Where The Road Ends | Heather says | ENTERTAINMENT
Where The Road Ends
March/22/08 06:01 PM Filed in: Heather
says
It’s not the destination; it’s the journey,
right?
While traveling in Argentina we decided to rent a car for a few days. Our destination was Mendoza, which was about a 6-hour drive from Cordoba, which was where we were departing from.
“Did you get a map?” I asked Jon, my husband.
“Yeah he gave me this and told me how to get out of the city,” Jon said while handing me a tourist map of the city of Cordoba.
“Uh Jon this isn’t really a map,” I said.
“It’ll be fine.” He swished his hand at me.
We made our way out of the city and onto a main road.
“”He told me to follow signs towards Valle De La Paz,” Jon said while pointing to a road sign.
I thumbed through my Lonely Planet guide to
look at the crude road maps they have printed at
the beginning of sectional chapters.
“Ok this looks…OK go towards Tanti,” I said.
We arrived in the small town of Tanti and continued straight through on the road we were on.
“Ah OK!?!?” we both looked at each other stunned. The road had dead-ended into a small dirt road.
“Well, I guess we need to turn around,” I told Jon.
“No, this is fine, it’s just a dirt road, not all roads need to be paved,” Jon said while giving me a strange smile.
He pushed the gas, and off we went up the dirt road. After 10 minutes I said again “we should turn around.”
“Heather, I use dirt roads all the time at home. Trust me it will be fine.”
I looked at the gas gauge, we had a bit over a quarter of a tank, and I took a deep breath and sat back.
“Maybe it’s this little squiggle on the map, but they wouldn’t put a dirt road on a map like this,” I said while pointing out a small squiggle in the Lonely Planet map. “This road could just dead end at some point.”
“Nah, it will go through, I have a feeling,” Jon continued to say with confidence.
The road was desolate and climbing higher
and higher into the mountain rural-ness. Dueling
banjos with a Latin flair played in my head. We
were an hour into the dirt road drama and turning
back was getting further and further out of our
grips.
“Oh shit!” we both said when seeing a bulldozer ahead pushing huge piles of dirt around on the path. But the guy waved us on and our little white Fiat trudged over the fresh wet dirt with no problems. Higher and higher, we drove into the vast nothingness of the Sierras de Cordoba mountain range.
“I have to pee,” I said.
We pulled over and all got out to pee on the side of the road in the freezing cold wind. It had been over 2 hours since we started down the dirt road. We were all hungry, having only had breakfast.
We had a loaf of bread and some cheese in the car, but neither Jon nor I said anything about eating, we both silently knew we may have to have that loaf of bread for lunch, dinner and maybe breakfast tomorrow, if we didn’t get out of the mountains and to a gas station soon.
The gas needle was about to hit the red mark, when we came to a fork in the dirt road. We stopped and got out.
“Ok which way?” I asked Jon.
We sat for a few minutes, got out of the car and then noticed a word and an arrow spray painted on an abandoned cement hut, [Taningua →]. Jon scrambled through the pages of our Lonely Planet guide, to the small map of the Sierra Mountains.
“Look, here! I found it, Taningua,” Jon proudly said.
It was spelled differently then what was spray-painted on the building, but it was promising. It was now 4 PM and darkness wasn’t far off.
We drove and drove and stopped to pee and drove, over mountains, down mountains, and another hour went by.
“Mommy are we lost?” Quinn, my 7-year-old asked.
“Well, were not really lost we know where we are, but we don’t know how far we need to go,” I tried to reassure him.
We came up on some scattered habitations and some children walking down the street. We knew we couldn’t be far off. [Tala Canada] read a sign while we drove through the mountain village.
“Oo oh, I see it, here Tala Canada,” I showed Jon on my crude map of the desolate mountain pass. "It looks like we have about the same distance to go as when we passed the fork in the road.” This was about another hour or so and the gas needle was really thirsty!
The overcast skies semi-cleared up as we got further west, and the heat of the sun was a welcome feeling. The wind was still whipping and we could tell the cold front pushing through, was right at our bumper. No cars passed us and the perfection that would come with finding a gas station at the exact right time was something right out of a cheesy movie. I had my doubts.
“What if Taningua is just a small village like Tala Canada and there’s no gas there either?” I speculated while smirking at the mess we had gotten ourselves into.
We had absolutely no intentions of driving through the mountains on a dirt road or even driving through on a paved road. We were supposed to be on the RN 20 to the RN 7, which bypassed the mountains all together, and would have gotten us to Mendoza in 7 to 8 hours. We had now been driving on this dirt road for almost 5 hours.
In the distance below we saw the sun reflecting on objects of unnatural composition.
“Well there she is Taningua,” I said motioning to Jon with my eyes, that this was our last hope.
We twisted and turned, descending the dirt road, kicking dust up behind us. The town disappeared behind the mountains as we drove.
“Look, pavement!!” Jon pointed.
“And a gas station!” I screamed.
The
gas attendant came out and asked what we wanted,
the answer was easy…Full!! A couple kids ran
around the gas station, while two Argentine
gauchos stared at us from their dusty chairs.
We loaded back into the car and with a great weight lifted from the pits of our stomachs we remembered that we were hungry. I grabbed the loaf of bread and cheese and made some sandwiches, it wasn’t much but it hit the spot. Soon we saw signs pointing us towards some random towns. I looked up the names of the places in my guidebook and found nothing but a small paragraph giving mention to the fact that they existed.
