"I'll never do that solo,¨ I said to Matt.  ¨I just have no desire.¨  

We stood on the pathway at the Parque del Amor on the Malecon in the Miraflores district of Lima watching the paragliders take off behind us and soar above our heads as they glided along the cliffs down the coastline.  People were doing solo and tandem paragliding flights and the urge to get up in the air and fly overtook me.  Of course, only if there was an expert attached to me, I thought. Watching excitedly, Matt expressed interest in wanting to learn to fly solo.  

Michael set up the parachute, untangled the cords and gave us a quick little lesson. “Hold the A risers at take off only, then let go, like this,” said Michael. “Left, left, right, right, see,¨ he said as he motioned with his half bent arms.  “Two feet to the ground, pull down half way like this, then all the way.” 

Fortunately we watched the instructive YouTube videos they had sent.  Matt walked over to get hooked up. “All set.  Good.”  chimed Michael.  Before Matt could get a word or question in, Michael was pulling the cords and shouting for Matt to let go and he was off.  The air popped him up and he was gliding down the sand dune.  Looking on, he seemed really high in the air, way more than the 4 feet I had imagined gliding would be, as advertised. 

It was my turn now and I reiterated the directions, asking Michael if I was correct in order to double check how to steer and land.  “Don’t be nervous,” he said.  ¨Just go with it.  You´ll hear me in the walkie talkie.¨

A gust of wind and I was up.  As the air pulled me up higher and higher, this slightly frantic feeling of I don’t know what I’m doing overtook me at first.  I became overly focused on the directions being given to me via walkie talkie and sharply steering right and left. ¨Go right, good, now straight, go left, more left, very good,¨ Michael encouraged.  The feeling of gliding gently took over as I came closer to the bottom of the hill as his wife Christina, who was only a small dot, finally came into view.  There was relief when I landed along with exhilaration and readiness for more. Back up the hill for another round.

And that’s how it began.  By the fourth time I really started getting a feel for the wind and how much timing to give myself for a smooth landing.  The emotion became overwhelmingly freeing and peaceful rather than frantic.    

The second part of the day took us to the hills of Pachacamac.  This time I would go first and Matt would look on.  The tandem flight was about 1800 feet in the air rather than the 100 feet that Michael confirmed I had just been gliding solo at.  It was exhilarating and terrifying at the very same moment.  We kept hitting thermals that quickly zipped us up higher and it took some time to catch the downdraft.  A terrifying feeling came up in my throat when looking down at the world and sensing how high up I was when it looked so tiny and far away.  Then a feeling of just floating and peacefulness would overtake looking down imagining this is how bird’s view the world and knowing it was the closest thing to flying I’d ever felt.

At the end of the day I found out I really loved gliding solo, despite my initial, absolutely not , reaction a week prior.  I actually felt more in control and as if I could better feel the wind and how my parachute and I reacted to it when gliding alone. True without thermals and being so high in the air, it was also less scary. Ultimately, I’ll always be able to close my eyes forever more and meditate to the peaceful, weightless floating feeling as I conjure up the memory in my mind.

Jennifer's Reflections...

I love to roam around outside barefoot, or anywhere inside or out for that matter.  I love my feet to be free!!  As a kid in the summer I used to roam the yard barefoot picking tomatoes and raspberries, climb the t-gym, run up the rope ladder to the tree house my dad built, climb the Japanese maple's long spider web branches and  run up and down the block with friends.  This evening when I arrived in Rochester that crisp non-humid warm summer air hit me and sent me back to childhood.  I still do so love wandering the yard barefoot to let the long silky yet sharp blades of grass catch between my toes while collecting the wares for dinner from the garden. 

I am “home” in the house that has had the longest run amongst all my homes, being in my life for nearly 30 years.  These are good times, visiting with family and my new, and first, niece Sierra.  Also letting the sun kiss my skin and reveling in the summer weather  that is the first I’ve had in 10 months.

(Jennifer's Reflections)

As we pulled out of Coyhaique a couple months ago, we whizzed off on pavement.  Hitting pavement for the first time since a quick 20 minute stint back in March had me zooming along, faster than usual at 18 -24km/hr (11-15miles/hour) and speedier when cruising downhill.  I felt like I could go forever if it were not for an aching knee.  That day, I doubled the daily miles of the entire trip.  It is true that pavement is a faster and smoother ride!!   

After biking to a cargo ship, we hopped a ride to Puerto Mont, further north to try and catch some warmer weather in the Lake District.  My confidence was soaring now that I could zip along without giant rocks and sandy gravel to slow me down.  The only obstacles were barking dogs and a bit of car traffic.  I was able to “fly” and loving it.  The end of gravel roads meant the end of daily glacier vistas.  With pavement came views of volcanoes in the distance seemingly looming over us.

