Road to Redemption

I am utterly exhausted, and to explain why, I must start with the events of last night:

After jotting down my diary in the cozy space in front of the church where I had decided to sleep, I went to the faucet to wash up. No water came out, but a snake did. Frightened, I abandoned the idea of washing up and decided to lie down. It was only 7 p.m., still dusky, and I used the raincoat Mariana had given me as a makeshift mat. Just as I settled in, something landed on my leg. A mouse stared back at me, as curious about me as I was horrified about it. I shooed it away, only to realize why my back was hurting: sunburn from riding shirtless all day.

Sleep proved to be elusive. As I tried various positions to avoid pressing my scorched back against the ground, strange noises filled the air---sounds that resembled a video game joystick or rhythmic tapping. Alone in the dark, it felt eerie. I tried to ignore it and sleep, but my back was increasingly painful, and now ants started to crawl up my pants, under my shirt, and even onto my face. From 7 p.m. to midnight, sleep remained a distant dream.

Finally, frustration boiled over. I declared war on the ants. I tore sheets of paper, set them on fire, and launched an incendiary attack on their stronghold. I thought this act would deter them. I was wrong. They returned more ferocious, entering even my ears and nostrils. I repeatedly attacked and retreated in this exhausting cycle.

Around 4 AM, in the dim glow of my lighter, I saw an army of ants surrounding me. They were climbing up my feet and legs, and I had to keep shaking them off. Physically drained, I decided to pack up and leave, admitting defeat. As I packed, I realized that I was the invader in this battle. Never again do I want to wage war with ants. Even now, I shudder at the thought of them crawling inside my clothes.

Groggy and half asleep, I pedaled through the dark roads at 4 AM Cars passed dangerously close, and I vowed to buy rear emergency lights once I reached the next city. After an hour, I found a gas station convenience store and bought a cup of hot chocolate. I finally managed to nap on a table and the employee didn't seem to mind. I was grateful for the hour of sleep.

By 7 AM, it was bright outside, and it was time to leave. I asked the gas station employee for directions to Fray Bentos, a city in Uruguay. She kindly guided me, and we shared stories a bit. She wondered why I hadn't considered hitchhiking back to São Paulo. I clarified that persevering on this journey held its own significance.

With a heavy heart and weary body, I learned that the bridge connecting the Argentinean and Uruguayan cities I was heading towards was closed due to an industrial dispute. A man suggested an alternate route via Colón which would add another 100 km to the trip. Frustrated, I had no choice but to carry on.

My original plan was to travel as far as possible and stop somewhere to rest. However, I was feeling both tired and hungry, and what I needed most was to reach a town, drink even a beer, and eat a filling dinner. With only a few biscuits and sausages left, spending another night on the streets didn't seem like a suitable reward for my hard work. So, I set my sights on reaching Colón, promising myself a feast upon arrival. The ride felt like a military march, punctuated by thoughts of delicious food and existential questions about my journey.

Cars whizzed past me, indifferent to my struggle. '100 kilometers is nothing to them,' I muttered to myself.

Then, my eyes caught sight of a signboard that read, "Maximum speed limit: 60 km/h". At that moment, I chuckled to myself. Well, at least I wasn't breaking the speed limit.

I finally reached Colón as the sun set, utterly drained. My body was already feeling the effects of drowsiness, fatigue, and muscle aches, and my bike was making creaking sounds as I struggled to enter town. First stop: a supermarket, where I indulged in bread, cheese, oranges, and milk. Even though I was tempted to buy a beer, I realized it would be too much of a celebration, so I put it aside and decided to satisfy my hunger first. As I devoured them on a park bench, every bite tasted like heaven. The milk felt as special as a cold beer, and the orange melted in my mouth.

Satiated from indulgence, just as I started thinking about where to spend the night, I heard church bells. I traced the source and arrived at a cathedral. Inside, I explained my need for a shelter for the night to a woman who asked me to wait. Thirty minutes later, a man came with a key and led me to a building near the church filled with clothing donations. He laid out a mattress and said I could sleep there. There was even a shower. To top it off, he gave me slices of pizza and a cola.

"Hallelujah, Thank you!" was all I could say.