Chris & Margo's Wanderings

Moving to a New Blog

2011-11-09T16:53:00.000-08:00

We've been working a new website cum blog. It uses the wordpress platform, which we find better suits our needs.

It's allowed us to consolidate our blog of travel tales with our bike touring information pages, formerly hosted at an obscure address.

Please join us at http://candmwanderings.wordpress.com/ and for recipes http://candmrecipes.wordpress.com/

We've transferred all our old posts, and made them more accessible by systematically using categories and tags. Many thanks to Amaya Williams of Worldbiking for getting us started on the new site.

M&C

Season Finale

2011-10-15T11:14:00.000-07:00

2011/10/14 Panorama Ridge in the Snow

With winter coming, Masa leaving to walk across Australia, and Kathrin off to New Zealand for her southern summer, this was likely our last hike for the year. And what a hike! The snow had come in buckets last week, the sun was out, and the world was beautiful!

We hiked up from the Rubble Creek parking lot to Taylor Meadows, where we first had snow under our feet. The snow depth increased with elevation to perhaps 2m at the 2109m peak of Panorama Ridge. Climbing the ridge was difficult as we sunk up to our knees in the soft snow. We returned via Garibaldi Lake. The 31.8 km trip took us 10hrs. Masa and I took 340 photographs. A selection of our photos are on the Flickr set here. To see our route (including drive back to Squamish) on Google Earth click here. Blog by Masa in Japanese is here.

On the Ridge. Final Destination is the Peak Top Left

Final Hike to the Peak

Masa on the Ridge

View from the windy Top

Masa at the top

Discretion is the Better Part of Valour

2011-10-07T11:01:00.000-07:00

2011/10/06: Mt Hanover
The Mt Hanover hike is described in Scrambles in Southwest British Columbia. It explains that the final ascent of the mountain is through a gully which is "wet and mossy", and the climbing has "moderate exposure".

Masa's Boots

We (Kathrin, Masa and Chris) started from Lions Bay and climbed up through the clouds, finding ourselves out in a beautiful sunny day at 1000m. At around 1400m, we reached the Howe Sound Crest Trail, turned north, and dropped down almost to Brunswick Lake. At 1320m, we left the trail and hiked across an open shelf with some gullies filled with snow. We then started the ascent of the mountain going up through trees to a large (both in extent and in boulder size) boulder field, and entered a gully. Here we started rock climbing (at ~1650m). Two ropes had been left by previous hikers to aid us, but for us we felt the "Moderate Exposure" on wet mossy rock was too dangerous. We aborted the attempt to reach the peak and returned to Lions Bay, arriving at the car as it was getting dark. While it was disappointing to not reach the top, we all agreed it was a very enjoyable day.

Masa was especially amazed by the water crossings and route finding in open country. He has walked from Shanghai to Vancouver (22,000km) pulling a 50kg cart, and is about to leave to walk across Australia and back to Shanghai. He had not done anything like this before! The boots he was wearing had done 3,000km, and as you can see were severely worn at the heels. He writes a blog of this travels (it is in Japanese but Google does a poor, but usable, translation).

Below is a photo essay of the day (photos by Masa). More photos are available on Flickr. GPS track is available here.

C.

Coming out through the clouds

Creek Crossing

At 1320m open shelf

View of Mt Hanover

Cloud over Deeks Lake

Climbing in the Gully

Kathrin in Wet Mossy section with Moderate Exposure

View from the gully of The Lions (far left in mist) and Mt Brunswick (right)

"We knocked the bastard off!"

2011-09-26T11:10:00.000-07:00

Early Morning View

This is what Sir Edmund Hillary said when he returned to camp with Tenzing Norgay after they were the first to reach the summit of Everest in 1953.

Since the late 70's when I climbed Blanshard's Needle, I have looked up the valley and thought I must climb the adjacent Golden Ears Mountain. It is one of those peaks along with Mt. Baker and the Lions that most Vancouverites know, and -like the Lions- it has a bridge named after it. When one rain free day was forecast this week Kathrin, Margo and I planned an early start but then found ourselves waiting at the park gate for 45 minutes (Memo to self: check park opening times in future!). The 24 km and 1500 m climb took us thirteen hours, but as expected the view from the top was fantastic. Our less than spectacular time was because our feet were still hurting from the rogaine, and Margo's back was causing her trouble on the descent, so it took us as long to come down as to go up. The weather was sunny on the way up, but cloud came in as we neared the top, confirming that our decision not to do this as an overnight trip was a good one because rain was expected the next day. The last 45 minutes to the car required headlamps, but was along an old rail bed so trail-finding was not an issue.

More Photos on Flickr. GPS track is available here.

C.
(Note added later: A friend has reminded me I did climb Golden Ears in the late 1970´s with him, taking about 11 hours)

Margo Crossing Snowfield

Cloud over Edge Peak

Video of view from top

Margo, Chris and Kathrin at the top.

Sore Feet

2011-09-24T22:59:00.000-07:00

I've heard these 24 hour navigation events described as 8 hours of fun followedby 16 hours of character building. They're tough, but I enjoy the challenge in a perverse way,and the odd assortment of eccentric and analytical masochists which they seemto collect. This was the North American Rogaine Championships, held onSeptember 10th to 11th at Lundblom Lake, just east of Merritt, BC.

I went with Kathrin, as one of three teams in the Superveterans Women's (over 55) category. Kathrin can move across the landscape faster than I can,but I felt I earned my keep on navigation. Several times I found controls whileKathrin was still poking around the not-quite-right place. At control 75, we were rightnear Marion and Althea - who were still searching - when Ifound it. Rather than yell "I've found it!" to Kathrin while withinearshot of M&A, I called something like "Kathrin ...come quick...I've stepped on a bees' nest!" (M and A were our only seriousfriendly-competitors, a pair of formidable athletes who eventually beatus by only a smallish margin.) Soon "Bees' nest!" became our code for having found the control, if we were slightlyseparated when one of us found it.

Night was falling as we reached where control 103 should have been, but we'dheard it was misplaced so did not spend much time searching. It's the nightportion of the event that is most difficult by far. We were pleased with ourselves to find 73 and 92relatively easily in the dark and in dense forest, where others were havingmore trouble; perhaps we got a bit cocky as a result, and met our comeuppancelater on.

The first rest we got was at midnight,when we sat down for about twenty minutes at 101, overlooking the lights of theHash House below. Things fell apart soon afterwards when we failed to find 56or 84, neither of which should have been that difficult. In hindsight, weshould have relocated from the nearby fence for 56, but at 3 or 4 a.m., after moving for 15 hours,things aren't ever simple - we were just hanging on. After a long bushwhack, we failed to find 45 fromthe obvious fence junction attack point in the pre-dawn hours, so we took about40 minutes much-needed rest -curled in space blankets with packs as pillows- till it got light and things became relatively easyagain.

Moving on from 58, to 95, 67 and 104 in the morning was tough. This portion of the mapwas steep terrain which we may have been best to avoid. The descent from 67 tothe two small lakes involved down-climbing a cliff band, so I can see why theevent organizer warned all of us firmly to avoid this area at night.

By the end, I was in death march mode, popping Advils to dull the painof blisters forming on the bottoms of my feet, as well as to ease generalaches. Kathrin was kindly carrying my jacket and extra water bottle. We arrivedat the Hash House with a comfortable 45 minutes to spare, having been on the hoof formore than 22 hours during which we covered between 50 and 60 rough kilometresand collected a respectable 2040 points, considerably more than I'd ever managed to get in previous rogaines.

Margo and Kathrin's Route
(Map is 1:40,000 with 30m contours)

Chris had paired up with John, a very experienced rogainer from Idaho.They were well matched for speed, with one only slightly faster uphill and theother slightly faster down. Their beards matched, too! Chris - a relative newbie to rogaining - learned a lot fromJohn, who works by moving nearly entirely on compass bearings while preciselyestimating distance either by pace-counting or by timing.

They returned to the Hash House for a feed and an hour's rest just before dawn, and left again having been able to leave their lights behind. When they returned, they'd collected a highly respectable 2390 points to earn themselves a satisfying second place in the rather competitive Superveteran Men's category.

Chris and John's route

Louise went with Christoph, and they handily won the Open Mixed category with 2980 points, but there were a few sighs afterwards from our highly competitive daughter for not having given the top Open (Men's) team a better run for their money.

Louise and Christoph's route

We survived the weary drive back to Vancouver, and for two of us the subsequent dash to the airport to catch a red eye flight to Montreal. In the following days and weeks there's been much discussion and analysis and tentative planning for the next one. But there's also been nursing of sore feet and aching old bodies, and wondering how long it takes till the pain and the memories of that pain fade enough to consider doing another rogaine.

My feet seem to be telling me "not just yet."

More photos on Flickr.

M

Official Results:

Getting into Shape for the Rogaine

2011-09-07T10:19:00.000-07:00

We have entered ourselves for the 2011 North American Rogaine Championships. Margo and Kathrin hope to defend their 2010 Women's Super-Veteran title, and I am looking for a respectable finish in my first event with John from the USA. For those of you who do not know what a rogaine is, here is the short explanation:

A ROGAINE IS A MAP AND COMPASS EVENT THAT RUNS OVER A 24 HOUR PERIOD. Teams of 2 to 5 people choose how long and how far they will venture to find as many of the controls marked on the map as they can. The controls may be found in any order and teams may return to the central Hash House at any time to eat and/or sleep.

So those cycling muscles are not much use; it's time to work on those walking and scrambling muscles!

We have done three hikes: Mt. Unnecessary from Lions Bay, Black Mountain, and Lynn Peak, in beautiful Vancouver late summer weather.

GPS tracks for Mt Unnecessary, Black Mountain, and Lynn Peak.

Margo & Kathrin on Lynn Peak, Mt Baker on the Skyline

The Lions from Mt Unnecessary

Hiking up Black Mountain

Kathrin at Whyte Lake

Cycling Atlantic Canada

2011-08-30T11:33:00.000-07:00

Here is a map of our final route.

We rode 1900km in a month, and still managed to put on weight from eating far too much fish and chips.

See details of this trip on our Cycling Pages.
See a photos of this trip on Flickr.

Signal Hill

2011-08-20T04:11:00.000-07:00

Yesterday evening we walked up Signal Hill, and this provided me time to take some photos which I share with you here.

Newfoundland dog (his name is Schooner) posing at
Signal Hill with Cape Spear on horizon at left

While St John´s offers excellent food, in most of the rest of Newfoundland it is difficult to find food that is not deep fried. Tim Horton´s is very popular and is one of the few places you can get food that is a bit less greasy. These two pictures give you a flavour of the delicacies available in rural Newfoundland.

C.

Ending with a Flourish

2011-08-19T11:44:00.000-07:00

2011/08/17: 85 km to Witless Bay
As we left the dry haven of our efficiency unit, Daniel quipped that the hoped the next tenants weren't Muslims or Jews. We'd cooked and eaten an entire pound of bacon, not to mention three fried eggs each. With no fume hood, so the place smelled strongly of our hearty breakfast.

We went a short way to the tiny, archaic Museum of Sealing and Whaling, which consisted of a random assortment of bones, presumably from various marine mammals. With no labels, who knows which bone was which? There were some old photos and yellowed newspaper clippings too, and several harpoon cannons that we weren't allowed to fire. We stayed longer than we naturally would have to avoid setting out in the heavy rain that had started. There is a processing plant in South Dildo which was built to render whale blubber, but has now been converted to process fish. In a certain way, the museum was a nostalgic look at a community for which the whaling and sealing had been the original catalyst.

The rain tapered off as we set out, and it was warm enough to peel off layers as we pedalled through an eerie fog. Much of the time we are a strung out threesome: Daniel, followed by Chris at some distance, followed by Margo at yet more distance. I was quite taken by surprise when a female voice said "Hi" just behind me in the mist. A young woman on a lightly loaded bike passed first me, then Chris, then Daniel. Some time later, a man in his fifties caught up to us. They were a father and daughter from Toronto, riding from Victoria to St. John's. They´d taken the summer ferry to Argentia, so would ride for only one day in Newfoundland.

We'd decided on a final route that would include a puffin-watching outing and a visit to Cape Spear, so we turned off the TCH onto No. 13, and raced directly east toward the coast with a gale at our backs. The straight road rose and fell across a moorland laced with tarns. As we dropped towards the coast, we saw trees that had been snapped and uprooted by recent gales.

We arrived at another efficiency unit we'd booked in Witless Bay, and our hostess spoiled us by bringing much appreciated raisin buns and banana bread to go with our tea. When she spoke, I could have sworn she's just stepped off the boat from Ireland. The accent has changed as we've moved across the island. The roots of Newfoundland dialect are the West Country of England and the south eastern counties of Ireland. We were in an area proud of it's Irish heritage.

2011/08/18: 61km to St. John's
We rode the short distance to Bay Bulls where Daniel had reserved our boat trip to see North America'a largest colony of Atlantic puffins and other seabirds at Witless Bay Ecological Reserve, and set off aboard a catamaran. The patter about the puffins was interspersed with Newfie humour and traditional music. Many of the songs were Irish ballads I hadn't heard since I used to listen to folk music my father would play on the gramophone.

Puffins are tiny creatures, only 20 centimetres long. They spend eight months of the year living solitary lives on the open ocean eating capelin, and only come to land during the breeding season. They mate underwater, lay a single egg in a burrow, and take turns catching fish for their chicks. They have to run a gauntlet of marauding herring gulls that try to snatch their fish each time they return to their burrows. When they take off from the water, they look like oversized bumble bees flying just above the surface, wings whirring like propellers, and little orange feet dangling comically behind.

Back on land, we rode the steep coastal rode towards Cape Spear, the easternmost tip of North America. The road had no paved shoulder, and as I gathered speed on the final descent, a car waited just behind me while I "took the lane." Gleefully, I dropped forward into my speed demon aerodynamic position and let gravity do its work. Yeeee haw!!! Wheeeeee!!!!

Down by the historic lighthouse, the driver of the car that had followed me came up and asked "Do you know how fast you were going?" He announced that according to his speedometer I was "over seventy." This agreed with the maximum speed recorded of 72.1 kmh recorded by my odometer, a high for this trip and probably my recent bike touring career. Daniel had recorded 70.8 and conservative Chris (who had to brake so as not to overtake cars) 66.7. Yes, I am by far the slowest uphill, but I like to optimize my descents in an attempt at compensation.

Cape Spear lay bathed in sunshine, and I waved across at Cape Finisterre, the westernmost point in Europe, that Chris and I cycled to in 2007. "Hola" I called, as I waved. It's a whole lot closer than Vancouver is.

Easternmost point of the Americas

Welcome to St. John´s

The ride back up the hill was a grunt, if ever there was, but we made it to St. John's and our hostel. Now for some cod tongues, scrunchions, toutons. And bring on the figgy duff!

M

Foul Weather

2011-08-18T18:20:00.000-07:00

2011/08/15: 106km to Arnold's Cove
We started early, and as we rolled along the shoulder of the Trans-Canada, all I could think of was the song by The Arrogant Worms that goes "We've got rocks and trees and trees and rocks and rocks and trees and trees and rocks....." (Click here and press arrow for song) The island of Newfoundland is bigger than Ireland, smaller than England, and has a population of fewer than half a million souls. There was virtually no access to the interior until the 1960s. The emptiness goes on and on. We put our miles in.

We stopped to pose with Morris the Moose outside the visitors' centre in Goobies. Morris was the only moose we saw, despite the island being literally overrun by them. Moose were deliberately introduced from Nova Scotia in the 1930s as a food source, and since a bounty system meant they'd finished killing all the wolves a decade earlier, the moose did very well. Too well.

We passed the big oil refinery at Come by Chance, and dove into The Tanker Inn, frequented by drilling crews at Arnold's Cove just as it began to rain. It rained hard all night.

2011/08/16: 69km to South Dildo
It was raining as we left, and the rain steadily increased as we rode. Water trickled inside our wet weather gear from above, splashed up from below, and drenched us in heavy sheets from the side as trucks passed us. Some hours later, we pulled into a "K" restaurant for lunch, and the waitress brought new place-mats because we'd drenched the table as we undid our clothes. She also got a mop to dry the floor near our chairs, in case someone slipped.

We discussed our options, and decided to get a room at the motel beside the restaurant. To our great disappointment, however, it had no room left. The visitor's centre helped us find the next nearest haven against the horrid weather: an "efficiency unit" in South Dildo, 12 km to the north. Daniel wanted to go there anyway so we could see a small whaling and sealing museum the next morning, so off we went, crossing slurries of brown water that washed across the road where creeks had overflowed.

Stopping to buy food to make darned sure we wouldn't have to go out again, we rode up a gravel track to our unit and began to spread out our gear. We had two bedrooms and a living room, there were loads of hooks on the wall, and there was even a washer and dryer. What a relief!

M

Terra Nova National Park

2011-08-17T16:53:00.000-07:00

2011/08/13: 93km to Eastport

Joey´s Lookout

Leaving town, Daniel noticed his fraying front tire was getting worse, so he turned back to buy a Canadian Tire replacement, install it, and managed to catch up to us within about twenty kilometres. We stopped to eat our excellent lobster sandwiches (prepared by Alice) at Joey's Lookout above Gambo.

Joey Smallwood is considered the last father
of confederation for his role in bringing
Newfoundland into Canada

We paused at Malady Head campground in Terra Nova NP, trying to reach Alice and Mark who might have come to join us. We were unable to reach them, so continued to Eastport and the cottage of a relative of Daniel's who, although extremely busy with the local writers' festival, Winterset in Summer, had generously said we could camp on his lawn.
My feeling was that we were an unnecessary imposition when other places to park our scruffy selves were readily available, but we ended up cooking ourselves fresh cod in our hosts' kitchen in the company of an amiable labrador. Chris and I crawled into our tent on the porch, while Daniel wiggled into his borrowed emergency bivouac sack. It provided no insect protection, so Daniel ended up moving into the boot room during the night.

2011/08/14: Kayaking and and 47km to Charlottetown
We scoffed bananas and rode to the park's visitors' centre to meet Mark, Alice and Anna. Mark swam in Newman Sound with a snorkel and mask. These Jersey Islanders are made of stern stuff! Daniel rented a single kayak and Chris and I got a double. This allowed us to go out for two hours, along with Alice in one of their single kayaks they'd brought, while Mark stayed ashore with Anna.

After some time ashore visiting (and using the dryer) we three rode off southward to Charlottetown where we found a motel. Seemingly from nowhere, a cyclist appeared with an unrideable bike in need of major attention. Joseph was an enterprising lad from Toronto, who's taken the bus to North Sydney, crossed to Port aux Basques, and was heading to St. John's to visit his girlfriend. He had come from Port aux Basques in an astounding four days, averaging 180km per day! But his back wheel had several broken spokes and what was left of his rear derailleur dangled uselessly from the chain, the derailleur hanger having snapped. After some consultation, Chris bashed the bent hanger with two rocks to straighten it, and did his best to reattach it. We're not sure how far he got with this tenuous repair, but we suspect that if he didn't find a bike shop soon, he'd be hitchiking to St. John's.

