December 25: Answered Prayers at Christmastime
It’s a little unusual to be traveling by myself at Christmas time, but my visit to Comodoro Rivadavia reminded me that although I am traveling on my own, I am never alone. After underestimating the force of the wind in this part of Patagonia and experiencing a couple of minor motorcycle mishaps, God provided through the kindness of locals.
Riding south from Puerto Madryn along Ruta 3, I leaned to the right to counter the strong westerly cross winds flying across the huge open plains and unchecked by hills, trees, or buildings. Moderating my speed to maintain friction with the road and adjusting my weight carefully when passing slow moving trucks, I kept my focus primarily on the road in front of me to monitor oncoming traffic.
The light brown sandy earth on both sides of me was covered with tufts of tan colored grass and scrub brush in different shades of rusty brown, sage, emerald, and olive green. Yellow and orange wildflowers provided additional pops of color.
With little sign of life, I was pleasantly surprised to encounter three different herds of guanacos bounding lightly across the road. Their cinnamon-colored backs and tall slender necks contrasted beautifully with their crisp white bellies and legs and their narrow faces were accentuated by large black eyes and tiny pointed ears. What a treat to see these llama-like creatures in the wild!
Arriving at my hotel for the night, I must have been more tired than I realized because I inadvertently left my gloves on the bike instead of taking them up to my room. Finding one propped on my peg by a kind passerby two hours later, I realized that the other one had been blown away by the wind.
After searching fruitlessly under cars and along the sidewalks, a young man selling bread two blocks away directed me to my lost glove – under the tire of a car across the street from my bike. What an answer to prayer!
I was relaxing in my room a few minutes later when the front desk called me to tell me that my bike had been tipped over by the strong gusts. Racing down with my jack, I found Adventure Baby had already been set upright by some nearby youths. The front desk manager offered to let me park in an underground garage that was not open to the public.
Just when we were returning from depositing the bike, joyous music filled the air from a parade passing in front of the hotel. A local church was conducting a Christmas pilgrimage, starting at a nearby plaza and continuing past us while singing holiday songs. I may not have been celebrating Christmas in West Linn but I felt right at home.
