*** THE CHRONICLES ***

35) A pedaling “gandola” 

The Venezuelan Plains
 
Four weeks had passed since I had arrived at the SOS Children's Village in Ciudad Ojeda, and it was time to continue my journey. The root canal procedure had finally ended and with it the suffering that seemed a little bit as sadistic fun for Daisy, my beloved dentist who kept me in suspense all this time.  

I felt as if my journey was starting all over from scratch. Not only because I could not almost remember what was like to be on the bike, but also for the noticeable bad shape I was after so many days passed between the computer and the dentist chair.

 
It was Saturday morning of September 6, 2008 when I got to Maira and with the first light of day I gave the first pedal strokes. The streets were deserted and I had just started to see some movement. There were only some drunks returning home after partying all Friday night.

  
I was looking for the road that would take me to the Venezuelan plains when a car pulled right next to me. There were three guys and one girl, visibly upper class, who came, of course, with enough alcohol in their veins. They began to babble some unintelligible words from what I got that they had become aware that I was from Argentina, when the driver got the car very close to me and almost threw me to the floor. I slammed the brakes hoping that they would continue along when I noticed something was wrong. I felt a strong pull that almost took me down and I looked around to see one of the bastards was trying to cut off the Argentine flag. I immediately grabbed the flag and began a litany of cursing that continued for several minutes even after the vehicle had left down the road. I felt like killing them all together. Luckily I did not lose my precious flag, but it had a tear that I had to mend to avoid it from falling apart. I was back in the outside world, so I now had to sharpen my senses again after the numbness of so many calm days in the SOS Village ...  

The first day of pedaling was fatal. The heat did not give me a break, I had not yet reached the plains and the small climbs that I had to overcome were keeping in check. It was not very clear to me yet how to realize my strategy to reach the Venezuelan Great Sabana. This spectacular natural region southeast of the country was my next goal and I wanted to get there as soon as possible and without delay. After all this resting time and no biking my legs were demanding continuing action and that was precisely what they would receive.

  
I was over 1500 kilometers away where I had to figure how to be able to stay overnight without having to spend too much money, because the accommodation costs were sky high and the meals were expensive for my South American cyclist’s budget.

 
How to survive on this stretch of road? The answer came by itself while passing through the first toll. Here, I remembered that since the recent nationalization of the roads, the toll booths had become “alcabalas” (posts) of the Bolivarian National Guard, which controls transit through the territory ... and as they had staff always present, they had to have a place to sleep! Thus, my course towards eastern Venezuela became a pilgrimage in which there was no toll, Alcabala or police station that I passed by without visiting.

 
However, my first attempt at Toll Jacinto Lara was not the most comfortable that one could say. They let me stay, but at the side of a secondary building that had a tiny awning as shelter. I was so exhausted by that time that I had not thought about putting the tent up and I just lay down on my sleeping pad, nestled against the wall.I guess that my homeless appearance was evident because after some timeI was invited to a pasta dish with arepas that I devoured eagerly and without much conversation I passed out in my sleeping bag. After some hours and at night I noticed something wet splashing on my face. I woke in shock (just in case it was one of the local dogs "marking its territory" on me) and saw that it was from a downpour amid thunder and lightning. My condition was so deplorable that I just wrapped myself around the tarp that I was using ground cover and rolled in it like a tamale; I spent the rest of the turbulent night.

  
The next day the black clouds still prevailed on the horizon, but I was optimistic and hoped to have a day somewhat drier than the previous night. Hours later I was grinding and burning under the relentless rays of the sun and prayed for the return of the clouds again, rain included if needed! 

My idea was to avoid the big cities riding on less crowded road. Therefore I decided to stay on the plains region, avoiding the coastal area where the population density was much higher. As I was traveling from toll to toll and with the aim to reach the Great Sabana as soon as possible, I was avoiding the big cities, getting only into their suburbs and only stopping for nothing else other than getting something to eat or drink while passing by. Nevertheless, in some cases on the advice of the police, I had to intern in the congested urban centers as they told me that the bypass roads were not desirable for security reasons. I thought it was just too much fuss to be true until we received the news in the mouth of a truck driver who said that a few hours ago some poor unsuspected victims were robbed while they were loading fuel at a gas station on the outskirts of Barquisimeto. Just one of the possible places where I had thought spending the night! Thank goodness that fatigue had prevailed and an occasional police post on the road served as a refuge for me that night.

 

The state of the roads was disconcerting. At times traveling in large and newly paved highways, with a spacious emergency lane in which I could ride with pleasure. However, the sudden change from one state to another generated a drastic alteration of travel requiring me to adjust to a narrow path, full of potholes and without any contemplation from drivers.

  
I was just minding my own business in the State of Portuguesa’s roads when entering Cojedes made me tighten my teeth up when I moved to a road where the heavy traffic of “gandolas”(local name for trailer trucks) did not left me much space to pass with my voluminous Maira. Several times I had to get out of the road before the imminent crossing of vehicles that could lead to fatal consequences ... for me, of course!

  
I tightened my teeth so much that a filling came off and even though I was doing a good progress with the bike, it was necessary to seek an immediate solution to the problem. So I arrived in San Carlos and after asking around for some help, I ended up at CAIME (Spanish acronym for: Center for Comprehensive Care for Pregnant Women). I thought that I was misunderstood about my ailment and I timidly asked if indeed that was the place where they could repair the tooth in question. I feared that instead of this they would want to do apappanicolau stain! Fortunately, I was told that there was a mobile health unit from of the programs for social action implemented by Chavez as the poorest neighborhood, and that if I waited a little while I could be seen.

 
I had to wait several hours but by the evening my dental problems were solved for a little while and it was time to find where to spend the night. I was recommended to ask at theMunicipal Policeof San Carlos, but after waiting a while and without showing his face, the Inspector Rafael Pintos refused me saying that the accommodation facilities were inadequate. The modern building in which I was accommodated, in my opinion, was quite the contrary but there was not much to do. Given the lack of hospitality showed by his boss, one of the officers at the place offered to mitigate the shame he was feeling by accompanying me to the fire station, where the generosity and goodwill were extraordinary, giving me a bed where I could find a comfortable shelter to complete this long day.

