Trip Report Three:
Ruta 40
January 21-30
see pictures from this trip report
Trip Report Three:
see pictures from this trip report
|
|
|
| Return to Jeff's Big Bike Trip Home Page | ||
|
January 21 - I set out by myself to do the Ruta 40. Hans has decided that because his time is limited, he would prefer not to spend an entire week cycling through the desolate pampas. He heads off in bus to El Chalten (the base of Fitzroy) and plans to take another bus to meet up with me in Chile Chico after one week. Despite a late start, a tailwind allows me to cover the 32 km to the road junction where route 40 splits north from the El Calafate road. Then the battle begins. A fierce crosswind off of Lake Argentina, washboard roads, loose gravel, and sand make the cycling difficult. I encounter three highschool-aged Argentinians heading south on bicycle and chat with them for an hour about road conditions, wind, availability of water, and other necessities. They did the entire route 40 from Bariloche and complained that the worst section by far was the 600 km ahead of me. They averaged 50 km a day, often starting at 3 AM to avoid the heaviest winds. I continue for about 50 km along gravel roads and camp in the lee of a highway maintenance building. Despite the relatively short distance, I am utterly exhausted. Just before I stop biking for the day, a bus passes me and Hans waves out the window. Total distance 80 km. January 22 - The wind is not so bad in
the morning and I head north, then northeast. The road is full of large
rocks, gravel, and washboard, but it is interesting and parallels a
river where I can get water. The route continues past Lago Viedma, and
the turnoff to El Chalten (Fitroy). I can see Fitroy in the distance.
It is one of the most spectacular and difficult mountains in the world
despite its low height of 3400 meters. Finally the road bears due east
and I enjoy a moderate (30 km per hour) tailwind. I cruise along over
brutal washboard at 20 km per hour until disaster strikes. Suddenly
my bob trailer violently detaches itself from the bike instantly stopping
me. The lower alan bolt which attaches the cart to the vertical axel
(allowing the trailer to track the bicycle) is sheared at the axel.
I think for a few moments that the trip has ended. However, upon further
inspection, the damage is not insurmountable. Though the bolt has sheared,
a small nub of metal extends beyond the axel, and I painfully try to
extract the screw with the pliers of my leatherman. As I am struggling
with the task, sitting in the middle of the desolate route 40, I suddenly
look up and see an apparition approaching from the east on bicycle.
A solo cyclist shows up and offers to hold the axel with his own set
of pliers. With the help of two pliers, I am able to completely remove
the sheared bolt. I use a spare bolt and a bungy cable to reconnect
the trailer and cross my fingers that it will survive the next 20 km
until the gas station at Tres Lagos. The solo cyclist is a pretty neat
guy, a British bloke named Mack who biked 60 thousand kilometers over
the previous two and a half years. He tells met that throughout all
of his trips, Route 40 is by far the hardest road he has ever biked.
After parting ways, I bike east to Tres Lagos and am able to find a
replacement bolt with enough threads to extend beyond the portion of
the axle that has been stripped. I stay the night in the Tres Lagos
campground because the trailer repair has taken so long. Total distance
88 km.
January 23 - I wake up in a cold sweat
having dreamt of a hurricane. In reality, there is no dream. I can hear
that the wind is insanely strong and I fear leaving the shelter of my
tent and the poplar windbreak. With a heavy heart, I finally break camp
and head into the maelstrom. I can barely make progress. The headwind
keeps me at an average pace of 6 km per hour. The sidewind blows my
bike into the soft gravel (forcing me to put a foot down) about once
each minute. Each time it blows me off the road I mutter obscenities
out loud though no-one is around. To make matters even more desperate,
I have the lyrics to Whitney Houston's 'The Greatest Love of All' revolving
again and again in my mind. The unrepentant wind (and dryness of the
pampas) turns my nose into an open faucet. The backside of my righthand
glove is a veritable snot farm and there is no longer any space to dry
my sopping nose. So I let my nose drip freely, allowing the boogers
trail out like a weather vane before breaking off and sailing out over
the wide-open Argentinian pampas perhaps to touch down nextsomewhere
in the Atlantic. Soon the road begins to rise and the wind becomes even
stronger. Gusts are regularly greater than 80 km per hour. In several
places I am unable to get my foot back in the pedal clip. I begin to
entertain the thought that I may not want to bike another 400 km under
these conditions. However, at the moment, a bus passes in front of me
and shudders to a stop. Out hops Julio, a jovial Spaniard that I met
in Torres del Paine National Park. He runs out, gives me a big hug,
and has the bus driver photograph the two of us. Though he is directly
next to me, I can barely hear what he is saying because of the wind.
