November 11, 2010
Che. The legion lives on.
It has just gone midnight. I was sleeping and awoke in misery my legs on fire. I cannot stop scratching them. The skin is all dry. It is sunburn of coarse. As I now sit up in the tent, it's difficult to concentrate, to gather my thoughts and write about what happen today. I will try.
Last-night I camped in a firebreak with pine-trees on either side. There were lots of insects so I'd to close myself in the tent as soon as putting it up. I left the flysheet off because of the heat and awoke in the night looking up at the stars. The morning came dripping wet with dew and I had to pack the tent wet so as to be on the road at seven thirty.
The road as aforesaid is one hill after the other and there are third climbing lanes for trucks. In order to stop the trucks from driving over the edge along these third lane stretches there are rumble stripes the full width of the shoulder uphill. It is an otherwise good road spoiled by a succession of three little ramps at regular intervals. So I most swerve out into the traffic lane to get round them. Not very satisfactory.
Just before reaching the town of El Dorado, an old pale skinned man with a panama hat walking along the grass verge greeted me, 'adios amigo', goodbye, a short once in a lifetime encounter not to be repeated. You see old people here too walking around with umbrellas, or sunshades to keep the worse of the sun off. Today there wasn't a cloud in the sky and it was already stifling hot by ten when I entered El Dorado to stock-up on food for the day.
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Nothing much of note happened till three in the afternoon when I reached the crossroads village, Caraguatay and see the sign, Solar de Che 5km. I wasn't quite sure, 5km in which direction. It looked to be along the red dirt road on the right off the main-road. I ask a mechanic working in a Gomeria, tyre repair workshop. 'Si senior adelante' yes straight along the side road he confirmed. The first part of the unpaved road was uphill but pine-trees on either side gave some relieve from the sun.
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The road levelled out and I past a school where I heard the gaggle of kids some of them giggling no doubt they found the sight of me on my bike and the trailer following on funny. Next there was a chapel where I stop and enter. It was nice and cool inside. On the walls along either side where the stations of the cross and by the altar at the front the usual religious pictures one of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. I returned back out into the the afternoon heat and see a little sign across the way of the iconic image of Che 1400m. Not far.
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The house and estate that his parents owned where Ernesto Guevara Lynch spent his childhood is now a National Park. The red dirt road toward it's end was amongs gardens and grounds on either side with lush scrubs. I saw some tents in the shade of some trees then saw in a shelter a group of men sat around drinking mate. I ask can I camp. They point me in the direction of a buzzing grass strimmer by scrubbery, the Park Ranger cutting grass. 'Yes of coarse' he said I could camp 'but not by the drive, over in the shade of those tree there'. He then preceeded to follow me with the strimmer as I pushed the bike to the trees and offered to trim the grass in the spot I chose for the tent. I decline as it was short enough
The house itself where he grew up was builded with bricks and had a veranda on all four sides which was tiled as was the apex roof all of which looked a little sagged with age. The back opened out upon a wooden platform which looked down over the jungle on the nearby river. The inside has been cleared of furniture and set up as a museum of his life with photos and quotes he made on the walls. As there wasn't any body else about I didn't have to pay to look around. There was a picture of him as a small child in the arms of the family's Guarani woman housekeeper. A holiday snap aged 16 with the whole family on the beach at Mar del Plata. On his bike off on his first big adventure. The pictures continued of him into his adult life. There were many of him during the Cuban revolution with a youthful Fidel Castro. There's one of him in discussion with Jean Paul Sartre. To the fatal end where he's seen flanked by solders when he's captured in Bolivia after taking an injury in the leg, nevertheless he looks in good health albeit beshival living in the wild. Finally, the picture of him laid out on display in the school the military officers around looking please with themselves when they shot him dead in cold blood following orders from the CIA the day after his capture.
Back out again it was difficult to be out of the shade. I just wanted to get into cold water or wash. In the toilets I turn the taps in the washhand basins but was disappointed to see no water come out. There was a trail cleared through the jungle so I walk along it. I soon hear the sound of a stream. A waterfall no less as I get closer and hear water tumbling down. Yes, there was a waterfall with a cool pool of water at the bottom. I took my shoes off and got in being carefull not to go too far from the edge as such waterfall pools tend to be deep. The cold water felt so good. For once I didn't have that itchy dry skin feeling round the ankles.
Today's ride: 76 km (47 miles)
Total: 5,404 km (3,356 miles)
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