• Andean Geotrail Blog (In English)
  
• Fat Cyclist
  
• Our Long Haul Honeymoon
  
• The Andean Geotrail
  
• The Andean Geotrail Blog (In French)
  
• Up In Alaska
  
• Walking the Andes (In French)
  
• Ze Movers (In French)
  

Anyone speak my language?

By Dan Wallace - 2009-11-16

“What on Earth am I doing?!?” That was all I could think, as I sat in luxurious business class, working through the hard hitting emotions accompanying me back to South America. I was saying goodbye to home and all things familiar, for a second time. I was returning to adventure cycling after three wonderful summer weeks at home in the US, having a blast with close friends and family. The time went too fast for sure, and knowing that I was returning to a very different and less comfortable life did not make getting on the plane any easier.

My time at home was amazing. Some of the best and happiest days I can remember. I was a groomsmen in a wedding between two very close friends from college. I got to hang out with my little brother, who was home from Iraq and the war on R&R. I enjoyed comfort and closeness with family and friends new and old. Being home was a welcome rest and reprieve from the harshness that comes with a life of adventure cycling and living outside in a tent.

Returning to the adventure outdoors felt more like leaving behind the good life. In fact, it felt more like “leaving” than my first actual departure did way back in December of last year. But, I knew that one of the reasons I signed up for this trip was to learn about commitment. I knew that coming back was the right thing to do, and that the guys were counting on me to bring necessities down along with much love from their friends and families. I knew that I would regret not finishing the trip as a part of the team, but still, it was hard.

Using the encouraging words I carried from friends and family, I battled through a lot of lonely days, not being able to meet up with the rest of the team due to protests in Lima. Thankfully, I had a place to stay with our friend Joel in Lima. When the smoke and roads cleared after four days, I got the first bus south to Puno. Two days busing left me on the high shores of Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world. Due to scheduling conflicts I was stuck there for a few days before heading north to Cuzco, again by bus, where I would finally meet up with the team. I was happy that my Peruvian bus tour was finished and even happier to rejoin the ORS team. It was nice to be back with the team and not alone. Bothersome vendors and cab drivers seem a little less annoying when your with people who speak your language.