19km of Life Part 1

Cool droplets of salt, the draining of pores, slid down form a curly matt of golden hair into eyes, sending nerves reeling in stunned fiery pain. Feet burned, the canyons of toes tearing from the cheap rubber soles and ill placed straps. Muscles strained against the swaying pack, the clinging of broad straps to skin, the eternally forward fixated head. Deep in a valley, surrounded by granite peaks, familiar green pastures, and the mammoth volcano signifying an Argentinian presence, I was wandering into a place of peace. A place I now wished to be my home. A place where I had wandered down crystal clear streams, watched smoke slither from thatched houses while smells of carnivorous ecstasy stirred the primal nature within, and where I discovered the man I knew I could attempt to emulate. Now I walked. I walked with the purposeful nature akin to those who crossed the west, possibly I was subconsciously succumbing to my exploratory nature. The bus had smelt of sweat, tasted of freedom, and allowed for the studying of those on their way. Way to where? Homes, lives, families, the loving arms of the husband, the soft eyes of a wife, the honest eyes of a brother. The bus ended short of my destination, 19km to hitch hike. After a kilometer of casual strolling outside of town, thumb signaling the passing car, I realized the length I may have to walk. 5km later, and with no cars rushing by, casting a breeze against the back of my neck, my thoughts left the pain which was creeping from my feet to my legs, and found themselves among the last few days.

The word hit my ear. Muscles contracted and moved plastic against the friction of wooden ramp. I launched into the air, eyes focused on the candy cane colored first gate. Turquoise was split by the red nose of my kayak as hips tightened holding the line, shoulders burned, and biceps propelled the fiberglass blades toward the goal. First gate, aim high, turn, watch the paddle. Move to the right, catch gate 2, move right, catch gate 3, hard boof, keep speed, second boof, sprint, next gates easy, be on line for the last gate, move hard left, get a stroke. I missed the stroke sliding the 15 feet sideways into the recirculating torrent below. I braced, holding the blade with practice precision away from the hole and toward the finish. With the last final sprint, my second lap of the Upper Palguin slalom race was over. Faster, cleaner, and with more focus.

My body was thrashed, the race laps on the Palguin had torn my muscles to exhaustion. I had to work. I stood behind the bar, the heat of stagnate summer air rushing into my senses. Handle pulled, perfect pour, dishes washed, dinner devoured, the clock struggled toward midnight. I slogged back to my apartment. In the morning, the beach beckoned a midday breakfast with a good friend, the afternoon held tired bones to couches, and the evening once again saw the quickened movements of work. I saw the faces of five people, tourists I guessed. They passed by me at the intervals of full bladders, each time with a noticing look from me, a questioning look from them. What question? How old I was I guessed. The smooth features of my face betrayed the look of one much younger than my eighteen years. That night I found myself with the familiarly bitter taste of beer burning my lips, refreshing my mind, my hand wandering toward the girl to my left. Hours swirled by, the morning saw my feet rushing toward the local bar. They did not carry me fast enough.

I awoke, my head swirling with the dehydrated pain of the nights vices. The great debate began. Should I stay in the confines of Pucon, or accept an invitation to my old home of Camp Puesco. Nostalgia won, swayed by the need for the faces of friends. I walked to the bus station, “Don’t want this to become a 19km mission into the night” I said, the words of unnoticed foreshadowing.

As the night fell, the delirious vocalizations on the border between singing and shouting, came tumbling form my mouth. My shirt had been cast aside an hour ago, allowing for the setting of the sun to cool my sweat. 3 hours and 30 minutes later I came limping into Puesco, the familiar panting of dogs met my ears. My friends were nowhere to be seen. My heart sank. An image of sitting alone in a cabin, hungry and exhausted formed in my mind. Just as I started to let my heart sink drowning my positive nature, the headlights of a mid 90’s van came swinging into the drive way, five kayaks perched on top of the rig. My friends emerged from the van, surprised looks were cast upon my comically attired figure. Morning came. The sun burst through the clear windows, allowing for a view of the castle spires of the mountain across the river. Soreness had not yet found itself among my bones, but a kayak found itself around my body a couple hours later. Friends, whitewater, and a familiar passion coursed through my blood, forcing a smile from my lips.  I stepped onto the bus that afternoon, the sun draining my energy, and smiled, full from the day. I had no way of know the violent storm of contrasting emotions and experience that would meet me that night.