M

Still on Side Roads

2011-08-16T15:44:00.001-07:00

2011/08/09: 81km to Bishop's Falls
We were at the government dock to meet Mike Roberts at the appointed 9:00 a.m.. The "speedboat" that had been proposed was vetoed for a variety of reasons, and we loaded our bikes onto Mike's long-liner for the crossing. Chatting to Mike and his father made for a relaxing journey, with good views from the top of the cabin. We watched two minke whales, whales apparently being known locally as grumpuses. (Note: If one whale is a grumpus, I don't think two are grumpi. The origin of the word is distinctly Newfie and not latin.)

We offloaded in Leading Tickles. (Note: A tickle here is a strait or narrow sea passage) We rose on to Bishop's Falls, got two rooms in an inn, and went out to a Cantonese restaurant. I have no problems with sleeping indoors, as the weather is getting worse and worse.

2011/08/10: 103km to Boyd's Cove

We rode on to Boyd's Cove, where Daniel had an invitation from a colleague. Eileen and Gordon's cottage down a tiny gravel road. They welcomed us all warmly, and Eileen fed us well. Gordon's family is from here, so they come for summers. Lots of cousins dropped by, as did a string of colourful neighbourhood characters who may have been using "meeting the visitors who arrived by bike from Bishop's Falls" as a thin cover for cadging another beer from a generous household. Two pugs named Bob and Fergus held court in the living room when they weren't managing to slip outside to illicitly gorge themselves on fish entrails.

2011/08/11: 78km to Gander

In the morning, we visited the Beothuk Interpretation Centre, a provincial government site that documents the life of the local aboriginal people as pieced together from a partially excavated local village. The Beothuk did not do well after contact with European fishermen, and the last Beothuk, a woman named Shanawdithit, died of tuberculosis in St. John's in 1829.

On we rode to Gander, as the rain began to pelt down. There, we met our great niece, Daniel's niece, four month old Anna, for the first time, and Mark and Alice made us an excellent dinner.

Now we are Three

2011-08-15T16:48:00.000-07:00

2011/08/06: In Deer Lake

We spent a slow day in Deer Lake. Daniel assembled his bike while we dutifully cleaned our drive trains, and then we test rode to town to mail Daniel's duffel bag forward to St. John's, and had naps to make up for Daniel's post-midnight arrival. Lindsay's had given us a lesson in the adding and subtraction of h in Newfie dialect: Heavenly Hash Ice Cream becomes 'eavenly 'ash hoyscream. This primer served us well; when Chris was offered happle poy we knew exactly what was meant.

2011/08/07: 102km to Powerline Camp near 410 Junction

A large nephew makes a good windbreak

Chris and I had upgraded to a so-called three man tent before this trip, and Daniel, who is not especially fond of camping, arrived equipped with a sleeping bag, thermarest, and an emergency bivouac sack. Chris and I were to initiate him into the freedom and spontaneity of travelling with camping gear, so as evening came, we pushed our bikes up a track to the powerline, noting that no vehicles had been by recently but that quite a few moose had.

After an excellent shrimp stir fry, we slotted our three selves carefully into the tent. Chris and I had been using it as a relatively luxurious two-man tent since Moncton, and although the diagram showed the middle person with head placed the opposite way round to the outer people, the reality was that this arrangement would have placed the middle person's head lower than his feet, so we vetoed that and placed all heads near the tent door. The middle person was Daniel, because he's quite a bit longer than either me or Chris. We swatted insects, the swarms having thinned a little since Port aux Basques, and tried to go to sleep.

2011/08/08: 88km to Triton

There aren't many route options for cycling across Newfoundland. Basically, nearly anywhere you try to deviate from the Trans-Canada end up reaching a small outport at a deadend. However, the map showed two coastal deadends that weren't very far apart, and Daniel had set to the task of finding out whether we could connect by boat from Triton to Leading Tickles. He'd written to the town of Triton and been put in touch with a fisherman who was prepared to transport us the eleven kilometres by water, so we turned off the Trans-Canada and headed to Triton.

We arrived early enough to spend time at the new sperm whale exhibit, where the enthusiastic guide talked our ears off and barely gave us time to look at the displays. The main feature is a sperm whale skeleton, which hangs in a bright new building. The whale carcass had washed up on the Codroy Peninsula near Port aux Basques, and once most of the meat and blubber was removed, the bones were sunk in crates in local waters to let marine creatures pick them fairly clean. Then everything was shipped to Drumheller, Alberta, where experts at the Royal Tyrrell Museum used their dinosaur expertise to conserve and reconstruct the skeleton.

Our fisherman would do the crossing in the morning, so we parked ourselves at Fudge's Motel. Daniel had slept very badly in the tent and Chris and I had certainly not slept well. It seems we all snore.

Corner Brook

2011-08-15T07:20:00.000-07:00

2011/08/04: A Lazy Day
We took Olivier and Lindsay up on their suggestion of a day off and a second night of indoor comfort and good company. We did laundry, made bread, and later cycled downtown for a few errands.

When O and L returned from work and school, they packed knapsacks and drove us to Little Port in the Bay of Islands. From there, we hiked for about half an hour to Cedar Cove, with the first part of the trail seeming more like a dark tunnel as it led us through a dense forest of spruce and balsam fir. Forming a thicket like this is the only way the trees can withstand the gales that hit these coasts. When we came out to the open foreshore surrounding the cove, the ground was covered in a creeping evergreen --ground cedar--

that gives the cove it's name. Olivier heated some home canned moose meat over a crackling driftwood fire, and served it on crackers. He's getting a moose license this year – an integral part of the process of becoming a Newfoundlander. We watched a minke whale surface and dive as it made its way around the headland.

Arriving back at Little Port, we saw a fox, nearly black, skulking not too far from the dories where some locals were deftly cleaning and filleting their personal quota of cod -- five per person to a maximum of fifteen per boat per day. The seagulls were feasting noisily on cod entrails, and the fox was waiting for his chance.

Back in Corner Brook Olivier and Lindsay fed us yet again, and we talked till quite late. I went to bed wondering what my life would have been like if I'd been born in Corner Brook. My father was sent to work here during the latter part of World War 2, and at home I have the letters he wrote to my mother in Montreal trying –unsuccessfully-- to convince her to move to what was then a different country. As a Scotsman who loved to hunt and fish, he must have been in his element here.

2011/08/05: 58km to Deer Lake

We rode past the pulp mill as we left town, and stopped to pay homage to the retired Newfie Bullet and its tiny associated museum.

We arrived fairly early in Deer Lake where Daniel was to meet us. Since we'd neglected to make a timely reservation at the B and B where he'd booked, we merged with him ...taking over the queen-sized bed and relegating him, upon his midnight arrival from the airport, to a rollaway bed wedged into the room at our feet.

First Impressions of Newfoundland

2011-08-05T04:13:00.000-07:00

For many years I have wondered whether Newfoundland was rocky, as indicated by it´s nickname ¨The Rock¨, or swampy and full of terrain suitable only for moose and black-flies. After three days riding I can assure you, as can Margo's neck, that the latter is more the case. (The bites remind Margo of the National Film Board's Blackfly movie based on a song of the same name.) To be fair many of the bites were from Cape Breton.

In Cape Breton we were warned about the hills in Newfoundland, and it felt similar to warnings we had in Spain about how dangerous it will be in Portugal (this is a recurring theme in our travels: you can replace Spain and Portugal with nearly any two adjacent jurisdictions in our travels). This time we have the advantage that we can be quantitative about the validity of these dire warnings. They are true: the average road gradient in Cape Breton was 1.83% and in Newfoundland 1.93%.

During the ride so far I have noted that only three types of permanent road warning signs are in use, an admirable simplification of road signage especially as one type displays a moose! (the other two are: road bend and lanes ending.)

2011/08/01: 110km Port aux Basques, NL to Crabbe River

In Port aux Basques everything was closed for a civic holiday so we were unable to provision up. So we left early on what turned out to be a pleasant day's ride ending at a commercial campground at a bend in a river, very pretty spot but full of black flies. Along the way we met a guy who was untying his part Belgian draft horse from a mowing machine. He had been out cutting hay for the winter feed for the horse. From the camp site we went on a 5km side trip to the local store to buy provisions, prior to cooking supper.

2011/08/02: 61km to Barachois Pond Provincial Park

Another pleasant but quite uneventful day's ride. We met one American touring cyclist whilst having lunch at a truck stop. He had ridden right to the tip of the Northern Peninsula and was returning southward. The campground was on a spectacular lake at the bottom of a steep hill. We had a lake front camp site and Margo swam off our private beach. As there had been no stores along the way we had boiled eggs and braised turnip for supper, and the Coleman fuel ran out!

2011/08/03: 74km Barachois Pond to Corner Brook

In the morning the park wardens, who were doing the garbage pickup rounds, announced that they would take us back up the steep hill. Seems this free and friendly service is standard, and we felt to refuse would be impolite. So we got in the front cabin of the truck while Park Warden Don held onto our bikes in the back!

We arrived in Corner Brook and went to McDonalds for wild berry smoothies and free Wifi. I was impressed by the McCafe fare; the golden arches are actually improving! We stopped by Canadian Tire and got some Coleman fuel, before going to Olivier and Lindsay´s for a delicious dinner in great company.

Typical roadside view.
Note the swampy ground requires baskets of stones to be placed around the telephone poles.

Farewell to Nova Scotia

2011-07-31T17:19:00.000-07:00

2011/07/28: 57km to Ben Eoinn Campground

A good drying day!

It took us some time to take our leave of Battery Provincial Park, because Gerry the camp caretaker invited us for tea at the gatehouse. This involved us listening to lengthy tales of his life and of his new love in Glace Bay, and him asking me for input on the two engagement ring options he had picked out. Gerry was over 50. Hearing this kind of thing and being asked for reassurance or approval seems to be something that my grey hair seems to bring on, but I didn't have the heart to tell him what I really thought, which was that spending what must have been several months of his salary on a sparkly ring defies all common sense. Why not get something more useful? Perhaps a kayak?

We hadn't stocked up on much picnic food, and as we rolled into Big Pond we saw Rita's Tea Room. It looked attractive, so we stopped for an excellent mid-afternoon meal. There was vaguely familiar music playing in the tea room, and the waitresses were all singing along or humming as they moved among the tables. Then we noticed the gold and platinum records on the wall, the Junos and other awards, and countless photos of Rita MacNeil. Of course--she's from Big Pond! She invites people to “drop in for tea”, so she opened a tea room probably to help her home community. The food was delicious and excellent value, possibly a lost leader for the sale of Rita's CDs. I bought one.

In Ben Eoinn we camped in a functional but unaesthetic RV park, made use of the laundromat, and warmed up a nasty can of beans to dump onto fried bread.

2011/07/29: 58km to Catalone Campground

We headed towards Louisbourg, but would have arrive too late in the day to make a visit worthwhile, so we camped about 10km before reaching it. There is some sort of “bikefest” going on this weekend, which explains the gathering battalions of Harley-Davidsons, and also means much of the accommodation around Sydney or Louisbourg is full. Another damp night of swatting blackflies and nosee'ums.

2011/07/30: 17km to Louisbourg Fortress and B&B
From the Louisbourg Fortress interpretive centre where we left our bikes, we boarded a shuttle to the site of “North America's largest historic reconstruction.” We stepped off the bus to “live for a day in the year 1744 in a French Colonial town” when Cape Breton Island was known as Isle Royale, a part of New France. Chris was almost not allowed past the first sentry because he had the audacity to be wearing his socks with Union Jacks on them. Mon dieu, quel horreur!! I got past the gate more quickly by switching into French. It was a good thing Chris kept his shoes on, because his socks even say “God save the Queen” on the bottoms.

Children dancing in Louisburg

We wandered from mid-morning to near closing time, and could have stayed longer. You quickly lose your cynicism and get into the spirit of the place .... it's populated by hundreds of knowledgeable staff and volunteers, all in period costume and going about their daily (1744) activities. They artfully manage to engage visitors and get them to learn by asking questions.

We had a three course period lunch served off antique pewter and reproduction china. Tables seated six, and the waitress was making an effort to organize linguistically compatible groupings. We wound up with two unilingual couples, however, one from Peterborough, Ontario, and the other from Trois Rivières, Quebec. Chris chatted to the Ontarians while I did my bit for the non side in the next sovereignty referendum.

Artillery and cannon firing, with shouts of “Vive le Roi!” at the end.

Soldiers returning from cannon firing

Clouds gathered and it began to spit again as we left the fortress. After five damp buggy nights out of the past six, we made our way to a B and B. I was getting grumpy about being chronically damp and covered in bites.

2011/07/31: 57km to North Sydney, NS, ferry to Port aux Basques, NL
What great B and B breakfast partners: A young couple travelling from Taiwan with both mothers in tow. Ming was Taiwanese and Jeremy was a native Nova Scotian, and neither mother spoke the other´s language! They seemed to get along beautifully.

A straightforward ride to North Sydney got us on 14:30h sailing of the MV Blue Puttees for Channel Port-aux-Basques, Newfoundland. Chris just overheard an astounded local voice in the dining room exclaiming “I've just met someone whose never been to Newfoundland before!” This will be a first for both of us, too.

Across Northumberland Strait to Nova Scotia

2011-07-30T16:26:00.000-07:00

2011-07-24: 86km to New Glasgow, NS

We took a road that appeared on the map to head very straight south from St. Peter's Bay to Wood Islands, where the ferry leaves for Nova Scotia. The road was straight in the horizontal dimension, but it probably climbed and descended some of the highest forested ridges in PEI. These aren't all that high, but what beautiful countryside! There is pasture and woodland, the hedgerows are dotted with wildflowers, and stands of tamarack grow in peatlands. Thank heaven for the tailwind; the weather was hot and muggy.

Cormorant Colony on Pictou Causeway

We arrived at the ferry terminal in time for a cold drink before an afternoon sailing, and landed just over an hour later in Pictou, Nova Scotia. At the tourist office here we met Gilles from Rivière du Loup who was heading homeward after a multi-month trip on gravel roads in Labrador. He was in heavily loaded expedition mode with panniers larger than ours, a trailer he'd built himself (he was a welder-mechanic), and he must have been carrying at least eight litres of water. He did longer days than we do with fewer rest days; he was all muscle, but seemed lonely from his trip and was happy to talk our ears off at a mile a minute in both official languages. We rode on as far as New Glasgow where we found a low-end motel because I was feeling hot and bedraggled and not yet ready for commando camping in gravel pits. The nearest organized camp site was closed.

2011-07-25: 95km to Gravel Pit Camp past Monastery

Most of this day's riding was head down and get there on the shoulder of the Trans-Canada. In Antigonish we ate our picnic in front of the tourist office, and gathered information so as to decide our route across Cape Breton. We have a fixed date for meeting nephew Daniel in Deer Lake, Newfoundland, so we opted for a Bras D'Or Lakes route rather than the Cabot Trail, planning a rest day at St. Peter's where a canal joins Bras D'Or Lake with the Atlantic. Besides, I would love to see Louisburg.

We felt like just getting to Cape Breton, so ploughed onward. Turning off on a side road, we soon found the proverbial gravel pit for a night of swatting mosquitos. I couldn't find a lighter, having borrowed one from Dominique the night before. I assumed I'd weeded lighters out of our kit for plane travel, so poor Chris rode eight extra kilometres to buy one, adding insect repellant to our kit at the same time. (The next day, I found we had had a lighter with us all along. Argh.)

2011-07-26: 76km to St. Peters, NS, Battery Provincial Park Camp
We packed up and stopped for second breakfast near the Canso Causeway. After crossing it, we stopped to take a cheese de groupe (group photo) of a group of Montreal cyclists in front of the “Welcome to Cape Breton” sign. They were riding from Montreal to the easternmost cape in Newfoundland, a few kilometres Southeast of St. John's. They were three cyclists -- two couples, with one of the wives driving a van and sketching landscapes rather than pedalling. One of the men had already ridden from westernmost Vancouver Island to Montreal, so he was doing a composite crossing of Canada like Daniel, only in two big chunks.

English/Gaelic Sign

We took a back road option toward St. Peter's. A row on nine simple crosses caught my eye, so I stopped to look at a small graveyard. I thought perhaps there would be a story of a shipwreck or mine disaster, but all I could see was first names of both genders. That story remained untold, but a nearby headstone that I noticed dated back to the 1700s, and marked the resting place of a couple: the man from Argyllshire and the woman from Invernesshire, Scotland ....my father's neck of the woods. I wonder if I have relatives here in Cape Breton?

Arriving at Battery Provincial Park campground in St. Peter's, we cooked steaks on a fire for supper.

2011-07-27: 10km. Day off in St. Peter´s

We awoke to sounds of a thunderstorm and pounding raindrops, so we stayed in the tent till early afternoon. The tent is new, in theory an ultra-light three man tent, and it's made of newfangled sil-nylon. It's good and waterproof, but the ventilation is less than perfect, in fact it can get quite hot inside.

We finally emerged to stroll by the canal, which joins tidal Bras D'Or Lakes to the Atlantic. Bras D'Or is only slightly tidal (one foot variation) because it is naturally joined to the Atlantic by two channels at it's north end, and these constrictions dampen the tide effect. The Atlantic tides are much larger than the lake tides, which means either side can be higher at any given time. To deal with this, the lock has two gates at either end, with V-configurations pointing in opposite directions. Quite unique!

We toddled on to the Nicolas Denys Museum, where artifacts included Gaelic bibles. After an excellent fishy dinner we returned to sort soggy gear and go to bed. On towards Louisburg tomorrow. If the weather hasn't improved, we will be looking for a cabin or motel. No wonder the campgrounds are deserted!

Setting out in the Maritimes

2011-07-27T11:59:00.000-07:00

Exploring our own country

It not what we've become used to! Thousands of kilometres away, yet still familiar in terms of languages and culture. It reminds us both of the Eastern Townships, where the summers are lovely and winters harsh. Only it's been a very wet summer here, and I'm in the tent listening to steady rain as I write. Chris says it reminds him of rural England. Chris has never been to the Maritimes, and I haven't been here since I was 19, when I rode here from Montreal on my first ever bike trip.

2011-07-20: Fly to Moncton and ride 1.5km to Hotel

Our neighbours were kind enough to drive us to the airport with our boxed bikes. Thank you John and Sue! It was a bit of a retro experience to walk out onto the runway at Dorval, and up the steps of a Dash 8 for the flight to Moncton, but small is fun and friendly; we were seated separately, each with interesting seatmates. We assembled our bikes at the airport after midnight. As we set off for our hotel at 1:00 a.m., an airport employee struck up a conversation and wanted to be sure we knew where we were headed. When I commented that people talked to each other more readily here than in Vancouver, he responded “Hey! It's a good thing you're not in Newfoundland!” What he meant was that it will get even friendlier.

2011-07-21: 36km to Shediac

We'd left our bikes outside the hotel with only a minimalist lock. When we'd asked where to park “our bikes” for the night, we'd been gestured towards the motorcycles at first. I would have had reservations about leaving the bikes outside a hotel in other cities.

