Cycling Patagonia, day 7: Argentina did not cry for me
Woke up early, with a ‘hangover’ from yesterday’s tough ride. But I was at least feeling more chirpy and social than upon last night’s arrival – had a fun chat over breakfast with an American couple who are backpacking. They told me about other cyclists they’d met, a 73 year old man, touring on his own, and another guy who’s been riding for three years (!) traveling with his guitar. Sounds like a character from an adventure novel. Little did I know that the world is small and I was about to meet this legend in the flesh.
The road rolled smoothly out of Futaleufu, only 10km left to go in Chile, then it’s Arhentina (my impression of a phonetic spelling). However, the lovely smooth tarmac made me discover that the front wheel is slightly out of true. Damn you, hidden potholes yesterday. I didn’t have time to try and sort it out there and then, as the day was advancing quickly and I had a fair amount of ground to cover today. It’ll be gravel road soon enough and I won’t be able to feel it anyway :D sticking my head in the sand, all the way.
The border crossing was a smooth sailing. They did ask me if I had any paperwork for my bike, which I didn’t, but apparently it didn’t matter. Nice new shiny stamp in my passport, first time on Argentine soil.
The scenery changed surprisingly a lot when I crossed the border. No longer a narrow valley between lushly overgrown peaks, but a wide open river plain with much taller mountains far afield. The road surface was terrible, but this was an amazingly tranquil part, perfectly still, the air infused by various flowers in bloom.
Next stop – Trevellin town. Apparently of Welsh origins. Yep, there is their dragon! I stop in a bakery to pick up lunch supplies but, oh shit, I’m in a different country now, my Chilean pesos are no good here. Locate cash machine but it doesn’t work, none of my three different card or debit cards. Other people weren’t having any luck either. And that’s the only cash machine in town, and in fact, the only one for about 150km. Crap!
I’m not worried though, I’ve got ‘emergency’ food supplies. I also find lunch buddies! Two cyclists, on a very long journey. Turns out, one of them is no other than the 3-years-on-a-bike-with-his-guitar legend I’d heard about. They are really cool guys and what a relief to realize that not all touring cyclists are mansplainers like the one I met yesterday. We end up having an extra long lunch in the leafy square, patching inner tubes, and exchanging tales about cycling, volcanoes, Iceland (which turned out to be one of their most favorite countries). They also help me out with my cash flow problem, by a quick Argentine-Chilean peso exchange, at least I’ll have enough to get me into the national park which I have to pass through and will be ok for dinner.
Russ’ blog about his epic cycling trip: https://wowcharitycycle.wordpress.com/
And two seriously awesome Instagrams:
www.instagram.com/mister_ride/
www.instagram.com/russellselby
We are headed in the same direction so we set off together in a small chatty peloton. Kilometers seem to fly by when you have someone to talk to.
There’s one climb on the way, I have to excuse myself and leave them behind for a while because I’ll be climbing a lot faster – my smallest gear is not very small, and their bikes weigh literally 5 times more (50kg, yep!). I have so much respect for them.
The road enters the Los Alerces national park. Possibly the most stunning scenery so far, blue mountains with snow peaks, deep blue lake, all framed with blooming lupines and some yellow, extremely fragrant, flowers. I so wish photos could capture smells.
I say goodbye to my cycling fellows as they were planning to stay at a nearby campsite, while my hostel is another 30km away. I have a nagging feeling of, what if, the hostel doesn’t take cards for whatever reason, but I can’t do anything about that now.
It’s getting late, I’m hungry (what a surprise) and been on the road for more than 9 hours so I’m counting down the kilometres until my hostel. There it is, wooooo!
Then the bombshell explodes. The man explains to me that the card machine is broken and they can’t take me in if I don’t have enough cash. He wouldn’t accept dollars or Chilean pesos either, or bank transfer or getting out cash tomorrow. No room at the inn. He points away and says, oh it’s only 15km until the next hotel. I explain that it’s an abother hour for me on this terrible gravel road and it’s getting dark, but he just smirks. Not a fan of cyclists I’m guessing. I’m so tired and unsure of what’s going to happen to me that I’m swallowing back tears when I get back on my bike. It’s a really remote place, no phone reception, no towns, no cars passing by. The sun is already setting behind the trees and it’ll be light only for another hour or so. After dark the temperature drops to only a few degrees above zero which would make it a rather unpleasant to spend the night outdoors.
I ride for some distance before I realise that I didn’t restart my Garmin. At this stage I really don’t care about Strava but I need it to know how far I’ve traveled so that I have some hope of locating this hotel. Most of the places here are not well labeled, they are just a dirt track disappearing off into the forest. I take one of these tracks but it leads me deeper and deeper into the trees with no signs of life. Wait, there is a hut! Park rangers, no one in sight though. In reply to my ¡hola! there is a crashing sound and a horse appears round the corner and approaches me, looking for a treat. Sorry Señor Caballo, I wish I had some food myself. The door is locked but a window slides open and it’s easy to climb in. So I guess I can sleep here tonight if all else fails and I won’t freeze to death. But there is no food inside so I decide to keep looking a bit longer.
Not long after I finally find the track that leads towards the promised land, El Aura lodge. The biggest worry is not that they may be fully booked but the opposite, that there is no one there. It’s still low season and a lot of places are closed. My God, I think I see a light. I leave my bike at the gate and run like a crazy person to the house. I must have looked like a deranged lost soul, as they took one look at me and offered me the world: food, wine, shower, bed. And if the hotel was too expensive for me I could stay for free in a spare bedroom for staff. They even apologised on behalf of Argentine hospitality. Angelic people.
Tomorrow is a day off, much needed.
2 December 2016, Futaleufu to Lago Verde, 122km, 1800m (approx), 7 hours in the saddle
