Big Sur

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.