Sometimes cycling is boring. This usually gets to me a little more than it from time to time being tough. The idea of pushing through rough times is part of what got me out here in the first place. Being bored though, was not.
Exciting is probably one of the last words I’d use to describe the road from Punta Arenas to Puerto Natales. Smooth, yes. Still horribly windy – definitely. Interesting in any way? Nah.
Luckily though, cycling is not all I’m doing.
With the winds still playing a major roll in life on the road out there, something taking up a lot more focus than usual was finding a sheltered place to sleep. Something which generally ended up with either some fun encounters with people, or some rather amusing hangouts with myself.
I don’t have a proper explanation for it, but I so (and I’m assuming I’m not alone here) enjoy falling asleep in new places. And now I’m not talking new as in geographical locations where I haven’t slept in before. I mean new sleeping.. situations? My list of these is naturally rather extensive by now, and it doesn’t happen too often anymore that I get to make new additions to it.
With nightly wind-escaping quests though – new firsts came crashing in at a rate that almost got me feeling like I was back in Europe and the early days of this journey.
Stables – check!
Bus stop. Can’t believe it actually took me this long?
Gunilla! Compact living var det va? ;-) <3
A million times better than odd solo sleeping mission though, are obviously those priceless evenings in the company of just made friends. Some of them leaving even stronger memories than others.
Knocking on the door of the run down workers house by the no longer running gas station I still don’t really know what I was hoping for. Tired legs, an empty mind and a blank stare was everything I’d brought to the porch on which I was standing. Not until forming a fist had I realised how stiff my fingers had gone from being held prisoners in my way too wet gloves for so long. There was a raw, damp cold in the air. The world was standing completely still. I leaned in towards the door, almost pressing my ear against it.
Quickly the thought passed through my mind. When had I actually been using my voice last?
Silently I cleared my throat. Then I knocked again, a little harder this time. Water was the official story both to myself and to whoever I would find on the other side, though in reality I really didn’t need it. In reality I didn’t really need anything, apart from something to happen.
The familiar sound of chair slowly scraping against floor. Jackpot.
There is a lot to be said about the hundreds encounters of this kind one is bound to have had after soon to be 2 consecutive years one the road. About the people we’re so used to calling strangers, and about trust. About cynicism versus naivety. About gut feeling. And at those very few but still too many instances when things do get real – about pure instinct.
We’ll leave most of that for now. And just go with that I am one of those people who’ve decided to trust. My gut that is. A formerly loose canon that through the rolling experiences of the last 30 countries has moulded itself into this fine tuned instrument I trust with my life. Literally.
My gut has the 2 absolutely critical jobs of telling me when to:
1) Dive head first in the next peanut butter jar in sight.
2) Get the hell out of a situation.
Haha. I’m just trying to be all dramatic here. (…and perhaps also to make a bit of a point.)
Guns on the wall? Or more importantly: that 4th gun missing from the wall? What-your-mama-taught-you-logic says: RUUUUUUUUUUUN! Like seriously. Run. NOW.
When it’s my gut telling me those things, I listen. Always. In a weird way even more so when that mama-logic gives a green light. However – when that same gut feeling says ‘Sure! :-) ‘ – I listen too.
Total ping-pong night. Two equally short and intense friendships. BBQ. Soft bed. A few stories that will never make it to this blog. And perhaps most importantly a big reminder of that boring cycling is nothing – nothing – but people adventures in disguise.
Until next time,
Fredrika