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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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.
1 comment:
and now your trip shall begin. :) loving this!
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