A short ride in the company of a chatty and welcoming Acadian brought us to Carol's parents' cottage in Shediac, on the New Brunswick coast. We were a bit jet lagged and happy to rest on their porch till they arrived home from work. An interesting evening of conversation and a multi-course vegan dinner ensued.
Meanwhile, our daughters were battling it out at the Canadian Orienteering Championships in the Yukon.

2011-07-22: 103km to Bonshaw

After Bobbie and David left for work, we went to the pier for free WiFi, and learned from nephew Daniel that his brother, Philip, was in Shediac on a road trip with his wife and small daughter. While it was nice to know, I didn't believe we had any hope of finding them. However, we rode off towards PEI, and within five minutes came a shout of “Margo! Chris!” It was Philip, Dominique, and Desirée, on their road trip from their home in the Eastern Townships in my sister's (P's mother's) van. They were on the hunt for a beach, and headed for PEI, only moving faster than we were. We exchanged cell phone numbers.

Confederation Bridge at ~8km
of the 13km length. Note the cars on
raised span about 1km away.

It was a pretty long day for our first real day on the road in some time. We were both a bit jet-lagged, and I was still surfacing from a South American amoeba and treatment thereof. We were shuttled across the Confederation Bridge along with another pair of cyclists and a few pedestrians, and I launched into “I'm Bud the Spud from the bright red mud...” as we rode past vast fields of potatoes. The soil really is red here. Bright red! Neither of us had ever been to PEI, and it really is a gorgeous gentle landscape. I wish we could have spent longer there!

In Marion´s Garden

We´d discovered that Andy's parents, Marion and Tony, are Warmshowers hosts, and had contacted them. They were meeting a group of friends they know through Servas in nearby Desable for dinner, and they invited us to join them. This made for a long day, but we arrived late, quite soggy, and very appreciative of a delicious dinner prepared mostly by an Italian couple and which included local mussels and homemade wine. Grazie! After the evening wrapped up with Tony playing his guitar and leading a round of singing, which included custom lyrics just for us. I think that Tony, like me, believes there is a song for every occasion! We were driven back to Tony and Marion's, with our bikes strapped to the back of their car. It was only a short ride, but navigating may have been tricky in the dark. We settled comfortably after a solar heated shower.

2011-07-23: 88km to St. Peter's Bay Campsite with nephew Philip and Family

In the morning we called Philip to find out where he and family were. We decided to ride to their campsite at St. Peter's Bay, near the northeastern tip of PEI. As we set out, I realized first that I was minus my gloves, and later that I was minus my anorak. So much for getting across Asia; I can't even organize my way across Canada's smallest province! These were located in the house in Desable, and returned to us from a car as we entered Charlottetown. Phew!

After lunch at the farmers' market at Marion's suggestion, we got onto the Centennial Trail, a converted railbed. It was pretty, with a lush growth of ferns, fireweed and wild roses on either side, and glimpses through gaps in forest and hedgerows to fields of cereal crops or pastureland. The downside was the heat and the deerflies which settled when we stopped. We moved back onto the road for the final stretch, and bought dinner ingredients which included a two pound bag of farmed mussels.

We found Philip and company, and had a pleasant evening. Just as Philip started a campfire, a strong wind and rainstorm hit, scattering our gear everywhere and causing us to retreat quickly to out tents as we gathered and secured things. A la prochaine rencontre tres bientot.

Home Again

2011-05-30T17:23:00.000-07:00

2011/05/17-20: Wrapping it up in Santiago
The highlight of our final days in Santiago was a night on the town with Raúl and Cristian, the philosophers we met on the Cruce Andino back in February. Why is it that we never quite let go quite this much at home? Is it something profound about the range of new experiences that travel brings us and which allows us to expand in new directions? Or is it as simple as good company, good food, and good wine?

The packing for plane travel took it's share of our time and energy, starting with doing the rounds of several bike shops before someone managed to loosen Chris's pedals. It took another trip on foot to the one of the shops to collect bike boxes, and our return carrying these got us a few odd looks. It was a bit of a slog, so we stopped half-way "home" at a coffee shop, parking the boxes outside. Of course we're used to keeping a sharp eye on our bikes when we stop, but it was different to be keeping an eye on two empty cardboard boxes. By then, they had become precious goods; they were essential to our logistics, difficult to find, and hard to carry. Furthermore, it was the evening before garbage day, and everyone was putting rubbish --including cardboard containers-- out onto the sidewalk. We worried that our hard won boxes would get grabbed for recycling!

Once packing was under control, we strolled around the city. We walked up Cerro Santa Lucía and took the funicular up Cerro San Cristóbal. Cristian had helped us arrange a mini-van transfer to the airport, and all went smoothly to the airport and the ensuing eleven hour overnight flight to Toronto. We'd found we had a layover of nearly twelve hours in Toronto, so we'd arranged to visit some cousins where we had a sociable and delicious lunch. Arriving in Vancouver in the evening, we assembled our bikes at the airport, and reconfigured into self-propelled mode for an evening ride home --a satisfying end to the journey.

We've assembled a Flickr collection of the trip. Who knows if we'll get around to a slide show this time?

Read trip blog posts: Departure | Argentinian Patagonia | Southern Chile | Buenos Aires | Uruguay | Central Argentina and click Newer Post at bottom left to move forward.

4,500 km Ride in 2011
(Red by bike, Green by Bus, Blue by Boat)

What Next?
It's always good to be home in our own comfy bed without having to pack each morning. There are graduations to attend, weddings to plan, and training wheels to get off a great niece's bike. These are adventures in themselves, but focus of this blog is more about our outdoor exploits as a couple.

We're planning to join our pedalling nephew for another bike trip in August in Newfoundland. Having returned from a damp coastal (southern hemisphere) autumn to a damp coastal (northern hemisphere) spring, we've missed a winter. We'd like to get some skiing in this year, probably the back-country variety. We've also decided that to get further away from traffic in our car-centric culture, we need to move onto smaller back roads and trails, and this may involve a new gear splurge on mountain bikes and trailers. We'd try some local adventures first, and if we find we're not too geriatric for this form of travel, we may even take on the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route, either in sections or all at once. We'd also like to go back to South America, and ride north from Santiago, Chile to Bogotá, Colombia. Maybe Raúl and Cristian will meet us for that, or we can meet them in New Zealand. Who knows? We may just do "something completely different."

But first, Chris needs to get his arm back to full strength. The injury was a humbling reminder that that we're not invincible, that we're getting older, and we'd better have a few more adventures while we can still move our old bones to explore the world.

I've already thanked Chris for the adventures we've shared. My gratitude continues!

M

And Back to Santiago

2011-05-17T08:49:00.000-07:00

2011/05/12-13: In Mendoza
We'd always meant to do "the wine tour”, but when it came down to the real possibility, we were feeling rather “anti tour.” We'd pedalled through lots of wine country, rolling through endless vineyards. We got whiffs of fruit as trucks passed carrying flats of grapes, and smelling a more pungent odour as we passed the warehouses that buy grapes to press out the juice. Behind or near these warehouses there were sometimes dark piles of what I think were the skins that remain after juice extraction. I wondered whether this byproduct was useful as compost or mulch? Enough of the process. Time to sit down and indulge in the end product!

We strolled and relaxed in Mendoza, and perhaps our only notable outing was to the Serpentario (establishment that displays live snakes) to confirm the identity of our roadside friend as a Bothrops alternus or Yarará. We also gathered info for the last leg of our journey towards Santiago.

The Plan
With at least two days rest needed for Chris's Achilles tendon and less than perfect arm, and five days needed to cycle the full distance back to Santiago, we'd be left with only a day to prepare our bikes and other luggage for the return flight. There would be no time for museums or shopping, and no margin for dealing with any glitches. We first considered taking an express bus all the way from Mendoza to Santiago, but then we came up with what we thought would be an interesting alternative.

We'd take the more local Upsallata Express bus to Las Cuevas, the last cluster of buildings before the tunnel through the Andes back into Chile. Then, having saved ourselves three days of uphill desert riding, we'd take the more adventurous way back OVER the Andes rather than THROUGH them. The alternative to the tunnel is the old road, now a set of rough gravel switchbacks that climb 1000 m in 9 km to reach the Paso Cristo Redentor. Quite a few cyclists do this as a challenging ride on full suspension mountain bikes. A few fools have done it on loaded touring bikes. And an even smaller minority, which now includes us, have done it while completely ignoring all the basic rules of dealing with altitude.

2011/05/14: Bus to Las Cuevas and 14 km
and 1000 m climb to Paso Cristo Redentor
Upsallata Express seems to be used to dealing with bikes; there was a flat fee and they were handled well. We reassembled ourselves after the three hour ride to Las Cuevas, which is at 3100 m. In hindsight we should have camped at Las Cuevas and started the climb the next morning. However, the views and the evening light beckoned us onward and upward, so we rode a short distance on tarmac, and started up the gravel switchbacks.

About three hours of riding, pushing, and stopping to admire views brought us to the pass. It's here that the Argentinians chose to erect a large and unaesthetic statue of Christ in 1904, shortly after a border dispute was settled peacefully. Another roadside shrine? It doesn't add to the place. There is an old stone refuge building, where we bought hot chocolate from a lad selling artesinias (more knick knacks) and we had to haggle to buy hot chocolate without the ceramic mugs we didn't want to carry.

A fox circled around us in the dusk, wary but expectant. He had become used to handouts from the refugio and easy pickings from the heap of garbage bags piled behind the building.

Fox looking for a handout

It was almost dark, and getting very cold. There may have been a spot to camp halfway down the gravel switchbacks on the Chilean side, but we decided to tuck our tent into the lee of the refugio and hunker down for the night at 4000 m. For one thing, Chris-the-photographer was drawn to the idea of mountain photos is the early light.

Chris-the-photographer started to look green as I made supper, and he could only force himself to eat a little. Then I began to feel ill. We spent the night lying awake and feeling very sick, with me vomiting frequently into the vestibule. We'd set up the tent with access only from one side, so any time one of us had to go out to pee --and this was often due to altitude effects-- we had to go through the vestibule which was also the vomiting place. I think it is easy to say we've never spent a worse night in a tent.

2011/05/15: To Los Andes 75 km
Dawn finally came, we both felt wobbly and unable to eat, but we knew we needed to get down. We felt stupid, knowing we'd completely ignored the high altitude climbers' rule of “climb high and sleep low.” We'd also broken the rule of ascending slowly by taking the bus to Las Cuevas. Silly us; we thought we were high altitude cycling pros after Tajikistan. We piled on all our cold weather clothing, packed slowly, and started carefully down the steep gravel switchbacks. By mid-morning we arrived at Chilean customs down at 3000 m or so.

I mentioned what we'd done and how I was feeling to our immigration officer, in explanation for my worse than usual Spanish. He sent us to the altitude sickness clinic in the same building (Chile is very organized!) where a kind lady used a finger gadget on each of us to measure blood oxygen content, and immediately put an oxygen mask on me. This helped a lot, but I was still feeling weak, so we descended carefully another 1 km to the Portillo Hotel for the proverbial “nice cup of tea.” I also managed to down a Sprite, and we were allowed to relax in the hotel's lounge for a while till I felt able to start down the infamous caracoles.

Margo going Wheeee

These paved caracoles didn't seem intimidating after the gravel ones, and especially on the way down. It's fun passing the huge trucks that have to crawl downhill very carefully! We made it to Los Andes, peeling off clothing as we went, and found a hotel for a good sleep. There was also a certain need for laundry after that terrible night in the tent.

2011/05/16: To Santiago 81 km
About twenty kilometres of climbing brought us back to the tunnel that the Chilean highways department had been kind enough to take us through in a truck back in January, on that first hot day of our trip. There was no sign of such a truck at the building before the tunnel, so we briefly tried hitchhiking. A highway crew soon appeared, however, and when I asked whether bike transport was still provided as it had been in January, the jolly crew boss said yes it was, and exclaimed that he remembered us!

¡Viva Chile!

The next 60 km was fast riding, either downhill or flat, to Santiago. We no longer had a city map, however, and our navigation into the centre was stressful. The climax was getting ourselves inadvertently into a multi-lane tunnel, an experience we survived but have no desire ever to repeat.

We arrived at the small musty hotel that we had bailed out to on short notice from the nasty party hostel. It is as small and musty as ever, but it seems comfy enough to us after the array of places we've slept in the last four months. Our duffel bags were still here tucked away in the basement, so all we're missing to be able to get into flight mode is bike boxes, and a huge wrench or stronger arms than ours to loosen Chris's pedals.

So here we jolly well are. Home soon.

Closing the Loop

2011-05-13T14:17:00.000-07:00

Back in Mendoza
We began this journey in January by crossing the Andes from Santiago to Mendoza. After some 4,400 km through Chile, Argentina, and Uruguay, with a month off cycling due to Chris's arm injury, we now find ourselves back in Mendoza, we've closed the loop. The fall weather makes for great riding temperatures, but whether we go back over the pass (3,100 m) back to Santiago by bike or by bus remains to be seen. Chris has recently developed an Achilles tendon problem.

2011/05/09: To La Paz GNC Service Station Camp 117 km

Point of sale advertising

Truckers Stop

We rolled west out of San Luis on a straight road across flat terrain, and decided to keep cranking out the distance rather than stop at a hot-spring. At the boundary between San Luis and Mendoza provinces, we ate a hearty trucker's lunch.

We rolled into the natural gas service station at La Paz for a 5:00 p.m. coffee break, and the friendly staff invited us to camp in their picnic area. We'd planned to go a little further that evening, thinking we might be able to reach Mendoza the next day, but we accepted the kind offer instead. With picnic tables, a shower, clean bathrooms, coffee shop and even WiFi, how could we refuse?

¡Gracias! Carlos y Betty.
Saludos de los ciclistas Canadienses.

Tent tucked between BBQ and table.
A good windbreak.

2011/05/10: To San Martin 105 km
We had good coffee and media lunas (croisssants) for breakfast in the gas station coffee shop. When we set out, at times riding on a newly paved portion of the highway that was not yet open to normal traffic, and at times on a small parallel side road as we began to move into the wine growing area.

At a lunch stop, a man came up and asked where we were from. This was unremarkable, but when I said we were Canadian, his response was not the usual. He went on to ask whether we'd been further south near Bariloche a few months earlier, because his brother had talked to "a white-haired Canadian woman who was down that way pedalling around South America with her husband." It's quite likely that it was indeed us that his brother had met. It's a rather odd feeling to be some sort of road legend! I wonder if they'll erect a roadside shrine to us next, endow us with miraculous powers, and leave us piles of offerings? I hope not.

We found ourselves battling a strong side-winds for much of the day, and so did not reach Mendoza, but stopped at a hotel in the satellite town of San Martin.

2011/05/11: To Mendoza 57 km

The Andes beckon across the vineyards of Mendoza

We continued toward Mendoza, passing through Maipú. It was good to see the Andes again! Once in the city centre, we found digs at a hostel where we'll contemplate how to end this journey.

M

Early Birds

2011-05-10T16:21:00.000-07:00

Birds of Sierra de Comechingones
These are the birds we saw outside our window, when waking up at the sun-filled conservatory of the comedor (see previous blog section: 2011/05/04: To Las Rabonas 88 km). The owners put seeds out on the wall of the veranda outside our room for the birds. I sat on the ground by the wall, and the birds seemed to accept my presence. All the pictures were taken within a five minute period, during sunrise. Only due to digital wizardry (in Picasa 3) have I made acceptable photographs, because they were all taken into the rising sun. Only the sunrise picture is untouched. The picture of the red breasted bird on the telescope has had only minimal wizardry applied.
I was struck by how different the "common bird-feeder" crowd was to the crowd you would see at a feeder in Canada or Northern Europe.

Male long-tailed meadowlark
on telescope

Male long-tailed meadowlark

Female long-tailed
meadowlark

Male long-tailed
meadowlark

Juvenile long-tailed
meadowlark

My favourite and he was very shy

Any takers on identification?

C

The Central Sierra

2011-05-08T09:24:00.000-07:00

Mountains
There is more bumpy topography than the Andes here. The Central Sierra lies in the centre of the continent, roughly midway between Buenos Aires and Santiago. It is made up of several distinct ridges, as well high rocky plateaus. The area may not be as celebrated as the Cordillera, but we found the scenery stunning, and the cycling exhilarating.

2011/05/02: To Alta Gracia 41 km

The ride out of Córdoba was bland, but Alta Gracia has it's attractions. There is a Jesuit estancia which is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, but it wasn't open on Mondays. We strolled around the reservoir that was built in the XVI century to provide irrigation to the area surrounding the estancia, and spent some time at the house where Che Guevara spent his teen years. A display chronicled his life, and artifacts included the motorcycle on which he made his pivotal journeys around South America. In the kitchen, we read the housekeeper's recollections of "Ernestito", as she called him. Apparently he was such an empathetic lad that he refused to eat meat because he felt sorry for the chickens, pigs, and sheep. He would eat beef however, having conveniently placed bovines in a separate category.

2011/05/03: To Dining Room Floor Camp 52 km

We toured the Jesuit estancia now that it was open, and then started up the Sierra de Comechingones in late morning. Just as we began to climb in earnest, we met two local cyclists descending. One was coasting; his chain was broken. Did we have such a thing as a chain tool? Yes, in fact we are a veritable travelling bike shop! An hour of sociable roadside bike repair ensued, culminating in Juan Pablo being able to pedal again rather than simply coast, as he and Sergio continued to Alta Gracia.

Our late start and our stop to repair the chain meant we arrived late at a comedor about 15 km before the summit. Here we were invited first to put up our tent on the terrace, and later the invitation was upgraded to an offer to occupy the floor of the second dining room --no longer used in late season. We'd already located a camping spot nearby, but they were concerned that we'd be cold as it might drop below freezing at night. The dining room was effectively a sun-filled conservatory where the geraniums and other houseplants were overwintering. If it was good enough for the geraniums, it was good enough for us.

2011/05/04: To Las Rabonas 88 km

Our morning view

In the morning it became clear that we hadn't been in any danger of freezing, because there was a temperature inversion. We looked down through a streaky dawn at Villa Carlos Paz and Córdoba well below us. They were likely suffering frost while we enjoyed a balmy 17 degrees.

After the crest of the ridge we began to descend through a devil's garden of boulders. We stopped often to look down across the plain, and could see condors perched on outcroppings or soaring on the updrafts. This part of the sierra is a reserve for condor nesting habitat, with certain gorges being key areas.

Once down to Mina Clavero on the plain, we turned south onto a built up road where signs every few metres advertised cabañas for rent, but most accommodation was closed for the season. We finally found digs in Las Rabonas, Señora brought crisp white sheets which I put on the bed, but when Chris climbed in first later in the evening he noticed mouse droppings on them! We think field mice, looking for autumn warmth, had partied in our bed while we were out buying groceries. We collected the droppings carefully in an ashtray before falling soundly asleep.

2011/05/05: To General San Martin 115 km

Our hosts had already left on their own holiday, so we departed with no formal checkout. We'd been told the owners' son would come along later, so we left a note along with the mouse droppings saying “¡Hay ratones en las sabanas!”