  
I intended to enter the vicinity of the Orinoco River going as far as San Fernando de Apure, but the people with whom I spoke told me that in those days the roads were not passable due to the rain and that it was more risky because of the isolation of the region. The option was to follow the road that went through El Sombrero and headed to El Tigre. That meant crossing from side to side the state of Guarico, which had the worst roads in all Venezuela! As soon as I crossed the state boundary I got to an area full of potholes that gave the impression that it had been recently bombed! Making matters worse, it was the vehicular corridor from which all gandolas took products away from huge Puerto Ordaz Industrial Park.

  
It was very strange and yet chilling to see these huge trucks go across the road as if the driver had a few beers over the limit, just by dodging the craters that opened before our wheels. I started to pay careful attention to the road and considering the load I was carrying with me, I guess I became myself a "pedaling gondola”.

  
I had anticipated that these stretches of road would be very tedious and boring for the long straight parts that I had to overcome and I thought they were going to be a few days of boredom and lethargy. The reality soon showed me that it would not be so since I was always avoiding falling into a pothole, playing "chicken" with my gandolero colleagues to see who would move away first, the force pressing the handlebars to avoid being thrown off the road when passing too close to the truck, running races against the casual and intense storms that arose almost every day, running away from the night where I was even more vulnerable to being crushed under a tire, or trying to find a place to spend the night and something to eat, there was nothing without its dose of adrenaline. Sometimes it was too much even for me! 

Five days after leaving Ciudad Ojeda I crossed the 21,000 Km (13,125 miles) on the trip mark. That day I would reach the maximum distance pedaling on the bike on a day with 163 km and 9 hours sitting on the seat of Maira. The toll booth of Dos Caminos seemed unreachable, with a hellish downpour accompanied with lightning so shocking that I had to wait a couple of hours under one providential roof. The approaching night gave me an extra boost to my ride to make sure I could find a place to rest. The kindness of Aida and Gerardo gave me the coveted fuel for my legs, stuffed arepas, the typical menu of those days. People from Civil Protection completed the picture with one extra serving of chicken and rice, with a refreshing shower and police officers from the toll booth gave me a mattress where to lie down. I even had the luxury of having a fan to avoid dying of suffocation from the prevailing heat and the toxic fumes that emanated from my cycling shoes. 

The generosity of the Venezuelan people was palpable along each day of pedaling. Whenever I stopped for a drink, whether it was a stand or a bakery, people would show interest in my odyssey specially when they would find out about the social cause I was endorsing and the fact that I was financing the trip myself and that “a gringo” I was not. They would immediately offer me a drink or a snack. Sometimes they would even give me money to get a more suitable meal the following stop. Most of the times they would also give me their telephone numbers just in case I needed their help. My little phone booklet was kind of an extra volume of the Venezuelan yellow pages!

The section of road I was pedaling across was a true death trap. Due to road reparation, the edges of the narrow highway had a devilish “U” shaped bending upwards that prevented me from getting away from the road if circumstances required me so. The heavy and demented traffic of gandolas seemed to demand such actions constantly. I felt my life was pending from a thread. Each time I was surpassed by a “bulk with wheels” I felt trapped without a way out.

It was in such moments of distress I had a divine revelation! As if time had stopped and a choir of angels descended from heaven, through the corner of my left eye, I felt a presence coming my way… And there he was…it was Jesus! His face was looking at me with the distinctive compassion of his, as if calling me. So crystal clear, so familiar that it threw me. What this meant? Was this my final hour? Was God`s own son claiming my life? I was not worthy of such honor. Those fractions of seconds seemed endless. And then it all came clear to me. In the face of facts, I became enlightened: a huge truck with the face of the Messiah painted on its side appeared all of a sudden practically shaving my arms and legs. It came so near me, that for a few seconds I felt Christ´s breath. Seeing the truck`s back tires took me out of that illusion and brought me back to reality. Trying not to lose balance and while uttering an endless rosary of insults towards its driver I read the following sentence: “God guides my destiny”…. “Unmistakably true– I thought to myself – but you`re the one driving the truck, you animal!”

Once more, the night caught up with me while pedaling. I was a bit of a nerve wreck from a previous experience where the screech of tires sounded behind my back. Out of nowhere, another huge gandola dodged past me burning rubber inches away from me. Two lives wasted in one day. It was time for me to find a place to stay and give my damaged nerves some rest.

The guys from Charaguamas Civil Protection allowed me to spend the night in one of their first aid stretchers. Highly appropriate by the way! While watching tv in order to soothe my mind, I witnessed a very important event in the political life of the country: President Chavez addressed the citizens revealing he had been a victim of an attempt of assassination. As a result, the U.S. ambassador had been expelled. The crowd responded feverishly to it´s leader`s charisma. It was contagious and at the end of the energetic speech everybody, even myself, was chanting the words “Uh, ah, Chavez no se va…”. Some people call him a “crazy man” and there`s most definitely a contagious madness in him.

Back in the day, the gandoleros seemed to be my fearless enemies but only when they were behind the wheel of their “metal horses”. Whenever I `d find them on the side of the road we were best friends mostly because of their knowledge of the highway, including the condition of roads, distances to go, places to eat and places to stay. Gandoleros were like the wind: pedaling against it could turn the day into a nightmare, while pedaling with the wind working in your favor turned out to be the best gift in the world.

It was Sunday when I left the city of El Tigre behind. My breakfast included yoghurt, chocolate milk, papelon ( iced cold aguapanela with lemon) and cachitos (flaky pastry filled with ham and cheese). That day of the week was my favorite because there was traffic restriction and gandolas were not allowed to be on the road. That way I could relax and enjoy my pedaling. At least that was what I was hoping for! I was heading to La Viuda`s Toll on a newly inaugurated highway so I had a little more space to circulate. I was expecting to have a calm unruffled day but I was not counting on the unbridled return of citizen drivers after a day of recreation. It was infuriating. It was like being on a Formula 1 race: due to the lack of demarcation of the road or because of the inexistence of ditches, vehicles came and went defying the limit of their speed meters. I even counted five cars going at 200 km per hour trying to pass each other at the same time! Needless to say, this kind of behavior was lethally dangerous to my fragile existence. A flat tire exposed me even more to the craziness of these airheads. Luckily I reached the toll booth before I became a moth on the radiator.

From this point on, I had two options: go straight to Ciudad Bolivar and then to Puerto Ordaz or enter the new highway Orinokia which cut diagonally across the oil fields to the outskirts of Puerto Ordaz. Eluding a big city and cutting down miles to pedal in such desolated regions was my first priority so I chose to leave my track in the newly inaugurated highway.

