When our bicycle trip from Tigre to San Pedro (Saint Peter) came to an end, I said to myself I´d never do something like it twice, that only once was enough to know what it is about. There´s no doubt I started enthusiastically, and who could be better than my friends, Cristian, Juani y Ciri as riding partners for this kind of adventure?
Several things show up that way, especially the events one consider grand. Only the idea itself generates enthusiasm, which begins to grow and grow as everything starts to take the right shape until it finally becomes true when the very day of departure is reached. Preparing for a live gig is an apt analogy, now that I think of it. But it´s funny to remember the after-midnight of January 7th, 2011, when once woken up at Juani and Ciri´s house (being them brothers), Cristian confirmed me with an almost rethorical question something that was making me uneasy, as if he were able to read it in my face: “Do you have any idea of what´s coming, Claudio?” for which I replied laughing “You can be sure it´s dawning on me”.
It was while I was drinking my tea with him and the other two guys when I became fully aware of the magnitude of what was waiting ahead. One more thing or two to pay heed to and everything would be set to go...for once and for all! Where? It had an answer. What purpose? I didn´t know, but the sooner we left the better for this restless mind!
At twenty past four in the morning we started to pedal towards Santa María, Rincon´s main Avenue, a city belonging to the fastness of Tigre, from where we all come. Regardless of the heat of summer (December, January and February are summer months in the southern hemisphere) the chill was right there during those early hours. But it was the only thing accompanying us because the avenue remained empty and silent while we rode it except for the four of us of course and our bike chains in motion. We hadn´t even reached Guazunambí bridge (around one kilometre away from our departure point, or even less) when Ciri, who was next to me, pointed at my bike frame and let me know I forgot to bring my bottle full of freezed water with me. “Damn! Why did it happen?” I cried aloud. The worst thing is that during the setting-up I kept it in mind. I had already taken it out of the freezer, but being stubborn and turning paranoic, I figured I should let it “overfreezing”; the price for being obssesive, but its true consecuences would come later.
There´s no need to state there was no chance of turning around just to grab the forgotten bottle. We hadn´t covered a very long distance yet but it was enough to understand that the trip was on now, our approach changed from nervous laughs and silly jokes to utter seriousness so going back was simply not a choice, let alone for my own personal mistake! There were others bottles available.
The rest of the night hadn´t much to account, though I do remember my positive attitude at that point and an encouraging comment Cristian made to Juani and Ciri while I stayed at the head of the group for several minutes.: “If this guy keeps at it this way he´ll make us arrive at midday!”
The streets were typical of a residential area, with an average width; narrow sidewalks skirted with small-sized trees. That was the sight of the moment for less than an hour until we got out of it just to appear before Panamericana Highway, according to the register I created to organize this tale, Phase #2 of our odyssey.
Phase #2:
For several kilometres we rode by the highway´s sidewalk. There had been talk about taking the parallel road, out of the highway, for safety reasons. But if we had followed that path we would´ve lost precious time. Vehicles were riding at a very high speed, there was no doubt about it, but fortunately away from our “lane” so there was no imminent danger. We did have to be especially careful when reaching the exits though. It was essential to slow down and look over our shoulders in case a driver had the intention to leave the highway at that precise moment.
Little by little the night gave way to a clear morning. However, the chill from the previous hours remained. I remember how I was aching when we made the first official stop at a nearby gas station. My bicycle didn´t count with the best of seats for this kind of trip. Ha ha!
After a draught of fresh liquid and an alfajor (traditional Argentinian dessert) we came back to sitting on those damned bike seats and head for the roundabout very few metres away from the gas station so to keep on going northwest.
Phase #3:
As you can imagine, my memory was able to collect and retain most of the scenes that contributed to the development of the trip, but clearly not all of them. A mental lagoon was formed between phases #2 and #3. What I can tell is that at this point the sun made its full appearance. Up to this day this is my favourite part.
Mornings have always been of my pleasure. Every time I get up early I feel I´m just doing the right thing because I´m simply going hand in hand with the very day. The stillness of the house when preparing breakfast (milk, orange juice, toasts and cookies) or going for a walk through quiet streets where the sound of dozens of birds chirping in the trees and rooftops is the only thing that can be heard, except for the occasional and distant motor car rumbling or train arriving at the railway station, add to the experience of not loosing maybe the best hours of the day.
