Londres to Jujuy to La Quiaca

My hair is drenched. Not damp as in the sweat that builds up in a subtropic landscape, but drenched. Dark and heavy clumps of hair stick to my forehead and my shirt is soaked. From the seat of my bike I stare at the beads of sweat clinging to my forearms and sparkling in the midday sun. 3 days of pushing through despite sitting a foot or so away from reality. The world look impenetrable and I watch it go by. Pushing through because there’s no where to stay, because I want to keep moving. 

Poetic. That’s what I think when I collapse at the doorstep of God, the very God I’ve denied existence to my entire life. Yet here I am, ready to hand my life over to the looming statue of Jesus in some final act of faith. But that’s all too dramatic. Really I just sunk to the ground at the first bit of decent shade, that happened to be the entrance of a church. The constriction in my throat subsided and my wet shirt and the shaded breeze sent me into chills. 

Climbing mountains and gaining altitude when your body is fighting some mystery infection/illness/disease ;p is not the most enjoyable part of any trip, and I feel short changed. I felt like after all this time on the bike I was ready, even eager to take on the coming climbs. Frustrated because now I had to climb them while my body was working double time to expel the toxin. I felt bad, real bad! But there was something I couldn’t let go of, and I had already decided we were continuing. As towns wooshed by with no hospedajes or hotels or even camp grounds, eventually I was forced to go on whether I liked it or not. 3kms. Break. Cry. Breathe. 3kms. Break. Cry. Breathe. Eat pear. Ride. Cry.

The sub tropical valleys gave way to desert mountains as we rode north, up. Rich red escarpments towering the road and the giant cacti are back. The diversity of this country is amazing and we are only seeing the tiniest section as we make our way towards Bolivia.

After 3 days, my mind finally reconnects with my body and we somehow end up here, through a series of events which include:

• towns with no where to stay
• The owner of the only hospedaje in Tumbaya is on holidays
• Someone from the ‘new car party’, next to the hospedaje, knows someone who knows someone who can open the hospedaje
• Which we find out is too expensive (though we kinda expected).
• The person then points out a house down the road that opens its doors to travellers for much less. 

And so we end up here, staying with an older couple who feel less like hosts and more like long lost grandparents you haven’t met. We decide to have a rest day and my body is thankful. Though my mind and body are one again my legs feel like lead and sink heavy into the mattress . Everything feels in place and I’m excited for what’s to come: mountains, Bolivia, the Andes... 

 

 

 

🔆 

Dear Che Maloney,

This is a public thank you letter so everyone (well, everyone reading this blog) will know how incredible you are. Thank you for holding my shoes as I lay on the bench overwhelmed and gasping for breath. Thank you for letting me push on but keeping an eye on me as I wobbled along the white line. Thank you for being so super strong   you were able, and willing, to carry extra gear as we pedaled the last climb. YOU ARE AMAZING!! I feel like you make me stronger just by being you - funny, brave, loving and, when needed, tough. Thank you for trusting me enough to share this journey!

Love, Che Keillor