ab 07.12.: Pedra Preta /Matto Grosso

07.12.:

one shouldn't believe it. but every day is different and surprises with new challenges.

cuiabà - the hottest city in Brazil because it lies in a basin - is giving it all. And that's already at half past 10:00 am, when I retrieve the vespa from the hotel's underground garage with the employee.

I'm wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and I'm glad that I don't have to wear the anorak or the motorcycle jacket. It feels like it's already over 30 degrees.

I'm managing well in this city. But it's already a challenge! Apart from the fact that the streets surprise with lowered manholes, there are the motorcyclists that require utmost concentration. And yet, it still happens that one hides in the blind spot of my mirror and suddenly cuts in front of me on the right.

But the navigation system is doing a good job and soon I find myself on the 4-lane BR 070. I leave the navigation on because before I left, I saw that there is a closure with a recommended detour along the way.

The BR 070 has been widened and has a new surface. The second lane is still reserved for oncoming traffic, but after a few kilometers he can move over to the now completed opposite carriageway. That's a good thing too, because now it's uphill. The trucks - usually almost 26m long colossuses - struggle up the hill with stench and noise. The vespa has enough power to easily overtake them.

The wind hardly withstands the sun. I've tied a scarf around my neck to protect it. It works only to some extent. The back of my hands have to face the radiation. There's nothing I can do about it. I won't put on gloves.

Scenicly, I'm accompanied by forests and later by the recurring red cliffs of the chapada.

Driving on this highway would become boring in the long run.

Although this morning's breakfast was plentiful with lots of fruit and even oatmeal, I keep an eye out for a cantina. I have to be patient a bit longer until I realize that I can switch to the opposite lane and then return to the rest area. It's about time.

Today there is potato salad again, among many types of salads. I'm not interested in anything else and I devour it until my t-shirt is tight. I gas up, check the luggage for a secure fit and continue. The vespa is doing well, she doesn't really like the mountains that much and the familiar singing is missing, but she has power.

Today the destination should be Rondonópolis. Although everything in me refuses to stay there because this city with 200 thousand inhabitants comes along. But I hope for hotels along the BR 070. It's not much noisier there than in the city. And nothing works without air conditioning in the rooms. They also emit a good noise level, depending on the number of operating hours they have performed, to which I have almost gotten used to.

There are still 20 km left, but the chaos begins already.
The road quality strains endlessly. If it's not the potholes or here the manhole covers, then it's the ruts and the upheavals caused by the enormous heat that are not recognizable that quickly. Construction sites contribute to the chaos as well. There are traffic jams that make me become a law breaker. At first, I surrender to fate with the hope that it will dissolve quickly, but then I do it like the other motorcyclists. I ignore the double continuous marking on the road. The opposite carriageway has two lanes, so passing the traffic jam is easily possible. That's my salvation. There are hardly any shaded spots here.

After a roundabout, the traffic jam finally dissolves. I know that at some point I have to get on the 364 from the BR 070. The navigation system can't be deciphered in this brightness. I still see that most trucks are on the left turn lane - but since no signs can be seen, I drive past them on the right.

A paradise opens up in front of me. Two lanes that are hardly driven on. Finally, free driving and fresh wind. Finally, there's also a distance sign that also says Sao Paulo - but something doesn't seem right here. And finally, a small blue sign appears indicating the road number.

That's not my route!

Sao Paulo is not wrong, but I don't want to drift too far to the west. At the next opportunity, I bump over a highway bridge onto the opposite carriageway. The now re-emerging traffic jam deserves no respect. I follow the other motorcycles and I'm soon back at the roundabout. No signs! At least they could have shown the road numbers.

I realize, I need some shade!!!

Over a dusty road, which truly deserves its name, I slowly drive towards an industrial building that also offers parking for cars. That's my chance. Although I can't completely drive the vespa in, at least a wall to my left provides enough shade for me to just stand here and hide from the heat ball. No one chases me away. I get off and look for a slightly better shaded spot. I never thought that I would one day run away from the sun, perceive it as a danger.

I take a break for now. I'm noticed and greeted with thumbs up, the people with the appropriate look asking for permission afterwards, and I treat myself to a cigarette.

Here, in this city, I don't want to stay at all. The navigation system shows me the 364. It can't be far from here.

Two youngsters have become curious and ask questions. It quickly becomes clear to me which direction I must take. They want to know everything, take photos, I quickly refuel, even get a baseball cap with an advertising logo as a gift, and then I continue to the next stage.