Roadside biodiversity. ID anyone?

The built up area continued, and we stopped for coffee and WiFi at a gas station. Soon after, though, we found ourselves on an empty road heading into mountains again, and realizing we had nearly no water left. The transition from built up area to empty land had been sudden. We stopped to beg water from a tiny homestead, where an arthritic old man amiably fetched us first one and then another dipper full of water. He said it was from a stream, though we'd been unable to see any surface water. “You're not from here?” he remarked. We were very grateful to him for saving us from our lack of foresight in this land of dry gullies.

We threaded our way through rocky hills and up onto a high plateau. Isolated farms advertised goats and suckling pigs for sale, and even provided roadside tables and BBQs for you to cook and eat your purchase right away. The evening light turned rocks and dry scrub forest to golden, but by the time we descended to General San Martin and found a welcoming hostería it was getting dark and cold.

Hostería Eva Duarte Perón, General San Martin, San Luis
(No sign but the homemade bread is delicious)

2011/05/06: To La Carolina 101 km

Over breakfast, we asked Enzo, our kind host at the hostería, which of two possible routes was prettier. His response was sure, so we followed his advice as we headed southwards. The landscape has been likened to the Scottish Highlands, a high plateau of rough pasture, divided here and there by stone walls. Every rise seemed to hide yet another climb, and yet another stunning view across open land. Pampas grass bent in the wind, and poplar windbreaks stood out in bright yellow.

The edge of the plateau was marked by sharp peaks, possibly volcanic in origin, and we dropped down in sweeping curves to La Carolina, a pretty town that once had an active gold mine. We considered camping as dark was quickly falling, but the habitacíon that we found was easier on the weary old bones. and it had a tiny restaurant with excellent roast chicken.

2011/05/07: To San Luis 86 km
It was payback time. We'd done a lot of climbing over the past two days, and now we got the descent. We did a few short climbs, but there were lots of sweeping, looping, smoothly curving, descents, as we came off the plateau. A cyclist's nirvana!

We stopped for empanadas in El Trapiche , where we sat at outdoor tables beside a weir. There was municipal WiFi, as there is in many towns in San Luis Province. San Luis has a policy of universal access, and is putting into place a policy of giving very child a laptop by the end of middle school, and providing WiFi to remote villages and tiny rural schools.

Margo poses in Tour de San Luis sculpture

The road became a divided highway, and the land became more open as we continued to San Luis, the provincial capital. We saw lots of other cyclists, and saw a sculpture of a stylized road cyclist beside the highway that we later learned was the logo of the Tour de San Luis, a staged bike race that we are told is the Latin American equivalent of the Tour de France.

Chris stopped for bird photos, but I screeched to a halt for a snake, and called him back to take a photo. Any takers on identification? It quickly turned and slithered away. A road cyclist stopped to join us, peering at it from a respectful distance. He warned us it could well be poisonous.

Is it poisonous? (See comment by Bikemoose)

Once in San Luis, we found our best option was the Hostelling International hostel -- a bit archaic with segregated dormitories, but an excellent kitchen.

2011/05/08: In San Luis

We're having day off here. After six travelling days, our bodies need a break. The road to Mendoza from here is a straight 260 kilometres, and the chances of a tailwind are high. The winds get strong early, so we may skip breakfast tomorrow.

M

To Córdoba

2011-05-01T14:43:00.000-07:00

2011/04/28-29: In Paraná
We spent two days in Paraná, hoping to manage a day's kayaking down an arroyo or backwater of the Rio Paraná, actually more of a broad wetland than a river. We spent a quiet day on Thursday, having booked the kayak outing for Friday. When we woke to torrential rain, however, a joint decision to cancel the outing was made. We re-booked for Saturday, but the company cancelled our outing on Friday evening. We were the only clients, and the guide had another commitment.

Basically, we strolled and drank coffee for two days, and were entertained by the high jinks of the hockey team lads, who ranged in age from mid-teens to thirties. The younger ones were travelling to a big tournament for the first time, and had their heads oddly shaved as an initiation rite. They were loud at times, but went to bed at a decent hour.

2011/04/30: Bus to Córdoba
We managed to get ourselves and our bikes onto a bus from Paraná to Cordoba, so as to avoid what would have been a very boring four day ride across dead flat cultivated land. On the bus, we realized the road had no shoulder and would also have been quite a dangerous ride. Our management of the bike loading scenario was somewhat better than the last fiasco, but I still stressed about it.

The bus took us under the main river channel through a tunnel to Santa Fe, and then across a causeway from which we could see the wetland. The water level was high, and cattle stood belly-deep as they grazed. I bet we could have kayaked through flooded forest, but it was not to be.

The bikes emerged unscathed in Córdoba, a huge relief. Any further logistical moves will be at the end of our journey, and by then bike damage will have minimal impact. Chris calms me by explaining his perspective, comparing the risk of minor bike damage to the risk to our bodies if we'd chosen to crank for long days on a straight road with buses and trucks passing us far too close. The rational scientist ....but it's for him to detach himself when his lack of language skills means he doesn't have to try and talk to the baggage loading muchachos. We found a hostel listed in Lonely Planet. The resident Labrador retriever is friendly, but we are starting to suspect the place has fleas.

2011/05/01: Labour Day Holiday in Córdoba

Basilica roof, far more impressive
than the "El Papamóvil"

"El Papamóvil" outside Basilica

Everything is closed because of the holiday. We walked, took photos, and drank coffee. Outside Basilica de Santo Domingo, much attention was being paid to an odd-looking vehicle we later confirmed to be el papamóvil used during Pope John Paul ll's visits here in 1982 and 87. (Apparently he is being beatified in Rome today.) So now we can say we've seen a Pope-mobile at close range. Such excitement?

The weather is bright and clear, but it's getting downright chilly. We've moved into a southern fall at higher altitude. Tomorrow we hope to ride as far as Alta Gracia, a town with an historic estancia, dams and an irrigation system built by the Jesuits in the 17th century. It's also where Che Guevara spent his teen years, since the climate of the Central Sierra was deemed to be better for his asthma that that in his birth city, Rosario.

M

Entre Rios

2011-04-28T07:22:00.000-07:00

Sorghum

Entre Rios is the name of the Argentinian province that lies between Rio Urugiay and Rio Paraná. It's flattish terrain used for agriculture, mainly cereal crops and grazing. Chris has been photographing flowers, and I've been mulling over how to differentiate sorghum from corn. We're definitely off "the Lonely Planet Trail" here, and it shows in the way locals interact with us. We get approached as welcome visitors, rather than as cash cow tourists. I get drawn into conversations that stretch my language skills, and Chris follows gestures and expressions, waiting till we ride off down the road for the full translation.

2011/04/25: To Villaguay 103 km
The first errand of the day was to mail home a dictionary and some maps that were no longer needed. I had purchased a Spanish only dictionary for my course, and was still hauling it because we'd forgotten to take it with us as we mailed a parcel in Buenos Aires. I'm already carrying a bit more than my usual share, in deference to Chris's arm. I didn't need that dictionary! We also stocked up on Ibuprofen for his arm.

Munching lunch bits later in a park, and older couple approached us to chat. They were both proud and envious of their grandchildren learning English, and bemoaned their own lack of a second language having grown up in small villages. As they steered the conversation towards religion, I preemptively made my opinion on evangelists very clear. A later conversation with a gentle older man informed me that the most important local product is sorghum, followed by cattle, then other cereals, chickens, and more. He asked about what we grew in Canada, and a bit of botanical vocabulary helped me determine the words for canola and flax. I knew wheat. When I asked him about work, he said he couldn't work "because of his arm." When I looked more closely, I saw his right harm hung useless, and I suspect he'd had an accident with some farm machinery.

As we signed into a tidy travellers' hotel in Villaguay, it was clear the hotel woman thought I was from somewhere nearer to Argentina than Canada, because she asked me to fill in my "National Identity Number." When I said I was Canadian, and got out my passport, she apologized for mistaking me for a Brazilian. Apparently Brazilian cycling groups come through this way. She said she should have realized I wasn't Brazilian, because she "couldn't understand a word they say." The implication was that she could understand me with relative ease, and I was duly flattered!

2011/04/26: To Viale 107 km

Gas station Dispenser

Maté and Bombilla

You know you are in Argentina when the hotel cleaning staff see you filling your water bottles, and immediately offer you hot water because you surely want to make maté. There are also hot water dispensers at many gas stations, so drivers who sip maté can easily refill and continue to sip as they drive. The traditional round maté container narrows at the top, and the tea is sipped through a bombilla rather like a tea ball on the end of a metal straw. It's not a bad travel mug.

At a drink stop, a chatty woman noticed Chris taking pictures of flowers, and the conversation easily turned botanical. She led us on a tour of her vegetable plot, and Chris was walking a little to the side in the long grass as we ambled along. When she pointed at Chris's feet and said "¡Atención! Hay víboras ahá", I didn't wait till afterwards to translate that she thought there were poisonous snakes where he was walking. We found a simple hospedaje in Viales, leaving ourselves an easier last day to Paraná.

2011/04/27: To Paraná 60 km
The hospedaje didn't do breakfast so we found our way top the bus station for my morning coffee. Chris had maté cocido, a teabag version of the bitter traditional yerba maté drink. We pedalled in a crosswind to Paraná, and found lodgings only on our third try. We are sharing a pleasant hostel with two Dutch girls and twenty-two lads who are here from Buenos Aires province for a field hockey tournament in which eight teams from around the country will play.

2011/04/28: Day off in Paraná
We need to look into a possible kayak outing on the river tomorrow, and bus logistics for accelerating to Córdoba. And there's laundry, of course.

M

On the Road Again in Uruguay

2011-04-24T13:23:00.000-07:00

2011/04/19: To Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay, via Buquebus 14 km
We rode downtown to the Buquebus terminal, and boarded the well-appointed ferry for a three hour crossing to Colonia. Logistical moves with bikes are often stressful, but this boat journey was not. We left our loaded bikes --luggage-tagged-- just outside the terminal along with several nice-looking road bikes, and boarded as foot passengers. We watched from a high stern deck as an attendant wheel each of the bikes onto the car deck below.

In Colonia, we found a hostel easily, but finding a bank machine was harder. Prepared to try anything once, we ate our first Uruguayan chivito --a cholesterol special if ever there was. (See Paysandú below) We walked around the historic quarter, drank coffee, and watched the sun set.

2011/04/20: To Carmelo 79 km
We woke to sound of heavy rain, so we didn't leave town till late morning, but once we got riding across gently rolling agricultural land, it felt good to be moving again. We noticed that cars were older and horse transport was still used more than we'd seen in rural Argentina. Much of the open land is used for grazing beef and dairy cattle as well as sheep. Windbreaks of poplar and eucalyptus line side roads that lead to huge estancias. Cereal crops are grown on broad cultivated tracts, and signs on fences advertise fertilizer, and every village has feed supply shop and a veterinary clinic.

Stopping to look up at some large nests in a stand of eucalyptus, we realized it was a raucous colony of green parrots. We watched them come and go from the entrances on the underside of each nest. Noisy buggers!

How many parrots can you see?
How many nest entrances can you see?

And where is Waldo?

At dusk in Carmelo, we found a modest room, and were charged a small fee to store our bikes in the garage. The fee was so tiny when compared to the room cost, so it seemed a pedantic thing to do, but as fat-cat Canadians we didn't complain. Dinner was a parillada or BBQ feast, but I wasn't up for eating the kidneys.

2011/04/21: To Mercedes 115 km
We headed out early, and when Chris stopped for his first attempt at a bird photo, he realized he hadn't charged the camera battery. Oops! A friendly couple at a coffee stop on Palmyra let us charge the camera. It was from señor that I learned a new saying: "Gato con guantes no cazo ratones." (A cat that wears gloves cannot catch rats.) He was kindly admonishing Chris for his oversight, and an informative conversation about local bird life ensued.

Agricultural land alternated with extensive planted stands of eucalyptus as we moved north, and larger towns had fertilizer plants or grain mills and silos. Rows of gleaming tractors stood for sale, and we caught occasional glimpses of sailboats on the broad Rio Uruguay across fields to our left.

The ride to Mercedes seemed quite long after our down-time in Buenos Aires, but the road was smooth and the kilometres flew by. In Mercedes, we camped at a municipal campground on an island in the river, returning to the plaza to poach WiFi outside the pizzeria on the instructions of the campground staff.

2011/04/22: To Ancap Gas Station Camp 67 km
In the morning, one of the campground staff came to show us that there was an "orange warning" of a severe storm due to pass through at 11:00 a.m.. He talked of lightning and hail, so we packed up quickly in a strong gale, and went to our WiFi poaching zone again rather than head out into open land. The wind continued, but the sky looked clear enough that we headed out on the assumption that the weather man was wrong. Part of our route was on dirt road, which is considerably harder on Chris's arm than smooth pavement. Chris saw a really big fox -- I think the neotropical versions are indeed larger than northern species. We stopped quite a bit to birdwatch; there are some avians here that look pretty exotic to our northern eyes, and the ubiquitous parrots always liven things up.

It got pretty hot and a stiff headwind picked up, and we took turns leading and drafting. We arrived at the Tres Bocas gas station sweatier and thirstier than we'd been for many weeks. After cold drinks in the convenience store, we were pleased to notice that there was a shower for truck drivers. We also saw a green space behind the station, so we asked meekly for permission to camp. Permission freely granted, we set up our abode behind a large flowering shrub, made joyful use of the shower and had a good nap. Later we had a second round of refreshments in the shop, and watched Mr. Bean with the gas station lads. We slept soundly despite the rain and lightning of the predicted storm finally passing through.

2011/04/23: To Colón, Argentina 80 km

Steak, bacon, ham, fried eggs,mushrooms, and mayonnaise
on a mountain of french fries... with a few token greens.
A "chivito" to a Uruguayan, a heart attack special to anyone else!

We rode uneventfully to Paysandú, stopping briefly to buy fig jam at a roadside stall. Paysandú was having a beer festival, and we'd heard accommodations were full, so we indulged in another chivito before crossing back into Argentina over the Rio Uruguay. Here in Colón we found accommodation at somewhat better than our usual standard, the excuse being that the warm swimming pool is good for Chris's arm!

As we near the end of our quiet day here, our plan is to ride three more days across Entre Rios province to the city of Paraná, from where we see possibilities of canoe or kayak trips into the intricate wetlands than surround the Rio Paraná. This would be a good change of pace before braving a bus to Córdoba. Also, It would be a good way to have a closer look at the birds, and from what we've seen so far they're well worth a closer look.

M

Note: We have uploaded a Uruguay photo set on Flickr.

Green Light

2011-04-17T19:08:00.000-07:00

Halfway Down

Final Massage

Fernanda, my physiotherapist, has made her last visit and given us the green light to start bike touring again. She provided me with a spongy ball and a thera-band so I can continue to do my strengthening exercises without carrying a dumbbell. I am now able to do push-ups without pain, but some rotational movements can cause minor pain.

Tomorrow we get new chains on our bikes, and on Tuesday we leave early to catch a boat for Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay. Colonia is a UNESCO World Heritage site. It was founded by the Portuguese in 1680 on the Río de la Plata, the city was of strategic importance in resisting the Spanish. After being disputed for a century, it was finally lost by its founders. The well-preserved urban landscape illustrates the successful fusion of the Portuguese, Spanish and post-colonial styles.

Colonia also has a quarter where the Spanish succeeded in keeping out the English. Pablo says it is unfortunate England did not win! He thinks South America might be better off now if it had had British colonial organisation and investment in infrastructure. He says Spanish colonialism involved just taking resources. Maybe he would feel differently if the English had actually won.

We will stay in Colonia and then cycle north up the Rio Uruguay along the Argentinian border. Scottish cyclists Chris and Lesley, describe the ride as "a lovely, gentle run." I wonder if they think Scotland would be better without the English?

Tigre: A Maze of Waterways

2011-04-17T09:01:00.000-07:00

Mbigua (Guaraní name)
(Phalacrocorax brasilianus)
a neotropic cormorant

We visited the delta of the Rio Paraná at Tigre with our friend (and landlord) Pablo. There we stayed over Friday night at his lady friend Maria's house. This delta is unique because it is a fresh water delta, because it is formed by the Rio Paraná flowing into the much larger Rio de la Plata. While it is a fresh water delta, it still has tides that create strong currents in the channels. It has latte-coloured waters (see picture to left) – rich with iron from the jungle streams flowing from inland South America. These are filling the delta with silt, and yachts can now only move at high tide, and most have moved their moorages downstream to the Rio de la Plata. The narrow waterways between the islands are alive with boating activity, everything from motor launches to kayaks, and are patrolled by traffic police on Canadian-made Sea-Doos.

Morning view from Maria's dock

New extension to Maria's house (under construction)

All the houses in the delta are palofitos (stilt houses) because at high tide the water covers large areas of the marshy islands in the delta. The area reminded us of the Danube delta that we visited in 2007, and as then we arrived by water taxi. Here, however, rather than explore by motor boat we were allowed to use a classic wooden rowing skull complete with a sliding seat. Margo, was rather pleased that I (who have previous experience with rowing skulls) could not row because of my arm. I sat in the back with the steering ropes, while Margo rowed down the waterways which were lined with rushes and willows.

"Monkey" Restaurant

For supper, we went to an excellent riverside restaurant called "Monkey." It was run by a family from Cornwall, England who had lived in various parts of the world, so there were menu choices from many ethnicities. I had grilled pacú, a local freshwater fish. We learned that this dish had won the chef several culinary awards. The walk back to Maria's house after supper was exciting because we had drunk rather too much wine and had to cross many foot bridges in various states of disrepair. At night, the delta was alive with the sound of frogs and crickets, but around 2 a.m. a wonderful deep silence feel. We slept well, and after a late breakfast we helped with house maintenance, returning to Buenos Aires in time for supper.

I have put up a Flickr set for this memorable excursion.

C

Another "Great" !!

2011-04-16T18:00:00.000-07:00

Our new great niece, probably to be called Anna,was born on Thursday the 14th. She entered the world in Grand Falls-Windsor, Newfoundland, Canada, and she surely chose her parents Alice (our niece) and Mark well!

We look forward to meeting her later this year, when we hope to visit Newfoundland along with our nephew (her absurdly proud uncle) Daniel. Daniel is also known as Bikemoose, and we're planning to join him for his Newfoundland bike trip.

Hooray for Anna!!! Congratulations Alice and mark!!!

M

City Tourists

2011-04-13T22:05:00.000-07:00

It's been about ten days since we moved into Pablo's home in the area of the city known as Chacarita. We can cook our own meals here, and have our own aesthetic and quiet space. There's an interior courtyard --which presently serves as a long term bike parking area-- and a narrow stone staircase leads to roof terrace.

