I lay in bed having lazily returned there after a spot of dawn boat-pushing. I heard the loud rythmic booming of somebody’s grotesque ego approaching. Then an awful crunching noise. I ran the thirty meters to the beach expecting to find one end of my boat torn off but it was much worse than that:
-A large man covered in blood lying on the sand.
-A motorcyle, smashed to bits.
-A young man and woman lying motionless in the water.
-Another young man standing over the two motionless ones, holding his head weeping, crying out at intervals “They killed themselves, they killed themselves”.
Two bassholes (also known as dickless fuckwits) complete with medallions, string vests and baseball caps on backwards, stood drunkenly by their car – still booming, huge “muffler”, coffee table bolted on the trunk. I had them turn off the “music” then call an ambulance on their cellphone. Another man was attending the big guy so I checked the two in the water. Both were breathing and unmarked except for some blood leaving the nose of the girl. Others gathered, I forbade the new arrivals to move these two, fearing spinal injuries and figuring that the two inches of water they lay in would not hurt them. We flagged down a taxi and helped the large man into it, he was badly messed up but amazingly conscious, and off they went towards Veracruz. I can’t imagine the awful journey he must have had. Incredibly, after about ten minutes the two in the water regained consciousness and staggered to their feet. The girl had a back problem and bled from both nose and ears and was confused. Both were taken away by friends.
Two motorcycles had been racing the bassholes down the beach after a three-day drinking binge. The large fellow was out for a stroll and one bike hit him at full speed. He sustained broken ribs, internal injuries, headwounds, one arm broken in three places, a broken shoulder and a broken ankle, but lived. he turned out to be a highly-placed state official so this is being taken very seriously; I have twice been interviewed by some real policemen, a forensic team came and so on. The driver of the bike escaped, vanished, which is the thing to do here in the land of accepting responsibility.
By the time the story reached Mata de Uva, the next village northwards, it was myself who had been hit, and I had died in hospital, so I had some worried visitors later which was touching.
I was an anarchist, naively believing that left to themselves people would behave reasonably, but here I see what happens when there is no threat of punishment for absolute disregard for one’s fellows. This story, death on the beach from nutcases out for kicks, is way too common, as are a thousand other troubles of daily life that simply needn’t be. It is not good for people to live with so many annoyances, impoverishments, inconveniences and dangers caused by the sociopaths amongst them. I understate things here; this place is way out of control and getting worse for most every day. Mexicans, I say it’s time to get out the big sticks! But who could be trusted to wield them, where corruption is pandemic and few have the least conception of what is just?
A capsize in the surf whilst returning from a long run to Boca del Rio. We’d had an amazing ride, 14 kilometers at 8 or 9 knots most of the way, just flying along with the boat racing diagonally up swells and leaping into the space beyond their ridges. I see why they call these Flying Proas. It was just thrilling. We again encountered the Naval academy cadets out in their sailboats and this time we joined their race and we were soundly thrashed, being unable to point upwind as well as they, nor change tack as quickly. Might do better on a longer course because our speed is greater reaching and running.
Shortly after we left them my mainsheet camcleat did not release when I tugged and we went over. Capsize recovery system 4000 failed, Gringo Jack nearly drowned in his waterproofs, we lost sunglasses, knife, clothing and my Go-Pro HD video head camera, most upsetting. Hole in the sail, damage to one tiller and a snapped windward mast-support stick. More work to do. I was able to right the boat only after letting the sail go completely to get pounded in the surf. It is all a bit discouraging. I jury-rigged the boat and we arrived home well after dark, cold and tired.
This morning I launched in the dark (for I am getting quite comfortable sailing about in the blackness even on wild seas) in order to go looking for the camera on the Navy’s beach, a restricted area but hell I want my camera back. It is waterproof but it sank, apparently. No luck but I did meet the Navy cadets and Captain who were most friendly and all struck me as first-class people of whom their country should be proud.
Back into my workshop. It is hot as hell here now but a sailor’s gotta do what a sailor’s gotta do.