Motorhead works in construction. I see him everyday, riding a bike he fit a lawnmower engine to so he did not need to pedal as often. Usually he goes to town for cigarettes or cash from the bank. Occasionally he allows himself to have fun at a bar on the strip. He always goes into town for big football games, where he meets up with his friends and indulges himself in some hard liquor.

“Motorhead, I need you to go down to Quepos and check on that condo job,” his supervisor said. Motorhead needs to be back in Jaco by 4pm, so he takes the 4:30am bus and is in Quepos by 6am. He walks to the construction site, and sees that the workers are low on cement and bricks. He authorizes an order and tours the site.

“Arriba!” A wooden floor has collapsed and cement blocks are now falling down near Motorhead. He does not change his pace as he walks through the room and the blocks land a meter behind him. He is not wearing his hardhat yet. Motorhead sighs. More orders for supplies are needed. He has lived on this coast long enough to see the beaches develop from bare strips of dead cattle land into tall resorts and shopping centers. He wonders what this beach looked like before a town existed and what it would look like if all the buildings were removed and people stopped living here. He would appreciate the tree cover.

Motorhead is a tall Tico, and very thin. His is still under a half century of age, but has had thinning hair for a decade now. It slowly recedes, as the town expands. He has also had the silly thought that his hair would grow back if Jaco was reduced in size.

It is 2pm. The construction work has gotten back on track. It was discovered that no one was drinking water on their breaks, and when Motorhead instituted mandatory water breaks, the crew became more efficient. Motorhead returns to Jaco. He has been tinkering with a motorcycle for two months now and focuses better in the evenings on it.

“Motorhead, take the day off, you look beat”. It is 4pm and Motorhead would be off work by then anyway, but his supervisor wanted to get ahead of schedule on the new commercial building on Avenida Pastor. “Gracias, Jefe,”

Motorhead lives some ways inland in a typical small house with a large yard. He pulls in and without a drink or a change of clothes, settles into his motorcycle project. Finally. The day is over and he can collect himself. This is what he has longed to do his life. Understand bikes and design new motors and ride through Central America. He has submitted two designs to a shop in San Jose and has maintained a dialogue with them for some time. They have sent back advise and other examples of similar engines. One day Motorhead will finally get to see all of America! All of America in his mind are as far north as New Mexico and as far as Rio de Janeiro south.

Someday he will know…and whether he has been finally satisfied is up to your imagination….