It was 120 kms of nothingness and pine forests planted for exploitation. I thought that the pines shade would protect my damaged skin from the relentless effect of the sun but the distance from the trees to the road was not enough. When the heat of noon no longer allowed me to pedal through those never ending roads and my helmet seemed to melt into one piece with my skull, I decided to make a stop, set up my hammock and find relief under the cool shade of pines. As I was resting, I recalled several stories from this deserted road. Stories I had been told the night before. Tales that range from truck robbers – also known as “pirates of the asphalt” -  to a gandolero being attacked by a tiger while taking a nap outside his trailer (authorities would later find pieces of his body spread all over the forest). Luckily I was never confronted with these kinds of danger. As a matter of fact, the only remarkable presence was the one of the restless ants. I would often have a good time while watching them perform their daily chores. Sharing my bread with them was a given. Their team spirit turned out to be fascinating. Each time I `d purposely throw a big crumb to the floor, a little ant would run to the anthill and soon return with other big ants capable of transporting the crumb on their own. Other times they would gather up and carry the bread all together, like a platoon would. They would also fraction it until it got possible to transport it in smaller pieces…. The ants and I…. that was my whole world in those moments of self absorption. The following day I `d read in the newspaper that while I was resting beneath these trees and amusing myself with these little animals, two speeding cars were colliding few kilometers away bringing instant death to all of their occupants. Luckily, this time, I was not passing through although I was pretty close! 
The pedaling took longer than I thought it would take or better said, the light of day lasted less than I would have needed. I arrived at the brand new Orinokia Bridge by night. That huge work of engineering was the region`s latest architectural gem. It crossed the magnificent Orinoco River near Puerto Ordaz. Remaining on that bulk of cement and steel was not the ideal thing for my physical integrity since the emergency lane in which I was circulating was now the mandatory lane for trucks. They were passing me by so near that I could tell they didn’t see me until the last second. As a consequence, instead of stopping to admire the high volume of running waters of one of the most famous rivers in the world, I crossed that bridge the fastest I could in order to save my own skin.

The crowded Guayana Toll was a boiling pot due to the heavy traffic coming from Ciudad Bolivar and because of the many trucks waiting there to enter the road. I managed to find a place where to spend the night. It was Emergency booth 171. An electricity shutdown – a distinctive stamp of this country – caused the air conditioned not to function, turning my night into a nightmare since it made it impossible for me to have a proper rest. The suffocating heat and dense humidity left me covered in sweat.

The following morning I went by Puerto Ordaz industrial park and I was able to see with my own eyes the countless gandolas that I had watched pass me by the previous days. Still tired from the night before I followed directions written in a napkin to get to La Llovizna Park, a greenish 165 hectare backwater on the outskirts of town containing one of the most beautiful falls in the Caroni River Basin, facing the Macagua II dam. Breakfast consisted in the remains of food I had on my saddlebag. Finding shelter in the shade of trees, I passed out a few minutes to the lull of the waters.

Each day I was pedaling away from the big cities and getting closer to my desired destination. After staying the night with policemen of the beautiful town of Upata, I spent the following day with people from the Guasipati`s Army who kindly presented me with a large number on Venezuelan and Army badges to take with me as souvenirs. 

On one particular day, I had a lucky strike of continued friendly gastronomic feasts. I almost blew up! A few moments after having my own breakfast at El Callao, traffic inspectors from elTumereno treated me with another breakfast to which I couldn’t say no. A few kilometers after, soldiers from the Casablanca checkpoint offered me stuffed arepas and catalinas (panelacookies whose weight and density made them look like true sisters to the magical biscuits that characters from The Lord of the Rings ate). I was close to indigestion when a group of women came close to me and offer me more food. As a true cyclist would, I accepted their kind offering. A few minutes later I was leaving the place feeling I would blow up. The heat and the sun weren’t of much help. Moments later I was napping in the bench of a chapel I came across next to the road. Berp!

Begging for a place to sleep didn’t cause much hardship as long as audacity prevailed. Other times it required high levels of inconceivable patience. That night I arrived at El Doradocheckpoint, close to a famous high security prison. It wasn’t advisable to keep riding my bike. As usual, I told my story to the on duty officer pleading for a little corner where to spend the night. Apparently there was no trouble but we had to wait for the commander officer to arrive and give clearance. I was used to deal with this kind of hierarchical procedures so I sat down and waited. An hour went by. Then two, then three… after waiting for four hours I realized that if I kept waiting I`d run out of valuable time to rest. I approached the control booth and by chance I met the lieutenant who was leaving without even knowing about my situation. Fortunately there was no hassle since my being there was the least of his worries. Finally I was able to collapse on a mattress and lie down for a while.

A few hours later I was entering a famous mining area, therefore a rich region. Long distances to big cities madeeverything more expensive and this relative wealth of the place was too a decisive factor. As a matter of fact, it seemed like there was always a reason why the cost of living in Venezuela was so high: oil fields, mining areas or tourist places. Whatever it was, money was never enough. A providential halt in search for cookies in Santa Teresita, made me come across Alexander Mora, owner of the grocery store called Los Triton. This kind man treated me with pretty much everything he had in store, refilled my saddlebags with supplies and even gave me some money for the road. While talking with him, our conversation drew the attention of several young men who worked under inhuman conditions in the mines of the region. Spread around us in their cross bikes –the most popular ones in the country-, they awaited their pay in order to spend it on beer: the favorite beverage in the surroundings since it was everywhere inside Alexander´s place... I guess it was an easy way out to a harsh reality.

I was getting closer to the mythical town known as “Km 88” where the climbing to Sierra Lema (entrance to the Great Sabana) started. I began to notice Native settlements along the way. I could feel a change of atmosphere. This was another kind of Venezuela, a far off country, forgotten by people from the big city. It was also the most beautiful side of Venezuela. After fourteen days of steady pedaling and with 1550 kms more on my trail I was exactly where I wanted to be.  

The Great Sabana

The climbing to Sierra Lema wasn’t the hardest I `ve ever faced. Nevertheless, it turned out to be quite difficult because I was out of shape. My pedaling skills were a little bit rusted after so many days that I had spent devouring kilometers on the plains and that’s why the ascension got so slow. Vegetation spread all over the road due to a recent tempest that had scattered trees and branches all over.

