With the wind blowing at close to 75 kms an hour, we began our ride through Argentina.
To be completely honest, I wanted to feel excited but all I felt was fear. Fear that Picasso would not calm down and in one of his panic tantrums, would leave myself or him seriously injured…or worse…dead. Fear that the Argentines would not welcome me into their homes like the other 11 Nations I have crossed. Fear that the bite on Sapo´s back would rub with the pack saddle and leave me without a pack horse.
But like John Wayne always said, “Courage is being scared half to death but saddling up anyways.”
We rode 40 hard kilometres down a dirt road, before arriving at a large cattle ranch. Hoping to spend the night, I led the two horses toward a worker on a tractor cutting the grass. I explained my journey and he said he would ask the manager and return with an answer. As I thanked him, he turned the tractor back on and in a second, all hell broke loose.
Picasso freaked out and pulled back, nearly ripping the lead rope from my hand. His back end hit Sapo with force, driving the buckskin to buck like a rodeo bronco. I tried to hold on, but the rope burned a deep welt into my palm and I had to let go. Picasso held steady, but Sapo galloped and bucked in circles. The lid of the right pannier flew off and my belongings began to fly. When Sapo finally stopped, I grabbed him and began to collect my things from the tall grass: camera batteries, sunglasses, food, water bottles — it was a mess.
While I gathered my mounts and myself, the manager returned to say I could not stay. No owners. No permission.
And so, we moved on, tired and sore from the long day. All of my fears from the morning hit me like a wrecking ball. I wanted to cry. I wanted to quit. I kept going.
We hadn’t gone far when a white Ford stopped next to us and a man jumped out. Javier Bianco gave us the once over: “Looks like you could use a place to stay.” He smiled. “I have a ranch three kilometres from here.”
I looked up and thanked the Universe. It is always at the hardest times that someone up there sends an angel to save the day.
“I have gone on my own pilgrimages you know,” Javier said when I rode up to his home.
I untacked Picasso and Sapo and thanked them for this first day on the road. With the sun setting and giving everything a golden touch, I gave the boys a bath and turned them out in a pasture with tall grass. They dropped their heads and munched away.
Outside Javier´s home, we sat with his two ranch hands and drank mate. I told them about my long journey and they told me about their life on the Pampas of Argentina. After a few rounds of the warm tea, we drove to a nearby clogged water trough to fix it.
“This is life on the ranch, the work never ends,” Javier said smoking a wooden pipe.
It took us about half an hour to unclog the pipe. After the trough was filled we drove back to the house and showered before driving to Tandil – a city 40 kms south.
“I’m going to take you out for dinner and introduce you to one of your cousins,” he said with a sly smile.
My cousin ended up being a Brazilian coder who now lives in Argentina and dinner was delicious. We drank beers and chatted until 2 am when I reminded my new friends I had to ride another 40 kms in 4 hours.
We drove back to Javier’s ranch where I slept on the floor with two dogs using me as a mattress. When my alarm went off I wanted to shoot my phone, or myself. Tired and hungover, I drug myself out of my sleeping bag and made my way to the kitchen. Javier had coffee ready and before I departed he drew a map on lined paper of the route I should follow south.
“I am a reiki master and have been checking your energy this morning and have some bad news,” he said rubbing his chin.
“Someone really doesn’t want you to make it, and this is putting a lot of bad energy on you.”
I swallowed dry. This is the last thing I wanted to hear.
