Sangriente hombres buenos!!
22/10/2013 Las Frisas to Barrancas
D64, T5/6, Av12.45, Max70, tot21092, 11291
Fine. Light winds.
We awoke to another crystal clear day. I repaired my tyre at Badas Blancas. It still has a slow leak though. This was pumped up, and we were again confronted with more gravel and loose rock .
The corrugations were relentless. Though after awhile you do get used to them. You learn to accept their presence and ride them.
Half the time, it is not worth looking for a smooth patch, often there is not one. The effort required to keep crossing the road is sometimes just not worth it.
A semi was bogged in the soft sand on the roads edge, they had been there all night on this little used section of Ruta 40.
The guys gave us some, as it turned out accurate distances as to the end of the gravel.
We crossed the Rio Grande at El Zampal, the place was nothing more than a point of reference. The river was running full of silt.
At Ranquil de Norte we got water from a tap at the school, otherwise the town was dead quiet, due to siesta.
From here we battled on over the gravel. This really was hard work.
It was a great time to be in the company of another cyclist, sometimes on the corrugations combined with a climb, speeds were as low as 5-6km/hr.
Finally arriving at Laguna Nueva, the gravel terminated.
On the asphalt, it was sheer pleasure after a couple of days of dust and corrugations.
The wind was still blowing, it was one of those days when it just wouldn’t die down as the afternoon wore on.
The country around us was still on a grand scale.
One downhill stretch before Barrancas, was dead straight, it was like riding down the side of a shallow wok and back up again.
Arriving in Barrancas, we pulled into the gas station come store.
It was the first kiosco since Mallarque, we enjoyed chocolate, sweet biscuits and drinks.
The owners let us camp on their property.
The cool wind blew most of the night.
Almost all inhabited places have Poplar trees growing around them.
All the trees here had water channels leading past them to keep them alive.
Just before arriving at Barrancas we crossed a river of the same name. It marked the provincial boundary between Mendoza and Neuquén.
I am now in the region of Patagonia, with this comes the legendary winds.
For the first time here in South America wind is now a daily issue during travel.
It is generally always out of the west, though if we are lucky, a bit of north is added, this is in our favour.
Dinner was cooked in the still strong wind.
Our tents were the only places that offered any decent refuge from the westerly.
23/10/2013 Barrancas to Nth of El Tril
D64, T4.5/9, Av13.16, Max55, Tot21156, 11355
Fine fresh westerly
There was no reason to hang about here, we were up early and on the road. Again, places camped at that have animals like dogs and chooks about always seem a bit dirty. This place was no different.
Climbing out of the river valley, we came to the actual town of Barrancas. Here bread was bought. Dorothy had to check an email regarding spare parts. Expecting no emails of any importance, mine were not checked.
It was great to have some fresh bread, we sat outside the panadería and ate a baguette or two, mine with dulce de leche. This stuff is so good. A great fix of sweetness.
Leaving town, the terrain was still everso dry. It was a day of small ascents equally followed by descents. The scenery was captivating, many colours, the blue sky, ranges with erosion scars leaving just the most fascinating scars.
Scalloped patterns were quite common on the lower portion of the slopes.
One common denominator was the lack of vegetation.
The Andes influence on the climate here is almost 100% resulting in a rain shadow.
Lunch was had at Buta Ranquil. At the service station a bunch of Brazilian guys on motos were pulled in for gas.
They took a heap of photos with us and asked all sorts of questions, they were on a 10 day jaunt on Ruta 40.
We found a corner outside the building free from the wind and sat down for some time enjoying chocolate and other goodies from the gas station.
Mate is so nice over lunch, it is a good pick me up.
A small bottle of alcohol was bought to prime the stove.
When using petrol, the priming process leaves black soot all over the underside of the unit.
Burning the medicinal alcohol to prime it eliminates this. It worked incredibly well. Another little add on to my kit.
Cerro del Tromen, with its volcanic peak at nearly 4000m was always present in our vistas. The road from here took us around its base.
From here we had some huge climbs, though not great distances. They would elevate us then release us back down to a lower spot on the other side only to begin all over again.
Soon the need as always arose for a campsite.
Our good fortune lead us to an old house site in an elevated position some 500m off the road.
There were a couple of adobe houses in various states of repair, both unliveable The flat area infront of these was surrounded by poplar trees. Nearby was a creek.
Settlement out here is impossible without water nearby.
Nearly all water courses had Poplar trees (Alamo) at some point on their route, indicating someone may be living or had lived there.
Goats were frequent visitors to this location. They had been seeking shelter in the two old dwellings. They had no conscience when it came to shitting indoors.
It was a warm windless magic evening we both wished we had a red wine for the occasion.
I fixed the puncture in my rear tyre, it was the smallest of holes. One only immersion of the tube in water could reveal.
As night fell, twinkling lights of what we guessed were mining camps could be seen in the distance.
Lights of another kind were overhead in their millions. It was a night where any star with half a mind was out and about, showing off.
Having a tent, allows one to just pull in at these most unexpected places for the night.
