devotion frees

Bike Writing

2011-04-19T08:27:00.005-04:00

Words are all that is left. Over the course of my trip I wrote all over my bike. I usually do and it was a source of amusement for those that could read English, as well as giving me something to think about . . . here is a selection.

"devotion frees"
"the production of too many useful things results in too many useless people" - Marx
"normality is death" - Adorno - a simple phrase with a multiplicity of meaning
"is life not a thousand times too short for us to bore ourselves" - Nietzsche
"life is too short for soft porn" - New Yorker cartoon - it is not really about porn children
"go on get out last words are for fools you have not said enough" - Marx - good advice
"abandon hope" - Buddhist saying that is not meant to be depressing . . . think about it
"anything too stupid to be said is often sung" - Voltaire - witty guy
"the rich will do anything for the poor but get off their backs" - Marx - I thought of this after meeting many rich kids volunteering to help the poor while on vacation . . . maybe they should just write a check to the poor?
"you don't know you are having fun until you fall down" - I always say this and I fall a lot.
"we must have a pessimism of the mind and optimism of the will" - Gramsci - thought of this while doing things hard
"gracious one, play. The universe is an empty shell werein your mind frolics infinitely." - a tantra and good attitude to cultivate
"Pierce some part of your nectar-filled form with a pin, and gently enter the piercing." - tantra that I contemplated while crossing the Atacama because it seemed like a good escape. I thought of you, Dave Y, because I know you really like this one . . .
"Put attention neither on pleasure or pain but between these." - while climbing 1000's of meters yet again
"Roam about until exhausted and then dropping to the ground, in this dropping be whole." - that is just what I was doing, usually dropping fast asleep before I even ate dinner

2011-04-18T20:42:00.001-04:00

Elvis the Sheep

2011-04-18T12:02:00.017-04:00

Once again I am in a major tourist destination running errands this time searching out bike and auto body shops to dismantle my ride. While everyone rides around in boats to walk with penguins I grab my tools and begin the dismantling process. I am not generally overly attached to my bicycles. Bicycles are tools for doing something I love they are not what I love. Bikes come and go but I always go riding. Frames always break given enough use and get replaced by new frames - usually under warranty (thank you Salsa). I knew this bike was not coming home the day I broke the frame clear through a weld on the rear drop out while climbing into the highlands above Huanuco, Peru. While wrenching and discarding tired/broken parts, I had a bitter sweet recollection of growing up on the farm. Elvis was a yearling ram that I showed at agricultural fairs for a season. Elvis was a sweet tempered sheep which can be rare in rams - he enjoyed having his neck scratched and willingly walked on a lead. But he was a ram, you only need so many rams on a sheep farm, and we could not sell him . . . So one crisp fall day I led him for the last time out into the front yard to go under the knife and into the freezer. I remember dad asking if I was ok . . . but this is reality - things come, things go, and we ate him. But like most of our animals we put his name on the package giving meals a reverence for their memory. I enjoyed this bike. I enjoyed imagining the bike. I enjoyed building the bike. I enjoyed long days in the saddle in my journey across the mountains, deserts, and jungles of two continents.

"Feel an object before you. Feel the absence of all other objects but this one. Then, leaving aside the object-feeling and the absence-feeling, realize."

more to come . . .

2011-04-18T08:44:00.002-04:00

I finished up this post while I watch the brothel across the street empty out of its last customers, girls go home, and the red light went out. I will be continuing to post the last of my travels.

wet cold windy wet cold windy then Ushuaia

2011-04-15T14:11:00.078-04:00

wet cold windy wet cold windy wet cold windy wet cold windy . . . my new mantra - Punta Arenas was my first real city since January in Mendoza. I needed a little rest before the final push down Tierra del Fuego to Ushuaia. Matt and I stayed in a cheap but comfortable hostel with the only downside being the cats, I am allergic, but hard to begrudge kittens. The hostel was essentially empty. Tourists are dissipating with the approaching winter but one other cyclist we had met on the road outside of Calafate, Bert from Belgium, did show up - he was ending his trip.
Matt needed a new camera so we spent some time in the zona franca (tax free zone) camera shopping - which actually required three trips for Matt but he ended up with a nice camera (Canon s90). The prices were good for Latin America but on average about 20% higher than list price in the United States.
Matt and I went for a little stroll around the city to give his new camera a spin but after walking the beach to the port we looped through the city and made it to about here . . . Men sat singly and in pairs at formica tables sunlight streaming through the plate glass windows illuminating half liter Australs and wafting cigarette smoke. A nice Saturday afternoon. Initially, they wondered how the foreigners wandered in here but soon we were chatting and invited over to a table . . . however we were catching a ferry in the morning and still had errands to complete - so no extended drinking session with locals. I needed to repair my rear rack . . . again. The first top rail broke in Peru, the second on the Austral Highway but now the main vertical support was bowed and a weld splitting - a show stopper. I went to a hard ware store for more hose clamps, tubing, and found a metal bar in the hostel courtyard to use as a splint - ta da frankenbike - just needs to hold for 450km. But first we stopped and got some curanto, a mix of seafood and sausages . . .
We rose early Sunday morning to ride in the rain to the port to catch the ferry to Porvenir, Tierra del Fuego, Chile. Thankfully, the ferry had a large heated cabin with seats and coffee - both Matt and I napped our way across the Straight of Magellan. Tierra del Fuego was looking cold wet and windy dolphins escorted the ship towards the harbor.
We disembarked in a light drizzle and pedaled the short distance into Porvenir to grab a couple supplies and use the free municipal WIFI to check some directions. We headed out on dirt road - my final 140km of ripio for this trip. The landscape was a rolling treeless brown along the coast of the Straight of Magellan with abundant wildlife - Guanacos heralded our passing with a strange call between the whinny of a horse and high pitched bray of a donkey. yet more flamingos.
The rain never really stopped but varied in intensity - Matt decided to buy fenders when he returned to Santiago, Chile . . .
good idea.
After 100km of dirt road in the rain we stopped at a bus shelter we knew was there from a previous cyclist - however the windows were busted, the door missing, and some asshole had taken a shit in it . . . but it was raining, dark, the ground was soaked, the temperature dropping fast . . . so in we went huddled in our bags and made dinner of green peppers, onions, tomatoes, and chorizo over rice .
In the morning I woke damp looked outside and it was snowing - not flurries but piling up and had blown into the bus shelter in the night. A good thing we had the shelter but Matt had left his ride clothes outside and they were buried in snow . . . at least we had snow to melt for coffee and polenta. I guess we looked a little dejected in our busted up bus stop looking out at the snow - a car passed honked waved then flipped back around to offer us hot coffee from their thermos - nice people, very nice people.
After coffee and breakfast it was time to move - wet ride clothes are never fun but snowy wet ride clothes really do suck. I put plastic bags over my feet and hands to cut the wind. We had 40km to the Chilean border at San Sebastian and hoped to find some shelter and warmth . . . maybe an abandoned building to light on fire.
We lucked out and the only business in the whole of San Sebastian was a hosteria with restaurant - it was expensive relative to our usual digs but everything costs more than a bus stop. However, we needed to dry out before we continued and our feet were blocks of wood - the kind of needling pain when circulation returns. We made good use of the room, every available heater in the hall way, and shower - that is about an inch of mud on the bottom of the shower stall after Matt rinsed his clothes. After taking care of business I slept for hours warm. We were not the only travelers stranded by the weather, three motorcycles were parked there as well - one from Austin, Texas, a German, a Russian, and two Spaniards. The next morning dawned clear and cold - fine riding weather if you have dry clothes.
The Spaniard was traveling around the world and had his gas tank decorated in Pakistan.
Crossing back into Argentina we ran into Lucie and Torrie - they had been to Ushuaia and were hitching back to Buenos Aires to return home on April 18th. Argentina was welcoming as usual and everyone knew where we were headed, wished us the best of luck and said we were likely the last cyclists of the season.
We headed out across the pampas of Tierra del Fuego making good time on pavement passing estancias and sheep to reach the city of Rio Grande by nightfall - a city about industry and sheep with some of the highest wages in Argentina - braced against the winds on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean.Two days from Ushuaia we continued towards the still distant mountains of the south and trees begin to reappear. The famous winds that were supposed to blow us south never materialized and we battled cross and head winds all day.
I am getting tired after all this peddling. Recovery is not happening fast now my legs are lacking spunk but I can always push pedals down. In the afternoon I bonk while climbing the plateau to Tolhuin in the passing rain showers, snow, stinging hail. . . it is depressing to realize that while only 30+km to go you may take close to three hours. Nightfall and freezing temperatures are good motivators. I make a little withdrawal from the "pain bank," stand up and push hard into the dusk then night for the final 20km into Tolhuin to arrive at Panaderia La Union. The bakery has become an institution for touring cyclist going south. The owner, Emilio, is an avid cyclists and opens his doors to all cyclists providing a free warm room and shower in the back storehouse with several tons of flour.
Matt and I ate 28 empanadas, 12 facturas (pasteries), 4 churros, and drank six beers so I think the open door policy works well for everyone in the end. Matt and I read through the guest book recognizing the names that came before us in the past several months.After coffee, pastries, and a brief stroll around town (cannot be anything but brief really) we put on dry warm ride clothes for the final 100+km to the end of the world.
Once again we are cycling in Patagonian trees, mountains, lakes and Matt and I are pleasantly surprised. We expected a continuation of the flat muted brown features of the pampas.Fall colors are in full riot . . . strange to think I will be seeing the reds of a budding spring in less than a week on the other side of the world.We finish out a pass through snowline and begin the descent through the valleys of the Martial Mountains to Ushuaia on the Beagle Channel.
The ride could have been fast if not for the head winds that became a crazy buffeting swirl until . . .
Ushuaia the southern most city on Earth, fin del mundo, the end of my ride after 17 months 1 week and somewhere around 24,000km. The finality starts to dawn as I remove my panniers, for what I realize, is my last time . . . on this journey.

2011-04-08T20:33:00.000-04:00

Chasing Rainbows . . .

2011-04-07T12:18:00.017-04:00

of course that means rain. The rain rarely lingers clouds race across the sky on the wind the landscape raked by shadows and sun. Trees leave little doubt as to the direction of the prevailing winds - thankfully they point in our direction.Pto. Natales was a pleasant rest stop at the Erratic Rock hostel full of folks doing/done one of two trekking loops in the Torres del Paine, the W or the O. Matt considered it, I never did but we heard enough discussion of the trek to feel like we did it thrice. I have plenty of exercise and cold dampness in my life at the moment - besides I heard it is in the 70's in Buenos Aires and I have a plane to catch. The afternoon started wet leaving in a steady cold rain, Mat and I were braced for a little misery but when we dropped down onto the Llanuras de Diana the clouds started to break up.Llanura means flat plain which connotes 'boring' to my mind and everyone said it was going to be a dull monotonous ride. The ride was beautiful passing a succession of estancias with essentially one climb, other than rollers, up the Cordon Arauca over looking the Llanura de Diana.
The winds drove the rain clouds before us producing a continuous series of retreating rainbows for the 250km into Punta Arenas.
With the approaching darkness we started looking for a place to spend the night out of the inevitable wind and rain. Thankfully the paradas (bus stops) have shelters with doors and appeared every 20km - we just needed to find one with windows, a solid floor, and not used as a bathroom.
Home sweet home for the night out of the raging wind and driving rain - stylish architecture too. Truckers honk to us roaring north and south as we sat on the bench in our sleeping bags cooking dinner and drinking box wine by headlamp.
Accommodations were a little tight but we could stretch out - just barely.
The morning dawned promising with rain blowing ahead, we had a big day of 160+km into Punta Arenas - hopefully the winds would stay to our backs . . . but we knew that was not to be. Initially we motored down the road at 40-50kmph then the road angled west and we were blasted from the side. Pushing down the road leaned over into the wind shoved around by gusts that made standing hard. A woman tending a small store told us the day was relatively calm . . . The riding was hard but occasionally relented when we turned easterly, however I was finally able to get close enough to Rheas, or Nandus, to take their photo crossing the road. We also saw thousands of sheep along with the usual assortment of birds and Guanacos.
The day was long. Matt and I got separated. I rode into Punta Arenas on a US style four lane highway in the dark . . . with two lanes closed for construction - not much fun weaving back and forth across the unlit highway over barriers on dirt frontage roads to arrive in an unfamiliar downtown chilled, hungry, and wind burned. I ducked into an internet cabina located a hostel, got my bearings, then tracked down Matt after a shower, beer, and food. Matt and I met up at 11pm for second dinner. Here we are at 54 degrees latitude in the largest southern most city in the world . . .
Tomorrow we cross the Straight of Magellan by ferry to Tierra del Fuego.

