Nicks Epic Ride 2006

Nick's epic ride part nineteen

2007-02-17T18:26:00.001-08:00

   The hostel in South Beach was perhaps the least friendly,the dirtiest and without a doubt the most expensive of my entire trip.I couldn't believe how aloof all the staff were considering they were supposed to be in the tourist industry.I guess the fact that the hostel doubled as cheap housing for a bunch of locals made it lose any kind of travellers feel.Those backpackers who were there reminded me of the backpacking community back in Australia.They were all young party-hard types who seemed interested in only the bright lights and cold beers of Miami.The only wildlife that drew their interest were of the bikini clad kind who paraded around the hallways displaying thier wares at every opportunity.It would seem that a pasty-white,fourty-something guy with a scabby lip and sores on his body didn't quite make it on the cool guy list and so, for the most part,I was ignored.

   I passed the next few days just walking along the beach and soaking up the sun.I did try to so some swim training in the warm blue water and was stopped by a couple of lifeguards who wanted to know who I was and what I was doing.I had been swimming from one lifegaurd tower to the next and then running back down the beach about four hundred meters or so round the first tower and back into the water to repeat the swim.I was at it for about fourty minutes when I stopped for a break.The lifeguards asked what I was training for and when they heard my accent they assumed I was a surf-lifsaver from Oz visiting Miami.When I explained that I was a triathlete and then contined to tell them about my trip they were amazed and asked all kinds of questions about my trip,my sport and my country.At least someone here was interested in what I was doing!

    I met up with many other lifeguards in the next day or two as the Starbucks store I loved so much was in the park behind the beach where the lifguards stood post.They would all stop to chat as they made coffee runs and after meeting some of the girlie lifeguards I wished I had planned my stay here a bit better.After hanging out for months with a bunch of females whose idea of multi-sport endurance sports is power drinking while jumping up and down on a dance floor it was a pleasure to meet some healthy, fit women for a change.

    Healthy and fit is not what you would describe the good folk who were parading around the bars along Ocean Drive at the time.Walking along the sidewalks on my way to the cool shopping areas on Lincoln Road and Collins Ave I passed all bars that were just setting up for the afternoon rush.I was thinking that surely they couldn't expect to be busy as the long weekend was over and there wouldn't be enough people to fill the thousands of seats(that's right -thousands).Sure all around me were groups of very hungover and very large black guys chatting quietly over thier late breakfasts.Thier women seemed more interested in protecting the stacks of luggage on the sidewalks as they made ready to go to the airport and off home,wherever home might be.They didn't look quite as ill as the boys but then again a big hat and equally large sunglasses can hide even the most ferocious of hangovers.

   I figured that the weekends chaos was over and made my way north toward the trendy cafes of Lincoln Road.Once there I wished that I had a few more zeros tagged onto the maximum limit of my credit card.It didn't take me long to figure out that I wouldn't be buying to much in this district and resigned myself to buying some cheap boardshorts and a couple of t-shirts from one of the many tacky-tourist shops dotted about.I did have one bit of luck though as I found a store selling t-shirts for every country that was competing in the World Cup Soccer.With my Green and Gold Australia shirt now proudly covering my torso I made my way back to the beach and into a world far different from the one I had laeft a few hours before.

    As I turned back onto Ocean Drive and made for the refuge of my coffee shop I could feel the dull thumping of nightclub music reverberating through the tables on the sunny Starbucks patio.One by one the low-rider cars passed by each pulling over and depositing a group of party people onto the sidewalk.Looked like I was wrong about the weekend being over.After a while I just couldn't resist and wandered off down Ocean Drive toward my hostel.A block or so later I was in the thick of it.I have never,in all my time working in bars and clubs seen a metel detector on the street during the day.This club not only had everyone pass through the detector they also had the scariest group of bouncers that I have ever seen.Add to that the cops in flack jackets wandering around the place and I was beginning to wonder if I had stepped on to the set of some hollywood gangster movie.

   The further down Ocean Drive I went the crazier it got.The sidewalk was full,and I mean full of absolutely huge,scary looking, immaculately dressed groups of black guys standing at the entrance of every bar and restuarant.It occurred to me that not only was I about half the size of everybody around me(including the girls)I was one of the very few white guys on the street.The funny thing was that as I passed each bar entrance all the dudes would politely nod at me and step out of my way.A few of them would point at my shirt and call out all kinds of funny remarks about Australia and Steve Irwin and "Shrimps on the Barbie".It was really pretty funny and I had a laugh chatting to a few of them as I made my way down the street.I figured that in the grand scheme of things I was far too small and far too white for any of these guys to find threatening and so we joked around until they would pat me on my shoulder and send me on my way.The only way I can describe the scene is that it fullfilled every single stereotype of "Gangsta" U.S.A that the rest of the world is fed.I really felt like I was in the middle of some chaotic rap video. It was nuts!

    The rest of my time in Miami was very quiet.Some more beach time and a bit of time hanging with the "locals" at the hostel finding out about life in the southern U.S.I fund the mix of U.S and Latino culture in South beach really cool and was surprised to find that English was almost the second language amoung the shopkeepers in the nieghbourhood.I enjoyed that surprised looks on thier faces when I would ask for things in Spanish as it seems white guys don't do that very often.I am very impressed how the latinos are so pround of thier heritage and that they do differentiate between the countries of their ancestors.Most black Americans seem to just want to be known as "African" which is a huge generalization.Latinos are Cuban or Dominican or Chilean.They make the distinction and you can see the subtle differences everywhere.It's really very cool.

    My time on the road was rapidly drawing to a close and I had to turn my attention to the next few months ahead.I nad no doubt that the experiences of the last few months would play over in my mind for a long time to come.Sadly it was all coming to an end.I had debts to pay and a life to find and I was hoping, as I boarded my flight to Penticton,that Canada might be the place for me.Could I be happy with not fulfilling my dream of riding through the whole of Sth America?Would I find a home in Canada?I didn't know and I guess only time will tell.

Nick's epic ride part eighteen

2007-02-13T15:39:00.002-08:00

              That last day in La Paz was frantic to say the least.I raced back to the hostel and told them that I had to leave the next morning.While paying for my stay I tried to call Alastair at Gravity Tours so I could see if we could hook up for a drink to say goodbye.Sadly he was out of town on a private bike tour and I would miss him.I was bummed as he had done so much to welcome me and make my stay in La Paz an awesome experience.The next thing was to try and track down the small group that I'd been hanging with.Most of them were on tour and as I had to leave for the airport very early I wouldn't be able to see them either.
               MY next task was to start packing up all my gear.I hate packing for trips and I really hate boxing up my bike for flights so it felt like a real chore to go upstairs and start the long packing process.One by one the Bolivian house-maids found out that I was leaving and they all came to say goobye and wish me luck.They had been really wonderful to me during my stay.They had helped me with my Spanish,kept an eye on bike for me while the the hostel was full of workers renovating the place.Most of all they had been so patient and kind while I was sick.I would miss thier bright smiles and kind hearts and wished that everyone who likes to believe that Bolivia is an evil place could meet the wonderful people that I had met here.My last night was uneventful and after a few drinks at Ollie's to say goobye I was in bed early with thoughts of what lay in store for me in the next few months.
              Knowing just how bad the traffic is in La Paz I called a cab at around 6am to take me the short 10 kilometers to the airport in El Alto.Thankfully the hostel is at the base of the climb out of town to and I wouldn't have to negotiate the jammed downtown core.The long, winding climb out of the bowl in which La Paz sits was absolutely beautiful and with the sun yet to rise the city below shimmered with a million lights of the city a waking to face the new day.I had ridden down this hill three weeks before and marvelled at the beauty of this grand old city.I knew that one day I would be back to renew old friendships and face new adventures.Then without any fanfare, we crested the summit and La Paz was gone from view. I was soon unloading all my gear on to the scales at the check-in counter of Llyod Aero Boliviano.
              One thing that always worries me when I face the check-in counter of any airline is just how much they are going to charge me for my bike and any assorted other bits of baggage that seems odd,unusual or overwieght.Suprisingly though I found someone who was actually quite impressed with the fact that I was biking around Sth America.She didn't blink as the digital readout on the scales kept climbing as first on went my bike, then my trailer followed by my backpack full of all my camping gear and clothes.I was glad that I was wearing long sleeves though 'cause I could easily explain away the huge scabs that covered my top lip as the result of a bike crash.I'm not sure I could have explained the rash which covered most of my torso and arms with as much credibility.
              With all my gear now safely on it's way to the belly of the aircraft it was off to complete my airport ritual.I have a perculiar thing that I only do at airports and that is to eat at either MacDonalds' or Burger King.It's strange I know and I'm not sure when or why I began this odd practice.I'm guessing that the main reason is that there is some sort of price control over food served there.I mean when you pay at MacDonalds at an airport it's pretty safe to sat that you are paying five or six dollars for the five or six dollar meal that you would pay in the city, not twenty dollars for the sandwich costing four dollars on the street.Maybe I'm thinking that as I'm in an airport then I'm not really anywhere in particular and so the normal rules don't apply, thus it's okay to load up the arteries with junk.Who knows?I was just hoping that the pride of Bolivian aviation was going to be able to lift this fat bastard off the tarmac and put him down where he wanted to go.
             The first of my flight's was quite uneventful.We had to change planes in Santa Cruz and then fly onto Panama in Central America before heading over to Miami.The transit in Santa Cruz was a bit scary as this was our last port before leaving Bolivia and as such we were subject to intense scrutiny by Bolivian customs.Santa Cruz is in the heart of cocain country and as I was the solitary gringo arriving on this flight in Miami from Bolivia I figured I would get the full treatment from customs and immigration.Once passed through customs with all my gear dismissed as being too much trouble to look at I was on my new plane headed for Panama

.
              The second leg of my round-about journey north proved a quiet affair as well and upon landing in a rainy Panama City we were told that we would not be changing planes but we would be changing crew.From my isle seat,two rows back from business class I could quite clearly see most of what was going on in the sharp end of the aircraft and it was obvious that 9/11 meant very little to all those involved with flying this aircraft.
               I figured when they said we would be changing crew,what they meant was that the old crew would get off here in Panama and a new crew would continue on to Miami.What actually happened was that once the new crew were on board some sort of impromtu cocktail party started.One things for sure, they know how to treat thier flight crews on Lloyd Aero Boliviano as the beer and wine flowed freely even before the pland had hit the runway.The whole of business class was occupied by the old flight crew,the old cabin crew,some ground crew and thier families.It was bizzar.What topped it off for me was that at no time during take off or during the flight was the door to the cockpit closed.At most house parties around the world the kitchen is the spot to chat.Here at thirty-odd thousand feet the door to the cockpit was the choice location to be seen.Little kids ran in and out of the cockpit through the legs of those clutching a beverage in on hand and the interior of the aircraft with the other.I lost track of who was working and who wasn't.In the end, it would seem that whoever was flying the bloody plane,had it pointed in the right direction and the party was shut down as we began our descent into Miami International Airport.It wasn't the scariest flight I've ever been on but it was no doubt one of the most interesting.
                  Once I had walked off the plane I was really expecting the worst from immigration and then customs.I had no doubt that they would be very interested in a lone male traveller arriving from Bolivia and so with resignation I approached the immigration booth.The first thing the immigration officer did after checking out my passport was look at the scabs on my lip and try to compare my distorted face with that of the guy in the photo.I was then iris scanned and finger print checked and yes I was in the system,having entered the U.S many times before."How long will you be in the U.S?" She asked "Just four days at the beach until I head off to Canada" I replied waiting for the barrage of questions to start."Have a nice stay in the United States" she said smiling and  with that she handed me my passport and I was on my way to the baggage claim.One down and one to go.I was sure that customs wouldn' be so accomodating and crossed my fingers that all my stuff had arrived in one piece.
                After an eternity waiting for my gear,which thankfully did arrive intact,I pushed my fully laden trolley toward the cutsoms hall.Once at the front of the line I was waved forward and approached my designated official.He scanned my load and pointed at the big box on my trolley."Is that a bicycle?" he inquired "A mountain bike and some equipment."I answered."And that"he said pointing at the silver bag under my bike."My trailer"I told him."Where have you come from today?"It was the question I had been waiting for."Bolivia" I cringed.With that he turned to another official and asked"Do you want to check this bike out?""I don't want to check no bike?"She replied lazily."Well I don't want to check no bike either he muttered" and with that he told me to have a nice trip and sent me on my merry way.Unbelievable!So much for homeland security.
                  So there I was back in the first world again.Now what?I knew that I ddn't want to drag my bike around with me so I checked it at the baggage storage area and then caught a cab to my hostel in South Beach.On the way I was overwhealmed by just how clean Miami was.After being in La Paz I guess anywhere would have seemed clean but I was also very impressed at how little traffic there was and how efficient the freeway system was.I commented to the driver about that and he just lauged.He then told me that the reason it was so quiet on the roads was that it was a public holiday .I guess without realising it I had arrived on Memorial Day Monday so I thought great there must be stuff to do today then.My cabbie told me flat."This is the weekend the black people come to Miami to shoot each other!"I couldn't believe it.He then went on to tell me that South Beach was the worst place possible to be this weekend .He did say though that most people would be on thier way home today so I would have more than likely missed the worst of it. "This should be interesting",I thoght
                I checked into my hostel and the girl on the reception desk was no more enthusiastic than the cabbie.She looked so worm out and I asked her if it had been a busy weekend."All I can say is thank God it's over"was her reply.I guess my cab driver must have been right.Looked like I missed a hellish weekend. All I wanted to do was get out of my jeans,put on a pair of shorts and head off to the beach and soak up some of the suns' heat.
               The hostel was only three blocks from South Beach and once I hit the sand it was an express trip into the warm waters of the  Atlantic.Bliss!After so long in the cold of the Andes it was great to feel the suns warmth on my body even if the salt water was stinging the sores on my lip.I then went for a stroll along the sandy beach toward the huge resort hotels that lined the beachfront about a mile away. It was great to see so many people out and about either running or cycling along the hard packed sand path at the top of the beachead.I decided that I could get used to hanging out here and my joy increased when,on walking through a beachside park,I spied a sight I hadn't realised I missed so much in my time in Latin America.Starbucks!I am a dedicated coffee addict and the sight of a Starbuck's store sitting in the park by the beach was like an oasis to me.I ordered myself a huge coffee,ingoring the funny looks the staff gave my scabby lip and settled down on the garden patio for the next couple of hours.
               It was during those hours sitting in the sun watching the bikini's walk by when the culture shock set in.Here I was sitting in Miami,Florida surrounded by manicured lawns,boutique hotels and custom low-ride cars while just a short day ago I was in the grip of  third world poverty.I looked at the coffee in my hand and realised that the money I had spent on that drink would have bought lunch for half a dozen Bolivians'  just yesterday.Jewellery sparkeled on the manicured hands of several women sunning themselves on the patio surrounding me.Their designer bathing suits oozed sexuality and what little material there was showed off flawless skin, bronzed by the Florida sun.A far cry from the squat Bolivian women covered from head to toe in layers of old fabric, colours dulled by the dust and pollution of the city around them.I pictured their happy wrinkled faces, dirty and dry,cracked by the harsh elements of a tough life in a poor land.I wondered how long the painted princesses around me would last in a hard place like Bolivia.
                It wasn't just the trappings of a wealthy nation that put my senses into overdrive.The colours of South Beach jumped out at me everywhere I turned.The emerald green parks were full of towering trees and trimmed with manicured flower beds full of reds,yellows and orange.Looking to my left,past the whiter than white beach was the brilliant blue Atlantic topped with the flourscent sails of a dozen boats  at play.To my right was Ocean Drive, home to that famous row of 50's inspired, pastel coloured hotels and bars seen in countless  movies and television shows.They form a rainbow of pink,blue,green and lavender buildings dressed with upmarket outdoor restaurants and bars,their streetfronts  lined with luxury cars.This was a very far cry from the last five weeks I had spent in the bleak,barren,brown alti-plano of Bolivia surrounded by the cruel realities of poverty.I had enjoyed even the worst of my experiences there but that was behind me now and it was time to play in the Florida sun.
                 I left my little perch in Starbucks and began the walk back to the hostel.This time I decided to walk along Ocean drive and check out the street I had seen highlighted so many times on the television show C.S.I. Miami.The nieghborhood didn't dissapoint and and realising that I hadn't eaten for some time I sat at a nice cafe and ordered lunch.From my vantage point I could watch the passing parade and be entertained by the antics of a group of testosterone fuelled African American studly types who verbally assaulted each female that passed thier way.It was all meant in good fun and everyone seemed cool with it but I have to say if any girl in Australia had that much suggestive language directed at them they wouldn't be impressed.These bubble-butt babes seemed to relish the attention.Must be a cultural thing.One particular guy,who stood about five foot five and was equally wide tried so hard to lure each passing bikini clad beauty to his table for a drink.He was very scary to look at and could have easily passed as an extra in any prison movie but he was also very funny to watch as time after time he got shot down by a potential mate.His show ended when a super hot convertible sports car pulled up to the curb and the driver waved him over.With his drink still in his hand and his pride in tatters he hopped into his "homies" car and took off for greener pastures.After eating I continued my trip to my hostel and marvelled at the endless row of cool bars and restaurants on Ocean Drive.All was fairly quiet and for me it was time to get back to my hostel,unpack my stuff and have a nap.

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Nick's epic ride part seventeen

2007-02-13T15:38:00.002-08:00

                             Things' in general were going along great living in La Paz. The Adventure Brew Hostel,La Paz's newest,was a great base and a haven away from the crazy streets of the city.Apart from biking and the odd run I started doing a bunch of stuff around the hostel for the owners and even became Gravity Assisted Tours super secret shopper.My job was to go around to all the other adventure bike companies and pretend that I was looking at booking a tour.I was given a list of the top five or so companies and a few tourist offices to check up on the cut-throat market of adventure tourism in La Paz.I would then email my report back to Alastair at Gravity so he could review the competition.My reward for my underhanded task was free trips back from Coroico to La Paz and burgers and beer at the hostels b.b.q's every Wednesday and Saturday.It was great to be able to get the ride to La Paz as I would ride from town,up to La Cumbre and down 68k to Coroico descending from 4600m to 1300m.The ride back up wasn't something that I wanted to do.I had told Alastair straight, that although I really respected his company and the trip down the worlds most dangerous road,after my ride up the Andes I wasn't about to pay anyone anything to ride my own bike anywhere.He could see my point and was cool with that.I was however happy to promote is company and sent many a backpacker down to his office to book that world famous bike tour.

                                The secret shopper gig almost came undone when during my first stop the sales girl,who ended up being the owner,saw me riding my mountain bike in the street a couple of days before.I guess they notice gringos' on bikes in La Paz.Come to think of it,I was the only one that I ever saw!She started grilling me about my bike and then the company mechanic came out and chipped in a few questions of his own.They wanted to know why I needed to book a tour when I had my own bike and why,if I had my own bike did I need to know all about thiers?Holy shit,what to do!Luckily for me,I was a very naughty boy when I was at boarding school and was quite used to being brought before my housemaster or headmaster and grilled mercilessly about one bad thing or another that I had done.I had developed quite the ability to make up very plausible stories that would account for why it was I seemed drunk at dinner(or in class)or deny any knowledge of how half of the two liter bottle of communion wine was missing from the Chapel.My poor brother, a year above me, suffered my misdeeds as he was one of the school prefects and had to bail me out lots.Thanks' for that mate!!

