In eleven months Patrick pedaled from the southern tip of Argentina to the plantation-style suburbs of Kingwood, Texas. South America, Central America, Mexico, and Texas—just because he could. Despite his mother’s worries of “beheadings” and “drug lords,” Patrick proved by sweat and dedication that the world is not as scary as news programs like the one in which he was so poorly showcased make it seem.
The news of his arrival warmed Team MB&S’s flesh and metal parts. We’re genuinely happy and inspired that he arrived home safely to reflect on the enormity of his journey. This admirable accomplishment won our pardon—we no longer resent the modesty with which he and his bike Lucille lied to us about Colombia being their end destination. Quite the opposite: Team MB&S thinks biking to their Texan family’s doorstep much more climatically interesting.
Patrick and I go way back, all the way back to the thin air and llama herds of the Peruvian highlands. Six months ago we crossed paths on a remote back country road, he heading north, I Brazil-bound. (Read about our pow-wow here). Hindsight—and I quote—says:
“The chances of this encounter were slim to holy-mother-of-Lord-Jesus-this-should-not-have-happened-in-a-thousand-years-of-push-pedal-cross-continent-travel-I-mean-really-think-about-the-odds-of-these-young-men-on-the-same-day-at-the-same-time-cycling-into-each-other-on-the-hundreds-of-diverging-dirt-roads-in-Quecha-speaking-Peru-and-isn’t-life-is-just-like-two-Texans-biking-for-the-hell-of-it?”
To which Team MB&S reply, crazy.