With this I´m trying to say that Phase #3 is probably the one which resonates with me the most because of having been part of that Friday morning. It´s worth stressing that it also shared time and space with an enchanting view: the beginning of the countryside, with large green fields varying in tone and spreading endlessly to my right. As a boy it´s been always a joy to reach these areas by car everytime the family was moving towards a place meant for holidays. Not frequently one witnesses the sight the rural landscape has to offer if one is an active member of urban society. This time it felt even more intense as the memories blossomed...but I was pedalling now, not moving without moving inside a motorized vehicle.
Let´s say all things converged during this lengthy stretch of road. Besides the morning and country view, after what I call now “The Fist Tiredness”, my entire body seemed to respond effortlessly. My whole system got finally used to the rhythm the exercise demanded; a trinity, morning, countryside and rhythm, interacting in perfect harmony.
It wouldn´t be surprising if I had let an interjection out showing my grateful surprise. If the trip was worth anything, this part is reason enough.
Phase #4:
Of course, areas of this kind spread for kilometres beyond count, yet traces of the urban world persisted in the form of gas stations. That´s how from time to time we would stop and feed ourselves. After stopping at various points Cristian made us all come to our sense with his usual earnest saying there was no need to turn aside every time a place of the sort crossed our way. I agreed with him. We were simply stopping because of the comfort we knew we might find in there. But the idea was to reach Saint Peter before the end of the day and all these stops weren´t helping.
With every kilometre that went by we noticed that the gap between gas stations was becoming bigger. So when we saw a diner metres away to our right we agreed not to let it pass.
Juani, Cristian and Ciri entered the dining-room to buy groceries. I preferred to wait outside sitting on the ground. A girl who was washing the entrance floor saw the bikes and asked me where we were coming from. I answered we had set out from Tigre in the early morning to arrive, hopefully, in San Pedro before the day was over. She remembered another group of cyclists and warned me of the security people paying attention to what was happening on the road. We already knew that riding a bicycle here wasn´t permitted, that there was a parallel street for doing so. The decision of having taken the road´s sidewalk wasn´t ignited by a rebellious attitude but by the same reason we had taken the highway and not its corresponding right hand path. The girl, evidently local and kind, nodded towards the security car hidden between the trees next to the pavement, apparently having recess, making me aware of them. I kept it in mind.
It might´ve been that the officers were indeed in breaktime (if that was actually the case I must say they were taking it very seriously), or maybe they never became aware of our presence. The truth is they simply didn´t bother us when we came back to riding the road. However, I was reluctant to do so. Being the less adventurous I tried to obey the laws of traffic as much as possible, not because of fear of the vehicles´ speed, otherwise I would´ve never taken Panamericana in the first place, but for the risk of being stopped and fined. But similarly to the society we belong to, without having formally stated it, we had been a democracy, and three were the votes in favour of paying no heed to the law. I must admit I was eventually glad this was the outcome of the voting. Once more, these guys showed me they had what was needed to face this kind of journey: something like street wisdom and guts.
Phase #5:
Morning was falling behind and midday was approaching, and with it, the sun without any cloud to cover its brightness. Our pace was steady, the heat wasn´t enough to be frightened about possible heat waves and sun burnings. Little by little the surroundings began to look all the same. Nevertheless, the sight rural areas naturally offer was still stimulating to my visual sense.
When making out Toyota´s building minutes later, Cristian asked us to stop to think about making a brief visit to the company. He had signed up for a job there weeks before and was waiting for a superior´s call to know if he had been selected. We were only five blocks away so we supposed it wouldn´t be that of an incovenient. But in the end we just rested at the side, took a few pictures and came back to pedalling in less than half an hour.
Exactly at 12:00 AM we arrived at Lima, a city in our way. Again, we stopped in one of the street corners, wide with short grass and a big tree in which we leaned the bikes and sat down to have lunch. Juani had prepared chicken sandwiches the day before. Welcomed they were, especially by the three of them who generally have good appetite. I took the unwise decision of not eating as much as I should´ve. Regardless of the effort the exercise demanded, I wasn´t that hungry.
