Eyes were bigger than tummies

Trip Start Apr 17, 2006
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16
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Trip End Jun 14, 2006


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Flag of Argentina  ,
Friday, May 5, 2006

"Dolor" is Spanish for "pain", and this townīs name, Villa Dolores, or "Painsville", if you like, turned out to be rather apt.

I beat a hasty retreat from my smelly bed in the morning and after a brief warm-up (more fords, more wind-up toying), I was treated to the glorious downhill I had been saving up for - through a beautiful gorge, where the scenery had turned from rustic yellow to deep, vibrant and luscious green. I went especially fast at one point when being chased by a particularly large and viscious looking barking dog. It closed quickly from 3 o-clock and took the corner through the gate with sparkling efficiency. I didnīt hang around to admire this, of course, but stepped on it, and some. I was going flat out but the dog was gaining and the road was turning uphill. It was all starting to look like a very gooey situation when, mere inches from my quivering panniers, the psychotic creature gave up the chase. It stood there looking confused, evidently unused to losing its quarry, and I smugly pedalled my way up the little incline to the next long stretch of easy peasy downhill.

At the bottom I had only done 30 miles, many of which had been for free, with compliments of gravity, and I decided that stopping at the nearby town, a further 10 miles in the wrong direction, would have been unjustifiable, no matter what facilities where available therein. I decided to make a break for the next town, Villa Dolores, at the foot of the next mountian range - another 40 miles or so.

It was a quick road and I zoomed along, and, exhausted beyond description, I got there just in time for dusk. I found a little hotel - and didnīt leave until two days later. Some sort of biological bogeyman was battering at my immune defences and all I could do was stay in bed and sleep it off in between bouts of back-to-back Wallace and Gromit dubbed into Spanish on the hotel TV ("Wol-ass & Grom-eet en Los Pantalones Incorrectos!"). Had it been the dirty bed? Had it been the dodgy Salami? Or had it simply been that I couldnīt handle this many miles in a day?

Miles greedily scoffed: 68! Thatīs about 112 km for the modern-day metric users among you.
Beard status: Actually, I quite like it. It makes me feel erudite. The sort of person who would know that wild camels were llamas and that amphitheatres were Greek, not Roman.
Most useful Spanish phrase learned: 'siento un poco nauseas' = Iīm as poorly as a pretty polly
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