“It looks like if we keep going this way, we can get to San Luis,” I said to Jon. It wasn’t Mendoza; our destination but surely there would be accommodation.
“Ok, just tell me where to go.”
“Alright, but this time let’s stick to the pavement.”
While traveling in Argentina we decided to rent a car for a few days. Our destination was Mendoza, which was about a 6-hour drive from Cordoba, which was where we were departing from.
“Did you get a map?” I asked Jon, my husband.
“Yeah he gave me this and told me how to get out of the city,” Jon said while handing me a tourist map of the city of Cordoba.
“Uh Jon this isn’t really a map,” I said.
“It’ll be fine.” He swished his hand at me.
We made our way out of the city and onto a main road.
“”He told me to follow signs towards Valle De La Paz,” Jon said while pointing to a road sign.
“Ok this looks…OK go towards Tanti,” I said.
We arrived in the small town of Tanti and continued straight through on the road we were on.
“Ah OK!?!?” we both looked at each other stunned. The road had dead-ended into a small dirt road.
“Well, I guess we need to turn around,” I told Jon.
“No, this is fine, it’s just a dirt road, not all roads need to be paved,” Jon said while giving me a strange smile.
He pushed the gas, and off we went up the dirt road. After 10 minutes I said again “we should turn around.”
“Heather, I use dirt roads all the time at home. Trust me it will be fine.”
I looked at the gas gauge, we had a bit over a quarter of a tank, and I took a deep breath and sat back.
“Maybe it’s this little squiggle on the map, but they wouldn’t put a dirt road on a map like this,” I said while pointing out a small squiggle in the Lonely Planet map. “This road could just dead end at some point.”
“Nah, it will go through, I have a feeling,” Jon continued to say with confidence.
“Oh shit!” we both said when seeing a bulldozer ahead pushing huge piles of dirt around on the path. But the guy waved us on and our little white Fiat trudged over the fresh wet dirt with no problems. Higher and higher, we drove into the vast nothingness of the Sierras de Cordoba mountain range.
“I have to pee,” I said.
We pulled over and all got out to pee on the side of the road in the freezing cold wind. It had been over 2 hours since we started down the dirt road. We were all hungry, having only had breakfast.
We had a loaf of bread and some cheese in the car, but neither Jon nor I said anything about eating, we both silently knew we may have to have that loaf of bread for lunch, dinner and maybe breakfast tomorrow, if we didn’t get out of the mountains and to a gas station soon.
The gas needle was about to hit the red mark, when we came to a fork in the dirt road. We stopped and got out.
“Ok which way?” I asked Jon.
We sat for a few minutes, got out of the car and then noticed a word and an arrow spray painted on an abandoned cement hut, [Taningua →]. Jon scrambled through the pages of our Lonely Planet guide, to the small map of the Sierra Mountains.
“Look, here! I found it, Taningua,” Jon proudly said.
It was spelled differently then what was spray-painted on the building, but it was promising. It was now 4 PM and darkness wasn’t far off.
We drove and drove and stopped to pee and drove, over mountains, down mountains, and another hour went by.
“Mommy are we lost?” Quinn, my 7-year-old asked.
“Well, were not really lost we know where we are, but we don’t know how far we need to go,” I tried to reassure him.
We came up on some scattered habitations and some children walking down the street. We knew we couldn’t be far off. [Tala Canada] read a sign while we drove through the mountain village.
“Oo oh, I see it, here Tala Canada,” I showed Jon on my crude map of the desolate mountain pass. "It looks like we have about the same distance to go as when we passed the fork in the road.” This was about another hour or so and the gas needle was really thirsty!
The overcast skies semi-cleared up as we got further west, and the heat of the sun was a welcome feeling. The wind was still whipping and we could tell the cold front pushing through, was right at our bumper. No cars passed us and the perfection that would come with finding a gas station at the exact right time was something right out of a cheesy movie. I had my doubts.
“What if Taningua is just a small village like Tala Canada and there’s no gas there either?” I speculated while smirking at the mess we had gotten ourselves into.
We had absolutely no intentions of driving through the mountains on a dirt road or even driving through on a paved road. We were supposed to be on the RN 20 to the RN 7, which bypassed the mountains all together, and would have gotten us to Mendoza in 7 to 8 hours. We had now been driving on this dirt road for almost 5 hours.
In the distance below we saw the sun reflecting on objects of unnatural composition.
“Well there she is Taningua,” I said motioning to Jon with my eyes, that this was our last hope.
We twisted and turned, descending the dirt road, kicking dust up behind us. The town disappeared behind the mountains as we drove.
“Look, pavement!!” Jon pointed.
“And a gas station!” I screamed.
We loaded back into the car and with a great weight lifted from the pits of our stomachs we remembered that we were hungry. I grabbed the loaf of bread and cheese and made some sandwiches, it wasn’t much but it hit the spot. Soon we saw signs pointing us towards some random towns. I looked up the names of the places in my guidebook and found nothing but a small paragraph giving mention to the fact that they existed.
“It looks like if we keep going this way, we can get to San Luis,” I said to Jon. It wasn’t Mendoza; our destination but surely there would be accommodation.
“Ok, just tell me where to go.”
“Alright, but this time let’s stick to the pavement.”