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 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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