Don´t Cry for Us, Argentina

20-22 March, 160 km total

The day of the bees and the locust.

Cactus or ear?

My right ear is a rose. Or a cactus flower. Or, after the locust´s cannonball run into it, the coming of a pestilence.

This is what I have to conclude -- that there is something about the shape of my ear -- its lobe or the crest of the helix -- that makes bees or locusts think it leads to nectar or a love nest.

Three times on day 10, during the hottest part of the day, these flying snipers appeared out of nowhere and tried to ram themselves into my ear. My hand jerked up to swat at them, while my other hand tried to keep my balance as my bike serpentined and fishtailed. Three times I avoided a face plant in the road only because I got my legs out of the bike clips just in the nick of time.

It is a creepy thing to be desired by insects. Not in the way of mosquitoes -- their love is indiscriminating, unconditional. They adore anything with a bloodtype. But to have a single body part that insects find irresistible? Definitely freaky.

From San Juan to Caucete, we started the ride late in the morning. And regretted it. The days were hot and humid; the heat made the horizon and the distance shimmer in waves. The heat made us feel sluggish and drowsy by high noon. It was my kind of weather, but not Deputy Dawg´s. He was swabbed and spackled in sunscreen, terrifically hot.

By the time we got to Difunta Correa, day 13, it was clear we needed a better plan for knocking out the kilometers. We´d never get to Salta at the rate we were going, desert or no; flying locusts and bees, notwithstanding.

The plan was simple: We would get up early in the morning to beat the heat. Duh.