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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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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