I was going into a territory where nature prevailed and yet mankind`s imprint was so evident. All along the way, empty beer cans were scattered on roads. People disdain and the occasional traveler`s recklessness left a rill of containers that would remain there for centuries until someone would realize about their potential profit and pick them up for recycling. The area was crammed with streams of running water, yet people`s first option was beer, particularly one brand: Polar Light. The light blue and silver colors of the cans splattered both sides of the road ceaselessly. Pedaling so slowly gave me the chance to count how many containers were disseminated in 1 km of road. I was shocked to count 50 cans on only one side of the highway!  A pitiful scenery.

By the time I arrived at the Canaima National Park –home of the Great Sabana- I had pedaled 22.000 km of my journey. I was welcomed by a huge tarantula laying on the entrance sign. Few seconds later, I almost ran over a coral snake – tiny, colorful and deathly lethal. Mosquitoes also said hi to me. I must have lost a pint of blood when taking a photo amongst them. Precautions had to be taken if I wanted to stay alive!

I advanced a few kilometers more and then I was granted permission to spend the night at the Inparques installations where I met Leny Rincon, chief park ranger, who kindly gave me some advice regarding places to visit. She gave a list of possible useful contacts and she even presented me with a Park t-shirt. Venezuelan generosity seemed to have no limits.

The following day I continued to enter this fantastic territory. The region is shaped by ancient rocky formations of granite.  The area is filled with numerous tributaries of the Caroni River, rounded hills and steep mesas surrounded by tubular surfaces that go by the name of tepuyes, distinctive landmarks of this topography. Waterfalls and cascades are also a trademark stamp of the region and one of the most desired sights of this journey.  In 1994 this area was named Patrimony of Mankind by the UNESCO.

The origin of the name “The Great Sabana” is controversial. Apparently is credited to the Catalan miner and explorer Juan Maria Mundò Freixas, who in 1929 published an article in theCultura Venezolana magazine, using the name for the first time. He stated the term was a simple Spanish translation of the word “teipun” used by the pemon natives. However, according to Monsignor Mariano Gutierrez Salazar, Caroni`s Missions Apostolic Vicar, the pemon people called their land “Wek-Tà” (place of hills). In 1938, president Eleazar Lopez Contreras resolved to make a preliminary study of the landscape calling it by the name “The Great Sabana” and from then on, the term was coined.

For ages, the region remained estranged from western civilization and even today it conveys the primitive appeal of virgin territory and the mystery of the untouched. By the end of the 80s, the construction of Road 10 enabled a lot of tourists to visit the area bringing both economical improvement and a severe negative impact on the ecology.

It was time to bring to a halt my fast pedaling and make profit from the opportunities that this place offered. Consequently, the first thing I did was to get out of the highway and rode 80 kms on a dirt road until I reached the settlement of Kavanayen. The minute I came into this path I entered another dimension. The only sound around was the one of my tires crackling against the clods of earth and chipping away the stones. An hypnotic landscape lay before my eyes: the immensity of the plains of the Great Sabana and the tepuyes on the background messing around with the horizon. The few vehicles passing me by were trucks used for the transportation of the local natives, the pemons, who proved to be friendly, nice and respectful in spite of the cultural pollution caused by the constant flow of tourists that have gradually invaded their natural habitat. Even though they have had to adapt to this new reality, it is not farfetched to say that they are the true keepers of the park.

The term Pemon is used to cluster all the ethnic groups that share a same culture. The natives themselves use the word as a tribal term for the settlers of the region: it could translate into “person” or “people”. Nevertheless there are somatic and linguistic differences based on geographic origins that single out three distinctive groups: Kamarakotos, Taurepanes andArekuna.

While pedaling down a slope, one of these trucks full with locals passed me by. When it reached the end of the slope, couple of men got off and then, a few seconds later, they got on the vehicle again and left. Initially I thought they were making a stop to say hi or maybe it was a “technical halt” for any of the vehicle occupants but this was not the case. When I finally arrived at the place I noticed a huge rattle snake was lying across the road with its head off and yet twisting and whirling like crazy.  It scared the hell out me and in my mind I thanked those anonymous friends who got rid of that potential hazard which would surely have attacked Maira on the way down if not for them.
  

That evening I reached the lovely town of Kavanayen, a community founded by capuchine missionary monks that promoted the construction of houses made of stones that came from the region. Two large buildings stood out on both sides of the local church, also built out of stone. The Capuchine Missionary Order and the Confraternity of Franciscan Sisters of El Sagrado Corazon de Jesus both worked in those buildings. The chapel has become one the main cultural attractions of the town. The rest of the buildings were houses where people lived. Housesalso made out of the same kind of stone that was used in the construction of the main buildings.

While being there I found out that my granny had passed away after a long period of illness. Sadness invaded my soul and that night, as I was contemplating the starry sky, the clouds took possession of the blackness of the heavens and the angels cried along with me.

After a well deserved day of rest and after sprucing Maira up– so many hours of ongoing pedaling have had an effect on her- I headed for Iboribo, point of departure to explore theAponwao Fall: one of the most impressive sights of the region with 108 meters of falling water. The last 15 kilometers were made of pure sand, making it very difficult to ride. A good dose of stubbornness and perseverance made me endure this odyssey. The minute I arrived in Iboribo I found out that I had to embark on a 20 minute trip on a native motor boat (“curiaras”)to get to the fall. Having no tourists around to share the trip with, the price of it was ridiculously high. I chose to cross the river and then walked the distance along a footpath that I was told about.

The promenade turned out to be completely worthwhile since I was lucky enough to be the only person around in such magnificent scenery.

I went through heavy vegetation looking for some crystal water wells in which to go for a swim. Trees and plants were sole witnesses of my repairing bath. I decided to take an alternative path on my way back but since the whole area was poorly signaled it was hard to find it. Darkness was on its way: black clouds covered the skies and the reasonable thing to do was to get out of there.  Regardless of the snakes that I might encounter amongst the tall grass I hasten my pace until I was able to find the main road. Later, when talking to Adan, a curious young pemon who shared dinner with me, I found out that it was almost impossible to walk through those paths without a guide and that in fact rattle snakes were all over the place.  Once more, luck had been on my side!

Leaving the place wasn’t any easier than entering the day before. The minute I got on to the dirt road, rain came pouring down. The ground looked and felt like butter. The bike´s breaks got blocked. Soon afterwards the shift gear started to fail. Ten minutes later I gave up and stop pedaling. Riding in such conditions was helpless. Luckily I was at the entrance of theParupa Scientific Station so I asked for shelter. The hospitality of Edgar Yegres allowed me to count on a dry place to sleep and enjoy several good meals. Once the tempest cleared up, I spent more than two hours washing the mud away from Maira.

