Ciao Bolivia...

The last few days have composed of some of the hardest riding I have ever participated in. You all know about the road of death, well the next day (December 8) I took off from La Paz and traveled all the way across the country to a small village about 3 hours north of the border. It was made up of seven hours of tarmac and three of gravel. The roads in Bolivia, let´s say, have great potential. The scenery is absolutely magical; red rocks piercing from the sandy peaks in a dry Nevada-like landscape, with layered mountain sides in colours of granite green and rave wine. Nonetheless, riding on gravel roads (major highways) over an extended amount of time and passes can be very tiresome.
At first I was a little timid about the gravel roads, being that they had no consistency, and every once in a while, I would feel my tires slip from under me. However, by the second day, I was cruising into Argentina with great time.
I was forced to stop by a police officer today (December 9), not one hour from the border, and he asked me to wait over on the side of the road for a reason of which I could not translate. It turns out, I was riding directly into the finish line of a mountain bike race from Villazon. So, I waited patiently, talking with the locals about my trip, as young boys on mountain bike raced through the finish line, receiving a cold bottle of water, all the while the young ladies prepared the lunch by the plaza square.
Last night, while I was waiting for my chicken and potatoes to be prepared on the fire rotisserie, I was confronted by five women at my table very curious about my adventure. The fiery Senora in the bunch, very bluntly asked me, ¨why am I doing it (my trip)?¨ I had to think about it for a little bit.
This trip was meant to change my life, and I am very quickly finding out new reasons for my existence each and every day. Trying to explain this to here in Spanish turned out to be quite difficult. I started by saying that the interests in the US are much different from the values in South America. I tried to explain to her that I was looking for this difference, and to see if it could help me in my life. She responded with a puff and a ¨hmm.¨ The other ladies wished me a safe and wonderful trip and I went on to enjoy some great chicken with more Bolivian hospitality.
Watching the news last night during dinner with a couple from Potosi, Bolivia, I once again noticed the dramatic differences in our cultures. Down here, you actually see protests going on around the country. When they went to news from the US, we noticed that the CIA destroyed tapes in an interrogation case and Donald Trump gave a woman a $20,000 tip. What was I to say to my new friends at the dinner table? We like to destroy evidence of our faults and hide behind ridiculous gratuity? Let´s just say that my Spanish was in for me that night. Nonetheless, I made some new friends and was very pleased with the Southern Bolivian hospitality.
Today, riding on tarmac for the first time in 200 miles, Argentina welcomed me with beauty and ease. It was a flat straight road, which took me back to those days headed west on I70. Kansas came to mind, so I made up a song in my head and it kept with me the last 103 miles into Humahuaca. So, I guess there are some similarities.