Last week I went downtown every morning for four hours of Spanish lessons at a language school called EBA Trust. I would have happily taken a second week of classes, but it seemed unfair to Chris who was on his own at "home." The teachers were wonderful. Thank you Germán and Cecilia! I was placed in a class with a young Australian who had studied Spanish at university, and I scrambled to keep up as we tackled imperfect subjunctive as used in reported speech. Whew! I was brain dead by the end of the week, and felt scattered from worrying about Chris while I studied. At that point, he was not yet obviously on the mend. The week did inspire me to study more at home, and I'd be happy to come back to the same excellent school ..without worrying about an injured husband.

Since finishing that week of classes, we've been becoming pros at using transit as we tick off museums. We've been to the Museo de Arte Hispanoamericano, the Museo Nacional de Arte Decorativo, and the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes. We've also walked many miles, eaten very well, submitted our taxes, and talked to people at home.

As we settled in here, Pablo gave us a tour of the best local shops for veggies, baked goodies, and meat. We've especially enjoyed the butcher shop, and have been treating ourselves to some pretty good steaks. Last Wednesday, Pablo, Maria, and Pablo's aspiring biophysicist nephew came for supper here, and I roasted a chicken with spuds --an easy meal in an unfamiliar kitchen. It's was interesting to glean tidbits from the greengrocer as I prepared for this. I saw two types of potatoes -- one kind appeared black. The shop keeper asked me if I wanted papas negras --black potatoes, and I asked what they were. They're normal light-skinned potatoes grown in a particular type of dark soil, which apparently make better spuds for baking or roasting, but they're transported and sold with quite a bit of dark soil left on them to advertise their superiority.

Last night we did a "must" for visitors to Buenos Aires; we went to a tango show. Arriving for the included dinner, we apologized for our scruffy attire and explained we were travelling by bike. We must have been the worst dressed of the entire gathering, but no one seemed to mind. Our table mates during dinner were speech therapist colleagues from Bogotá, Colombia, in BA for a conference. The show, which took place at La Ventana, was great fun. The elegant tango dancers strutted elegantly with haughty expressions, dressed in shades of black and white with the odd flash of red: spike-heeled shoes and vibrant lipstick. A soloist began a rendition (Spanish version) of Don't Cry For Me Argentina, and the men who strutted onto the stage unfurled Argentinian flags, while the women unfurled white scarves, perhaps made more iconic than any flag by Las Madres de La Plaza de Mayo. A folk music group also played, and a flamboyant gaucho twirled bolas (rocks on the end of a thong) at alarming speed.

Fernanda the physiotherapist came again today. Black tape this time! Chris is moving on to exercises to strengthen his arm, and we're going for a test ride tomorrow. We're making plans to take a boat to Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay, next Tuesday, and to pedal north on quiet roads from there. We're not likely to have time to pedal all the way to Santiago within the time we have left, but we'll see how we fare. There are always buses.

M

Arm Improving

2011-04-10T16:45:00.000-07:00

Fernanda, the physiotherapist came here on Tuesday. She revised her diagnosis from ruptured bicep tendon to bicep tear, good news because it doesn't bring the shoulder into the picture. However, it still takes several weeks to regain enough function to even think of riding a bike. I am over my period of angst when I thought he might be offered more treatment options at home, and feel assured we just need to be patient, and make the most of our time here.

While I spent each morning downtown doing Spanish last week, Chris dutifully put ice on his arm and did his exercises. These now include squeezing the bike handlebar --a promising sign. He feels the healing is now further advanced than when we last tried a post-injury test ride two weeks ago. This time we'll wait longer before testing again.

M

Update on Chris's Arm

2011-03-31T20:34:00.000-07:00

From what the paramedic said in Rio Tranquilo, we thought we's be on the road again by now. Well, we're not.

On Saturday, we went for our first gentle bike ride since arriving in BA. This involved an errand to a bike shop in search of suitable new chains, followed by a gentle swing around an artificial lake along with many Porteños on bikes, skateboards, and roller-blades. All went well, and we were on our way "home" when Chris had to brake suddenly. This caused him searing arm pain, and he obviously redid whatever the original injury was.

Our main task since then has been to find our way through the local medical system to find out a. what the injury is and b. how to speed his recovery process. Steered by local advice, went to the British Hospital outpatient clinic on Monday, and made an appointment with a traumatología specialist for Wednesday. Returning for the appointment, we saw the youthful doctor, who diagnosed Chris's arm as a muscle or tendon tear -- not quite sure which due to language limitations, but it would get better more quickly with physiotherapy and with luck we would be on the road again in a week or two. He also sent Chris for X-rays to eliminate the possibility of a bone crack, but the wait in radiología was such after a holiday weekend that the doctor came to retrieve us, just as I was getting into full swing chatting to all the old ladies in the room. He said the X-ray outcome wouldn't change the treatment, so wasn't worth the wait or expense. He gave us the name of a physiotherapist he collaborates with and who we believe specializes in arms.

We called Fernanda the physio right away, and went to see her at what looks like an arm clinic today. The practice is right next door to a special hospital for hands. Fernanda's detailed examination of Chris's arm brought her to the conclusion that he has ruptured or torn the shorter of the two tendons that attach the top end of his bicep. His arm muscles were probably already strained from holding his bike steady on ripio, so when he hit his upper arm on a protruding part of the gate while trying to lift it, something gave out.

He is now taped up, has very gentle exercises to do, and is finally agreeing to use the kerchief sling I made him. Fernanda approves of my contraption for resting his arm and for reminding him not to move it quickly when we are out and about. It also reminds others (especially me) not to bump him or jostle him.

Not a happy camper!

We are moving tentatively toward Plan C. Leaving this hostel with all out gear and Chris in his current state seemed a daunting prospect, but I knew I would go crazy with noise, lack of privacy, and the inability to cook if I stayed here any longer. We looked at short term rentals of furnished apartments, so as to spend a few quiet weeks here with Chris doing physio and me doing Spanish. Before we got too far into this process, we reconnected with Paul/Pablo whom we met in Villa La Angostura. To make a long story short, we are moving into his apartment -- which he currently doesn't use -- in a mutually beneficial arrangement tomorrow. Pablo will collect Chris, his bike, and all our panniers in the morning, and I'll ride my bike to our new temporary abode.

M

Good Food and Exploration in Buenos Aires

2011-03-29T09:21:00.000-07:00

2011/03/25
The day started with rather a mundane bus tour from our hostel around Buenos Aires. All the tour companies start at the same time and go the same route, so at each stop you are in a zoo of tourists. Becoming bored of this, we decide to abandon the tour and walk back to our hostel from the football stadium in La Boca. The tour leader was horrified at our proposal to make our way independently, and implied that we'd either get lost or mugged. We planned to visit a restaurant and a teahouse recommended by Hernan, whom we'd met on the bus to Bariloche.

Junk collector in La Boca

Chess set play area
with La Boca football stadium behind.

Initially the area of La Boca we walked through was a little sketchy. A lady warned us to watch out because it was feo --ugly-- but the neighbourhood soon improved and we arrived at the recommended restaurant. It truly was an excellent restaurant, Don Ernesto, and we had good company of two men from Paris, who were clearly into enjoying good food and wine. I had a steak to die for and Margo had a pasta dish. The lady at the table next to us recommended my dish to me and told Margo pasta was not really a local dish... eating in Buenos Aires is quite communal, and conversations with diners at adjacent tables start easily.

Lunch Restaurant

Mil Hojas (a thousand leaves)

Skipping dessert, we took the subway to get to the teahouse. The A-line of the subway was built in 1912 and uses the original rolling stock, so you sit on wooden benches and the doors, while nominally opening automatically, require some assistance. The teahouse, Las Violetas, complete with curved glass doors, French stained-glass windows, and Italian marble floors was built in the 1920´s but a coffee house has been on the site since 1884. The sandwich/pastry platters for afternoon tea have to be seen to be believed. We ordered a single pastry each, having just eaten, but the portion size rivaled any I have ever seen.

Well filled, we took the A-line again and walked back to our hostel.

C

A Day to Remember in Buenos Aires

2011-03-25T20:25:00.000-07:00

24th March 2011

Mothers of the Disappeared
We went to the Plaza de Mayo at 3 pm for the march of the Asociación Madres de Plaza de Mayo which has taken place every Thursday since 1977. An impressive and moving demonstration of the impact of passive resistance. It is not surprising that in this gentle country, which loves its children, these mothers could bring down a military regime. Not surprising but very brave of the mothers, several of whom also disappeared. The original mothers, now elderly women, walk at the front and are the only ones to wear the scarves. Images of the scarves are painted onto the pavement (photo above right). The mothers have become an icon of democratic Argentina.

You can hear the mothers calling the names of individuals who disappeared.
The crowd responds "presente" after each name to indicate
the disappeared have not been forgotten.

National Day of Remembrance for Truth and Justice

"Never Again"

Leaving the Plaza de Mayo, we passed through a huge and political march for the National Day of Remembrance for Truth and Justice. A huge and energetic gathering, with a sombre backdrop of people walking around with pictures of the disappeared.

Concert by Placido Domingo
In the evening we went to a free outdoor concert given by the famous tenor. The stage had been setup by the Obelisk, and seating for about 50,000 and about the same standing or sitting on the grass. Huge display screens and many speakers provided closeups of the singers and the symphony orchestra.

Placido Domingo sings with Virginia Tola

(see also http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CFJG0s66Chc )

The enthusiastic crowd of about 100,000 obviously enjoyed the performance which was extended by many encores. The evening came to an end when Placido brought his grandchildren onto the stage, and the cameras panned to show the Las Madres de la Plaza des Mayo, the original activist mothers in white head scarves, who had watched the performance from the front row.

C

Five Days of Logistical Moves

2011-03-23T12:43:00.000-07:00

The concept was to get ourselves and our bikes to Buenos Aires. There we plan to allow Chris to recuperate, and both of us to have a change of scene as we plan Part Two on easier roads and in a gentler climate. Upon arriving in La Capitale Federale, we were very happy that these five days were over.

2011/03/17-18: Ferry from Puerto Chacabuco to Quellón
The Naviera Austral ferry Don Baldo left five hours late, not four. More of the passengers seemed to be locals than tourists. A few of the ports of call have road links to the Carretera Austral, but most were isolated fishing and logging communities. At each port, the stern ramp would be lowered to horizontal and the auxilliary vessel lowered with a winch system to provide transport between ship and shore. Sometimes vessels would come to from shore to collect passengers and goods.

Evening Port Stop for Puerto Aguirre

Launch being lowered from ferry
to take passengers to port

It was evening when we arrived in Puerto Aguirre, and I looked down to the ramp scene from an upper stern deck. I noticed that something the shape of a coffin was being transferred to a local launch. It was wrapped in brown paper and packing tape. Any uncertainty I may have had about the object was quickly removed as I watched the care with which it was handled, and the tearful hugs and greetings in the boat as it moved off slowly through evening mist and rain towards the village. In another context, there would have been a piper playing Amazing Grace. It was someone's serene and poignant final voyage.

We slept as well as could be expected on the floor of the boat. Arriving in Quellón the next evening, we found a reasonable hotel in a town without much other appeal.

2011/03/19: Bus to Puerto Montt
We seem to be doomed to delays. Our bus spent three hours waiting for a truck accident to be cleared. Hungry children grew crankier and noisier as we waited. We arrived in PM in the dark, and found an OK hotel in an otherwise seedy area.

2011/03/20-21: Two Days and a Night to Buenos Aires
The first part of this long haul was a cyclist's nightmare. There are several different bus companies, but there was only one that said they would take bikes IF they had room AND also had a single run all the way from Puerto Montt, Chile, to Buenos Aires, Argentina. We bought tickets from Andesmar. On the platform, the driver scowled at our gear and gave a categorical refusal. I said no problem, we'd ask for a refund and do something else. However, a lady from the Andesmar office who was holding a clipboard had words with the bus driver. We think she twisted his arm to take the bikes, having threatened him with delays if she had to prepare a new passenger list for the border crossing. Our bikes were stuffed roughly into the hold, and we got on with the obviously resentful driver warning us we'd have to get off in Neuquen if too many new passengers needed to get on. Fine, we said.

We crossed the border the border without sacrificing any honey this time. In Bariloche, the baggage hold opened to reveal a pile of shipping cartons on top of our near horizontal bikes. A cowboy baggage handler (station employee?) ignored my cries as he climbed clumsily across our horizontal bikes to remove suitcases from the other side. As the bus went for fuel, our bikes lay horizontally, one on top of the other, suspended by their rims across a depression in the undercarriage. How very convenient for all suitcases, knapsacks and duffel bags to be piled onto them and to bounce on their fragile parts for the next 3000 kilometres!!

We were to wait in the station for an hour. I felt knots in mys stomach as we sat on a bench.

A station mutt wandered over, sat down, and laid his muzzle on my knee. I stroked his head, and each time I paused, he raised a paw to plead me to continue. I felt my stomach knots release. How did the dog know I needed him at that moment? I thank that dog.

When the bus returned, Chris and I had discussed our tactics. Something really needed to change or we'd arrive in BA with severely damaged bikes. We'd prefer to find another way.

I gathered my Spanish and approached the bus driver, then in his driver's seat, with a 100 peso ($25) note in hand. I asked very politely (conditional tense) if there was a possibility that our bikes could be placed in posición vertical with due care and with the bags beside them, so they had a chance of arriving in BA without serious damage. We didn't know what the reaction would be, but we needed to try something. He placed the note on the dashboard. (In Central Asia it would have gone straight into his pocket.) I moved back toward the baggage area, where the conductor arrived to inform me of excess baggage charges. However, the driver strode towards the back of the platform with his expression completely changed, and instructed several people to ensure the bikes were placed securely and carefully en posición vertical "because that's what Señora wants!" Chris was even allowed to direct and to help. We boarded the bus for the next leg feeling relieved, and assuming we'd succeeded in greasing the driver's palm. It seemed a good investment to us.

To our surprise, the driver came to our seats and gave us 60 pesos change plus receipts for 40 pesos worth of excess baggage. We're still scratching our heads about the about the sudden huge change in attitude. The driver even came to ensure the bikes were done properly as they were moved to a new bus as he went off shift, "because that's what Señora wants."

The rest of the day, the night, and the next day, we sat in our seats eating the cardboard snacks provided. Chris was getting sick. Horrendously violent movies were played, despite the presence of young children. I looked out the window and saw a guanaco on the horizon. We arrived in BA with bikes intact, relieved but very very tired.

Onward to South America Part Two.

M

Sore Paws

2011-03-22T20:13:00.000-07:00

We've met our share of cyclists almost every day we've been in the Carretera Austral; it draws adventurous travellers from around the world. On our last day on the Carretera, we saw a pair coming towards us with a dog galloping beside them. We were a long way from any habitation.

“You have a dog?!” Chris exclaimed.

“No, we don't,” they replied, in frustrated tones. “He's been following us since Puerto Rio Tranquilo.”

At this point they'd come 50 km from Rio Tranquilo. The cyclists had camped for one night, and the dog had settled beside them, waiting till they continued the next day. They claimed they hadn't fed him, and had tried to lose him on the descents hoping he would turn back, but the determined hound would always catch up to them. They encouraged us to offer him treats and call him, but the hound refused our offer of shortbread and our entreaties of “Ven aqui! Come on! Who's a good boy!” As we parted company, the dog – looking footsore but determined – continued loping north with the German/French pair. We later heard that Torrey and Lucie, not far behind us, had also tried (and failed) to get the canine to turn southward.

I wondered how the story ended. Most of the time, we never find out how some tales of which we see only the beginnings will end. We can only speculate. A few days later, though, the condition of Chris's arm helped us to decide to retreat northward by bus as we shifted gears into Plan B.

Our bus back to Coyhaique stopped in Villa Cerro Castillo, allowing passengers to alight for 20 minutes. I had time to talk to the young woman in charge of the general store. I told her about the footsore but determined mutt we'd seen heading north, and wondered if she'd heard of a dog arriving in town on the heels of two cyclists.

“¡Si! Habia un perro de color café llegando aqui con ciclistas. Esta todavia aqui con una familia.”

(Yes. A coffee coloured dog arrived here with some cyclists. He's still here with a local family.)

We'll never know whether he ever got back to Rio Tranquilo, or whether anyone there even missed him. At least we know he didn't continue to Coyaique, climbing switchbacks as the ripio changed to pavimiento. And we can assume somebody fed him and that he got a good rest. Perhaps he eventually got back to his original family in Rio Tranquilo, or maybe he found a new and better home in Cerro Castillo.

The dog had run 130 kilometres in about 48 hours. He'd looked footsore when we'd seen him after 50 km, so heaven knows what condition his feet were in after 130 km.

¡Pobrecito!
¡Pobres patitos!

Shift to Plan B

2011-03-18T15:12:00.000-07:00

2011/03/13: Casa de Ciclistas in Rio Tranquilo

On our way back from the internet cafe where we uploaded the last post, we met Torrey and Lucie. They'd met Nina, a German friend they'd ridden with further north, just south of RT, and had turned back into town planning to find lodging for three out of the pelting rain. We invited them to join us in our cabaña, which had more beds than we could use. (We'd chosen the cabaña for it's tiny bathtub, which allowed us to apply heat to Chris's arm.) We spent a sociable evening with five of us eating together, soggy gear drying by a wood stove.

Five Soggy Cyclists
(Photo gratuitously lifted from T&L's Blog)

2011/03/14: Still in Rio Tranquilo
Our intended route south would have involved pushing our bikes across a rough path from Villa O'Higgins to El Bolson, and pushing bikes is the last thing Chris's arm wants to do right now. We suspected he needed at least a week's rest, and that extra week would have meant a race for the last ferry from O'Higgins on March 28^th, and a late season mountain crossing, likely in bad weather. We don't need epics with Chris in his present state, so after a slow morning we tried to get a bus north to Coyhaique to start our retreat, but found we were to late too leave RT that day.

We went back to the cabaña, and later followed the suggestion of going to the Centro de Salud Rural to have the paramedic look at Chris's arm. The paramedic proposed an injection of anti-inflammatory, followed by a course of tablets to help speed Chris's recovery. Poor Chris had to drop his drawers for the intramuscular injection! The clinic looked organized and efficient, and it turned out the service was courtesy of the Chilean government.

2011/03/15: Bus to Coyhaique and damned logistics

After having my bike damaged on a Greek ferry, I'm wary of these logistical moves, but we arrived in Coyhaique with bikes unscathed and contemplated our next move over coffee. To get to Puerto Montt, a transportation hub, would allow us to get to Bariloche and Buenos Aires on bigger buses. But with bikes, Puerto Montt is best reached by boat from Puerto Chacabuco, since buses north on the Carretera Austral are too small to accommodate bikes. The season for Navimag's sailings directly to Puerto Montt was over, we discovered, so we bought tickets for the Thursday sailing from Chacabuco to Quellon on Grande Isla Chiloe, from whence there's a bus to Puerto Montt.

2011/03/16: Bus to Puerto Aysen and 15 km ride to Puerto Chacabuco

At least the buses are cheap. They must be heavily subsidized! Why aren't our Canadian long-distance buses this cheap, and our highway tolls higher as they are here so that more people would leave their cars behind? We moved the 70 odd km to Aysen by bus in pouring rain, and rode the last 15 km (easy pavement) during a brief period of lighter rain to Chacabuco, a tiny fish-processing town with not much more to offer than a ferry dock. Naviera Austral called on our cell phone to announce the next departure was delayed by five hours due to poor weather.

