Terra de Areia e Ararangua

9/28/12 7:19 p.m., just outside Rolante

This is a process of adaptation and learning. I cannot beat myself up for mistakes, and I cannot define failure or success just yet, lest I force myself to quit or do something similarly stupid. 

 From the hotel window in Parobe.

 Ridng through pastures.

 Near Rolante.

 In Rolante, heading towards Riozinho. I did not expect to suddently be riding on a steep dirt road up a mountain shortly thereafter, nor did my right knee.

 Brazilians from the city riding horses on the weekend.

 A modern technique of growing strawberries

I made it 55 kilometers today, then turned back due to a) lack of daylight (I had three hours of daylight—exactly 3, as it is pitch black at 6 p.m.). This isn’t a problem in Colorado, where one can ride at night with good lights, and then just camp somewhere. But where I was, I had b) a dense jungle foliage that was impenetrable on either side of the road. I had just seen a large iguana earlier, and I knew nothing about jungle camping and had spoken to no locals about camping in these parts.I want to be prepared and then be brave when something goes wrong, but I also don’t want to be stupid. C) The pavement ended when I didn’t expect it to end. The road became a decent dirt and packed gravel road with little washboard but some good potholes. The road grew very steep and I found myself going 4-5 mph. 

D) The knees weren’t adjusting properly. I was pushing them too hard, and the right one began to be bothersome. Too early in the trip for knee pains. As I was just about to approach a plantation home to ask if I was on the correct road (my map clearly indicated, to my chagrin, that this section of the road was unpaved; it wasn’t a topographic map, and I thought the route to the see was totally flat) a man on a mountain bike came by and I flagged him down. 

He told me the road was beautiful and great riding, but was tough work even on a mountain bike without bags. We both doubted the remaining 44km was a good idea at 3:00 p.m.. I kicked myself for being so unprepared. Why did I spend so long talking with Ledomara at breakfast? She didn’t know anything about the roads or cycling or camping or anything about journeys. Why didn’t I get up at 6 and grab a coffee at a local café and chat it up with a man? Why didn’t I ask a man about camping and my route and the terrain? Why did I pay $R69 ($34.50) for a room and drink ¾ a bottle of local wine and sleep in until 8:15? Why did I finally hit the road at 11? 

Had I begun at 9, I might have made it. But it was bewildering to suddenly be in such remote jungle. Isn’t the jungle in the North? No, the Amazon is in the North, the rainforest. In Brasil, the jungle is everywhere. Even at that moment, I might have made it, because I had done, according to this man, a lot of the climbing. But I thought this was an easy ride to the coast. I thought I would begin easy and then let things get hard. I like to prepare the knees for the hard stuff by doing the easy stuff first. I had rested my legs too much since the ride in Colorado and had partied too much between the end of the bike trip in Colorado and my departure (some good partying, though, that wedding).

It was tough to turn the bike around but I rode with this man—his name slips me, but he is from Novo Hamburgo and his accent is familiar to Raphael’s accent—and we chatted and then he eventually accelerated ahead. Once I hit the pavement, I began to take the switchbacks fast, and soon I was doubling back and getting cheers from the same people. The grocery was finally open, apparently being closed during lunch, and I bought some sausage, milk, papaya, a can of feijoada, tuna, and sardines, thinking I might not have another grocery until I slept for the night. I had decided to hit St. Antonio da Patrulha, but with 2 hours and 27k, to go, I didn’t think the knees could take it if I hit climbing. I then decided to go to the next town for a hotel, even though it would know me 10km off course in the morning. I made it 2km before I realized there was a camp site at my turn off, and it would be the perfect starting point in the morning. I pedaled 2k down a rocky dirt road and I asked a nearby family where I should register, and they told me that with my bike it made no sense to pay. Just go and camp, they said.

The affair is on a river and there are shacks set up with tents inside for the motorists, who have to pay $R3 for the night or $R5 for the day. I said good evening to the people at the site but they ignored me. I picked a spot by the river, put my valuables inside my tent, and had my knife with me. I ate my canned food and granola, drank a large beer, and will read some Portuguese and Von Mises. I will depart early in the morning for the coast. Should I take the route that defeated me earlier or should I ride the paved roads to the coast? 