I quickly find the 364. But its condition is a catastrophe. The traffic is as well. The sky has changed its color. It has become a threatening black. I can only hope for hotels now. To the right of me are unpaved areas exhausted by potholes and ruts, leading to workshops and industrial areas. Everything here is very inhospitable. But I'm still in good spirits. The two youngsters mentioned about 20 km. Then there would be hotels again. I hope that's true!

Then all of a sudden - as if sent from heaven - I see a motel complex. It is surrounded by a beautiful, brick-red soundproofing wall, a wide driveway invites you to take care of a room there.

But it turns out differently. Once again, completely different!

It starts with the fact that access is made impossible by a retractable nail board. Strange, I think, if I want to have customers, I wouldn't lock the door in front of them...

I leave the vespa and enter the premises. I'm accompanied by a strict to anxious-looking pair of eyes of a small owl. At this time of day? A little further away, another one is sitting on the wall. Only now do I realize that this motel is something special. Namely, a love hotel.

Anything goes for me.

Finally, a somewhat sleepy looking lady comes towards me. I explain to her what I want and pretend as if this is a completely normal hotel. She tries to scare me away with the price. A second of surprise, but then I agree. She goes away again, and I suspect that she is getting the key and wait for her. She just remains gone. I go in search of her, and then it becomes clear to everyone that these are special rooms as well. With water beds and anything your heart desires. They even offer a suite.

I only see the darkening sky. And I feel the rising wind. Then a second senora appears, repeating the price, but she makes it clear that I would have to leave the room in 12 hours. That would be half past 5 in the morning...

No. That's going too far. I smile at the two and head back to the 364.

Strong side wind welcomes me. The thin-stemmed trees along the road bend dangerously forward, the rain gets stronger. The road is narrow, driving could be fun again in the dry. Many fruit tree meadows and a hilly, lush green landscape pass me by.

20 km are quickly done, I think. But then a lightning bolt flashes right above me. Trees left and right, protecting me but also threatening me.

Keep driving, driving, driving. This time it's not the express train, this time it's the weather that shows no mercy.

I keep looking for shelter. But it's hidden in front gardens. I keep driving.

The thunderstorm seems to be kind to me. There are no more lightning bolts.

But then this horror ride comes to an end!

A sign pointing to a hotel!

I'm already in the outskirts of Pedra Preta, following a wide, freshly paved road. Left and right are newly built houses that haven't been occupied yet. There are no trees protecting them from the heat. Even now, they suffer from the lack of gutters. The base of the walls is gathering moisture.

This small town makes a friendly and tree-rich impression.

The hotel is a bit hidden, but I found it after asking once.

A beautiful 'compound'. There's a room and a parking space for the vespa. There are Santa Clauses on the doors of the rooms and even one trying to climb the palm tree. Fairy lights wind up the trunks. Someone here has a sense for Christmas, but also for a well-kept garden, with flower pots that soon should go into the beds. The house is freshly painted. Everything makes a good impression.

Search picture: Where is Christmas?

While checking in, I ask for a beer. I'm completely dehydrated, even though I hydrated well with water. Maybe it's the potato salad?

The two smile at me understandingly.

I'm here. We have - or it was done for us - mastered this challenge!

There will be another night here. That's for sure!

08.12.:

Pedra Preta is a small enchanted village compared to cuiabà. The town has 50 thousand inhabitants. It is 25 km away from Rondonópolis. Some streets suggest that the well-to-do retirees from the noisy city have built their mansions here to escape the noise. But did they really succeed?

Breakfast in a cultivated atmosphere

It's too hot for me to take long exploratory walks in the early afternoon. I prefer to take a siesta after breakfast.

Recreation for the eye

Nothing else happens today. Read a little, write a little, and establish contact with Ross in Arica/Chile. I'm interested in how the Viracocha III project has progressed. I wrote about it on June 1st, 2017. At that time, it was supposed to end in two to three months.

...if there weren't the pickups and the sawn-off mufflers

Today I hear from Ross that it is still at the beach. Phil, the professional explorer - as he is described on the internet - is sure though that it will be January.

Glen, the Australian who is traveling South America on his motorcycle and worked with Phil, is now in Brazil. I might even meet him.

It takes some effort to leave my air-conditioned room. Outside, only the locals can endure it. But there is no one to be seen either. Towards late afternoon, life begins and with it the hellish noise. It's Saturday afternoon. The souped-up pickups drive through the city with open windows and a sound system that even surpasses the extremes. No one cares here. They are used to it, the pain threshold is different from that of Northern Europeans. How do the retirees from Rondonópolis cope with it?

I treat myself to my first beef skewer from a street grill and more or less willingly end my city visit.

I'm looking forward to the next drive.