Indians

When I awoke this morning there was a heavy thunderstorm outside. What were the chances of so much rain? I watched the thunderstorm and didn't think it was wise to put the bike through some much water once again. I could wait another day, but the hotel was a dump and my window faced an alley and the city wasn't beautiful.

By 11:30 the rain had stopped. I applied a heavy coating of Phil's Tenacious Oil. The hotel manager said his goodbyes to me. On many occassions these were sad goodbyes. The owners would become paternal and wonder about my safety. They would think for a whole day about my journey and realize it was hard. They might feel guilt about their initially mistreating me upon my arrival. I had spoken to the owner at breakfast about my journey and Argentina. When I departed he asked me why I didn't have a bicycle computer to gauge distance.

It did not rain that day. While the roads were wet in places, the sun came out and the temperature rose from 17 degrees to 32 degrees. I road through rolling, steel hills the entire way. I passed 20 kilometers of Indian preserves and their native women, men, and children walking along the roadside and the women would sell baskets and weave them on the roadsides. The European Brazilians all told me to be careful here because there was high crime. Although I experienced no high crime while riding in this area, it was tough to get responses when I would shout out hellos. A handful of women and men replied to my good afternoons but the kids didn't say anything to my oam-pahs and good afternoons. I wasn't offended and understood some of the bad blood, especially after hearing Moraline's lectures on the matters.

I continued to ride and my mood brightened. Why leave Brasil? Maybe it would get better. Maybe I would see open space. But I still wanted to camp. I was sick of hotels. Maybe the North of Brasil would be very different.

I reached town and there was an incredibly steep climb to get to the center, a great welcome. I would a reasonable hotel with a very cheerful owner and a helpful son. It was $R for a great room and I am just about to eat breakfast in the hotel now and then do pullups, dips, knee raises, and tricep extensions in the park.

I am hesitant about Patagonia. While I know I must ride, am I prepared mentally, physically, and is my gear up to snuff? I had not planned on going to Patagonia. Moraline has written to me extensively that it will destroy a man and is impossible. Should I listen to him and no go? Or is it a challenge. Perhaps the man wants me to die there as a revenge of his having to suffer in the suburb I was raised.

This sign says I'm entering Indian territory. I didn't take any photos of the local Indians here because they really wanted me to, in general, fuck off. Since I was tresspassing on their land to pass through, I decided to ride and make attempts to be polite. Some older men and women returned my hellos, but I didn't expect any warm greetings. It's terrible what Europe did to these people. I am personally sorry for what my ancestors did to these people.

If you zoom in here, this is a place where they make smoked meats. Pile of wood to the left to smoke the meats.

This was a great hotel with a great owner. He was happy and fast and didn't give me shit. He drank erva mate when I saw him at night and when I saw him in the morning. I think his folks speak Spanish as their native language.

My beard is growing back since I had to shave it because of the boils. No more boils. The boils on the hands went away but the skin still sheds.