Morning came with a new face: clear skies and sunshine. I would soon realize that there was a constant pattern with warm and clear dawns that inevitably led to strong impetuous storms that display a large number of thunders and lightning bolts.

Passing through the Kaimoran Falls I regained strength by munching away at some catalinas and chatted with some guys traveling in a pick-up truck. They kindly presented me with some tuna cans and my first Polar Light!!! Needless to say that instead of throwing the empty can away like most people did I looked for a trash can and left it there.

I was heading for Pacheco`s Gorge but the storm in front of my eyes made me change my mind. I was pedaling right into the eye of the hurricane. It was a frightening sight. The sunlight was on by back, heightening the blackness of the coming tempest. It didn’t take long until it caught up with me: I got soaked in matter of seconds. Heavy winds almost threw me out of the road. I looked for shelter nearby the Kawi Fall. As I found protection under a palapa tree I decided to put an end to my pedaling for the day.

A group of young people from Caracas who were driving around the area in their pick up trucks got near me to observe this “exotic phenomenon” up close. They ended up presenting me with more food. That lucky day I collected seven cans of tuna, two cans of palmettos, cookies, a soda , juice, two quick soups, etc… not too shabby, right?

When the rain finally decreased I met Pablo Fiume and two German friends of his who were staying there too. They treated me with delicious dish of pasta. At Pablo`s suggestion we ended up jumping from several meters of height to Kawi`s well. After days of heavy activity, the waters of the fall turned out to be the best hydrotherapy for my back.  The downside of this little piece of heaven was the little black gnats locally named “puri-puri”. Extremely tiny, they seemed mostly to sting on legs, especially ankles. They were immune to all kinds of repellent. Indifference didn’t seem to work either. The following morning my feet were twice its size and the little red bites had spread everywhere. 

The Castros – a penom family – were in charge of the place. They were a large number and children abounded. They were coming and going, running, shouting, laughing like crazy while carrying empty plastic bottles tied to a string. Regardless the lack of resources, those children amused themselves with stunning simplicity. It was hard not to notice the contrast when confronted with certain spoiled brats from the city. When they noticed me and my peculiar means of transportation they didn’t hesitate for a second and we all started repairing two old rusty bikes. While patching those old tires up we sang a song I had come up with by those days… “ Puri-puri don’t bite me, puri-puri please, puri-puri bite someone else who might have better taste”. The children kept on singing the song for hours and whenever I`d sing “puri-puri” they would go on and on…

I promised myself that one day, whenever I had the means, I would return to bring proper bikes to these kids who touched my heart with their frankness and spontaneity.

I was able to enjoy Kama Fall from a different and especial perspective thanks to Pablo`s inexhaustible knowledge of the region. We then said good-bye and I continued my relaxed pedaling towards the area of the biggest concentration of tepuyes and from which the famous Roraima was the one that stood up the most.

I made a halt next to a road sign to get a bite. While resting and admiring the view, a pick-up truck stopped by my side. It was Cesar, Valter, Alejandra and Milagros who had previously seen me along the highway. They presented me with a map of the region, two cans of soup, mosquito repellent and Gatorade. They also persuaded me to change my point of destination. They told me about a fall that I had no idea it existed: The Kawchik Fall, 15 kilometres away from there. They showed me pictures that made it look totally worthwhile.

Grateful for the tip, I pedaled back a little bit and entered a dirt road that would take me to the aforementioned fall. The minute I left the asphalt, the clouds poured down a heavy shower on my humble humanity. The road turned into a river in which I could have easily swum my way out. I had made up my mind and I wasn’t going to give up since I was already soaked from head to toe. When it stopped raining I realized that the track ramified into several paths. I couldn’t tell which one was the correct one. It seemed like a natural response: whenever a trail turned impassable, a new one would open next to it regardless of the severe impact on the fragile ecosystem. I`ve already seen evidence of this in my previous incursions around Kavanayen and Iboribo.

The tempest was near and I could see and hear the lightning bolts striking in the ground few meters away from me. It was a fight against the elements. I couldn’t afford facing the storm a second time. I needed to get to my final destination as soon as possible. Nevertheless I was granting certain advantages I should have not: at one moment I lost my track and got to a dead end. I headed to a house I had spotted in order to make inquiries about which way to go. It was there when I saw a penom woman shaking out the grains from an ear of corn. She looked surprised by my being there. I must have looked peculiar to her. Communication turned out to be a hassle since she didn’t speak Spanish. Sign language and the word Kawchik were used as the woman pointed out to the immensity of the Great Sabana uttering the words “…there, there…”

After several fruitless attempts and when afternoon was coming to an end, under the pouring rain I was able to find the way and finally got to the fall. I had it all for myself. I was the only one there. Seeing the beauty of it I reckoned that the effort was totally worth it except for the massive invasion of puri-puri. They wouldn’t give me a break so I took the liberty of renaming the fall after these obnoxious gnats.

That night I feared for my life. It wasn’t the puri-puri I was afraid of. It was the storm getting bigger outside my fragile tent. All of a sudden the sky would light up with a blinding shine followed by the terrible sound of lighting bolts striking nearby. I started to count the time elapsed between one lightning and the following and I was shocked to realize each time it was getting shorter. I pictured myself carbonized in the middle of the Sabana, struck by lightning! Luckily, after a few agonizing endless minutes, the storm started to retreat and I wasable to close my eyes and rest.

I had few kilometers ahead of me to pedal in this fantastic place therefore I rode as slowly as I could. I came across a highly provisioned grocery store in the town of San Francisco de Yuruani. I took the opportunity to stuff myself with food and increase my catalinas supply – an addiction impossible to beat at that point of the journey. Soon afterwards I was passing through the homonymous military checkpoint. After exchanging a few words with the soldiers there I ended up enjoying a nice meal with them. Even though I was pretty full I ate it all. How could I refuse such an offer?...

After spending the night in an abandoned tourist inn I arrived at Jaspe`s Gorge where I was able to rejoice all by myself in one of the most popular spots of the region. The place is formed by a gorge that it extends 300 meters over a completely smooth jade stone surface (semi precious stone combining crystalline quartz and reddish-yellow silica) with a level of water that doesn’t surpass the 5 meters. The gorge is embedded in a beautiful natural frame with tall trees above the 20 meter range. It was most definitely an invitation to heighten the senses. The falls turned out to be valuable masseurs that made my stay even more pleasurable: a fancy farewell before facing the last kilometers towards Santa Elena de Uairen which was the final stage of my journey through Venezuela.

