This is a newsletter from Family on Bikes, a family of four traveling on bicycles from Alaska to Argentina. They are currently in northern Argentina.
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Setbacks. I suppose they’re bound to happen on a journey of this magnitude, but that doesn’t mean we have to like them.
We spent a delightful ten days in Salta with new friends, but were ready to move on; 1300 kilometers away lay Mendoza, and we were antsy to get there. Straight shot – a few days off here and there, but the plan was to make a beeline south. That plan lasted all of one day.
Our first day on the road went well, except for Davy maliciously hiding Daryl’s Lil Huggies back in the casa. John and I waited by the side of the road 15 km into the day while the boys jumped on a bus to retrieve Daryl’s blue stuffed monkey. That night, we camped in a lovely spot in the middle of thorn bushes and were thrilled to be making progress toward our goal once more.
But within minutes of climbing into my sleeping bag, my temperature started to climb. Daryl slept peacefully beside me wrapped in only a thin cotton sheet, but I lay bundled up in my fleece sheet and sleeping bag – and shivered. Looking back on it now, I knew this wasn’t just some random virus that would hold me up for a day or two – but at the time I wasn’t quite ready to admit that.
By morning, my fever was down, so we pushed on. For 20 km that is. We pulled into La Viña looking for food – and I sought out the doctor at the local clinic. My temperature was up once again, and I could barely breathe. She listened carefully to my lungs and heard nothing down in the lower recesses of them, so figured I had bronchitis. An inhaler opened up the air passages and ibuprofen brought my fever down. We pushed on. I realize now, we probably shouldn’t have.
That night was awful. I tossed and turned in my sleeping bag. Each time I reached a new position, gunk in my lungs shifted position, sending me into spasms of coughing. By the time it finally settled, it was time to flip over again. I spent the entire night coughing and gasping for air and woke up the following morning exhausted.
By that point we were a mere 66 km from Cafayate. 41 easy miles through gently rolling hills in the incredibly scenic Quebrada de los Conchos Nature Reserve. I packed up my bike, gasping for breath the whole time, and set out – determined to reach Cafayate and a doctor.
It never occurred to me that I wouldn’t be able to make it a mere 66 km. I figured if I took it slow and steady, I would reach my goal. How could I not?
And yet, 15 kilometers later, I knew my goal was unrealistic. My lungs no longer functioned. I would happily settle for another 15 km to Santa Barbara, where we had been told we could find food and water. We would hang out there for the rest of the day.
Even so, I couldn’t do it. When I was reduced to the point where I had to push my bike up the tiniest of inclines, we all knew. “Mommy, I think you need to hitch into town to see the doctor,” Daryl said as they pedaled past me.
“Do you want me to see if Davy can ride your bike?” John asked.
I had no choice. Davy, who has now grown to be the same height as me, climbed on my heavy bike and took off like a champ. Daryl would take Davy’s bike, and John would ride the tandem solo. I would hitch into town.
As I sat there in the blazing sun on the side of the road watching my boys ride off without me, I burst into tears. I couldn’t do it. I’m not SuperMom after all. I’m not the invincible woman I like to think I am. I am nothing more than a frail, vulnerable human being, just like us all. My body finally gave in.
My boys camped in the spectacular valley that night, but I showed up at the emergency room where the doctor told me I had pneumonia and would not be camping anywhere but the hospital for a few weeks. I burst into tears again. I hurt so badly. I wanted so badly to be healthy. I wanted my body back. But these things take time.
The following day, John and the boys arrived with all three bikes. They managed to find a lovely hospedaje not far from the hospital and we’ve settled in for a while – the doctor tells me I won’t be able to travel for at least two weeks and very possibly longer.
I’m trying to tell myself that good will come of this. There will be some major life lessons we’ll all learn that will serve us well throughout the rest of our lives, but I honestly don’t know what those lessons are right now. Maybe we’ll learn that sometimes you can’t fight Mother Nature – God knows we’ve battled her a lot on this journey. Maybe we’ll learn that there times when you simply have to roll with the punches and do what needs to be done. Maybe we’ve even already learned that.
But still, that doesn’t mean I have to like this. I don’t like sitting in the hospital with massive quantities of drugs flowing into my veins. I want to be out on my bike, exploring this world of mine. I want to be with my husband and sons rather than cooped up in a white, sterile environment. But for now, I’ll endure. I’ll sit patiently as friendly and knowledgeable nurses hook more antibiotics up to my IV, knowing that I have little choice.
Yes, setbacks are bound to occur on this journey of ours. We knew that from the outset, and we knew we would simply have to deal with them as they came. And we’ll do just that. We’ll hang out here in Cafayate for a couple weeks and wait for my body to heal, then we’ll hit the road once more. Tierra del Fuego is calling, and we need to heed the call.
Thank you all for your thoughts and prayers.
Nancy, John, Davy, Daryl
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