A dog came close to where the group was lingering, careful but with no shyness whatsoever. He had an innocent look on his face so I figured sharing some of my food with him would be fine. Honestly I can´t assure whether I actually did this or not. More than worrying about the animal, which by the way didn´t show any signs of malnutrition, I had to worry about us as a group and the food was something essential to preserve and take advantage of to the last. It didn´t take a long time for him to leave.
The digestion was already made so it was time to go back to the road... at least that was what I supposed. But no, Cristian, Juani and Ciri lay down on the ground and slept. I took advantage of their unexpected nap to listen to music. With headphones on I lay my back against the tree trunk and let myself drift by the selection of songs that was currently uploaded to my mp3 player. In the short run, this action made me close my eyes pleasantly as well.
Not even ten minutes went by when I re-opened them. What a surprise I was treated with when I saw the dog back with an empty and broken supermarket bag before his snout. One minute later my riding mates woke up and saw what just happened. Needless to say, the blame was laid on me. “Did you let the dog eat the remaining sandwiches?” asked Cristian with his usually regulated anger. “Not on purpose” I replied, defending myself. “That dude was gone, for all I knew. He´s smarter than you think”. The Medina brothers have a more easy-going behaviour. There´s no doubt they were angry too. But as Cristian is always the first one to show his discomfort towards anything that might go wrong, they don´t add more on their behalf and make their minds to move on quickly enough. This time was no exception.
Before continuing we went to the back of the street corner´s diner to refill the empty bottles with water from the tap given that there where some at hand. We also soaked ourselves to the bone to fight against the sun in its zenith. “What do you think about it up to this point?” Juani asked me, putting back his cup on his head, now wet. “Not as tortuous as it´s been talked about” I said. “That´s because the hardest part hasn´t come just yet” he threatened. He had already made two trips much more intense than the one happening now, but none of them had crossed this path. His deduction was probably based on a strong intuition natural of cyclists. It would be checked later he got it damn right.
Phase #6:
Once we left Lima, it didn´t take long for us to make out a new gas station, two infrastructures on each side. It might´ve been few kilometres rode from the previous resting point but anyway I wanted to stop. I could hear Cristian´s complaint coming from behind but I ignored it. Certain annoyance, my being slightly aware of it, was starting to take over my mood.
My aim was to buy a bottle of cold water (it turned out being fizzy) and come back to pedalling immediately. Regardless of the complaints it´s worth saying that those five minutes I thought of spending at the gas station became thirty, and not because I asked for them. I even tried to hurry them up a bit, but I wasn´t in the best position to push. I didn´t want them to recriminate my having asked to pull over again so soon. The good thing is that we took advantage of this stop to photograph our bikes the way they deserved to: one by one.
Nearly at 1:00 AM we kept on pedalling...and pedalling...and pedalling... Most likely the hardest thing when travelling this way isn´t the physical exercise, if one is all in all in good shape and gets used to the required rhythm. Now the psychological side is a completely different story. Being gas station available every now and then there weren´t great reasons to complain. None of the four had gotten a flat tire, for instance. That might´ve justified at least an insult to the ether. But during all this stretch of road both, stations and diners, were completely gone. The only thing before our eyes, in any direction, was hectares and hectares of country land. One looked yonder and always seemed to distinguish a curve that gave hope of landscape change in the next few minutes. But the curve never showed up. It looked like an optical illusion boasting about its cleverness when succeeding in mocking us. Add to that the shortage of water (not fresh because of the uninterrupted sun). Remember that bottle of freezed water accidentally left behind at Juani and Ciri´s house? Well, here´s where I ended up hating myself. Ha ha!
Logic said that the only thing left for us to do was not to stop, now that there weren´t proper places around. But of course, with that constant heat coming from above and from our own selves, making brief stops wasn´t something we had to avoid. In fact, it was crucial. To seat down under a tree to cover our bodies from the sunshine for ten minutes wasn´t that bad, right?
What worried us the most was the lack of food (well done, dog in Lima!). We only had water saved inside two bottles, one originally a cola bottle and the other a suitable unit to keep in the bike´s frame that Juani owned...like mine!
Finally, after hours of putting up with this monotonous situation, we saw to the left kind of a private ranch, with a gorgeous wooden gate and a security booth next to it. A big sign next to the road indicated the name of the place: Los Querandíes. We decided to cross and take our chances by asking one of the guards, whom we thought were in charge of the door, if he/she could refill the only empty bottle we had, the one that originally contained pear juice.