Once in Santa Elena I met Marcos Marquez, who was friends with my first Venezuelan hosts back in San Juan de Colon, in Tachira. I was closing the circle of contacts and friends and Marcos gave me a taste - once more – of the true Venezuelan hospitality and generosity by checking me into a hotel and presenting me with many of the delicious delights that could be found in his awesome bakery called “Gran Saban Deli”. It was 25 days since I had left the comfort of the SOS Children´s Village in Ciudad Ojeda. Back then, I had promised myself I wouldn’t shave until I found a place where I could enjoy a hot shower. Finally, this was it! This was the time…As long as I didn’t have my bike next to me, I looked a little less of a bum than before.  

The Roraima 

I was at the final stage of my pedaling through this Bolivarian country and yet there were a couple of places I wanted to see. Amongst the most amazing natural beauties of the Canaima National Park was the Angel Fall – the highest fall in the world with 979 meters of running water. Unfortunately, being on a cyclist budget made it impossible to visit. The other famous wonder was the one and only Tepuy Romaira, to which you could arrive by taking a six day excursion on foot. The cost of such excursion was as high as the Angel Fall one. Nevertheless, thanks to my friend Jaime Sierra I made contact with the people at Backpacker Tourisme who kindly saved a vacant place for me in one of their expeditions. The following day of my arrival at Santa Elena I was already with them and eager to join the rest of the group. It was nine of us: Virginia from Italy; Pablo from Spain; Boris, Thomas and Fritz from Germany; Nina from England; Julia and Tobias from Tirol and I, the only sudaca (spic) of the group. The integration was good from the beginning in spite of all our different origins. The dynamics of the group presented no hassle.

The Roraia is the most famous one of the eastern tepuyes of the Canaima National Park: an architectural beauty of nature with 2800 meters of height and 2 million years of existence. On its summit, we find the historic landmark often referred as the “triple border” where Venezuela, Brazil and Guyana borders converge. It is geologically formed by quartzite rocks and grit with thin slate foundations: the original plateau-shaped tabular surface and its completely plain summit with vertiginous vertical walls and beautiful waterfalls easily stand out.

Ever since with left the native town of Paraitepuy, the imposing bulk of the Roraima dominated the view alongside its neighbor, the equally impressive Tepuy Kukenán. We walked for almost three hours on the rippled ground of the Great Sabana until we reached our camping site next to the River Tek. Our guides took care of making dinner treating us with a fabulous meal. So good it was that I made sure of asking double ration. I had to regain energy after so many days of munching away at tuna, rice and catalinas!

The absence of electricity and other typical annoyances of civilization allowed us to enjoy the starry sky with the greatest pleasure. Soon after dawn, we took a bath in the river waters and then we went to sleep.

The second day we crossed the Kukenan River. I took the opportunity to swim against the current for a little bit but I was not able to advance an inch. After a while we arrived at the foot of the Roraima where we set the base camp to rest before facing the final ascension through the ridge. We started to notice part of the typical vegetation of the area such as the tubular bromelias – allegedly carnivorous – and several kinds of orchids.

The third day was the one we were all waiting for since it was the day we would go for the summit and we would be able to appreciate that “view from another world” that we had been told about. Firstly, we had to deal with a steeped ascension going through a thick humid forest and then we would reach the rocky area next to the endless vertical walls of the tepuy. The minute we started walking, I was startled by Tobias –one of the porters- who rowdily hollered: “Guide!!...Guide!!…Snake!!!!!”.  When I turned around I saw a snake coiled around itself with its head up ready to attack in case we disturb its sunbathing. I asked our guide Elio if that snake was poisonous and he confirmed it was a velvet snake and that in fact was deathly lethal. My right foot was 10 inches away from it. One false move and my trip would have ended there. I got shivers down my spine and swallowed hard. From then on I started paying attention where I put my feet!

Three hours later we reached the summit of the Roraima. We were then able to see the countless rocky formations carved by erosion for thousand of years. It was a view reminiscent ofanother world. No wonder why Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was inspired by the botanical reports of this place to write his famous novel The Lost World. Only the dinosaurs were missing! Plants and rocks presented unique characteristics. Several species have adapted and managed to endure the existence of rocky grounds lacking nutrients and nitrogen. That explains why certain types of plants live only in this part of the planet and can´t be seen anywhere else.

We celebrated our ascension tasting some Garotos, trademark bonbons of Brazil. Once we regained our energy we went towards our “hotel” for the night. The caves on the top of theRoraima would provide us shelter from the wind and the rain. Being the only group there, we could choose any cave we wanted. Elio and Marco led us to the “main hotel”. It was roomy and spacious and it included a little extra cave next to it where I set up my tent. The view was something else: the tortuous rocky surface reflected on the rain water wells. It was priceless! It was the best place in the world.

Still in a state of euphoria, we followed Marco`s prudent pace towards the famous Jacuzzi area. There were natural pools embedded in quartz rocks everywhere. It was an ideal place for a cold soothing dive. 

Rain came along and we were forced to return to our shelters. Dinner was served and soon after I retired to my chamber to enjoy the beauty of the falling rain from the warm coziness of my sleeping bag.

 Dawn came along and it was breathtaking. From the early morning light, the beauty and the peculiarity of the landscape hypnotized me. It was most definitely the best way to celebrate my 16 months on the road. After breakfast, we started exploring the area and we reached a small valley of quartz crystals. We then kept walking through the intricate terrain, jumping from stone to stone, avoiding the water wells and consuming the memory cards of our cameras. Fritz took pictures of almost every plant around.

The only animal we were able to see was a little black frog with orange belly, typically found in the tepuyes area and apparently related to other similar kinds found in Africa. Several scientists based their studies on animals such as this to endorse the theory of the existence of the pangea: the super continent formed by the union of all continents during the Paleozoic and Mesozoic eras.

After a few hours of trekking we arrived at the place called The Abyss. It was a rock platform from which you could see a vertical fall of hundred of meters that caused immediate vertigo. From that spot you could appreciate the spreading of the jungle forest into Guyana. That was the famous factory of clouds that generated most of the storms that I had had to endure while passing though the Great Sabana! The combination of this high content of humidity produced by vegetation -pushed away by winds - and the constant weather changes caused these threatening clouds to form and release their torrents of falling water with mechanical precision. That day wasn’t going to be the exception, so we took the opportunity to visit “The Car”, the highest point of the tepuy that had a natural balcony looking towards the Great Sabana with a panoramic view that inspired both respect andadmiration. Sunset made theKukenan tepuy shine on. The sun reflection seemed to cause a fire all over it. After a brief incursion of the nearby rocky formations, we retreated to our shelters because of the heavy rain. Luckily the night grew clearer and I was able to witness an infinite rosary of stars and constellations from my VIP room. It was an unforgettable and magical moment which I expect to relive again some day.

