¿car 54, where are you?

¨In Patagonia, where distances are great and vehicles are few, hitchers should expect long waits and carry warm, windproof clothing.¨ -Hitchhiking, The Lonely Planet Argentina

in an effort to aid my budget, and plainly to test my luck, i ventured to the outskirts of el bolsón to try and thumb a ride south. nevermind the cautionary climate warnings. the air is still, the skies are clear and the sun is imposing its will upon the city. as for the wait, the lonely planet proves 2/3 true.

the first hour is fun. i grin at cars whizzing by, drivers mocking me with a thumbs up and a hearty laugh. who knows which one will be daring enough to take a chance on a gringo? the day is filled with optimism.

the second hour i lose myself in the landscape. blindly reaching my thumb toward RN 40, staring into the dry jagged peaks of cerro piltriquiltrón towering 2260m above me, i can´t help but sustain my perma-grin.

the third hour, still staring through the mountains, i am drifting into the past two weeks.

remembering that the vineyard in la consulta truly is paradise. 50 acres of of mostly malbec grape nearly ripe for the picking surrounds a house built to spanish architectural perfection. and remembering the casino in the center of town we ignorantly stumbled into, thinking there would be a blackjack table only to fibnd electronic roullette. the max bet was somewhere around $20/spin. to mark, this is bullshit. if losing a single hand cannot shower a world of pain and depression on you, its not really gambling. we lose 100 pesos. whatever.

remembering the ex-marine from jackson, mi we met in mendoza, who really isn´t one o´ them cabernet sav-ay-yawn guys. he loves them blonks, though! and the malee-backs ain´t too shabby, neither. if you´re looking for a good time in jackson, mi, stop into potter´s pub. ask for sid. there may or may not be strippers involved. that part was a little hazy.

remembering how much dulce de leche i´ve stuffed myself with. you can get the stuff on ANYTHING. cookies and pastries, of course. solo, naturally. hot dogs, why not? still waiting for dulce de leche steak sauce and dulce de leche shampoo. cross your fingers. its like i´m pregnant with a sweet tooth baby. mark was half impressed, half disgusted by my pension for sweets.

remembering pancho and olga, who take care of the house in la consulta and the 3 pound piece of meat pancho cooked on the asado, which we promptly devoured. and the pound of ice cream i swallowed aftwerward.

remembering the nyc couple i hung out with here in el bolsón. jared and julie, who are travelling the world for a year and the indecisevness inbred with companionship travelling. the night i met them, i decided to accompany them to dinner. there is an abundance of restaurants and eateries here. we ate an hour and a half after leaving the hostel.
¨expletive...babe...expletive...i´m about to fucking eat one of mike´s cigarettes...expletive...babe...¨

young love. it´s endearing. the couple was good company and had plenty of advice for my future travels into the patagonia. however, i tuck this memory away for when the road gets lonely.

remembering the mountain bike day trip i took with jared. i had been mountain biking once before in minneapolis with my roommate, shaker. on that occasion, i busted my tire and face planted into a tree 10 minutes in, to have shaker laughing hystarically at me for the duration of the day. dickhead. love ya, pal.

here, i fair no better. i am trailing jared downhill a rocky and dusty trail en route to a mirador overlooking lago puelo. apparently, a gorgeous site. the dust kicking up from jared´s back tire hinders my vision severely. so it was only after flying over my handle bars and completing a double sommersault that i noticed a giant rock jutting out in the middle of the road. bloodied and battered, i ended up getting some decent photos. nonetheless, fuck mountain biking.
more accurately, fuck my clumsiness.

and after 5 hours, 6 cigarettes, 20 crackers, a half liter of water, 247 cars and a refreshments album, i´m growing restless. beginning to take the rejection personally. it´s like being dumped. becoming dillusional, i am now conjuring up redemption letters in my head-

¨dear car 134,

i am writing to let you know that i am the happiest i have been in years. YEARS. i made it to el chaltén just fine without you. in fact, there were plenty of cars after you that fancied me as a passenger. car 182, car 197, car 209. oh, car 209. the ´79 dusty red ford pick-up with 2x4 side panels atop the bed... PLENTY. this will be the last time i write, car 134.

i miss you, car 134. remember the time you kicked up a stone from your back tire, pelting me in the stomach, rendering me breathless and writhing in pain on the side of the road and you sped away laughing so hard? remember that? it wasn´t so funny then, but i am laughing now.

i love you, car 134. please come back.¨

awakening to my insanity, i decide to cut my losses and stumble back to town to buy a bus ticket, tail between my legs. and during that long walk, it dawns on me; i look like a complete asshole.

less than a week ago in la consulta, i went to the barber, eduardo, to get buzzed up. after balding my head, i requested a trim of my two week old half-beard. i left the barber shop with an adolescent mustache and a dirty patch of hair below my bottom lip. eduardo insisted this was the ¨the look.¨

so it´s somewhat understandable that not even the middle aged guy in the pick up sporting a ¨beard¨ as a french tickler with a case of snickers bars and a three meter stack of porn mags would not even pick me up.

i´m now waiting for my 24 hour bus to rio gallegos, where i plan to catch another ride west to el calafate and the perito moreno glacier. i´m going to keep the trash ´stache and soul patch. i don´t know why.

the blog entries may be few and far between from here. i´ve been having a bear of a time uploading pictures. and if i open hand slap another computer monitor to the face, i may be arrested.

one more thing. do yourself a favor...if you can find ¨aruacana negra¨ beer where you are, BUY IT. it´s a great brew, made in el bolsón.

oh, wait. wait! i think that guy with the snickers is turning around! i´ll catch up with you guys later...

be good,

michael