2011-04-04T13:32:00.000-04:00

Steppe

2011-04-03T15:31:00.008-04:00

Matt, Evan, and I finally departed from El Calafate after getting a series of bike and money issues settled. The days are getting cold with fresh snow on the hills over town but favorable winds pushed us out across the steppe. After climbing 10km out of the river valley onto plateau the wind charged unimpeded across the steppe driving off snow into drifts at the base of fescue tufts. Fingers frozen, toes frozen, face stinging we arrive at our dirt road turn off 100km down the road at El Cerito . . . nothing is there . . . funny, I am unclear why there are names on the maps. There is a road works building where we can get water but the lone worker says no to camping, besides it is too cold to camp . . . no shit.
With the sun going down and temperatures dropping we retreat to a nearby drainage looking for shelter from the wind and find casa "Arnold".
We had noted the regular concrete drainage culverts along the road and knew we were bound to be sleeping in one like every other cyclist. So we hung Evan's ground sheet across one end and moved in. We dragged in everything we would need for the night and snuggled into our bags to get comfy. Evan and I stayed in our bike clothes too cold to change telling ourselves we could change later . . .
After some minor interior decorating to give it that cozy prison feel . . .
we opened the whiskey and put on some Neil Young. Post cocktail hour we made dinner and with two stoves going the temperature stayed above freezing inside - bottles froze solid outside.The morning dawned cold but calm and we crawled out of our cave to ride before noon on Argentine Route 40 - a good quality dirt road through the steppe.
Wildlife was abundant - we saw enough guanacos and rheas to stop counting, a couple foxes, condors, hares, sheep, cattle, and horses. The rhea is a flightless bird related to the ostrich that stands anywhere from 3-5 feet tall. I have tried to get a decent photo of rheas but for a flightless bird they sure are flighty - taking off flapping and running as soon as we approach - consequently this is not my photo. At a small lagoon beside the road ducks, geese, and flamingos sat on the water.
the pink dots are flamingos out there . . .
We finished out the day on 50 km of pavement to the dirt road turnoff to Argentinian immigration and into Chile as night fell.
After a cold night in the ditch we opted for more comfortable accommodation in Cerro Castillo besides lacking few other options in the dark and the rain . . . or at least we told ourselves.
The next day into Puerto Natales was a short 60km through beautiful Patagonia.
mind the land mines . . . they are the remnants of a 150+ year old border dispute between Chile and Arggentina, the Beagle Conflict, that nearly erupted into war in 1978. Ultimately, the Pope was called in to mediate the dispute and it was definitively settled in 1988 by the Argentinian electorate. The mines pose little threat to people because there are no people but occasionally the odd stray cow/sheep gets blown to bits.
We rode down a long valley, over a small pass chasing a series of retreating rainbows caused by passing rains.
Into a cold gray Puerto Natales whose primary attraction is its proximity to Torres del Paine.
However, I will not be hiking there this late in the season - I have plenty of cold and wet in my life.

Futuleufu, Chile Rafting

2011-03-31T11:01:00.001-04:00

Bit of a flash from the recent past that has been sitting on my desktop forever until I had a connection that I could upload from - Matt Kelly, Robin, Evan, and I went rafting for the afternoon in Futuleufu. The Fu is one of the top white water rivers in the world usually making the top 3 to 5 on most people's lists.
The section we did was class 3 to 5 rapids and one helluva ride - the class 5 section was optional but after finishing up with some 4+ we were ready for more and they got an extra 15,000 pesos out of all of us.
Because we were a strong group of four cyclists we were able to spend some time playing in a class 4 wave train called the Escalator - surfing the raft burying the nose in holes etc . . . the raft nearly flipped several times. However, the rapid ended in a giant eddy so it was easy to retrieve the ejected then ride the eddy back to the top of the wave train!
The water was clear as glass and clean enough to drink - good thing because you end up drinking quite a bit.
Things got a little exciting towards the end on the last run of class 5 rapids. The guide emphatically said, "don't swim here," because it is dangerous. So, Evan got ejected bucking over the top of a monster wave but stayed close enough to the raft for Robin to extend a paddle while I hauled him into the raft.
Also, very scenic with the occasional break to look around. Overall a fantastic day with amazing guides from all over the world, South Africa - United States - Peru. Thanks to Evan and Robin for talking Matt and I into joining them . . . not that is was all that hard to do.

2011-03-30T12:46:00.001-04:00

Onto the Pampas

2011-03-30T12:42:00.001-04:00

El Chalten was a great rest stop after finishing up the Austral Highway - good place to hang out, eat all you can eat pizza, hike a little, gaze at Mt FitzRoy, and play some poker - pasta served as chips tortellini was worth 500, spaghetti 1000 . . . Evan as a former casino dealer and serious poker player kept everything in order.
Condor de los Andes was a wonderfully tolerant with our large group of rowdy cyclists numbering upwards of 10 at times. Evan bequeathed his travel guitar to Ti, known to us as Natalie Portman, when we were on our way out the door at 3:30 in the afternoon towards Calafate 220km away.
We raged out of town with a strong tailwind that pushed us down the road at 40kph onto the pampas with not a tree in sight. Passing along Lago Viedma we could see the Viedma Glacier coming down to the water in the distance.
I had a combination of mechanical issues - the simplest was replacing my rear derailleur cable but my rear hub sounded like a box of rocks so I had to spin a little easy hoping my hub did not seize up and leave me beside the road.
Passing storms produced a continual series of rainbows as we moved down the road.
Lots of wildlife on the pampas mostly Guanacos (camelid), Rheas (like a small Ostrich), and hares.
In our first 2 hours of riding we covered over 75km of riding and we stopped at about 100+ km. I stayed at a small hotel with Doug and Janice in order to use Doug's freewheel remover and enjoy their excellent company. My bearings were square and the drive side cone had disintegrated into metal chunks - the horrid grinding sound that prompted my stop was my bearings sliding around the race . . . not rolling. I removed the large pieces of scrap iron, popped in some new bearings, whatever that was worth, and kept the hub loose.
Those funny Argentinians - a common sign defacement.
Day two was a little tortuous listening to my hub grind away, wheel wobbling, rear disc rubbing for 120km. After 70km our destination and my hope for hub salvation, Calafate, came into view on the other side of Lago Argentino but it would be a hard 30+km grind into a stiff headwind after rounding the end of the lake. However, Evan and I shared the load drafting each other with 2-3 minute pulls.
I was able to get a new 8 speed disc hub laced onto my old rim for less than $75 at Calafate's only bike shop and will be rolling to the end in style for the next week.

2011-03-29T22:08:00.000-04:00

The Bum Dawgs . . .

2011-03-29T09:10:00.023-04:00

The name was Evan's idea and received a derisive reception. Robin favored "Robin and his Merry Men" - too long. Matt is his enthusiasm for the Spanish language wanted a literal translation of "bum dogs" but that makes us sound like dog's asses . . . Then Robin said it in his best gangster Scottish, and it stuck. So on our last full day together the Bum Dawgs rented a car to go see the Perito Moreno Glacier and perhaps fish. Lucky for us the glacier is only 70km away so our crack of 2pm start, after seeing the sunrise before going to bed, was not an issue. Besides the novelty of effortlessly cruising into a headwind at 70kph we saved a bundle of money on transportation.I admit to be a little jaded about seeing yet another glacier - been there done that, climbed them but I was wanted to hit Lago Roca to go fishing on the way back so I was down. I have seen a few sublime natural wonders - the Cordillera Blanca in Peru, the Grand Canyon, Iguassu Falls, the Northern Lights, and now I can say Perito Moreno Glacier. Driving into the park we rounded a bend and all of us said wow! After traveling for well over a year you tend to fancy yourself as something other than a tourist but all of us fell into snap happy tourist mode taking individual photos in front of the glacier then group shots. The series of walkways crisscrossing the cypress forested hillside facing the glacier offered perfect views. Tourists were strangely subdued watching the creeping immensity of the glacier watching without speaking.The glacier is 5km across with an average height of 74 meters high where it meets the waters of Lago Argentino and a total depth of 170 meters - the tour boats on the water offer a little perspective. Perito Moreno is one of the few glaciers in the world that is growing as well as being the third largest reserve of fresh water in the world.Driving out of the park I took a little cat nap in the back seat while we headed for Lago Roca on a rough dirt road for 30km - so nice to be driving over washboard versus pedaling! We piled out at the lake in a spot that looked good for fishing . . . the wind was wailing, it was cold, an not a soul in sight. Perfect fishing weather but we hesitated on the bluff commenting on the chilly wind - then I went to the trunk for my rod. We scrambled off the bluff to the shores of Lago Roca to stand on a small point on the beach. Theoretically the wind should be driving bait fish down the lake where they should gather around the point . . . within 10 minutes Matt had a fish on and lost it. His second tease of the day but that is another story. I walked down the beach to get a wind break for casting when I heard Matt and Evan hooting and hollering. Matt landed a nice 32 inch Lake Trout - dinner! We continued fishing until sunset but Matt was the only one of us to land a fish . . . Robin wandered the beach collecting bits of flotsam though he usually enthusiastically joins us to read a book but it was too windy.
We drove back hungry and euphoric with our day contemplating eating one of the numerous suicidal hares dashing in front of the car if we happened to hit one - a little Patagonian surf n turf.

i think i need new cones . . .

2011-03-26T11:29:00.003-04:00

of course they don't have them here . . . damn only 700 or so kilometers to go but this puppy is done rolling after nursing it along since Peru. I hope they can sell me a new rear disc hub . . . .

Mount FitzRoy

2011-03-25T19:46:00.007-04:00

Mount FitzRoy is a mere 3375 meters (11073 feet) but is one of the premier challenges of the Alpine climbing world first ascended in 1952 by French alpinists Lionel Terray and Guido Magnone. Even now Fitz Roy is climbed maybe once a year, and when you look at the photos you can understand why then consider Patagonian weather . . . But we had a nice clear day - they are getting rare - to catch a glimpse from El Chalten, Argentina.A short hike up the valley to Laguna Capri improved the view even more

ride, ferry, ride, hike, ferry: back in Argentina

2011-03-21T17:44:00.033-04:00

We had to get up at 6:00am to catch the second to last ferry of the season out of Villa O'Higgins pedaling the final 8km of the Austral Highway ending on the shores of Lago O'Higgins. The day promised to be long - a 4 hour ferry ride, a 22km hike-a-bike over a small pass and down to Lago Desierto to hopefully in time to catch the last ferry across to the road. We had been hearing accounts from cyclists heading north. Knee deep mud, river wades, thick brush, horse path ruts that swallow your bike, lions, tigers, poisonous snakes, cannibals etc . . . So I was jazzed to go.We rode to the ferry and gathered into a group 11 cyclists waiting for the ferry. I pulled the left over wine out of my rear pannier and passed it around in celebration of finishing the Austral - besides I did not need the extra weight on the hike a bike.Lucie and Torrie pulled up who I had not seen since the Cordillera Blanca, Peru and I managed some more jump pics over the course of the day without injuring myself. The ferry was comfortable moving towards a clearing day and we milled about taking photos, chatting in anticipation of the trail to come. Nine of us disembarked at Candalaria Mancilla, two continuing on to see the glacier, and we chatted with a Swiss cyclist washing his bike in the lake - same nightmare stories, "you will never make the ferry today!" We headed up to the Carbinero Post to stamp out of Chile.The first 15km was a straight forward climb on a rough dirt road that brought us to the start of the trail on the Argentinian border. By this point we were wondering how bad could this really be? Can 7km really take another 4-5hours? A Spaniard arrived in a spastic stumble up the trail wild eyed and muddy. We asked, "Como estas?" He moaned, "mal! muy mal!", adding, "have fun while you can!" Hmmmm. . . could we catch the ferry? "NO! es impossible!" Jesus Christ! it took him 4.5 hours and he looked reasonably fit. He said we would not be able to ride any of it and Matt will never get through with his trailer - you should strap it on your back! Well nothing like a good challenge and we were off.

The trail started off with a muddy brushy narrow bang that had me thinking if this continues it will be a very tough little trail . . . but the trail also relented to some great single track! Three of us had a blast on our mountain bikes riding close to 40% of the trail when we were not pushing through bogs or fording rivers. Most bike tourists are just not mountain bikers . . . especially East Coast mountain bikers - this was just like an upstate NY spring! Matt and I dusted the puppy in two hours with ear splitting grins the whole time. We all made the last ferry across Lago Desierto with time to spare after stamping into Argentina.
Ten bikes packed into the back of the boat we passed underneath the glaciers overhanging the Lago Desierto.
We disembarked and camped by Lago Desierto - all pretty happy to be back in Argentina. The campground charges 25 pesos or about $6-7 but a number of us had no money left. The caretaker said no problem pay what you can and if you want you can use the shower inside my house - typical laid back Argentina - definitely not Chile.
The next day Matt, Robin, and Alex hiked up to the nearby glacier and Matt took my camera with . . .
I went fishing in the river across the road that was the out flow for Lago Desierto. We only had a half bag of rice left . . . good motivation to catch fish! After catching 8 small rainbows, I was about ready to give up and eat plain rice. First, I would drag a streamer through a hole that I knew must hold a large fish . . . 4th - 5th cast and wham! I saw a big brown slash and gulp my woolly bugger. The fight was on for the next 10 minutes while I tried to keep him from breaking my tippet . . . lacking a net I jumped in the river grabbing the fish to catch the largest brown of my life at a solid 23 inches. Normally, I would release such a nice size fish but we were hungry. My feet are never gonna be dry in this place . . . After gorging on fish we set off at 5:30pm for 37km into El Chalten
and settled in at the base of Mt. Fitzroy to attend to our bikes and raid the first functioning ATM in over 500 kilometers.
Later that night in Chalten, Robin composed an impromptu haiku about the experience titled

