Band of bikers
April 5th, 2014
For the stretch between the end of the Carretera Austral in Chile, all the way to the island of Tierra del Fuego (some 500kms) we barely ever cycled alone. Part of a merry band of bikers, we enjoyed the social riding – the endless banter, the clash and blend of personalities, and of course the food…always the food.
Sarah
The end of the Carretera Austral is in reality a very dead end, exit to Argentina only being achievable for cyclists and pedestrians. Even for them it’s a bit of a challenge: first a ferry across Lago O’Higgins, then a hike and bike for around 25kms, then another ferry across Lago Desierto and finally you’re in Argentina. We are two of ten cyclists on one of the final ferries of the season.
Joined, amongst others, by the inimitable Nando – otherwise known as el abuelito (grandpa)…
…and Anthony, a Frenchman on a trip from Quito to Ushuaia.
Another low-key border crossing…
…which winds through beautiful woods…
…with autumn in bloom…
…and as the track narrows…
…it turns into a tricky boggy battle, that takes us to another boat across another lake.
All tired out, we reach El Chaltén and Flor’s amazing casa de ciclistas. Luck would have it that they’re roasting a whole lamb on a traditional Patagonian asador that very night, and so we feast unexpectedly and catch up with old friends – Anna…
…Lee (plus a few very cute accessories)…
…and Raul. So begins a cooking frenzy that will go on for a whole week – at any one time ten cyclists gather in Flor’s tiny kitchen trying to outdo one another with fresh gnocchi, Argentine buñuelos, stuffed apples, flapjack, Scottish cranachan and more.
It’s hard to tear ourselves away from the cozy house but the Fitz Roy range, looming directly over town is a good distraction…
…and we wander with Lee to find a good spot to drink maté and ponder both the past and the future.
The party gathers for a final group photo (courtesy of Tatan) before thanking Flor profusely for her boundless hospitality…
…and we zoom out of town with a delicious tailwind. Tatan and Candela (from Argentina) lead the way…
…followed by myself Lee and Heidi, loving the effortless cycling and chatting away. There’s a distinct air that everybody (all ten of these southbound cyclists leaving Flor’s at least) is coming to the end of their trip…
…we can’t help stopping for group photos and babbling on with excitement, mixed with anxiety, anticipation and lots of in-jokes.
A day’s ride from El Chalten with that favourable tailwind (we covered 90km in just under four hours) brings us to the fabled “Pink House”…
…an abandoned hotel, where hundreds of cyclists have stopped before us and signed the wall of fame.
I duly add our details – is it a sign of a good trip that I have completely lost track of the year?
Raul stokes up a roaring fire and we huddle around the warmth, happy to be out of the wind for the night.
Because when it blows here, it really blows…
…making roadside snacks challenging. We take refuge, using each other as windbreaks…
…on our way to El Calafate and the mighty Perito Moreno glacier.
Believe it or not, all these cyclists (plus one who didn’t make it into the photo) managed to fit into just one hired VW Golf to get to the national park…
…but the uncomfortable journey was worth it – watching the stunning glacier calve into the lake below…
…seeing the chilly details up close…
…and marvelling at the overall spectacular. Pictures just don’t do it justice.
Another tasty tailwind leaving Calafate…
…and we practically fly into the pampa…
…with its breathtaking skies…
…every morning a new show…
…and its assortment of roadside characters – some less inquisitive…
…than others.
Back into Chile and we feel the end is near – even the road signs say so: we are now following the “Route to the End of the World”.
We ride with Andy – fellow Brit and self-confessed hot chocolate addict. Lunching in bus stops we appreciate them anew, as things of beauty: well built, warm and better than most of the Central American hotels we stayed in.
We camp in a playground at Cerro Castillo where it’s so cold overnight, Andy’s eggs are frozen in the morning.
Fighting sidewinds, we pass grand entrances to estancias we cannot see…
…and humble shacks battened down against the weather.
In Puerto Natales, the welcoming party pops up to say hello…
…and we wander through the run-down shipyards…
…admiring old hulking ruins…
…alongside graffiti (you are the hip to my hop)…
…Resist brother Mapuche! (indigenous people of Patagonia).
When does the constant movement of cycle touring become normal? Perhaps when brushing your teeth astride your bike in the middle of a busy shopping street doesn’t seem at all strange…
…or when sleeping in a bus shelter feels like a luxurious treat. This architectural gem is our home for the night.
