#Carretera

[viejospellejos]

Un conductor se detiene para quitar de la carretera una pequeña piedra...

[welele]

Limpiando el mundo.

[pacountry-madrid]

[callmeanxietygirl]

Carretera a Calakmul, Campeche (Foto: Youss Ben).

I cross that road by cycling, was amazing

[someday-dreamlands]

[yayei]

—Las nubes se veían suaves y rosas, había mucho aire así que cambiaban constantemente, me sentía en un paisaje de Steven Universe ♡

•••

—The clouds looked soft and pink, there was a lot of air so they were constantly changing, I felt like I was in a Steven Universe landscape ♡

Hidalgo, México

[negreabsolut]

La Vall del Foc, Nevada.

[conamorm]

Camino a la felicidad.

Nada llega, pero nada se busca y tampoco se espera. Se camina, se gana o se pierde, se intenta y se disfruta. A la vida hay que llegarle, yo no espero nada y lo doy todo. Voy con paso firme experimentando en esta mundo infinito de posibilidades. No hay tiempo que perder, voy disfrutando el paisajes, sin equipajes pesados, que me arruinen mi caminar. Yo voy, yo no espero. ✨🤍

[pedrocobo]

Caminos / Ways (26)

Sierra de Orduña.

Álava, Spain.

IG: @pedrocobo_foto

© Pedro Cobo

Please don’t reblog to NSFW/18+ blogs

[wgm-beautiful-world]

[viejospellejos]

¿¡Pero qué!?

[welele]

Y se pira.

[wingingitonwheels]

Getting there…November 2024

Wohoo!!! Here we go again!

1017 days. That’s the last time I sat at Heathrow Terminal 5, when I sacked my employers, jumped in the car and bolted to South America on a wing and a prayer. The drama filled days that preceded that trip are happily behind me. What a holiday, cos let’s face it, that’s what it was! I came home 131 days later, still having no clue what I’d do next. I always promised myself that having chosen to be a young mum, I’d do what most people do when the fledglings had flown. So that’s what I did!

As my next career plan hadn’t yet solidified, I started a job in the autumn of 2022 was as pants as the previous, only a different colour, style and fabric, but pants nonetheless. I had another soul-destroying 3-month notice period inflicted on me, and on finishing, had the long-anticipated bi-compartmental knee replacement to rebalance the metal in me, became a freelance consultant, resumed my sports and remedial therapy business and tried to adapt to a new world where cycling no longer featured.

I still have the same number of teeth but I have replaced the metal in that tooth with 4 different kinds of implants in my knee. My jaw has collapsed and I am very much looking forward to a Hannibal Lecter mouthguard when I get home. I have a fracture in my left metacarpal sustained after a freak bullseye hit from an industrial sized luggage strap buckle on it before an event. And luckily, what felt like a popped rib, sustained after my regular daily session of Greco-Roman Wrestling has calmed down. As caring about the weight of my bike and bags is no longer a topic of discussion (I am no longer fast and light, rather slow and heavy) I’ve bought with me hoarded drugs of all kinds and around 200 needles to get stuck into should the urge take me. Otherwise, not much has changed!

The body is an amazing pile of cells. It’s 8 months since I last cried about my knee, whilst it seems it will always hurt and never be good, it probably won’t get any better and hopefully won’t get any worse. On balance, there’s plenty of awful things that happen to people and in terms of knees, I’m just the first in a long line of my network who are likely to be getting similar at some point. The knee now marks my 12th operation since 2006! Still just about standing 😄

Which leads me to here. I’m sat in São Paulo, watching the world go by at Aeroporto Internacional de Guarulhos on a dull and wet day, only different from home because it’s warmer and people are not speaking English. Later today, I’ll lie in my apartment and listen to the tropical birds as they serenade each other. This is, after all, right on the edge of the Amazon (i like to think so anyway!). I’ll make a friend of my taxi driver again, this time, Rodriguez, and this time I’ll attempt pigeon Portuguese. He’ll tell me how the roads are flooded and the F1 Grand Prix was delayed. Keane will play on the radio and I’ll tell him I sat next to their producer and that the whole band and entourage were on my flight. Ace!