With hand gestures and obvious supposition from one of the guards we were received and our story was heard. Knowing of our commitment, he didn´t doubt about giving us some of the cold water they had in store. Thank God! As Cristian said after we all drank from the replenished bottle: “Tell me if it wasn´t the worthiest draught you´ve ever drunk”.
Once that strong need to consume fresh liquid was satisfied, we asked the guard how many more kilometres were left before reaching the next gas station. “There might be ten kms from Los Querandíes, give-or-take”. Ten kilometres...at least we had a reference now, a knowledge that soothed the anxiety of minds that until then ignored both, distance and precise position.
Nothing changed during the part that followed our unexpected (and grateful) stop. In any case, almost nothing did: the water gotten at the ranch´s entrance had a positive influence...until we run out of it. Riding a route without a speedometer makes it difficult to calculate distances, therefore, the value I particularly gave to the data the guard shared with us. However, ten, fifteen or twenty kilometres made no difference to me. What helped to keep me sane was the fact that there was nothing more to do than keep on moving my legs up and down and mantain a good pace without expecting any possible oasis. If there was any, it would come up alone, if there wasn´t, I had already made up my mind.
It was neither a diner nor a gas station that caught our eyes later, but an oasis after all: a police station...on the other side (please, just a little bit of kindness!). Any excuse to stop was welcomed anyway. I thought the best thing would´ve been to make a sacrifice and skip it, that way we wouldn´t have taken the risk of being obliged to abandon the enterprise (remembering the police car and the girl who warned me about the ones in charge of fining those disobeying the traffic laws). But there´s no need to say the chance of more water won over reason (good for you, instinctive end).
Differently to the doormen at Los Querandíes, it took longer to these policemen to accept us at the station´s front door. They didn´t get to the point of being rude but they weren´t as kind as the previous guys. A uniformed man with short blonde hair allowed us to get into the bottom of the little yard where police cars were parked. At the corner formed by the headquarter´s entrance to the right and a dividing wall facing the road at the back, a hose hanged from the tube of running water to which it was connected.
Our discretion when quenching our thirst was null, I must admit. Once in front of the open tap I spent one whole minute, maybe more, drinking and washing my head, allowing my T-shirt to get wet almost fully. Juani ended up soaked from head to toe and Ciri´s thick brunette hair took kind of a “punk” shape after letting the water fall over his head and pushing it back with his wet hands. Whilst it was Cristian´s turn, I dedicated myself to catch my breath sitting with my back against one of the walls.
We were preparing the eight wheels with their corresponding cargoes back in front of the station when the officer who had given us permission to make use of their water reappeared, this time with better predisposition to socialize. Without surprising anyone he asked about our destination. When answering San Pedro he affirmed us we were still far away from the place. The bright side was that we were closer to the next gas station, according to our progress from the last point of departure to where we were at that moment. Anyway we all felt like asking somebody else about the next resting point: “Hmm... There may be fifteen kilometres, more-or-less. You´re at the core of the rural area that´s part of the way that leads to the North-west of Buenos Aires”. “That´s impossible! How could it be?” was our immediate reaction. “Around an hour ago someone else told us there were ten kms left. It felt as if we were drawning near, but now it spreads further than expected!” Discouraging news indeed, but what else can one do about it? A considerable distance had been covered and turning back would´ve been equally demanding, even worse, because it would´ve also meant to admit defeat. In the end, we found out that going up North slightly and simultaneously bending to the West was the only choice.
“Let´s face it, the sooner I do it, the better.” I thought to myself earnestly.
With a recommendation from the man in blue that we should be careful of the “naughty girls” in San Pedro, we took the lightly cobbled walker´s path until we found a comfortable part to cross back to the right. Evidently the police didn´t seem to have any objection as to our unconventioanl way of travelling.
Phase #7:
Everyone has their own speed, that´s clear enough. But the pace of each rider may vary at different moments during the trip. From time to time Cristian and Juani would speed up from one second to the other and let Ciri and I behind by a long run. I´m pretty sure Ciri could´ve easily matched their speed in all those sudden accelerations if he had a mind to do so. He moderated his own speed just not to let myself far behind with no company. I never thought being the slowest rider was a reason to feel less proud of myself. Pretty well enough I was enduring a trip in which I was definitely pushing my own physical and mental boundaries beyond all hope. But since we left the police station, my strength seemed to gradually vanish with every minute. There was a moment when I saw Ciri, who generally occupied the third position, as a distant figure, barely visible and out of the reach of my voice if I had had a mind to shout at him asking to wait on me.