The three of us squeeze in, make hot chocolate and even watch a film on the laptop. The next morning we drag ourselves away from our cozy spot…
…back into the Patagonian wind…
…and it’s “goggles down chaps” for our final ride into Punta Arenas and the end of mainland South America.
Past forgotten mine fields…
…into a port city with a laidback feel…
…a hoarde of resident cormorants…
…and a fascinating cemetery to mooch around.
And this particular leg of the journey ends as all good journeys should…
…with fellow cyclists and with cake.
P-p-p-p-p-p-pick up a penguin
April 7th, 2014
“Whatever a penguin does has individuality, and he lays bare his whole life for all to see…sometimes solemn, sometimes humorous, enterprising, chivalrous, cheeky – and always a welcome and, in some ways, an almost human friend.”
The Worst Journey in the World
Apsley Cherry-Garrard
For me, a visit to Tierra del Fuego – the island nestled at the foot of South America – wouldn’t have been complete without a trip to the recently re-established King Penguin colony between Porvenir and Camerón. As a long-time admirer of this funny little waddle machine, I was looking forward to the visit with great expectations. (And it would take all of my self-control not to sneak one of them into my panniers before leaving).
Second only in size to the Emperor Penguin, the King is usually found in the much more southerly regions of South Georgia and Antarctica. As these areas are only accessible by long and expensive boat trips, we were keen and privileged to be able to access their colony by bike.
We were also lucky to have the place to ourselves. Camping there with three other cyclists, we had the last of the evening’s sun to nip down and pay them a visit and then the following morning, we returned to watch them stretch, wake and explore – a little more closely than we could ever have anticipated…
Sarah
Magical Patagonian evening light is the perfect time for viewing…
…as the penguins busy themselves with preening…
…calling to one another, and not-so-gracefully flopping down on the grass.
These are the penguins that grace the cover of well-loved paperback books…
…or the shiny red packets of school-day chocolate bar snacks.
There’s something about the way they move that seems so human. Perhaps they feel the same – that we seem so ‘penguin’, and so over they come to investigate.
Karen is the first target. Once one has decided to check her out…
…the others soon follow…
…and before long it’s a veritable penguin party.
Then they’re headed James’ way.
First, they respectfully bow…
…before they invade his space. “Does he have a beak like us?…
…Are his feathers as beautiful and smooth as ours?…
…and can he carry off ‘regal’ like we do?”
“How about the female over there…
…let’s check her out!
Are her feet like ours?…
…hmmm, clearly no good for Antarctic swimming.”
And finally they decide we are no longer interesting…
…and off they waddle…
…to discuss more pressing things.
A final dirt detour
April 13th, 2014
Suddenly, the name that we have been heading for so long is close. Too close for comfort, in fact. So close that we might have to start thinking about what comes next.
We scrutinise the map, searching for a way to delay the inevitable. Our escape presents itself: a dirt road looping away from the tedium of the asphalt into the heart of Tierra del Fuego.
It’s the perfect ride: Patagonia in all its multicolour autumn glory, perched precariously on the edge of an icy winter. If I could finish anywhere, then it would be here – on the dirt, in the middle of nowhere, with just the guanacos for company. This is where I feel at home.
But the magnetic draw of the finishing line is too strong. We reach the asphalt once again. End of the World ego trumps my romanticism, and we push on, Ushuaia-bound.
James
Tierra del Fuego: land of pampa and sheep, corralled in enormous estancias…
…and watched over by shepherds like Martín. An icy downpour has us seeking shelter at his door, and in true Patagonian style we are greeted with a smile, mugs of tea, tray after tray of roasted lamb, and a bed.
The next morning dawns icy…
…everything covered with a hard frost.
We retreat to the stove to defrost frozen hands…
…until finally the sun creeps over the horizon.
It doesn’t get much better than a crisp, clear Autumn morning’s ride like this…
…the world seemingly frozen in time…
…caught between autumn and winter.
We savour the moment, absorbing every detail of what feel like our last days of South American freedom:
…the ever-present onlookers…
…the roadside art…
…the plays of light…
…the freshly dusted peaks…
…the ancient waymarkers…
…and the hidden lives.
These are the days when I could ride towards the horizon forever…
…the magnetic pull of the open road.
And then: Ushuaia calling 123…
…forestalled by a stopover at the legendary Panadería La Union in Tolhuin. It feels like Christmas Eve; the perfect place to spend our final night on the road with empanadas, facturas, a warm bed and good company.
The End of the World (as we know it)
April 14th, 2014
We did it!
Anchorage, Alaska – Ushuaia, Argentina
30,893km, 1009 days, 16 countries and a million memories.