A comically disastrous day

Abstractly, my trip has two primary aims: first and foremost, see cool things; and secondly, move forwards, ideally by bike. After unhappily resigning myself to the fact that the weather was likely to prohibit me from doing the first, and for quite some time, I got on a bus so I could at least do the second without suffering. After 450 heated, dry kilometers, multiple ecosystems, and the vague realization of the abstract aims of my voyage, I got from Rio Tranquil to Puyuhuapi and was mentally ready for the next day. Weather permitting, I would achieve both above-stated aims, but at the very least I would move forward. Well, the weather sucked, so I packed up, pedaled over to a piss-smelling shelter on the main road, stuck my thumb out, and waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. Five hours went by, during which I tortured myself with thoughts like “you can get to the next town in two hours, maybe the rain won’t be as bad as it looks,” but in the end the rain never eased up enough to coax me into my cycling kit, and I stayed planted. As the temperature started to drop, I gave up, and conveniently it began to rain harder; so hard, in fact, that in the literal five minutes it took me to cycle back to the hostel, I was soaking wet. So not only had I not seen anything or moved forward, but I added hours of piss-smelling icing on the cake and the cherry on top was that I got drenched anyway. Resounding success!

Exiting Chile

Of my last 600km in the country, about 500 of it was in busses, and that still left me 400km south of where I originally planned to cross over into Argentina, two facts which weigh heavily on me. The past couple of weeks has been mentally taxing both for what they were — logistically complicated, plagued with weather uncertainty where consequences for guessing wrong were “fuck me that would have been great to ride” or “fuck me that was miserable” — as well as what they weren’t — namely, what I had in mind, which was scenic, simple (point the bike forward and pedal), and mostly dry.

The landscape over the last few hundred km has turned from mountains to fjords, vertical walls of green -black rising up and disappearing into the clouds, streaked by waterfalls which are the only indication I have of the glaciers that must be lying hidden in the mist above.

And while it doesn’t feel good to deviate as I am (decisions “away from” things are inherently less satisfying than those “towards” things), it’s the right thing to do given the info (forecasts) I have. Let’s see if it bears out.

Daddy fat stacks

I was warned prior to entering Argentina that cash is necessary (wasn’t necessary in Chile) and that it’s quite difficult to get, as ATMs have low limits, are poorly stocked, and charge crazy fees. Western Union is the best way to go, but even that is luck, which I learned when the first guy I asked said “no, try that location, and good luck.” I did get lucky though and was able to withdraw 200€, effectively in singles. (Their largest bill (1000) is roughly worth a dollar, so it requires a ton of physical space to store any relevant quantity of money, halfway explaining the shortages.) Anyway, now I’m rolling around carrying a brick of ones like a stripper on a Sunday morning, which is unfortunate as I’m short on space and long on weight as it is and didn’t even get to shake my booty to earn it.

Anyway. I’m in Argentina now (clearly) and it’s great. It is going to be below freezing tonight, so it’ll be the first real test for the tent and sleeping bag. Despite having only used the air mattress once, it has already sprung a leak; I think I’ve patched it, but I’m mentally preparing myself for a cold, uncomfortable night. Despite it all, I’m in a great mood. It’s beautiful, and there is no rain in the forecast means I only need to contend with the cold, and that’s manageable.

I find myself, however, in a weird logistical situation in which I have two separate but connected segments of about 180-190km each. Too long to do in two days (each), but dividing into three days makes for very short days. I rode less than three hours today, was done by lunch, and was at a bit of a loss as to what to do for the remainder of the day. In towns this won’t be so bad, but when camping, the minutes pass slowly…and coldly.

Sun

The patch worked, so I avoided the discomfort of sleeping directly on the ground and slept with the normal discomfort of a thin, lightweight air mattress. And while my sleeping bag was warm enough to handle sub zero (C) temperatures, it was made for Andre the Giant, so the extra length and width not filled by my body got really cold. Gonna have to figure that out, because I’ll be doing much more camping later on. Luckily enough, my fitful sleep lasted until 9.30, so when I crawled out of my tent to untarnished blue skies and a sun-warmed world, I was all smiles. First day since Santiago. And that’s all it took, it was good vibes the rest of the way, which led me past a few spectacular lakes, over a hill, and down the other side into foothills and farmland, with the Andes (and their shitty weather) always to the west.

Bariloche is the goal

Three cycling days from Esquel (site of my cash adventure) to El Bolson (mostly pictured above), then three more from there to Bariloche. Roughly 400km in total. Enough to enter and exit multiple climate zones, though when you only do it by bike it is somehow more remarkable. Anyway, let’s call the patagonia of the carretera austral “lush”. The first few days in Argentina, particularly going through Los Alerces National Park, were “diet” lush. Still quite green, but you could tell that the width of the Andes had taken the sting out of the storms. From there, the road ducked further east, more along the foothills, and again, the change was evident. Feels almost blasphemous to say, but it reminded me of Carson Valley. El Bolson put me back in the outer ranges of Andes and was accordingly a temperate green.

Didn’t take long for that change though, as the first day out of El Bolson was almost straight east (got to say hello and goodbye again to my Finnish buddy Mikko, thanks for the company!), and into territory you could call austere. Austere and vast. It was like riding into a postcard, particularly as a couple of handsome young gauchos in traditional garb (at least the “boina” type berets) herded some wild horses right alongside us. Cool.

 

I’d done some more detailed planning only to realize I’m pretty short on time for everything I want to do (which is everything), so when Mikko stopped for the day, I kept riding, essentially so I could save a day into Bariloche. That meant that day 2 out of El Bolson was on my own, and it might have been one of the toughest I’ve ever had on a bike. 55km, basically straight uphill, into a headwind the entire time, with soft, loose, rocky, and therefore awful roads (jeep tracks), to a wild campsite on a stream which I could only hope had water. There were sections it kicked up to >15%, so when my glacial horizontal progress came up against a rock, or my rear tire slipped, I came to a halt and had to hike to the next “flat” (under 10%) section before I could start riding again. More than being demoralizing, it was enough to sow the first seeds of doubt and anxiety in my head. “I’m exhausted, only have a day’s worth of food if I can find water which I don’t know if I will find, I’m headed straight into the wind for the next 100km, I’m in the middle of absolute nowhere, and if I tear a sidewall or blow a spoke, I’m hosed.” First time I’ve felt comforted by my satellite communicator. Also, hilarious how dramatically my perception of 55km changed from even just a few days ago. How naive I was!

Anti climax though. My stream was not only flowing but wildly idyllic, so things quickly went from disaster prep to camping advertisement.

The day into Bariloche wrecked me though; the headwind was on a mission to destroy. Despite the generally better roads, the wind made progress slow. It was one of those days where I told myself that the last 20km, all flat, couldn’t take more than two hours, and even then I didn’t really believe it. A day when hitting 15kph while pedaling downhill was a good thing. A day when I looked forward to crosswinds, because at least they weren’t headwinds. But I made it, got a nice cappuccino, found a place to stay, and got settled. Mission accomplished!

Bonus ride

Lest ye begin to get the impression from the described mental and sometimes physical anguish that my love affair with cycling may be coming to an end, rest assured, it’s not. Rather than take a day off, I went for another ride on my first day in Bariloche. Unburdened by my 20kg of gear, with no wind, and the sun shining down on me, it was a true joy ride. Love rekindled.

That’s not to say I haven’t learned from the past few weeks. I’ll reevaluate my plans to see if I need to make changes to avoid things that simply aren’t fun. I’ll have plenty of time to do just that on the 50+ hours of busses I’ll be taking over the next 7-10 days. Ouch.