                              My creative mind went into overdrive and before they could say "Gringo, you got some s'plainin to do!"I was well into my cover story.You see,Mr scary mechanic guy,I have ridden my bike from Buenos Aries to La Paz(truth so far) and now my sister has come to Bolivia from Montreal(I have one and she does live there)to spend some time touring around with me.She is the one who needs the bike and I want to make sure the bikes are safe( god I'm good!).Great, no problems all around and they set about telling me all about the awesome day we would have and quoted prices and all that good stuff.No worries until they wanted me to book our places on the tour."Why can't you book your tour now"?.Oh shit again."Come on,we are very busy and we can't hold places for you"!Now they were not happy as they saw I had written everything down on a little pad that I carried with me."You see,my poor sister is at the hostel suffering from a bad case of altitude sickness and has been in bed for a couple of days.We had want to use the tour as a way of getting her down to Coroico to low altitude so she could feel better and enjoy the rest of her time visiting me".I explained that I couldn't book it as I didn't know when she would get better.Well not only was I a lying bastard,I soon became a really guilty lying bastard when everyone in the store started giving me all kinds of advice on how to make my little sister feel better.They all felt so bad that she was sick during her stay in La Paz and promised to make her tour a very special one.Talk about feeling like a prick.I felt so guilty after lying to those lovely people that I canned the rest of the days detective work and went to Olivers travels for a pint. I told them all about what had happened and they agreed that I was indeed a big lying prick!!

                            I spent the rest of the day hanging out at Olivers bullshitting to all the other travellers there.As it is a world cup year the most popular topic was,of course,football.I was pround that the Aussie team had qualified for only the second time but was the butt of many a joke about the probability of us winning any games at all.Usually I could rebutt those snide remarks by reminding the English of just how crap their national cricket team was.Unfortunately for me the bloody English had beaten us that year in the battle for the holy grail of cricket "The Ases".I would just have to stare into my pint and put up with the ribbing.

                           The next day I continued detective work and managed to find out all I needed in order to post my report to Alastair.That was until I hit the last of my intended targets for the day.This tour company was one of two the Alastair was especially interested in.They had a good reputaion and had taken delivery of a fleet of new Trek mountain bikes that were almost on par with Gravity's super cool Kona fleet.After finishing my little act and getting all the info I needed I was on my way out the door when I noticed that the bikes they had were using the same Shimano gear that I had on my tired little Scott.I actually had stopped riding as the brake pads for my disc brakes had worn out almost completely and it was now near suicidal to ride at all as I just couldn't be sure of stopping at all.The spare brake pads I had bought in Buenos Aries were in fact the wrong ones and after about 3500 kilometers of riding through the Andes I really needed new ones.There in front of me,mounted on that Trek bike, were a brand new pair of brake pads.I turned and asked if they had any spare brakes at thier workshop.The blank looks on the faces of the two people in the office showed total confusion.Nobody had ever asked to buy part of one of thier bikes before.I explained my plight and with that they called for a mechanic.He assured me that he could sell me a pair and that if I brought my bike in he would change them over for me.

                          Off I raced to the hostel ,grabbed my bike and after negotiating the horrendous traffic, was soon climbing the stairs to the tour office with Scott in hand.What happened next was something I never expected in a country a poor as Bolivia.With one look at my bike the lady owner of the tour company asked if she could buy my bike.Right there,right now,U.S dollars cash!!The guide that was in the store started peppering me with questions about my trip and he too wanted me to leave my bike behind.I must admit it was tempting but with all the fake U.S currency around I just couldn't trust them.Anyway I just love my little bike(there I said it!).The mechanic,true to his word changed my brake pads over for me and then asked if he could keep my old ones.No worries mate,just remind me never to ride one of your bikes if you are going to put those things into service.They were really lovely people and again I felt bad for lying to them but what can you do?

                             I started making plans for some new rides that I wanted to do around La Paz and with my bike working properly now I was very keen to hop back on board and do some more exploring.I had decided to see if it was at all possible to ride up to Chacaltaya on which was the worlds highest ski hill.My plan was to ride to from La Paz at 3600meters to La Cumbre at 4600meter then ride down to Coroico at 1300 meters.I would spend a couple of days there before making the huge climb back up to La Cumbre but continue on to the refuge(hut) that doubles as the lodge for the worlds highest ski hill at a staggering 5300meters.From there I would join up with a trekking company and climb the remaining 150 meters or so to the summit of Chacaltaya that's 18,000 feet folks for those who like to compare the big mountains of the world.I met with a guide that Alastair recommended and spoke to a guy in my room who had just come back from trekking with that trek.His group had summited without problem and he told me that the guide was very good.Now,could I actually connect the two adventures,Alastair said no worries in that silly Kiwi accent and informed me that a Kiwi bike race had in fact set the record for that ride.From 1300meters to 5300 meters on dirt roads,riding a mountain bike uphill for about 90 kilometers in just over eight hours.Trust a bloody New Zealander to do something so rediculously wonderful.

                               Things were to take a turn for the worst for me as my health started to slip and I was soon under the influence of a high temperature with a grand headache to match.I suffered through that for a couple of days before I woke up to find that I was now developing a small rash on my chest.I figured it was just from sleeping in sweat drenched clothing and didn't think much of it,until it started to spread.My throat started to hurt and speech became more and more painfull.The general feeling amoung the bachpacker clan was that I either had partied too hard (which I hadn't)or that it was altitude sickness(which it wasn't,I was sure).My nights became hell as I couldn't lie flat without coughing and my body went from hot to cold in hourly cycles.At one stretch I lay in bed for the best part of 36 hours without eating.I had to try and sleep sitting upright,propped up by pillows covered in towels to soak up the sweat that wouldn't quit and because my lungs were filling with fluid I couldn't lie down. All I could do was to try and warm up in the shower while at the same time blowing the dried blood that caked my sinuses all over the shower-stall wall.Every morning was a battle to not throw up as I gagged on the bloody phlegm that was now coating my throat.Lovely!

                                 One morning I managed to actually get up,find some dry clothes and wander down throught he frigid hostel down to the lobby for breakfast.While I was there a group of four nurses from Australia who had given me some medication for my headache a few days previous arrived back at the hostel after being away for a five days at Coroico and the Bolivian Amazon.One look at me was all it took for the girls to fall back into thier professional nursing mode.The four of them grilled me about the what had happened since they saw me last and when I mentioned my spreading blistered rash they freaked.I was taken back upstairs and told to remove my jacket,sweater and t-shirt revealing an torso covered in small cirular scabs.I was asked if I had ever had chicken pox as a kid and I couldn't remember so off we went to one of the mamy telephone exchanges over the road from the hostel.I called my folks back in Oz and woke them up with the sort of questions that no parent wants to hear from a son who is in Bolivia.I had spent a week in Thai hosital once and I didn't want repeat the experience here.

                                     Apparently I had suffered from chicken pox as a kid so I thought I was in the clear.One of the nurses however was in the phone booth next to me calling her hospital in Melbourne, Australia.She passed on all my symptoms to a doctor friend of hers who was on the night shift and without being able to examine me he did think that I may be suffering from the pox and not shingles as I was beginning to think.His advice,let the girls take you to a pharmacy,buy the drugs he prescribed and get the hell out of Bolivia.They then took me off to a pharmacy as told and went to town shopping.In Bolivia you can buy anything you like over the counter and as long as you know what you want there is no problem.Well with four chicks whose job it is to dish out this stuff I figured they knew what they were doing and left my fate thier hands.

                                       It took a couple of days ingesting enough meds to bring down an rhino before I began to feel better and began to plan my escape from Bolivia.With the raw flesh from my sinuses now spreading down my nostrils and out over my top lip I really looked a sight and decided that I needed to go somewhere sunny and lie in the ocean by a beach and let the salt water do it's trick.I searched the internet for the cheapest flights north and decided to head off to South Beach Miami for a few days in the sun before continuing on to Canada for the summer.

                                     I had a week to kill before my flight and spent the start of it wandering around the markets or sitting quietly soaking up the winter sun in the plaza in front of the San Francisco Cathedral.One of my many wanderings led me luckily,as I would soon find out,to the Lloyd Aero Boliviano offices in town .I thought that as I was there I may as well go in and confirm my flight and maybe actually pick up a real ticket as I didn't really trust the whole e-ticket thing here in Bolivia.Once I was called up to an agent and gave her my e-mail confimation she proceeded to tell me that there was no such fight as the one that had been confirmed for me.Upon checking she told me that the airline had decided to change it's schedule and that they were waiting for me to come in to find another flight.I asked her how I was supposed to come and re-book a fight when I didn't know that mine had been cancelled in the first place!I would have gone to catch my flight and it wouldn't have been there great!She wasn't interested and asked if i still wanted to fly out.I said of course and asked her when I could possibly confirm a seat.She then told me that the only fight they cold get me on in the next couple of weeks was leaving the next morning at 9am.What!I had no choice.If I waited,I would miss my non-refundable connection to Vancouver in six days time.The next day it was then.My god so much to do.My whole life to pack up in just a few hours.I didn't want to leave this wonderful place like this but what can you do.Sometimes life just sucks.

________________________________

Nick's epic ride part sixteen

2007-02-13T15:37:00.002-08:00

There are so many opportunities to meet amazing people when you travel the world via the backpacker route.Five star hotels and package tours tend to give a distorted view of each city that you visit.Everything is safe and easy to find,courtesy of your friendly consierge or overly eager tour gude.Most times the tour guides themselves know little more of the city they are showcasing than what is printed in any Lonely Planet guidebook.I know this from dealing with twenty odd years of tour guides in my work in the hotel game in Australia.This is especially so when the destination falls into the "Dangerous holiday destination" category.Bolivia,it would seem,fall into this category.

                        If everyone in the world heeded the warnings about travel in Bolivia then there just wouldn't be a tourist industry there at all.Thankfully there are enough free thinking,open minded and brave travellers who are putting the myth of death and destruction awaiting those that dare cross the border right where that myth belongs.In fantasy land!I would venture that I've seem more danger on the street in my home town of Cairns than I ever saw in La Paz,or anywhere in Bolivia for that matter.
                         Don't get me wrong,bad things do happen here and sadly a young European couple met their maker at the hands of some very scary locals just before I arrived in town.They didn't heed the warnings that are given to all backpackers in La Paz.Do not use any taxi but those radio cabs that are licensed by the city.You see,this city is just full of cabs and buses but only a few are actually licensed radio cabs.The rest,even though they look like cabs, aren't.Sure they will take you to your destination and yes they are very,very cheap but why bother when any cab fare is just chump change to we westerners.The rules for these cabs are different as well.When you get into one of these cabs it is operated more like a mini bus and they will continue to pick up other passengers until it is full.You have no say at all!
                          This brings me to the dangers involved in trying to save about two cents per mile.As these cabs pick up locals,they naturally have to take them to local suburbs most of which are not on the tourist path and all of which are not patrolled by large groups of heavily armed police.This is what happend to the unfortunate Euros.Their cab was flagged down by some local lads and they were now trapped inside a strange cab driving through a very strange area.Long story short,they were robbed and murdered.End of story!I never stopped shaking my head at the stupidity of the backpacker youth as they tried to save a few pennies by flagging down these cabs.Drunk backpackers are the favourite targets as the driver will just drive in the opposite direction and then demand way more money than was agreed upon to get then back home.Then,to add insult to injury,the change given will usually be counterfeit notes.In La Paz there is a huge trade in fake currency and believe it or not,more fake U.S. dollars are made there than anywhere apart from Eastern Europe.The fake Bolivianos are funny(yes I got stung too) because the quality of the notes is bad,the size is just a little different and the colours aren't perfect.If those little signs aren't enough to warm you then just look a little harder.It is actually in printed quite clearly on the notes that they "are not legal tender".Bloody brilliant!!Seems they can't get arrested for passing fake note if they print on them that they are fake.Not thier fault that the stupid gringos can't read Spanish.The main way of passing these dodgy notes is as change to drunken tourists(me)or as part of a stack of real bills making change at the markets around town.
                                 One cool scam I heard of involved a licenced money changer.As I said,the fake U.S. dollar trade is huge here and the money changers are very careful at checking all the notes that we gringo's hand over.One enterprising money changer started taking random bills from tourists and declaring that they were fake.She would then tell the tourist in question that not only was exchanging forgeries a very serious crime but that she was duty bound by law to confiscate the money and turn it into the police.She had an accomplice dressed in military style uniform who would then start to question the,by now,shit-scared tourist.Every time the tourist would prefer to lose a hundred or so dollars than face the prospect of facing Bolivian justice.Very nice little business really,until they got caught.
                                 I found out about about most of these scams thanks to a guy I met at one of the local gringo watering holes,"Oliver Travells",a nice English style pub located in the heart of downtown La Paz and only a short stagger home from my hostel.I had heard about this place and was keen to see just how authentic an English pub it could possibly be.One afternoon,after another day of wandering the streets I stumbled upon "Olivers"(not the only stumbling that would take place here)and climbed the stairs from it's laneway entrance to check it out.Once entering the smallish one room pub I felt as if I had gone back to my days in Asia where every major city has it's cheap and tacky version of mother England.As it was the afternoon the place wasn't that busy and the staff were all happily standing en-masse behind the bar making short work of a large plate of french fries.As all good bartenders know,if you want to find out about a city,ask another bartender so I found a seat at the bar and ordered myself a pint of "Saya",the local boutique beer brewed in the basement of my hostel(I love this town).Over lunch at the bar I soon fell into conversation with the staff and customers and after the usual backpacker question time(Where are you from?Where have you been?Where are you going?Do you have any hot chicks at your hostel?) I was accepted into the fold.
                                 Most people I met on my trip thought that the cycle trip I was doing was nuts and the crew at Olivers' were no different.They did though,unike most people in my other life in Oz and Canada,take a great interest in it and asked question after question,fascinated in the experiences of my life on the road.Matt,the English bartender,soon tried to recruit me to play on the pub soccer squad against a team of locals and was very dissapointed at my refusal.I explained that the last time I played social soccer I blew my knee out and I wasn't keen to have another knee reconstruction,especially here in Bolivia.Poor guy was crushed as I guess he was thinking that a fit and sober addition to the team would have been a great asset.No doubt that the sqaud survived though as there was an endless pool of talent assembled at the pub each day watching Premier League soccer on the pubs' t.v screens.
                                 Life in that pub was,at times, quite bizzare.Not only was it a pub,it also doubled as a second hand bookstore and booking agent for Gravity Assisted Tours,the mountain bike company that my new Kiwi mate owned.The bookstore side of the business was run out of thier own huge library of books set up in a room off the main pub area and could be used as a book swap as well.The thing is,these books must have been the most expensive books in Sth America.The prices that they charged was off the charts by Bolivian standards and I saw many a argument start between book buyers and the staff.It was during one of these confrontations that I had the misfortune to meet the ownner of the pub,Oliver himself.

                                  Oliver is a tall,skinny, blonde 20-something English bloke who was,by some miracle,granted permission to set up this pub in La Paz.I would like to be nice in his description but the only way I can describe him is that he is perhaps the biggest English football hooligan that I have ever seen.He seemed to spend the first half of the day recovering from the night before and from the permanently glazed look in his eyes it came to no surprise to me when I was told that he liked imbibing in Bolivias' most famous export,cocain.His mood swings were something of legend and I witnessed first-hand many forms of the cruel mistreatment of his long-suffering staff.I could understand why the local staff put up with it but why on earth a backpacker would deal with that for only $5US a day I'll never know.
                                  He tried it on me once when he overheard me refusing the sales pitch for the bike tour down the "Worlds' Most Dangerous Road" with Gravity Assisted Tours.As one of the few agents for that company in town they tried to sell to everyone that came in the door so he wasn't happy when I didn't seem interested in booking a trip.His mood was swinging toward the dark side when Matt saved the day by explaining to him about my bike trip and that the owner of both "Gravity Assisted Tours" and the "Saya" brewery were friends of mine and that I'd been doing some work for Gravity tours and the hostel they own during my stay.He brightened up a bit after that and never bothered me or anyone I was sitting with again.You see,La Paz is a town like many in the third world where who you know means everything.If you are connected then there is not much you can't get away with,legally or not.
                               I had a great reminder of that kind of power when some mates and I left Olivers Travells to go to another bar diagonally opposite after Ollies had closed.The Sol Y Luna is another cool bar that caters to the backpacker crowd.It too is owned by a 20-something Brit and yes,you guessed it,he is a mate of Olivers.Once we were settled and had dealt with the sight of six or so Bolivian transvestites partying hard by the mens washrooms,we sat back and were treated to an example of justice, Bolivian style.The five of us sat at a table by the front door a couple of steps away from the bar on one side with a view of the street through a huge window on the other.We were happily downing "Saya" pints and trying to get rid of the eight year old boy trying to sell us cigarettes and coca leaves(he works in Ollie's as well) when a group of guys came bursting through the crowd toward the door.One guy didn't quite make the turn and instead of exiting through the door he half exited through the large window next to our table before being pulled back in and thrown out the door into the street.Now it's winter here in La Paz and THE WINDOW WAS CLOSED!!
                              Waiting in the street were a couple of well armed police types who quickly had the poor,shitscared British bloke up against the wall outside of the bar.More cops arrived and in a jeep and we thought for sure he was in for a quick trip to the local prison.I had to stop an American guy who,full of foolish notions of freedom for all,was about to lend assistance to the guy being interrogated in the street.The poor bugger outside was pleading his case and was eventually let go when Olliver and his mate, whose pub had just ejected the prisoner, wandered over and had a quick chat to the most senior cop.After much headshaking and pointing toward the broken window the Brit was shown his way down the street and Ollie,his mate the pub owner AND all the the cops involved wandered into the pub and sat at the bar for a pint.
                             Later in the evening Matts' Bolvian girlfriend who worked with Matt at Oliies,introduced me to all the bar staff at Sol y Luna.They were all nice and even the cop in charge,who was still downing pints,seemed likeable.They filled me in on why the young Brit had been thrown out,seems that it's bad form to let your bar tab run too high without any payment for a week or so.The penalty,pay your bar tab by end of business tomorrow,pay your "fine" of 200 Bolivianos, to the cop at the bar tomorrow night and pay for the friggin window we pushed you through.Done!I only found out about the details of the punishment when I ran into the poor offender the next day at my favourite little coffee shop.He protested his innocence to me while emailing his parents at home for more money.Another stupid young backpacker having fun in Bolivia!!!

