Once I connected with Josias we returned to the bike.

Thankfully, Susan says she was just fine and had reached ‘Amazing’ level on her NY Times Spelling Bee puzzle. She said the puzzle had relaxed her and she wasn’t even that hungry yet. Excellent.

Back outside in the 35c heat and humidity, Josias, Mr Google Translate and I talked over the issues with the bike.

‘esta hecho polvo’ he said – ‘its knackered’. Well, he didn’t exactly say that but I’m trying to give you some linguistical flavour in this story.

We agreed to take the bike to his ‘workshop’. Before we did that I reminded Josias of my priority – first, we had to get Susan to the hostel.

Thankfully I had chosen well – it was a largely flat route and we made it in a few minutes. We checked in and I left Susan sitting on a nice settee with a fan for cooling. I unloaded the panniers by myself and headed off for the second time today. Susan took it in her stride and appeared completly at ease. What a trooper!

I follow Josias, who is riding his small motorbike through the city. I can’t keep up. The clutch had well and truly gone.

We take the bike back to where I first met Josias and parked the bike in his workshop. To be honest, it was actually his grandmother’s living room.

As I’ve said before my heart wasn’t sinking because it had reached rock bottom. It had nowhere to sink.

I gave Josias my keys and he took me back to the hostel. I climbed onto the back of his small motorcycle. It’s tiny and I’m still in my big boots and trousers. I look like a gorilla sitting on a coconut.

I let Josias know I wasn’t experienced being on the back – only once in South America for a short journey.

Josias laughed, shrugged and pulled a quick u turn to get us on our way. He got a fright when two hands gripped him.

After a few minutes through the traffic I began to relax and dropped my hands and started balanced myself by squeezing him with my thighs. Suffice to say that’s the last time Josias offered to take me on his bike.

I took a photo of Josias testing my bike outside his grandmother’s living room garage.

And here’s the living room garage premises. It’s not the one with the white doors – it’s the one behind the bike.

At the end of this road there was a wooden police box where the police keep a permanent 24 hour presence. One police officer in a one person ‘lookout’. I would have taken a photo to show you but I thought better of it – the Nicaraguan police don’t have a good reputation.

As you can appreciate this neighborhood profile was not very reassuring for a guy without a clutch!

Once back at the hostel I was pleased to see Susan had made it through the afternoon. Such resilience.

I was fretting a bit. I was still fretting after a few beers in the evening and if I’m still fretting when I’m drinking beer then you know there’s a serious bit of fretting going on.

I was just too well aware I had just given my bike and its only electronic key to a guy in a Managuan backstreet.

I had taken photos. I’m not so daft – I was once a policeman in an alternative world.

I aslo had his phone number and we agreed he would WhatsApp me in the morning once he had looked at the clutch.

Would he really?

Jeez, how would I explain this to everyone? – you did what? you gave him what? you didn’t even know him?, he didn’t have a garage, just a grandmother’s living room? In bloody Nicaragua?

Yes I did. I bloody well did!

It’s actually not as bad as that. It’s a little bit badder.

Before Josias left me in the afternoon he asked if I could give him $20 for tools. I actually gave him $40 and the few tools I carry. Loaded up, he motorcycles off into the sunset.

I didn’t sleep well that night for dreaming of a granny riding about town on my bike. A kind of witch and broomstick theme, Wizard of Oz thing.

So that’s Nightmare in Nicaragua 2 – can it get any worse than a granny riding your bike?

Of course it can!

Please let me welcome you to Nightmare in Nicaragua 3.