The rest of the bus passengers are clapping and waving as the bus pulls
away leaving me in the ever-increasing wind. The response of the tourists
inspires me to think that maybe I can ride the entire length of Ruta
40. However, an hour after the bus has passed me, it becomes too windy
to make any forward progress at all. I begin to walk my bike to the
protection of a culvert and I am nearly blown over several times while
walking. I sit in the ditch for four hours waiting for the wind to subside.
It doesn´t, but I get up and try to bike anyways. Incredibly, after
a half hour on the bike, I see another cyclist heading towards me (downwind).
When we meet, we share some chocolate in a ditch for about two hours.
His name is Manuel, an Argentinian college student, and he is biking
from Bariloche to El Calafate. He tells me that he has walked his bike
40 km today because the sidewind is too strong. He says that while walking
his bike, both he and his bike were blown over a dozen times. He tells
me that there is no way for me to bike the next section (crosswind)
until the wind subsides. After he departs (downwind), I begin to think
of hitching beyond the crosswind. I feel dirty for these thoughts, but
another three hours in the ditch depresses me enough to stick by thumb
out at a passing car. The car stops and collects me and carries me about
80 km to the junction of the Gobernador Gregores turnoff. I am dropped
off at dusk and find a culvert to hide in. It is a low cement tunnel
built to accomadate runoff during the rainy season. I pull my supplies
down the embankment, out of the wind, into the tunnel and get ready
to prepare dinner. However, during the dinner preparation, the wind
changes direction, and my culvert turns into a wind tunnel complete
with a funnel at the upwind opening. As I am cooking, the wind steals
my camp stove wind screen away in a flash and carries it off to the
far end of the tunnel. I rush through the 30 meter tunnel after the
windscreen before it is lost. However the middle of the tunnel is only
50 centimeters high and I am forced to crawl on my belly through dust
and mud to get at the windscreen. At the far end of the tunnel (where
the ceiling is about 1.5 meters high), I realize that the wind is less
strong, so I decide to change camp. I make three trips back and forth
through the crawl space to retrieve my things before realizing that
it is much easier to ferry loads up and over the road rather than beneath
it. I am too depressed at my progress today to continue cooking and
instead eat only yoghurt and cornflakes. Total distance biked 35 km.
January 24 - I awaken at dawn hoping beyond
hope that the wind will be calm enough for a long day of bike riding.