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Nick's epic ride part fifteen

2007-02-13T15:36:00.001-08:00

   After my long cold climb to La Cumbre I figured that I would be able to tackle most of the roads around La Paz without too much problem.I would,however have to do some further altitude training before riding over 4500meters again.I even began to think that running might even be possible and boldly stode out of the hostel the next morning to begin my run training.Now those who know me are well aware of my lack of enthusiasm toward all things pedestrian(in the athletic sense that is)and that my usual yearly run training totals about ten hours.So to try to run in downtown La Paz was quite the heroic thing for me to do.It took about ten minutes to go from hero to zero!Seems I forgot to mention to the one million or so inhabitants of Bolivias capital that I would be needing the sidewalks for my athletic pleasure that morning.Either that or they all decided that it would be fun to watch a stupid, lycra-clad gringo try to manage more than a shuffle during the busy pre-work rush.I haven't done that much side-stepping since my rugby days at boarding school and it seems my intimidation factor hasn't changed since then.My next brilliant move was to step off the curb out of harms way and try to run in the gutter against the traffic.Fantastic!Now it was like a scene from a Jackie Chan movie,doing my own stunts and everything.I do think that running headlong into a La Paz rush hour might actually be easier than driving with the traffic.At least I could jump the curb any time I liked to negotiate the chaos.I needed to get away from the automotive stampede and upon spying a patch of greenery up a side street turned off the main drag and found myself trotting around a very nice park with a network of walking trails heading off in all directions.

                     I remembered seeing this park on my trusty city map and ran up a small hill toward one of the many lookouts I'd marked as "must do" spots to visit.Now I was cooking,I'd get a morning run in as well as some sightseeing.Brilliant!What a grand way to start the day-or not!My first new worry was that of all the paths I could have chosen,mine ran right by the local homeless persons hangout.If Bolivia is one of Sth America's poorest countries then imagine just how bad life must be for the homeless people here.I had no intention of finding out how much they disliked gringos' and did the first of my two speed sessions of the day,right through their lovely outdoor,sidewalk toilet.Having managed dodge the assorted "personal deposits" left for all to appreciate I ran up toward the lookout only to be stopped by two very grumpy,sleepy-eyed security gaurds who told me that the path was closed for rapairs and that I  would have to leave the way I came.Back down the hill I went and prepared myself for my second speed session of the day and my final one in La Paz.

                       Having negotiated the park I turned toward home and began the long,steady climb back to my hostel.By now the traffic had increased to epic proportions and was happily filling the atmosphere with the kind of thick fumes that only third rate petroleum can provide.I will state  though that I did run all the way back and managed to make it a solid run and vowed to rethink the timing of any future running adventure.

                       I did have the forethought to time my runs end with the lovely pancake breakfast that the hostel provides each day.All the pancake and coffee I could take with a not so warm (but cosy)bed for only $5U.S a night.Awesome!!The looks I got from the assembled backpackers made appreciate my little adventure even more as most of them could barely focus through the haze of an Andean hangover.I decided to really rub it in and be  one of those really annoying "morning people" that every self respecting nightclub-crawler hates.Too much fun for me!

                     Those mornings over pancakes were really cool for the most part as it was really the only time that you could meet all the new people checking in as well as farewelling those who were heading off in search of new adventures.I generally was the first to arrive at around 7am and was the last to leave at around 9.This gave me the chance to not only find out all there was to know about travlelling in Sth America from all the backpackers but to get to know the locals who staffed the hostel.More often than not,as the days went on, I was called into service to help translate for the more linguistically challenged of those checking in.It is quite funny thinking back that I,a guy who can't really speak Spanish fluently,was translating for a guy who could  hardly speak English.Buy the time I told him what the guest wanted in what I thought comprehensible Spanish he would then confirm it with me in his very incomprehensible English.It's a wonder that anyone got a bed for the night.

                      It was over breakfast that the days plans would be made.Generally,those that hadn't gone on some sort of tour for the day would hook up make a day of it touring the city on foot.I had some favourite places to go and had the pleasure of showing more than a few people the sights of downtown La Paz.If I felt like going off and hiding,I would wander down to my favourite coffee-shop next to the huge San Francisco Cathedral that dominates the market section of the city.There I would eat really nice western style food at super cheap prices and read or write as the world passed by.There is something very special about being on the road in a place like Bolivia.There is an unspoken comraderie that permeates the backpacker culture like no other.If I were to sit in a coffee-shop in most western cities my presence would go largely unnoticed and my life of little interest to those around.Here though,everyone is bound by the grand experiences of life and is so willing to share a part of themselves with anyone who happens to  glance thier way .I think it is a beautiful thing to witness but sadly is witnessed by so few.

                     I soon fell into the daily routine of getting up in the cold hours of the morning and trying to get in as much training as possible before the city woke up and riding became a nightmare.One easy option was to do a series of long 5k(3mile) hill repeats on the highway heading up and out of town towards El Alto.I would start climbing as soon as I stepped out of the hostel and had to use the first of my half dozen repeats as a warm up.The first few would generally go quite well from a traffic standpiont but the as each climb took me another 500meters skyward none of them were easy.I would try to hang on and complete my half dozen trips up the hill but more often than not the increasing fumes,not to mention the stench from the heavily polluted river by the side of the road,would make me retreat to the comfort of the hostel and my morning pancake session.

                     My favourite ride became the trip down to the Zona Sur or southern zone of La Paz.Here is where the elite of La Paz live and also where the streets are a little less chaotic(a little).The trick with this ride is to leave early thus beating the traffic and spend an easy 35minutes gliding through the cobbled streets ever downward toward, 500 vertical meters to the southern exit of the city.There was that damn river to follow but I will admit the smell bothered me less and less each time.Passing through Zona Sur it is easy to see how to some,living in La Paz would be like being in an oasis.There are shopping malls with all the western conveniences,social and sporting clubs to rival any found in L.A and very nice,clean suburbs to live in.The fact that most of this wealth came from the cocain trade wasn't lost on me as I noticed that propotionately,the number of heavily armed troops had grown substantially since entering this area.They were a friendly bunch though and were very helpful in showing this eternally lost gringo his way.

                     Continuing through the last of La Paz' suburbs the scenery went from densely populated to barren and it was a joy to ride the undulating road through the badlands of La Paz.The weekends were the best time to make the trip south as it gave me the opportunity to hook up with the many local cyclists that used this route for training.There was always a really funny look on the faces of every cyclist I passed as they tried to figure out just who this speedy gringo on the dirty mountain bike was.I liked this trip as it gave me the opportunity to check out a few sights that the other backpackers had to join a tour to see.Firstly there was the La Paz Zoo,surely the highest zoo in the world,full of very bored looking animals from all over the world.Secondly there was the La Paz Golf Club,definately the highest golf course in the world and then there was the "Valley of the Moon" which begins at the golf course and descends dramatically toward the great,snowcapped Mt Illimani.

                        The soil that makes up the whole of the La Paz area is mostly a red or grey clay and due to the extreme weather here  is eroded at every wet season that strikes each summer.I would hate to see just how dangerous it must be to live around here when the rain comes but I'm told that due to the steep nature of the La Paz basin that landslides are commonplace and the streets run like wild rivers at times.The funny thing about that is that above La Paz at 5400meters is the worlds highest ski hill.This ski hill only operates in summer ,of all times, as thats the only time it rains, or should I say snows , in the region.The wintertime, which I was experiencing, was too dry to snow and so the ski hill shuts down and all the summer sports like golf and mountain bikeing start.Pretty wierd I thought!

                       The Valley of the Moon gets it's name from the bleak clay formations caused by the summer rains.There is no greenery to speak of and the soft grey soil is molded into strange and wonderful shapes that change with each wet season.Deep caverns are adorned with towering spires of fragile clay perched on the edges of crumbling cliffs.As the clay dries over the dry season the wind then carves sharp edges to each spire creating a spooky lunar feel.One could imagine pre-historic mammals roaming through the valley on thier way to the fertile plains beyond.Then again maybe I've just lost my mind due to oxygen debt.

                     I spent many an hour riding through these bad-lands and loved every minute of it.Getting back home,however was a different story.From the Valley of the Moon back to Zona Sur was about a 90 minute uphill,undulating ride.From there,once the traffic started,the easy 35min descent turned into another 90 minute or so uphill grind with the worst part being the dreaded switchbacks that took me back to the center of town.This climb was one of those character building experiences were all you want to do was slow down or stop so the pain would end.The problem was once you were in your smallest gear you can't slow down otherwise you fall over and to stop means not starting again!Thrown in the increased pollution and you get a really big bang for your athletic buck.

                  Not to worry though as the weekend markets in the city center almost made the whole thing worth it.The city shuts down about four city blocks in central La Paz every Sunday and half the population turns up to check out the markets and dance to the bands playing on the central stage.It was always way too much fun to see the expression on the faces of the children as I rode through the crowded streets.Generally I was absolutely filthy by this stage of my ride,covered in clay dust dried hard to my clothes by the sweat of my efforts.I wore black,full length tights and arm warmers,a dirty bike jersey of unrecognizeable colour,black gloves,my helmet and really funky aviator style goggles that I'd bought for $3 at the local markets.In short the only exposed part of my body was my nose and lips so i must have looked a scary sight to most of the kids in town.I never once got hassled on my trip and I don't know if it was bacause of my look or the fact that the bike jersey I wore had had printed on it "Trinity Cycles"(from my mates bike shop in Cairns).You see, in a very strict Roman Catholic continent like Sth America the holy trinity means a lot so I figure they all thought I might be some strange travelling holy man and thought it best to leave me alone.I didn't work that out 'til I took my bike off the train in Ororu three weeks before and some guy pointed at my shirt and started calling out "Trinity,Trinity,Christos"That was really wierd!!!

                  There were many strange things like that happenning regularly and I made every effort not to make light of the wonderful experience that I was having in this remarkable part of our planet.It tended to overwhelm me every now and then,not because the adventure was too rich for me but the fact that even though I had lots of people at the hostel to talk to about my days,I had nobody to share them with.It is very easy to become lonley in a crowd and so I began to dream,as my health started to fade,of friends in another part of the world.







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Nick's epic ride part fourteen

2007-02-13T15:35:00.002-08:00

           That night's sleep was one of the best I had experienced on the road.Thankfully there was no repetition of the icy early morning wake up but still it was chilly enough for me to urge the sun on as it rose directly over Mt Illimani.I took the fly off my tent and let the suns rays warm me as I sat inside drinking  huge amounts of hot chocolate.There was no rush to get going as I had only 40k(25miles) to ride into La Paz and so I took my time packing up and hit the road mid morning for the downhill run into Bolivias largest city.

          For the fist time in weeks I had the pleasure of spending the majority of my time sitting up and coasting as I decsended into El Alto.This is quite a depressing place as it is growing so fast that the infrastructure can't keep up with the amount of homes being built.The country folk of Bolivia are flocking to this area in great numbers,all hoping to be able to have a better life in La Paz, away from the poverty stricken farmlands of this poor country.The end result is a characterless shamble of dwellings just bursting at the seams with no real sense of planning at all.The sheer scale of people living here stuck me as I rode through El Alto proper just before the massive descent into La Paz.There was chaos everywhere.Thousands of people were all in a mad rush to go somewhere and the huge fleet of mini busses charged with delivering them there made my life hell as I tried to negotiate the main highway into town.I thought that there must have been some huge demonstration going on but soon found that this was just the normal Sunday morning market crowd heading off to do some shopping.

           The city of La Paz is situated in a huge bowl some 500 vertical meters below El Alto and I can't begin to describe the truly incredible sight that was before me as I crested the final rise and started the long scary downhill into town.The city center of La Paz is at the very bottom of the valley which is in turn filled from bottom to top with old clay brick nieghbourhoods ranging from wealthy to poor as you rise toward the sky.The collection of skyscrapers that are collected in a group on the valley floor told me that I was indeed entering a major city. Once the 10k(6mile)descent was negotiated the western food outlets and chain stores confimed to me that there was indeed two Bolivias, the poor country Bolivia that I had seen during the last week or so and the capitalist mecca that is the nations commercial capital.

            It took some time to find my hostel and after unpacking and showering I was taken hostage by a couple of market frenzied girls who dragged me back up to El Alto and into the throng that I had ridden through a couple of hours earlier.This market is only open a couple of days a week and it is about the biggest one I have ever seen.There was everything imaginable for sale.The usual clothes,jewelery,fake colognes,food and drink were on offer as were some more unusual items.I've never before seen a broken fan belt store or one that sells car doors before but they were just two of the weird market store we saw.I hung around one stall for a while as there were cheerleading outfits for sale and I REALLY wanted to see the customers who wanted to shop there.No joy for me though,all the potential Bolivian cheerleaders must have been out of town that day.My main interest was looking at the view of La Paz way below us and as the markets are perched on the lip of the bowl above the city the sight was amazing.The bright blue sky and snow covered Mt Illimani dominating the far end of the valley just added to the days spectacle.

             With about all the marketing I could handle I convinced the girls that it was coffee time and we headed down to the city center and into a really cool western style coffee house.This place would fit in anywhere in the world and my short time there was just the beginning of my exposure to the expat life that abounds in La Paz.Like many far-flung cities of the world La Paz has it´s share of foriegn nationals living amoung the local chaos that only a third world capital can provide.I have found this place very similar in that respect to the Hong Kong of my childhood.To those of you who don´t know me so well I was born and raised in that wonderful British colony during a time when Brittannia did indeed still rule the waves and the Union Jack flew proudly over the last bastion of English imperialism.In those heady days during the sixties and seventies obscene displays of wealth and social staus were on display throughout the colony in the form of private golf,tennis,equestrian,cricket,social and country clubs.Expat corporate executives mingled with the wealthy local elite while thier guilded offspring ran amok in the countless English pubs,restaurants and discos that happily welcomed the mostly underage throng with open arms and bulging cash registers.

           La Paz is no different and I have already seen many private sports and social clubs not so discreetly hidden behind high walls designed to keep the unwashed masses at bay.The only locals allowed are the elite Bolivian upper class,rich expats and the staff whose primary function is to make the club members feel very special about themselves.The countless western style eateries and pubs dotted around the city have the same function.While catering to a slightly less affluent section of the foriegn presence they too have to suffer the same idignity of watching even the poorest of westerners(the dreaded backpacker)spend more money on one meal than the average Bolivian earns in a week.

          I found myself guilty of frequenting one such coffee shop and really felt like I could have been back in Hong Kong as the only people who ate there were the foriegn backpackers searching for some western food and a few select locals,most of whom seemed to be friends of the cafes' owners.I'm not sure if it was the excellent food(super cheap too) or the endless '70s disco music that played in the background but I ended up going there for lunch nearly every day.One cool thing was that as I sat at my favourite table I ended up meeting up with so many people that I had seen in Argentina and southern Bolivia earlier during my trip.The backpacker trail in Sth America is now well and truly established and the winter months mean it's time to go to Bolivia and Peru.It's only a matter of time before paths cross again.

           The main reason I had decided to spend so much time in La Paz was to settle for a while in one place and do some serious riding.I had done some research on the mountain bike community in La Paz before I left Australia and found that there was a huge amount of mountain bike tours available.The adventure tour industry is growing rapidly and there are several tour operators conducting all kinds of M.T.B experiences around La Paz.Without a doubt the pick of the bunch is a company called Gravity Assisted Tours,a company owned and operated by a mad keen Kiwi mountain biker who came to Bolivia eight years ago looking for adventure and ended up creating what is, without a doubt, one of the finest mountain bike adventure companys' in the world.

         I had contacted the owner(Alistair)from Australia earlier in the year and told him of my planned trip and that I was looking at helping organise a tour for a friend in Oz back who was planning a two week trip with some friends in October.I was to be on a mission to find out all I could about his company and what La Paz had to offer in order to make my frinds arrival in Bolivia as easy as possible.Alistair could not have been more welcoming.Upon settling into La Paz (he is a part owner of my hostel)I was invited over to "Gravity House" and met up with him and a few of his giudes.He seemed more interested in making sure that I was comfortable in his hostel and planning stuff for me to do than anything to do with selling his tours.I liked him immediately and felt sure we would become firends.A tour of his office and bike workshop more than settled any doubts I might have had about the professionalism of his company.The huge fleet of high end Kona bikes being worked on by a team of dedicated moutainbike-mad mechanics only supported the image  portrayed in the "Gravity"office I had seen downtown earlier in the day.

          With my contacts sorted I set about making La Paz my home for the next few weeks.The hostel I was staying was the nicest and newest in town .It is a renovated hotel and is a partnership between Alistair and the owner of the Saya Brewery which produces it's boutique beers in the basement of the building.Although it is still undergoing major renovations and is really,really cold all the time it was very comfortable and the staff made me feel very welcome.Over the next couple of weeks I met loads of really cool travellers and even bumped into many backpackers that I had seen during the first couple of months of my trip.For me,it was nice to be hanging around mainly English speaking people after spending time on the road in contact with only the local Bolivians.I missed being able to have easy conversations with people who were from the same culture as myself.Maybe I was beginning to find life in Sth America wearing but I was determined to make the most of my time in La Paz.

           For the first few days I spent most of my time between wandering the insanely busy streets and relaxing in various coffee shops around town.It seems like the whole city is one big market place and is just alive with the locals trying to eek out a living selling everything imaginable in thier little street stalls.Each area seems to have its own theme.The is the Black Market where you can pick up al d.v.ds' and electronics,the Witches Market where all kinds of local potions,herbs and assorted voodoo items are found.This place was weird and although I'm not one to be surprised by much,the Llama feotus' that were for sale did kind of put me off.Seems they place these little treasures in the foundations of thier new homes as a guarantee of good fortune.There are flower markets,fruit markets,clothes markets,book markets,toiletries markets but my favourite one to avoid walking through was the meat markets(I'm not talking night clubs here folks).The various cuts of meat on display in the most unsanitary conditions made my stomach turn and I was thankful the altitude had dulled my appetite.

           My nights were usually quiet affairs,watching movies at the hostel.I'm not one to hang out in bars anymore and I'm getting far too old to be spending time trying to join in on the other meat market in town.Give me a nice warm blanket and a movie and I'm a happy camper.I did manage to spend four straight nights watching five seasons of Sex and the City on d.v.d with five Irish girls.While all the studly young lads were busy confirming thier manliness by watching Top Gun and other assorted testosterone filled movies togther, I was snuggled up under a rug with the girls and an endless supply of snack food.Don't know about those macho boys but I know where I'd prefer to be.

         After a few days of hanging out I tought it was time to get back on the bike and check out the local roads.My god what a steep learning curve that was!After spending the best part of a month above 3000meters(10,000 feet) I thought that I was used to the altitude.How wrong I was!My first ride was from the center of the city at about 3600meters to a place called Le Cumbre which is the starting piont for the most popular bike tour in South America,the "Worlds Most Dangerous Road!!"Now, the tourists get to catch a nice mini-bus to Le Cumbre with thier bikes on top and a coffee in thier hot little hands.I on the other hand thought it would be cool to ride up thier just to check it out.Little did I know what riding up to 4700meters would do to me.It's not a long ride by any means(about 25-30k)but once you leave the main street downtown the next downhill is when you turn around at the top.Off I went(stupidly on a Sunday)weaving my way through the first of two markets that I would have to negotiate that day,trying not to run over any litttle kids while avoiding becoming a hood ornament on one of the hundreds of taxis and mini buses ferrying the population around town.

