He rumbled along. Sucking down oil as though it were vodka. Whining loudly, bouncing with a screech from each change in the road. Lights dim, more for legality than helpfulness. 80kmph was as fast as he could manage. The Kayak Chile van was indeed a needy companion for this journey. Nevertheless he did his job, just painfully slow. My eyes burned with exhaustion, my legs twitched and fidgeted from the now long felt pains of the immobile. The lights caught the bright green traffic sign my eyes yearned for. "Temuco, 66km" it read. 66km, then another 80km-90km and I would be home. I would be back in the town I called my home. I would be back to real life. It had been a long six days. It had been an amazing six days. It had been the final grand adventure of my time here in Chile.
They rolled in. The raw power causing my heart to feel sick. Tubular walls of cascading water rolled past my licorice red plastic playboat. I watched Ben, crammed into his salmon colored faded and broken surf kayak catch the beast, disappearing behind a wall of water. Only his visor like helmet hovering for a second above the horizon. Salt stung my eyes, it cause my lips to pucker, my stomach to dry heave, and my ears to become deafened. The next set rose up before my eyes. Glistening mountains of clear blue water. Water scarily translucent. I turned and paddled. I caught the wave and road down the glass like salty mixture, turning left to carve along the now forming tube. With a white foamy finish I moved left and once again made my way to the safe zone of slack water. I timed the next sets well and soon once again was floating next to the waves, admiring their power. I must have drifted too close. I cast my gaze calmly over my right shoulder. My heart sank. A cresting behemoth of a wave was cresting what seemed like miles above my head. With one great rib rattling punch to the chest it came crashing down, sending me into a world of salt. I rolled up, and knew what was coming. All waves come in sets, and this set was massive. I took the next wave, launching violently into the air like a spawning salmon and was slammed backwards once again to drink in the salty cocktail. I rolled quickly, my eyes eagerly waiting to glimpse the next beating. She was crashing, her shimmering crest looking like brass knuckles. I rolled, opening to avoid another blow. I timed it wrong. I felt the crash. Soon I was cartwheeling and looping out of control below the wave. I rolled up surfing in the foamy finish gasping for air. I turned toward the beach, and made my escape. Today, was somewhere above my new found level in surf kayaking. Yes, this was why I stick to what I know, rivers. It had been my fourth day surf kayaking in Pichilemu, Chile, and now my last. I returned to the beach, moments later followed by Ben, equally as broken. Fields stood on the beach, having called it quits within minutes of experiencing the power of the ocean. The other days had been more calm, the waves smaller, the sets further apart. Today, everything had changed, and I was forever humbled.
The street signs came more often now, counting down the kilometers, "Temuco 39." Somewhere along my journey I had seen a sign proudly proclaiming "Salida, Inspector Fernandez." Where would that road have taken me? What lay at the end of the "Inspector Fernandez" turn off. Straight long, and with the occasional toll station, the road continued on. My eyes grew to feel like lead weights, yet there was a sense of urgency in my heart. I kept the speedometer locked on 80kmph as huge semis lumbered past me, the gust of air in their wake rattling the poor van. Hours passed and finally I found the turn off for Pucon. Almost there. I turned on my laptop, allowing for the finally hour of travel to be passed with music. It was hard to leave Pichilemu. I knew while even though I was returning home. I was returning to real life. The life I lead for the last 6 days was more a dream than reality. Cruising in an old van, living in luxury, and kayaking for hours on end each day. This life was the dream I sought, and for a few days I was able to savor it.
It is raining now. The sky finally relented after a summer without dark days. I find myself in a state of constant change. Trying to figure out the next few months. Too many options, no direction. Motivation to do anything other than kayak or write is mostly non existent. I close my eyes and see the future, it looks a lot like the past. Work, kayak, broke, work, kayak, broke, a repeating cycle of the lifestyle I chose. College would have been easier, and I would have graduated by now. I would be searching for some job at which I could make a decent living. I could kayak on the weekends. I could buy a house, have a wife, and maybe a couple kids. I could work my whole life to finally retire. Once retired I could go all the places I had ever dreamed of. However, why wait to do what I love? My bones are still unbreakable and my joints are in decent shape. I want to live a life that people would read about, not read about other people's lives I wish to live. So now to figure out how to make 300 dollars last a month and a trip to Argentina. Life is...
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