Indeed there is a moderate (30 to 40 km sidewind) and I make good progress
(67 km) all the way to the Rio Chico. At the Rio Chico, I prepare a
hot pasta lunch in the lee of an abandoned building. After lunch I feel
good enough that I continue biking (straight west) trying to gain as
great a distance upwind before the wind picks up again. I work hard
to make it the 34 km to a small farmhouse at the side of the road. During
the last few kilometers I am repeately blown off my bike because of
strong gusts. I make it to the shelter of the farmhouse at dusk and
ask to camp in the lee of their home. The owner of the house, Senor
Martinez, invites me to sleep inside on some mattresses and I quickly
accept. I am completely exhausted. Total distance 101 km. January 25 - Again I wake up to find my
nightmare come true. The wind is obscene. I wearily pack my bags and
head outside. It is only 16 km to the next rest stop, the lone Hotel
Las Horquetas, and then 8 km beyond that the road turns due north (for
200 km of crosswind). I make it 500 meters upwind before a gust of wind
blows me and my bike backwards! This happens several times. I estimate
that there are frequent gusts of wind well over 100 km per hour. During
several of these gusts, I and my bike are blown over by the wind while
I am standing beside the bike. I walk my bike 1.5 km to the shelter
of a ditch and climb inside to pray for the wind to subside. I wait
for one hour. The wind doesn´t subside and doesn´t appear to want to
do so. I come to the epiphany that I would rather spend my limited amount
of vacation time biking bikable roads and climbing climbable mountains
rather than waiting in ditches for four or five more days on the side
of Route 40. I am a beaten man and I feel miserable, but at the moment
believe that by passing quickly through the rest of Route 40, I will
have more time for more fun activities. It is hard for me to admit that
deep down I am truly a creature of comfort. After eight kilometers walking
my bike upwind (about three hours), I finally get a ride in a 1961 Mercedes
bus RV owned by three Argentinian couples. They feed me endless cups
of mate and try to convince me that my failure is not unreasonable.
They drop me at the small town of Bajo Caracoles and from there I pay
13 dollars for the three times a week bus (just happens to be passing
by) trip to Perito Moreno. Total distance by bike 0.5 km, by foot 10
km, by transport 216 km.
January 26 - The road is paved from Perito
Moreno due west to the Chilean border. Despite a moderate upwind, it
is a fairly easy and flat ride to the border at Los Antiguos. The entire
ride is along the shore of Lago Argentina, the largest lake in South
America. I see and photograph a wild armadillo on this stretch of road.
After Argentinian customs, the road becomes a gravel washboard for 15
km, and reaches the Chilean town of Chile Chico. Total distance 75 km.
January 27 - I take a rest day and wait
for Hans to arrive. It is the anniversary of the birthdate of Chile
Chico and I go to the rodeo and watch small dehydrated cows getting
beat up by incredibly skilled horsemen. Some of the cows decide they
don´t want to run anymore so they lie down in the dust and can only
be prodded to their feet if their tails are brutally yanked. Chile Chico
is a neat place despite being on the tourist circuit. In 1991, nearly
one meter of ash dropped on the town when Volcano Hudson exploded. The
town was pitch black for days and completely incommunicado from the
outside world for four days until the Argentinians arrive. I meet Shawn,
a cyclist who has made it here from Boulder, Colorado, over the course
of 15 months. He is somewhat crazy having biked solo through Colombia.
January 28 - Hans arrives and after a
token swim in the largest lake in South America, we take the afternoon
ferry across the lake to Puerto Ibanez. It is dark relatively early
now (9 PM) and threating to rain, so we stay in a hospedaje on the north
side of the lake instead of heading north.
January 29 - We enjoy a beautiful ride north from Puerto Ibanez over 32 km of rough dirt road until we join the Carretera Austral. It is undergoing construction so we ride alternatively on paved and unpaved road. The total vertical ascent is about 1100 meters from Puerto Ibanez to a pass within Parque Cerro Castillo. The last part of the route to Cohayique is downhill and entirely pave and we are able to obtain speeds of 60 km per hour on some downhils. It is pouring rain the entire day. Fortunately, the wind in this part of Chile is non-existent. I think (and I hope) that the wind of the pampas is a thing of the past. Total distance 120 km. January 30 - We decide to spend a rest
day in Coyahique, the largest city in this part of Chile, to rest, resupply,
and dry out our soaking wet possessions. We are staying in the home
of some Chilean friends we met in Chile Chico and are happy to try to
wait out today´s rain. Tonight a big home-made meal. Tomorrow we continue
north on the Carratera Austral until Hans has to leave on the 7th of
February.
|