           An hour into the ride and I was still in the outer suburbs of La Paz and climbing steadily.I stopped every now and then to check out the view behind me and was amazed at just how high above La Paz I was climbing and marvelled at how the people in the streets around me could live at this altitude and still function.Every time I stopped it was like a huge weight was on my chest and starting again sent flashes of pain down to my legs.I figured this was caused by the fact that every time I stopped riding I also stopped my hyperventilation and so my muscles ran out of oxygen.Very strange to think that it was actually easier to keep riding slowly than it was to stand there doing nothing.

          Another fourty minutes or so later and I was finally out of the city and riding alone on a deserted ,winding road that rose ever upward to the snow coverd peaks in the distance.The temperature was dropping dramatically and I knew I was going to be in trouble on the decsent when I passed the first frozen waterfall of the day.Dogs became my next issue and while the little buggers that chased me from time to time are used to charging up a hill at 4000 meters,I am not!The pain in my chest that I got from trying to out-sprint those dogs was unbelievable and I began to think of what it must be like for those mountaineers on Everest.Poor bastards!

         After climbing 1100meters in two hours and twenty two minutes I reached Le Cumbre and was treated to the beatiful sight of Le Cumbre Lake and the glacier of a nearby mountain.I could see in the distance the road ahead that I knew lead down the Worlds Most Dangerous Road and eventually into the Bolivian Amazon.Believe me the thought of descending the 70 odd kilometers down to the warm town of Coroico in the jungle at 1100meters was very tempting but that ride would have to wait.I needed to get back to La Paz before the cold overwhelmed me.

          The ride back to La Paz was a dangerous and painful affair.I had left it too late in the day for my ride and now the sun was setting and shadows were covering the road before me.With no direct sunlight to warm me I began to freeze.My co-ordination was rapidly diminishing and even though I had two pairs of gloves on my hand began to ache with the cold and it became hard to control my bike.The black ice that was now starting to cover parts of the road meant that I had to be on the brakes for most of the descent in order to prevent my sliding off the edge around any one of the blind corners that I had to negotiate.This just added to the pain and by the time I hit the traffic of the outer subrubs I was miserable.Luckily the valley turned into the sun and I bagan to warm up and the final part of the ride was actually pretty cool fun if not quite hair raising at times.There was no way I could do this ride during the week with the traffic at full flow.

          I made it back to the hostel without incident and set about warming myself with a nice hot shower.It felt great to be warm again but the first of the side affects of my ride became evident when my nose bagan to bleed.I haven't had a bleeding nose for as long as I can remember and I figured it was from the effort at altitude earlier in the day and that it would settle down soon enough.Well the blood flow did stop but my sinuses would be coated in dried blood for the remainder of my stay in Bolivia.Not much fun and as it turned out the nose bleed was a sign of things to come in the next two weeks.Training at this altitude would soon take it's toll on my body I was just too stubborn to heed the warning signs.

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Nick's epic ride part thirteen

2007-02-13T15:34:00.002-08:00

           Sleep was something that evaded me for the rest of the night as I waited, patiently shiverring,for the first rays of sunlight to warm my tent.The increase in traffic on the highway gave me some idea that daybreak was not far off and it was a relief to see the sky lighten in the early stages of sunrise.I knew that my little tent would take some time to warm up so I set about lighting my small stove and cooked myself some porridge, laced with hot chocolate.Just the thing to warm my insides and give me energy required to face the cold morning.

                 Once outside my tent I found all my equipment covered in a thin layer of ice and the ground brittle under a heavy frost.I decided to take my time and wait out those first cold hours and made a mental departure time of around nine o´clock.I took the opportunity to get the hot chocolate out again and warmed my hands around an nice hot brew.Sitting there in the strenghtening sunlight I soon forgot about the chilly ordeal of the night before and began to look forward to what lay ahead for me as I made my way ever closer to La Paz.First things first though, I still had to break camp and actually get my lazy butt back on the road.

                 I figured that as I had climbed so much the day before from 3700meters that today must surely be an easy one.The road ahead seemed to confirm that as I rolled happily down to the next town about 10k(6miles) away.It was a beautliful day without a cloud in the sky and no sign of the winds that so cruelly toyed with me the day before.I should have known though that what goes up in Bolivia,just keeps going up and as I rounded the bend to leave my first town of the day I saw the road tilt skyward,up and over the the hills in the distance.I did see a couple of cyclists quite some distance ahead and my competitive insticts kicked in and they became the focus of my pain.I did feel pretty foolish when,on approaching my prey,I realised that one of the "cyclists" was not a cyclist at all but a young mother pushing her two kids up the hill in a cart.We were about half way up the 10k(6mile) climb and I wondered how many times this poor woman had made the journey from the village at the bottom to the village at the top of the hill.I gave her and her family a nod of resect as I passed them and with their cheers of encouragement spurring me on I forgot my petty worries and made for the summit.

                  As I crested the climb,passing through yet another featureless village I saw the vast expance of the high plains stretching for miles before me.The long descent out of that village should have brightened my mood but the wind that had not yet reached the valley out of which I had climbed, made it´s presence felt here and I was forced to peddle downhill to gain any kind of speed.It was on this painfully slow descent that the Andes began to reveal thier beauty.Looking toward the west at my left were three enormous,snow-capped volcanos standing tall,towering over the plains below.They looked spectacular in the bright morning light and I wished I was able to ride toward them.My road unfortunately,headed ever upward,to the featureless highlands that I knew would lead me to my final destination.I felt a bit like good old Frodo heading towards Mordor.Could have done with Sam being there as well.I would have liked the company and his cooking is better than mine.

                    The rest of the day was spent in survival mode and I braced myself against the wind and rode on and on ever upward,the miles slowly passing under my wheels.I was very surprised at how many villages that I passed through as I thought that Bolivia was supposed to be more sparsely populated than I was witnessing.You would have to really try hard to run out of food and water here and it was nothing like I´d expected.I cursed the extra wieght that I carried with food that I now knew I didn´t need.

                      I had a couple of funny chance meetings along the way that day.The first was a group of schoolkids riding along the highway on thier way home from who knows where.There were five of them peddalling haphazardly all over the highway pushing and shoving each other in a way that the boys in Le Tour would be proud.No sponsors outfits with this little peleton though.Theses kids were immaculately dressed in full school uniforms.Grey dress pants,maroon sweaters overtop bright white shirts and polished black shoes made them look decidedly out of place in those bleak surrounds.All formality was thrown away when they saw me rapidy closing in.In a move that Team Telecom could have learnt from, they waited until I was just about to pass and the little buggers,in one swift move boxed me in.I was stuck and rolling along the highway at their mercy.For about a kilometer they teased me in a way that only kids can and for the first time I actually prayed for a hill so I could drop this juvenile pack.The inevitable hill came and in a play straight out of the German cycling handbook,my tourmentors lost the plot and I rode upward and away from them with ease.You know your competitive carreer is over when you start claiming victory over a bunch of ten year olds.The shame of it all!!

                       I rode on and on and by late afternoon was beginning to turn my thoughts to weather or not I could actaully make La Paz that day.I was riding well and even with the headwind figured I could cover the 140k(87miles) to the big city.I must have been riding at well over 4000m as I knew La Paz was in a bowl well below the city of El Alto that gaurds it´s western edge.I slowed down to fill my waterbottles at a disused gas station and even though it isn´t reccommended that you drink the water here in Bolivia my dehydrated state left me no option.As I slowed to find somewhere to put my rig I greeted by a little boy who waved me in with the flair of a seasoned pit crew member.He excidedly showed me where I could put my bike and then after watching me hopelessly looking somewhere to fill my bottles directed me to the tap that he had been standing next to the whole time.He asked me lots of questions about myself and just fell in love with my bike.Here was this little kid who couldn´t be more than eight or nine standing there in bare feet,his body dirty ,blackened by the curse of poverty, happily chatting away as if life couldn´t be better.I dug into my food stash and gave him all the cereal bars that I had left,said goobye and rode off with him running behind waving madly at his new gringo friend.Very humbling really.

                          On and on I rode knowing that I was very close to La Paz when unpon cresting yet another hill I was greeted by the sight of the mighty snow covered giants that make up the Andes.They are truly a magnificent sight and a real novelty for a guy from the tropics.As I rode further,the imposing Mount Illimani came into view on my right to the east.At over 6400 meters it is by far the highest mountain I had seen on my trip and I stopped on the highway to admire it´s majesty.By now the sun was on it´s way down and I thought it would be special to make camp and watch the sun set over the range before me.I found a perfect spot hiden from the highway behind a couple of small hills and set about organizing my last camp before La Paz.

                         My chosen resting place also overlooked a small hamlet and just as I was firing up my stove an old man pushing a bike strolled up the dirt road from his home below me and came to investigate.I asked him if it was okay if I camped there for the night but he thought I was mad and suggested that I come down to his village where it was out of the wind and make camp.I explained that I wanted to see the sun set on Mt Illimani and assured him that although it would be cold,I would be just fine.He shook his head and went about his business.About an hour later after my camp was set and dinner was had, the old man came back from whatever errand he had been on and checked out all my gear.He looked like a kid on Christmas morning as he checked out firstly my bike,which he thought amazing(the disc brakes get them every time)then my tent.He fussed over it for ages before declaring that in his opinion I would be fine for the night.What really floored him was my trailer.He couldn´t get enough of it and I had to show him how it attached to my bike,how the bag attached to the trailer and just to show off I gave a quick demonstration of how it folds down on itself to the size of hand luggage.Well you would think I´d just reinvented the wheel he was so excited.I asked him to please keep my location for the night a secret and with that he wished me luck and strolled back to his little world at the bottom of the hill.

                         With the sun setting and the light dwindling I put on all my warm clothes and braced myelf for the impending chill of night.I wanted to be able to see both the sun setting over the hills to the west and the last rays of light playing on the snow-covered Illimani to the east.I figured if I went to the top of the tiny hill above my camp I would be able to see both.What I didn´t expect was the sight before me as I reached the hiiltop.There to the north were the lights of El Alto,22k(13miles) away.El Alto is Sth Americas fastest growing city and is now the gateway to La Paz.The lights from the homes of its half million inhabitants shimmered like a golden lake in the in the fading light .I sat on that hiltop until the last rays of the sun had bathed Illimani in a warm purple glow and the lights of El Alto had brightened to a huge beacon that showed where I would end my journey the next morning.Turning to walk back to camp I was reminded of just where my adventure had started as there,high in the night sky was the southern cross, the celestial symbol of the land down under where my adventure had begun eight weeks before.

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Nick´s epic ride part twelve

2007-02-13T15:33:00.004-08:00

      Greetings one and all from sunny old Bolivia.It´s taken some time but I write you all now from the amazing city of La Paz,high in the Andes.How I got here has been quite the adventure so grab yourselves a coffee and settle in for my latest installment.
                  My last night in Humuahaca proved to be the best of all as a really great group of people had turned up and we had a huge communal dinner together in our little hostel.Lot´s of beers and bottles of red wine were drunk and the owners of the hostel proudly displayed my little trophy as if it was an Olympic medal.They were so funny ,as earlier on in the day they had made such a fuss over me that I didn´t have the heart to tell then that I actually came last.The trophy was all they cared about and all the assemble family members and staff had a go at holding it.Very funny!It was cool to be able to leave Argentina on such high note and I was now looking forward to what adventures Bolivia would bring.
                The next morning I rode my bike and trailer down to the bus stop and began the process of dissassembling everything so that it would all fit inside the bus.Luckily for me the bus wasn´t full and there was no wories at all loading it on.I was happy to not have to ride this section as from the bus windows it looked very uninispiring.We did pass through some wonderful canyons not far out of Humuahaca but as soon as we hit the Alti-Plano it was very boring scenery indeed.I did manage to discover what must be the ugliest town in Argentina ,if not the world.Tres Cruses sits at about 3700meters above sea level and for the life of me I couldn´t figure out why it was even there.Row after row of ugly concrete blocks were divided up into little homes,each a carbon copy of it´s nieghbour.There didn´t seem to be any indusry or any store for that matter so really who knows what they are all doing there.Thankfully I didn´t have to spend much time in this wind-swept hole.
                   My travelling companion was a young Peruvian guy who had been staying in my room at the hostel in Humuahaca.He was the first Peruvian that I had met and kept me enertained with stories of his trip around South America and of his life in Peru.He is a Systems Engineer at a bank in Lima and is the son of a Doctor.It was his medico father that had sent him on this trip to learn about the rest of the continent so he could better understand the tense polictical situation in his home country.He shocked me when he asked if I would help him get through Bolivian Immigration as he was very worried about how he would be received in Bolivia.Apparently Peruvians are not too popular in Bolivia,the result of conficts´ past and very long memories.He told me how fortunate he was to have a good job that paid him well and allowed him the luxury of travelling.His father was in the process of trying to get him into an Australian University so he he could escape the potential political problems that are currently brewing in Peru.His first problem was solved by me though when I found that he had left his wallet with all his cash,credit cards and Identification on the bus when we go to the border town of La Quacia.The look on his face when I handed him his wallet outside the bus was priceless.I´ve not seen such a look of shock in a long time.The poor bugger must have aged a few years on the spot.
                   The next task was to put my bike and trailer together again for the short trip to the frontier zone . With the usual dozen or so onlookers that I always attract I soon became the center of attention yet again.This time though I felt like I was part of some sort of strange third-world pit crew as each part that I needed to assemble my gear was handed to me with expert timing by a small group of street urchins that had decided they might make some quick cash by handing me a wheel,a bungy cord,my seat-post or any number of  parts that had been spread around the apron of the bus terminal.Charity was not the word of the day though and I soon wheeled my"world on wheels"away from a dissappointed group of would be thugs.Luckily my Peruvian mate was big and scary looking and the moment passed without fuss.
                     At the border we dutifully filled out our forms and made it through easily.Once on the streets of Villazon,Bolivia though,the stark reality of entering Sth Americas´ poorest country soon hit hard.Everything was dirty and there seemed a general mood of distrust spread through the assembled massses as we walked through the little town toward the train station. There things just got worse!We had arrived in Bolivia just in time for a national bus strike and the result was that the train station was jammed with people trying to get a train ticket to anywhere.I joined the line and my mate from Peru told me he was going to  hitch a ride on a truck.I,with my gear,obviously couldn´t do that and we parted company with best wishes all around.
                    The mood at the ticket counter was turning ugly and several very well armed army types were called into duty to control the ever-maddening crown of about one hundred and twenty.I had made my way to near the front of the line after a couple of hours and with the impending depature time looming was hopefull of securing a berth.I hadn´t however, planned on the mood of one certain ticket seller.Seems the electronic ticket machine had broken down and he was now refusing to sell anymore tickets for the three quater full train.Thankfully the Captian of the ever growing military presence had the good sence to get the man in charge of the train into the office.After a very public screaming match during which the obviously vacant seats were pointed out the ticket man relented and we were on course for a ride to Ororu seventeen hours away.That was until,just as it was my turn to get my ticket, an old lady pushed in front of me and demanded to be served.Well that was it,he stood up sweared at the old lady,shut the register draw and pretty much told the whole world to go and get f$]%ked.There would be no more tickets sold for that train today.He was though, more than happy to start selling us tickets for the next days train.This announcement made me glad that the soldiers had not left thier posts beside the remaining twenty or so gringos at the front of the line.You see,there had been waiting very patiently, about fifty locals who wanted to buy tickets for the next days train and since they had been waiting for hours they were not about to let us steal their seats.The crowd lept as one to their feet and made a charge for us,help back only by the very large guns that were now drawn and being used as shields to protect us.Cool heads prevailed and at the request(order with a big gun involved)of my new mate ,Scary Capitan Bolivian Soldier we all took our places at the end of the line and resigned   ourselves to the prospect of staying in Villazon for the night.
                      Not to be put out by this little hiccup I quickly befriended a couple of Irish girls in the crowd and they told me about an hotel that they had found just accross the street from the train station.I quickly ran over and booked myself in for the night and then went back to the station to wait in line for my ticket.Turned out that there would be a lot of us staying in the same place and it was fun being the only guy hanging out with six Irish girls,one Aussie girl and one girl from Buenous Aries.Once we had secured or tickets for the next day and settled into our rooms it was off to explore the ugly streets of Villazon.

                     I will say one thing,I couldn´t help but think that this town reminded me of my travels in northern China.My parents lived for some time in the city of Tianjin which is situated just below Beijing and the stark concrete buildings of Villazon are indeed very similar.The parks and gardens,also featured an overabundance of concrete and the way that the trees,with thier trunks painted white to a hight of three feet,all individually circled by iron railings gave off a distictly sterile, communist feel.The fact that fall has arrived,stripping the trees of colour only added to the grey,depressing scene.
                     No depressing scenes for me though as after our little excursion four of us decided to have ourselves a little slumber party of sorts in my room.As I had a room with a T.V in it three of the girls decided that a movie marathon was the order of the night and so with blankets and sleeping bags keeping out the night chill we settled in for a few hours of mindless entertainment.First up The Terminator followed by Independance Day with copious amounts of junk food and some really cool, hippy vego fare prepared by the little Aussie chick who is spending her time in Sth America camping in peoples back yards.Way too much fun for a datless white boy!
                  The next day it was a liesurely day hanging out before we boarded our train for the trip to Ororu.I had decided, as the bus strike was still going on, that would ride from Ororu to La Paz.The ride would be about 227k (140miles) long and with the altitute should take me two and a half days of easy riding.First things first though and I had to handle the executive class train trip before any riding was to be done.The train itself was great.Very comfy and with four cheesy movies to watch, mixed with the amazing scenery,some great food and a bit of sleep.Thankfully I did go top class as at least our car was heated,unlike those cheap backpackers who had to endure sub-zero temps in cattle class.It was going to be tough though to get on my bike after such a long train trip and start my ride north to La Paz.No getting around it though,it had to be done .

                Once the train stopped at Ororu I had to excersize all my patience as it took forever for them to locate my four bits of luggage.My backpack,trailer bag,trailer and bike had all been put in different places so it took some time to make sure they had all arrived at all.It did give me some time to change into my bike gear on the platform though,much to the amusement of the local police who were very interested in my ride and all my gear that I had scattered al about.I gave another demonstration on how to assemble all my gear only to find both my front tyre and trailer tyre were flat.Another free lesson to the assembled rabble and my tyres were fixed and finally I was off.
                After asking directions from some old guy at the local gas staion it was northward bound through another dirty,chaotic Bolivian city.This time though it was fairly simple,just head north along that road and you will get to La Paz.That was,until the damn road ran out and I was Xterra-ing my way through some very dodgy nieghbourhoods,following the now disused train lines,much to the disgust of the local canine population who seemed to have organised an anti bike coalition.It was the first time I had been chased by any mutts and thier enthusiasm more than made up for my previous doggy drought.It wasn´t long before I did find the highway north and was soon heading toward the distant mountains that dominated the landscape.
               The only problem I was facing was the fact that Ororu was at 3700meters and the road before me seemed to rise ever so gently higher, with no end in sight.Combine this with the first killer headwind of my trip and you can imaginge what sort of day I was having.The first town was 37k(22miles)away and the road was dead straight all the way to the horizon, shimmerring in the afternoon sun.This stretch took forever and I was beginning to think that it was going to be a very long day at the office for me.I was glad by this time that I didn´t have my watch anymore as not knowing the time was a blessing.I just put my head down and rode for hours until the air temperature became just too cold and I figured that I´d better find myself somewhere to camp before I forze.Surprisingly I had made it to my planned destination for the night,the little town of (no not Bethehem) Belem and bought some supplies from a very nice old man at a run down little store in the main street.The attention I was getting made me bid a hasty retreat from that town and I rode on for about another 20 minutes until I found a great campsite hidden from the highway by a little grassy knoll.It was perfect cover and I was sure I wouldn´t be seen by any nastly little Bolivian crimminal types.The days total was around 85k(52miles) of hellish headwinds and elevation gains but I was happy that I´d made it so far under those conditions and was sure that I would indeed make it to La Paz by lunch on my third day.

