had started charging both drivers, at last breaking the chain and mandating courtesy by force. In time, the Low Bridge was built a half-mile downstream, spanning from Santa Elena to the Cayo savannah. It was a crude, wooden-planked structure – designed to allow flood waters and debris to pass over, rather than under. It allowed for the orientation of vehicles to travel, one-way, west to Cayo, and the Hawkesworth, one-way, eastbound – the beginning of organized traffic circulation in the Twin Towns. But it was still far from a perfect solution, as it could not accommodate heavy trucks for construction projects, and was still subject to flooding.
Initial planning for a third bridge began around 2010, this one to be constructed another mile or so downstream. Floods had been wreaking havoc on the Low Bridge for years, and in 2016, Hurricane Earl virtually destroyed it, creating further motivation and urgency for the completion of the high profile, all-weather superstructure.
The Santa Elena Town Bridge was completed in 2017, and has since provided a wide expanse of two lanes: clean white concrete with sleek lines, and enough shoulder-room for vehicles to pull over. Or swerve.
Bot mek wi lef dat “chikin” bizniz to di yong fool-fool bwais inna the Stayts.***
(Wait. What was I thinking? At that time, there wasn’t a single road sign in the entire country. Anywhere. No road signs.
No stop signs. No traffic lights. Really. Oh well. It was part of the charm. (sigh…)
RULE of LOGIC: The first truck to enter the bridge, no matter from which direction, had the right-of-way. Right. I maintained this polite illusion until the day I saw a truck coming from the San Ignacio side and, two seconds later, another truck from the Santa Elena side – I know, because I was right behind him. Clearly, this was going to be a dual. Both trucks SPED UP, and I cringed.
In the States, reckless teenage boys were known to play “chicken,” a deadly game, two cars aiming at each other, testing their nerve in a would-be head-on collision. Note: Teenage girls do not do this. (This is not only an example of testosterone at its worst, but they are usually also driving their parents’ cars. Hijo mio!) Two potential outcomes: 1) one of the boys swerves at the last second, avoiding collision, after which he is teased as being “chicken.” Or 2) neither swerves, there is a head-on collision, nobody is “chicken,” and they are both dead.
On the Hawkesworth, there was no place to swerve -- not on a single-lane suspension bridge, steel railings on either side, and 50’ above the water. Apparently, the goal was not only to accelerate to get to the middle first, but still have time for both vehicles to stop short of collision. (Yikes!)
Soh, di too bali, dehn di kohn haad. Laik too stoban bili goat… Bamsideh! *
Sure enough, the two trucks raced towards each other, and screeched to a halt about ten feet apart in the undefined middle of a 480-foot span. True to their testosterone-inspired insanity, they got out of their trucks, faced each other, and began gesticulating and shouting. By that time, onlookers had gathered on the distant sidelines, grinning at the now highly-entertaining show. Neither man would give in, each demanding that the other back up. The heated argument persisted much longer than it should have, I thought, and the elevated vocals from afar seemed to take on a whole new level of acrimony.
Then I realized there were two factors in play: the “one-up-man-ship” in getting to the center first, and the fact that each driver was likely unable to maneuver a long skinny bridge in REVERSE for a distance of 240 feet. A double-blow to MACHISMO, no? If either man gave in: 1) he would not only lose the race, but 2) also suffer the embarrassment of ineptitude.
With the natural increase in traffic in the 80’s, this became so common that it happened almost every time I came to Cayo. I, myself, was guilty on several occasions -- only because I would be driving across, passively, already more than halfway, and an aggressive driver would floor it. Sometimes I won, and sometimes I lost. But, at least I was good at reversing. And, if forced to back up, the other driver would still have to pass by -- giving me the opportunity to verbally shame him. Besides, I was a "local gringa" now, and often knew the driver.
“Bwai, yu faysi-bad!” I would chide him, playfully. “Fu yu mami noh teech yu beta? **
“Sari, Mis Nancy!” he’d sing out, and wave with a sheepish grin.
Finally, the San Ignacio Police had started charging both drivers, at last breaking the chain and mandating courtesy by force. In time, the Low Bridge was built a half-mile downstream, spanning from Santa Elena to the Cayo savannah. It was a crude, wooden-planked structure – designed to allow flood waters and debris to pass over, rather than under. It allowed for the orientation of vehicles to travel, one-way, west to Cayo, and the Hawkesworth, one-way, eastbound – the beginning of organized traffic circulation in the Twin Towns. But it was still far from a perfect solution, as it could not accommodate heavy trucks for construction projects, and was still subject to flooding.
Initial planning for a third bridge began around 2010, this one to be constructed another mile or so downstream. Floods had been wreaking havoc on the Low Bridge for years, and in 2016, Hurricane Earl virtually destroyed it, creating further motivation and urgency for the completion of the high profile, all-weather superstructure.
The Santa Elena Town Bridge was completed in 2017, and has since provided a wide expanse of two lanes: clean white concrete with sleek lines, and enough shoulder-room for vehicles to pull over. Or swerve.
Bot mek wi lef dat “chikin” bizniz to di yong fool-fool bwais inna the Stayts.***
Kriol Translations:
* "So, the two guys were coming hard at each other. Like two stubborn billie goats.
Bamsideh!" roughly translates as "BAM!" (watch out!) and "SEE IT THERE."
** "Boy, you are too rude and bold. Your momma never taught you any better?"
*** "But let us leave that playing "chicken" business to the young foolish boys in the States."
* "So, the two guys were coming hard at each other. Like two stubborn billie goats.
Bamsideh!" roughly translates as "BAM!" (watch out!) and "SEE IT THERE."
** "Boy, you are too rude and bold. Your momma never taught you any better?"
*** "But let us leave that playing "chicken" business to the young foolish boys in the States."