9/30/12 6:36 a.m. still in campground outside Rolante

Awoke slightly before 6 to the sounds of sheep and chickens and the river. Made my café de manha in my tent—a bag of powdered coffee, water from my waterbag, and one waterbottle. Used the flush toilet in the wooden shack and expected the shower—with a water vestibule on the roof—to be cold, but to my surprise there was a heating mechanism. I had washed with a cloth a very little water last night, but decided to experiment with the shower anyway. I will pack my things now and hit the road. 

One does not drink too much alcohol when camping like this. Too much to protect at night and one does not want to sleep in due to robbers and thieves. One is thereby purified. The riding yesterday was tough on the bike—much dirt, grime, and agitation. I have learned about the dirt roads and now I know. If I must use them to get where I am going, I will manage and be prepared. But for my long journey it is stupid to ride them unless I must or unless the view is incredibly spectacular. I must also care for my knees. The knee warmers go on this morning, despite how stupid the look. Off to ride now. 

9/30/12 7:30 p.m. (and considerations on the North later at 10/1/12 8:00 a.m.)

I had a tough ride today. The right knee began to experience pain on the inside hinge. I ran into a cyclist, Silvio, who knows of Ned Overland because the two are the same age. And it was just at the point I wanted to throw in the towel and rest for the night. We rode together for 10km and we spoke of cycling and Brasil and he told me I must ride in Chile, so I will thus ride in Chile. 

 Silvio on the right. Ned Overland's age (early 50s). He told me to ride in Chile.

I need maps with at least as much detail as 1:1,000,000. Some of my pages have this detail, some have half this detail, others much worse. But it was a good beginning purchase, and there was no way I could have known that I required more detail. If I am to attack the dirt roads, I must get greater detail. My maps are the least detailed in the Northern regions, with the assumption that drivers won’t go there anyway, or would just fly or take buses. But if I decide to tackle these areas, I must obtain detailed maps. 

Other considerations on the northern areas:

Most of the roads are dirt, and the condition of the dirt roads may not be very good. Accordingly, a mountain bike may be of better use. While disk brakes are great for mud and other poor conditions, v-brakes and cantilever brakes require less maintenance and are easier to repair on the road. I know that Dennis Coelho toured on mountain bikes, so it is possible to obtain racks. 

It would be very advantageous to travel very lightly on dirt roads under these conditions. However, it is very unlikely I would encounter accommodations under these conditions. Ideally, I would not carry a tent or sleeping bag, but instead approach homes each night and sleep there. 

I would need to have a water filter. I had mistakenly given my water filter to a fellow cyclist in Salida when she convinced me that it was unnecessary. I agreed that it was unnecessary in areas of Brasil where bottled and tap water is available, but in the north it will be necessary. I can buy a water filter later on. But this leaves a question: would I offend someone if I use a water filter when they drink unfiltered water? 

It seems premature at this point to worry about the conditions of the North, but it does well to plant a seed for these considerations and discuss further these matters as I make my way North.  

I rode until Terra de Areia. I don’t think anyone cares about my fucked up right knee. I’m embarrassed about the pain, especially when the music outside is hot, fireworks are exploding, and there is a good story outside. But I am exhausted and it is 8:05 and the socialist party is having a party 100 meters from me.

I’m tired and my knee hurts and this flophouse is $R29 per night. I showered and washed my clothes and left my bicycle downstairs with the host, who indicated he would guard the bicycle. I shall pay in the morning. I had two large beers, two shots of cachaca and a chicken thigh for dinner. The host of the hotel invited me to watch t.v. near my room by inserting a plastic chair in my door but I wasn’t in the mood to watch T.V. with him. I drank two shots of cachaca at the bar, two large bottles of beer, and ate one chichen thigh. Large, local political demonstrations occurred in the main sqaure, consisting of 46 cars and trucks displaying signs, playing music, and honking. One party dominates here. They typically win by a large percentage. An afterparty ensued nearby, but I don’t know if I can take it, even though I want to cause trouble. My right knee is very problematic at the moment, and I don’t want to risk the knee with a night of partying. Or do I? Shit, tough call. 

10/1/12 8:20 a.m.

It rained hard last night and I assumed the rain would be temporary and would pass, but alas the rains continues and falls hard and cold. The main detriment of rain is its attack on the bearings of the front and rear hubs, and, to lesser extent, the bottom bracket. Yesterday was dry—I wonder how much rain I will encounter going forward. 

The right knee provided excruciating pain at the end of the day, so much so that I considered turning back not far after my stopping in Osorio when I filled my water bottle with milk (a good way to carry weight and feed oneself; I use the water bottle for coffee later for the acidity of the coffee to clean the water bottle). 

