Since I got to Cordoba a couple weeks ago, I’ve gone on a few mountain bike rides. These have been learning experiences.

Getting to trails requires about 45 minutes of what my riding buddy Martin calls “medio feo” or “half ugly.” I call it shit-fuck-scary. Argentine drivers don’t pay a lot of attention to lanes or common courtesies like not-merging-on-top-of-you. Red lights are also kind of a joke. Jaja. And then there are the busses, or colectivos, which like to assert their authority by passing you at a hair’s breath and then stopping. I’m slightly less afraid of them now that I’ve realized I can out-accelerate them 90% of the time, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them.

But if you can make it out of the city, it’s worth it. The countryside surrounding Cordoba is gorgeous, very green, lots of goats, and the occasional real-life gaucho. And there seem to be trails and caminos de ripio pretty much everywhere. Not that I could find them by myself, but luckily I don’t have to. As a girl who rides mountain bikes in Argentina, I am having no trouble making friends. All I have to do is walk into a bike shop and I get phone numbers, emails, facebook friends and ride plans. I’ve even been asked to model one bike group’s t-shirts.

Today I went out with a guy named Martin who works at the local Giant Shop. At some point along the line, he asked me if I could read Spanish. When I answered yes, he said, practicing his English, “Okay, do not fear, there is nothing de miedo.” Naturally I inquired what it was I might have miedo of and he explained that we were about to go into a zona militar. “Prohibido,” he said with a grin. Sure enough, we were shortly greeted by this sign, which translates roughly to “ARMY OF ARGENTINA, NO TRESPASSING, GUNSHOT AND EXPLOSION AREA.” Good thing I can read Spanish, right?

You’ll be glad to know that we didn’t run into the army or any explosions. The worst we encountered were the espinillas. I don’t know what the official translation of this is so I’m just going to go with big-mother-effing-pokey-thorn-things. See photo below. As you can probably imagine, I got a pincho, as I have on every other ride in Cordoba. Good thing I always ride with guys who refuse to let me change my own flat tires.