Unfortunately, while “flying” down a hill at almost 50km/hour (30miles/hour), I hit it hard.  I honestly don’t remember anything except feeling wobbling, screaming for Matt who was ahead of me and then being in an ambulance and not knowing what country I was in.  Matt reports that I was talking up a storm with the medic people and not making sense all of the time though speaking in Spanish too…freaking out a bit I suppose.  Fortunately, it was the best outcome with no broken bones, and only some serious right side of my body bruising and a concussion.   

Having gotten sick at a high elevation two weeks ago and out of breath easily on a just a day ride, the idea of biking through the Bolivian altiplano at an even higher elevation and enduring -20degree C night weather did not sound so appealing.  So I will sit this next leg of the journey out.  No two wheels for me for a while.  In the same breath, I am psyched for Matt to push it while making his way from Argentina to Bolivia.

Some thoughts on biking:

·        My favorite roads are deserted packed dirt ones with little to no traffic.

·        I like cruising along enjoying the scenery and not pushing it too hard.

·        I love being in a place where you can just pull over and wild camp wherever you please.  A place where sharing your land with travelers is common.

·        If I knew what I was getting into I would have definitely bought a mountain bike with front suspension.

·        I still have to concentrate to keep in the space of a small shoulder and avoid being in the way of passing cars…this makes really busy roads no fun.

·        I cannot keep motivated for extended, seemingly never ending trips.  I do best with short attainable goals…like three weeks, with a clear start and destination.

The last months have brought about a lot of change for me. With it have come feelings of excitement, sheer joy, contemplation and new challenges. The nature that surrounds me fuels this feeling that surely today is more beautiful than the last. It is peaceful, tranquil and slow. Traveling by bike hits you with all the senses in a way a car just can't. Sometimes when I am biking alone, (when Matt is giving me a head start or I'm catching up to him), there are no cars and it is only me and the road.  I hear the fall leaves taking their leave from the trees and every animal squawk. I feel the wind brushing against me and the wet ripples of rain drops that drench everything in their path. That's all there is, no distractions. When locals inquire about our trip and km traveled I find myself replying, "Voy siempre con tranquilo" (I always go calmly/peacefully).  I’m not in a rush, nor in the midst of a race. I read an entry on Paulo Coelho’s blog, entitled, On rhythm and the road. He shares the story of a woman who was making a pilgrimage on the Road to Santiago who notices that most pilgrims are, “always trying to follow the rhythm set by others.” She has an experience where she slows down and follows her own rhythm and afterward continues to do this in all areas of life. This reminds me, that I too have given way to the rhythm of other’s and this feeling of urgency to not be "the slowest in the pack.” I have decided instead to follow my own rhythm as I bike, but it wasn’t always this way. 

At first traveling by bike brought out my intensity and competitiveness. The first few days, I found myself often frustrated, feeling rushed and constantly comparing myself to other bikers. Matt reminds me that there were days when I told him he couldn’t talk to me while I was biking. I was concentrating of course, on keeping the bike in balance and avoiding the larger rocks in the road, to avoid spilling off my saddle and into the gravel (something I quickly became an expert at my first 3 days). It is a trip of many firsts for me.  Biking long distances, biking with weight filled paniers, biking in the dark, and biking on loose gravel, sand and dirt road (I have never mountain biked in my life before this).  Matt would probably say that the first days were like riding with someone who was just learning to ride a bike and still had their training wheels on.   He has had moments of disbelief, yet somehow found immense patience.  Matt can appreciate a good up hill and there have been times when I’ve given him the opportunity to appreciate the same one twice.  He has ridden my bike up and walked down to ride his up, all in the name of the team, in order to keep us moving.  I am appreciative. It has been a challenge for me to be doing something where everything I do every day there is someone who does it better than me. Who bikes and handles cold rain with ease, and finds calmness amongst disorganization and filthiness. I am getting better though, as I no longer fall every day (only when there are intense wind gusts or really loose sand), and my legs are getting stronger for those up hills. As for the filthiness of living on the road, well, I’ve learned to adjust and surrender to a new standard. We are now riding bikes, without too much intensity and we are slowing down to find every day beauty. I am enjoying the journey for what it is and having fun with whatever the day will bring.


Lastly, to all of you out there who have known me across my life, even though for most of my life I have always said no thanks to the meat, down here in Patagonia,  I’ve become a carnivore. Perhaps it is the fresh “organic” meat of Patagonia, or my newly acquired immense appetite due to the energy exerted on the bike.  All I know, is I’m a beef eater now!  Don’t worry, my love of fresh salads and a good chocolate bar hasn’t waned.