Modus Operandi

Our work site and apartment are separated by about 15 kilometers of unpaved mountain roads. The situation being what it is, we need reliable transportation. Until now we have been hiring a camionetta (a small pickup truck) or a taximoto. As they cost between $7 and $10 per day, we need to find a more economical transportation, and purchasing our own wheels seems like a great idea. The Ecuadorian automotive spectrum is as diverse as the choices of SUV’s in suburban USA. People get around on bicycles of every shape, motorcycles of on-road and off-road varieties (mostly Chinese brands, as they are very cheap), trucks, cars taximotos, and everything in between. A taximoto is a three wheeled contraption that is the centaur of the developing world’s modes of transportation. The front half is a motorcycle and the back half is a sort of rickshaw capable of holding people and cargo. Glue the two together and you have a relatively cheap, easily repairable vehicle to move people and goods.

Either a camionetta or taximoto would be able to negotiate the mountain roads well enough, but the price is out of our range. Renzo, a chauffeur friend, had a used taximoto for sale. He said it was only three years old, was just overhauled, and if we remove the fiberglass top it would be about 200 kilos lighter (about 440 pounds). He was painting a pretty picture, and the price was right, so Jessie and I decided to check it out. When we arrived it became apparent that there was a misunderstanding. Perhaps he meant to say it was only thirteen years old, needed to be overhauled, and the rickshaw top weighed only 20 kilos. Through our incomplete understanding of the local dialect we then thought we understood that Renzo said he had a friend who was selling exactly what we were looking for: a moto with a big engine that was capable of carrying three people. Moto denotes what is called a “dirt bike”, or “Motor-Cross”, in the U.S., versus motocicletta which is a standard looking street bike. Again, our lack of a thorough grasp of the local tongue became apparent when his friend showed up on a motocicletta with a small engine and room for two people at best. Renzo and his friend sure must have been frustrated dealing with two gringos who know what they want but couldn’t seem to communicate very well. Well, I personally am glad the Ecuadorians are patient people. But seriously, we were looking for transportation and they had some to sell, and there is always room for a little ad-libbing as it is most often the choices are limited.

So after a bit of run around we were no closer to acquiring wheels.

After exploring our transportation options in Puerto Lopez, we decided it was time to bus on over to Manta, a larger city nearby, where we hoped to buy a moto. Bus is the most popular mode of transportation around Latin America. Spend enough time in a Central or South America and you will eventually find yourself on a big colorful Greyhound type bus. These buses are generally comfortable, play music or movies, and are a great way to see local culture. In my opinion, we lucked out on this particular bus ride, as the only two seats available were in the “shotgun” position. We were actually closer to the windshield than the driver, as he had a steering wheel in his lap. In this position you get to see all sorts of things the rest of the passengers miss out on, such as racing and passing other buses on blind uphill curves and playing “chicken” with oncoming traffic while passing the slowpokes. Also, remember when in elementary school you were scolded for hanging your arm out the bus window? As buses here come within inches of other buses, trucks or bridge buttresses, make sure you keep all appendages inside. Rules of the road are really more like general guidelines to the chauffeurs, and driving in this manner is part of getting the bus in on time. Hands down, the best cultural experience I had on this particular trip occurred at a police check point. As the bus pulled up to the check point a corpulent corporal checking inspections and registrations shrugged his shoulders and held up his hands in that universal way of asking, “why aren’t your papers displayed in the windshield”. The officer briefly walked down the driver’s side of the bus while the driver retrieved the “registration”. Due to our privileged position I could surreptitiously watch the following transaction out of the corner of my eye. The driver held a wallet-sized laminated paper low in his lap, to the backside of which he was carefully affixing something else. When the officer came to the drivers window ten seconds later, the registration was skillfully handed out the window, the back side turned in such a way that the only person who could see what was there was the officer. The officer, with a well trained hand, gave the registration a cursory glance, handed the registration back and waved the bus on. It was an operation that has been practiced by both parties to the point where it has become second nature.

Finally, Manta! We grab a taxi in the Terminal Terrestre (central bus station) and ask to be taken to a moto dealer of the Chinese brands. He knows a place and quotes us a price of $1.50. It is across town, so we feel it is a fair price, and agree. This moto dealer is really a mattress store with six motos in front. One red bike in particular catches my eye. It is a ShineRay, 200cc motor and has two wheels. It would work for us. The effectivo (cash) price is within our range, but as in the States, we decide to look at other options. The chauffeur takes us to about four other places around town, including a dealer that sells motos and has six mattresses out front (just kidding…). This latter dealer specializes in a brand called Oromoto (gold moto). We looked over the inventory and could clearly see flaws in the assembly and construction of the new bikes on display. Further, the price was a bit higher than the other bike that had caught my and the salesman was not willing to negotiate. So about two hours after we started our search, we had the chauffeur drive us back to the mattress dealer. Upon arriving at our starting point we ask the driver how much we owe him, as he drove us around a lot more than originally intended. He quotes us $7, and we chew him down to $5. That is how it works with taxis.

Purchasing the bike is a quick transaction. The woman at the counter prints a receipt that has the bikes serial number and Jessie signs it in front of her. She keeps a carbon copy and Jessie gets the original, we hand over the cash, and the deal is done. Jessie is now the proud owner of a 200cc, one cylinder, red ShineRay Moto. Since it is brand new, we are gringos, and the bike is not “registered”, we hire a camionetta to transport both of us, the bike and a mattress back to Puerto Lopez.

Everyone needs to get business done, and every MO is different than the next.