Ride The White Line

The names of the places are all that will matter. There are only sections of map and you must ride them. Signs, roadposted names, the number of a road, if it is big or small or made of dirt, if it rained that day or not, the heat or the cold, the wind and which direction it came from, the roadkill on the roadside: was it armadillos? or the prairie dog? or maybe a snake or that big lizard you see dead sometimes?

And did the wild dogs come after you today or were they too tired in the heat to chase out from the shadows? And was there a petrol station at the intersection of the 2 roads and if there was not, did you have enough water and food to go on?

And did you struggle with the windstreams of the trucks as they barrelled past you? Did they run you off the road? Did you almost lose the bike in the gravel? Did you curse them in Spanish?

Did you talk to yourself today? What did you say? How did you respond? And where did you camp? Was it a good spot, secure and undisturbed? Did you feel good inside your tent, your gear spread around you, the home you put up and take down after each night somewhere along a road, somewhere on the map in Argentina.


  1. Anonymous13.1.11

    What literature would we have if the internet was available to travelers of yore? What about the traveling that happened before there were roads? Did people talk to themselves then, or curse the canyon that just appeared directly in their path?

  2. Where there was no internet there was memory and song and myth. Men have always written, though the form has changed and now a man can be published instantly and widely, regardless of the quality of his work.

    I just finished my first television interview here in the town of Colonel Pringles. I was not too tired and my Spanish was working and I hope to one day see the televised result. Then I did a newspaper interview for the local newspaper. The reporters were very happy to have met me and my arrival in the town is a major news story.

    An old homosexual bought me a cafe con leche and invited me to his home. 2 young guys at a bike shop bought me a sandwich and coca cola.

    It is not even 1pm here in Colonel Pringles and much has already happened. I will not being staying at the home of the old homosexual.


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