               I quickly went about the task of setting up camp and the first thing on the agenda was to fire up my stove and get dinner ready.While supper was heating away(I wish I was)my little nylon casa was erected and made ready for sleepy-time.I was beat and looking forward to bedding down for the night with a full belly so as soon as my pasta dinner was done it was wolfed down and I was in my sleeping bag trying to get to sleep before the cold crept in to ruin my night.
              I didn´t take long to get to sleep but as had become normal at this altitude,sleep was a relative term.My heart-rate drops so much at night that I now found myself waking periodically through the night gasping for air.The first couple of times were scary but now it is just one of those things and I deal with it.This nights restlessness was to allow me to experience a truly remarkable phenomenon.It was so cold inside my tent that I was forced to put on many layers of clothing in order to keep warm.In what must have been the early hours before dawn I woke up shiverring and as I turned my headlamp on to put on my second fleece sweater I noticed the inside of my tent was covered in what looked like a million little stars.The fact that I could quite clearly see my breath gave the illusion away.Those little stars were actually ice-crystals covering the entire inside of the tent as well as the foot of my sleeping bag.I don´t know how cold it was but the frozen water bottles inside my tent made me assume it was way below zero.More layers of clothing were added and suprisingly I drifted off to a very deep sleep dreaming of what the next day on the high alti-plano would bring.

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Nick's epic ride part eleven

2007-02-13T15:32:00.002-08:00

               Staying in Humahuaca for a few days proved to a real treat for me.I had been here before just on a day trip but one afternoon just dosen`t do this place justice.The morning after I arrived I decided to do a bit of touring around the local area and found myself a map to a few of the nieghbouring villages.This of course meant dirt roads and lots of climbing.After a change of tyres,back to those dreaded knobbies,I was off down the track past my hostel and it wasn`t long before the rocky road turned skyward.I was feeling a lot better that morning and was surprised at the fact the altitude didn`t seem to be affecting me at all.In fact the only time I really felt good was on the bike.Slowly but surely I made my way ever upward toward the town of Coctaca which was a village set amoungst an old Quechan archealogical dig.The looks that I was getting from the few people that I saw along the way told me that not too many gringo mountain bikers had come this way before.The landscape had gone from tall trees and fertile soil to sandy dry creeks surrounded by tall cactus to barren rocky expances dotted with low spikey shrubs.High above me on the top of the mountain range sat an obsevatory,it`s buildings shining brightly in the afternoon sun.I thought briefly about climbing the long winding switchbacks that led to the mountain-top from the next village up the valley.It was the rapidly setting sun that made my mind up for me and so I turned my bike around and started the long crazy downhill back into town.

              My original plan of staying in Humahuaca for just two nights soon changed as I realised the great mountain bike opprotunities this town has on offer.So with my days spent riding the endless supply of mountain trails and the increasingly chilly nights spent hanging out with my fellow hostel inmates, my week in Humahuaca was fast becoming a highlight of my trip.The most surprising thing of all was that in this old,out the way town there was a very cool nightlife to be had once a little investigation was entered into.The town has two really cool little resto-bars(as they are known here).To find then in the dark maze of cobbled streets was quite the adventure as to me,one adobe building looks like every other adobe building in this place.Add to that the fact that there are no street signs and no indication that any bars exsist, until you are actually inside them, and it makes for quite an interesting game of hide and seek.Well worth the effort though, as once found, the two bars I`ve been to have had the nicest food and the coolest Argentinian folklorick bands playing amazing traditional music.In any major city in the world these places would be a yuppies paradise but here we just hung with the locals and soaked in the warm local atmosphere.

                 I did have one bit of exciting news though as someone told me that they had seen an poster in the main plaza advertizing a mountain bike race on the first of May.On investigation I found that every two years they have a 70k(44mile) race all around the area that I just happened to have ridden over during the previous few days.This would be too good to miss and so I set about making sure of the route and after scouting around figured I was in for a rough few hours of mountain bike madness.This ride was going to be tough but as it was long and the first 30k(18miles) extreamly hard I thought that it may actually suit the fact that I like long events over short all-out sprint affairs.I had never done a straight mountain bike race before and was looking forward to seeing who turned up as I`ve had nothing but a great time with every cyclist I`ve met in Argentina.

                 The morning of the race dawned very cold and grey.I put on just about every piece of cycle-clothing that I posessed and headed downtown for the anticipated 9am start.Not a cyclist to be seen,anywhere.Very strange I thought and checked the poster in the town square again.Yep,9am alright.Even had the right day.The only problem was there was nobody around at all!I resorted to riding loops of the city to keep warm and hoped I would get some idea of what was going on before too long.By 10 am there was still no sign of any cyclists and I figured I`d wait ten more mintutes and then call it a very cold day and go back to the warmth of my bed at the hostel.Just as I was preparing togo home I was a lady carrying a start flag and behind here was a guy with a bag full of the trophies that I`d seen in the store window in the plaza.I fugured that this was a typical expample of Argentinian organization and rode over to enquire as to what time the race would start.After the initial shock that a strange gringo was in town for the event they told me that it would strat at 10.30.No worries, only 20 minutes to wait.

              Gradually more and more cyclists arrived and I figured we would get underway soon.I should know better by now and 40 minutes later the assembled group was still doing laps of the start straight just trying to stay warm.Seems they were waiting for a group from Bolivia to make its`way into town.At around 11.15 they called us to the start and short speeches were made to the peleton.Most of the guys were too busy looking at my bike to pay much attention but at least they got the most important piece of information of the day.Unbeknown to me they had decided to shorten the event from 70k(44miles) to about 35k(22miles),taking out the first 30 hard kilometers that I was looking forward to.I only realised the change when the gun went off and instead of heading up to the highway as planned the leaders turned off the asphalt straight away and crossed the river running through town.The road on the other side was one I`d ridden before and I knew there was only one direction that it went.Straight up!

              Realising that I now had a short 35k on my hands I knew that the young guns would most likely sprint away from the start and sprint they did.As they led up the first 10k(6mile)climb I eased into a slow rythm, cursing the fact that I now had about 3 liters of fluid too much on my bike as well as way too much food in my camelback pockets.The climb to the first turn was negotiated without too much trouble and even though the leaders were well ahead of me I knew the rest were well within reach and I soon passed them all at the top of the course.A nice flat stretch allowed me to put some distance between myself and the group behind me as I prepared for the dramatic 3k descent down to the river,18k(11miles)from home.As soon as the fast, rocky descent started I figured something was wrong.My bike started to slide out all over the place and as soon as I hit any sandy patches I was losing control altogether.I was going too fast for my worn brakes to slow me down and it wasn`t until I was passed by a few guys that I figured my front tyre was going down.Sure enough,at the bottom of the descent my tyre was toast and I stopped at the first river crossing to change my tube.Normally this wouldn`t take too long but as I had learned with several flats over the previous few days I probrably had a thorn in my tyre and finding them isn`t easy.To avoid another slow leak on my fresh tube I had to find the thorn and eventually I did and squeezed it out of my tyre.With that done I tried my best to catch the group but I didn`t look to good for me an so firgured I didn`t have much hope of catching anyone now and slowed to enjoy the local scenery.

             The last 15k(9miles)wound it`s way down a river valley occaisionally soaking me with several crossing and coating me with sand riding through many dry creek beds.It was a beautiful course and I was enjoying myself immensely.With about 5k(3miles)to go I came accross a guy pushing his bike.He wasn`t a competitor but obviously had a flat front tyre and so I stopped to help the poor guy out.He was amazed that I would stop in the middle of a race but I told him my race was done and that it wasn`t a problem.With his tyre fixed and him on his merry way I started to ride the last bit of the course and as luck would have it(bad luck that is)I got another flat.Typical!I rode the last couple of kilometers on a dead flat tyre and was joined by the race organizer who had ridden out to find me.We rode in together and I crossed the finish line to the cheers of the asembled cyclists and spectators.My position,well lets´ just say I strengthened my theory that nice guys do indeed finish last and with my second placing in the masters category,I have a trophy to prove  it!

                     After the race we all went off to a local restaurant and ate all kind of dead animals,as they love to do so much here in Argentina.No salad, no post race carbs,just meat!A glass or two of red wine help wash it all down and after an hour with my cycling compadres it was back to the hostel to have a well deserved hot shower.The bad thing was I now had a rasping sound in my chest and I feared my flu was on it`s way back.To be honest I don`t think I ever got over it in the first place.It was time to rest and get rid of this thing in my chest.

                    With that in mind I decided to take up an offer from the guys at Gravity Assisted Tours in La Paz,Bolivia.It seems they have some space in a apartment they reserve for thier guides and have offered it to me.Thier hostel is very busy and if I want to spend some quality time training then the apartment would be more suitable.So it`s off to the bus terminal for me.I`ll bus it to the border and then catch the train from the border town of Villazon in Bolivia to Ororu and then connect with another bus into La Paz.The trip,apparently, is spactacular and I`m looking forward to being in Bolivia.It should take about two and a half days and then it`s a slight change of focus for me.While I will still be touring around from my base in La Paz I will now set my sights on preparing myself for my first triathlon of the year,the Double Ironman in Quebec,Canada on the 6th-7th of July.I hope to attract some sort of sponsor assistance to be able to compete in Ultraman Canada in August as well.I truly love that event but the cost is proving my only hurdle.I do want to go to Quebec for another reason as my sister lives in Montreal and it is always fun visiting her in that wonderful city.I plan to be in Penticton for Ultraman week regardless and should I be unable to compete,will be offering my services to the Ultraman crew to use me as they see fit.That should be fun.Maybe I could be the entertainment co-ordinator.

                So there you have it.My time in Argentina is drawing to a close and I will miss this place very much.I have been amazed by everything I have seen and the people I have met in this wonderful country and have no doubt that a return trip is in my future.For now though, it`s Bolivia here I come!

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Nick's epic ride part 10

2007-02-13T15:26:00.002-08:00

                         My plans for a great day on the road were delt a blow when I awoke the next morning to find my flu had returned.It had moved to my chest so I couldn`t breathe that well and I was coughing up parts of my lungs at regular intervals.I figured part of it must have been the increase in altitude so I figured if I took it really easy I could make it to the town of Humahuaca some 67k(41miles)away.I had also discovered upon looking in a mirror(somthing that scares me at the best of times)that I had received a really nasty sunburn from the efforts of the day before.This, I knew was because of the altitude and had to resort to wearing a surgical mask to protect my swollen bottom lip.I had bought four masks in preparation for the dust that I would encounter as soon as the pavement ran out and was glad to bring one of them into service early.

                      The easy 3.5k(2mile)downhill run to the highway was the only fun cycling that was to be had that day.As soon as I hit the highway north again I was hit with the most brutal of headwinds.Add to that my weak,flu induced, condition and the ever increasing altitude and it was literally an uphill battle from minute one.My first rest for the day came after 20 minutes,my second another 20minutes later and during my third rest about ten minutes later,my lungs packed it in and started protesting loudly.If you are going to have a major coughing fit it may as well be in a really pretty spot.I gave in to my lungs request and sat down enjoying the view for about an hour.

                    I figure the first 10k(6miles) took me about two and a half hours but I can`t be sure as I lost my watch somewhere along the line.I was absolutely bummed about that `cause even though it was a beat up old Ironman watch it had been given to me as a birthday present from my old mate Dave Bullock in Penticton, so there was some sentimental attachments there.I tried again to get going only to pull over and lay down for another rest about 5k(3miles) down the road.I was quite happy to lay there for a long time but the sun bleached skulls of the cattle that most likely had the same idea, kind of scared me off my lazy butt and back onto the road.I decided that my day would end in the town of Tilcara,a place I had been to before on my tour three weeks previous.The thing was though, Tilcara was only 22k(13miles)from where I joined the highway that morning and it took me nearly five bloody hours to get there.How sad.Still I did manage to climb another 250 meters so that was okay. I qiuckly found myself a nice hostel and after a cleansing shower headed off to get some food and a strong coffee.That soon did the trick and even though I was still coughing lots I did feel better and managed a tour of the town.

                    The towns that dot the northern Argentinian landscape are mainly inhabited by the local Quechan Indians ,who closely resemble thier ancient cousins in Bolivia to the north,more than they do the rest of the Agrentine population.The towns as well, differ greatly.The buildings are made of the traditional adobe mud bricks and these old mud masterpieces line tiny cobbled streets with barely enough room to swing the proverbial cat, let alone allow the flow of traffic.Tilcara is a classic example albeit a touristy one.This little town is undergoing a pretty major facelift and inside the newly renovated mud buildings are cute little cafes,antique stores,gift shops and even the odd office or two.I found many quaint courtyards containing little fountains surrounded by manicured gardens, all with piped music being enjoyed by young, Agrgie yuppies visiting the natives for a day or two.

                     All this was a bit much for me and as I had already seem the "Fortress," a restored archeological dig which dominates the hill overlooking town ,I decided to get some sleep.I strolled off through the dark,quiet streets back to my hostle and hit my pillow hard.I had been a tough day and I prayed that tomorrow would bring some relief from my flu.

                    I woke up feeling very congested after a deep 12 hour sleep and prepared for another attempt at reaching Humahuaca,now only a marathons run away.I figured I could make the 42k(26miles) by lunch and after a quick breakfast headed out on the highway for the next installment of my little sufferfest.Today I would climb another 500 meters to 3000meters above sea level(10,000feet) and would stay in Humahuaca for a couple of days to acclimatize and hopefully get rid of this flu.From the start of the days ride I felt better and with a little attitude adjustment(go slowly tri-geek)was soon clicking off the miles, soaking in the absolutely amazing scenery that passed before me.I felt really good and the few rest stops that I had were just pure indulgence.My long stop for the morning was spent with a friendly herd of goats(no, I´m not a New Zealander) who stood bemused as I made myself a snack and sat amoung a cactus grove looking down at a silver strip of water that is the Rio Grande in the valley below.It was a very peacefull place until one of the goats,who must have smelt food,tried to eat his way through the bag on my trailer.Little bugger! Thinking that I may soon have a goat uprising on my hands I decided that a quiet retreat was in order and peddled off towards Humahuaca.Come to think of it a couple of those goats were pretty cute!

                  Reaching Humahuaca before lunch lifted my spirits no end and it was a joy to reach my hostel and be able to unpack all my stuff, knowing that I would be here a few days.The area surrounding this town just looked like a mountain-bikers heaven and I couldn`t wait to explore all the dirt roads and trails that I could see snaking thier way over the high ridges to who knows where. First things first though,shower and food!

                  The hostel stood high above the town and was made up of several small adobe bungalows surrounding a central cafe/living area.It was very nice and I soon met some of the other guests as they were going about the business of being tourists.A interesting Aussie couple, who have been travelling for the best part of twenty five years, couldn`t believe another Aussie was cycling around Argentina.Surely we Aussies were more suited to drinking beer than to pedalling around for weeks on end they enquired.I assured them that I was indeed near the top of my age group at both pursuits  and that each endeavour more than handily complemented the other(as many of you know).With the ground rules of my stay established I set about to explore downtown Humahuaca all four square blocks of it.

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Nicks`epic ride part 8

2007-02-13T15:25:00.006-08:00

                    The ride up and over the range that protects Saltas`western edge was a real reality check after having been riding without a load on around town for the last week.Once negotiated though it was all downhill for about 40k(25miles) until I hit the highway that would take me north and into the town of Ju Juy.There was more than one problem with the long trip downhill.The cities of Salta and Ju Juy are at about the same altitude and so in this case whatever(or whoever)goes down must come back up again and I had a long gradual climb for the remaining 80k(50miles) to look forward to.The other problem was the cold.I was going so fast that my fingers were screaming in pain(with gloves on).Every time I had to change gears it was like a knife was cutting my fingerprint off.A nice cup of coffee at the highway intersection sorted that out and after giving the now customary speech to the assembled motorists I was on  the road again with yet another tailwind to help me on my way.

                    I will admit I did look quite the sight as I rolled into the petrol station so it was no wonder that I had the attention of everyone there.You see as a result of the problem with my trailer hitch I decided to ease the load on my frame by buying a backpack in Salta.I transferred about 10-15 kilos(22-33 pounds) of gear from my trailer and was now carrying it on my back.I also bought some overboots to keep my feet warm.I had to return the neoprene ones I was using to Curtis when we split and as they didn`t sell any in Salta so I had to buy a pair of Bianci green lycra time trial boots.They do the job but I look like a wanker!So there I am in my black long sleeve top, black tights,black gloves,orange sunglasses,wanker boots carrying a backback with a black rain cover over it.All I needed was some black boot polish on my face and I was ready for deployment.I think the girl behind the counter was worried that I was a lost British Marine who hadn`t got the memo that the Falklands War was over.

                    After a brief photo session with the gas station paparrazzi I was off one what for the most part was a very uneventful day on the road.It was great to be out riding again and I was very happy that I had decided to take the long way around to Ju Juy.There is a shorter route of only 90k(56miles)but on my tour up north the previous week we had driven that road and although it was very beautiful I figured today was not the day to ride it.The road climbed and snaked its`way around a mountain range that was serious rainforest country.It reminded me very much of riding the hills behind my home town of Cairns in Australia.Looking over to the west as I rode I could see that it was raining very heavily over there and that I had dodged a bullet by decideing to ride the extra 30k(18miles).

                  It was those last 30k that was my undoing.Without realising, I had not eaten enough during the morning and was starting to suffer really badly.I stopped a few times and tried to eat some raw oats that I was carrying but they did little to stop the enevitable bonk(about the only bonking I ever get to do!).After one particularly long stop to wait for my headspins to subside I came across an accident on the road.It seems that ta large truck had tipped over somehow and had spilled it's load everywhere.That was bad for the driver(who was nowhere to be seen) but great for me as the load was salvation in the form of a literal truckload of tomatoes.I got off my bike and just dropped it where I stood before getting down on bended knee to gorge myself with this precious fruit.It seemed like a good idea at the time but it made no difference to how my body felt-I was totally depleted.The last 10k(6miles)was a nightmare and I swear I could feel my body start to eat away at my muscles.I struggled into town and found my hostel.They two guys at the desk must have figured something wasn`t right and after laughing at my wanker boots,carried my trailer and bike into the hostel for me.I was directed straight into the kitchen and there before my eyes was a huge pot of thick, rice and vegetable soup with my name on it.Bliss!!!Seems these guys had just cooked up a storm and this was the leftovers.Best damn soup I ever had!