There could´ve been a cellphone fever years back but I never cared about buying one. So now I had no means to contact any in case we got far away from each other...and that´s exactly what happened. I wondered what the hell was going wrong, how could I be so spent. It sounded like a rethorical question but it had plenty of answers: the overwhelming heat, all the kilometres ridden, riding with the baggage over the rare wheel and not being accustomed to it, etc. It was during that solitude of frustrating questions when the self-esteem matter wholly affected me: I felt like a failure, lingered behind no matter how much will I was pouring into speeding up to reunite with the trio who knows where it was now. Yet once again, that holy question that hours ago helped me decide filled my head: what else can be done? Turning back to the police station was an option eventhough the place wasn´t close any longer. Stopping would´ve even been dangerous, with no food or drink and who knows when I would come back to the road...and for how long. The third option (and finally the chosen one), it turned out, was to (how odd) keep on pedalling. “Something must be waiting ahead” I figured.
My moving became a reflex, one hundred percent. I was slightly aware of it or whatever else for that matter, for example, the time I spent moving forward toward an already blurry end.
This whole area had bridges crossing the pavement at different intervals. Finally, under one of them, I saw that my partners had been waiting for me in the shadow cast by the columns that held it up. It wasn´t “Hello”, “Good to see you´ve reappeared” or anything like it what I first heard after a long time all by myself, just the following on Cristian´s behalf: “Claudio, you got a flat tire!” Believe me, there wasn´t a better way to be received. To know about the flat tire answered to the question that had been frustrating me all the way: “what´s the reason of this slow speed when the effort I´m putting into moving should make me faster?” However, Cristian, Juani and Ciri never realized about my sudden bliss as my strength was gone to the point of not being even capable of smiling. Truth be told, they were amazed at my perseverance, but especially at the fact that I never became aware of the flat tire.
Sitting at the foot of the hill formed between the bridge´s base and exit, I remained silent for a long while, only dedicating my time to catch my breath. Evidently the boys started to doubt about my continuity, so cheering words began to come out of thier mouths: “We´re almost there, Clau. The middle point has already been passed” Juani said. “You´re utterly tired cause you´ve probably made like two kms and a half with a wheel in lame conditions” Ciri gave his reasonable opinion; and more things like this. But what touched me most was Cristian´s testimony, the one that talks about the trip to Mar del Plata, in which he had taken part along with the other two six months before. “You die to see the hour in which someone comes to take you home so you can comfortably rest in your own bed and forget about everything. But trust me when I say that once the tiredness is gone, you´ll feel terrible cause you´ll realized you could´ve continue. It happened to me when I quit the enterprise last Winter Holidays.” His honesty was key to the decision I was to made sometime later, though I couldn´t say I completely understood him as I´d never quit a ride. But it´s also true I´d never put myself into something as huge as this before. But the way he expressed himself had the impact I needed to come to my senses and discover I had energy left to move on. First, I needed and generous rest though.
Walking slowly I came close to Juani´s baggage. I opened one of its pockets and grabbed a sleeping bag, tended it over the unleveled ground, got inside and just forgot about the exertion. I didn´t get any sleep but it was good to simply lie down and close my eyes for several minutes. Whilst taking my rest, the guys took the opportunity to fix my bike. I ended it by standing up and stretching my arms. Then I came close to my own baggage with the idea of taking a white long-sleeved shirt out and put the one I had been wearing away.
It was a pleasant surprise to learn there was indeed some food left after all. Juani passed me some cookies. I sat down to eat them in moderation. When I finished I stood up and went to my bike again...and sat on its seat without thinking it twice. There wasn´t big preparations for beginning with this new stage. I just shouted at them right from the bike that I was going to ride slowly, maybe that way some lost time would be regained. To tell the truth, it was another crucial moment, really the most significant of all the ones that made the experience. I prefer to refer to it as time spent and not lost, to be more appropiate.