I wanted to obtain a hotel and ice my knee upon my arrival, but, alas, the hotel here and the environs did not offer any obvious way to purchase ice on a Sunday evening. Instead, I washed my clothes and went to the establishment next door for some chicken, cachaca, and beer. A merry husband and wife operated the establishment, and their patrons came in and out quickly for cachaca and beers. 

A huge procession of cars and trucks proceeded outside for a pre-election political rally. Some cars blasted music from large speakers in the back. Some trucks blasted their horns. Some cars shot loud fireworks into the sky. All carried the red flag of the local party. One man indicated there were 46 cars in the procession. I asked my neighbor at the bar if they would win this year. They win every year, he said.

Thus I find the enthusiasm of the procession a bit difficult to understand. If the election is a shoe-in, why bother? Are they simply pounding their chests? Is it a show of force—shock and awe—to intimidate any potential rivals? Do the rivals hide during such intense processions (after all, the parade snaked through a large portion of the small town). Political activity constitutes transcendence: one cannot do anything about one’s life now, so they hope for the future. But this hope is premised on the anonymous theft of others and the perpetuation of the inherent corruption of politics—the corruption inherent in both the politicians and the corruption inherent in those who accept the spoils of the anonymous theft and violence. 

So, at the moment, I sit in my room as the rain proceeds outside. This would be an excellent opportunity to rest the knee: avoid the rain, allow for recovery, and perhaps find some better maps later. 

The ride from the campground outside of Rolante to the town of Sto. Antonio do Patrulha was verdant and hilly with painted wooden farm homes and large grassy pastures in the hills in which roamed horses, sheep, and large healthy cows. Palm trees moved in the wind and pines stood still and watchful in the background. I stopped and took photos on the way, and I wonder if this stopping and starting contributed to the knee pain, as once I get going and keep going, the pain seems to be manageable. 

I arrived at a loja in Antonio do Patrulha and purchased a lage avocado (3 times the size of those in the U.S.), a papaya (mamao), milk, linguica, granola, and two 1.5 liter bottles of water. It was difficult finding space to put the items, and I was able to use the front panniers, the handlebar bag, as well as the rear panniers. The two t-shirts and the thermal shirt are seldom used and take up room. 

I then withdrew $R620 at an ATM in a bank, road out of town, and ate lunch on a bus bench.

The climbing was hilly and sunny but slow and I believe the knee began to show signs of weakness at this point.

The rain is beginning to subside now—should I give the knee a full day of rest or hit the road now? 

 One of the many political automobile processions I encountered for the political party PT (partido trabalhadores).

 The author.

 Digs in Terra de Areia

Heavy rain in a.m. on rest day.

3:12 p.m.

I slept for 1.5 hours after eating 2 tomatoes, sardines, a ham, cheese, and tomato pastry, along with some granola. I felt a bit down due to the grey sky and wet weather. I don’t do well when the sun goes away. I’m taking a calculated risk of my writing in the upstairs common area of this lobby—the hotel is empty from what I can tell, and I trust both men here. Both the day and night attendants here are good men—good men of God, from what I can tell, as there is religious literature on the televisions in the room. I feel better now after a large bottle of beer, a piece of friend chicken, and a cafezinho (strong espresso coffee, which I take with lots of sugar) the same meal I ate last night. I just can’t drink too much because it affects my liver, my body’s ability to recover, and my stomach. I am reminded much of parts of Portugal and Blagoevgrad—basic materials of concrete, sheet metal, plastic, and ceramic for the homes, the mountains, the coffee, the beer and alcohol, the simplicity of the food, conservatism in matters of men and women. Yet Blagoevgrad didn’t have any motels—inns here where couples go for privacy. 

We’ll see about the right knee tomorrow, but I’m not optimistic. The last time I remember such an acute knee pain, I had to take off over a week. And since at the time I had no car, I remember I had to remove a crank arm to pedal with one leg. 320km to Florianopolis, an island. With a healthy body, I could do this in 3 days. But with a bum knee, it will be tough going. It’s not bad here at all in this city or in this hotel. The light blue pastel walls are worn and slightly dirty but that’s the way my own home would be if I had one here in Brasil: tile floors, some wood, a good roof, and friends that come over all he time for erva mate. 

The large bottles of here beers are served in plastic covers (coozies for beer) with various advertisements—in both of my experiences, advertisements for Doritos. 