It took us two days to return to our point of departure. We took the time to reflect on the wonderful place we had had the chance to visit: a place that ranks as one of the greatest I´ve seen along my journey through America. I definitely recommend it to those who have an adventurous spirit and curiosity for the great wonders of nature. 

Leaving Venezuela 

I was a few kilometers away from the Brazilian border but I couldn’t say good bye to Venezuela without visiting the community of El Pauji which was 70 kms inland. Both Oscar Cañon and Jaime Sierra had insisted I´d go there so I followed their advice and redirected my pedaling. The road turned out to be rather difficult; full of steeped slopes that rain made even harder to deal with.

Finally I arrived and I realized why I had to spend time in that place. El Pauji is a community of creoles that live in the free lands of South Venezuela where tranquility is their best neighbor. It´s mainly inhabited by middle aged people coming from all around the country –and the planet- looking for a place in the world to stay. And here they found it: enjoying nature, turning into craftsmen and specializing in tourism related activities.

The minute I met Rosy and Wilfrido, my contacts, I realized my stay there would take longer than I thought it would. Same thing had happened to Oscar. For some reason, this place had a special magnetism magnified by the kindness of my hosts.

Next to Dago - Rosy and Wilfrido`s son - I was able to explore the confines of the Abyss, the geographic landmark where the Great Sabana ends and the Amazonas forest begins. I also met Climent, a Spaniard cyclist who had been wandering around the world for ten years. This was his third time there.

We went visiting the Emerald Fall: the odyssey cost me a couple of sane nails when I slipped on moss and tried to avoid a big fall by grabbing to the wall as long as I could until I couldn’t hold on much longer and fell into the water. I hit the water hard causing my stomach to turn red as a shrimp for quite a while.

Rosy encouraged me to talk to the children of the local school. I gladly accepted the offer and used it as an excuse to stay a couple of days longer. If not for my expiring visa I had stayed even longer. Inspired by the craftsmen of the community I made my first knit bracelet that I still carry on my left wrist… Is it maybe a way of living in the not so far future?

Most likely due to the bumps in the road, another dental plaster fell off while returning to Santa Elena which was a confirmation that dental hindrances would be a bad karma all along my journey. Luckily for me, there was a public and free medical care assistance plan in Venezuela called “Open Neighborhood” ran by Cuban doctors of high prestige. Coincidently there was a clinic right in front to the house of the Freitas, the family who had offered to lodge me after coming back from El Pauji.

The morning of October 15th , 2008 I opened my mouth and surrendered my molars to the dreadful dental spindle once again. Showing off a brand new filling I left for another country that awaited me on the other side of the border: Brazil, with its mythical and mysterious Amazonas… See you next time!  

Good Trails!

Damian. 

If you wish, you can and would like to help me keep on cycling, please click here!

Aknowledgements 

To Lieutenant Javier Vidal Acevedo, Corporal 1º Roberto Amaya, Corporal 1º Raul Alvarez and Corporal 1º Nestor Guerrero from the Bolivarian National Guard for letting me stay the night inJacinto Lara´s Toll installations. 

To Sgt. Mayor Gilberto Rodríguez y Corporal 1st. Luis Rodríguez, from the Traffic Comand of San Pablo, Carora, for allowing me to spend the night at km 47.  

To Alexander Arellano, for the kindness of his words all the way to Barquisimeto. 

To Sgt. 1st Homero Ortiz, Corporal 1st Alexander Ramos, Corporal 1st Eugelbert Reyes, Corporal 1st Julio Cesar Salazar y Sgt. Higinio Bermúdez, of the  Bolivariana Nacional Guard, for letting me stay the night at the Simon Panas Toll, also for feeding me and presenting me with some bolivares. 

To Adolfo Ospino, from Agroindustrias el Intento, Acarigua, for his kind money contribution.  

To Marly Torrealba Castro, from the Local Police of San Carlos, for helping me get my tooth fix at the CAIME ( Medical Care Center for the Pregnant Woman). 

To Leny Herrera and Oriana, dentists of CAIME, for taking care of my rebel molar tooth. 

To Sublieutenant Efrain Utrera, from San Carlos Firemen, for allowing me to spend the night at the central firemen headquarters.  

To Richard Vespo, fireman of Rubio, Táchira, for sharing his dinner with me. 

To Domingo Nieves, Oscar and María Dominga, from the local diner Punto Criollo, in Ye del Baúl, Cojedes, for that exquisite soup they made me taste.  

To Aída Pérez and Gerardo Annese, from the Arepera Todo Criollo, at the Dos Caminos Toll, in Guarico, for treating me with dinner and breakfast. 

To José Cedeño and Gladys Quintero, from Dos Caminos Toll Civil Protection, at Guarico, for sharing with me that tasty rice with chicken and for giving me the opportunity to have a shower. 

To Corporal 2nd. Juan Hernández y Corporal 2nd. Richard Rivero, from Guarico State Police at Dos Caminos Toll. 

To Marina Buyo, Maira, Marilyn, Luis and Jesús, from Venta de Comida Villa Marina, in Memo, Guarico, for recharging my batteries with a nice paella and a fresh mango juice.  

To Francisco Páez, Ramón Rangel, César Manero, Miguel Sánchez and Héctor Seira, from Chaguaramas Civil Protection for allowing me to spend the night at their installations.  

To Sgt. 2nd. Juan Sánchez and Corporal 1º Palma Salazar, from Bolivariana Nacional Guard of Santa Maria de Ipire, for providing me with a place where to rest my bones and treating me with a tasty hamburger.  

To Sgt. Mayor Leonardo Figueroa, Sgt. Frank Rojas and GN Jairo Torrealba, from the  Bolivariana Nacional Guard at Las Piedritas Toll, for providing me with a comfortable mattress and a great dinner.  

To Walid, from El Tigre bakery and the people from El Palacio del Pan, at El Tigre, for the “generous discounts in fuel” while passing through their town.  

