Day 72 Update: Garayalde to Comodora Rivadavia
110 miles
Not sure what to say. The wind is pushing me backward. At this pace, it will take me 8 days to ride the last 900 miles. I thought my rock bottom day had already come and gone. I thought I was too close to the end to fall back into utter despair. I was wrong. Today was incomprehensibly difficult. Probably the most difficult mental day of my life. I can’t even begin to recount the despair I felt. And I honestly don’t want to try right now. It feels like I have to cross the sky. The frustration that comes from this wind is incredible. I’m mad at myself for dealing with the wind so poorly. I have an incredible amount of self-doubt and self-hatred. Today I exploded. I cried for longer than I slept. I was truly in shambles. At my lowest point, I recorded an hour-long voice memo talking about my feelings. My complete apathy to everything in life. My failure to see any light at the end of the tunnel. My inability to care about anything in the moment. The voice memo will make a shocking blog when I get around to it. I’m not proud of how I comported myself today. I fell apart like a wet napkin. I disintegrated in despair. I have so much to look forward to and so little distance left to cover; the way I handled myself today was inexcusable. I can say this now because my head is above the water. I’m not on the bike fighting the winds in the middle of endless plains. I’m in a nice cozy bed with a full stomach and a hot shower, reassured of my abilities and determinations, boistered by a chat with my father on the phone. When I’m on the bike fighting the winds in the endless contrastless plains, I feel like I’m drowning. My head is being held underwater and I can’t lift it up to catch a breath or absorb where I am. It’s like I’m fighting so hard for a breath that everything else in the world is irrelevant. The problem—or perhaps the good thing about it—is that I am the one holding myself underwater. I’m drowning in 6 inches of water because I don’t have the mental strength to just stand up. I’m so weak I can’t even roll over on my back to catch a breath. It’s embarrassing, honestly. I know I’m tired and ready to be done, but damn. I expected better from myself even at my lowest point. I think all this will become more clear when I publish the full blog for this day. Just trust me when I say my mind did not fare well in the midst of things today.
There wasn’t a single resupply between Garayalde and Comodora Rivadavia, so I actually backtracked a quarter mile to the YPF in Garayalde for breakfast. I’m glad I did because the warm dining area gave me time to collect myself and prepare for the day while getting down some much-needed warm food. However, I didn’t prepare myself enough for what was to come. It only took about 2 hours of riding for me to break down and things got really ugly. I stopped for a lunch break at around 1. Since there was nothing but shrubs and grass for as far as the eye can see, I just pulled over randomly and laid down in the dirt. I ended up drifting off to sleep for about 30 minutes. I was mad at myself about this. I had a 2,000ft descent into Comodora Rivadavia at mile 90. Before then, my average speed for the first 7 hours of riding was 9mph and my max speed for the entire day was 14mph. For perspective, I averaged 21mph a couple of days ago over the course of 14 hours. When I got into town, I was so beaten up I decided to stop and get a hotel, even though the sun hadn’t set yet. This may be my last chance for a hotel until Ushuaia, and riding on in my mental state wasn’t going to benefit anyone. I ate a ton, thanks to a supermarket, and shaved one last time. No matter what, I’ll be done in less than a week. This is only my 5th time shaving this trip. My protein consumption is so far below what it should be that my body has slowed the growth of my hair and nails to a snail’s pace. All the protein I consume goes straight to my muscles, and there isn’t enough to go around. Growing out some chin stubble isn’t high on my body’s priorities.
