Sexy readers! How are you? Sharing another adventure story, this time a really long one. Hope you enjoy it!

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This time I'll make it short for the introduction, because this will be a quite long story.

Come on! Haven't you missed the unbelieavebly crazy stories? 

I'll give you just a small glimpse of what happens in between the lines of this text, which is part of a book I plan to write someday, hopefully. In this part I've hitchhiked 1800 km in a truck, where I was able to live on top of the truck... literally.

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Obs.: This story is part of a bigger journey that I plan to tell you one day. Since it would be incredibly long I've decided to release parts of it, featuring the most crazy bits. It'll not follow an order of events, but I'll put it in a way that you can read as parts of a book. Hope you enjoy.

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This happened when I was hitchhiking Argentina and Chile in summer 2017. Carrying only the essentials and little money for the journey. I had left Buenos Aires in early January with the main goal to reach Ushuaia, the southernmost city in the americas. Plan was plain an simple: Work if needed, camp, hitchhike all the way, have loads of fun and let my desire guide the way.

On that morning I've written on my travel diary.

January 3rd, 2017.

Problem ... It does not stop raining, so I can not leave the tent.

I had been awake since 0600 in the morning without being able to leave the tent due to a tropical rain, one of those that pass destroying everything and suddenly stop, giving place to the sun again. With no other choice I watched the trucks' yard empty on the first few hours, my plan to board the trucks early had been frustrated. This is one of the downsides of hitchhiking, if it rains the only alternative is to seek shelter and wait, it is unlikely that anyone would accept you being wet. So I did, I waited... and waited.

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My watch was marking 1000 AM already, I was doing my morning tasks while the tent cover dried to be packed. It was beautiful and sunny after the storm and there was no time to lose. In the truck yard there were only the water puddles, and the only truck there was going north, the opposite way from mine. Hence, I packed up the equipment, got my backpacks, and once again I was ready for the expedient, Route 3 was my office and the south my goal.

It didn't look promising, the cars that passed by were not interested in my presence and it was unlikely that a 30-ton truck would stop just to lift me. With the full consciousness that hitchhiking there could take some time I did not worry, I looked for an area with space and a nice shadow and tried the luck. I watched everyone pass by trying to create a pattern for those who seemed to like hitch-hikers, a joke that would become a distraction in the many kilometers to come. There were passing fuel trucks, refrigerators, empty, full, new, old, and even two trucks loaded with some kind of prefabricated houses that caught my attention... A few minutes more and an old pick-up stopped, a typical service pick-up truck with patches on the bodywork and missing parts, but its engine worked like a Swiss watch. I ran to the window and started the same script that preceded a ride, asking if he was going south and where he could take me.

The helpful driver was the stereotype of the Gaucho, a 60-year-old farmer who wore a large cowboy hat and leather boots.

     - Throw you backpack in the rear. - He said, without worrying where I was going.

     - I'm not going far, but I'll leave you at the gas station 10 km ahead. -  He continued. 

     - No truck will stop here. - He concluded.

Knowing he was right, I threw the backpacks into the rear and boarded the old pick-up, closing the door, which did not close completely, needing the strength to close the hatch of a war tank.

Now I was well positioned, this gas station was on the 'right side' of the road making it possible to approach the vehicles in person before they left at the speed of sound to the south. I looked around, some trucks were parked there, including the two curious trucks with the houses, which again caught my attention.

I took the time to eat the last bits of my chicken sandwich on the picnic tables beneath a shadow when on the other side of the yard a truck driver was waving toward me with both arms in the air and whistling. I looked back and forth in doubt as to whether the call was for me, I pointed to myself looking at the man saying telepathically "Me?", he shouted "Let's go!". I did not know what he wanted, but I sensed that I had gotten a ride somehow and the easiest way, without even being on the road. I took the piece of chicken with my mouth, gathered the backpacks that were still half open and without losing a second I ran towards the trucks, which to my surprise were the two with the houses!

I approached, reaching out to greet.

     - Buenas! I'm Arthur - I said.

     - Jose. - He replied.

     - We saw you on the road, but there we couldn't stop. - Said the serious and at first truculent trucker.

     - Where are you going? - He asked.

     - Ushuaia ... - I replied, with my broken spanish and chewing my piece of chicken.

     - Ushuaia? It's far! But you're in luck! - He said, as he scanned the truck.

     - Are you going there? - I curiously wanted to know.

     - No ... But we're going to Puerto Deseado, it's 1800 km from here, we'll take you - He said.

If there is a definition to be in the right place, at the right time I had just found out. The good winds kept blowing and now they would take me many kilometers to the south. I tossed the backpacks in the cabin and as I climbed the door to the comfortable passenger's seat the truck driver started the 'interview' for the official hitchhiker position I was about to ocupy.

Jose personified the character of the "tough truck driver", but in fact he was of good heart. Apparently in his 50's, bald, he wore dark surfer-style sunglasses, was three times wider than me, and walked with open arms as if he were facing an opponent, a guy which you certainly do not want to face in a bar fight. He also wore the South American trucker's uniform; flip-flops, shorts, and tank top. His companion, in the other truck, was called Pedro, a quieter guy that made me doubt if I had chosen the right truck.

     - Do you know how to prepare Mate - He asked.

     - Yes ... - I replied with confidence. I was already familiar with the typical drink since my state is the only state in Brazil where people drink Mate. 

     - Are you carrying drugs? - He asked in a serious tone.

     - No, I do not use drugs - I said.

     - Are you sure? If you have anything and you want to go with me, you have to discard it. You backpackers like yerba (marijuana) and I don't want to mess with the police! - He explained.