To Sgt Mayor José Rodríguez, Sgt. Mayor Jesús Ramos, from Bolivariana Nacional Guard at La Viuda Toll, for letting me spend the night and sharing their dinner with me. 

To Sgt. José Santaella and Agent Osmar Santaella, from Anzoátegui State Police, for increasing my supplies with sweet bread.  

To Roxana, Ingrid, Zaida, Malena, Marlene, Albani, Mardielis, Gabriela, Dailis and Brizaida, the girls from El Amparo Inn, on highway Orinokia, for treating me with a nice meal when I needed it the most.  

To Luis Francisco Franco, Damelis Yendis and Carlos Ramos, for giving me a room to rest in Emergency Booth 171, at Guayana Toll.  

To Sgt. Víctor González Cedeño and Corporal 1º Hernán Corona, from the Bolivariana Nacional Guard of Upata Toll, for serving a great lunch.  

To Inspector Antonio Álvarez, agent Carlos Blanca, agent Juan Gutiérrez and Sheriff Manuel Manrique, of the local Police of Upata, for allowing me to stay the night in their installations and for treating me with those extra arepas. 

To Sgt. 2nd. (EJ) William Mastrangelo, soldier (EJ) Mervin Martínez and Sgt. Mayor Alcalá, for letting me stay in an air conditioned room and presenting me with Venezuelan Army patches. 

To Inspector Elio Díaz, from Tumeremo Traffic Police, for an exquisite breakfast.  

To Sgt. 2nd. (EJ) Eliezer José Viera López, Casablanca checkpoint booth, for treating me with those tasty arepas and catalinas.  

To Tibizay García and Gisela Ventrella, Casablanca checkpoint booth, for presenting me with those sweet snacks that made my day!

To Lieutenant (EJ) Pérez and Sgt. 2nd (EJ) López, from El Dorado checkpoint, for letting me spend the night there. 

To Alexander Mora, from Los Tritón, Santa Teresita, for his kind conversation, the extra supplies for the journey and his money contribution. 

To Sgt. 2nd. (EJ) Leobardys Hernández, from Sierra Lema checkpoint, for the snack I devoured in seconds and his money contribution.  

To Lenys Rincón, chief park ranger of the Great Sabana, for allowing me to stay the night at Inparques, for serving me breakfast, providing me with contacts for the road and for presenting me with a great t-shirt! 

To Martiniano Aguirre, Kavanayén park ranger, for allowing me to set up my tent there. 

To Edgar Yegres, Parupa Scientific Station, Great Sabana, for sheltering me in the middle of the storm and feeding me with tasty meals to regain energy.  

To Pablo Dal Maso and his friends from Caracas, for presenting me with tuna cans, sodas and my first Polar Light beer at the Kamoiran Rapids.  

To the girl from Caracas who was driving around near the Kawi Fall for giving me tuna and palmettos cans and juice. 

To the penom family, the Castros (Fany, Amauri, Josue, Laulimar, Nataly, Celso, Maria e Iroma) at Kawí Fall, for their kindness and hospitality.  

To Pablo Fiume, from Caracas, and his German friends Andrea Gross y Martina Zimmermann, for the moments we shared at Kawi Fall and Kama Fall.  

To Cesar Liccardo, Valter de Freitas (St Marten), Alejandra Echeverria Molina and Milagros Echeverria Molina, from Valencia, for presenting me with mosquito repellent, Gatorade and soups and for suggesting to go to the Kauchik Fall.

To Antonio Cárdenas, Jeiza Freitas, Héctor Freitas and Mario Guerrero for sharing lunch with me near Pacheco Gorge and the hospitality they showed me later at Santa Elena de Uairen.  

To Don Jerónimo, for sharing a wonderful tasty ration of pasta with me at Pacheco Gorge.  

To Andrés Orta and Hilda Fernández, for treating me with a nice crispy roasted chicken at Soroape.  

To Sgt. 2nd. (EJ) Mailyn Antonio Garcia Leuno and Corporal 2nd. (EJ) Félix Antonio Navea Rodríguez, for offering me a great lunch at San Ignacio checkpoint booth. 

To Marcos Márquez and his family, from Gran Sabana Deli bakery, in Santa Elena de Uairén, for checking me into a hotel, allowing me to have my first decent hot shower in weeks and for treating me with all kinds of delights from his bakery. Thank you for your true generosity! 

To Virginia, Pablo Martín, Boris Feist, Thomas Ungermann, Nina Tunnicliff, Julia Engl & Tobias y Fritz Rothe, for their kindness and companionship ascending the Roraima.  

To Eric, from Backpacker Tours, for allowing me to join the Roraima expedition.  

To Franco Aristeu, Captain 2nd at the Karapauray native community, for letting me spend the night at their local school diner.  

To Climent Puig, Catalan cyclist, who has been lost on the highways of the planet for ten years. I thank you for your kindness and companionship at el Pauji. Have a nice pedaling and good luck in your search for “la indiecita”! 

To Rosy Prieto, Wilfrido and Dagoberto, from el Pauji, for opening the doors of your home to me and giving me the chance to share those days with you in such mystic beautiful place. 

To the students of El Pauji local school, thank you for lending me your ears. 

To the Cuban doctors from the medical care assistance plan “Barrio adentro” for helping me out with my dental problems.  

To Jaime Sierra, who I didn’t have the chance to meet in person. Thanks you for all the encouraging e-mails and thank you for connecting me with friends all over the country. See you next time! 

Statistics 

During this stage: 

Days on the road: 39

Days on the bike: 25

Kilometers traveled: 2032 km – 260 km

Average kms per day: 81,3 kms

Hours on the bike: 143 hours 59 minutes (5 days 23 hours 59 minutes)

Velocity average: 14 kms p/hour

Climbed meters: 15.414 m

Max. altitude: 1424 m (above sea level) Sierra Lema, Gran Sabana, Venezuela (20-09-2008) 

Since the beginning:  

Days on the road: 499

Days on the bike: 270

Kilometers traveled: 22.557 km - 1.960 km

Average kms per day: 83.5 km

Hours on the bike: 1.403h 43m (58d11h43m)

Velocity average: 16,1 km/h

Max velocity: 81,5 km/h, going down at Sunwapta Pass, Canadá (15-08-2007)

Climbed meters: 216.776 m  
Max. altitude: 4059 m (above sea level) Pico del Águila, Venezuela (04-08-2008)  

+Moments I was next to being ran over by a gondola on the Venezuelan plains: more than I wished for!

+Snakes that I came across passing through the Great Sabana: too many!