The 40 Day Six

To our utter dismay, horses were completely our of our budget range. The dream was crushed, we had to move on.

All of the luck we had in the beginning of our trip was gone. We set up at the edge of town, taking turns between extending our thumbs and hiding from the Patagonian wind. Eight hours later, an old beat up sedan stopped in from of us. Horacio, 60, had spend the weekend drinking at the festival. His eyes were glazed over and there were empty bottles of Quilmes on the floor. He was hammered. At this point we didn´t care, we had to get out of that town.

We chugged along at 40 kilometers and hour, other cars honked as they blew by us. Horacio told us why Brazilian and Paraguayan women are better than ¨those Argentine bitches¨while he tried to keep his car on the road. He only took us 10 kilometers, but progress is progress.

Shortly thereafter we, as always, hopped in the back of a pickup and went onto the next town.

Tecka is essentially the gas station that everyone stops at on their way through. The sun went down without a ride. We unrolled our sleeping bags on the side of the Route and slept in the dirt under a clear sky.