It is our firm belief that in every Iranian city or town, big or small, there are at least one Iranian who speak just enough English to help translate any motorcycle problem we may have, and invite us home for dinner – we call him our English Angel; and one Iranian who seems to know a whole lot about motorcycle mechanics and can either fix the motorcycle problem on the spot - he would be our Motorcycle Angel. And the best part – both these two guys would magically appear within ten or twenty minutes of us stopping and without us looking around for them. Okay, five minutes tops if in the dead centre of a small town – I know, much faster than Abu Dhabi ambulance service. We had two breakdowns with Casa in Iran to enforce our belief.
Breakdown #1 – Day 6 in Iran. Casa’s rear inner tube suffered a spectacular rupture – turned out the special-tough tube was too thick for the extreme hot weather we were riding in. And to my brilliance we ditched the backup rear tube just before we left UAE because of my concern with the weight we were carrying. So there we were on the side of busy highway trying to fit the 21’ backup front tube into the 19’ rear tire as a temporary solution. There were several delightful show of Iranian hospitality during this rather painful process: some police gave us some water, one truck driver gave us a hand, and another one offered us much needed food.
Above: Picnic with Mehdat’s family. By the way, Iranians are obsessed about picnics!
Breakdown #2 – Day 8 in Iran. We stopped for a photo, and then Casa refused to move again. It turned out that the rear bake pads were completely eaten away due to a poor adjustment made the previous day. This time around we were in the middle of a small town – so small it was not in our map! Professor Salman, our English Angel appeared just in time to help Q communicate with our Mechanical Angel who was apparently a local motorcycle shop mechanic. I reckon the shop got a flurry of emergency phone calls that sounded like this: “Is this the motorcycle shop? Yes, we have two tourists who are stuck here with their motorcycle. No, they don’t seem to have much clue of what they are doing. Yes, it is next to the bridge. Okay, so someone is already on his way.”
The whole drama was over in under an hour. As we pulled away from the site everything quickly returned to its normal state like nothing took place. Well, except we now have an invitation to Professor Salman’s for dinner.
It was an interesting dinner. I was asked to cook the only Chinese dish I knew – yes, some Chinese women can be that undomestic. Judging from how quickly one of the guys switched back to his leftover Iranian stew, I am not sure the locals enjoyed the food as much as Q. After dinner we received an invitation to stay up to one month in their house if we can be English tutors to their two college relatives. “Please”, said one of them, “we beg you to stay!” It took some effort for us to decline the offer – the Salmans may still be puzzled as to why the two budget travelers would turn down offers of free food and accommodation. Looking back now, as much as we felt frustrated and desperate, everything with Casa worked out just fine in the end. In addition, we gained some priceless experience interacting with locals. So maybe it is not so bad to have a mechanical breakdown once in a while after all. In Iran that is.