Shiftless

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