All along the desert roads in Argentina there are roadside shrines dedicated to the Difunta Correa, an unofficial saint whose infant, according to legend, survived at her breast even after the mother's death from thirst in the desert. Today desert travellers place gifts of bottled water at these shrines.
But if I'm to worship anything it should be the god that is well known amongst two-wheeled adventurers - the God of Cyclists! The God of Cyclists moves in mysterious ways - as I set out through the dangerous streets of Buenos Aires, I meet local cyclist Juan who guides me safely to the city limits; when Lesley, Chris and I are caught out by a storm on the vast empty pampa, the day's only bus shelter appears within minutes; when my progress is barred by flash floods, roadworkers instantly appear to ferry me safely across.
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