Day 11: Smooth sailing

After yesterday's abbreviated day we're keen to get moving again. Ray and I set off from where we left off yesterday and have 50kms in the bank before lunch. It's a smooth and steady run on the shoulder of a large highway.

Virtually all of the journey so far has been on road, something neither Ray or I anticipated but that's the way its turned out. Until this trip I would have defined myself exclusively as a trail runner, having never run more 30km continuously on hard surface but this expedition is changing all that.

As the trip progresses I have been gradually increasing my mileage as my injuries permit. After lunch I join Ray for an additional 5km for a grand-total of 55km on the day. My hope is that by the end of the expedition I'll be able to push out some big days with Ray, injury free (or at least not any more injured) Ray is joined by Bob for the final leg and they rally for an additional 20km for a very respectable 75km by day's end.

Dr Greg Wells has been studying the physiological aspects of this run but one particular element fascinates me the most: how is the body able to recover from an injury while still being put under intense stress? The mantra for injury rehabilitation is always plenty of rest but rest is not really an option on an expedition like this. The thought of running upwards of 55km/day on an injured plantar fascia, an irritated achilles tendon and with a pulled abductor muscle would seem unlikely enough but the fact that the injuries are actually improving is truly fascinating. What's happening to allow this and why does it seem to fly in the face of conventional wisdom?

Day 10: Running out of gas

The 5am alarm seemed to come too early this morning. Ray said he didn't sleep a wink last night, his legs spasming until morning. He's exhausted - understandably after such a big effort yesterday - but he's still keen on pushing.

We start running by 7:30am on a quiet rural road. It's a beautiful morning with a warm breeze gently rolling in from the South and there's not a cloud in the sky but Ray is hurting. Yesterday's run aggravated a seemingly innocuous blister in his little toe and now it's infected. We make it through 20 km's and decide to investigate the toe a little further. We see streaks of red radiating from the toe and recognize the injury requires further care.

We head into town and have his toe checked out at the local hospital. The doctor on duty concurs with our observations and prescribes antibiotics to deal with the infection. The service is fast and efficient but we're shocked by the cost: free! Medical care in Argentina costs nothing, even for foreigners. It's a very pleasant surprise.

Coinciding with this hiccup, we're confronted with another surprise, this one, for North Americans anyhow, comes completely out of left field. This entire region of Argentina is out of gas.

Days ago, in the community of Uspallata, I was curious about the huge line-ups at the local gas station and attributed it to the remoteness of the town. I realize now it was due to the scarcity of the gas.

After countless calls to communities in the region, we discover there is no fuel anywhere save one gas station some distance away that might still have stock. We have no choice but to investigate. The running expedition is put on hold and our support crew makes the dash while we wait and worry. No gas means no movement. No movement means no expedition.

We wait at a local gas station watching with amusement as vehicles arrive at the pumps only to be turned away. It's a strange feeling, seeing this complete dependence on fuel, but there it is, our modern reality. I can't help but remember the Mel Gibson post apocalyptic film Mad Max where a world spirals into anarchy because of the scarcity of fuel. We chat with an elderly man from Arizona, traveling with wife, nervous and unsure what to do next. "It's not something I ever anticipated" he says. "Us too", we concur.

Good luck shines our way. Our fuel quest is a success. We're back on track for another few days anyhow.

Day 9: Pushing the envelope

We make an early start today with the intention of throwing out the big mileage in our quest for the Atlantic coast. Ray has set a goal of running 100 km/day from this point forwards until Buenes Aires. It's strangely easy to write such a number as an abstract concept but it's an altogether different thing to actually understand what running 100 kilometres really means. This is two and a half marathons in one go.

We start the run at sunrise, the first 35 kilometers following the shoulder of a rather bleak section of highway leading east out of the city of Mendoza. It's the most direct way out of town so we accept the traffic, thanking our stars it's a quiet Sunday morning.

A steady stream road cyclists pass by us throughout the morning, seemingly oblivious to the trucks, buses and cars a mere inches from them. The vast majority of the riders are men in their 40's and 50's proving to me that the craze for road cycling among middle-aged men (MAMIL's or Middle Aged Men In Lycra as they're referred) is not unique to North America but rather a world-wide phenomenon. Let's hope we see more such crazes that have such a healthy potential.

Today was another physical test for me. I firmly believed I couldn't start this morning, my abductor muscle in my left thigh so sore last night that even walking was painful. I'm determined to see if I can work it through somehow so I start the day gingerly, shuffling along, feeling pain in both my left thigh and right foot all the time expecting either injury to put an end to it. It feels like running with eggs balanced on spoons in both hands, tenuously expecting the inevitable crash, but the crash never comes. In fact, Ray and I manage a smooth and steady 50 kms before lunch, my longest effort to date on a day that I had all but given up as a write-off. It proves to me once again that no matter what the set back, keep the focus and stay your course.

After lunch Ray is joined by Bob and his numbers start to methodically stack up - 65, 70, 75, 80 kilometers - steady 5km increments with a quick rest stop and refueling at each. By 85km Ray's looking very tired - I can tell after so many a hard efforts on previous expeditions together - but the resolve is still there. The sun has set now and the going is slow. Traveling down pitch black roads, navigating solely by head lamp would be exhausting enough if it were not for the countless aggressive dogs, charging out of the blackness, keeping nerves on edge.

Ray reaches 100 kilometers at nearly 11:00pm at night. He's been at it since just after 7:00am this morning, almost 16 hours of running under his belt. His eyes are half open and there's a slight slur in his voice. He's pushed hard but he's got that first 100k of the expedition.