                  So there I was in a new city to check out and new friends to hang with.Ju Juy is the capital of Ju Juy province and as the poorest province in Argentina has little of the polished glitz that I had seen in Salta.The mountains surrounding the town however,left me with no illusions that things were going to get any easier on the road from now on.The next town is 80k(50miles) away but is 2461meters high compared with Ju Juys`1259meters..The town after that is another 40k(25miles)further north at 2936meters.I plan to stop there for a couple of days to recover from the huge elevation gain and acclimatise by riding around the canyons that are the feature of the district.

               First things first though,I had to find myself an outdoor store and buy a camp stove.Building fires in Argentina is one thing but finding wood on this high Bolivian plains would be a different story.I would be away from much human contact for a few days at a time once in Bolivia and so set about organising my supplies.I figured I would need to carry a weeks worth of food to be safe and could stretch that out if need be.Water,I was told contrary to poular opinion,would not be a problem as the route I was taking wasn`t as desolate and dry as the routes through the salt plains to the west.We shall see!

             With that sorted I   spent a couple of nigts exploring the city and even managed a trip to the second nightclub of my journey.I went with the two guys that run the hostel and three of girls that were staying there.They are all great people and were all kinds of fun to be around.The nightclub which was on the outskirts of the city,however, left a little to be desired.I felt like I was back in some of the seedy Asian clubs I had been in during my mid to late teens while living in Hong Kong.One thing though, if any of you were wondering where all the mirror balls in the world went to when disco died,I have found them.They are all hanging from the roof of the Kolor Nightclub in Ju Juy,Argentina.Very weird!

         I escaped the club relatively unscathed and went home only to wake up with the start of a cold.Not too good if you want to climb the Andes.I was a bit worried and tried to feed myself healthy.One of the girls from the hostel was obsessed about eating at a restaurant on the next corner but every time she tried it was closed. I asked what was so special about that place and she said they serve llama steaks and that they were a specialty of the area.Well now ,that`s one cute furry animal I haven`t had on a plate in front of me before so I was in.We tried one more time and victory was ours.A couple of very tender llama steaks later accompanied by fries covered in cheese and a liter of the local dark beer and I was a happy camper.I was carbo loading you must understand so don`t get all nutritionally correct on me.With that I packed all my gear and made ready for an early morning departure.

         No such luck,folks`.I now have a cold and my head is stuffed up(no jokes please)my throat is raw and my joints ache.Llama Karma I reckon!!!So for now my trip has stalled and I`m in Ju Juy `til the flu clears up.I`ll try to get into some trouble so I have something to write about while I`m here.Then again,I think I`ll jst go back to bed.

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Nicks epic ride part 9

2007-02-13T15:25:00.005-08:00

                   So,after a few of days doing nothing but feeling like crap and memorizing the local t.v guide I was feeling healthy enough to try and begin my journey again.I was really looking forward to being out on the road again for the two day trip to Humahuaca 140k(88miles)and 1700 vertical meters away.My stay in Ju Juy had been fun but the last two days were just a chore and I needed to leave.

.                  It wasn`t long before the highway tilted upward and my big chain-ring retired for the day.I should have taken that as a sign of things to come and even though I`d seen this road a couple of weeks earlier the shock set in pretty quickly.I knew that my destination for the day was above the lush green forest that I was riding through  and that the town of Purmamarca was in the low desert above the green zone.What I couldn`t believe was that I could see the end of the green zone high(and I mean high) above me to the north. Surely I wouldn`t have to go that far up today.You bet!!

                  The first couple of hours went by without much concern as I followed the lush river valley ever higher. Apparently it rains a lot here in the summer resulting in the bright green vegetation that abounds.It was also the reason that the huge river bed that was now almost empty, shows signs of it`s summer power by leaving the wreckage of countless bridges strewn about all over the place.I wouldn`t want to be around when that river is angry.

                  After my first stop for the day the scenery bacame almost Albertaesque.Huge bare mountains separated by deep gorges ending in the tell tale signs of a raging spring snow melt.Boulders piled high at the base of each tributary bore testament to the force of this place and the whole area seemed alive with energy.The same couldn`t be said for me though as I hit the one place that I had been dreading.The stairwaiy up to the desert.

                  When I had seen this stretch of road on my tour two weeks before I figured that it would hurt but sitting in a speeding car doesn`t do this road justice.I began climbing the seemingly endless switchbacks which are in total only around 10k (6miles) long,thinking that I would just take my time and all would be good.I had forgotten about the 45kilos(100plus pounds) I was carrying not to mention the drag of the trailer and the fact that I`m on a mountain bike.In short that 10k took me about 2hrs!!I had to stop so many times to catch my breath it was insane.I don`t know if it was the higher elevation or the remains of my flu but it was hard,really hard!The frustrating thing was once I crested the pass it was 20k(12miles) all downhill to Purmamarca at 2192meters.Lord knows how high that pass was but it sucked.Only the amazing view of the green valley,through which I had ridden, far,far below gave me any sense of achievement for the day as I slowly ground to a halt with only 3.5k(2 miles)to go.Trying to make myself turn off the highway and ride uphill again was a battle royal but good sense prevailed as it was starting to get cold and I wanted a hot shower.With that I rode into Purmamarca and found myself a hostel for the night.  I should say that an old friend found me a hostel for the night.As I rode into town who should I bump into but Fernando,one of the guys that run the hostel in Ju Juy.He was chatting with a guy he had just met and they suggested that I go to the same place that he was staying.Sounded like a plan to me and I was soon showered and changed and out checking out this touristy little mountain town.The 70k(44miles) that day had taken me just under 6 hrs!Oh my god!!!

                  Looking around Purmamarca doesn´t take long but it is full of highlights.For a start,there is the reason this place is one the tourist map."The Hill of Seven Colours"!Just outside the town but dominating it`s western edge is a hill that seems to have every possible colour of rock and dirt that you could imagine.The colours range from bright red to orange to green to grey with every shade in between all lined up on top of each other.I`m sure there are more than seven colours but "The Hill with Heaps of Colours " just dosen`t have the same ring to it now does it?I had seen this hill before but not at sunset, so after meandering aimlessly for ages I found myself a street corner just by my hostel and settled in for the show.

                  From my spot I could look up the street to the west and see the rainbow hill and then look the other way and see the huge mountain that filled the valleys`end, to the east.My hill watching was interrupted though by a very strange but funny incident.There I was minding my own business when this stray dog jumps up onto the high curb next to me and then proceeds to stand behind me.I thought that was weird until he started to pace backwards and forwards peeking out from behind my back, up the street from where he came.Didn`t take long to figure out what was going on when a huge dog came `round the corner obviously looking for someone.Seems this little guy was seeking my protection from the local bully and his gang.The big dog could see him behind me but didn`t do anything except let out one big bark.I don`t know if he was talking to me,the little guy behind me or his gang but he did look at me with disgust just before leaving us alone to enjoy the sunset together.My new friend had other plans.He must have figured it was safe to go and wandered off down the street only to be ambushed by the whole pack.Poor Bastard.It looked like a scene out of a doggie version of West Side Story as more dogs joined in to help my little mate.Last I saw of him was his butt heading off down the highway toward Buenous Aires.At speed!The big dog sauntered past me once more and let out another bark as if to say "stay out of our business Gringo".Very entertaining really.

                During all the commotion the sun had set on the coloured hill so I missed that and turned my attention to the huge mountain to the east.With the town deep in a valley and now shrouded in semi dark of dusk, the mountain just glowed from the sun hitting its bright orange soil.The light bounced off the peak brighter and brighter until the whole mountain had to surrender to the night.The last thing I saw before the light faded completely was the sillouhettes of huge cactus plants, seemilgly standing gaurd along the ridge tops that framed the llittle valley.

                By now it was cold and my thoughts turned to dinner.I caught up again with Gaston the fellow I had met earlier that afternoon and we decided that we would have dinner together at the resaurant in our hostel.So,with apologies to my mate "Jerry the LLama farmer" in Quebec,I had my second llama steak of the trip accompanied by some beer,great company and yet again another amazing Argentinian singing display by the owner of the hostel.With that it was off to bed in anticipation of another great day in the muntains.

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Nick's epic ride part 7

2007-02-13T15:24:00.002-08:00

                           Taking the bus from Cordoba to Salta proved to be a smart idea in the end as the storms that had hit town a couple of days before lasted the whole 12 hour trip into the capitol of Salta Province.Most of the towns we passed through were under water and it would have been a miserable time to be on the road.Luckily for me as soon as we made the steep descent to Saltas bus terminal the clouds parted and the sun shone brightly.That was great for me as my bike was in a cardboard box and I was living in fear of the whole thing falling apart and leaving my stuff all over the bus terminal.

                          I was met by a hostel rep and soon found myself unoading my bike,trailer and all my other gear onto the street in front of what was to be my home for the next week.There was a very small bike shop opposite and the sight of a bike box caused the usual fuss as everyone crossed the street to see what sort of bike this gringo had hidden away in that old box.I promised that I would show them the next day and stowed all my gear in the hostel store room.I was told as there had been a big party the night before everyone was still asleep and that I would have to wait to get into my dorm.No worries mate,I was getting used to the Argie way of life and 11.30am was way to early for any self respecting party animal to rise.What to do to fill in the time?It was then that I met the Icelandic Viking Princess!!

                          There I was standing at the reception desk asking Raoul,the reception guy,what I could do to fill in a couple of hours when I heard this really strange accent echoing down the hallway.Then as the voice got louder she came into view.Obviously this creature hadn`t been informed that the party the night before had indeed ended.There she stood scotch bottle in hand swaying with the breeze blowing through the window.It was obvious that she couldn`t really focus as it took her a few seconds to even register my presence.Her presence,however,was hard to miss.I`m not sure if it was the crazy white dreadlocks framing her distorted face or the fact that her pants had started falling down, revealling more than a guy should see on a first meeting, that gave away her drunken state.I made a quick exit and went up to the rooftop bar/restaurant for a coffee.I thought that I had managed to escape the five foot four nutter, but no,she had followed me and had sat down at my table in the chair opposite.Before I could say anything she poured a genorous amount of scotch in my coffee and declared in her slurred Bijork-like accent."I am the Icelandic Viking Princess,You will drink now!"

                            Now what`s a guy to do when faced with royalty,albeit self declared.I did as instructed and drank,hoping that it would soothe the savage beast.Not so lucky buddy,she just filled my cup up and took a big drink herself,straight from the bottle.She then proudly asked me if I liked her scotch,telling me that it was the best eight peso($2.60U.S) scotch around and would I be interested in hanging out with her for the day.By now I felt like I was driving past a car wreck,you know you shouldn`t look at the carnage, but you just can`t help yourself.I put myself in survival mode and agreed to be her date for the day.Once I realised that she wasn`t a charachter from the recent movie"Hostel" if figured this was one experience I just couldn`t miss so off we went to see Salta from the moutain towering above the city.

                             There is a cable-car that takes people up to the lookout and restaurant and it is a very popular place for tourists and locals alike.Don`t think they were prepared for my new best friend. We spent exactly one minute looking at the view and as she drained the last of her scotch found ourselves a table overlooking the city.It truly is a magnificent view and one I would enjoy many times over the next week.This time however it was truly comical.To her credit she did calm down and we had a great time and she even taught me a bunch of stuff about Iceland that I never knew.Very interesting stuff really and I figured when sober,she would probrably be a great girl.Today however wasn`t one of those days.I`m not sure if it was the spitting over the railings or giving the three Uraguayans at the next table a hard time that got us kicked out.Seems you should not tell three football mad boys from Uraguay that the guy at her table is from the country that kicked them out of the World Cup,and then proceed to tell them that they must be crap if Australia can beat them.Thank`s mate!

                              After arriving back in town we walked back to the hostal but not before being challenged to an upside-down handstand walking race.A what!!Dutifully I did what I was told and as soon as I was inverted she rugby tackled me and bit me really hard on my belly.Strange mating rituals they have in Iceland.Must be all those long winters.I can tell you though if she had gone missing that day I had a perfect set of her dental records on my stomach for the crime scene guys to look at.For me that was the last straw and we were soon hostel bound but,and there is always a but with this chick,not before going to the supermarket to buy another bottle of her favourite scotch.My $4U.S bottle of red wine was positively upmarket compared to her favourite tipple but then I`ve always been known to splash out on a nice bottle of red.Even the security guard at the supermarket couldn`t help but laugh at us.Maybe I should have stayed in the hostel after all.

                           The hostel barbeque later that night offered some sort of respite from the crazy day that I had been through.The Viking Princess had passed out in some guys bed and we were all went about devouring yet another magnificent meal prepared by our excellent hosts.About fifty people turned up and lord knows but I must have eaten more meat than is reasonable for a little guy like me.The barbeque was so good and so much fun that I stayed in Salta for three of them.Too much fun but I have no doubt that I`ve eaten more meat in the last four weeks than I had in the previous four years.I`m not kidding.

                          The next few days were spent biking around the district and exploring the cool mountain trails that connect the hiltop radio antenna stations dotted all around the city.It made me very glad that I brought a mountain bike as a tourer would not have made it up or for that matter down some of the trails that I found.Mental note folks,Salta is a very cool place to go mountain biking.Salta is also a very coo place to sit and chill out in any one of the really nice cafes that surround the citys' main plaza.The city is celebrating it`s four hundered and tweny four anniversary and all the many churches and beautiful government buildings are shining brightly as a result of a city clean up. I spent hours there during my week, drinking way too much coffee and meeting lots of the backpacking crowd as they wandered by.This city has become my favourite place in Argentina so far not just for the city sights but also for the great people that I met while staying there.

                           I did manage to get myself organised and do a tour about 300k(264miles) to the north.I wanted to check out the road and my god I`m in for some serious climbing fun about two days ride away.The day was great and I got to hang out with a couple of really cool people,one,a girl from from Canada and one guy from Isreal.I have met so many awesome people along the way that it is overwealming.If I went home now I would be a happy boy.I will, at a later date I will fill you in on some of these great folks but I have some riding to do so, it`s off north again to the city of Ju Juy 124k(77miles)away.This would be the last time that I would ride to a schedule and the last of the flat rides for my trip.With rain clouds forming again I began the climb out of Salta.Quite honestly I could have stayed for another week or two.

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Nick's epic ride part six

2007-02-13T15:23:00.002-08:00

After settling into the hostel in Cordoba and catching up with all the friends I had made there previously, I set about reavaluating my plans for the rest of my trip.Should I continue as planned and try to get through to Ecuador or should I just try to get myself to La Paz in Bolivia and see if the bike would make it.I was quite saddened by the demised of our little joint expedition but truthfully, felt a certain feeling of relief that I would now be answerable only to myself and that if I wanted to stay for a while in one place I could.The guys at the hostel made quite a fuss over me arriving back and we were soon spending most of the next few days laughing either at each others jokes or some at juvenile prank that had been pulled(and there were many of them).It reminded me of the days in the early to mid 90s when I would go to Penticton,Canada for the summer and train for Ironman with all the lads.There were no egos`to worry about,no sponsorships to chase down and no guilt about staying in the pub too long the night before a race.Things change though and we all move on, it seems, to more serious stuff as if society demands it of us.

My selfish relief at the situation I found myself in was vindicated when Curtis checked into the hostel the next day.I tried over the course of the next few days to speak to him but he would just ignore me and refuse to acknowledge my attempts to talk to him.I never found out why he was so mad at me and to this day still don`t know what became of him.The hostel grapevine told me that he went home to Canada but I don`t know and truthfully,don`t really care anymore.It`s his loss,but a truly sad ending to twelve years of firendship.The burning question for me was what to do now?I did a lot of thinking and realised that if I was to achieve my original goal of using this tour as training for the northern triathlon season then I`d better start doing some triathlon specific stuff and not just spend endless hours of the road.With that in mind I contacted a mountain bike tour company in La Paz,Bolivia and asked them if they could help me with some infomation on training in La Paz for a few weeks.Alistair,the Kiwi owner,was more than helpful and seemed exited at the prospect of showing off his corner of the world to me.Apparently his company has it`s own M.T.B racing team and they spend hours carving up the hills surrounding La Paz.I was also on a bit of a mission from home as an old friend of mine from Cairns,Australia wanted me to check out Alistairs` company with the view to brining a group over to Bolivia later in the year.So, Gravity Assisted Tours here I come.Just hope they are kind to a triathlete with all the mountain biking skills of primary school girl(no offence to all those primary school girls out there I stayed in Cordoba for a few days and did a bit of riding in the surrounding area preparing myself for the trip north.

One amazing experience though, happened the day before I left for Salta.The hostel had it`s weekly barbeque and while I was at the bar having a couple of pre-feast ales when I met a young doctor from Buenous Aires.What a doctor was doing in a hostel I didn`t get but eventually I found out that there was a medical convention in town and he and four other docs from Buenous Aires were attending and they were staying at the hostel.They were great guys but it still seemed strange that they would stay in a hostel.That was,until we went to the wine store to but some supplies for the night.In the store we did some wine tasting and checked out the bottles on offer.The sales lady pointed out, what she said was a very nice wine and my doctor friend agreed but said that it was way too expensive.I looked at the price and realised with a jolt, that I was indeed in Sth America and how unfair life can be.Here I was,standing next to a surgeon,in a Cordoba wine store and he is telling me that he can`t afford to splash out on a twenty three Peso bottle of wine.Ladies and gentleman that is less than eight dollars U.S!Unfricking-believable!I felt ashamed and truly humbled at the same time and then took a bottle off the shelf and gave it to him as a present.Once back at the hostel the barbeque was in full swing and many a steak was consumed by all.

The doctors were asking me about my trip and when I told them the story about us getting lost and nearly riding through San Fernando in Buenous Aires they were shocked and gave me the old shake of the head that was so familiar a few weeks ago.Turns out that they are trauma surgeons at the San Fernando Hospital and that they love it `cause it`s the busiest E.R. in Argentina.They get more gunshot and stabbing victims than they can cope with and they reckon they are learning more there than they would at any other hospital.I was told that it would not have been out of the question that Curtis and I would not have made it through there at all and that I would have indeed met these docs a few weeks earlier.I indeed might have been the meat on the slab before them, not the prime Argie beef we were tucking into that night.My friend told me that one patient he operated on was asked,upon his release,if they could call his family to come and get him.He simply told them that his wife and two childeren were killed in the same gunfight that had brought him to the hospital.He had nobody left in his family.They were all gone!

