Leaving our shanty of a gypsy town we were again glad to be back on the road again. In the days leading up to this days riding we were indulged with camp fire horror storries of the next days ride. Previous groups had spent twelve hours for just 120km's riding, falling off too many times to count and trashing a few bikes in the muddy track. But there was hope on the horrizon, two days sunshine would relieve us of this nightmare. So on the last night before going to bed we each performed our own version of the anti-rain dance.
Lucky for us we pleased the suspicious sun gods and were met with another days sun. But just for shits and giggles, the sun gods decided to wreck our pleasent moods with a visit to his asthmatic neighbour the god of wind. Bugger. 100km/h winds punched us in the face as we shot down the highways at what we thought were rediculous speeds, but in reality was just 80km/h. Having finally changed my playlist to a more uplifting tune, i couldnt help but whistle through my doubts as i thought of the approaching gravel. Again deep in day dream i shot through a beautiful left hand turn, wondering why everyone was on another road to my right. 1......2......3....ambulance coming at me head on......4.....ohhhhhhhhh. Wrong side of the road. And now i was going down a one way strip whilst group memebers were wildly waving their arms in bewilderment. Having pulled over, i decided my first practice on this dangerous condition of mud and gravel would be crossing the nature strip to the right side of the road. I was an expert by the end of the three meter crossing and kept whistling, knowing in my heart that the scary three meter nature strip was surely the worst off road i would see on this trip...
Sheepishly pulling over in a servo in the middle of nowhere, i was met with giggles and over emphasised wipes of the foreheads. Now, when i say the middle of nowhere, i mean this. It was the only service station within 500kms. Meaning that if you were driving your average gas guzling four wheel drive, you would end up 100km's short of this and having to eat each other for supper. Filled up we hit the gravel, for the next 150km's.
With the words of my off road teacher ringing through my head, "just let the bike move under you" i decided to cross from one wheel track on the road, over the billion loose pebbles in the middle to the other wheel track to show off my mad off roading skills. Mistake number 1. If you are ever in this situation, i sugest you roll over and die or pull over and play a game of chess. The bike moved around so much underneath me, i felt i had been lubed up with ky jelly and chucked into an oversize jumping castle. Now they say a shot of adrenaline is addictive, but whoever wants to feel like their testicles are tickling their adams apple ever again should be culled from the gene pool for this "thrillseeking" tendancy. At the end of this challenging piece of gravel, our guide pulls over to tell us that this is the best he has ever seen it and its not even challenging for an epileptic grandma in her supercharged wheelchair. He drove off before i was able to crash tackle him to the ground and beat him with his own arms.
Finally arriving at the ranch we had booked for the night, i had to individually pry my fingers off the handlebars which were now locked in my kung-fu grip of fear. Casually checking my cell for reception, i shunned myself as it would be like neil armstrong getting out on the moon and looking for a McDonalds. A cow casualy walked by me, not even stopping as it lay a track of manure at my feet. Awesome. But in reality this place really was strikingly beautiful, wild horses grazing and pink flamingo's (proof that god regularly does acid) lazing by the open stretches of wetlands.
Our lovely ranch owner, the genuine czech / argentinian imigrant, welcomed us in and settled us into our rooms for the night. Casually strolling around before dinner, which was to be an argentinian barbeque, i walked into the kitchen where i was met with "ajkfklfasljfhlajf" or something or other. Seen in the bottom photo, he resembled a deranged versian of a spannish pornstar gone wrong. His hair was wild and his moustache full, teath missing in an interesting pattern of 1,2,1,2. The place smelt of smokey death, as most argentinian kitchens do. Grinning through his collander like smile, and sharpening his rediculously large knife in front of me he said "kjasfjlasflhfa jashlhsaf jashlashflafs", which obviously meant "Im going to kill you in your sleep". Mumbling a quick collection of gobblygook spannish words to please my new serial killer friend i was gone within a heartbeat.
We only saw our friend later on at dinner, as he sat quietly in the corner smiling at us as we ate. Seeking to avoid the scary gaze of slicy dicy, and also the disapproving stares of the ranch owner and his wife (i chased their sheep around the paddock like a prisoner seeing light for the first time in twenty five years), we sampled their exotic selection of terrible beer (Quilmes, or quilmes) and fine wine. Night over we retreated to our rooms where i jokingly told david that the water he was drinking gallons of was going to give him food poisoning, drifting easilly off to sleep to the rumble of the wind nearly tipping the house over and the disconcerting grumble of davids stomache...
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