20,21/10/2013 Malargue to Los Frisos,AR

20/10/2013 Malargue to Bardas Blancas

D69, T5.5/8.5, Av11.94, Max37, Tot20946, 11145

Windy start to day, finished with gale force winds.

We both felt well fed after last nights feast. On the way out of town we bought bread and a few other bits and pieces.

Almost immediately a gentle climb began .

The wind was now quite fresh out of the nor west.

Soon we were climbing steadily. A great wind was almost blowing us up the hill. In fact at one point I was literally not pedaling but going uphill.

We were very fortunate to have the wind in our favour for the morning.

It was a steady climb all the way.

Once over the top we stopped for things to eat in the only shelter we could find, that of a scoured watercourse, deep enough to provide enough shelter to boil some water.

We were complaining about the wind at the time. Little did we know what lay ahead.

Coming down we were pedaling just to get forward motion even though it was downhill.

I was getting cold and changed into long pants, Dorothy continued in her long shorts.

We were now following a river valley. It was a huge valley with this little trickle of water in a large gravel riverbed. It was like a trickle of water in a gutter, so little water in a place designed for a huge flow.

The wind kept getting stronger as the valley road leveled out.

Pretty soon, there were clouds of dust being blown down the road.

It just kept getting stronger. Its direction lay straight towards us.

In that respect were also lucky.

Soon the gusts were too strong to control the bikes.

If you got side on to it, the wind got hold of you and took you with it.

My bike with me on it was blown over on a few occasions. We were riding apart from each other . It was to dangerous to be near one another.

Stopping at one slightly elevated corner to wait for Dorothy, things started getting a bit desperate. It was hard to just stand up in the gale.

I was being sand blasted relentlessly. Dorothy caught up, we spoke having to yell at each other. She was fine though like me had been flattened a few times.

My camera was put in a soft bag and put in my rain coat, the dust was not going to claim this unit so soon.

Around the bend Poplar trees could be seen, they are a favorite here around houses.

Hopefully there would be some shelter from this sand laden wind that was battering us.

There were a couple of vehicles pulled up. One was the local police wagon.

Asked the officer about the old building across the road to shelter in.

He said come and stay at the police station.

Well this was another 5km up the road. A new bridge was being built just after a roundabout.

From here gravel formed the road surface.

Visibility was now at times down to just a few metres. The few trucks coming towards us were stirring up the surface, ahead of them was a brown cloud of abrasive sand coming at us in the 100km plus wind.

Dorothy was behind me, she was getting a real hair removal job done on her lower legs. No need for her to have a wax job for some time.

At one point, a guy came past on a big Honda touring bike doing about 10km/hr. He was doing his best just keep his bike upright.

I stopped him and told him the policeman said we could stay in the garage at the station, just over the big bridge spanning the Rio Grande.

He went further up the road obviously to find a place to turn where he wouldn’t get flattened.

We were walking now.

Passing a 200ft radio tower, the noise of it humming in the wind was unreal. The windward guy wires were taut under the immense strain, whilst to the leeward they were somewhat slack.

At one point a forty four gallon drum was being hurled down the road.

We were so lucky there were not dwellings about.

Any debris being blown about would have been deadly. Soon things got worse. Sand was not the only soil matter airborne, small pebbles were now being coming to greet us in the wind. My fingers were getting pelted.

Visibility was now permanently no more the 20m.

Coming to the narrow 250m concrete bridge that crossed the Rio Grande, crossing it meant being side onto the wind.

It was deadly, the air stream was funneling down from the mountains.

Making sure I was on the upwind side of the bike. I began to cross, at least, there was no dust being picked up of the riverbed. My bike was being moving alongside me at 45° just to stop it from being caught in the airstream.

If it rounded up there was a chance it could have got through the handrail on the other side of the bridge.

A couple of cars crossed, that’s when I really leaned it into my body, on a couple of occasions I ended up in the middle of the bridge when caught in a gust.

Once across a car was stopped to ask where the police station was. Thankfully it was just ahead in the trees under the hill.