That sobering story was soon replaced by by the sound of a couple of guitars being murdered by two of the drunken backpackers.Only the fact that we were all full of wine made the off key wailing that accompanied the "tunes" bearable.It was too much for the surgical team though and in the true spirit of emergency professionals they came to our rescue and confiscated the offending instruments.We were to find out that they truly had,not only the skillful hands of medicos`but the magic fingers of latin musicians.The music that flowed from those two guitars was amazing ,ranging from top 40 to incredible flamenco classics and while I thought my singing of "Roxanne"(the Eddie Murphy version)was pretty good these guys sang like only latin men can,with all the passion that they could muster.It was a great night and made me realise that perhaps my little trip had taken a turn for the better

While I was enjoying my second visit to Cordoba the weather north of me had taken a turn for the worse and the drizzle that I had experienced on that last day with Curtis was now a raging storm which promised(according to the weather people) to flood most of the roads to the north for hundreds of kilometers.As a result, I decided to put my bike on a bus north to Salta 900k(560miles) to gain some time back that I had lost in Cordoba.From there I would ride on up to the Bolivian border and make my run for La Paz 1600k(1000miles) to the north west.To ride the whole way wasn`t so important anymore.I was more interested in meeting the people and experiencing Argentine and Bolivian life than be tied to the road alone.So during a stormy night in Cordoba I got on the bus that would take me to the next part of the adventure.My adventure!!

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Nick's epic ride part five

2007-02-13T15:19:00.002-08:00

                   Waking up in the Cordoba was very exciting as I had read a lot about this city but it´s sheer size had surprised me.The term La Docta had come from the fact that there were some excellent hospitals in town as well as one of Argentina´s top teaching universtities pumping out an overabundance of doctors.So,in short,if you are going to get sick or injured in Argentina then Cordoba is the place to be.

                          My first morning in the hostel showed the La Docta reputation to be more than just a saying.The first guy I met that morning was Kiwi(New Zealand) guy name Darren who was awaiting treatment for a grade three displacement of his a-c joint.In laymans terms it´s a dislocated shoulder but I´m just trying to be smart.I sypathized with him as I have a grade one dispacement which still affects me today,fifteen years after getting hit by a car while training for my first Ironman. I was waiting for some great tale of woe as to how he did it but"I fell out of bed" didn´t register very high on the cool story index until I found out that it was a chronic condition and that his shoulder is full of pins and scars from previous operations.Just then another guy walks in who was obviously friends with Darren.It was Uri the Israeli and he had a cyst in his cheek that even under his beard looked like he was a chipmunk with a mouth full of nuts.He was waiting to be operated on as well and these guys had bonded in some kind of pre-op mini cult.

                         We chatted for a while and they gave me the news on what Cordoba has to offer and what kind of thing I might want to do.Skydiving is apparently one of the must do things here but I´m telling you there is now way this little guy is going to jump out of a perfectly good aircraft any time soon.My "macho meter" doesn´t register that high.I´ll just stick to doing Ultraman and double Ironman events and other terra firma activities,thank you very much. After expaining to the ever growning breakfast club about our trip I they thought that we were possibly the craziest guys there.I thought they might be right but the events in that hostel during our stay showed me that crazy is a relative term and I was just an outsider looking in through the windows of the nut-house.

                          The most important thing for me to do was to find a bike shop.My trailer woes were continuing and I had found out that my left-hand, rear dropout was actually starting to wear away, causing the wheel to pull to one side.Should this continue the aluminium of my little Scott Mtb would eventually wear away completely and destroy the frame.The trailer hitch had to be modified specifically for my bike from the Weber trailer company in Germany as they hadn´t taken into account the new recessed dropout designs on certain bike models.They had machined the new bit for me to fit my bike and adjusted thier manufacturing process accordingly.That wasn´t helping me out here in Argentina and I felt bad for delaying our progress.

                            I went to a hardwear store and had to by a couple of washers and cut a section out of them and then fit one of them between the frame and the trailer hitch.The other one would be a spare.This seemed to work but I was concerned that we were actually riding too hard for my trailer to deal with.Most cycle-tourist don´t cover 150k-190k(94-118miles)a day and I figured that the torque placed on the hitch joint at that speed was too much as I was constantly being run off the road by big,scary Argentinian trucks.I decided to perhaps replace my clip-on rear rack with a fixed one and ease the stress on that joint by redistributing some of the weight to rear panniers.Sounded great in theory!

                         We went off in search of a bike store and after endlessly wandering the streets found a whole street full of them.Seems that´s the way they work here.One street for antiques,one for bikes,one for hardwear stores,one for bulk candy and so on.Very strange,but it probrably makes sense really.We chose the smallest one as we found that they will work the hardest for you.This one was no exception and they set about,with much confusion due to language difficulties(our crap Spanish)trying to fit a rear rack and a cheap set of panniers.As you might expect it didn´t all go to plan and we would have to wait a day for them to get some racks from somewhere else.No problem though,they would fit.

                          So faced with a days delay we set about touring the city sights.Curtis did his thing alone and I wandered the streets checking out all the cool super cheap stores in between soaking up the atmosphere of the sun-drenched plazas.As usual churches and huge stautes were to be found around every corner and cute little outdoor cafes lines most of the plazas.Two dollars U.S for two large coffees and a bottle of water mad me miss my jumbo coffees in Canada just a little bit less.I aslo spent a fair bit of time getting to know all the cool dudes and dudettes and the hostel.Most were just passing through but as is the norm for these places there was a core group that had been there for a while.They were mostly studying Spanish but a few of them had found themselves stuck in a timeless void of the dreaded party/sleep cycle that can consume even the most conservative of backpackers. I found myself enjoying thier company immensely and soon small groups of us were hanging out restaurants every mealtime doing what the locals do the best.Eating prime Argie beef.

                          It was around this time that I noticed Curtis´s distict lack of interest in most of the people I was hanging out with.He seemed to be less and less interested in what I was doing and spent a lot of time alone.I also began to discuss the possibility that my tríp may have to cut short if the bike problems I was having continued.I didnt want to destroy my bike and I certainly don´t have the money to be replacing bikes and/or parts constantly.Not if I was to pay for the races I wanted to do later in the year anyway.He seemed fine about that and we agreed on a wait and see policy.

                        The next afternoon we went back to the store for the rack fitting and much to my dismay found that they couldn´t help me at all as the rack just wouldn´t fit.My frame was too small for it to clip onto the seat stays and my rear disc brake got in the way of attaching it to the indended piont above the rear dropout.Major bummer.Curtis was happy though as it meant he could buy the panniers that were intended for me.His trailer weighed a lot moer than mine and he was beginning to worry too.Was my trip indeed over?Would my bike fall apart on the rough roads of Bolivia?I just didn´t know.

                       On the ride back to hostel my luck got worse.It was raining and the streets congested making riding very dangerous.As I neared my hostel I was bumped from the side by a taxi and pushed into a storm drain.My front wheel went down, through the drain cover and I went over the handlebars.No damage to me but my wheel looked like a potato chip.I wobbled back to the hostel and tried in vain to straighten it.It was too late to go to the store so when Curtis got back later that night I told him we would have to delay our departure again to get my wheel fixed.He seemed cool about it.The up side was that I would get to hang out with my funny hostel mates again.

                     The next morning I was off to the store and the boys in there were famtastic.The one English speaking guy told me that his mechanic would be able to fix it and as it was such a good wheel they would not let me leave it behind.I was to go back at noon and all would be well.That´s exactly what happened.For the pincely sun of five pesos (less than two U.S)this guy had trued my wheel and sent me on my way.$2 U.S to true a wheel,amazing!I know a bike store or three who could learn a lesson from that.

                  I went back to the hostel and Curtis was just about packed up and ready to go.As we were finishing the last of our packing I mentioned that it was a pity that we would miss the planned hostel barbeque that night.I had heard that they were great but there was no interest from Curtis.He just wanted to leave.Today!I said that it seemed like we weren´t having any fun anymore and to that he asked "What is fun?Is it riding for hours or hanging out in Hostels?""Both",I repied and then he asked me if I thought Ironman was fun.Sure it is hard but it is really great fun was my opinion.as was this trip but i needed to be able to hang out with people and enjoy myself.

                    It soon became clear that we had different ideas on what we wanted out of this experience.To Curtis the whole trip is the road and what challenges you face out there.The cities to him are a necessary evil to be ridden through and left behind quickly.To me it is the people and the towns that make the journey special while road is the necessary evil that leads me to them.I´m not saying one is right or wrong,better or worse,just different.Differences like that however, unless resolved can only lead to disaster.

                   We loaded our bikes and were quickly riding through the shabby neighbourhoods of Cordoba on our way north to Salta.The plan was to ride through the town on Jesus Maria, 50 k(31miles) or so away and then see how much light we had and make our when to camp from there.Dark clouds threatened and as we didn´t get underway `til about one thirty I wasn`t too confident of us making it very far at all but surprisingly we managed about 80k(50miles) before we decided it was time to camp by the side of the highway in a spot hidden by some high bushes.The only thing that concerend me was the sound of rifle-fire coming from some fields close by.Must have been some hunters shooting birds but I hoped that they wouldn`t turn thier attention to a couple of slightly larger targets camped by the side of the road.

                    I set up my tent quickly as we were now racing the rain that was bearing down on us from the southern horizon.Curtis seemed out of sorts and took forever to get his tent up and settled in.I asked him to get his stove out so I could cook our dinner but he told me that he wasn`t hungry and that he would eat just some dried fruit and nuts that night.He added that he couldn`t be bothered getting his stove out of his bags leaving me with the prospect of finding some firewood and lighting a fire in the increasing darkness.I was furious and exreamly dissapointed but said nothing at his lack of consideration and teamwork.He grabbed my guidebook and map and got in his tent where he remained until morning. Sitting in the dark by my little campfire,chilled by the drizzle that had now begun to fall,I ate what was one of the loneliest meals of my life.I was sure our partnership would be dissolving very soon.

                     The next morning we took a long time getting ready as it was cold and raining. He asked for his pot,that I had been carrying,to be left unpacked and that he would take it.It was then that I knew he had been studing the route north the night before and was planning a split at some stage.He had taken no interest in looking at the maps until then.I nearly packed it in right there but rode with him to the next town for breakfast.Once he joined me at the table inside the truck-stop I asked what his plans were.He just replied"To keep riding".After a few moments silence I just stated that it was now obvious that we were going to split up and without any argument or discussion he just said"Might as well do it now".With that he asked me to return all the gear that he had given me for the trip and once recieving it I told him that there was no hard feeling from me and wished him luck.He said nothing and rode off into the rain.I was now riding solo.

                      I sat at the truck-stop for a while thinking about what had just happened and with the rain outside increasing,decided to head back to Cordoba.It was far too dangerous on the highway with all this rain about and so after a quick chat with some gentlemen over another coffee I headed outside to hitch a ride in the pouring rain.It wasn`t long before I was picked up by a nice young family and they took me back to the town of Jesus Maria.The wait by the roadside there seemed eternal in the chiily wind but as luck would have it a nice shiny new four wheel drive truck skidded to a halt at my feet and who should pop out of the cab?One of the guys I had been talking to at the truck-stop 30k(28miles)back up the highway.He helped me haul my gear into the back of the truck and we were soon cruising down the road back to Cordoba.

                      That hour or so with him was great.He spoke no English and with my soggy phrasebook in hand we had a animated chat about our lives,our countries and his city.Turns out the legend of "La Docta" had somehow come to bless me as this humble man was,in fact,a doctor himself.He had been born,raised and educated in Cordoba and now worked in the biggest hospital there.He gave me a little tour of his nieghbourhood and as he drove through town proudly pionted out every medical facility before taking me to the front door of my hostel and wishing me well.Another wonderful experience in this truly amazing country.

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Nick's epic ride part four

2007-02-13T15:18:00.002-08:00

                     The morning of our departure from Rosario dawned cold and windy.Luckily for us there was no immediate threat of rain and so we headed off,turning west for the first time,toward Argentina´s second largest city.As soon as we hit the highway Curtis took off like it was a training ride and even with the tailwind we had been blessed with, I found that I couldn´t(and didn´t want to)keep up.I dropped behind and cruised along not far behind, but at a more comfortable pace for a guy on a mountain bike.I was feeling great after our rest day but didn´t fancy racing my way around Sth America.Curtis slowed and I told him it was okay if he wanted to charge ahead and that I´d catch up when we had our rest break up the highway.He is a much better cyclist than me and I didn´t want to stop him from enjoying the huge wind that had sprung up.He wanted us to stay together so we fell into line and carried on toward Cordoba.

                      Hour after hour the road passed under our wheels as we rode through Argentina´s agricultural heartland.To be honest, the ride was pretty monotonous, with seemingly endless straight sections passing sprawling farms,interrupted by the occaisional small town.It was at one of these small towns that we stopped for our third break and as usual attracted the attention of eveyone around the gas staion as we sat and ate some food.Three young locals came up to us and started the usual barrarge of questions.Where are you from?Where did you ride from today?Where are you going?How much are your bikes worth?The only question I wanted to hear from one of them was,"would you like to come to my house and stay forever?"because she was an absolutey beautiful.I was hoping that the other girl with her was attached to the guy they were with.They did ask if we were staying in thier little town that night but when we said we still had some riding to do they lost interest,said goodbye and walked off home.Bummer!!

                      Just then a couple of older ladies came up to us and asked all the same questions.They were very interested and after ten minutes or so went on thier way.As we were getting ready to carry on cycling one of the ladies came back bearing gifts.She produced a bag containing a hat,two scarves and a bib of some sort,all in the famous blue and white stripes of the Argie flag.I was amazed and then just had to laugh as she wrote down her name,address and phone number for us to send her a postcard when we finished our trip.I guess I should have been happy,I did get a phone number that day,just not the one I wanted!Story of my life.Again,bummer!!!

                      We had planned to stop near the town of Marcos Juarez which would have put us at around 140k(85ish miles) for the day.The wind however had pushed us along so quickly we decided to keep on going.Curtis eventually asked me to take the lead for a while and then half an hour or so later we decided it was time to stop.The lightning hitting the ground a few miles ahead actually made the decision for us and we hunted for a suitable campground.As luck would have it we found an old abandoned mill of some sort and checked it out.Perfect,it even came with a broom for us so sweep out a clean spot to lay a goundsheet on for our sleeping bags.Our find had been timed to perfection as the heavens opened up just as all our gear had been stowed safely inside.Talk about luck.

                      After unpacking our stuff I set about making a campfire under the cover of the decaying patio of this old builing.The only problem was that Curtis,it seems isn´t a big fan of campfires and told me he didn´t like them as they made his stuff smell like smoke.Very strange attitude to me as we were on a camping trip and so,reading between the lines of his statement, I put the fire out and made a mental note. It would be a trip full of lonely nights if I was going to have to make campfire away from our tents´ and sit there by myself for the next few weeks or months.I was too tired to comment and after cooking our dinner on his stove setteld in for a well earned sleep.

                    We had covered 190K(118 miles) that day and I was beginning to question the sense in going so hard as I was beginning to have trouble with my trailer.My rear wheel kept pulling over to one side causing my disc brake to rub,slowing me down.I would have to wait a couple of days until Crodoba to figure out just what was wrong.

                     The next morning proved to be aother cold and windy affair but this time rain threatened throughout.The plan was to ride about 140k(85miles) leaving us a short 70-80k(80-85miles) to go the next day.With this in mind we quickly settled into our little formation and cycled toward the next nights stop at Oncavito .Passing town after town we soon found ourselves directed through the small city of Villa Maria.It was chaos for us as the highway(crap road)detoured through the poorer suburbs of this strange place.After getting a little bit geographically embarrassed(lost) we asked a tanker truck driver where we had to go to fine the highway to Cordoba.He happily pionted us on our way and then proceeded to guide us with his huge truck throught the small, bumpy streets of Villa Marias´ outer suburbs.This road was hell with bumps and potholes every few meters causing me no end of grief as I worried about what my trailer was up to behind me.After a few kilometers my private hell was over as the truck driver had led us back onto the highway.He stopped his truck and got out to wish us well.Another example of the amazing Argentine hospitality that I will never forget.From there it was smooth sailing again and we made our destination at around four o´clock in the afternoon .

                         With our days riding done we stopped for a long time in a roadside truck stop and ate while I also drank my fill of coffee,just what I needed to revive me after another 140k(85miles) on the road.As the afternoon wore on we rode back up the highway for a sort time and found a nice rest area where we made camp and after a big feed hit our sleeping bags for the night.Another great day on the road.

                         The next morning was even colder but we didn´t mind as it was obvious that the wind that was chilling us to the bone would soon be pushing us, at speed, toward Cordoba.We broke camp and after a quick coffee(for me)at the previous nights´ truck stop we hit the highway once again with the biggest wind we had experienced at our backs

                          We went through the first 35k(22miles) in an hour and hit the 50k(31miles)in a tick over one and a half hours.Just stupidly fast for a couple of cycle tourists dragging heavily laden trailers.After a small stop,which chilled my muscles to the point of pain.We closed in on Cordoba.It was a welcome site,when cresting a small rise, that we saw our first glimpse of some mountains.Not the Andes yet,but it was encouraging.We were soon drawing closer to them and then hit the urban sprawl that is Cordoba.

                          I have mentioned that I hate this part of arriving in the cities along the way and this one was no exception.We did have one reality check as we passed a motorcyclist lying in the middle of the road into town.He wasnt moving and the assembled crowd,from thier lack of action,seemed to figure that he was beyond help and were waiting for the ambulance to arrive and clear the road. Not a very pretty sight at all.I slowed down a lot after that and then we hit the city center!Good lord what a mess.It was the beginning of siesta and eveyone in this city of 1.8 million seemd in a hurry to get home.It was a miracle that we found the hostel let alone made it there in one piece.Ímagine if you will,thousands of frustated city workers lining the street,waiting for a bus to take them home.I felt like I was on the parade lap of the Tour de France in Paris, only nobody was cheering, and I wasnt going to get to sleep with a beautiful rock star that night.

            With our hostel found and our bikes put away we settled in for a couple of nights in the city known as "The Docta".

