The Wrong Bus

We got Andiamo tied up at La Ceiba Shipyard on the mainland of Honduras, hoping that the worst was over. Earlier that day, we'd had a major scare while in Utila, when our departure from the fuel dock was marred by an ignorant attendant's inability to follow instructions. He untied our bow line too early despite my orders not to. Seas and winds were heavy, so our cast-off had to be done very carefully and smoothly. When he untied the bow line, the bow swung over almost a hard ninety degrees, almost causing Andiamo to smack into the neighboring dock. Only by fast action by Sjelle and me, and some sharp locals on the dock, was Andiamo saved. We had a great sail over to La Ceiba after that ordeal, somehow helping us forget the worst.

I still had to figure out how to get to San Pedro Sula by the next day to meet up with my old navy buddy Miguel and his wife Arcelia and get them back to La Ceiba. They were coming down for a week of sailing on Andiamo. After a good night's sleep, I caught a 10AM first class bus to San Pedro Sula. Sjelle stayed behind to clean up the boat a bit and get her ready for our visitors. That bus would get me there with plenty of time for their 2pm arrival at the airport. The plan was to pick them up, get back to town, and catch the 6pm bus back to La Ceiba.

I made it to San Pedro Sula with no problem. I killed some time in town, had lunch and caught a cab to the airport. Miguel and Arcelia's flight was on-time, but they got held up by a slow line through customs and immigration. While I waited, I considered going to the counter of a local airline to see about catching a flight back instead taking the bus. Unfortunately, the line got cut off because the flight back to La Ceiba was full. Miguel and Arcelia got out in the terminal an hour later. It was good to see them, and the bag of goodies he was bringing me from the states. I had ordered a bunch of gear, parts and other stuff for the boat and had them shipped to Miguel's house, and he was bringing them to me on this trip.

We headed back to town, killed some time yet again, and made it to the Hedman Alas station with plenty of time. We boarded the bus, went through security, like everybody else, and got comfortable. I donned my mp3 player and broke out my Nelson deMille book, my typical routine for a 3 hour bus trip. It looked like it was going to be a normal, painless bus ride back to La Ceiba.

Wrong.

About an hour out of the city, I noticed some commotion

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