Parking the bike on a hell of a lean on the leeward side of a guard rail, I walked back over the bridge to wait for Dorothy.

Soon her yellow coat came into view.

A guy stopped to ask if she wanted to put the bike in his pick up. I said we were staying at the police station just across the bridge.

I hung onto the back of her bike as we crossed again. Once across, another 200m and we were in the refuge of a garage at the police station Bardas Blancas.

It took us three hours to do 5kms.

What we had just experienced was almost unreal. It was most certainly the strongest wind I have been in. Even stronger than that on the salar in Bolivia.

Jose the local cop welcomed us. The bike rider Ceasar, from Santiago in Chile, was already inside.

The local lock up was like a castle.

We had a hot shower and ate.

The shower did not have the power to wash the dust from our hair.

We were both thinking of what the night might have been like out in the elements. Those thoughts were not elaborated on.

Jose told us these weather events are not rare out here.

Snow comes up to window height in winter.

We had a room and a couple of beds to ourselves. We were so so lucky to be cosy in the warm concrete building.

Still the wind blew outside.

To the east was a huge storm cell. The high pressure was being sucked into the low pressure, this caused the event.

Dorothy couldn’t believe her legs were not bleeding though she did have a few cuts.

21/10/2013 Badas Blancas to adobe hut at Las Frisas

D82, T4.5, 7, Av16.93, Max67, Tot21028, 11227

Magic day and evening

We both slept well, Jose had given us a room with a couple of beds, we were so lucky. We could just as easy have been under a bridge.

Ceasar thanked me for telling him to come to the police station. He gave me a great big hug and looked me in the eye, a look, that said thanks so much for stopping me on the road.

I inturn passed this kind of heartfelt thanks to Jose with a big hug and heartfelt thanks.

Ceasar like us, was very lucky to have warm shelter for the night.

He got away before us.

I had a puncture to repair, a piece of wire from a steel belted radial was the culprit causing the slow leak.

The day outside was crystal clear. The sort of day you usually have after that of extreme weather.

We both completely emptied our bar bags to remove all the sand.

Finally getting away about 0930. It was such a pleasure riding after yesterday. Great scenery and an undulating ride following the Rio Grande.

The road was under repair, so initially there were patches of tar and gravel.

On our left was the open river valley and to the right, the ever present Andes and their foothills that keep you company on much of Ruta 40 ridden so far.

There was fresh snow on the higher peaks after yesterdays effort by the weather.

This part of AR is rich in oil, another field was passed. Guanacos pumping the viscous fluid were passed working on dirt pads on the slopes above the road.

A couple of truck drivers at the bridge crossing of the Rio Grande told me they have the same name as the animals. Guanaco 1 and 2, they said.

The river was running brown from erosion up stream. Normal here, I am told.

A couple Brazilian guys travelling in a four wheel drive stopped to chat. They gave us a foldable toothbrush each of all things.

At the end of the tar we stopped for lunch, a cup of tea and the obligatory sardines.

Lubricants for my knees.

A huge number of industrious tiny ants found my food. They were busy making the most of this rare opportunity, carrying of every bit of cracker biscuit they could wrap their pincers around.

From here, the road became gravel. Soft in spots and constructed with round river stones. With a slight tail wind and much of it downhill, one could not complain. Traffic was light.

A couple of Gauchos and their dogs were seen crossing the road and riding off into the scrub. One bunch of dogs found me interesting and took up the chase.

At one point while waiting for Dorothy, a Condor was watched with elated emotion as it cruised overhead on the high thermals. He covered so much ground in such a short time, not a wing was moved.

This symbol, the snow covered Andes to our west, with weathered red brown hills and ranges to our east, capsulising vast open treeless spaces between. This epitomises the vistas on this part of Ruta Cuarenta, here in Western Argentina.

What a special place to be free to contemplate all this nature.

In some respects, I feel the freedom this great bird has in the skies, was twinned on the ground with my presence here.

At another corner waiting for Dorothy, by now, we were both quite worn out. It was 1730 in the evening.

