Going through the motions.

It was about 8 a.m. and I was already more than a few hours into my day. This couldn't be the right place I thought but kept my head down until the dust settled from the bus which was kicking up rocks and dirt as it picked up enough speed to pull back onto the major artery conecting Santiago, Chile to Mendoza, Argentina. Moments later the stressed engine faded into the expance of the Andes. Not even the size of the prodigious vehicle nor the loud exhaust of the old motor could compete with the enormity of these mountains, the bus was gone. The dust never settled. Instead it was carried off by the winds blowing upward, hovering in the sky, anouncing my arrival. A small arenaceous path whose direction, dictated more by where the sage grew than where it wanted to take me, wandered to a wooden sign posted a few hundred feet off the road. I couldn't read it from here. I looked down at my pack as it stood upright along side the road. It was a rental, black and blue and already dirty with enough straps, loops and bungee cord to strap more on the outside of the pack than one could fit within. This was good because the pack was small and I had brought a lot. Because of the distance to the base of the mountauin and the time it takes to aclamate most people hire mules to porter their gear into the base of the mountain. I've never had any trouble carrying my own. Plus I didn't plan on being up there for very long. The estamated time it takes to climb Aconcagua is between 13 and 20 days, I had enough food for 9. I hoisted my pack up onto one knee and then with one ungraceful motion I trew it over my shoulder getting my other arm though its shoulder strap before the enire wieght on the bag had time to settle. The pack was ajusted for someone with a longer torso than mine and the lower stap buckled around my hips instead of my waist. I'd fix it later I thought and started to cross the road. I hadn't worn a backback since