Belen (Argentina) to Salta (Argentina)

"Thus there was nobody, however sad, cross, sour or melancholy he might be-no, not even if he were another Heraclitus the Weeper-who was not filled with fresh joy, and whose spleen did not yield to laughter when he saw this noble fleet of ships with their devices. There was no one who did not exclaim that the travellers were all worthy boozers, and who did not feel prophetically certain that the journey out, and also the journey home, would be performed in health and happiness."

(Book 4 Chapter 1 Gargantua and Panatagruel, Francois Rabelais).

There are now 8 cycle tourists staying in my hostel in Salta, the very friendly Terra Occulta (www.terraocculta.com) and (3 others staying in other hostels in Salta). Normally the hostal staff say they have about two or three bikes at a time but at the moment a fleet of mountain bikes are docked in the hostel courtyard. The bicycle mafia has arrived and taken over. Normally we are an oppressed minority, reduced to hiding behind bushes on Route 40 or huddling in the corner of a hospedaje glad in sweaty lycra muttering to ourselves about gears and chain lube. Here however we are understood. Finally we are in the majority. At last we have found a forum where we can talk openly and frankly about our respective trips and the issues that are important to us.

During the day the bikes are inspected, cleansed and loved back to health. Routes are discussed, discrepancies between various maps are evaluated and reconciled. All of us are going north into Bolivia and realise that Salta is the last chance to have access to a decent bike shop before our mounts are subjected to the rigours of riding across Bolivia´s notoriously rough unpaved roads. None of the maps are exactly the same. We have a handwritten map passed on by a French couple heading South which shows how it is possible to ride over into Chile and into South West Bolivia and then onto the famous Salar de Uyuni in Bolivia. Equipped with this map and with my fresh faced angelic good looks I feel a bit like Leonardo di Caprio in the film the Beach. My equally glamourous fellow bikers in Salta are mostly Germans or Swiss Germans (Philip, Alain, Christina, Petra, Irene, Dibo, Felix, Holger and Kurt) there are also an English couple Liam and Claire, an Irish lady (Dareena) and an American (Ian) to add a bit of ballast to the conversations.

When I was in Chile a Belgian/French couple Betty and Dimitri gave me a CD to give to their friend Hector, a bike mechanic in Salta and recommended that when I reach Salta I visit Rene and Hector´s bike shop and get my bike serviced. I am so glad I did. Alain and I took our bikes to their shop and spent a fanastic day with Rene, Hector, Osvaldo and David. For a very reasonable price my bike was completely stripped. All the ball bearings checked and lubed, all my cables replaced, chain replaced whilst we talked about just about everything. In addition to being fantastic bike mechanic they are also extremely friendly and patient Spanish teachers. Also have acquired a new saddle. I somehow managed to break my last one and had been riding on a bumpy unpaved the last 250km on a second hand saddle that set me back 4 pesos in Santa Maria (too many empanadas, too many empanadas).

During the night the hostal holds really impressive barbeques (after backing the Ivory Coast to beat Argentina 4-0 in the sweep stake I was offered el menu italiano i.e. poison ). Have also been to my first night club in Argentina. Nothing really happens until 3 o clock in the morning and then all of a sudden it is jammed full of people. I decided that my usual chatup lines, "What is your favourite underground line?" and pretending to be the love child of Angel Rippon will cut little ice here. So I just dance/sway/lurch around for a bit and try and look cool. Quite difficult when two of the people you are with have for some reason have decided to wear flat cloth caps. Not sure why (I am also trying hard to persuade Alain not to wear a red hankerchief around his neck but he his adamant that this is "Swiss racing style").

Javier and Diego who work at the hostal play in a football team and people staying at the hostel can also play in their fixtures. The team is run by El Gordo (Fatty). At 11pm on the eve of the World Cup I find myself on an industrial suburb of Salta facing the Salta Bus Terminal team. It is a bit like Sunday morning football on Clapham Common. Faded tracksuits, taped boots and beer bellies. Flashes of talent and speed are occasionally revealed. The passion, emotion and enthusiasm cannot be hidden. Unfortunately the only footwear I have are my hiking boots. I realise that they will not be suitable for my usual creative midfield role. Subtle and incisive passing etc will have to be replaced by a more direct utilitarian holding position. Despite the fact I have cycled about 5,000km it is a very different kind of fitness. I am soon exhausted and out of breath. I play for only 15 minutes or so before crawling off the pitch out of breath completely knackered. Although we lose 6-2 the best moment comes when El Gordo is persuaded to play the final 10 minutes. With his first touch he picks up the ball on the corner of the opposition´s box, drops his shoulder, turns adroitly and lobs the ball expertly over the stranded keeper. It is a beautiful moment. His whole team runs towards him and jump on him. At the moment everyone is football mad. Blue and white everywhere. After having defeated the Ivory Coast 2-1 the streets of Salta are packed with cars full of people waving flags wearing silly hats. Vamos Argentina.

Start the next leg of my ride to Bolivia on Monday, riding with Alain, Philip and Kristina (I do not expect to be able to update my blog for several weeks until I arrive in Uyuni, Bolivia).

Just a reminder that I am riding to raise money for Medecins Sans Frontieres. If you would like to make a donation please visit my website (www.pushonnorth.com) for more details.

Push on

Tim

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