Further South on the Carretera

2011-03-13T15:45:00.000-07:00

2011/03/10: 57 km to Beech Wood Camp

Las Salamandas Hostel

Margo's Hostel Friend

We awoke to the sound of rain, and moved slowly. I got a ride to town with a group of French fly fishermen to buy the wherewithal for a good dinner, the premise being that we weren't ready to set out in more heavy rain. The other need to visit town was that there won't be a bank machine for quite some time, and we probably have logistical moves ahead that require cash payments.

Back at the hostel, we looked out the window at a clearer sky than we'd seen in several days, and decided to make our move. We rolled south on the Carretera, and slid into a forest of southern beeches to camp beside a stream. The temperature was just above freezing and it was getting dark. Dinner was challenging to cook on a camp stove, the ingredients having been purchased with a hostel kitchen in mind. We managed lamp chops and a fricassee of fresh vegetables, and washed these down with wine from a water bottle.

2011/03/11: 55 km to Two Canadian Couples Camp

Young volunteers with Margo at pass

We headed higher over several gentle passes, and were surprised to meet the four young volunteer teaching assistants who had been staying at Hostal Las Salamandras before moving in with their host families. They'd recently arrived in Coyhaique to support local teachers of English in primary schools. Three were post A-level Brits doing a gap year, and one was an American who'd finished a degree in psychology. They were being taken on a local outing by a locally resident Brit who was involved with the programme.

We descended sweeping switchbacks to Villa Cerro Castillo ...the last pavement we would see for some time. We took a side trip to see a cliff upon which ancient Tehuilches had made imprints of their hands as they migrated to hunt guanaco.

As we returned to the Carretera, we met cyclists Torrey and Lucie from Montreal, heading our way. We rode more or less with them for a while. Our styles differ somewhat: they are significantly faster cyclists, but stop to take many more photos. They began their journey in Anchorage, and received some sponsorship from Mountain Equipment Co-op.

We camped together in a clearing in the woods, the first time on this trip we've “wild camped” with others.

2011/03/12: 92 km To Bahia Murta Pueblo Antiguo

Torrey was making a tempting-looking breakfast of something resembling Egg McMuffins, while Lucie blogged in their spacious tent. Meanwhile, we made meagre porridge with raisins, deciding to skip hot drinks on the assumption (later found to be incorrect – we were just disorganized) that we were short of water. This is why we got an earlier start than they did. I think it is easier for us to travel a bit lighter and cook a bit more simply than the younger set, because we treat ourselves to better accommodation and more restaurant meals when we're in towns.

We'd recently changed our route plan and didn't yet have all details of the logistics ahead. We learned from Torrey that the ferry from Villa O'Higgins which allows us to cross (pushing bikes etc.) into Argentina only leaves once per week now that summer is over, and the last two sailings are March 19^th and 28^th. This meant a bit of a mileage push was needed, especially if we want a rest day before the challenging crossing.

We pedalled steadily south, keeping moving till quite late in the knowledge there were accommodation possibilities. There was a residenciel at the turn-off for Bahia Murta, which looked ready for business, but was manned only by a friendly sheep dog and a kitten. We could not find any humans, there was no cell phone coverage, and it was quickly getting dark. We began to ride the 4 km towards the village of Bahia Murta, which sits at the end of a long arm of Lago General Carrera (Lago Buenos Aires on the Argentinian side), the largest lake in South America.

We were looking for someone local who might know of the whereabouts of the residenciel owners. Asking the occupants of a yellow van led to a friendly invitation by Segundo and Sara to join them for supper and to stay at their small farmhouse at the original site of Bahia Murta, the town having moved to it's new location several decades ago after the Rio Murta changed it's course. The pueblo antiguo is now nearly a ghost town, occupied by only five families. It boasts several original pioneer buildings including picturesque cypress-shingled church, Capilla Santa Rosa, listed as part of Chile's Patrimonia Nacional.

Sara and Segundo scooped us and our bikes into their van, and drove us up the tiny lane to their village. We were invited to warm ourselves by their wood stove, and handed mugs of tea. So began a comfortable evening of learning of local politics and lives, and of shelling peas from the garden while watching coverage of the earthquake in Japan. As we finished supper, I found my head spinning from a long day on ripio combined with the effort of hours of translation. As I excused myself to bed, I saw it was after 11:30 p.m..

2011/03/13: 1 km and 25 km in van to Rio Tranquilo

Segundo and Sara decided to go to Rio Tranquilo to buy propane, and to sell vegetables from their plot. I think this was an excuse to take us there; they are close to our age, and are somewhat isolated as relative newcomers in a tiny village. We´d planned to ride on southward, but our schedule had become tighter as we were trying to get to O´Higgins by Friday the 18^th, so we accepted the offer to join them. While they dug up beets and turnips and prepared for the excursion, Chris and I had time to visit the old chapel. However, as Chris opened an awkward gate, he seriously pulled a muscle in his arm ....throwing a spanner into the works of our plans.

Eric, who we rode with from Portillo to Mendoza, ended
his journey suddenly in Cordoba, and in much worse shape than Chris.

Segundo and I put the bikes in the back of their wood-transport van again, with Chris now having little ability to lift anything heavier than a spoon. We drove along the shores of Lago General Carrera, with Secundo regaling us with tales of eccentric foreigners coming to Patagonia to buy their private slices of peace and quiet. He and Sara, however, were delighted that a new cell phone tower was being built. The contrast between the local and the external view of Patagonia seemed sharp.

From Rio Tranquilo, we took a boat ride to see some marble caves and sculpted turrets which stand along the rugged lake-shore.

We returned to the town to find food, and accommodation that would allow Chris some way of applying heat to his incapacitated arm. We now find ourselves in a simple cabaña which has a small bath tub, and I have added kettles full of boiling water to the tub while Chris soaks. We´re not sure what our next move will be, but suspect it will involve a bus as Chris can no longer ride safely and cannot push a bike or lift a pannier.

Three Days in Coyhaique

2011-03-09T16:24:00.000-08:00

2011/03/07-09 Three trips to town by bike (30 odd km) and one on foot
There are lots of things to do on non-cycling days. It always seems to us that the first day off, after several days on the road, is taken up with the very basics of sleeping, eating, airing wet tents, doing laundry, and finding a bank machine. The second day sometimes allows more time to appreciate where we are, but there is always a gritty bike chain to clean. Sometimes there are various problems to solve, and these always involve digging for information and finding our way around in a new place and despite linguistic challenges. There are always emails to catch up on and blogs to write, of course, and if there is a good coffee shop to be found --we find it. One of us orders un cortado grande and the other indulges in te verde.

On our first evening here, the screen of our dearly loved Asus EEE gave up the ghost. It`s done us proud for 2.5 years of which over a year was rough travel, and it was kind enough to time it`s demise for when we were in a major town, not a given as we work our way south. However, this meant the second day was spent first at a computer repair shop, where we got an estimate for screen replacement, and then shopping for a new compact notebook once we realized repair didn`t make sense. It took some time to set up, of course, and we mailed the old one home in the new one`s box. The new keyboard is geared for Spanish input, and we initialized the computer to think it had a standard North American layout, which has caused a few problems. With enough geek input at home, we suspect this can be sorted, but please bear with us for now.

Chris also got another set of new pedals. The pair purchased in Puerto Montt suffered some sort of juvenile mortality, and the effect was Chinese water torture with a click at every rotation. This was likely the last bike shop for some time.

We have a choice of routes ahead, so we also wanted time to research our options. We have chosen a very weather dependent route that stays in Chile (see map) but is subject to storms coming in from the Pacific. Like the west coast of Vancouver Island our reports will be very dependent on rain, and rain in the previous few days which can mean a path is a pleasant walk or a hike through a swamp. This route includes a 6 hour hike on a path, taking us from Chile into Argentina, as well as a few lake crossings by boat. Most of the difficulty is in the 50km south of O`Higgins, although the 400 km of ripio to O`Higgins will be a challenge in itself. We might take the bus if the ripio is too bad, but for the hike there is little other option than the trail, unless we arrange for horses to carry our gear and bikes while we walk. Apparently that option might be available. Then again, it might not.

M & C

"Ripio"

2011-03-08T16:28:00.000-08:00

Chris does not easily remember words in a foreign language. Ripio, however, is a Spanish word that will stick forever in his brain; it literally means "gravel", and is used here in South America to describe unpaved roads. Three of four travel days described here were on unpaved roads. Ripio can be good, bad, or ugly, depending on how loose or compact the surface is. Some (rare) sections are nearly as smooth as pavement, and others are deep loose gravel where there has been construction, or washboard and potholes where trucks have churned uphill. Our continued progress southward critically depends on the quality and quantity of ripio, and how much of it we can take.

2011/03/02: In La Junta
We were happy to sit out a day of lluvia fuerte, watching drops run down the window panes as several fronts moved through. Chris gingerly did his back exercises on the floor in the B & B. Later, Ernst and Barbara, a retired German couple arrived. We had dinner together at a local tea room, and later Barbara showed Chris a travel presentation she had prepared using software new to us and with more capabilities than what we've previously used. New projects await!

2011/03/03: 65 km to Parque National Queulat Camp
The carretera winds through cool rainforest with dense undergrowth and roadside thickets. There are tall banks of native fuchsia, still in flower, along with huge fronds of something that looks like prickly rhubarb on steroids. Waterfalls drop from sheer granite walls.

We met two northbound Swiss cyclists as we left La Junta, and lunch beside a lake allowed the braver of us to have a quick dip. We saw a nonchalant river otter trotting down the road near the lake. Traffic is pretty infrequent. Later, a short ferry ride took us around a construction zone, and we found great sticky buns in Puylhuiapi. In the evening we found ourselves at a National Park with a well-appointed campground that included hot showers, and where an evening walk took us to an impressive view of a hanging glacier.

2011/03/04: 68 km to Villa Amergual
A morning hike took us higher than the evening before across a suspension bridge to a lake just below the glacier. A morning mist hung over the water, and several waterfalls cascaded down a granite face from the glacier's tongue. (Video below is from dock on lake, the sound is from running water)

Back at our bikes, we packed to leave and found I had our first flat of this trip: the gradual evolution of a slow leak. We installed a new inner tube; a familar routine. This day took us over a significant pass (500 m) on ripio. It's hard to fight uphill, so we did a fair bit of pushing. It's also hair-raisingly easy to skid on corners as we descend.

Arriving in Villa Amergual, we found a small hospedaje and tucked gratefully into salmon and mashed potatoes before collapsing into bed.

View from hospedaje

2011/03/05: 86 km to Sandy Beach Camp by Rio Mañihuales

Morning mist over lake just south of Villa Amergual

The landscape became more open and the vegetation changed a little. Banks of black seedpods of lupins lined the roadsides, and the valleys became broader, with granite walls a bit further apart. We hunted down supper ingredients in Mañihuales, not as easy as it used to be as towns become smaller and further apart. After the braver of us swam again near a bridge, we moved further upriver and found a track that led to a sandy beach and a good riverside campsite.

2011/03/06: 76 km to Coyhaique
A heavy dew meant a soggy tent and damp sleeping bags. We stuffed these and moved on, knowing we'd reach Coyhaique --the capital of Aysen-- to find a hostel for errands, rest, and to hide from the forecasted rain. We'd met a pair of Chilean cyclists the day before, but this day we fell into conversation with a pair of motorcyclist from Punta Arenas as we took their photos at a waterfall. We've been trying not to set our hearts on any particular final destination, but you never know just hor far we'll get. Tierra del Fuego is starting to seem rather close.

Later, we met Shoham and Amit, a pair of Israeli cyclists. Israeli mochileros (backpackers) are a dime a dozen in South America, because they all beat a path here after finishing their military service. Bike touring has not yet become part of their travel culture, and these are the first Israeli cyclists we've met. Maybe they are leading a new trend? They certainly were heavily loaded. with complete trekking gear and several weeks of food supplies.

We had a sparse lunch of travel-weary pannier dregs before arriving in Coyhaique, where we dove into pollo y papas fritas before finding a quiet hostel just outside town.

M

On the Carretera Austral

2011-03-02T09:11:00.000-08:00

2011/02/27: 3 km Ferry to El Chaiten
We rose early to get to the pier by 07:30 for a 09:00 ferry sailing. Our boat was "Pincoya" -- word I learned means mermaid or siren, important in Chilote mythology. We boarded along with some ten vehicles, a motorbike, and two dogs in crates. The crossing took about eight hours in a calm sea, but we doubt it's always calm because all vehicles were secured with tie-downs. Our bikes went into a tarpaulin shelter and were also secured with straps.

Perhaps we could have started pedalling south, but we stayed in a hotel recommended by the solo French female cyclist who was waiting to board Pincoya for the return journey. She had said it served good breakfasts, and she was right. Hot water and electricity were not a given though, since El Chaiten was damaged by an erupting volcano in 2008 and infrastructure is still recovering.

2011/02/28: 69 km to Glaciar Yelcho Camp
We headed south on pavement, riding a 5 km spur to Termas Amarillo -- a low key hot springs. After a wallow and lunch we continued south on gravel which began with 15 km of loose-surfaced construction zone. Thankfully, the surface improved after that.

The scenery was spectacular as we rode through a densely forested broad valley, with views of snow-capped peaks and hanging glaciers.

The vegetation is so dense that it's hard to find a place to wild camp, so we camped at a campground that was unmanned. The busy season has just ended, with nearly all the Chileans returning to school and jobs in Santiago this past weekend. The site appeared to be patrolled by a small cautious hound -- an most unlikely guard dog. We cooked in the picnic area and set up our tent under a rough wooden shelter to avoid excessive dew, but no human ever appeared to collect a fee -- strange because a fellow had handed us information about the place from a car as he passed.

2011/03/01: 88 km to La Junta
After hiking to the hanging glacier viewpoint, we set out over a pass of only 600 odd metres. The scenery was spectacular, and the road relatively level after the pass. We met a German cyclist heading north from Ushuaia, with whom we heartily concurred on the joys of cycling in Spain.

Passing traffic creates dust (until it rains)

What had been sprinkle soon turned to rain. The rain increased to a steady pelting. Not relishing setting up camp in what was becoming a downpour, we plodded on to arrive at 20:00 in La Junta, with road spattered bodies and gear. We ensconced ourselves as the only guests in a comfortable B and B with WiFi. , Based on the forecast of "lluvia fuerte" (heavy rain) the next day with improvement therafter, plus Chris's back spasms and our damp gear, we decided to pander to our grey hair by allowing ourselves a day of rest. Time to dry out before continuing south.

M

Grande Isla Chiloe

2011-02-26T11:04:00.000-08:00

2011/02/22: 70 km to Dalcahue
2011/02/23: Bus to Anchao on Isla Quinchao
2011/02/24: 20 km to Castro
2011/02/25-26: Puttering in Castro

Chiloe is a unique and separate part of Chile. One of my first thoughts was that it made me think of Galicia in northwest Spain. Chris commented today, as he slurped his curanto, that it reminded him of Ireland. Perhaps the association had something to do with the dark beer he was drinking. This is an land of seafarers of indigenous and Spanish descent; it has its own cuisine, music, and mythology. My new Spanish word of the day recently was trauco -- which I guessed by the gnarled creature in the associated illustration meant troll -- even though it's not in my tiny dictionary.

One of the attractions of Chiloe is it's churches built by the Jesuits in 18th an 19th century. These are shingled with local cypress, and have ornate wooden interiors. We rode from Ancud to Dalcahue, and from there crossed to Isla Quinchao by bus to see the main church at Anchao. We stopped at tiny Curaco de Velez on our way back, to walk along its waterfront and take in shingled cottages painted in an array of bright colours.

Hostel Palafito at low tide

The following day we moved along to Castro, the provincial capital, where we bought tickets for the ferry to El Chaiten on the mainland. The ferry departs weekly in summer only, so we sail Sunday morning. This naturally led to two days of downtime at Palafito Hostel, built as a palafito or shoreline house on log pilings over the water. We've enjoyed chatting with other guests, and had time to catch up with maintenance tasks. There is a balcony over the water, where black-necked swans glide at high tide. Sun streams in to a front room. We feel we've found another comfortable gem here.

Tomorrow we leave early to catch our boat across the Gulf of Corcovado, an eight hour journey. The weather forecast is good. All aboard!

M

Pedals and Penguins

2011-02-23T13:13:00.000-08:00

2011/02/18: 64 km to Puerto Varas

"Hello Stephen,
I'm coming to get you!!!"

We took the boat back across the river, and rode -- first on gravel, later on asphalt-- to Puerto Varas on Lake Llanquihue. We did most of this in the good company of Christian and Raul. At a fresh juice stop, we met our first (domesticated) llamas, and post a photo of one here especially for my nephew for whom we hope it brings back fond memories of his time in Bolivia.

Church in
Puerto Varas

Puerto Varas is the more tourist oriented alternative to industrial Puerto Montt, and since many hostels were full by the time we arrived, we camped -for a small fee- in the garden which served as overflow for one of them.

Chris's well-travelled pedals had begun to make a clicking sound. We made inquiries at the tourist office about a bike shop, and learned there was a decent one in Puerto Montt.

2011/02/19: 84 km to Chacao on Chiloe

Volcanoes Osbrno and
Cabuco from Puerto Montt

We rode to the bike shop in Puerto Montt, arriving before it closed for the afternoon. Lucky for us, because it would likely not reopen till Monday morning. We bought Chris some basic Shimano SPD pedals, and tucked into a grilled salmon lunch in celebration of having reached the Pacific.

Juan Andres
juggling

After lunch, we followed the coast through a busy harbour area, and walked our bikes up a hill on which we think a truck and spilled fish oil .... a new hazard to test the unwary cyclist. We reached the short ferry crossing to Chiloe in the evening. and fell into conversation with a young Uraguayan couple, Laura and Juan Andres, who were travelling by bus.

We ended up camping with them in a tiny garden in Chacao. We were arriving too late to be choosy, the price was right and the company was good.

2011/02/20: 58 Km to Puniguill and Penguins
We rode to Ancud, and inquired about visiting the penguin colonies on the west coast. On the advice of the non-cyclist tourist office lady, we rode west on horrendous gravel roads, pushing our bikes up many of the hills. We made it to the cabanas which we had reserved from Ancud, but the tourist office lady was definitely persona non grata by the time we arrived. The evening meal in a restaurant overlooking the beach restored our spirits, though.

2011/02/21: 3km and bus back to Ancud

Magellanic Penguins

After breakfast, we joined 4 Chileans and a German tour group for for a boat tour of the rocky islets where Magellanic and Humbolt penguins spend almost half the year. In March and April, the Magellanics will migrate south to colder waters and the endangered Humbolts will migrate north to warmer waters. They were easy enough to see at this time of year, because they're moulting and cannot swim.

Chris and I were sitting in the bow, and a wave came over as we moved out through the surf. So any of our clothing not already foul with sweat was salty with seawater! Our need to do laundry is getting dire.