The Spaniard

he came from the woods
have fun while you can he said
he was talking shit

Last of the Austral Highway

2011-03-18T12:39:00.066-04:00

Before I knew what happened six days passed like a watery blur in Cochrane. Wading out to fish the crystal clear Rio Cochrane for rainbows noting the weather shift away from the warm sun of late summer to the cool of early fall. Long coffee and egg mornings ostensibly waiting for the day to warm and clear . . . Matt, Evan, Robin, and I stayed in a cozy hospedeja with a crazy cackling old woman that enjoyed harassing us in the mornings and badgering Evan into sweeping the house. We met three French women walking/hitching from Ushuaia to Quito as part of an environmental study with gear sponsorship from North Face (www.incahuella.com). Cecile, Sara, and Mathilde baked bread in the wood stove oven and made compote from fruit poached from neighbors' trees while we grilled lamb, made fettuccine carbonara for eight, and fried fresh trout and eggs for breakfast. Eventually, I received high compliments for my cooking being labeled "cordon bleu" by Mathilde - I am told it is hard to get the French to compliment your cooking. Pretty comfortable situation spending the nights warming up and drying out in front of one of the wood stoves. Eventually the French and ourselves moved to a campground and it started to rain . . . but we were not deterred from grilling more lamb with two trout bumsfrom Ashville, NC, Asher and Bob. Asher was a fly fishing guide in Montana and started a web based community forum focusing on local agriculture, www.agrowingculture.org while Bob was a mountain biking carpenter trout bum so needless to say we had plenty to discuss.
Consequently, Matt and I had a record breaking late start of 6pm (or later) on Monday to finish out the Austral Highway. In our defense it rained all morning and we were busy drinking fresh coffee with everyone made with an old scavenged t-shirt functioning as filter . . . after 4-5 cups the t-shirt flavor started to fade - still beat the hell out of instant.
The important thing was to overcome inertia and get moving down the road. We camped that night under a clearing sky on top of a rise with a fantastic view of the mountains of the Hielo Norte or Northern ice sheet.
I used our campfire to dry out some beautiful King Boletes I gathered from the side of the road that complimented our chorizo, green peppers, and onions over rice brilliantly.
The morning dawned equally beautiful.
We took advantage of the perfect riding weather to motor out 100+km on much improved dirt roads over the previous stretch. Passing along the Rio Baker through cypress forests and innumerable waterfalls tumbling from glaciated peaks towards the ocean. At times dense stands of Patagonian Cypress arch over the road stretching upwards of 200 feet. Formerly, there were stands of Patagonian Cypress as large as 40 feet in diameter but logging has eliminated most of the giants. But it is wonderful to see such huge trees filling the valley.
We eventually arrive, pleasantly beat, at the community of Caleta Tortel 22km off the Austral on the road constructed in 2003.Caleta Tortel sits on a fjord rimming the bay of the Rio Baker without roads but an elaborate series of wooded walkways constructed from the local cypress that the town was founded in 1955 to exploit. Not the most bike friendly environment of either bog or wooden stairs. We rolled in about dark in a light drizzle and realized that most of the lodging and free camping was on the coast . . . many flights down. But we found cheap lodging with a wood stove to dry out our gear while the lights flickered on/off from an an overstressed grid by the burgeoning community of 500. So we grabbed our head lamps used the family's kitchen while kids ran about and neighbors stopped by.

The morning was wet and we started late to ride over a small pass and drop down to a ferry linking sections of the road at Puerto Yungay.
Traffic was light cows were plentiful.
But we missed the ferry by 20 minutes which in the end was a blessing but with pouring rain we felt less than blessed.
We moved into an old shed own the beach and accelerated the decay of the two abandoned houses flanking our shed to gather some dry wood for a blazing fire. We were not the first cyclists to camp in the old shed as evidenced by the spokes/meat skewers in the fire pit. The dry spot was much appreciated and we bought a jar of fresh salmon for dinner from a kiosko that opened each time the ferry arrived.
I guess we were roughing it but felt pretty deluxe.
We caught the 10 am ferry to Rio Bravo about 45 minutes away - it rained.
Dog is in charge.
The rain prompted us to shoot for Villa O'Higgins 100+km away.
The day was not my most stellar performance on the bike combined with minor but persistent mechanical issues that I stopped beside the road to fix - in the rain.
I was feeling a little demoralized but resigned to grinding out the distance when I stopped at the top of a long climb up the river valley. Then over the ridge two immense condors glided by at eye level riding the thermals close enough to see their faces. At one point they dipped below me so I could look down on their 8-10 foot wingspan. I considered digging out my camera, hidden from the rain, but enjoyed the moment that quickly passed the condors cruising down the river valley without a sound over the wail of the wind.
The hills relented for the last 60km into Villa O'Higgins and the weather cleared as I rode underneath a rainbow spanning the valley giving way to perfect evening light.
Matt, Evan, Robin, and I regrouped at El Mosco Hostel in O'Higgins to take a rest day before catching the second to last ferry of the season off the end of the Austral Highway. As the only guests we cooked on the wood stove, visited with other cyclists discussing the route ahead and recounting past days.

2011-03-14T13:09:00.000-04:00

Shiftless

2011-03-14T11:11:00.005-04:00

We were seven or eight cyclists pulling into Coyhaique making for some long nights that could be more tiring than riding the bike. I could escape to the relative serenity of hanging out with Joos - a friend from Mendoza that lived and guided climbing in Coyhaique - but that meant going out with local fishing and climbing guides . . . relative serenity. Always nice to meet locals in a town given over to tourism. Matt Kelly (www.pedalpanam.com) and I met up again after parting ways in Futuleufu but Matt had booked his flight home and was on a tight schedule to catch his flight in Buenos Aires and we would not be able to finish together . . . disappointing but understandable. Matt is a fantastic travel partner but has been on the road for nearly two years from northern Alaska and was ready to motor to the end - while I have planned to take it slow fishing my way down the Austral Highway. So we said our goodbyes until we see each other again in the United States.
Matt Hawkins is kinder than I. We left Coyhaique behind late – his trailer carrying an extra load of the mooch's things because she lacked racks on her bicycle. We acquired the mooch courtesy of Nat who left her behind to finish the Austral in time to return to Europe coaching the Canadian national cycling team. A mooch takes everything they need from you while contributing as little as possible - not cooking, not cleaning, not buying food but always there with cup and plate in hand. She left three hours ahead of us but we were not particularly concerned to catch her – sleeping and eating could be her concern for a change.The riding out of Coyhaique was a beautiful paved road through another national park where we camped beside a small river - without the mooch.The area is sparsely settled with small communities that would be a stretch to call a town but one small community had a local museum about mate . . . though there was nothing about mate in the museum. However, there were some great photos of the first settlers to this region in the 1930's and 40's.We rolled into Cerro Castillo where the road returned to dirt and the mooch was waiting for us by the side of the road - pleased to see her things she did not carry, our food, and the cooks.

The next several days were spent riding and camping along beautiful lakes stopping to fish when the opportunity presented itself. I peruse the clear depths of every shoreline for fish cruising and rising. Matt purchased a rod in Coyhaique and was ready to use it - the second time we stopped to fish we caught eight nice Rainbows in less than an hour - he was hooked. And I now felt justified lugging around my fishing gear. First cast with a dry fly to a rising trout and wham - fish on!
Undoubtedly, two guys in full ride regalia with fishing rods beside the road made for an interesting picture and we receive honks and waves from the few passing trucks.
Also, makes for some good eating. . .
We camped on the shore of Lago Gral. Carrera in the small community of Bahia Murta after purchasing supplies from a wonderful Palestinian woman, that had lived there for over 2o years, and directed us to the free camping.
The site offered scenic morning of fishing under a rainbow that lasted for well over one hour but no rainbows of the fishy variety.
Day four of riding out of Coyhaique we met up with Robin and Evan in Puerto Tranquillo and continued on as a group of five riders.
Continuing along the shores of the second largest lake in South America, Lago Gral. Carrera
We stopped on the shore of Lago Bertrand pulled out our fishing rods and landed some nice rainbows for lunch.We strung the fish and placed them in the water while continuing to fish - this was Evan's responsibility . . . I glanced at the stringer in the water and began to question the security of our lunch but Evan told me, "have some faith man, I can tie up fish." Hmmmmm . . . I felt bad for questioning him . . . within about 15 minutes I hear Evan wailing, "oh shit"! Sure enough the fish were sinking 15 feet off shore still tied together . . . Evan was momentarily paralyzed by the agony of our loss while I commanded, "jump in, now!" He did not hesitate long enough for me to push and stripped down to retrieve our lunch while the police happened to drive by and wave to buck naked Evan.So, I guess, Evan caught five fish that afternoon and we laughed our asses off.Robin started the fire while we prepared the fish and the mooch made guacamole with Evan and Robin's avocados, Matt's crackers, and my spices in our containers leaving us to clean up . . . Meanwhile a cycling couple on year three of their around the world tour, Doug and Janice, pulled up to enjoy our fish snack. You can check out their travels at http://www.toorguide.com/"se venden cerezas," looks pretty close to cervesas especially at the end of the day Matt and Robin were inspired to stop figuring we would be up for a beer before finding a camp spot. But cerezas are cherries not beers though the cherries and plums were excellent! I have been suckered by the cerezas signs more than once only to buy fruit. That night we camped on a river meeting up with two other solo cyclists, a German and Colombiana, making for a campsite of seven cyclists - sometimes I think bikes outnumber cars on this road.
We stopped for the night in the Lago Bertrand where the mooch would catch a bus back north. We were relieved because she was bringing out the worse in all of us – a niggardly resentment that felt ugly but justified. I felt reluctant to write about the experience, however, some things need to be said. . . and names have been changed to protect the guilty. Don't be a mooch!
That evening Matt started a conversation with a guy in the store in fishing gear who turned out to be the director of "Fly Cast America" - http://flycastamerica.com. Gabriel Bendersky was intrigued by our story and invited us to the Green Baker Lodge the next morning to go fishing and shoot a small color piece for his show! We rode over in a light rain to fish and film - a great experience with some fantastic guys but talk about performance anxiety. This was high pressure casting in a strong gusty wet wind from a cataraft to large rainbows sipping ants on the surface of the Rio Baker. I will let you know when Matt and I have our Fox Sports debut.
We left Bertrand in the late afternoon after our shoot for a cold wet afternoon of riding on horrendous washboard with outrageously steep climbs that is reputed to be the toughest section for cyclists.
Late in the evening the clouds briefly parted for a view of the confluence of the Rios Baker and Chacabuco otherwise we were head down for the warm dry stables of Cochrane.

The saying goes, “If you hurry in Patagonia you are wasting your time.” We rolled into into Cochrane cold, wet, and sandy from the road – Evan in a truck after a catastrophic tire failure. We decided to take another week to ride the remaining 230km to the ferry crossing at Villa O'Higgins. There is a fishing to be done then not much of anything. We found a place in Cochrane to stay with other travelers grilling lamb, drinking wine and reading Raymond Carver aloud by the wood stove, a little drunk, until falling asleep by the fire with a kitten.

Shiftless

The people who were better than us were comfortable.

They lived in painted houses with flush toilets.

Drove cars whose year and make were recognizable.

The ones worse off were sorry and didn't work.

Their strange cars sat on blocks in dusty yards.

The years go by and everything and everyone

gets replaced. But this much is still true -

I never liked work. My goal was always

to be shiftless. I saw the merit in that.

I liked the idea of sitting in a chair

in front of your house and drinking cola.

What's wrong with that?

Drawing on a cigarette from time to time.

Spitting. Making things out of wood with a knife.

Where's the harm there? Now and then calling

the dogs to hunt rabbits. Try it sometime.

Once in a while hailing a fat, blond kid like me

and saying, “Don't I know you?”

Not, “What are you going to be when you grow up?