I stink, as I’ve been dragging round my adventure steed for nearly 24 hours. Martini’s a titanium adventure bike and much to my disgust, has a pannier rack and panniers (Olive and Espresso) tucked away in the mountain bike cardboard box which adorns her, covered in “FRAGILE” tape and weighing in at 22.5kg fully loaded. I upsized her tyres from 32 to 35, then 38 and finally 42c. They now weigh a massive 518 grams each! My additional travel companions are here too: there’s my old faithfuls, my Antler Star Wars Suitcase (think storm trooper) and Monkey 2, my old backpack which has come with me to Greece, across the Americas and around Wales. They’ll both shortly meet their maker as the bike box is cut into little pieces, at the point when I finally will have figured out where I’m going to begin this adventure. It’s fair to say that this trip, I am completely self-sufficient to the point I can even start a fire using steel and flint. That could be fun! The most exciting edition to this trip is the camera and two lenses. They are the heaviest items I’m carrying so I’ll have to do them some justice.

I decided on the plane that my personal transformation is complete. I’ve convinced myself I look like a bad ass ninja explorer, in black zip off trousers, black merino t-shirt and merino hoodie and to finish off the look, black merino socks. Nobody is going to mess with me. That is more attributable to being older so even less of a target for the supposed opportunistic bandits hanging out on every corner of Patagonia. There was definitely a time I dressed up to travel but alas, those times are gone. Whilst I have more clothing with me than last trip, that’s only by one t-shirt, an extra pair of knickers and a bikini. But 47 days of the same clothes! It’s not really befitting of a lady from Windsor who went to a convent (spell check just corrected that to concentration camp 😂).

I’m only in São Paulo because I first thought I’d ride Brazll. Chile kept calling me, haunting me as I’d not been able to get in during 2022 due to their IT systems and COVID. The impact of this indecision is I sit, waiting 6 hours now to get into an apartment where I’ll hang out until early tomorrow, when I’ll either jump on a plane, either to Santiago or Puerto Montt.

The hesitation around those plans is that the weather from Puerto Montt south until further notice looks like the end of the world (I guess it would because it is!). I’m not thrilled about the extreme likelihood of being completely wet through for 2 weeks, camping and riding through deep mud on unpaved roads the length of the UK. It seems torturous that just a hop, skip and jump across the Andes back into my old friend Argentina, the Patagonian desert is bone dry, windy yes, but also 25 degrees! It’s fair to say that as I sit here pontificating, it could go one of 4 ways. I’ve not lost my ability to wing it even if I’ve lost my fitness. Yes, everything will be okay!

My next biggest worry is which virus is likely to get me. I don’t know what it is about airports but I seem to attract travellers who sit down next to me and leak snot from every orifice. Do they sit down and quietly dispose of it into a tissue? No. They chug it down, project it in all directions and snort as if no one’s listening. I feel for them, I really do. Just go somewhere else. Perhaps that they want to let everyone know how unwell they are. Or to make others suffer “I’m about to have a shitty time on my trip, so come join me in my misery”. It happened at Heathrow and now again here. I wouldn’t mind but they seem to come find me. Why? And as if on queue, my ears detect I’m sat in infested corner…time to move…

For today and to this end, much like the last trip, I’ll get to my apartment, listen to the sounds of the city, the rain gently falling as tyres cut through puddles on the noisy street below. Sirens will erupt and accentuate the rhythm of the city. I’ll pick up my Spanish lessons and as I fall to sleep, mull over what the heck I’m going to do tomorrow.

In the morning, I’ll surreptitiously manoeuvre between duty free make up counters, slather up on moisturiser and perfume, and lament the time that will pass until I see them again. Victoria’s Secret will look down on me in disgust as I pass wearing one of the two pairs of knickers that will be my closest friends tor 7 weeks. I’ll know that I will definitely make it to Santiago but Puerto Montt? Who bloody knows? 😄

[la-vida-es-efimera]

Camino a Ensenada, Puerto Varas, Lago Llanquihue. X región de Los Lagos. Chile.

[someday-dreamlands]