Moraline’s Dilemma

The voyaging cyclist begins to approximate the hunter-gatherer (there are many limitations to this, but I shall defer later to a discussion of these limitations). The hunter-gatherer has an advantage so long as he stays on the move and follows the trail. The moment he lays down and digs himself in, the moment he loses his advantage. In his travels, he might meet a woman. But he must possess her quickly, in moments, and he must move on. A society cannot form with such a man unless women by instinct know to give themselves to such men only to have slower men, the sitters, raise their children.

Moraline suddenly has the problem of the family and the child and the woman. Does he stop for one woman? Does he “settle down” with her. He can have a child with her, but this isn’t the question or the problem. Does he stay? Does he stay in one place, does he dig himself in. This changes his perspective, this transforms him into a different man. It will make him soft in one way, but strong in another. Soft because it will destroy him as a hunter-gatherer. All the speed and spontaneity that he developed on the road will be lost to the life of digging in, entrenching oneself, looking for safety and security, and, perhaps, being affected by the disposition of a woman. He will become a strong entrencher-digger. He may be a more clever fighter. He may be more prepared in a formal battle. But he will not have the street smarts of the hunter-gather. He will not be able to pick up at a moment’s notice and move and flourish and thrive on the run. He will be drawn to a woman and a child and a home and protection and security and will serve the role of a provider for his family. He will be a man who serves a woman and a child. His wings as a hunter-gathered will be clipped, perhaps forever. It will represent the death of his great spirit. Yet why is a man so powerfully drawn to such a death? 

Is the woman and child the ultimate temptation in the impossible achievement of having? (To be continued as part of a 1,412 page work of philosophy that will make Sartre look like the sitter he is.)

10/2/12 Ararangua 7:32 p.m.

Just ate a huge amount of food, and will need to eat a papaya (which I have) before hitting the sack. Some headcheese made with lots of good pork and crispy bacon, three small hotdog pastries with mustard, one large pao com queijo, a package of peanut pasties, a tomatoe, ¾ liter of milk, 2 large cans of beer, a package of linguica,  then lots of coffee and now some erva mate. 

Teo, the day manager of the hotel, in Terra de Areia—the hotel has no name, and it’s the only hotel in town—spoke to me for about 30 minutes this morning as he watched me clean my chain, pump my tires, and put my bags on my bike. He warmed to me this morning, and I don’t blame him for thinking I was slightly weird earlier. What was I doing in this non-touristed town? Why did I spend 2 nights (I was rained out on Monday (full day of heavy rain, which ruins the bike and makes for miserable riding) and had planned on resting my right knee anyway). The hotel was very cool and simple—wood floors, plaster walls, pastel blue paint, a great bar next door, a market down the street, and cheap--$R28 a night. The room may have been updated in the 50s, but it was perfect, and the two managers kept my bike safe, kept me company, and were very gracious. Teo asked me if I was religious—I’m always looking for God—and he gave me a medallion of St. Christopher, the saint my grandfather always carried when he traveled. He gave me a hug and told me to go with God. It was the blessing that I needed, and this necklace stays on my neck. Man, what blessings: the chimarrão I drink in the morning, the afternoon, and the evening, for the solitary cyclist, and the medal of St. Christopher.

The ride to Araranguá was uneventful. To the East, the Atlantic Ocean fed lagoons abutted by huge green fields in which oxen, cows, and horses grazed. To the West, the Serra Geral, Serra do Rastro, and Serra do Rio mountain ranges revealed their peaks, dotted with pines, banana plants, palms, and farm houses. There was a more traditional life on today’s stretch of 101. Horses, oxen, and cows are in most yards and graze everywhere. Homes made from simple stone and wood juxtapose in contrast to modern high end fashion advertising. Many tire repair shops line the road for truck drivers. 

 

Araranguá is a pleasant, affluent coastal town about 7km from the ocean. I am parking here for the night simply because it’s about 100km from this morning’s start and there are a decent selection of hotels here that have good prices. Like Terra de Areia, there’s a lot of political activity at night—cars driving around the city blasting political slogans, fireworks exploding out of car windows, horns honking. I bet many can’t wait for the elections to be over next Sunday.

The knee felt better after a day of rest. I don’t know if it was the sudden, unexpected climbing outside of Riozinho that bothered the knee, or if it was the minor saddle adjustment I made today that alleviated the problem. The right knee will need to be much stronger going forward as I begin to attack hills leading to Sao Paolo, and later on as I explore the interior and ride on dirt roads. May God be on my side always.