by Raymond Carver

The Austral Highway

2011-03-01T21:08:00.024-05:00

I was now two days back from Matt Kelly and mounted up my reacquired mountain bike tires and rolled out of Futuleufu monster truck style. While the tire ordeal was a hassle I appreciated my fat treads on the washboard and loose gravel leaving Futuleufu for the famous and much anticipated Austral Highway. I rode along the Futuleufu River that I had rafted three days before with Matt, Evan and Robin. Matt and I were getting ready to roll out when we ran into Evan and Robin – they are two other cyclists we had met earlier in Trevelin, Argentina grillin' and campin'. They convinced us in all of two seconds that we should join them rafting one of the top 3 white water rivers in the world and what a ride! Class 5 white water so clean you can drink from the river and drink it we did – class 4-5 white water is some big stuff and all of us swam except moi . . . my legs were clamped onto the raft for dear life plus I have a little experience on the water so I kinda knew what we were getting into – but that will have to wait for another post when I get the photos from Evan – but I just had to tease.The first night I camped on the shores of Lago Yelcho cooking over a nice campfire in only a light drizzling mist. A few others were camped along the lake shore – some rare Americans from Seattle that I chatted with and a couple Israelis recently released from military service hitching South America until their money ran out. Israelis are probably the single biggest foreign tourist contingent because nearly all of them seem to travel once they have completed their compulsory military service. I kept tripping over the same groups in the next couple days as we hopscotched each other down the Austral Highway sharing travel stories and food.I was bound for Coyhaique, the biggest city (pop. 50,000) mid way down the Austral, about a five day ride. In between are some towns with basic services (food) that are small weather beaten collections of wooden houses with beater pickups parked out front that remind me of a cross between Maine coastal fishing villages – not Bar Harbor – and high mountain towns in the Rockies. Traffic was never heavy as I weaved back and forth avoiding extended washboard sections and soft gravel. However, when trucks do pass I am thinking a little rain might be a good thing to damp down the blinding dust - each morning I wake with gravel bars in the corners of my eyes.
Most every sign is spray painted with "sin represas" or no dams - the whole region is slated to be dammed with a series of five dams for hydropower largely to supply mining operations to the north and eventually in Patagonia. This will include the Futuleufu River among many others. Most agree that it is inevitable but a shame when you consider these are the cleanest and wildest rivers in the world coursing through incomparable wilderness. I can not help but feel a little sadness riding through this landscape with the knowledge that it will be gone if I ever return. Chile is not noted for its responsiveness to citizens or environmental responsibility but that will be another story.
For now I can drink freely from all the water around me . . .
streaming off the glaciated mountains all around - until I reach Puyahaupi located on the end of a fjord that eventually weaves to the Pacific.
I got a nice break on a short ferry ride around some road construction before entering Quelat National Forest The route is popular with cyclist heading north and south - sometimes I feel we nearly outnumber cars on the road. I ran into Pete and Nafisa who were starting their trip north and chatted comparing route notes - check them out at www.southamericabybike.blogspot.com/
I continued along the fjord filling up at one of the many waterfalls before finding a spot to camp in the open on a stone beach by a dock.
I considered camping on the dock
but was glad I did not because a boat docked in the night dropping off about 15 construction workers and illuminating my rest spot with a bright flood light but everyone was friendly and amused to see me there - I even got a morning coffee invitation and offer to stay on the boat if I was cold.
However, I started the next day early into the heart of Quelat National Park beginning a large climb - well large by Patagonian standards 500 meters in about 10-12 kilometers, not Peru standards to be sure.
The whole region is a temperate rain forest with a mix of the familiar and unfamiliar. The surrounding granite peaks loom over the valley with glacial waterfalls on every mountain side. I keep snapping pictures until my battery starts to get low.
The descent off the pass is a steep road of river cobble until I hit the paved road below at Piedra Gato and take the opportunity to change tires and see how my boot job is going to hold - it is still holding after nearly 200km.
Despite the mountainous terrain the road largely follows river drainages which makes for pleasant riding combined with a fierce Patagonian wind on my back - suppose all this will change when the valleys are flooded . . .
At the first little town I again run into Matt and Natt plus Miriam, from Holland who has joined them - plus Robin from Futuleufu. Joos, a friend for Coyhaique that I met in Mendoza, unexpectedly shows up when he notinces the bikes beside the road while passing by with some clients he is guiding! Patagonia can feel a little small at times for being so immense.
That night we camp in a barn on a small estancia with lots of dogs and livestock - nice to be out of the night rain.The morning dawned gorgeous The nenxt day was rainy but good riding weather for Robin, Matt and myself to bang out 120km into Coyhaique. Scenery was predictably nice with waterfalls and cattle on the plateau that Coyhaique sits on. We were all in need of a good shower and some clothes washing. We would spend the next few days as a large group of rowdy cyclists and I visited with Joos.
Lonely, I am not.

Unexpected return

2011-02-22T06:52:00.015-05:00

I had crossed into Chile two days earlier but was back in Argentina - I love Argentina but it was not in my plans to return so soon. However, I decided to backtrack a week of riding to return to El Bolson to retrieve my mountain bike tires from a shop that I had donated. My sister, Susan, bought me a new pair of Schwalbe 700c touring tires to replace my very tired Schwalbes that I was riding since Galveston, Texas. Shortly after mounting them in Bariloche I noticed a slight wobble to my front wheel but thought little of it figuring the tire bead was not set. 130km later in El Bolson I made sure the bead was set. Riding out of El Bolson the wobble was still there but I shortly was on dirt roads and everything was wobbling . . . when I next hit pavement (days later) the wobble was a whump whump . . . remounted the tires again and checked my rims but the Mavic A719's are running as true as the day I built them . . . shitttttttttt. Well it had to wait until my next stop in Futuleufu, Chile for the thorough examination. When I removed the front tire Matt noticed a section of tire threads that appeared to have separated for about six inches along the inside of the tire. Of the 1000 tires I have probably bought in my lifetime of cycling I get my first defective tire before starting down the Austral Highway - a place noted for its lack of services and remoteness. . . I glued a double boot into the tire made from some belt material (won't stretch) scavenged from an auto shop and hoped for the best - sorry no pics because i was annoyed and doing it in the dark. The next day I ended up going white water rafting and was too busy having a blast to think about the tire until that night around the campfire . . . I had some rough riding coming up and did not feel comfortable without solid backups. I was hemming and hawing about the delay but a tire failure will mean a far longer delay down the line and it seemed inevitable. The next morning, while everyone else slept, I was putting my rod together to wave at the fish and consider my situation. I noticed a guy with a dead battery trying to push his car and offered to help because if I waited too long I may have to perform CPR instead. He was grateful and offered me a ride to El Bolson on his way to Bariloche then Santiago - he was willing to wait an hour while I got my stuff together and ditched it in a barn at the rafting outfitters - so i figured this is a sign and I should go get my old mtn bike tires back in Argentina . . . provided they were still there, of course. My ride was a middle aged engineer from Santiago and we passed a pleasant few hours talking fly fishing then politics and economic development. He inadvertently amused me with his commentary on Argentina. For instance they are crazy drivers - prompted by someone passing another vehicle on a bridge which is illegal for obvious reasons. However, you did have a long long clear view of the road ahead . . . then again this is from a nation that stops at railroad crossings to look both ways three times in the middle of the Atacama Desert where you can see 10 km for 360 degrees. He also though the idea of local police was incredibly inefficient versus Chile's single national police force - whose motto is "patria y orden" . . . I did not even begin to explain the various levels of police in the United States but I prefer "protect and serve". A few hours later he dropped me in El Bolson as he cued up at the gas station to wait for hours to get gas . . . provided they did not run out of course. I swung by the bike shop in case the owner was working on Sunday, as many bike shop owners do, and sure enough he was there and gladly passed my tires back and inquired as to how my rear hub was spinning and Matt's new wheel. I returned to a familiar hostel and passed a chill night eating and writing. I caught a bus in the morning to Esquel then had to wait 6 hours for the evening bus to Futuleufu, Chile finally arriving at 9pm to camp and leave the next moring. Two days travel time lost but I would catch up to Matt Kelly in Coyhaique. I was really impressed with the responsiveness of Wallingford Bike Parts (www.wallbike.com) that I purchased the tires from - they offered to ship me a new tire in Chile but the problem was where to get it? I was only five days from the logical place and the tire would not arrive in 5 days and given weather restraints I have to keep moving - the next logical place is Punta Arenas but give favorable Patagonian winds that is within spitting distance of Ushuaia.However, I did discover another place in the universe with spiedies out side of Binghamton - Esquel, Argentina.

Diarios de Bicicleta

2011-02-22T06:17:00.002-05:00

Juan Pablo Docampo and I rode together on the Seven Lakes Loop one day in the drizzle and he is excellent company. Juan Pablo is a documentary film maker living in Buenos Aires and this is his first bike tour. Personally, I think around 2:03 is some brilliant work.

2011-02-21T15:44:00.001-05:00

Parque Nacional Los Alerces

2011-02-21T15:42:00.003-05:00

Matt Kelly (www.pedalpanam.com) and I met up in El Bolson, got our bikes a little tlc courtesy of Totem Bikes, drank some micro brews, shopped and packed up to get a nice 1pm start on the day. The afternoon was sunny and beautiful with a stiff tailwind as we headed to Alerces National Park and more dirt roads without fear of nukes - though Argentina has 2 nuclear power plants with a 3rd projected to be completed in September of this year.
Clouds started to build in the evening as we turned off onto the dirt road heading towards Alerces National Park. The road was a terrible soft gravel and we camped beside a stream off the road - I camped without my tent banking on the rain holding off for the next 12 hours.
I got lucky and the drizzle did not start until the next morning

while I pedaled through the small town of Cholila behind some gauchos moving a few cattle with their pit bull.
Parque Nacional Los Alerces is a gorgeous park of lakes, rivers, and glaciated mountains. The rains were heavy at times in the afternoon but never continuous and relented in the late afternoon to camp and go fishing. The park is named after the immense Alerces tree that grows there - the Alerces is the second oldest living organism on the planet with some specimens reaching 3000 years of age and many in the 1000 year old range. They made for great protection from the drizzle and shade from the sun the next day. The oldest living organism is the Bristlecone Pine reaching ages of 5000 years old.
I had no luck fishing but I saw fish . . . fishing an unfamiliar big river feels like a crap shoot. Occasionally fish surfaced all over the river but none seemed interested in what I had to offer during the evening and following morning that I fished . . . I guess I can take heart that no one else seemed to be catching fish but I am used to catching fish. I reminded myself that it took 50-60 days of fishing in my area of the Susquehanna River to become familiar with the habits of the local residents before I could consistently hook them and I am still working on it . . . or maybe I just suck at fishing.
Anyhow it was a good morning to capture images.
and fantastic afternoon for riding.
I caught up with Matt in the small town of Trevelin hanging out in the park with Santiago an Argentinian cyclist from Buenos Aires who he had met while camping the previous night. I camped 10 kilometers away to fish on the Rio Arrayanes.
We set up camp in the municipal campground with 3 other cyclists - Peter(Park City, Utah), Evan(Seattle, WA) and Robin(Edinburgh, Scotland) - we had met along the way and had an asado until turning in at 1am or so.
Santiago was a great asadero and we will be looking him up in Buenos Aires in a month and half or so to do some more grilling.
Santiago headed north with all the food we could not take into Chile and five of us headed out of Trevelin towards Chile in dribs and drabs sure to see each other again in the near future.
I am excited to be crossing over to Chile and ride the Austral Highway for 1000km of dirt road past glaciers, rivers, and fjords to Villa O'Higgins where we will cross back into Argentina by ferry and a 20+km hike a bike - but I am going to miss Argentina. I will miss the asado, the beat up Peugeots, great conversation, the people with their open enthusiasm for my trip, and travel in general - but I will be back in another 1000 km.
We headed out of Trevelin on a back route to the border that a gracious bike shop owner shared with us and then we signed his cyclist guest book.
The border crossing over the Andes was simple and beautiful with minimal climbing and an actual descent to the checkpoints along the Rio Futaleufu - though the road on the Argentinian side was a rough washboard of loose gravel that became smooth pavement in Chile - but revealed a serious bulge and wobble in my new front tire . . .

Malcolm X

2011-02-21T05:35:00.002-05:00

May 19, 1925 - February 21, 1965

Ossie Davis' eulogy

Lago Puelo

2011-02-14T10:11:00.025-05:00

Lago Puelo is a turquoise jewel surrounded by mountains near the Chilean border with plenty of hiking and fishing opportunities. The town of Lago Puelo is only a short distance away so shopping for food was simple. The campground was set in the trees with a black berry bushes, plum trees, and cherry trees - the trees were taking a bit of a beating from people collecting fruit.Lago Puelo was entirely Argentinians on vacation camping by the lake, swimming by day and grilling at night - we did the same. We felt less like tourists and more like vacationers. Tourism can be tiring always moving from one site to the next making sure you see everything to be seen. A vacation is about relaxation. Consequently, we did not see any tourists and were somewhat of a novelty for the park.Argentina is the first Latin American country where I have regularly seen nationals in r.v.'s - the owner of this especially nice Ford 350 diesel with matching cab over camper offered to sell it to Matt for $40,000 - vehicles are expensive here.Susan, Matt and I rented kayaks one day to go out on the lake and I took out my fly rod for the first time.
A couple rivers flowed into the lake with a variety of trout and Atlantic Salmon - it took me a little bit to get back into casting my fly rod and figure out what was going to work . . . Green wooly buggers - everyone likes a green woolly bugger including this Atlantic Salmon that I caught in the river.
Susan and Matt went out for some long day hikes around the lake in the mountains
and one day made it to the Chilean border but no one was there to stamp their passports . . .Camping by the lake was the perfect way to relax and visit over long mornings of coffee and mate.
After four days of enjoying the monotony of endless natural beauty we returned to El Bolson to check out the local hops festival and sample micro brews. The next day Susan and Matt headed north towards Mendoza while I stayed in El Bolson to repair my free hub and wait for Matt Kelly before heading south on the final leg of the trip.
I have a hard time believing I am almost done with maybe 1500 miles to go.

Road to El Bolson

2011-02-14T09:20:00.010-05:00

Route 40 from Bariloche to El Bolson was a spectacular 130km of sunshiny cruising through the mountains and around many lakes.Many other cars were on the road enjoying the drive, at one point two Lamborghinis, a Porsche, and BMW screamed past me like it was the Indy 500. But most cars were more typical Argentinian. . .families on vacation.

Hiking around Bariloche

2011-02-14T07:20:00.005-05:00

While I took care of business Susan and Matt actually got out to enjoy the mountains surrounding Bariloche . . . I really am a lousy tourist sometimes and Bariloche is famous for a reason.

