Pedaling to Survive

The incredible bike trip of Ibersonz Lord, a Venezuelan who fled his country to survive.

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Ibersonz comes from the beautiful city of Valencia, about 150 km west of Caracas, the Venezuelan capital. "I pedalled 10040 km since my departure!" said to me proudly - and with precision! - the 37-year-old music teacher and producer. I glanced at his bike; there is no more basic model than this. Non-indexed shifters like on old mountain bikes, and tailor-made luggage racks from large, coarse-welded iron tubes. Lacking money to get proper saddlebags, he piled his load almost over his head. I don't even dare to imagine how the merciless mountain wind must constantly threaten to blow him down the side or against a truck. Or about its center of gravity, far too high to maintain any semblance of balance.

Ibersonz and I outside our makeshift shelter the night before.

I saw the Venezuelan while he was squatting next to his bike, on the edge of the immense descent that greets us in Chile when we enter through the Los Libertadores pass. He was repairing yet another puncture on the same day. In the absence of a locking system on his wheel and the tool that would allow him to unscrew his bolts, his technique is unusual. To access his inner tube, he must remove a brake pad, making sure not to lose any pieces. And take into account that his tube is already covered with countless patches.

"Did you climb the rocky paths up to an altitude of almost 4000 m?" I ask him, impressed. "Yes," he replies simply. “It wasn't easy,” he adds, glancing at his bike. I lend him my pump, and then help him fix his, which is broken.

A year ago, after stacking a few backpacks on a shoddy old bike, Ibersonz Lord left his native Venezuela, leaving everything behind. When I meet him, just after the Chilean border, he nevertheless wears a smile wider than the Andes mountain range.

The story he then tells me shows me the extent of his determination.

During our meeting, he had already crossed Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia and part of Argentina and Chile.

Then we leave together. A few hundred meters below, we decide to share the camp for the night. We settle inside what remains of an old stone building, long abandoned.

My friend Ibersonz tries to keep a straight line in this huge windy descent teeming with trucks.

The Venezuelan crisis

The country of my new South American friend has been in a serious crisis for several years. Since 2015, no less than three million Venezuelans have been forced to leave their homes. It is estimated that by the end of 2019, that number will exceed five million. Out of a population of around 30 million.

Until recently, however, the country was among the richest on the continent. With the largest oil reserves in the world, Socialist President Hugo Chávez had improved social programs. He and his successor, Nicolás Maduro, put all their eggs, chickens and straw in one basket.

In 2017, oil accounted for 98% of the country's exports, and the only source of income. While the price of a barrel hovered around US $ 100 in 2014, it had plummeted to a quarter of that amount two years later. At the same time, the United States was fully entering the era of shale oil. The largest importer of Venezuelan oil no longer needed it, even at ridiculous prices.

This budget problem had a domino effect: cuts in social programs, hyperinflation, food shortages… Even spending all their money on the cheapest food, the average worker could no longer buy half of the calories necessary for his survival. And even less to support a family. A recent study found that in 2017, the average Venezuelan lost almost 11 kg.

Rage in the stomach

Ibersonz even exceeds these terrible statistics. He tells me that he originally weighed 64 kg. Then 55 kg. Then, after not eating anything for a week, her weight fell as low as 40kg.

One day, the music teacher attends the funeral of one of his former students, a kid of around ten who died of hunger, like several of his comrades. And like many other friends, uncles and cousins ​​of Ibersonz.

A few days later, the latter is invited to a party by one of his friends who works at the presidential palace. “I expected a few sandwiches. I find rather overpriced scotches, huge pieces of meat, cheeses. It was worthy of a Roman orgy, ”he confides to me, revolted. Gagged, an immense rage invaded him. He then goes to the senior military officers who organized the event. " What a shame! You are accomplices, assassins! He yells under their noses.

The soldiers, impassive, will show up quickly at his place. His car will be confiscated. His property will be transferred to the government and he will be evicted. His savings will be emptied from his bank account. All for one sentence.

Somewhere in the Andes mountain range we find what remains of a stone building to protect us from the strong wind from the mountains.

By bike

Finding himself weakened and deprived of all his possessions, the musician sadly decides to leave this country he loves so much. He hasn't ridden a bike since he was a teenager but decides he will cycle to Argentina to start a new life there.

During our meeting, he had already crossed Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia and part of Argentina and Chile. It suffered sandstorms and hail. In the mountains of Ecuador, in the rain at 5 ° C, he was offered a coat: wearing a simple t-shirt, he suffered from hypothermia. Others gave him gloves, gave him shelter, offered him food.

When asked how he does it, he simply replies that it is his mental strength that keeps him moving forward. He carried up to 80 kg of material. He left 40 kg with an Argentinian friend, where he plans to iron. For our supper, I even provided him with the fork. He tells me that he doesn't usually need it, since he usually only eats bread and bananas.

He has already applied for his residency status in Argentina. In the meantime, he is heading to Santiago, Chile, in order to visit some of his family who now reside there. Chile has hosted almost 300000 Venezuelans in recent years.

After our meal in this isolated place in the heart of the mountains, I leave all my equipment under the stars without even using my lock. Ibersonz, meanwhile, gets everything into his tent, including his bike. “It's a reflex,” he explains. They've taken everything from me once ... "

The next morning, we take a picture of ourselves before we leave. I take out my tripod, and Ibersonz his big flag in the colors of his country. He smiles again, like when we met the day before, and raises his thumb to indicate that everything is fine.

Even if we take everything from a man, there will always be hope.

The astonishing Ibersonz Lord, loaded with his pyramid-shaped bags, has traveled over 10 km since leaving Venezuela.