10/4/12
Tubarão 7:16
a.m.
I
know there is something changing in me on these travels when I have to refer to
my map each morning to determine my location. Indeed, would that I had a Lonely
Planet guide, which I can get in PDF right now. What am I missing? What hidden
gems am I not exploring? Perhaps nothing, perhaps only the well-used opinions of others. Irrespective of guide books, I know I am missing the beaches—I have been riding
slightly inland, and the beaches here in the south are beautiful and some are relatively untouched. For me, camping is for the
wilderness, and I’m not a huge fan of urban camping or beach camping in
populated areas because losing one thing on a bike tour can mean disaster
(e.g., a 5mm allen key; one shoe, etc.). I know that heading more to the
interior on the dirt roads will reveal incredible beauty because I have already
had a glimpse (outside of Riozinho on the dirt road that would have led to 101
and Terra de Areia (I eventually would make Terra de Areia the roundabout way).
But
I think I get to see a place on my own terms when I ditch the guidebook. The
risk I take is my being stranded or my missing something obvious. But so far I
am able to identify the cities that have shelter and find
the grocery and so on. As the bicycle tourist is constantly on the move, he
picks up on patterns. He knows that when you enter a town you have a center and
a bus station and that hotels are situated near these places. Even when I
settle my things in the hotel, I still feel on the move when I hit the streets
on foot, and I find myself just moving towards where I want to go rather than
my looking for it.
This
is what makes the transition from bike touring to sitting (or civilian life; I
can’t think of an appropriate term) difficult. Suddenly, in the midst of
familiarity, there are no clues from which to infer food, shelter, direction,
the purpose and impetus of a journey. The primitive hunter-gatherer mind knows
something is wrong and feels trapped (and so it then runs a marathon or hits
the gym or hits the bar—but this only goes so far before the hunter-gatherer instincts can no
longer be artificially stimulated).
The
ride from Araranguá to
Tubarão was rainy and mostly industrial. I realized that in the rain and
humidity, large trucks have far more of a forceful, vacuum effect on my body
and bicycle when compared to dry conditions, and yesterday I found myself being
pulled in to the road with a violent, sucking effect. Matters are made
complicated with the 9cm elevation of asphalt between the shoulder of the road
and the road itself, in addition to the large plastic reflectors on the road.
When dry, these items are of no concern. When wet, they represent constant
wipeout opportunities. Combine this with the violent sucking (and spraying)
tendency of the large trucks, and one finds riding in the rain an especially
pleasant affair.
After a late start, I hit
the road and decided to ride hard and fast to Tubarão. I was told Laguna was
more beautiful, but given the weather I was not interested in a beach resort.
When
I arrived it was grey, cloud covered, and drizzling. I rode along the river and
through the city center and spied 4 hotels, then crossed the river several
times to explore the side of the city opposite the center. Many small shops
lined the streets, selling everything from lingerie to icons of the virgin
Mary. Large supermarkets stood in contrast to small pastry shops and small
mercados. I found a room in a hotel after some price shopping and picked up
food supplies from a shop not far from the hotel.
Because
yesterday was more of a struggle with the rain, I did not have a chance to
enjoy or pay attention to the scenery. However, it is obvious one of the main
industries around these parts is ceramics, and one could see various shapes and
sizes of ceramic shops with piles of brown, red, and black dirt ready to be put
into the kilns for tiles. It makes sense that there is a robust ceramic
industry—my mud flaps revealed a deep red clay that comes from the local earth.
Ceramic factories.
Ceramic factories.
St. Christopher with baby Jesus.
Rock covered hills.