Spanish fort in Ancud

We rode the 2 km back to a junction, having been told the local bus back to Ancud would accept our bikes, so we could avoid doing the loose gravel a second time. The small bus duly accommodated us, and our offer of extra payment was refused despite the fact that our gear took up many extra seats and cramped other passengers at times.

The purple gnocchi
are made from
purple potatoes

Back in Ancud, we found digs, and had supper at a cafe that specialized in dishes made from papas nativas -- native potatoes. I knew the potato originated in South America, but apparently there are two very specific points of origin which have been traced: one high in the Andes in Peru, the other here in Chiloe. The Spaniards first tried to cultivate the high altitude variety in Spain, and their efforts bore very little success. The varieties from Chiloe which they later tried were much more successful, and the young woman who ran the restaurant claimed that nearly all the spuds now cultivated in Europe and North America are descendants of papas nativas from here. Her assertion rang true, and in fact jives with the Wikipedia entry for potato.

M

"Cruce Andino" – Back into Chile

2011-02-22T02:42:00.000-08:00

2011/02/17: 40 km by Bike plus 50 km by boat to Free Range Hens Camp
We rode the 7 km to get to Puerto Panuelo by 08:00, and found that among the 100+ other passengers there were eight other cyclists boarding our boat. Of these, six were greying men from Bariloche, fully equipped with dual suspension and carbon fibre. The other two were Chilean grad students (philosophers!) set up for a several-week tour on mountain bikes. Our unloaded bikes were handled carefully, and we were very pleased when we were asked to check most of our gear into a baggage-handling system, not to be seen again till we reached Chilean customs after more steep gravel then we'd expected.

After 1.5 hours by boat up Brazo Blest on Lago Nahuel Hupai, we rode an easy 3 km to Lago Frias. The fact that the boat on this small lake needed to make two trips for the high-season cohort of non-cyclists meant that we got a comfortable head start on the challenging 30 km ride over the divide into Chile. Reaching Paso Perez Rosales after 4 km, we downed the dregs of our Argentinian wine from its Coke bottle in celebration of our second cordilleran crossing.

Cyclists at the border

This trans-Andean route took us through a pocket of selba valdiviano, valdivian rain forest, once contiguous with forests of the amazon basin but now isolated. We rode through a forest dense with ferns, epiphytes, and bamboos, as we descended a bone-jarring 12 km on loose gravel to Chilean immigration, followed by another 18 flattish km to Chilean customs, where we claimed our bags and presented them for inspection. We had realized on the first boat that Chile had strict rules regarding importation of food products. A cyclist needs to eat, however, and we quickly realized we were carrying quite a bit of contraband, so we consumed our bananas and empanadas, and handed out apples on the boat. Still carrying a few sandwich supplies, we ticked the more conservative box on our form confessing to having a few questionable items. Our honey was confiscated, but the kindly customs officer pretended not to see our cheese.

Mt. Tronador from Chilean immigration

C and M waiting to board third ferry

After the scenic cruise down emerald green Lago Todos Santos , we crossed the outflow river by boat with Christian and Raul, the Chilean philosophers, to a campsite patrolled by scavenging poultry.

Raul, Christian, & Chris crossing river in small boat like in picture below

Morning shot of Volcano Osorno from dock of campground

Quiet Days Near Bariloche

2011-02-16T17:47:00.000-08:00

We stayed at Hostel Cordillera. What a good find! We highly recommend this calm, friendly and aesthetic place. It's also an establishment that rents mountain bikes, sending most customers off on a pleasing local 25 km loop.

When we were only able to book the next leg of our journey for Thursday, we were happy to settle here for a bit of break after over a month on the road and some 1800 km pedalled.

2011/02/14: To Bariloche by Municipal Bus
It's high season, and the 18 km of road from here to Bariloche is narrow and busy. The bus gives a different perspective, and rests the old legs. Our main errand was to visit the office of Turisur that organizes Cruce Andino, a trip west across the Andes into Chile. The journey involves three boat trips, with terrestrial connections made by bus usually included in the price. There is a cheaper price for boat segments only, for cyclists who plan to pedal the 3 and 31 km sections of gravel road which are not otherwise accessible.

We could only get tickets for Thursday, which is what has quite fortuitously enforced a pause here. Tickets in hand, we strolled around Bariloche, a bit of an over-built lakeside ski town we were glad not to be staying in. We toured their paleontology museum: a small collection of fossils lovingly (but not very professionally) displayed inside a two-room corrugated tin shed.

The hostel cum bike rental staff were kind enough to let us use their workshop and supplies to clean and lube our bike chains.

2011/02/15: Hike up Cerro Campanario, 11 km Bike to Shop

We walked to and up this local peak, where we shared views with hordes who'd ridden up the chairlift. Later we cycled to the grocery store for dinner fixings.

2011/02/16: The 25 km Circuito Chico, plus 11 km to Shops Again

View from Circuito Chito of lakes and Hotel Llao Llao, the Banff Springs Hotel of Argentina.
The views from the hotel and it's surrounding golf course are spectacular;
so are its room rates.

We did the local circuit that the bike rental clients do, moving at a leisurely pace.
Later, after time for communication with offspring, we rode to the campground near the shops to meet the valiant Danish family who had followed us across the lake today. Because the buses had no space for all their gear, they cycled the 60 km (2 days) of horrible loose gravel through the construction zone of the Camino de Los Siete Lagos. At one point the road was so rough they put both their kids in the trailer which had suspension. The tiny lads apparently thought the bumpy ride was a good laugh, but the parents were a bit alarmed.

Back at the hostel, we are trying to be organized for an early departure to the boat dock. Back to Chile we go!

M

Lago Nahuel Huapi

2011-02-14T18:26:00.000-08:00

2011/02/12: In Villa Angostura
Upon arrival in town the previous day, the tourist office lady had given me the telephone number for one of the boat tour companies. My evening efforts to obtain information by phone ended in frustration, however. I got out my halting question, but the reply was so quick and so lengthy that all I heard was a torrent of Spanish followed by "...Hasta luego. Ciao. Click" So we made a morning run to the turismo again, and a more helpful lady called both boat companies on my behalf, and wrote out all the applicable information.

We retired for coffee, and fell into conversation with Paul, a 60 year old Buenos Airan of many interesting careers, persuasions, and passions. Back in our room, we watched the downpour from our window, while a pair of ibises foraged in the sodden grass. We met Paul for an excellent dinner and a very interesting evening.

Not very good video of Buff-Necked Ibis ... BUT listen for their loud clicks

Pair of Buff-Necked Ibis

2011/02/13: 24 km by bike, 30 km by boat, to hostel near Puerto Panuelo

Arrayanes

We rode the few kilometres to the entrance of Las Arrayanes National Park, which covers a peninsula that juts into 80 kilometre long Lago Nahuel Huapi. The park protects a unique pocket of rain forest, including the reddish barked arrayanes. The 12 kilometre trail that leads to a boat landing at the southern tip was reportedly feasable on a mountain bike. We pushed and hoisted our loaded bikes up 1 kilometre of steps, and rode and walked gingerly along a gnarly trail, stopping to watch hummingbirds dart around a tall fuschia. Further along, the trail narrowed and we dodged roots as we carefully descended to the boat landing.

We boarded the Modesta Victoria, heading for the port on the south shore near Bariloche, and disembarked at Isla Victoria, continuing to the south shore only when the boat returned several hours later.

View from original settlers house

Isla Victoria was a peaceful and idyllic place, with an arboretum of exotic (North American, European, Central Asian etc.) conifers and fruit trees established early in the 20th century. The restored elegant wooden house of the original settler sat nestled in a meadow dotted with fruit trees.

Note:
We think the humid coastal climate bursts through the cordillera at various low points and passes near here; the Andes are much lower as we move south. Both the peninsula and the island made us feel as is we were in Lighthouse Park (West Vancouver) or perhaps even Stanley Park.

Afternoon tea on Isla Victoria

Upon the boat's return, we boarded again and carried on to Puerto Panuelo, 25 kilometres west of Bariloche. From here, we rode east with a view of finding campground suggested by the ship's captain. We stopped to investigate a log-built hostel, and found it was run by a friendly bunch and it also doubled as a bike rental enterprise. We installed ourselves to avail ourselves of its quiet setting, not to mention it's WiFi. We'd been deprived of Internet in Villa La Angostura as it suffered a town wide problem.

Hostel Cordillera

Siete Lagos

2011-02-13T15:38:00.000-08:00

2011/02/7-8: In Junin de Los Andes

After six days of riding mountainous gravel roads, my legs appreciated two quiet days of domesticating. We went to the tiny Mapuche museum. My understanding is that Argentina killed off all its Indians early on, so is rather like the Tasmania or Newfoundland of South America. Some Mapuche have moved back across the Andes from Chile again only relatively recently.

2011/02/9: 44 km to San Martin de Los Andes

This was an easy half day of relatively level paved road. We got a good view of Volcan Lanin on the way, and arrived in San Martin early enough to find a hostel that had a sociable yet not rowdy atmosphere. Over a BBQ with burgers, we conversed with several Brits and an Aussie. I think Chris was especially pleased to be able to speak English for an evening.

Volcan Lanin

2011/02/10: 49 km to Lago Faulkner Camping

We set out on the famous Camino de Siete Lagos, which winds its way through scenic forest in three national parks. We really have moved back into a cooler climate, after returning to the open pampas briefly briefly in Junin. We happily ditched our extra water-carrying capacity of 4 litres each. When we stopped at a cafe for strudel, a grizzled cattle man in traditional sash and beret bemoaned the fact that local estancias were being bought by wealthy Europeans and used as lodges from which to hunt ciervo colorado (deer) and javelinas (wild pigs).

It was here that we also met a young Danish family travelling by bike, parents hauling a three year old and an eighteen month old in trailers along with their camping gear. The father had done an exchange year in Buenos Aires, and knew his way around Argentina. They were sensibly taking their days slowly, with relatively short distance goals and plenty of low key playing time for their two tiny lads.

Danish family's gear : Imagine pulling all that and 2 children on rough mountain roads!

We met them again at the lakeside campground, which was at the end of the good pavement and before 50 km of road under construction began. When they heard of the trucks and conditions ahead, they planned to skip that segment by taking the bus, which stops at the campground. They also gave us the interesting idea of trying to get from Villa La Angostura to Bariloche by boat across Lago Nahuel Huapi. Note: We've been looking into this since arriving in Villa La Angostura, since it would allow us to miss a section of road reputed to bewithout shoulders and fraught with speeding trucks.

Lake and tent

2011/02/11: 64 km to Villa La Angostura

We set out while the air was still cool, covering the last few kilometres of pavement and entering the construction zone. A much improved smooth passage will be available soon, but for now there is loose gravel, construction and tourist traffic, and dust to contend with. To top it off, as temperatures rose and sweat poured from my brow, there were clouds of aggressive deer flies that settled on me as I rode more slowly up the hills than some, an easy target for the voracious swarms.

Margo and dusty road - The face mask is too hot and not very effective

Just as I called a halt to explode about the flies, we were caught up with by Nat (Canadian) and Matt (American), on mountain bikes hauling trailers. We had lunch with them. They both were/are professional road racers/athletes and veterans of numerous extended trips. Later, checking Nat's blog, we realized he had ridden with Michael Schratter of Vancouver on his Ride Don't Hide tour. What a small world! We were very involved with Michael in Vancouver before he left in August 2010, and are still in touch with him as we ride ourselves.

After lunch, Nat and Matt moved ahead. We'd planned a short day to another lakeside campground, but the storm clouds gathered, the skies rumbled, and the rain began. We kept moving to Villa La Angostura as the downpour gathered momentum, happy to find indoor accommodation.

Heavy clouds over Lago Nahuel Huapi ... such a change from 2 days earlier!

Barf Again

2011-02-09T02:32:00.000-08:00

When we travelled in Central Asia in 2009, we were amused to see a line of cleaning products by the brand name of "Barf", a name that doesn't work well in North American English. Well, here in Argentina we have noticed a brand of frozen hamburgers called "Barfy."

Appetizing Barfy Burgers ?

Monkey Puzzle Trees!!!

2011-02-07T08:13:00.000-08:00

2011/02/03: 84 km by bike and 50km by truck to Frosty Hollow Camp
The morning involved a 50 km ride, mainly on gravel again, to a junction just west of Las Lajas. Here the road turned west, and straight into the teeth of a gale that made progress a painful struggle. After lunch behind a rock with the Belgian cyclist couple we'd just met, we decided riding into the gale was for the birds. First they quickly thumbed a ride to tiny Pino Hachado, on the height of land just before the Chilean border. A few minutes later, we got a ride, and were even served a welcome glass of apple juice passed round to the back of the pickup truck where we sat.

Our benefactor was Senora Blanca Alvarez, who was returning to Pino Hachado with groceries. Her driver was an indigenous fellow, since her husband can no longer drive. We were invited in for tea and home made bread at the solid farmhouse where she and he husband spend most of their days, going into Las Lajas weekly for mail and groceries.

We had climbed into the cordillera as we rode in the pickup, and our surroundings had changed dramatically from the dry pampas below. There were forests of araucaria trees all around us, and Blanca showed us photos of snow-clad araucarias in winter. She and her husband are among the few who stay in Pino Hachado all year long.

Araucaria araucana is that huge spiky looking conifer of which a few are planted as exotics in Vancouver parks and gardens. After surviving so many occasions of certain offspring yelling "Monkey puzzle tree! Can't pinch me!" while pounding a seat mate with a fist any time they spied this rarity from a car in Vancouver, it felt strange to see forest of them!

After tea, we piled on clothing and set out into cold rain along the tiny sand and rock road towards Villa Pehuenia. The rain didn't last, luckily, and we camped in high pasture country halfway between Pino Hachado to Villa Pehuenia.

The road

2011/02/04: 34 km to Villa Pehuenia
It was a below-freezing night, and we got moving for an hour before stopping to eat a few biscuits for breakfast.

Morning shot in the land where the monkey puzzle trees grow.
(Note every tree in this shot, including those on the hill in the distance, is a monkey puzzle tree)

Sharing the road

After a second breakfast at the junction before VP, we continued to arrive in the scenic and very touristy town on Lago Alumine in the early afternoon. We booked into a rather posh hotel, the only accommodation left if not in the mood to camp and addicted to Wi-Fi, and slept all afternoon.

2011/02/05: 64 km to Alumine

Inspecting hive and finding honey

We made the best of the most generous hotel breakfast offerings we've seen in a long while, and headed south toward Alumine, mostly gravel, again, but slightly downhill along the tumbling river. At a suspension foot bridge, we met a beekeeper couple who had been inspecting the surrounding hillsides to determine what was in flower, we assume as part of planning their hive deployment. The beekeepers were from adjacent Rio Negro province, a fruit producing area, and gave us some excellent red delicious apples.

And on we went to Alumine, where the only hotel room had two saggy cots and wasn't cheap, but the adjoining restaurant was wonderful.

2011/02/06: 110 km to Junin de Los Andes
We were moving by 08:00, had a riverside siesta in early afternoon, but didn't arrive in Junin till dark. It was tough going on gravel, and our riding time as per Chris's bike computer was over 9 hours. We were pretty bloody knackered as we hunted for digs suitable for a much needed rest day or two. We'd ridden 400 km of gravel mountain roads in the past six days, and when I looked in the mirror I could see the dust of passing cars clogging every pore and orifice.

We were offered a smll apartment rather than a room, and happily took it - looking forward to spreading out and cooking for ourselves. Sadly, the town's water supply was having problems, and we had to crouch under a tap that dripped slowly, just to get a bit of the road crud off.

Morning Note:
Happily, the water problems are only temporary, and we're settling in for a bit of much needed downtime.

M

Into the Mountains on Gravel Roads

2011-02-05T19:36:00.000-08:00

2011/01/30-31: In Chos Malal
We stayed two days in this oasis town. On Sunday evening Chris accidentally ordered a rather large bottle of wine, and there was a summer street party with music and folk dancing that made for late night.The men in the dancing troupe wore flowing boomer which I guess are classic gaucho attire. Staying on Monday meant we could get my sunglasses mended, post a thank-you card to the estancia friends, and drink a bit more good coffee.

2011/02/01: 64 km To El Cholar
We turned off the pavement onto a gravel road that climbed into the foothills, a tough but scenic route suggested by the Scots. The climb was hot and windy, I skidded and fell several times, and we walked our bikes for some of it. El Cholar has no paved roads, and it's population cannot be over 1000 souls, but as we sat outside the kiosk eating potato chips upon our arrival, horses and riders were heading to a playing field behind the community centre. When I asked what was happening, I was told they were practising for una fiesta that would take place in two weeks. After depositing our bikes at the hosteria municipal, we went to watch the proceedings.

The first segment was an impressive choreography involving some 24 riders, wearing traditional floppy berets, and a troupe of folk dancers with the ladies holding their brightly coloured full skirts out like fans.

Near the end, watch for the young lad who makes himself

very comfortable on his white horse when he has to wait.

I hope he doesn't do that during the real performance!

The group of riders included a few lads as young as eight or nine, who handled their mounts well enough to form spokes of rotating wheels. I wonder how many practice sessions they'd already had? Then fourteen older and better riders moved on to perform a high speed musical ride, which ended with them intersecting two lines of riders at full gallop, moving along the diagonals across the field! It was great to watch, and we were probably the only outsiders.

2011/02/02: 95 km to Longcolpue
More challenging loose gravel, but more down than up, with one small pass to climb in the wind and heat. At least the mornings are cooler as we get higher. As we ate lunch in a park in tiny El Huecu, a policeman asked us for our ID and where we were headed. Another policeman had asked us the same as we left Chos Malal. It's not as bad as China, but still a police state, and a reminder to appreciate the freedoms we have at home.

It was a relief to be back on pavement as we entered Longcolpue, where we found simple digs, good supper, and empanadas for next morning's breakfast.

M

In Praise of the In-Toilet Bidet

2011-02-05T14:21:00.000-08:00

Margo writes:
This post may be "too much information" for some readers, but Chris is very practical, and likes to analyze all that we see. Before reading on, remember that you have been warned!

In countries where the sewage system is such that NO toilet paper can be flushed down the toilet the bidet offers a pleasant option, at least relative to the usual option of storing dirty toilet paper in a bin in the bathroom. The in-toilet bidet shown below, for those wondering what it is, has the economy of saving space in the bathroom along with the advantage of not having to transfer oneself from the toilet to the bidet while (how shall we say it?) in a delicate condition.

Almost the standard toilet we all know and love (well at least use) but it has an extra swing-arm contraption at rear left.

Squirting swing-arm deployed to centre position to create bidet within toilet. Shown here with water turned on to help you imagine bum cleaning action. By the way - the water is cold! The toilet paper used subsequently should be clean, and should be deposited in the bin provided.

An Armadillo and a Night Ride

2011-01-30T07:49:00.000-08:00

2011/01/26: 106 km to Estancia Cancha Rayada
Moving south from Malargue took us into barren arid terrain again. At a rest stop just off the road under some rare trees, we discovered a freshly severed goat's head -- no sign of the rest of the body. Later information lead us to believe this was evidence of poaching, a problem since goat meat fetches a very high price in the towns.

