Stare down with a backhoe . . .

Road construction here on the dirt roads of Guancaste comes as a bit of surprise. One moment you're bumping along, doing your best to keep the Trooper on the road, and the next you hit a smooth watered down stretch. Immediately you let your foot of the gas and coast to a crawl, eyes scanning, body tense. Where are they, you ask yourself sweeping the road for any signs. You know they're there, you just need to wait for them to appear . . .

There we were, chatting on our drive to Avellanas for our weekly Bible study when suddenly the road ended and a river of deep dirt appeared. Knowing it had not been there the week before, we looked at each other and then back at the road. Watching us from two kilometers down were three earth movers. A bulldozer, backhoe and water track. Like a duel at sundown we both paused, wondering who would make the next move. "Which way do we go?" Natalie asked aloud and I didn't have a clue. How could we go? I wondered with the road a river of dirt, the current so strong our tires would surely stop turning and we'd be stuck yet again (and it was only Tuesday). Attempting the most feasible way, we pressed on and so did the backhoe. Dropping it's shove to the ground it came towards us, like a determined yellow mule it plowed forward while we held straight for it. As the distance between us began to close, we looked at the driver as he stared us down. With no witnesses in sight, not even a cow in the surrounding fields, we could easily be buried under the new improvements and no one would discover us till the next road project a week later.

"Which way, which way?" Natalie cried as I desperately scanned the road for another path. "Try that way," I hollered pointing to a titled goats trail along the side of the road just beyond the parked water truck. "Are you sure?" I wasn't but the backhoe wasn't slowing and we couldn't afford to get plowed under. Not when I spotted a circle of dark birds in the sky. Vultures. Someone else had tried and failed. We couldn't meet the same fate. "Yes!" Jerking the steering the wheel to the left, the Trooper edged along the dirt mounds, tires sinking in, slowly crawling away from the path of the backhoe. Tipping to the left as two tires touched solid rock, we edged beyond the reach of the water trucks grasp. Two workers watched us creep by in silence, our side mirror nearly clipping them in the chest as they refused to budge.

Returning to solid pot hole paradise, silence rode in the car as we took a moment to utter a prayer of thanks before a small voice in the back uttered "That was fun." Breaking out in giggles of relief, Natalie uttered "You just have to laugh, because what else can you do?" Wise words from a wiser person, especially when it comes to living here.

With no orange cones or men in vests, coming upon road construction here normally means you suddenly find yourself on a torn up road, covered six inches deep with newly poured dirt, looking for any possible way to keep going. That's what happened today. . . .