San Carlos de Bariloche Stencils

2011-02-14T07:12:00.000-05:00

I have always enjoyed counter cultural protest/punk graffiti/stencils and have amassed a fairly extensive collection on this trip. Typically, college towns offer the best selection ostensibly because the enlightened atmosphere of academia.
However, Bariloche does not have an overwhelming university presence . . . but it did have a number of wanted Nazi's including Erich Priebke who headed a German School and Adolph Eichmann who lived openly in Bariloche for years. Anyhow, let us not forget the influence of money. Ironically, nothing raises consciousness like a little conspicuous consumption. Punk can be a privileged perspective - especially if you going shopping at Hot Topic, the Goth Gap (same corporation owns both), but that is not punk - simply fashion. To be a punk requires some discipline of perspective that you seldom have the leisure for if you are trying to find your next meal.Bariloche is an international tourist destination in a beautiful setting with year around attractions including one of South America's largest ski areas so money and consumption abounds - from the sidewalk cafes

to the alpine slide

with lift accessto an overlook of Lago Nahuel Huapi where we watched the world's slowest regatta. Initially we could not tell if they were moving in the light wind until a beer later we noticed that their positions had changed.The presence of money can make for some creative expression regardless of functionalityPart of the protest is in response to the nature of development that favors economies of scale - in contrast to San Martin with strict zoning ordinances preserving vernacular architecture - you see lots of little houses next to big hotels waiting for the right offer.Walking neighborhoods you can catch a glimpse of the original architecture of the German/Swiss settlers but the homes are falling to pale imitation to satisfy the increasing demands of tourists . . . looking for authenticity.
However, despite the commonality of the English language and lots of savvy marketing mistakes are made. . . (thank you Matt for the photo!)this is a store for children "up to age 8".I took advantage of Bariloche's abundant services to take care of much needed business like: put on new tires, reattach things falling off the bike, find a bike shop for a new cassette and chain, buy decent chain lube, dry my tent, sleeping bag, pad etc, buy more zip ties (got enough 'til the end now), repair the disintegrating webbing harness that holds my Jandd bags on, wash clothes, buy thread to repair clothes, clean my stove again, sort through gear to lighten my load, including boxes and boxes of flies, repair my shoes again - the list was long and Bariloche was the perfect place to get everything done.Susan, Matt, and I walked around the city and grilled while they got their feet under them after traveling (including a 20 hour drive from Buenos Aires). Also Matt and Natt came into town to say hello. And Bariloche was one of the few places where we were guaranteed to catch the Super BowlSitting in a bar with other English speakers drinking good microbrews, and some even watched the game - but most just chatted until the ads came on.

Italian Argentina

2011-02-13T15:00:00.007-05:00

The statue of Romulus and Remus with their wolf mother made me double back just to make sure, after all San Carlos de Bariloche is a long ways from Rome. However, when you consider that 60% of Argentinians can claim some Italian descent making it the largest immigrant group to Argentina, exceeding Spain. Logically, Italian could have been the dominant language of Argentina, however few immigrants spoke a standardized Italian but regional dialects. But Italian heavily influences the rhythm and tone of a distinctive Argentinian Spanish. Also, a distinctive slang, Lunfardo, can make Argentinian Spanish unintelligible to even native Spanish speakers. Aside from the habit of adding endings to words that make them sound Italian. Susan and Matt are enjoying travel in a Latin American country where they do not stick out physically and feels closer to Europe than North America. But their Mexican/Central American Spanish is not proving that util. The following song is a classic Tango primer for Lunfardo.

2011-02-08T07:43:00.001-05:00

Seven Lakes Loop

2011-02-06T16:47:00.046-05:00

I surprised myself by my reluctance to leave San Martin de los Andes, the Aspen of the Andes, perhaps it was the quiet residential neighborhood and pleasant company surrounded by mountains and water. But I am meeting my sister in days and still have some beautiful riding ahead. So I said my goodbyes, photos were taken and I, was off.
The Seven Lakes is a famous 190 km road, maybe 40 -50km of dirt, that started in San Martin weaving mountain valleys along lake shores, rivers, dense forests.

The road climbs into a high valley but it is only a 15km climb out of the lake valley
and summer snow sits on the high peaks
but it feels like summer. Bees are buzzin' plants are bloomin' everything is going for it because they know this time does not last long and summer snow fills couloirs.
The rugged green landscape of forest, water, and mountains reminds me of New Hampshire, my home state, and I reflect I will be skiing on Mt. Washington this Spring/Otoño . . . the season change is going to be confusing but then again I am walking into a double summer.
I like summer so should survive. I am getting pretty damn comfy with camping and I found this site stumbling around in the dark while it started to rain. I camped earlier at a beautiful camp/fishing spot but was rousted by the park ranger 'bout 9:15pm. At least he was friendly about it and did not wait until 2 or 3 am to scare the crap out of me like the US National Park Service.
The road moved into bigger forests and became dirt for the day
Along the way I rode with Juan Pablo, a documentary film maker from Buenos Aires, who was on his first bike tour doing the Seven Lakes. He had lived in Mexico City for several years for a film project. Over 20km of dirt road we shared our love of Mexico, talked movies, and politics.

We detoured a couple kilometers off the road to a campground on Espejo Chico, shared a beer, and Juan decided to keep riding in the light rain while I decided to camp by the lake.
The camp ground was busy with families and college age folks but Argentinians are generally pretty quiet despite their late hours. I joined others fishing and fish took some interest for a change!
The next morning it was pouring and I braced for a wet cold day while sitting in my tent drinking cold instant because my stove was clogged again . . . putting off the inevitable. Good practice for the rest of the trip - dirt roads in a cold rain.
So no pictures of this leg until the day cleared in the afternoon riding along Lago Nahuel Huapi with a raging tailwind that pushed me over the small hills undulating along the lake shore.
I would spend one night in San Carlos de Bariloche before Susan and Matt showed up! The first time I have seen family since Christmas 2009 and they bring precious cargo - new tires, new bike shorts, coffee, peanut butter, shoe goop, and fly rod.

bug on my seat

2011-02-06T15:52:00.008-05:00

2011-02-04T14:05:00.003-05:00

Something to watch and ponder while I upload photos of the Seven Lakes Loop into San Carlos de Bariloche. Really makes me want to return to the Amazon Basin! You will want to right click and "toggle full screen" to watch the video.

2011-01-31T17:12:00.000-05:00

2011-01-31T17:09:00.000-05:00

2011-01-31T11:45:00.012-05:00

Nathaniel Faulkner and I had been chatting on Facebook since the Atacama Desert with the intent of catching each other to ride - then he and his buddy, Matt Hawkins, showed up at my door in Chos Malal . . . Not sure if it was a good thing but it was fun and we managed a late departure into the blazing afternoon sun feeling less than chipper. Rapidly wilting after a mere 75km and cooked by the sun, we camped in someones back yard with a well. I have been expecting the sun to decrease intensity as I move south but the sun is noticeably hotter. Turns out there is a hole in the ozone layer over Antarctica that can be as large a North America at times! People mentioned the ozone hole to me but I never gave much thought to holes in the ozone beyond "that's bad." However, on a practical level I sunburn faster here than I did at 4000 meters on the Equator.

Matt and Nat are fun to ride with and they are familiar with Binghamton. As former professional cyclists they are friends with Mike Jones - a local boy done good that I have known since he was about 15 years old. I am sure to be seeing them in the US as Matt lives in Colorado and Nat in our friendly neighbor to the north - both pass through Binghamton on occasion.
The next hot hot day sent us on a 20km detour in search of water into the small town of Abajada del Agrio but we spent several hours relaxing and swimming in the river before climbing back out of the valley into afternoon thunderstorms. As Matt commented, "I have never been so hot then so wet and cold in the same day!"
120km later we landed in Las Lajas - small but with a nice municipal campground and after buying some chicken we spent the night grilling. Once again everyone wants photos with/of the biker. I am sure to be appearing on Facebook pages all over Argentina!
But I received a sweet Argentina Copa Mundial hat for the photo op! However, most folks simply hang out the car window with their camera or cell phone.
Rolling out the next day we headed east towards the Chilean border - 50km and 900 meters higher. First I switched out my front tire for the mtn bike tire, my rear road tire having blown up the day before, and we ran a few errands around town. Nat and Matt would be heading into Chile and I would be turning south along the border on dirt route 23 through the mountains towards San Martin de los Andes.
The day was perfect ride weather . . .
cool and overcast with the promise of rain.
The climb was a relatively easy 900 meters winding up into the Andes mountains.
passing a distinctive landscape of globular lime green vegetation.
and wind . . .
topped with forests of Araucaria or Monkey Puzzle Trees or Pehuen (in Maupuche) distinct to this region of Patagonia
The cold rain drove us to seek a little dry warmth at the only available shelter, "Huskys," a family run place with sled dogs in the winter and horses in the summer situated under the ancient Araucarias - already towering ancients when Martin marched for the liberation of the continent.
The seed filled cone like branches of these same trees were sustaining the indigenous Mapuche while Columbus dipped his oars in the Carribbean.Interestingly, the Mapuche kept a precarious independence until the demands of Chilean national growth in the 1880's expropriated and looted their lands - interesting in the sense that the timing of events is similar for many North American tribes . . . and coincides with the invention of the first machine gun.
After a great home cooked meal of meat and potatoes we were seduced into a cabana with hot water and a wood stove to dry our gear.
Horses roamed over the property grazing and peeping in windows.
The next morning Matt, Nat, and I parted ways as they continued through the border and I hooked a sharp left on perfect dirt roads to continue south in Argentina - though I will be sure to see them again down the line.
I am in real gaucho country now and noticed a horse slowly tooling up pass with two dogs up ahead. Upon approaching I notice the rider is a little loose in the saddle but seems pretty stable and sure enough the young man offers me a slug of wine and cigarette as I pull along side. He was a little bleary eyed for 11am but then again his floppy beret looked jaunty and he was going to be sitting on a horse for another two days - so what the hell?
I spent the day rolling along rivers of crystal clear water and goats.
My calm was only occasionally disturbed by immense swarms of honey bees crossing the road from the numerous apiaries - no threat really but I zipped my jersey up tight and pulled my cycling cap down tight.
At the end of the day I found a perfect spot on the river bank to sling my hammock, drink wine, and cook dinner.
The next day continued for much of the same on dirt roads rolling along rivers through small towns and over a single pass - only 15km climb.
The area has some tourism but I not really sure who is going to rent this cabin . . . granted it is a beautiful setting but easily a 5-6 hour drive to a city of any size and a major population center is over 10 hours away (Mendoza) but it is obvious that Argentinians enjoy a good road trip.
Topping out on the treeless pass the signs are all a sandblasted blank but considering I have few road options it is not a concern and I drop into the trout fishing paradise of Junin de Los Andes in the late afternoon.

2011-01-21T16:44:00.000-05:00

Mendoza to Northern Patagonia

2011-01-16T21:21:00.044-05:00

I finally tore myself away from Mendoza before I started looking for a job . . . but not until 3 in the afternoon - still managed to knock out 110km though. I passed by an uncountable number of small vineyards but only one huge sunflower field late in the day.
The riding was fast with the only hazard being the huge storm cells that built up in the afternoon and renown for their large hail but I rode between all of them. The provincial government has periodic shelters erected to escape from the hail and they made for shade as well on the treeless plains.
The giant cumulus make for some spectacular sunsets over the vineyards.
The landscape reminded my of Colorado except for the ever present Andes and vineyards.
Even the small tree filled towns - I camped the first night in the small town of San Carlos at a friendly hostel recommended to me by Daniel, the hostel owner in Mendoza. Argentinians camp a lot so campgrounds are pretty much everywhere - including municipal campgrounds in many towns and cities. I love being able to camp but walk to the supermarket to buy a hunk of flesh to throw on the parrilla (wood grill).
While I finally managed to get out of Mendoza, I stopped a day and half (260km) later in San Rafael for yet another late late night hanging out grilling with Argentinians. Also, met an American ex-pat, George, from Florida on my way into San Rafael living there with his family. We talked about how he enjoyed living in San Rafael despite Argentina's interminable struggle with inflation. George invited me to his home but after checking into a hostel full of Argentinians I was enjoying drinking mate and working on my Spanish. I, also, met a couple Argentinian cyclists that will be a nice connection when I reach Buenos Aires. I think this means go fast downhill . . . I like it but not much of a hill - sign must have been put up by flatlanders.
After San Rafael the country becomes pretty dry with small towns spread out. Camping is easy beside the road if you can find shelter from the wind but water is scarce. However, I had more Argentinians stop to offer me water, cold soda and ask if I needed anything in two days than the entire two months in Chile - good thing I needed it - like I didn't need it in the Atacama . . . Along the way folks began telling me about a couple ahead of me that started in Alaska - eventually I caught up with Harry and Ivana at a roadside shelter where we ducked out of the wind, had breakfast together, and we rode together for the next couple days.They have been on the road from Alaska since 2008 - go to http://elmundoenbici.com.Also, been running into Argentinian nationals out touring which is a first for any country but evidently bike touring is very popular here - besides the fact that Argentinians like to travel in general.They are checking out my bad ass ride!
Route 40 is the route 66 of Argentina but still the major/only north - south route on this side of the country. However, at times the road turns into a rough dirt road that may have been formally paved but has since been ground back into gravel. The rough riding has been the demise of my Schwalbe tires after 15,000+km of hard touring - they got a rest in Peru where I used my mountain bike tires a good deal but I am very impressed with how durable they were.I blew a hole straight through the casing and now have it booted and buttressed but it is only a matter of time before the tire blows again and I predict I will be rolling into Bariloche in 600km on my mountain bike tires. Good thing my sister and Matt are coming on vacation to Argentina and can bring me a new pair of tires to finish out the trip - along with some new bike shorts, my fly rod, coffee and peanut butter!Patagonia is living up to its reputation for fierce winds but at least they move around so it is not a continual head wind . . . the side winds blow me straight across the road making for strenuous riding wrestling with my handlebars leaning sideways for hours while I barreling down hills at 60+kph waiting for the rear tire to blow again.
While the country is dry water flows down from the Andes and collects in high valleys or out in the plains. Riding along the Rio Grande into northern Patagonia volcanic peaks dominate the scenery and the region has one of the highest concentrations of volcanic cones in the world and at times rivers carve narrow little canyons through lava rock. The rivers and lakes are prime fly fishing territory and seems more people here use fly rods than spinning gear - a bit of a switch from home. I am really looking forward to having my fly rod so I can catch some fish because I don't seem to have a clue with spin gear unless I am catching walleye in the Susquehanna River. Nevertheless, a beautiful place to camp and I still enjoyed waving my rod around at all the fish swirling on the surface eating something other than what I had to offer. They were obviously feeding on rising nymphs but you cannot imitate those with spinning gear . . . oh my kingdom for a 5wt and nymph rig! Eventually, I had to climb up and out of the Rio Grande valley and spent several days looking at the same volcano from all sides as I traversed around it.Passing through rolling plains and climbing into high valleys with very few people around.Higher up animals are grazing for the summer and in the winter they will be brought back down into the valleys to graze.
I talked briefly with a gaucho who lamented that a three year dry spell has made grazing difficult and diminished the herds of cattle but I still see lots of goats in the hills.I rolled into the green tree filled valley of Chos Malal for a rest day and writing after a 700+ km stretch. Chos Malal is a quiet little city and former provincial capitol but not for over hundred years now. Nevertheless, fairly prosperous due to the energy industry now controlled by the provincial government. I had an interesting conversation with a store clerk who was studying to be provincial police officer - evidently the province has the best pay and benefits for civil servants in Argentina, teachers and police, due to taking control of the energy industry from multinational corporations. Perhaps Peru could take a lesson from the Neuquen Province of Argentina . . .