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Nick's epic ride part three

2007-02-13T14:46:00.002-08:00

    The ride the next day to Pergamino was pretty uneventful and as it was only 80k(50miles) it didn´t take us too long at all to cover the distance,especially with the favourable winds that we had once again.We rolled in about lunchtime and as usual eveything was closed for siesta.After a short stop at the bank we tried to find a bike store so Curtis could replace some rear lights and I could buy some slick tyres.I asked a man on the street where the bicycletaria was and I even understood his directions.Talk about Spanish lessons on the run

                         We rode off to find the store and some guy stopped me and asked if he could take our photo.By now we were used to attracting attention so we duly posed and he then volunteered to show us the way to the bike stop.We found it closed but that didn´t stop our new friend from bringing on the windows and asking if they would open for us.No joy there, so it was a wait ´til 4pm when siesta would be over and the city came back to life.With that we headed off to find smewhere to stay for the night

                         Riding down the main street we were amazed to see a bunch of road cyclists at a cafe doing what roadies do best,drinking coffee and looking pretty(sorry guys).When we turned to join then we were swept up buy something even more amazing,a group of triathletes in colour co-ordinated tri-club gear looking even more pretty than the cyclists( no apologies there).What a bunch of tri-geeks were doing in this town I will never know but as soon as they found out that we were tirathletes as well they told us to follow them to a hotel that a friend of thiers owned and we would be sorted for the night.True to thier word we were looked after and they made plans to meet us later that night for a beer or two

                            After setting in to our hotel we then took off back to the bike shop.Apparently when we had stopped at a small cafe earlier that day we had started the local grapevine working and when we rolled up to the bike store they were expecting us.This bike store was just amazing.Not because of how big it was,´cause it wasn´t,but by the amazing atmosphere inside the place.Every square inch of the the dusty floor was piled up with old stock.The walls were covered in tyres hanging from pegs sticking out between old cycling posters and product advertizements.Bikes hung from the ceiling at every angle but the most eye catching of all was the collection of cycling trophies atop a high shelf above the work benches.This was truly a classic old bike store

            The young bike mechanic stopped work to greet us and once he figured out what we wanted set about his task in sorting us out.We soon became the focal point of the store for the next hour or so.An old lady ws hovering around asking questions about our trip and shared the information to an unbelieving old man, propped up in the corner, watching soccer on the T.V.Then we met the mechanics´ father and proprietor of the store.Now you have all seen during the Tour de France coverage those wise old men of France sitting in the roadside cafes.Bullish,tough old men who smoke strong, filterless cigarettes and drink too much red wine while bragging about thier years in the saddle.Well, one of those men lives here in Argentina and he has the trophies on the wall to prove it . As if to act out some old ritual he came up to us and lifted one short leg to show us a classic cyclists tan.We did the same and were quickly accepted into the fold.I thought he was going to cry when he saw Curtis´old Rolls brand leather saddle.He stroked it lovingly and told us he used to ride on one of those in his day,rivets and all.One by one new customers came around and checked out our bikes, each deciding which bike, between my mountain and Curtis´touring bike was thier favourite.We were shown photos of the family from years past in full gear at races gone by and given flyers advertising the regions top races.It was a magic hour or so hanging out with these people who just loved to cycle in thier little corner of the world.Just before we left the store the owner showed us his own mountain bike which was obviously his pride and joy.He pointed out the bike computer which read 130k(81miles),the distance this sixty-something old workhorse had ridden the day before.As I walked out of the store I looked again at the old trophies proudly gathering dust on the shelf and realised that we had probrably just met a legend and didn´t even know After that I went to the hotel to lay down and Curtis,as he liked to do, toured the city on his bike alone.We were called down to reception at ten and our triathlete mates told us that they were off to dinner and that they would meet us in a bar at about midnight.Even though it was the start of a long weekend of celebrations in Argentina, it was too late for our blood and we promtly went back upstairs to bed,finishing another great day on the road in Argentina

                                          We woke early the next day and met up with the hotel owner over breakfast.He was a very young Hotel University graduate and was full of enthusiasm for us and our adventure.We spent some quality time with him and then hit the road again pedalling with another tailwind toward our next town 120k(75miles) away.That days ride was a dream for me as my newly shod bike proved that slick tyres  were the way to go and we watched the road pass under our wheels like it was a training day for Ironman.The tailwind helped,as did the huge tractor we drafted off for about half and hour.Didn´t really have to pedal at all,just sat up and chatted all the way to the next village were he pulled off making us do some work again   The city of Rosario is Argentina´s third largest at about one million people and has the reputation of being the home of the most beautiful girls in the country.We would test this theory out later but first things first and it was off to find somewhere to stay.It is probrably the most frustating thing I have to do on this trip.Navigate through the busy streets of a strange city full of crazy drivers while trying to read street signs in a language that I barely understand.Add to that the fact that our trailers aren´t really the most easy to control things you could have on a city street and you can see why I always get mad, riding into each big town.We did find a hostel with room on this busy long weekend and settled in for our first rest day

                              This hostel,unlike all of the other big ones we had seen,was pretty much just for Argentine travellers with a few other latin types thrown in.We met a girl who worked there that was from the town that we had been in the day before.She certainly helped with Rosarios´beautiful girl reputation and asked us to join in that nights barbeque with the rest of the hostel gang.It was great for practising my Spanish but once the partying started(and I do mean partying),it was usless to try to talk to anyone.They were all just speaking so fast.Seems like we missed a great night but we would have just been wallflowers,unable to participate in the merriment anyway.At least there were no hangovers to deal with.The crowd from the party were still drifting in from the night before as we were leaving the hostel to explore the city early the next day

                             The feature of Rosario must be the awesome parks and gardens along the banks of the Paraña River.This two or three mile strip is full of cafes and bars catering to not just the locals but the huge number of people from Buenos Aires who like to holiday there on the weekends.The parks are loaded with picnic tables and families hanging out in the sun.Dotted around all over the place are a collection of huge statues and monuments, each representing some event in Argentinas´ history.To me the strangest thing was the city skyline.There are no visible office buildings,just apartments.Now I know that might seem a weird thing to think of but in a city of one million,you would expect to see some office buildings.Not here.Maybe I just have too much time on my hands   Riding back through town to the hostel we stopped at a gas station to fill up Curtis´ fuel bottle for his camp stove.As usual the bikes caught everyones attention and one of the guys who works there, after catting to us for a couple of minutes,asked if we wanted some coffee.I said sure so the dude goes in and tells the cafe staff to make coffees for the two of us.Curtis declimed the offer and went back to the hostel.I stayed and hung out with the gas station guys for a while.As I sat there a nice four wheel drive stops by my bike and a very clean cut guy gets out with his two boys and asks if they could check out my bike.No worries!As his kids were fussing over it he told me that he once did a bike tour with an Aussie friend and it was time of his life.He then asked if I wanted to go with him and his family back to his place so he could take me for a ride along the river.I couldn´t believe he was going to ditch his wife and kids to go riding with me.I politely said no as I had to get back to the hostel and get all my stuff ready for the next days early departure class.

                         I fussed around in the hostel for the rest of the afternoon as Curtis did his customary solo tour of the town.There was a big concert in the park so he got to catch some cool local bands and absorb some Argentine flavour.While he was doing that I happily ate as much of the previous nights leftover barbequed meat.Still tasted great to me and about four steak sandwiches later I was full and just about ready for bed.I did get to chat with some of the hostel people who magically seemed the have developed the ability to speak English overnight.Pity they didn´t bother the night before but that´s life I guess.Another quick stroll around town and it was just about bed time and so off I went with map in hand to study the route to our next rest day in Cordoba,400k(250miles) away.The next day would be our first camping out and with fingers crossed for good weather I passed into a deep sleep

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Nick´s epic ride part two

2007-02-13T14:45:00.002-08:00

                                              After a exercise induced coma of a sleep in "The Passion Hotel" Curtis and I dragged our sorry asses out onto the Autopista(highway)again to finish the last 40k(25miles)into Buenos Aires.Having had the day from hell then day before we thought that it would be a pretty easy ride into town and we would be settled in our hostel again by mid morning.Wrong again folks!We were quickly learning that patience is indeed a virtue and in Sth America every little thing can be an ordeal.

                                     There is quite a difference between riding the Argentinian highways on a Sunday full of peace and tranqulity(if you call getting hit by a motorbike tranquil) and the mad Monday morning rush hour of a city of 13 million people.Oh my god were we in for a shock.It was just plain scary and we only lasted about 15k(9miles) before we decided to find an alternate route into town.Pulling off the highway we bought ourselves a map of the city and as luck would have it we were sitting right at an intersection where an alternate route was right in front of us.Ruta 202 to San Fernando,Buenos Aires.On paper it seemd simple,just follow this road 'til that road and then follow that one all the way into town.No worries, until a cop came up to us looking very para-military and asked us where we were going.We fumbled in our basic Spanish and told him of our smart plan.The first thing that we should have taken notice of was the sad look on his face and the shaking of his head.The second thing we really should have taken notice of was his impeccable sign language.The fingers held out in front in the shape of a gun meant,well,a gun.The hands in the air meant someone was going to be held up and the real clue to our impending doom was the slash along the throat,which I guess meant death.Now normal people would have taken all this information and figured out that if a cop is telling you not to go down a road cause you might die then the smart money would be not to go down the friggin road, right!!No friggin way,off we went.

                                   Generally if you are in a big city and you hear chickens clucking and see a hundred dogs lying in the middle of a bumpy dirt road it´s fairly safe to assume that it´s not an upmarket niegbourhood.When you throw in a few burnt out cars decorating the street corners then perhaps it´s not the place for a couple of lycra clad,shaved legged,tri-geeks.Add to this the fact that the equipment we were parading in front of all and sundry cost more than the whole suburb we were riding through.It came as no surprise when a nice man who spoke perfect English stopped us at a roundabout and asked us just where the heck we were going.When informed our intended route he gave the same sad head shake as our friendly cop but was slightly less candid about our chances of survival should we continue down that road.One warning I can ignore but two?

                                    He directed us down another road about a mile away and before you could say "I should have stayed at home and become a fat drunk" we were riding through one of the loveliest suburbs I have ever seen,anywhere!Welcome to San Isidro,Buenous Airies where all the nice school children wear nice private school uniforms while they wait to be picked up by thier glamourous mothers in thier shiny Mercedes and other assorted luxury cars.Where every lawn is manicured and the old cobbled streets meander under the arches of grand old trees.The sidewalks are lined with galleries,antique furniture stores and upmarket cafes.The smell of money is everywhere except around us, we just smelt bad

                                    It was down one of those little cobbled streets that I spied out of the corner of my eye a bicyletaria or bike store for the Spanishly challenged.A quick turn and another near death experience later we were outside the store with one of the employees giving us that sad shake of the head we were getting so used to.This time though, our mortality was not in question it was the sad state of Curtis´wheel that brough out the emotion in this very helpful guy.I, by this stage, had just about begun my daily cravings and with a cafe a couple of stores away left Curtis to it.The coffee was great but the million and one questions asked of us by everyone who heard our dreadful Spanish would soon wear us down.Don´t get me wrong I love the fact that they are all so interested in us but, like listening to a James Blunt song,it´s great the first fifty times but it´s like torture after that.We would later learn to get used to being the center of attention everywhere we went and and it´s even kind of cool now.

                                   The dude in the bike store could not have been more helpful and he promised that they could have a new little wheel built for Curtis by the next day.Fantastic!So all we had to do was ride the remaining few miles into town and bad to face the humiliation of our failed expedition to the cool staff at our hostel.Well yet again we became geographically embarrassed(lost) and took forever to get back.In fact that 40k(25miles) ended up being a hell of a lot longer and took us nearly five hours.Such is life on the road in the big city.

                                   After explaining all our woes to the"see,I told you that you wouldn´t make it", faces of the hostel staff we settled in for another couple of days in bustling Buenous Aires.Lets chalk that one up to lessons learned and begin again in a couple of days.I mean really just what else could go wrong?

Nick's epic ride part one

2007-02-13T14:44:00.002-08:00

                                                                Well folk´s we are still alive,just.

                                             After meeting up in outrageously busy Buenous Aries we hung around for three days watching the rain tumble down and getting used to being in Sth America.Part of the process was to fit in with thier late night social patterns.I mean,who has dinner at 10pm and then goes out for a quiet drink or two at midnight while they wait for the nightclubs to get busy at 2am.The whole of freaking Argentina,that´s who!!!I mean really,we went out to a really cool bar area and then before you can say "no mas cerveza pour favour".It´s 4am and we are in a line-up for a night club.At 4am!!!!!!My god,the place was packed and all 2000 of then were either off there faces,selling the stuff that got them off thier faces,or having sex in the toilets.Now I like to think I´ve been around but boys,do not try and sell me drugs while I´m standing at the urinal and while I´m very flattered,no I don´t want to go into a cubicle with you for a while!All this chaos is going on while a very erotic stage show is being acted out at on end of the huge club involving assorted oversized,blow-up sex toys.I won´t even mention the drag queens,who by the way, Curtis thought were pretty hot ´til I pointed out a thing or two that are not standard issue on women! I left him to his devices and escaped at about 6.30am.Very early by Argie standards when they consider 9am to be acceptable.No wonder the bloody backpackers sleep all day.The bloody vampires!

                                            A couple of drunken nights later and we were indeed prepared for St Patricks day in Buenous Aires and the block party that was planned.It was thought that if we hooped it up on St Paddies day then we could sleep in on the Sat and ride out on the quiet Sunday streets and into the Argie countryside.With that in mind many glasses were raised at the hostel before the short trip to the street party.Luckily,I decided to stay home as I was well and truly gooned and though the better of staggering around this huge metropolis at night(though we did test that theory out on our first day).Curtis headed off with some of our packbacker mates and had a riot and was missing in action ´til mid morning. I caught up with him a rode around the city for about five hours.Very cool place is Buenos Aires,lot´s of character,lot´s of parks,lot´s of huge statues and a church on every second corner.If it weren´t for all the dog shit and trash everywhere it would be truly liveable.

                                              Sunday dawned and we were finally off on our ride of a lifeime.As planned the streets were very quiet and we made great time through the suburbs,that was until we got lost.Luckily we hooked up with a couple of local cyclists out on thier Sunday ride and they rode with us and showed us the way to the highway north to Rosario 300k(183 miles away).I wil admit to really struggling to keep up with Curtis and would soon learn one of my biggest lessons in bike touring.Don´t ride a mountain bike with fat nobby tyres(f$%king idiot)!I did manage to keep going and followed Curtis´smoking trail ´til the 80k(50 mile)mark where I saw him in the distance surrounded by a bunch of people and two small motorbikes.I thought that he must have stopped to wait for me and some people just wanted to chat to him at the side of the road.How wrong could I be?By the time I got there Curtis was being screamed at by an irate Argentinian and his friend one of which had a bloody nose and a few cuts on is head.At the side of the road was a woman holding her small child both of whom were crying and a second lady and her kid arriving back from a local roadside restaurant with a bucket of water and some rags to clean the group up with.It was then that I noticed the damage to Curtis´trailer and bike.The rear wheel was completely buckled and the fenders on his bike had been damaged as well.Apparently one of the motorbikes, laden with a helmetless husband,wife and little child had run into the back of Curtis´trailer at full speed without seeing it.They all hit the ground hard and it was lucky that no-one was hurt really badly-or worse.How they hit a stationary bike on the shoulder of a three lane highway on a blue sky day without a curve in sight is beyond me but hey,we are gringos´ so no matter what you say we are in the wrong!

                      I was very impressed at how Curtis held his cool as one guy constantly kicked the crap out of his bike and got in his face with abuse but what can you do.After a long time of my trying to cool the dude down by apologising profusely he started to calm down enough for me to convince him that maybe he should be spending more time taking his family to the doctor than abusing Curtis.He finally colected his family and headed home but not before issuing a chilling warning in Spanish that even I could understand."Your route goes through our neighbourhood!""Great",I thought,"now we have a whole village on the lookout for us."I conviced Curtis that we needed to get off the road and out of site NOW!!We sought refuge in an Howard Johson Hotel carpark while Curtis spent a couple of hours trying to fix his wheel enough for us to ride back to Buenos Aires to get a new one.Talk about a tough first day.It was about to get even more bizzar!

                      After repairing the wheel enough to ride with and thanking the assorted families in the hotel car park that had offered all kinds of assistance we turned south and headed back toward Buenous Aires.With 80k(50miles)to go and the light fading badly it was always going to be a losing race against time and with 40k(25miles) to go I called it quits and asked Curtis if we could stop and find somewhere to sleep for the night.As luck would have it,off to the side of the highway just where we were there was a big neon sign advertising an hotel.Quite surprising considering we were in the middle of nowhere.We went to check it out and found a very strange place with high brick walls and every window closed up tight with thick wooden shutters.We rode on into the drive through reception(should have had some clue by now)and asked the guy at the window if there was a room with two beds for us for one night.Well the look he gave us should have given it away but we were tired and too out of it to play Sherlock Holmes so when he suggested that maybe we should find a tourist hotel instead we just asked if he could find us one.He couldn´t and then I guess he felt sorry for us and told us that there was a room that we could have but it only had a king size bed in it.Hell we would be camping together so who cared.We would take it.No worries,but he would have to charge us for two turns which amounted to 70 Pesos($23US).Two turns,what the!!!!Then the penny dropped,it was a love hotel or as the brochure in the room said "The Passion Hotel".By this time all I wanted to do was eat and sleep so we took the room which was,I must say very nice indeed.Great big bed,lots of mirrors,nice stereo and of course porn on the T.V.It was the condoms on the bedside table that freaked me out a bit.What ever happened to mints on the pillow?

                       We headed off to find some food but realised that we didn´t have a key for our room.Then again who needs a key when you aren't supposed to be leaving the room `til your business is done.We must have been the first people ever to go out during our "paid time".One thing that did have us puzzled was the car alarm that went off every hour.Then we realised that it wasn´t a car alarm but a buzzer to keep the punters aware each time an hour ticked away.I got used to the buzzer but didn't get used to the sound of the wildlife in the next rooms.Just say YES,YES,YES, really fast and with passion and you will get the picture only this time say it in Spanish.SI!SI!SI!.At one stage I heard two different females wailing away-lucky bastard!!!!I couldn't have performed anyway too damn tired and sore.

                           So on day one we,got lost and got found again.Got hit by a motorcycle and threatened with the wrath of an entre village.Rode 120k(75miles).Stayed at our first love hotel(my first anyway).What did we achieve?Well we spent a lot of time going nowhere and a lot of money not getting laid.Just a normal day for me really.Lets see what tomorrow brings.

Before I begin.

2007-02-13T14:01:00.002-08:00

After many years of dreaming,planning and putting off,I have finally made it to the point where I'm off to Sth America for an epic bike trip of a liftime.I have been to many places in the world as a tourist.I have been to many as an athlete of sorts.Never have I decided to combine the two and try a huge trans-continental ride.I've dreamt about it,planned it countless times, scoured maps and journals in anticipation but it's never happened.Until now!

The first time I thought about riding through South America I had only just completed my first Ironman triathlon.That was in 1991 in Ironman Canada.Since then I have completed 15 Ironmans,two double Ironmans,four Ultra stage races and well over a hundred other races of varous, lesser distances.I've crashed lots,been hit by seven cars,spent a week in a Thai hospital and passed out on a treadmill while training to run from coast to coast in Australia.In all that time my dream never became a reality.Until now!It came down do just buying a new bike,a trailer,some camping gear and a plane ticket.I was finally off to an unknown land for an adventure far removed from anything that I had done before.

My original plan had been to do this trip alone but a few weeks before my departure an old mate of mine from Canada contacted me and asked if he could tag along for the ride.Curtis Flock is a legend of sorts in Ironman Canada circles,holding the dubios record of having the most ex-girlfriends competing in the one Ironman event with him.It was four for those who may not have been there for the very public announcement.Curtis has also completed many Ironmans and in fact his best time is just a few seconds faster than mine at nine hours and fifty two minutes.Not pro level but we can hold our own against most people so as you can imagine fitness wasn't going to be an issue.Being together day in,day out would be the challenge.A challenge we were totally up for.

So on the 14th of March 2006 we both made our separate ways to Buenos Aires in Argentina.I flew in from Cairns,Australia and Curtis from Calgary,Canada to join up for what we hoped would be the grandest of adventures.Here's how it all turned out.