There is a misunderstanding about balance. When we observe something in equilibrium, it appears unmoving, unchanging, and unwavering. But a true balance is never static. It is only achieved by the natural ebbing and flowing of the relevant forces. Balance is fluid. It requires flexibility, movement, and compassionate understanding.
There is a tendency, however, once balance is achieved, to want to hold on to it, preserve it, keep it from changing. But balanced can’t be controlled, it can’t be forced. It trembles and shutters and yearns for movement. And it must be allowed to flow. It must be allowed to create its own path, untethered. Life naturally tends towards balance, even if it appears to do quite the opposite. Our job is to accept this movement along its path, and ride along with it.
It’s much like… riding a bike, for example. Balance is more easily achieved while in motion. Measuring the differing forces at play, and using them to your advantage. It is much more difficult to balance while the bike is at a standstill. There are fewer movements to manipulate. You strain and struggle, and yet the bicycle almost always tends to end up pedal to the pavement.
It’s much like… life? Balance is more easily achieved when you move with it, bend with it, flow with it. Life will move. Use its movements to your advantage. Don’t force it. Don’t grab it by the collar and make it walk along at your side. Don’t try to control it. Don’t deny its movements. Let it flow. Flow with it. You will find productivity, happiness, and peace.
Or at least I have.
I left Mendoza on a beautiful sunny warm day. I took Route 40 north and then abruptly turned east. I passed countryside. I passed small shrines dedicated to various saints. I passed hand-painted signs advertising homemade goodies of the countryside variety. It felt really good to be back on the road. My legs thanked me. So did my mind. Especially after one month of city sitting. The open road was relieving.
That night I slept in a community center in the small town of Costa de Araujo, home to the annual Melon and Watermelon Festival. Oh how I wished that I could have been there for the actual festival. Instead, I ate an avocado with a spoon and played with colored pencils in the cold sparsely furnished hall.
The next day was epic. Sun so strong that I biked in a tank top and shorts No wind. I pedaled strong along Route 142. I bounced along the dirt road leading to the little dusty town of Asunción, where I stopped for water. A man painting his house gave me non invasive, non intrusive, friendly advice. The best kind, if you ask me.
I would have stayed longer, but my trip objective has changed.
Before Mendoza, my objective was to meander. To wander through little towns, learning, getting to know people places and experiences. To go, stop, turn around, laugh, stray from the main road, take it easy, learn patience, find peace.
After Mendoza, my objective was simple: Get to Córdoba!
So, I continued, muscles laughing and skin glistening under the summer-like sun. I made good time and soon arrived to the National Park Patrol station. There was a group of people finishing their lunch. I asked for innocent route advice… and soon after a guitar appeared. Shortly after, we started singing and dancing the chacarera. Spontaneous parties are the best time ever! I love people.
I hit the road once again. Soon I arrived to the Posta San Gabriel. An awesome family let me pitch my tent in their garage. The grandfather took me under his wing and urged me to share my story. We talked life philosophy with the daughters, while the grandchildren ran around giggling beauifully. After an episode of the Simpsons and a few rounds of mate, they let me sleep on a mattress on the living room floor. It was cold outside. I saw the most wonderful shooting star that night.
The next day was of the blustery variety. The sun and all its radiance hid behind the dark dark clouds. The menacing wind picked up and carried all that it could creep its gusty influence around. The grandfather wanted me to stay until the cold front moved on. Two or three days, he said.
He was right, it most certainly wasn’t the ideal biking day… or was it? Only one way to find out! I packed up everything, said goodbye and thank you, and took off. That day was my three month anniversary of beginning this whole bike trip deal, I couldn’t NOT bike. Right?
I passed Encón. And decided to keep going. I consulted with some police officers. I had to do 55km in 3-4 hours. Or else I wouldn’t make it to a decent place to spend the night. I made a decision. I was going to try it. Ready, set, PEDAL!
The wind was against me, as the gaucho on horseback had predicted. I openly laughed away my frustration. I waved to all the truck drivers. I sang and sang and made up songs. I pushed my mind and my body pretty harshly. I had to arrive. I couldn’t stay in the middle of the countryside. Not with all the wind and cold. Really not an option.
Needlesstosay, I made it. I was destroyed. Mentally and physically. But I made it.
That night I pitched the tent in the three-walled creeky shelter with gaping holes, thanks to an elderly couple‘s kindness. The wind howled. As did my stomach, but I was too tired to prepare anything edible. In the middle of the night, it started raining.
That’s when things got really interesting.
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