Mendoza

2011-01-11T11:12:00.025-05:00

Walking around shady streets, strolling through plazas, sitting at sidewalk cafe/bars, going out until 4am, socializing with folks from Argentina to Australia at the hostel (www.casapueblohostel.com) working on my asadero skills (grilling) on the back patio - Mendoza has been a very pleasant stop and I have made some new friends that I will see at their homes in Patagonia.

Long conversations over beer, wine or mate have been varied and stimulating but typically Argentine revolving around politics, social issues and philosophy - I have long thought that Argentina is one of the more political/philosophically reflective countries that reminds me of France more than other Latin American countries.
But politics does not interfere with the enjoyment of life and the Argentine concern for aesthetics.
Conversations tend to be long and animated over lingering dinners that begin at 11pm and last past 2am.

but you can always catch up on sleep during the long afternoon siesta.

2011-01-07T17:14:00.008-05:00

I met Jose Bonilla at the hostel I am staying at in Mendoza - he is from Mexico City studying graphic design in Buenos Aries, Argentina. His web site features his photography and gives you some impressions of the Southern Cone of South America.
http://www.josebonilladiary.blogspot.com/

2011-01-07T16:26:00.000-05:00

Argentina

2011-01-04T18:33:00.038-05:00

I was ready to leave Chile but a little intimidated about riding out of Santiago. Thankfully, I received some great directions from the kind folks at La Bicicleta Verde and got out without a hitch. Though riding in three lanes of fast city traffic without a break down lane is a little tiresome maintaining a constant vigilance especially for the city buses. The only road to the Argentine border appeared to be unequivocally closed to anything but the internal combustion engine. . . however, police passed without a word. I saw other bikes on the highway and even met a couple roadies along the way and I followed a local commuter on some good frontage road going through a break in the fence to re-access the highway.I started climbing gradually out Santiago passing through the shady streets of Los Andes with a quick stop to shop for New Years eve then began climbing up the Rio Aconcagua. I did not know how much climbing I had to do exactly - preferring to leave the dread inducing details to discovery and packed 3 days of food. I had not done any big climbs since the Peruvian Andes 3 months ago so my acclimatization was long gone - Santiago, Chile is at 520 meters and the pass at 3200 meters = 2700 mts/8800 ft climbing. When I saw this sign it sort of sank in - gradiente fuerte prox. 55kms - and I camped by the river. Next morning the climbing began. Early in the afternoon the climbing began in earnest through 30 switchbacks (they number 'em I don't count 'em).
Looking down on the previous 16 switchbacks. Eventually the switchbacks ended at Portillo Ski area sitting on the head of a lake. Ski runs actually passed over the road using the long stretches of avalanche tunnel.
Cars were lined up waiting while Chilean customs got militant about vegetable confiscation. Also, vacationing Argentinos heading for the beaches try to bring food from home to avoid paying for it in Chile.
The final bit of climbing was in a avalanche tunnel closed to traffic but passable by bike avoiding the single lane traffic on a rough dirt road. I felt unbearably slow from the altitude.
The Christ the Redeemer Tunnel was a welcome sight and I was driven through the tunnel by a road worker that met me as I rode up.
And I was in Argentina.
And I began a nice 18km descent to the customs checkpoint setting a new personal speed record for the trip of 80+kph or 50mph - that is haulin' ass on a fully loaded touring bike I tucked and went.
The road passed Mt. Aconcagua and down a long alpine valley of the chocolate Rio Mendoza
Passing customs was a painless and I chatted with a group of middle aged women that invited me to dinner when I arrived in Mendoza - Argentine customs did not bother with inspecting me.
It started to rain a little riding down the valley - my first real rain in a long time and I set my tent out of sight off to the side of the road. In the morning I repacked all my gear for the rain.
Riding through a morning drizzle the day cleared as I moved down the valley.
Passing through Upsallata I stopped at a Parrilla for grilled meat that Argentina is famous for. Heading out of town the promise of a good soaking with thunder and lightening stopped me to put on my rain coat right outside of a hostel . . . I stopped passing a nice afternoon/night visiting with some Brazilian cyclists and cleaning my stove. One of them was a primary school teacher in Sao Paolo, we adjusted our headsets together then enjoyed the stars chatting about teaching. He spoke Portuguese while I spoke Spanish - the two languages close enough to be mutually intelligible. I have always loved the sound of Brazilian Portuguese.
I was glad I stopped because the view in the morning was incredible looking towards Aconcagua and I thought of my skis in the attic.
I continued down valley through 20+ tunnels
while white water rafters played below me in the Rio Mendoza.
The city of Mendoza is on a flat plain below the mountains that water endless vineyards.
Mendoza is a good sized city of 110,000 people but I sailed right past the city. The entire city is shaded by large trees and looks more like a forest than a city from the road.
Once in the city you walk below the shady canopy while people sit out side at the "restobars" or play in the abundant public space.

Santiago, Chile

2010-12-30T17:20:00.009-05:00

I took my first bus . . . to get into downtown Santiago, Chile in time for Christmas and avoid the US style beltways/four lane traffic that ring the city. I can be adventurous but heavy fast highways are just terrifying. Plus after asking around to Chilean cyclists all said the same thing, "take a bus to the center," so I did.
I almost felt guilty but also relieved when I noticed the practically non-existent shoulders on the highway coming into the city but once inside the city there were bike paths of sorts . . .
But I feel that I more than made up for my slacking jetting around Santiago doing errands.
Santiago, Chile is a big city - 6 million plus people and quite vertical - sitting in a valley with huge snow capped mountains in the near distance. I have been staying in a cousin's apartment in a wonderful neighborhood , Belle Artes, in the city center with all the essentials close at hand - including the Latin American supermarket chain Lider, owned by Wahlmart. . . so much for shopping local or maybe I am just in a global sense. I arrived with a laundry list a mile long which included washing my sleeping bag that had not seen soap since . . . Guatemala - yikes! You can imagine the ring on the tub. Most other errands were gear related. So after Christmas it was time to boogie around a big city. I generally love riding in big cities which typically has meant NYC for me.

Chile is not notable for its bike culture and most cyclists seem to ride on the sidewalks - which drives me crazy because they are crowded and it is illegal most places in the United States so I am not accustomed to weaving around shopping peds. I used the bike paths occasionally but they also have pedestrians and were very indirect - so I decided it was safer and faster to ride in the streets. Chilean drivers are conservative and not that fast so it has been pretty comfortable except for the double length buses pulling into my lane - also pulling out of street lights is the best speed work I have done in a long time! The city itself is not difficult to navigate using notable high rises and the river running through the city. Below is pictured a building projected to be the highest in Latin America at 60 stories - not that big but considering Chile has some of the strongest earthquakes in the world pretty daring and a damn good land mark.
Santiago is covered with parks, public space, and sculpture which makes the city a human scale despite its size and the forested hills within the city provide good landmarks for navigation.
Downtown parks, streets and plazas are thronging with people.
Shoppin', makin' out, hangin' out, people watchin', chess playin' etc . . .
it can be a bit of a circus in an orderly Chilean sort of way
After Christmas eve dinner with Alicia and Marco's mother(Marco is my cousin's boyfriend), my first order of business was to replace my Patagonia rain coat that was no longer waterproof. I cannot honestly blame it on the jacket given the amount of use it has seen between fishing, skiing and mountain biking in one of the rainiest places in the the United States, however a lifetime warranty is a lifetime warranty. Patagonia has not only bombproof design but a bombproof warranty - I suppose they count on the fact that most people 1. do not use gear that hard, 2. will not return 20 year old jackets like I once did for a $175 gift certificate.
The Patagonia shop was friendly, expecting me, and I walked out with my new raincoat. That was the easy errand - next I needed to find a decent bike shop - not so easy. Santiago has plenty of bike shops but trying to get service? Forget it. Chile specializes in poor service and I could not get anyone to remove my cassette so I could rebuild my hub . . . a one minute job, literally. They were all impressed with my trip but not enough to help. Annoying and frustrating after riding all over the city for a long day. And I am not impressed with Chilean bike shops . . .
I wrote to a friend in Binghamton,NY, who lives part time in Chile, and he hooked me up with a very cool local bike touring company, La Bicicleta Verde (http://www.labicicletaverde.com/es) that does day tours around the city and wine country. I walked in and they told me to make myself at home! So I bought some beer to leave and treated it like my own shop - what a relief to meet some genuine bike culture, hang out with friendly folks, and get my rear hub in a semblance of working order.
Happy New Years everyone - I am off to Mendoza, Argentina a mere 350km away.

2010-12-28T23:32:00.002-05:00

sorry, realized I am taking a little hiatus from writing but I have couple projects in the works . . . . meanwhile take a moment to reconnect with your inner Lyle Lovett/Al Green

2010-12-20T20:44:00.001-05:00

Trees at Last!

2010-12-19T10:21:00.023-05:00

The landscape gradually comes to life the farther south I pedal - it is still huge and dry but I see plant life. Finally the desert is coming to an end after nearly 3000km. I am a little fried.
Traffic is picking up noticeably and Ruta 5, the Pan Americana, is under near continual construction as they expand it to a four lane divided highway - sometimes a drag, sometimes I have two closed highway lanes to myself (check out those concrete I-beams they are huge).
Camping is still easy - parked myself underneath a rail bridge one evening and had a small fire - nice to be on concrete instead of dust and sand - still no people around to bother me. I thought about Alex, a friend's son, that asked if I was a hobo.
Played with my letters pasta and the ants
Sunsets with the moon are still spectacular but the real treat is when I wake in the middle of the night after the moon has gone under the horizon. I am not sure if this photo worked because I cannot see it on my computer screen but . . .
The stars are a solid blanket crisscrossed with meteors and bisected by orbiting satellites. The combination of no moisture and no light pollution make the region home to numerous international observatories. Some nights the night sky is a diffuse glow of distant stars and the milky way looks exactly like that - milky white with scattered pinpoint of light.Landing in La Serena was a true breath of fresh air because there are trees and water in a beautiful city on the ocean.and the street are packed with people doing their holiday shoppingWhen I arrived here I already knew one person that I had met at the hostel in Inquique and we had a date for her to show me around the city. However, within 15 minutes of arriving I was invited to lunch at Mario's house with his family.
Mario had been doing some carpentry at the hostel when we met - I joined him Sunday for lunch, helped him with some carpentry around the house, then got a tour of the neighborhood for a few hours meeting many of his neighbors and sitting around chatting.
The previous day, Saturday, I wandered into a local bike shop that is hub of the local free ride/downhill/dirt jumping scene - Cerro Grande Bike Shop. Turns out one of the owners was a sponsored Cannondale rider and they were big fans of FBM, a bmx frame company located in my town that I know personally. So I was invited to their house that evening . . . The whole of north Chile looked like a free ride/downhill mecca waiting to happen - turns out it is happening.
I really needed a change - whereas previously I had met few Chileans and found the country not terribly friendly now I am so busy socializing with the charming three generations of women who own the hostel and invitations to homes that I have no time to write anything. When it rains it does pour . . . though no actual moisture yet - glad to be out of the desert.

2010-12-13T16:42:00.000-05:00

Terrible Chicken

2010-12-13T07:42:00.000-05:00

A lot more English is used in Chile . . .

800km left to Santiago!

