Agradezco cuando hace sol
PerúI suppose I should have been grateful that I lasted four months and 3,500 miles before I got my second flat tire of the trip. That’s a lot of wheel revolutions to avoid the most common mechanical breakdown endured by cyclists. But gratitude is contextual, and when a sharp rock ripped open my tire in the middle of a snowstorm on a 16,000’ pass, I felt anything but grateful. I swore that my bike had conspired to fail me at the absolute worst of times.
I suppose I should have been grateful that I had a toolkit to fix the tire, that I knew how to plug the laceration without installing a spare tube, since I’d already gone through the process on a sunny day three months earlier in Colombia. But I couldn’t feel my fingers, snow was getting in my eyes. I couldn’t imagine fixing it in these conditions. So I decided to walk down the hill to try and find a shelter where I could repair it, while I listened to the hiss of the tire harmonize to the howl of the storm.
I suppose I should have been grateful that I wore a waterproof jacket and pants, warm layers, gloves, and a hat — and that I had a tent that I could use for shelter to wait out the storm, plenty of food, and a stove that now functioned since I had replaced a broken part only the day before. But an unbearable sense of urgency told me that I couldn’t just hole up and wait, that I needed to fix the problem as soon as possible. I had hoped to be in Tanta by the evening, with still another high pass to climb in between. I was already behind schedule, and I couldn’t afford any more delays.
I suppose I should have been grateful that the hotel proprietor in San Mateo informed me about a town in between the two passes, called Carhuapampa. He’d been skeptical when I said I planned to bike all the way to Tanta in one day, and told me, “si tienes emergencia, hay un pueblo.” I shrugged his suggestion off, since Carhuapampa appeared to be a diversion from my route on the map. Besides, I fully expected to conquer both passes in a day, and I had plenty of provisions for camping in case I didn’t.
I suppose I should have been grateful that Carhuapampa even existed. But when the sign at the crossroads indicated 18 kilometers to the pueblo, I spat, kicked the ground, and cursed Carhuapampa for being so far away. I still kept pushing my bike, careful to hold the front tire slightly off the ground so as not to damage the rim, since the tire had fully deflated. Now at a lower elevation, the snow had turned to freezing rain.
I suppose I should have been grateful that the signpost was egregiously wrong, that the town was only four kilometers from the junction. I suppose I should have been grateful to see kids playing on a concrete soccer pitch surrounded by mud and brick huts. I suppose I should have been grateful that a man told me, “si, hay,” when I asked if there was alojamiento in the pueblo. I suppose I should have been grateful when a señora charged me ten soles ($3) to sleep in a creaky bed with ten blankets, with no shower but a working sink and toilet, and most importantly, a roof to keep the rain and snow off me. But despite my polite repetition of “gracias, muchas gracias, agradezco,” I felt bitter that I ended up in this hovel instead of a beautiful campsite, bitter that I had to thaw my fingers over my campstove as I cooked soup and noodles, bitter that I had yet to repair my tire before I could crawl under the ten blankets and sleep away the bad dream.
When I woke in the morning, I expected that my tire would have slowly deflated overnight, doubtful that the three plugs I’d used on it had fully sealed the gash in one of the nubs and the ding I’d found in the rim. I expected that, even if I could fix the tire, I’d have to battle the snow and rain all day again, that I’d continue to fall behind my itinerary, that I’d eventually be forced to take a bus at some point to arrive in Ayacucho in a week, in time for my flight back to the US to see Liz.
But when I squeezed my tire, the sidewall didn’t budge. I opened the door and squinted as the sun and blue sky filled the building. The mud huts that I had so despised yesterday looked beautifully rustic with the backdrop of a green mountain, a rushing river, and stray sheep wandering the street.
The señora stopped by to see how I had slept and I told her excitedly, I’d fixed my tire! I spewed out the same, “gracias, muchas gracias, agradezco,” that I’d told her yesterday, but this time, my voice pulsed with sincerity rather than reticence.
Oh man, was I grateful in that moment.
