Teresina de Goiás, Brasil

My route through Chapada dos Veadeiros National Park took me up to 5,000 feet for the first time in Brasil and over the first pass in these travels as I cycled through the cerrado, Brasil’s version of a savanna, a mixture of grasslands and forest. It is a unique ecological region that will transition into the rain forest of the Amazon. Of the over 10,000 plants found on the cerrado, nearly half are endemic.

The park was established by the forward-thinking President Juscelino Kubitschek in 1961, a year after he moved the country’s capital to Brasilia from Rio de Janeiro.  And as with Brasilia, the National Park was later named a UNESCO World Heritage site.  The most spectacular scenery in the park, a series of canyons and waterfalls, was over twenty five miles off the main road.  I was enjoying what I was seeing enough that I declined a detour of over fifty miles.

The town of Alto Paraíso de Goiás sits in the middle of the park.  Lonely Planet described it as one of Brasil’s “kookiest” towns, where “crystals, dreadlocks and dirty feet are ubiquitous.”  I saw some long-haired guys and an array of souvenir shops and boutiques, but nothing that made me think the town was any different from the run-of-the-mill, well-worn towns I’ve passed all through Brasil.  The town was big enough to have two banks, but their ATMs didn’t care to oblige me.  I should have tended to this matter in Brasilia, though I should be fine until Palmas, a city of 250,000 less than 350 miles away.  With luck I’ll be there for Christmas. 

I was hoping Alto was at the high point in the park, but it was the gateway to a seven-mile climb to the pass, not exactly what I wanted to be doing after my noon buffet, especially with its grades steep grades, steep enough that I exceeded forty miles per hour on the descent for the first time on this trip.  Shortly before the summit a disabled truck blocked one lane.  At least it wasn’t raining, nor the temperature excessive at this elevation, just below 80.   The sun was strong, but whenever a descent presented itself, I could feel a hint of cool in the air. 

A few trucks had chosen this route, but most took the main highway that bypassed this uplift, sticking to a valley that I had intended to take had not Edmilson recommended this slightly longer, but much more scenic route.  The shoulder was negligible compared to the highway, but with the minimum of traffic, was more than adequate when I was forced to retreat to it. Brasil’s roads continues to provide amenable cycling, as long as one doesn’t mind lots of climbing.  

Off the trucker’s route the gas stations aren’t as frequent nor as grandiose, as much as forty miles between them.  Nor have they had “agua gelata.”   No ice cold water and no WiFi feels like a deprivation after having become accustomed to them.  The lanchonete at the service station in Alto catered to tourists rather than truckers and charged by the kilo, discouraging the ravenous from piling their plate high.  I should have gone in search for another buffet, as those that charge by the kilo aren’t such a good deal.  I paid twice as much as I usually do and for half as much food.

At least I knew I was going to have a fine campsite on the cerrado, though there was the possibility I might have to negotiate a fence, which I have become used to doing on this trip.  I was fortunate to find a fence on my first night after Brasilia with wires slack enough that I could raise them high enough to push my bike under.  When it came time to camp on the cerrado, I was on a stretch where there was a fence on just one side of the road, so I could push off into a clump of trees an adequate distance from what little traffic was going by.

I hope to stay up on the tableland for a while longer, as I know Palmas is down under a thousand feet as it will be the remaining seven hundred miles from there to Belém.  Palmas is said to be one of the hottest spots in the country.  At least it’s temperatures aren’t so extreme this time of year with the rainy season setting in.  

Edmilson said Palmas is similar to Brasilia, as it was established at about the same time and has a similar numbering system with only two streets in the entire city with names, everything else just a detailed  quadrant number.  At least I shouldn’t be looking for anything there other than a bank and the Extra hypermarket, a supermarket that is open 24 hours and is larger than a Walmart.  

After Edmilson introduced me to the one near his apartment, I checked my GPS device to see where the next might be down the road, not only for more peanut butter and whatever else I might need, but also for its bargain slices of pizza and other takeaway foods.  If I were a cheese fanatic, as is Edmilson, I’d also be eager for its rows and rows of cheese, equivalent to what French supermarkets offer.  

The paucity of cheese in US supermarkets was just about Edmilson’s lone disappointment with the US.  Rarely could he find much more than cheddar and one or two others.  While his complaints were few, his delights were many.  One was sweet corn.  Brasil has lots of corn, but none sweet.  And he greatly appreciated the self-serve soft drink and ice machines at fast food restaurants and in many service stations, just as do all touring cyclists.  I’d certainly be longing for those ice machines if it weren’t for the ice cold water dispensers at most service stations here.  The cold water is so delicious and satisfying that I haven’t had to buy a single soda or other cold drink here, and haven’t even felt the temptation.