The Plight and Peril of Petuna Negra

After three weeks of being carless and having no luck with the the ones we had checked out (title problems, one sold from under our noses or just a sour lemon), Ron takes us to see Mario, his mechanic. His shop is everything you'd expect a mechanic setup would be in Costa Rica: open air with a few wooden pillars holding up a tin roof and a plethora of tools all surrounded by chain link fence and barbed wire (and throw in a few dogs for good measure).

We give Mario the DL on what we are looking for and ask him to keep an eye out. Like the washer, we've got good juju on tap here, and he's got an old Suzuki Samauri that needs some electrical work done but can be knocked out in less than two weeks. She needs a back seat and a gas tank, but the previous owner should still have those. Adam saw my eyes light up and knew I had to have her. On top of that, Mario'll throw in a year guarantee on the motor. We had a deal.

the original Petunia. Yes those are Metal Militia stickers on her side.

Five days into working on our new-old car, who we lovingly named Petunia, Mario rings to inform us of a better kept Samurai he just acquired. That, and Petunia's gas can had been sold. But it didn't matter, and we fell in love all over again with the second Samurai.

Me presentarte Petunia Negra

She had a little problem getting all hot and bothered (that's sexy talk for an overheating engine), but Mario said he'd rebuild it in a few days, and we'd get her at the same time we expected to have the other car.

The day finally rolls around for us to pick her up. It feels good to have four wheels under us again.  We take her for a quick spin to Tamarindo, back to our place, to get gas (closest station is 20km away), and finally to Playa Grande. The parents were in town and so was Aimee, my first friend. (She gets her own story later.) We get on the gravel road to my parents neighborhood, and Adam asks if I want to drive the rest of the way home.

It was like holding a baby-- my baby, for the first time. I gently slide the seat up to reach the pedals,  push in the clutch and give her some gas. She heaves. Sputters. Stalls. I'm crushed. Determined to be the one to pull up to the crowd waiting at home, I twist the key in the ignition. She doesn't start. She didn't even try. Oh my God, I killed my baby! It's at this time I notice she's running a high fever. We pop the hood and give her some time to regain her composure. Adam brings her to the house. The crowd oohs and ahhhhs. We're proud parents, but something just feels a little off.

Over the next few weeks, our play sessions with Petunia Negra are short but sweet. We can drive for 30-45 minutes at a time. She's guzzling anti-freeze. It's enough time to get to the beach and run errands, but we're worried about her

(SIDE RANT: The vocabulary needed when keeping tabs on Petunia Negra is not covered in high school or college Spanish classes. You never learn parts of the car, or how to say anti-freeze, which doesn't even translate. There's no freezing here. It's anti-rust. Or as I learned from stopping in a gas station, it's "el culant".)

Over the next three weeks, Adam makes a few trips to Mario's shop trying to figure it out. At first, we tried the radiator cap. Then the head gasket. They swapped radiators with Petunia Original. She still ran hot. Exasperated, we decide to leave her in Mario's care for  few weeks and let him work his magic. Although I loved my Petunia Negra, she's been difficult. On more than one occasion, I found myself wondering what life would have been like if we had gone with Petunia Original.

Upon returning home, Mario's labors led him to the conclusion that both Samurai's indeed had bad radiators. She's no longer overheating and we're ready to make an hour long trip now. I've been dying to hike Rincon de la Vieja for years and it's less than 2 hours away.

Fast forward two weeks and some change.

My second oldest childhood friend pops down for a few days and we're picking her up in San Jose (4ish hours away). It's Petunia Negras first big trip. A little nervous. But she's been behaving so well lately.

There's no 4 hour drive in the States that's as beautiful as the drive to San Jose so I never mind making the drive. The scenery fades from oceans to countryside winding through mountains and crossing caiman infested rivers, eventually leading us to the bustling Central Valley.

Even saw one of these up in the mountains.

It's a total Pura Vida introduction here for Courtney: cooler full of beer, picturesque farmland dotted with brahmas, deliciouds roadside pipas frias. The mood is light and the company is good. As we talk about her itch to move tropical again (like moving here), she asks if we get bored. As we traipse down a decently paved dirt road and about 10km from home, I assure her there's never a dull moment here. The conversation switches but a short time later, I catch a glimpse of an eye level tire outside Courtney's window. At first I'm wondering how the spare came off the back and was beating down the road. But that idiotic notion was promptly shot down when her side of the car sank into the dirt, and I realized what I saw was a blown tire.

Or not. The tire is in tact. So is the rim. The lug nuts are on tight albeit one is missing. But there lays Petunia Negra's rear driver-side wheel.  And not just the wheel. The drive shaft too.  Although these two pieces completely disconnected from the car and she was hemorrhaging oil, they still stayed perfectly united as a single piece. The tire on its side and drive shaft protruding upwards looked like a tether-ball setup for a hobbit.

The sun is setting and now we're on a dirt road with no lights, but that's OK. Lights impede seeing the stars anyways. Stargazing here is a magnificent sight to behold. Sure we see stars back in the States, but it's not like it is here. So we stargaze and divert traffic around the car until help arrives.

Mario again saves the day (it's a fairly common theme here). This time he is with his wife Lucia and three kids in tow. Mario and Adam stay to fix the car-- it was a shotty wheel bearing locker, and Lucia takes the rest of us home.

So no Courtney, it's never a dull moment here.