Day 8: Mendoza

Our day starts with a long descent from the foothills of the 'old' Andes to the bustling Argentinian town of Mendoza. The early morning air is warm and gentle in our face but builds to a blustery headwind throughout the morning as a system blows in from the east.

We are in a wonderful position, surveying the world below us, the sensation like that of an aircraft on its gradual descent for landing.

The road we're running on is composed of large square blocks of concrete that extend from curb to the centerline of the road. Many of these blocks have moved vertically relative to one another sometimes as much as 3-4 inches. We're in earthquake country here and the movement of these huge slabs of concrete speak to a very turbulent past. In 1963, one of the largest earthquakes every recorded - its epicenter in Chile, was unleashed on this region, the raw explosive beauty of the Andes a simple geological snap-shot of a planet alive.

Mendoza is a beautiful university town of about a million people, with shaded tree-lined streets and cafes spilling out onto sidewalks but as with all towns it has it's rough sections. The first 5 kilometers through town is considered sketchy and we're warned not to stray from the main road. We experience a mild sense of foreboding as we enter town, knowing everything about us screams: "not from around these parts, are you boy?" but, truth be told, our sun scorched, unwashed demeanor, eyes saucer-wide after the last 30 kilometers of running, probably suggest something well worth avoiding. We make it through without so much as a glance.

Mendoza is busy today with streets choked and sidewalks crammed, a vibrancy that would be welcomed on any other occasion but we're trying to run through this town. It's not long before we're slowed to a walk and resign ourselves to our reduced pace. We take in the ambience and spend the time chatting about inanities. It's a welcome forced break after days of hard effort.

I'm happy to be walking because as we were entering town I experienced a sharp pain on the inside of my left leg - my abductor muscle evidently - a likely a result of my altered gait from my foot injury, and I'm unable to run. If it's not one thing, it's another it seems.

Once through town I call it a day at 41 kilometers while Ray and Bob - who makes the switch with me - continues on to the 50km mark.

Day 7: Farewell to the Andes

After traversing the tunnel between Chile and Argentina we dropped from a high point of 3200 meters at the pass down to 1500 meters at Uspallata. We are now finally able to rid ourselves of the heavy traffic and venture onto the quiet rural roads of Argentina.

Our route starts to ascend shortly after town and is unrelenting for the next 25 kms. We are traversing a second tier of mountains - the 'old' Andes as local Argentineans tell us - but this ascent is an altogether different experience than our first big climb. We are now on a road with absolutely no traffic and panoramic views that would make even the most jaded traveller gape in awe. Aconcagua overlooks its kingdom in the West, at 23,000 ft the tallest mountain in the Americas, the King upon its thrown.

We maintain a steady run up to a point just shy of the pass, the rarefied oxygen of 2900 meters finally taking its toll and forcing us to a walk. We crest the summit and are awarded to views to the east, a vast landscape extending to a hazy horizon.

Day 6: Back on track

Ray was feeling much better this morning and, after a day's rest, I was game to give my injured foot a chance as well. The day today is very different from what we've experienced so far with cloudy skies and more manageable temperatures.

Ray and I get into an effective ryhthm early and navigate our way down the two lane highway that winds its way out of the Andes. This is an impressive road that sweeps wildly down a vast river valley with mountains soaring thousands of feet above us on both sides. Like it's Chilean counterpart, the road has little for a shoulder and is choked with drivers - unfortunately mostly truckers - hell bent on getting somewhere fast.

It's a frustrating visual dance between spectacular scenery and kamikaze traffic. The drivers respect us for the most part giving us space whenever possible and even saluting us with a wave or a honk on occasion. But among the good there's always the bad and at kilometer 25 while traversing a particularly tight section up against a metal guard rail, a large truck swerves at us without warning. The drivers action is clearly deliberate and he misses us by mere inches. We both leap against the metal rail, me twisting my left ankle in the process. With an injured right foot and now left foot I find myself wobbling down the road like some ultra-running caricature of John Wayne.

This close call sets us on edge for the rest of the day and the anxiety wears on us. The road is incredible though, tunneling through mountains at some points while skirting precipices at others. We routinely see the twisted remains of guardrails scattered among the boulders and slabs of rock, hundreds of feet below us, testament to the dangers of this road.

At kilometer 40 I bow out for the day, handing the 'baton' to Bob who will join Ray for the remaining section. Since hurting myself on the first day of the expedition I have reduced my mileage in an attempt at getting better. I suspect trying to run nearly a marathon per day is taking the concept of active rest to an unreasonable limit but relative to what Ray is accomplishing this expedition the distance seems about right.

Our day ends in the small community of Uspallata, 70 kilometers closer to the Atlantic and our goal.    

Day 5: Unexpected rest day

A major ingredient of any adventure is the unexpected and there's no question the i2P Expreso De Los Andes expedition is peppered with it. Ray and I have been fortunate enough that during previous expeditions together - on the surface anyhow - no serious issues have arisen. In expeditioning this is typically more the exception than a rule and it seems, in some grand balancing act, our current adventure is making up for this irregularity by dishing out more than a fair share of problems. From Bob's chest infection to my foot and now Ray's sickness, the last few days have proved very challenging indeed.

Ray woke up this morning completely exhausted with his head spinning, his resting heart rate racing and his blood pressure high. Something was clearly up and the prospect of running 70km was not a reasonable option.

"The challenge Ray is facing", states Dr Wells, "is that a moderate amount of exercise - i.e. 6 hours per week - strengthens the immune system but extreme amounts of exercise - i.e. 6 hours per day - weakens it".

There's no question Ray's a different person from the day before and the decision to halt for the day is an easy one. We're here to encourage youth to take on their own running challenges as a means to a healthier way of life so risking our own health to get the point across seems counter intuitive.