     - I don't have drugs! - I said. 

     - So now we prepare Mate and leave - He said. 

Mate was like a religion for truckers. The holy grail of this new sect is the stove located in the large space between the driver's and passenger's seats, one of those large ones with a propane cylinder, it was used to heat the water of the sacred liquid. The heating of the water was done right there, inside the cabin, a sort of ritual among the truck drivers. I was in charge of the Mate preparation, under supervision of Jose. With the infusion of the gods ready I received the last instruction.

     - Put sugar on top, one mate with, the next without. - He said. 

     - Well, Mate with sugar is said to be for woman and kids. - I silently thought.

But I didn't dare to make a joke like that or I would lose my friend and be dumped on the road.

We spent all day eating sweet cookies and drinking liters of mate, talking about all kinds of subjects with an emphasis on women. When talking about Brazil, at some point in the conversation, inevitably, people will ask about women, becoming rather tedious. We also heard raggaeton music and classics from Argentina, which I did not know about.

Approaching Bahia Blanca José broke the silence.

     - Say good-bye to the green fields, welcome to the pampa. - He said

Looking out the window the landscape was gradually changing, the productive fields were giving place to the deserted, flat pampa. Also the sun was setting, so we stopped at a gas station to sleep.

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Strong winds blowing through the Patagonian Pampa, lifting the dust turning the landscape into a complete desolation.

It is curious that the truckers did not eat heavy things during the day, we ate biscuits and bread with salami, however at night we ate a strong gigantic meal before bed.

Now... remember that they carried some species of prefabricated houses? They were slightly larger than a cargo container. They had doors, windows, thermal walls, and air conditioning, all loaded on top of the trailer.

Now, guess what? No idea in your head? Exactly! To my endless luck one of these houses would be my refuge at night. Super! I slept inside the house, on top of the truck!

Jose opened the door for me, I crawled below the canvas into the container house. Before closing me in there he said.

     - We'll leave at 0500 AM tomorrow, if you want, you can stay in there sleeping - He suggested.

     - And miss viewing the pampa? No way! - I said.  The idea of sleeping while traveling, in my personal hotel, was quite tempting though...

January 4th, 2017. We woke up early, drank some Mate and warmed the engines. Ready to go! 

Progress was slow, the load acting like an aerodynamic brake against the strong winds that blew through the endless dry fields of the pampa, leaving a trail of dust that looked like desert sandstorms. The landscape had changed from green fields, soybean and cattle ranching in the province of Buenos Aires to flat and dry fields in the province of Rio Negro, where we were. The trees disapeared, giving place to small low and dry vegetation, there were also no animals in sight. The horizon line was far, far away, I felt as if I were in the sea, but on land. The road was an endless straight, fighting the sleep became a challenge. Our conversations varied, repeated and sometimes would fell back into silence, we still had a long distance to go.

That day passed quickly and that night we parked near the town of Trelew. The temperature began to drop and the sun took longer to set making the days longer, a summer phenomenon in the southern hemisphere. Since I've started the trip I hadn't touched money, every time I tried to buy food to share I was stopped by the truckers, good to preserve my tight budget.

     - You don't have to buy anything, we have everything here to share - They said.

That night wouldn't be different. Hospitality was unbelievable, showing me that the world is made mostly by good people.

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The great thing about traveling in a truck is having the privilege of the view. When thinking about Patagonia, you'll think about imense fields and the long straights.

January 5th, 2017. We woke up very early, there was a low fog and temperature was freezing, we warmed the engines and pointed again to the south, it was the last stretch of the longest ride I could have found. We prepared one more Mate and ready to go! The lower the latitudes the colder it was and the longer the days. The road was peculiarly beautiful, to the west the fields were dry, and some wild animals began to appear. I could see the first Guanacos, a kind of llama and some Choiques, a small ostrich.

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The beautiful blue Atlantic Ocean in contrast with the deserted landscape of the Patagonian pampa.

     - These Guanacos ...It's dangerous! They are everywhere. They learned to stay on the asphalt to warm up, there is no fence to hold them. They're going to cause an accident one day! - Jose said, lighting a cigarette.

I was thinking that, perhaps, it was the human's fault... we are the ones crossing the animals habitat. In addition, humans used to hunt down the Pumas, the natural predator of the Guanacos, who could now reproduce freely.

We continued our journey following the blue Atlantic ocean coast until we finally came to the end of a two-day trip. We had arrived to the small village of Fitz Roy, where they would go to the village of Puerto Deseado.

After 1800 km, a few liters of Mate, a lot of laughs and some profanity added to my spanish vocabulary I was going back to my old friend, the road.

I registered a farewell photo and my friends went to their destination. I had just lived like a truck driver for the first time, for real. I can state with knowledge that I respect them for their work, for the countless hours behind a steering wheel on the road, fighting sleep and away from their families. It is not an easy profession!

As if it isn't curious enough to hitchhike 1800 km on a truck, I happened to find one that I could literally live in!

You'll know more about this 10.000 km trip, but for now this is it xD

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My eternal gratitude to Jose and Pedro, two awesome truck drivers that carried me for 1800 km, gave me food and treat me as a friend. Take care on the road my friends!

Would you ever hitchhike a truck? What holds you back? Leave a comment down below, I'd love to hear.

I hope you've enjoyed this story. If you liked it, consider giving your upvote for a hot coffee xD.

~ Love ya all, Arthur.

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I'm Arthur. I blog about Brazil, Adventure Stories, Travel, Camping & Life Experiences.

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