2010-12-13T06:11:00.030-05:00

I left Antofagasta after a single rest day to break up my ten days peddling to knock 1000km off the Atacama Desert between Inquique and Copiapo. Only 800 km to Santiago after 2600km of plowing through the desert. I no longer gaze longingly at the tour buses blowing past me on the Pan American . . . well maybe just a little but no danger I will flag one down - I even refused a ride offer from a trucker!
I climbed back up to the desert plateau to continue on my way after being told repeatedly that the dirt road along the coast was in terrible condition.
While stopped at an intersection contemplating my immediate direction in life Patrick, a Canadian cyclist traveling from La Paz, Bolivia to Patagonia, pulled up and we decided to take the road less traveled down to the coast hoping for pavement or at least a solid dirt road. We traveled a couple kilometers before camping in the desert off the road.
The next day we crossed over a small mountain range passing a large international observatory (out of sight) and dropped back onto the Pacific coast to camp well before sunset.
The rocky spit defining the bay offered the perfect opportunity to forage in the rocks for crabs and mollusks. However, I had no idea what I was doing until a local gathering seaweed, living in a tent down the beach, offered to show me the ropes. Sorry no photos of my lesson as I was busy getting wet learning how to stab crabs, pry sea urchins out of the surging tide, and carve lapas (a tasty mollusk) off the rocks, as well as getting a lesson in bird identification and the vagaries of the waves.
However, I put my lessons to good use a couple days later down the coast. I found no sea urchins, known to me as uni from Japanese sushi menus, but crabs were plentiful!I am rapidly becoming the crab terror of the Pacific coast and they make a great after dinner snack around the campfire while drinking a cheap Merlot.The coastal stretches have been real blessing, in this otherwise desolate landscape, with easy camping on beautiful beaches, sweet sunsets, intense stars, and a cool morning fog lasting until 10 or 11 am.The little fishing villages allow easy access to water without having to haul around more than seven liters.Camping followed a progression of cruising along the coast into small port communities . . . along immense white sand beaches
Then climbing back up onto the plateau and camping along side the road in what ever spot we could find out of the wind.Occasional restaurants in bleak little mining outposts along the Pan American serve trucking traffic but they are not lacking in holiday cheer and the wood stove was welcome for taking the chill off the morning ride.Despite being bleak during the day the sunsets and stars are always spectacularAnd I am finally starting to see vegetation in spots - it may not look lush but all things being relative this was a veritable garden of Eden.
The last afternoon before coming into Copiapo we are pounded by a vicious sand filled head wind on the plateau as we ground along at 9kmph . . . I was hoping to find a large shrine and sure enough A memorial to a 14 year old girl and several dead 20 somethings with an event tent in the back off the road!Without discussion we pulled in immediately and made ourselves at home. The highway is being widened to a divided four lane so the lanes closest to us are closed to traffic - perfect for our drunken weave into the wind then providing shelter from passing traffic in the night. Thank you Memo and Coco!
The next morning is a short 60km ride to Copiapo where I planned to take a two day rest. I start to see olive groves in the river valley and then before I knew what happened was riding along my own tree lined highway. . . maybe this desert will be coming to an end.

2010-12-06T19:42:00.002-05:00

Sleeping with the Virgin . . . Happy Birthday Dad

2010-12-06T19:40:00.004-05:00

After a full day of pedaling I am feeling like this sea lion that someone propped up beside the road . . . I am in need of propping up. The road has shifted inland a hair and is a cliff drop from the beaches so no beach front for me tonight. However, I pass an elaborate shrine to the Virgin del Camino, Virgin of the Road, generally dedicated to truckers and travelers on a little bluff over looking the highway. Well maintained and I see green, as in vegetation and not just the painted rocks. The shrine was nestled into the rocks with numerous lit candles burning hopes and thanks to the Virgin but the real treasure was the contemplative garden above. Sheltered from the wind with a shade tree and benches.
I sat to take in the cool shade and before I knew what happened vino was in hand sitting below the statue of Jesus with sacred heart bursting forth from his chest. To camp or not to camp here is the question. I thought of a story my father told after coming home from a morning men's prayer breakfast. A homeless man was sleeping in the church portico and when the church was opened for breakfast they moved him on. Dad asked what would have Jesus done? The answer is obvious - and I decided to camp. Who is going to deny a traveler refuge in a place of refuge? On a more practical level the area had no lighting so no one would be coming at night and I did not see a no camping sign . . . A practical approach to religion. Dad and I have always shared an interest in religion/philosophy and I recall his frustration with a bible study group once. Dad had recently purchased the Princeton edition of the bible which is known for it translation accuracy. Dad noted that the disciples appeared to be men of some means, one because they could afford the luxury of travel, two they felt secure enough to take the time away from work, and three they had other people working for them when they joined Jesus. In essence they were men of some means.
Not surprisingly the bible study group was uncomfortable with these ideas - people do not like to mix class with their religion. Makes religion a little too much real life. But that is what you get when you allow a labor economist into your bible study group.
Personally, I took refuge in Jesus' role of suffering in the corner while everyone went to his mother to ask for favors. I slept blissfully unperturbed while vehicles passed on the road below faintly honking their horns at the Virgin del Camino. Happy Birthday Dad.

OUt of the Tropics

2010-12-06T19:31:00.000-05:00

I began this little ride south at 42 degrees of latitude north riding into an eternal spring and now summer. I am missing winter for the second year crossing the Tropic of Cancer, the Equator, and the Tropic of Capricorn in 65 degrees of latitude, of which 46 degrees were tropical. Only 32 degrees of latitude south 'til I run out of road!
Strange to think I am looking forward to a familiar climate on the other side of the world.

2010-12-06T19:27:00.000-05:00

Stuffed Animals

2010-12-06T09:20:00.023-05:00

I like exploring grave yards and they can be culturally revealing and always touching. Sometimes they can be peaceful refuges but this particular graveyard felt forlorn and raw with out community nearby. The community was the grave yard reinforcing the harshness of the environment.
And the harshness of messing with the graveyard - a maladiction or curse will fall on those who desecrate the sacred ground.
The grave yard seemed maintained to some degree as evidenced by the one painted plot fence.
A tomb plaque dated the cemetery to the early 20th century. Initially I was a little freaked out by the apparent shallow graves with their little body shaped dirt mounds then I noticed all the stuffed animals. . . The graves of children. . . lots of children and their stuffed animals in little fences that reminded me of cribs.I can not help but think the stuffed animals look crucified . . . dying for our sins . . . that all the money in the world can not replace.

Inquique to Antofagasta

2010-12-06T09:18:00.023-05:00

Inquique was hard to leave but then everywhere is becoming hard to leave. Not because the places themselves are so inviting but the desert is so uninviting. Without my eight liters of water and the promise of more within 100km I would quickly become a mummified biker in the desert. However, the hostel in Inquique was especially comfortable with good company, a nice kitchen, groceries close by, and the beach across the street - I even had a dog to hang out with.But leave I must after saying my goodbyes and thanking the German motorcyclist, Norman, for allowing me to photograph his detailed maps of Chile and Argentina. I now have good maps for the rest of my entire route to the end of South America. I rolled out the city in the afternoon on a bike path passing paragliders landing by the beach along the coastal highway. Strange to be riding through the driest desert along the world's largest body of water - both deserts in their own right not offering a drop of moisture to drink. However, the Pacific offers a welcome diversion, a cool breeze, and a break from the unrelenting headwinds of the plateau 600 meters above. Camping is easy on the endless beaches and I am relaxed about camping because no one is around to break my solitude.Scrap wood along the highway provides fuel for campfires. One evening I stop and gather wood and pile it onto the back of bike like that homeless guy on a bike . . . then realize I am that homeless guy on a bike with hair gone wild caked with road dust, blackened nails of greasy dirt, dark from the endless sun in my worn ride clothes and shoes held on with zip ties. I start my new novel, Joyce, Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man, on the beach with a cup of box wine. Chile is expensive but the wine is cheaper than water . . . good to be thankful for the small things.
The desert appears devoid of life but the ocean teems with life and one of these nights I will break my relentless push south to pick crabs for dinner. Until then I sit on the beaches watching sea lions feed in the breaking surf - not just one or two but dozens. They seem to enjoy their meals coming to the surface shaking their heads vigorously so break the fish into manageable pieces while the gulls gather in predatory envy. Opportunistic gulls avail themselves of my bread bag one night while I am asleep. With the exception of a honk and a wave from truckers the road feels empty like traveling through space
between scattered fishing villages, or caletas, that hug the shore until the next tsunami in a ramshackle collection of wooded shacks and colorful wind weary tents of the folks collecting seaweed.I see other travelers such as myself but they are on motorcycles. A triad of gregarious Brazilians headed north stop to talk with me and take photos. They are every bit as friendly as Brazilians are renown for being and we easily communicate - the differences in Brazilian Portuguese and Spanish are not great - easily overcome with enthusiasm.
I feel the temptation of an internal combustion engine . . . my weeks ahead could be mere days.
Every couple hundred kilometers a small port city appears on the coast as a welcome oasis to shop for food and water . . .
then I head back out along the coast. On day two a group of dogs chase me out on to the highway and the inevitable happened - one of them got creamed by a bus . . . too bad they were no threat to me. If no one picks up the body it could be there for thousands of years mummified in the sand (seriously). I pass a golf club minus the green of grass that the thirsty south west of the United States could learn a thing or two from but I wonder what would happen to their game if the wind ever relented?Day three of riding offers the exciting prospect of a tunnel which also avoids a long climb over the jutting headland. . . honestly any little change is welcome.
I pass the remains of communities dating from the early 20th century nourished by salt peter for fertilizer.
But little remains aside from the odd abandoned mansion, foundations beaten back to sand, rusted machine parts, and a well populated turn of the century cemetery.
I bet some people are ready to see a little greenery on the blog page. I am. I should hit wine country in less two weeks riding until then it is down in the drops pounding out the distance.

As Chuang Tzu said, "Just go along with things and let your mind move freely. Resign yourself to what cannot be avoided and nourish what is within you - this is best. What more do you have to do to fulfill your mission? Nothing is as good as following orders (obeying fate) - that's how difficult it is!" Just keep pedaling.

2010-12-06T09:05:00.002-05:00

Life on Mars.

2010-12-01T11:38:00.012-05:00

Riding along my mind wandered to the Arnold movie "Total Recall" and wondered why . . .
Besides being the driest desert in the world with an average rainfall of one millimeter (.o4 inches) a year, the soil composition is similar to what is found on Mars! NASA uses this place to prepare for space missions. Some soils in the Atacama have zero biological activity. If it was not for our blue sky the two landscapes look pretty identical. The desert is the result of a rain shadow caused by the Andes blocking trade winds from the east and a coastal inversion caused by the cold Humboldt current in the Pacific.
Not sure about life on Mars but the Atacama can seem pretty lifeless and forlorn riding through river beds that have been dry for 10's of thousands of years and places that have not seen a drop of rain in 500 years.

1500km down 1500km to go

2010-12-01T07:11:00.014-05:00

I looked up twice. The second time it was gone . . . I could swear I saw a tractor trailer coming down the road but . . . I looked around feeling a little strange but there is nowhere to hide a tractor trailer in the rolling dry brown expanse of sand. I see trucks loom up in the shimmering distance rounding the curvature of a baked earth growing from dots to produce hauling double trailer monsters that give a honk, wave and leave me in a swirl. Me and the wind's roar.

I thought the Peruvian Atacama desert was dry and expansive but Chile is a step beyond. Pedaling across a desert sea. The bitch of it is I never really liked deserts that much to begin with. Deserts are nice to visit for a long weekend but I am 1500km down and have another 1500km to go. I am weary of sand and watching out for twisters big enough to knock me over and rip shit off my bike.

My ball cap is pulled down to block sun, sand, and the horizon. The view does not vary rapidly and I find it best to not look. I concentrate on the side of the road looking at garbage . . . soda, beer, cheap wine, liquor . . . I guess I know how other people cross the desert. The liquor bottles are always empty . . . not the appropriate drug anyhow, I have hard enough time maintaining a line. But what is? Hallucinogens are out, I am already seeing things, maybe a little crank to rage against the endless press of the wind holding me at a maddening slow pace. I turn off and let my mind wander the shoulders of the Pan-Americana. Chile is a bit of a culture shock, perhaps a harbinger of my return, in that it is a more wealthy and consumer oriented culture . . . not without its dissidents. People own private vehicles, more packaging, more fashion, non returnable bottles, wood and scrap metal lay by the side of the roads. There is no scrap metal in many places because it is worth money and wood is fuel . . . but then again you need people around to pick it up. Some days I see more human figures than humans - giant statues in the distance or large geoglyphs of geometric patterns, animals, and humans. If someone told me a bunch of hippies pulled up in a bus last week to pile rocks on the hillsides I would have said "oh cool," but they are a thousand years old. Built along ancient llama caravan routes crossing the desert. They are set on the side of a dry river valley that harbored some of the only green I would see that day.
I pass more ghost towns than living towns, the remnants of saltpeter mining towns from the late 19th century to the mid 20th century spread across the Atacama. Saltpeter was used to manufacture sodium nitrate fertilizers that fueled agriculture around the globe . . . mildly ironic for a place where nothing grows. Humberstone was declared a UNESCO World Heritage site - the bathrooms still work but otherwise the incessant sandblasting will grind everything back to dust. Dust to dust. The usual collection of crosses adorn the roadside corner pullouts.However, some of the roadside shrines are quite large and are more appropriate to call a chapel - some are larger than the homes in Peru's pueblos jovenes and will make a nice camping option. I pulled off next to one for a seat and wind break, only after eating my orange did I turn around to look inside.The shrine was impeccably maintained for a young man that died on the road. However, in many places if you drive off the road you are going to have a bumpy ride across the desert, there is not much to hit . . . unless you run into a concrete shrine of course.
Small chapels to saints appear like circus tents in the middle of nowhere with an eclectic collection of offerings expressing hopes, fears, desires, thanks. The chapel below is dedicated to Saint Lorenzo the patron saint of miners and this region was the site of the recent mine collapse trapping 33 miners of 33 days before they were all rescued. The shrines provide a welcome respite from the sun, wind, and sand.After 3 days pedaling across the desert I look down on the city of Inquique narrowly hugging the coast penned in by large sand dunesand beautiful beaches on the Pacific Ocean.
My next 400+ kilometers will be along the coast passing endless beaches and caletas, small fishing villages, and promises to be more pleasant than the open desert plateau. Until then I am sitting, writing, eating, and socializing by the beaches.

