Venezuela

Going to Venezuela was the longest short trip I’ve ever taken. I feel like I stepped into a bizarre time warp for a few days. It’s amazing how two places as different as Colorado Springs and San Juan de Los Morros can exist within only a 1 ½ hour time change (Chavez added the half hour. It’s his country…he does what he wants). Mary says you readjust your values after visiting places like Venezuela. Coming back to Colorado Springs, where grocery stores aren’t under armed guard and houses aren’t surrounded by razor wire, it’s easy to forget that this isn’t the norm for most of the world.
I had been told that as an American I should keep a low profile while down there—not an easy task when the entire purpose of my visit was to parade around in bright USA spandex. For this reason, we had two body guards with us the entire trip. Juan, a professional body builder with slick black hair, was always eager to chat despite his limited English. Louis, a black belt in karate, didn’t speak English but was incredibly kind and helpful. I thought they were probably just with us for the peace of mind of the USOC and people back at USA Cycling, but a few times, such as when we visited a late night fruit stand or when our van got a flat tire in an area known for “road pirates,” they appeared quite edgy and unwilling to take one hand of the pistols in their fanny packs. We were watched very closely and unable to venture anywhere without their supervision. The one time I dared was when I was warming up for the race, and I was immediately chased for a couple hundred yards by a fierce feral dog. I guess it was a good warm-up, but I wished Louis had been there to shelter me.
The race course went straight up and then straight down, over and over again for two hours in the 95 degree heat. I put in a good first couple of laps but then I hit the wall like I never have before. At one point I crashed on a straight non-technical section of fire road because I had become so dizzy and delirious in the heat. Even most of the South Americans, who are quite accustomed to hot weather, were hurtin pretty bad. Unfortunately my camera broke so I don’t have any pictures to share, but the mountains and huge rock outcroppings around the course were pretty spectacular.
Another crazy thing down there is that the gas is incredibly cheap—cheaper than water. A British guy told us it cost him 150 American dollars to fill up his van in the UK, whereas it cost $2.50 to fill up the same van in Venezuela. Our driver wouldn’t even turn his van off while we ate dinner.
Not one to return home without a souvenir, I brought back some sweet South American stomach bug that I'm now nursing with Pedialyte and Perrier cocktails. Chavez may make cheap gas, but his drinking water could use some work.