Phase #8:
At six O´clock on January 7th, 2011, I heard one of the most memorable screams ever uttered on a route: “A PETRO!!!” exclaimed Cristian with the whole of his vocal power. He was referring to a Brazilian gas station company. About time too! Three hundred and sixty minutes had passed since the last one, that which appeared as soon as we left the spacious corner at Lima´s entrance. But oh!, how odd, the new one was to our left. Whatever, that sense of triumph won ever any mishap of the moment.
I thanked the acclimatized air inside the mini-market when I entered to buy some ice cream. Besides groceries, the guys put some of their money together to buy a cheap football, ideal to use as entertainment once inside the camping place.
After having the ice cream and drinking a new bottle of cola, we added the ball to the rest of the baggage and moved on. The good thing was that the sun had finally hidden itself behind grey clouds that didn´t look rain-threatening (or that´s what we wanted to believe). Not a long time after leaving the gas station, a new setback made its way as Juani was now the one who got a flat tire, I can´t remember which of the two. Being an expert in long bike rides, he as opposed to me, got aware of it immediately. We stopped in the spot left unpaved that was between the road and a new bridge´s exit. There we drank some of the juice prepared at the station (we had taken advantage of the already empty cola bottle). In less than fifteen minutes we mounted the bikes again.
The road got alarmingly narrow at a particular moment. Pedalling was now more dangerous as motorized vehicles kept coming and hardly slowed down. Lorries were the worst, they passed us really close by the left side, and with them a gust of wind came and made us slightly loose our balance, several times. It was then when a big green sign with white letters gave the big news: “You´ve arrived at San Pedro”.
Phase #9:
Arriving before the end of the day was tricky to the mind. Yes, there was a sign indeed informing travellers they´ve reached the place but to us it didn´t mean our riding was over. We never agreed on setting up the tent few metres away from the locality´s borderline. We still had to reach the camping area and, as I experienced later, was pretty far away yet.
I tried to focus exactly the same way I did during the high afternoon hours. Regardless of the attempt, the fruits weren´t what I expected. I mean, I didn´t throw the towel or anything like that, but my mood went from bad to worse. I was angry now. The experience had turned into an arduous duty and I wasn´t enjoying it any more. The light in the darkness was a new field with big green plants stretching endlessly. It gave me a break from the bitterness as it took me back to the first rural morning glimpse. As you already know, that was my favourite part (and still is...). On the other hand, the way didn´t seem to have an end to it, exactly like the “curve” between Lima and the police station. So it was, the way I see it now, a balanced outcome of my two prominent bipolar states of mind, the one during Phase #3 and the other during phases #6/#7, both developing simultaneously at the last stage.
To one side of this road, after covering some demanding kilometres, we made out a stand selling regional products, mainly food. During our stay in San Pedro I didn´t ask any local if peach was the primary material, but in the end I stuck to my own deduction that it actually was because every other stand of the like seemed to have it first hand.
The boys bought four peaches, one each, but I prefered not to eat mine. I don´t digest food easily while working out or right after doing so.
Little by little a new urban area started to replace those plant fields with public lights on (it was 7:30 PM by then) and quiet suburban houses much closer to one another. Ciri made us stop in front of one of these when he saw that a middle-aged woman was sitting on a chair in the front yard. He wanted to take advantage of her immediate presence to ask for the last indications. The woman, once told where we were heading for, gave us a new gas station as reference. It was supposed to appear right after turning right at the next corner. She nailed it: the station was found quickly. Cristian took the chance to buy more stuff and go to the bathroom. But now we needed to be confirmed about the next step so he asked two men in their thirties that were walking by if the slope that was meant to take us to the camping area, the last of all the streets to be ridden, was where we thought it was. Their instructions put us back on track and eventually led us to the actual slope, and after going downhill and turning left, we finally started riding that street.
Apparently there was an endless row of places available to spend the weekend in, another factor that wasn´t helpful to my state of mental sanity. To me, any place was right. I just wanted to stop, for once and for all! Yet again the balance in mood leveled when a young man that was roaming the other way shouted cheering words towards our direction: “Way to go, dudes. Cycle-tourism forever!” I did find it cheering that he recognized and appreciated what we had put our minds (and bodies) to. To me personally, it gave me the last push so fifteen minutes later I could see the entrance to the place the guys had chosen to camp.
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