Ibaiti, Brasil

As I was taking down my tent yesterday morning I felt a sudden prick to my calf.  I looked down and discovered I’d been stabbed by a thin thorn and it had broken off and remained stuck in my calf.  I gave it a tug and just a little came out.  I pulled some more and then more.  It was better than an inch long.   If this had happened in the thick jungle of the Amazon I would have suspected that I’d been shot by a dart blown out of a tube.  Blood oozed from the wound.


I sprayed it with water and rubbed some soap on it and squeezed it to get more blood out and any potential bacteria and toxins.  Fortunately, the thorn had not gone deep, just long under the skin.  Still it left a lingering pain.  It stung when I put weight on it as I pushed my bike out of the forest.  It continued to whisper a hint of pain as I began to ride.  It didn’t slow me or particularly hurt, but I had definitely been wounded.  


Too late I realized I should have saved the thorn in case my calf started swelling and I needed to seek medical attention so the physician could determine if it might be toxic.  As my day went on riding up and down through the hilly terrain I paid it little mind other than periodically checking my calf to see if it were discoloring.  All seemed well, though it still throbbed with pain.  At least it didn’t ooze any more blood.  


I thought it would be wise to stay in a hotel that night in case an infection set in, hobbling or disabling me.  Some hard climbing at day’s end prevented me from reaching Tibagi, which had several hotels, so it was back into a forest.  My leg looked fine, so I wasn’t too concerned.  In the morning it was still slightly sensitive to touch, but it appeared to be healing.


The day before I had another fluke incident.  As I was climbing a hill my left pedal came off.  “Oh, fuck, don’t tell me I’ve broken my crank,” I muttered.  I’ve suffered that fate a couple of times and had to pedal one-legged for up to twenty miles to reach a bike shop.  That would be an ordeal in this hilly terrain, forcing me to get off and push my bike on the steeper climbs.  



I was relieved to see my crank was fine, so feared I’d broken my pedal. When I picked it up it seemed to be in tact, but I discovered it wouldn’t spin.  I tried harder and a bearing that must have seized up broke free and the pedal spun freely.  The threads on the pedal and the crank were fine, as it screwed right in.  This was the oddest of happenstances.  I applied some oil to it and it has been fine since.


As I approached Ibaiti towards day’s end the day after I’d been wounded 
I was greeted by a small sign advertising a motel with rates half the price of the last one I’d stayed at eight days ago. I didn’t mind at all the opportunity for a shower and WiFi and breakfast in the morning and the chance to wash some clothes and also sew a button on my shirt.  It came a day late, but wasn’t unwelcome at all.  

I didn’t need to seek a restaurant, as I had a Tupperware bowl full of leftovers from lunch.  There are more signs along the road advertising luncheonettes than motels, many posting their bargain prices, just as did my motel for the night. The parking lot at the restaurant was jammed with trucks, always a good sign.  There don’t seem to be any weight restrictions on the trucks, as they can be monstrous, some so long that they have warnings on their rear of their length, thirty meters or more, to let anyone who intends to pass that it is going to take awhile.  

The abundance of trucks is an indication that there is no significant rail system in Brasil and also that it has a robust and vibrant economy.  The roads are in fine shape, some subsidized by toll booths.  I always cringe when I approach them fearing there might be a sign of a bicycle with a circle and a line through it.  But after I came upon one toll booth with a hospitality room offering free coffee and cold water and WiFi my heart leaps in delight whenever I come upon another hoping for similar amenities.

I haven’t passed through any industrial zones, just huge agricultural processing plants. The Amazon isn’t the only region of Brasil that is being deforested.  It is being inflicted on the south of the country as well.

The country is such a dominant force, the fifth largest land mass and the fifth most populace nation, that it has its own ESPN website.  I haven’t figured out how to reach the US version, as only Brasil’s turns up when I type in ESPN.  It does have sections on the NFL and the NBA, but only in Portuguese.  I had to go elsewhere to find out who won the Michigan/Ohio State and Alabama/Auburn games this past weekend.