This was also the day we saw our first armadillo! I was so excited, I got off my bike to try to corral it so Chris could get a better photo ... but the terrified beastie ran faster than I could, scuttling hastily down the road. Who knew they were so quick? The photographer came out empty-handed.

Cat finds new home

At the end of the day, we reached Estancia Cancha Rayada, where the Diaz family welcomed us into their home. The Diazes are friends of Miguel's, and he'd suggested we stop here. He had called ahead to warn of our arrival, but they weren't sure when we were coming. It was wonderful to be shown around a working farm, with cattle, sheep, goats and more. Most of the animals were at higher pasture for the summer. This lovely family with three great children ages 9 to 13, provided us with a delicious dinner, an evening of conversation, and comfortable beds. Argentinian hospitality and kindness wins again!

Margo and the Diaz family at their estancia

2011/01/27: 71 km to Camp at Top of Pass

Hospitable family bids us goodbye

Setting out after strong coffee and goodbyes, we soon met a Scottish couple, Chris and Lesley, on bikes.

Hiding from the sun in a culvert

Shortly after this began 40 km of loose gravel where the Ruta 40 is under construction. It was very hot, and I began to have stomach problems as a result of incipient heat stroke. Long breaks were taken wherever we could find shade, progress was slow, and water ran short. The last part was a climb on loose gravel against strong headwinds, We walked our bikes and I begged water from a passing motorist.

We were both pretty spent when we finally reached asphalt near the top of the pass, and a local rancher gave us permission to camp while handing us two large bottles of clean water. A feast of tortellini and a good sleep was what we needed.

Welcome campsite after hot day

2011/01/28: 40 km to Barrancas
We awoke to appreciate our relatively green alpine surroundings. Some tail-less furry creatures that may have been wild guinea pigs grazed nearby. Geese hissed and a few chickens inspected our camp. We climbed the last kilometre and started our descent to Barrancas, stopping to thank our farmer friend who was coming back up to the high pasture area in his truck. In Barrancas, we fell into accommodation at midday, feeling a strong need for shade, sleep, and a shower. We emerged briefly to shop and eat in the tiny village, but soon went back to bed in preparation for a nocturnal departure.

2011/01/29: 128 km to Chos Malal
We left at 0130h, waking up every dog in the village as well as some chickens as we went. It was strange to ride at night! Being unable to see much of the surrounding terrain made it hard to predict ups and downs in the road. And until you look at a completely new set of stars, you don't realize how familiar your own night sky has become.

A sliver of moon appeared a few hours after we set out; a bit later, dawn crept over the horizon. We climbed up over various steps of a wild pre-Cordilleran plateau, dotted with cones of extinct volcanoes. We descended into Chos Malal just after midday, with Chris getting stung by a bee on the way down. We tucked into cold drinks and found cool and quiet digs for another day off that the old bodies seem to need.

As we move south and west toward Bariloche, the weather should be a bit cooler. We may take a scenic gravel road suggested by the Scots, which will be a tough ride. If it's cooler, it should be manageable.

M

Roadside Shrines in Argentina

2011-01-30T06:13:00.000-08:00

Every country has its distinctive roadside artifacts. It was water fountains in Turkey, and bizarre bus shelters in Kazakhstan. In Argentina it is roadside shrines to "folk saints". Offerings are mainly made by truck drivers who want to be kept safe. There are many shrines, but two folk saints are prominent : Gauchito Gil, often decorated with red flags, and Difunta Correa, with piles of water bottles and baby paraphernalia as offerings.

A Gauchito Gil roadside shrine.
The Catholic Church hasn't declared "Gauchito" Gil a saint,
but many Argentine people are promoting him.

Shrine to Difunta Correa, who died in the desert. Her body was found days later by gauchos that were driving cattle through, and to their astonishment found the baby still alive, feeding from the deceased woman's "miraculously" ever-full breast. Note the many water bottles behind the shrine. Some shrines look more like bottle garbage dumps than shrines.

Detail of contents of shine, showing a model of Difunta Correa (with baby soother bottom left).

A typical shrine to Difunta Correa,
from afar these can look more like bottle garbage dumps than shrines.

Patagonia: Wind and Sun

2011-01-25T11:24:00.000-08:00

2011/01/23: 110km to Roadside Scrub Camp
Our day off in San Rafael was spent trying to keep from roasting. At one point, I saw a dogo argentino (think great dane crossed with bulldog) lower itself carefully through an opening to where the cool water and garbage flows in a gutter under the sidewalk. Sensible dog. We took a lot of showers.

We set out at 04:40h to avoid the heat, and the road wound up a few ridges onto a plateau. Mid-morning, we arrived at a truck-stop/restaurant and I began a conversation with kindly Suzy, who was over 70 and who used a walker due to back and knee problems. My Spanish seems to be enough to get these things started. We were invite to join Suzy and her son, Miguel, for a paella lunch at the back of the shop, so we dozed in the shade till lunchtime. After lunch, we were also invited to join them for a car excursion to a reservoir where we could swim, and where we helped Suzy negotiate her walker to sit in the water in a folding chair. On the way, we learned much about local issues, and also that we had just entered Patagonia in terms of physical geography when we climbed the last ridge. Muchas Gracias Miguel y Suzy.

After this afternoon of hospitality, we rode another 60 km across the treeless plain and camped in something like a gravel pit. Unfortunately, as we left I found I'd mislaid my new bike computer, with altitude function which I was really enjoying. (My Xmas present from C!) I thought of one more place I may have dropped it when we were 30 km downwind. I remove it from the bike when we stop, and take it with me in my handlebar bag. I hadn't closed the zipper on my bag this time, and moved it many times times. I knew it was lost, not stolen, and felt very stupid about it.

C writes:
On this ride we started to come across large fibreglass objects in the desert, each sporting an antenna and a solar panel... sort of like you may imagine an alien landing vehicle. My first thought on seeing one was: why was there an auto-cleaning toilet 20 metres from the road?

Self-Cleaning Toilet? Martian reception centre?

Actually there are 1600 of these dotted about the desert here with a grid spacing of about 1.5km (covering an area of ~3000km^2). Together they form a detector array for cosmic rays for the Pierre Auger Southern Observatory (PASO).

One of the unexplained things in this world is that there are cosmic rays impinging on the earth with energies up to 10^20eV. The mechanism of how these particles are accelerated to energies 100 million times higher than the most powerful particle accelerator on Earth is still a mystery. This detector seeks to pinpoint the source of these particles to see if they come from distinct locations. One proposal is they come from Active Galactic Nuclei (AGN) that are thought to be powered by supermassive black holes that are devouring large amounts of matter. Indeed early PASO data seems to show a predominance of the highest energy cosmic from the closest AGN, Centaurus A (See very readable press release).

2011/01/24: 81 km to Malargue
After about 60 km, the heat was such that we dove under a bridge for a siesta. We had just settled in our mesh tent (no fly) to avoid biting flies, when a truck arrived and someone got out to start fishing. Then two families arrived to start picnic proceedings.

As the heat dropped a bit, the wind changed direction and increased. We could see that once we tuned the corner in about 100m we'd be perfectly aligned for land-sailing. Unfortunately, I neglected to point my bike directly into the wind as I prepared for take off, so a gust blew me splat onto the asphalt as I mounted the bike. I soon learned the correct technique, and released brakes to begin acceleration. At one point, we reached 43 kmh without pedalling!!!

Navigating through Patagonia is going to be a strategic game of observing and using diurnal wind patterns where possible. We met a muscled cyclist from Buenos Aires coming the other way. We were passing through a windbreak area at the time, but I sure did not envy his task with that headwind.

2011/0/25: In Malargue

Things go better with Coca-Cola?

A quiet day here in a very low key town. We visited the observatory (see Chris's part) and cleaned our chains. A thunderstorm has come through and it is cooler now. Good news.

"Una Parillda": Supper of hunks of barbecued meat.
(Margo does not like the intestines filled with chopped liver.)

Riding South in the Heat

2011-01-22T03:57:00.000-08:00

S2011/01/19: 111 km to Junuyan
Leaving Mendoza we found a bike path heading south. Rather than take the Ruta 40, which is very busy here, we headed east through vineyards and and over a ridge, returning eventually to the 40 and a hotel at Junuyan. At a small gas station where we bought orange juice, a five year old girl was helping abuelito (Grandpa)mind the shop. I showed her a photo of Julianne, my five year old great niece, and she picked me small flowers. Then I gave her a small flag pin, explaining the hoja de arce (maple leaf). At Grandpa's suggestion she gave la senora (me) a besito, a nice embrace to say thank you. I was a rather sweaty senora, unfortunately.

We both realized that we had areas of weeping blisters (i.e. second degree burns) from previous sun exposure, me on legs and Chris on hands. We were happy to lie in an air conditioned room, but also vowed to be more generous with the sunscreen in future.

2011/01/20: 97 km to camp in scrub
We started as soon as hotel breakfast would allow, but it quickly got hot as blazes. Shade is scarce almost non-existant between towns. We had a siesta in the park in a small town where the 40 diverges from the more major road to San Rafael, discussing route options in a small tourist info office. The 40 was feo (ugly,not nice) they said. It looked like very loose gravel, and we even tried it for a short way, but there would have been only two water refill possibilities in the next 100 km. We took the more conservative route to San Rafael,stopping to camp in the scrub at about 20:00. We are on a pretty dry and desolate plane, outside the grape growing areas which are irrigated.

Even the dogs have trouble with the heat

2011/01/21: 61 km to San Rafael
We started good and early, and rode quickly into San Rafael as the heat rose. We had gradually dropped in elevation, which made a fast ride but it was now even hotter. There was discussion of whether to splurge on a better hotel with a pool or Air Con, but we didn't. It's high season and some were full. So we'll be spending our day off in a very stuffy hot place, and I am really feeling the heat. Still, people are friendly, and we managed to run into young Juan, the lad of about 11 or 12 from the swimming pool at the campground in Potrerillos, who advised us on the best geladeria (ice cream place) in town. The establishment was aptly named La Deliciosa.

Perhaps by coming as far east as San Rafael we've got too low and too far from the Andes, hence it feels as if we are getting roasted like meat on an Argentinian grill. Our route from here may correct this problem by taking us closer to the mountains again. If it doesn't, one of us may be using her thumb and looking for space in the back of a truck.

M

Mendoza

2011-01-22T03:55:00.000-08:00

2011/01/17-18:
We had two days of errands and much needed rest in Mendoza. The city is laid out with a central park (Plaza Independencia) and four smaller parks laid out in symmetry. Of these, Plaza Espana is the most ornate, with ceramic tiles inset everywhere. We are told the idea behind the parks is that they are places to go in case of earthquake. Mendoza lies in a fault zone, and there are only a few colonial buildings left.

Plaza Espana

The highlight of our stay here was an invitation on Monday evening to a parrillada at the house of the family who had given us their contacts in Portillo, near the top of the pass. I solicited the advice of the hotel man on what to take with us, and vino tinto (red wine) was the definitive answer, so we set out to the big chain store, Carrefour, to be faced with an overwhelming choice of wines. I solicited input from a knowledgeable looking gentleman also perusing the shelves. It is good to be able to communicate more easily than we were able to in Asia. The culture feels much closer to our own, which also helps communication.

Flora (20) and Federico, her boyfriend, picked us up at 21:00, and we were taken to Flora's parents' house. There we were greeted by parents Alejandro, Marcela, and younger brothers Ignacio (17), Augustin (15) and Alejo (7). Alejo was a soccer fanatic, busily kicking a ball around. The whole family were keen mountain bikers and the parents competitive in various endurance sports. Alejandro is an ironman triathlete and has also done La Mision Race, a three 170 km three day mountain run, for the last three years.

The large brick oven had been lit, and after nibbling picadas (hors d'oeuvres), various wood-grilled cuts if meat and types of sausage appeared, each one more tender than the last. What a very special evening! I hope we stay in touch.

On our second day we met up with Eric and Al for relaxed coffee, and in the evening tried to get an early night in preparation for an early start. Early nights are difficult here, where everything stops on the afternoon heat and life starts again just as it gets dark.

M

Across the Andes to Mendoza

2011-01-17T05:16:00.000-08:00

Not a Lonely Road
There are a lot more touring cyclists here than there were is Asia, and it's fun that there are quite a few South Americans touring as well as the usual mix of Europeans and North Americans. In our first day out of Santiago we met Matt, who'd started from England and had been on the road two and a half years. He looked a bit road worn but very fit, and we were feeling green and soft. The day we slogged up to Portillo, we met seven other touring cyclists: a French couple descending, a Chilean duo ascending, Eric and Al from Vancouver ascending, and a Venezuelan descending. We leap-frogged sociably with the ones going our way for the next few days, and also met an Argentinian and two Uraguayans heading westward, once we were on the Argentinian side.

2011/01/12: To Los Andes 81 km

It felt good to get moving. There were signs at the entrance to the autopista indicating bikes were not allowed, but we saw plenty of Chilean cyclists ignoring these and did likewise. We worried about the first few honks from passing cars, but soon realized it was cheering! At an empanada stop we met a lovely Chilean- Australian woman who had emigrated in 1973 for political reasons. A fascinating blend of accents! Despite the official warnings against cycling, the highways department provides a free shuttle through the tunnel at the top of the pass, and the descent to Los Andes made us remember what this is about.

We had a mid-afternoon meal in a cafe, and found a Lonely-Planet-recommended hotel where I immediately went to sleep. I think the old body will take a while to get used to this much exercise again.

2011/01/13: To Portillo 68 km with total climb of over 2000 m

Our hotel was kind enough to provide the standard minimalist breakfast at 06:00, and started up toward Portillo about 07:00. There were a few ups and downs, but the road soon rose steadily and more steeply, while the sun burned down. We were horizontal under a tree beside the carabineri post when Al and Eric from Vancouver came by.

Chris' ascent fueled by grilled local trout (trucha)

As we ascended into alpine terrain there were lots of snow-sheds (cobertizos), and these were best negotiated by grunting up the loose gravel around the side if available. to reduce the chance of getting flattened during a two-truck squeeze. It was having just done one of these, and we were recuperating in the shade, when the hard-core descending Venezualan braked to stop and chat. Eyeing my white/grey hair and my paunch, he made various helpful suggestions of camping possibilities not far ahead, the implication being that he clearly didn't believe I'd make it to Portillo before nightfall. He also said that making it to the Tierra de Fuego on our proposed route east of the Andes would be difficult in 4 months... we will see.

The road continued to ascend and so did we. A sign warned of 7 km of puente forte and we could see an impressive headwall with 21 switchbacks (caracoles), with trucks crawling upward looking like matchbox toys above us. Thank heavens for really low granny gears. We eventually made it up to a short level stretch above, and to our dismay saw another headwall with 4 km of puente forte and another 8 switchbacks. We considered our options as we munched beside a highways building. We thought of putting up our tent behind the building, but instead I offloaded some gear to Chris, and we started upward again.

Sign for the final curve (note fading light)

Looking down

Not only did we make it to Portillo, but we went 1 km (100 m elevation) too far, and didn't realize till we got to the check-post to exit Chile that the target lakeside camping spot (Laguna de los Incas) was right behind the hotel in Portillo. Back down we went, with a few choice words about overshooting, to join Al and Eric near the alpine lake. We were too late for dinner at the hotel, and managed to burn our one-pot glop because we were so bloody tired. The campsite was beautiful, but rockfall rumbled and clattered all night.

As for that Venezuelan .....he'll be getting an email from me to inform him that we made it to Portillo by dusk. The youthful Chileans, on the other hand, camped behind the highways building below the final headwall. Four our second day out, it was a baptism by fire.

2011/01/14: To Upsallata 100 km over pass at 3185 m

It's a good thing we had the tent away by 07:00, because we were camped right in front of the hotel's dining room window. We graced the hotel for breakfast, admiring the historic photo gallery of European and North American ski teams who've trained here. After scraping the burnt pot and packing, we decided we deserved a second cup of coffee with Al and Eric, before ascending the last 6 km to the pass (3800 m) and being shuttled through the Christ the Redeemer tunnel (3100 m)into Argentina.

View from breakfast table (we were camped by rock near photo centre)

In Argentina the road surface worsened and the cars were older. The descent was fantastic, and the landscape dramatic. There had been cacti on the Chilean side, but it was even dryer here and almost devoid of vegetation. We had more time to look around as we flew along, because we were no longer grunting upward. The mountains are steep and jagged, with endless scree slopes, and ochre gravel valleys where only a few tufts of vegetation grow. A strong tailwind wind helped our descent, and sometimes clumps of loose vegetation would tumble by us. We stopped for hero shots on front of Aconcagua, the highest peak in the Americas..

View of Aconcagua

There were various stages of administration for entering Argentina, and at one point were being processed along with a bus load of boy scouts. Six of us (4x Cdn 2x Chilean) camped in a campground at Upsallata. Poplars for shade, hot showers, and wandering dogs looking for friends and food.

2011/01/15: To Potrerillos 57 km

We didn't make a very early start. There was no shade at all once we left the town, and the wind was sometimes against us. We watched a rafting group plunge along the brown and swirling Mendoza River. We decided to break the leg to Mendoza into two more manageable days, following the Chileans' suggestion, and headed for a camp site in Potrerillos. It was here that we met the Uruguayans. We installed ourselves in time for a siesta, temperatures still being in mid-thirties in the shade. Later we availed ourselves of the swimming pool, and I chatted (in bad Spanish) about language and geography to two young boys. Their father was a race car driver, and the campground was full because the 2011 Daka Rally, two weeks out and back from Buenos Aires, had just finished. The first Canadian city that sprang to the boys lips was Montreal, because the Formula One Grand Prix is held there.

2011/01/16: To Mendoza 73 km

We started out with lights on, but it was still a hot dry ride, mainly downhill but with a headwind. Shade was so scarce that we wedged ourselves between a cut bank and a large cement power pole to eat our potato chips. Since it was Sunday, there were lots of lycra-clad road cyclists out from Mendoza for the day.

We are sharing the road with large trucks, but all drivers seem to be bike aware and slow to a crawl for us when needed on tricky corners or when we are at risk of sudden buffeting by side winds. There is definitely a sports culture here, and we are the recipients of many waves and cheerful honks, not to mention occasional shouts of "Fuerza! Fuerza!" when slogging uphill.

Arriving in Mendoza mid-morning, we stopped for second breakfast at a cafe, and then took our time navigating to the low-key hotel recommended by the Uruguayans. As we neared our hotel, we met Sym, an American who'd just successfully climbed Aconcagua. He invited us to share his empanadas and chat on a shady park bench, and gave us a much appreciated gift of some of his surplus Clif bars. We learned that he builds custom titanium and steel bike frames at home.

In Portillo we had been invited to contact a family in Mendoza "because we think what you are doing is wonderful, " so I made the phone call from our hotel to the numbers we'd been given and left messages. My call was returned, and we're to be picked up tomorrow evening and taken for a parillada (BBQ) at their house.

Viva Argentina!