She came round the corner and wiped out in soft spot. On picking her bike up, she found the rear rack had broken free at one of the bottom bolts. One up by the seat was also loose.

The bottom one had snapped off.

Ever so lucky we were able to unscrew the piece left in the thread. Locktite which I use is great, but in this situation we would have been in trouble.

Two spacers had been lost in the process.

The two from the other side were used, the broken side was more important, so as to protect the Rolhof gear cables.

On the other side an occy strap hook sufficed for a spacer. All was good, half an hour later it was a done job.

Whilst unpacking her gear to get the spares, sand from yesterday was everywhere

inside the pannier.

We needed water, a couple touring in an old Hilux were stopped, they were from Texas. Kindly they gave us water we needed. They had the inside of the wagon set up so well. Having been on the road a couple of years.

Travelling in this older type vehicle, they not once had been told to pay ridiculous fees at border crossings.

Unlike a guy I met who had a big Merc four wheel drive who got fleeced at every border crossing. Fair game I figure.

By now it was 1900 and we were in camp finding mode.

Both tired, the country was littered with volcanic rock, much of it jet black.

No wonder, there were two visible peaks both with their tops blown off in our vicinity.

It was impossible to put a tent up on the jagged fragments littering the ground.

Along one straight stretch of the corrugated gravel road, a couple of old adobe houses were seen some 150m off the road.

Riding in on the rough track, we had indeed found the nights camp spot.

A colourful sky saw the day finish, the wind also dropped down.

We set our respective tents and ate immediately. Both of us were worn out.

Dorothy is a strong rider and very capable as expected. We enjoy stirring each other up a bit. Though always finishing with a good laugh.

We enjoy each other’s company, both being about the same age.

Though I get reminded of my age, I keep telling her she has got many miles left in her!

She told me that during the worst of yesterday’s tempest, two people had stopped to asked if she wanted a lift. Their offers had been turned down. They were told she had a friend riding further up the road.

She is that kind of person.

The two dwellings are from a time when someone must have etched out an existence here.

There were bones and horns from goats scattered about. Obviously providing meat for whoever lived here.

There was a one room sleeping quarter and a small cookhouse alongside with a fireplace also made of adobe in one corner.

We cooked our meals in here out of the light breeze.

I have been using petrol now for a few days in my stove.

When priming it burns yellow with much black sooty smoke.

Once primed it is as good as any fuel and very hot. I clean the soot of each time, so things are not to messy.

The only problem is the smell of petrol when you remove the pump and store it. It is now kept in a plastic bag to keep the odour out of the food.

We sat around and chatted. Dorothy updated her diary. I enjoyed half a pot of hot water topping up my Mate. We took heaps of photos as the sky kept changing colours till well after 2000 as the sun disappeared beyond the ranges to our west.

It had been such an enjoyable day after yesterday.

In that fierce wind yesterday, the strongest I have ever been in.

Along with receiving the biggest sandblasting by wind blown silt. At no time was the wish to be in a comfortable home somewhere contemplated more than fleetingly.

To feel like this could be a bit soul destroying when the going gets tough.

Days like today make it all worthwhile.

Had thoughts like that been reality, I still would have been in that cosy lounge room today.

In turn, missing out on all the beauty and the wonder out here the next day had to offer.

The good has to be taken with the bad, in the end the good and positive will always prevails.

Having experienced yesterdays hand out from nature and all its hardship. It makes me think how important is to be doing something you are passionate about, something that stimulates you and is rewarding.

When there are times that really draw on your resources and strengths, both physically and mentally. It is then, you know if you are doing something that is right for you.

Yesterday, I knew the wind could buffet me with all her might, batter me with sand, rob me of my visibility and balance at times.

I then realised, importantly she couldn’t damaged my spirit. A spirit that enabled me to endure the onslaught and come out the other side a stronger, more reflective person.

A person slightly richer in life’s experiences.

A person with ears, eyes, hair, shoes, underwear and clothing full of bloody sand and dust!

The evening was comfortably cool, with a light breeze, silhouettes of the surrounding ranges and their peaks graced the end of another day here on Argentina’s famous Ruta 40.