2010-11-26T08:40:00.000-05:00

Ilo

2010-11-26T08:39:00.002-05:00

I read in Lonely Planet that there was not much reason to go to Ilo just a port city off of the Pan-Americana but maybe that is what I liked it so much . . . no reason to go there - except 70,000 people live there, it is the capitol of the province, and has a thriving local fishing industry

and mineral refineries.
Perhaps one of the busiest small harbors I have seen in a long time - I kept looking for a crash as small row boats ferried people, goods, and fish between the dock and larger boats anchored in the harbor.
The board walk along the harbor is new, well kept, and a pleasant place to spend time that attracts locals, regional tourism, and lots of teenagers.
Boats offer cruises around the harbor for 3 soles.
Amidst all the boats a pair of sea lions were constantly frolicking and feeding - especially near the dock where fish was being unloaded.
At night the water front is lit and the evening cool. Ilo made for a great half day of rest before pushing on to Chile.

2010-11-25T10:09:00.000-05:00

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

2010-11-25T09:03:00.002-05:00

The Last of Peru

2010-11-23T13:44:00.042-05:00

I rolled out of Mollendo past the water park and along the beaches for the final stretch of Peru after buying one sole of bread and some mandarins. Peru is particular in that you buy quantity by price, the little things like this I have grown accustomed to I will miss but I am ready to change up the countries. I was unsure of the distance along the dirt road but figured I was 100-150km to the next port city of Ilo so I carried 6 liters of water with me and couple days food. Peruvian advice on the road was typically conflicted and unclear . . . they probably had not been there.
The narrow strip along the ocean is well irrigated and gradually broadens as I approach the Meija Laguna Nature Reserve. Dirt roads lead into the reserve but a sign says no bikes so I decide to roll past, save my 5 soles, and observe from the road. However, within a kilometer clouds of pink sitting on the water catch my eye. I can not recall seeing pink flamingos on anything besides a front lawn so I flip around to check out the reserve. The ranger tells me to ride through the reserve on my bike and gives me the best directions yet for making my way down the coast. He was surprised that I would not ride through the reserve . . . I am going to miss the laid back attitude about rules and if you get caught a 2-10 sole yappa (gift) will clear things up.Large flocks of pink flamingos filled the far reaches of the lagoons well out of reach of my wide angle lens as well as flocks of wading birds, cranes, and ducks of every description. I understand why birders carry the Hubble telescope around their necks. But vultures are not shy and they are funny looking birds to mess with.
Surrounding the lagoons are large fields of onions and livestock with the communities perched on the dunes above preserving the valuable irrigated land as well as being out of reach of tsunamis.
By early afternoon I round a point, at La Punta, buy a couple more liters of water (drinking 5+ liters a day now) and start down the dirt road along the coast.
The road is flat but rough and soft. Receding from town are irrigated fields in the desert with reed mat shacks. These scenes used to scare me because they looked desperate - how could they not want what I have? But I have grown accustomed realizing they are working to make something for themselves and these are not scenes of desperation but aspiration.
While Peru has some serious poverty people can display an industrious optimism for the future that is stunning as times. Within one year the route I am on will be fully paved between Mollendo and Ilo meaning I am riding through continual construction as culverts are poured, the road bed is built up, and humungous jackhammers carve the road out of the hillsides.
The construction makes for dusty riding on soft to heavily wash boarded roads into the ever present headwind. But at least if I need anything there are people around in what is otherwise an empty place but that may change with a new road. Towards dusk I pull off behind some boulders to lay out my pad and enjoy the sunset from a high bluff.
I fell asleep before eating my dinner and wake at some later time to eat cold pasta that I realize is a little burnt but I am too hungry and tired to care much.
I woke early with the sunrise and start riding before the winds start to pickup by mid morning and the morning fog provides a welcome cool cover from the sun.
The dirt road rolls over the headlands gradually improving and widening as I approach the paved stretch into Ilo. Highway markers are painted on rocks sitting beside the road every 20 meters . . . it is nice to know where I am but 20 meter increments can be a little annoying serving as a constant reminder of just how slow I am. I make a concerted effort to ignore the markers. Peru highway markers are often painted rocks and for a country that is fond of leaving rocks in the road I am surprised no one ever seems to touch them.
Getting closer to Ilo olive groves appear in all the little valleys that have a prayer of holding moisture. I am eating lots of olives and they are really tasty and cheap with good variety as well.
The paved road into the port city of Ilo is fronted by mineral refineries (copper) and a rail way hauling ore. I pass maybe a half dozen refineries on the way into Ilo and I figure Ilo must have a little bit of money.
On the edge of the city is a new gated development that houses foreign workers vaguely reminiscent of our own suburban sprawl. However, if I was living in a Peru I would not want to be plopped down on the edge of the desert away from the city. Especially Ilo's great waterfront with a long boardwalk, beaches, and harbor packed with fishing boats. But no accounting for other people's taste and you gotta watch out for those crafty Peruvians . . .
I arrived in the early afternoon check into a cheap hotel by the waterfront and wander the small port city taking photographs and eat and eat. The next morning I am unsure of my exact route and figure I will see how the day goes and what the roads are like. My map is a little old and has the entire coastal route as dirt but Peru is road building like crazy. Turns out the coastal route is a lonely new highway with a heavy wind driving sand in wispy snaking patterns along the pavement. It is almost pretty if it was not in my eyes, ears, mouth, food . . .
At times the road hugs the shoreline past immense empty beaches
or large lagoons filled with pink flamingos
or not much of anything but you never have much doubt as to where you are going.
The second half of the day the wind relents a little and I decide to shoot for Boca del Rio, a beach resort area, that will make for a 100km day. I arrive in Boca at dusk and I am a little surprised that there are no hotels . . . open that is. The place is written up as a nice beach area (it is) that people travel for but it seems to be largely under construction, like the rest of Peru, and the beach goers are not going to arrive for another month. But I meet a friendly group of people hanging out in front of their restaurant and spend some time talking until the sun goes down. They tell me to just camp on the beach and I will have no problems - enjoy the stars, wash up in the ocean . . .
Ah . . . other people's advice. People get very caught up in the romantic notion of traveling under your own power and camping under the stars - usually has little to do with reality. Camping on a beach is sandy, I have enough sand in my life at the moment, and washing up in the ocean is salty. Sand + Salt + Bike Shorts = Bad Rash. But after hanging out I ultimately grab a couple beers and head for the beach. Fortunately, there is a concrete boardwalk with a nice, relatively sand free, view of the ocean and a backrest plus a little privacy provided by concrete benches.
I wake with the sunrise pack up and get moving by 6am for my final push down the coast for 100km into Arica, Chile along my last dirt roads for awhile.
The border crossing is painless but I have to forfeit my fruits, vegetables, and ditch my coca, which is illegal is Chile. However, I discovered a second bag of coca a day later that I had forgotten in the bottom of my rear pannier . . . be nice to have when I climb back in the mountains again in 2000km.
Immediately, Chile is different and I had a little culture shock for the first day or two, but I am adjusting. Besides the shocking reminder of how much more of this coast I have to traverse to get to Santiago.
Chile is far more expensive, people own cars, there is refrigeration, Chile has its own chains of big box stores, the hot water is hot, and children have there gym classes on the beach.
Peru had been a great ride through a spectacular variety of landscapes. I will miss Peru, I am comfortable in Peru, and I will return to Peru yet again because my list of adventures is still a mile long or 1.6km. But I am ready to change up my country after 3.5 months. I dream of the mountains, lakes, rivers teeming with trout, and the familiarity of forests almost within my 3000 kilometer grasp - Patagonia.

Danny MacAskill

2010-11-18T21:47:00.003-05:00

Beautiful. What else to say? . . . other than open it in a new window so you can watch in full screen.

2010-11-18T09:59:00.003-05:00

This guy is popular and lousy for sleeping. But there is no more huayno music which has been my continual soundtrack for over 3 months but may have been better for sleeping.

Oasis Huancachina

2010-11-18T09:58:00.000-05:00

Oasis Huancachina was 700 or 800 kilometers ago but all those kilometers run together. After passing through the selva and back over the Andes to the coast I was looking for a place where I would not stick out because it is tiring to be the focus of attention. I did not want to hear about Pishtacos, be called gringo, be stared at or explain myself. And I wanted to speak English with a native speaker. I needed a tourist destination where I was just another tourist to be fed beers (just hide the bike). Oasis Huancachina seemed to fit the bill. A unique and famous little oasis around a pond surrounded by huge dunes with hotels and restaurants. However, I did not anticipate Peruvians having a long weekend or celebrating Halloween . . . I rolled into the oasis and hostals were booked solid. I found accommodation in a dorm attached to a bar/restaurant/pool and made myself comfortable talking with some locals at the bar and even got to speak a little English with a Kiwi. The night promised to be a good party but I had ridden 190km the day before and that was just one out of four days of riding - in short I was beat. I tried to stay lively and wait for things to start but Peruvians like the rest of Latin America do not go out until midnight or so and I was cashed. Well, about the time I decide to turn in the techno salsa gets turned up. The dorm room formerly to myself gets two more Limenos in the oasis for the party . . . I did not sleep a wink and the place was rockin' til dawn as people peeled off and passed out. The next day I wandered in a sleepless stoned daze over to another hostal that promised to be quieter with wifi to get some recovery time and write.The second hostal was quieter and the oasis itself was quieter as everyone returned to work leaving it to the genuine tourists. Tourist spots are places of entertainment where you wander from overpriced lunch to dune buggy tour to sand board rental - they all strike me as pretty much the same. The same souvenir shoppes, the same t-shirts, the same board walk, the same kiosks, the same types of restaurants, ice cream - a place where people can safely wander drunk in zip off pants and safari hats and not get hit by a bus. Over sized cameras dangle that would make Flavor Flav proud but what are they going to photograph that they could not see at any other tourist destination? The unfamiliar familiarity of vacation destinations. But then that is what I was looking for - an unchallenging environment where I did not have to think about anything. At the next hostal I stayed in a dorm room with Kokoro who is a Japanese cyclist traveling around the world for the past 4.5 years. He has written on his bags the names of the countries he has passed through and it is an impressive list - my trip would require the side of one bag. He is on the final leg of his journey after Asia, Europe, Middle East, Africa, and North America! We were there for the same reasons but he was looking to speak Japanese and did not want to be called chino. We did not ride together but spent the next week together between Oasis Huancachina and Nasca. He is carrying almost double my load but that includes an impressive kitchen and I enjoyed his Japanese cooking. I have met a number of Japanese cyclists traveling for years and wondered why are there so many Japanese cyclists? Koko told me that it recently became a popular thing to do for post-college males after a friend of his wrote a book about his travels around the world that became a best seller in Japan.After a couple days we were both ready to leave the unreal reality of Oasis Huancachina. Meanwhile, tourists wandered looking vaguely lost and Peruvians lay on the shady grass eating picnic lunch circulating a beer while the children play in the pond.

2010-11-17T14:45:00.001-05:00

2010-11-16T21:49:00.013-05:00

I returned to the beach but never really left . . . I stored it in my left ear and wake each morning with little sand bars running from my eyes. Despite climbing 1000+ meters up to the desert plateau the wind never ceased to blow. Dust/sand devils swirled over the road knocking me all over the place as I went across the plateau then dropped back to the coast. Originally, I wanted to stay on the coast but after asking around everyone insisted there was no passable road so I was forced to ride 225 kilometers around to cover less than 100 kilometers of coastline between Camana and Mollendo. There is a dotted line but I haven't forgotten my last one yet and pushing my bike through sand and over cliffs in a desert sounded like a drag. Turns out the area is seismically active giving rise to tsunamis and the there appears to be a fault line between Camana and Mollendo. Explains why some of the beach front resorts looking like they were hit by a tsunami . . . they were less than a decade ago when a earthquake caused the shorelines to measurable drop in this region.
The plateau was similarly dry like the coast only higher with no ocean and the occasional large oasis-es of agriculture watered by the Andes. At the edges of the irrigated land are pueblos jovenes of reed mat boxes waiting to get title to their land and the eventual arrival of water, hopefully. The areas with irrigation are packed solid with crops and small homes which ironically made it difficult to find a quiet spot to camp as night fell and I stayed in a cheap hotel at the edge of town that had a good view of volcanoes towering in the distance and a small river valley below.I noticed that when I ran the water or flushed the toilet you could hear the water come out the pipe at back of the hotel to the valley below.
I debated swinging through Arequipa, Peru's second largest city, but I have overstayed my entry stamp by two weeks now, it was another 3-4000 feet higher, and I like being on the ocean. The Pan-Americana is busy with petroleum tankers coming up and down from the port near Mollendo. Mollendo is a small port city, however the majority of shipping has moved 10 km north to the new port of Matarani with a larger more secure harbor. Mollendo is left with some great architecture and nice beaches that attract the hordes at the official start of summer in January.The water is cold but no worse than the New Hampshire or Maine coast in summer time and it even has the ruins of an old castle on a bluff overlooking the beach.