24/10/2013 North of El Tril to Chos Malal, camping
D72, T/7, Av17, Max76, tot 21228, 11427
Lovely day with north in the wind
A fresh northerly greeted us as we arose, though it was very cold. This got us moving and out of the camp by 0845.
The early morning vistas to the east from this elevated site were expansive to say the least.
My tyre had held air overnight, there is nothing worse than a very slow leak, the temptation is always there just to keep pumping it up every few hours or more.
The northerly pushed us along at a great rate, often having the power to move us up hills.
At one climb a couple of minivans were parked on the roadside.
Dorothy was talking with a woman and a man. It turned out they were geologists working for YPF, the main oil company here.
Most trucks on the road were tankers carrying gas to Chile.
Here is a brief detail of this company and AR fuel situation:
Argentina and YPF acronym for Yacimientos Petrolíferos Fiscales ; English: "Treasury Petroleum Fields" Flogging a Dead Cow The recently nationalised oil company agrees on a big foreign investment Jul 27th 2013 | BUENOS AIRES |
Out of gas
LITTLE more than a year ago President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner announced the nationalisation of YPF, an oil company owned by Spain’s Repsol. Ms Fernández called it a victory for “energy sovereignty”, claiming that Repsol had plundered its Argentine holding for quick profits without investing in exploration or development. But on July 16th, after a year in which YPF’s oil and gas production continued to disappoint, the government announced that it had agreed on a big joint venture between YPF and a different foreign oil giant, Chevron.
Argentina’s energy industry is in a sad state. In 2011 the country became a net importer of energy for the first time since 1984, further eroding its foreign-currency reserves, now at their lowest in six years. Nationalisation has not helped: in the first quarter of this year YPF’s output of crude oil fell by 0.7% and of natural gas by 3.7%. April saw a fire at a refinery. Energy imports are expected to reach $14 billion this year, up from $9.2 billion in 2012.
The great hope is vast shale-oil and gas reserves in Neuquén province, which Repsol discovered shortly before the government expropriated YPF. The Vaca Muerta (“Dead Cow”) field is estimated to hold 16 billion barrels of shale oil and 308 trillion cubic feet (8.7 trillion cubic metres) of shale gas, which would give Argentina the world’s fourth-largest reserves of shale oil and second-largest of shale gas. Extracting the deeply buried spoils is complicated, costly work. Jorge Ferioli of the World Energy Council, an industry research group, estimates that developing Vaca Muerta will require $68 billion-89 billion. YPF lacks such funds, and Argentina’s borrowing costs in effect bar it from seeking international financing.
As well as bringing expertise, Chevron has promised an initial investment of $1.24 billion in Vaca Muerta as part of its joint venture with YPF. The deal was announced after Ms Fernández issued a decree seemingly tailor-made for Chevron, which states that energy companies that invest over $1 billion will, after five years, be allowed to sell 20% of their production abroad without paying export taxes or being forced to repatriate profits.
Opposition parties, which backed the expropriation, have labelled the Chevron deal a “re-privatisation” and challenged the legality of the decree. They will make the most of the controversy in the run-up to congressional elections due in October. “A year ago the government considered energy sovereignty to mean ‘Spanish, get out’, whereas now it seems to mean ‘Yankees, come in’,” says Daniel Montamat, a former energy secretary and former head of YPF (under opposition governments).
YPF faces obstacles to attracting more collaborators. For one thing there is runaway inflation and a distorted exchange rate. More pressing is the government’s unfinished business with Repsol. Argentina has yet to compensate the company a peso for the $10.5 billion it claims it is owed. Last year, anticipating its deal with YPF, Repsol sued Chevron in Spain and the United States; on July 24th it sought an injunction to halt the deal. Keeping the lights on in Argentina is not getting any easier.
There were about 10 people scattered over the close slope. They said the strata on the road cutting indicated possible oil deposits.
This is oil country.
There were some great downhill runs on the road. The road from Malargue to here has been travelled at altitudes of 900m to 1600m.
Lunch was had by a small stream out of the wind.
Sanate elections were held this weekend, President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner has lost a lot of popularity if the results are anything to go by.
Presidents here, by constitutional agreement cant stand for a third term, this is her second term.
Coming down one hill at 65 km/hr, rounding a bend, a strong head wind saw me go from this speed to 15km/hr in the space of 20m. It was quite surreal.
Crosswinds in gusts are the problem when freewheeling down hills at speed.
A firm grip on the handlebars and fingers near the brakes needs to be maintained at all times.
There was a great 10km run down into Chos Malal, we deserved a favour for all the climbing done over the last few days.
In town we headed to the local gas station, they had a modern cafe and wifi. Here we took turns at heading to the supermarket for supplies.
The motels we checked were full or to expensive.
We found our way to the municipal campground, here they had hot showers and electricity, so it all worked out well.
There were a few other campers, the manager said they have quite a few cyclists staying here.
25/10/2013 Chos Malal to 30km sth of Colhueco
D104, T6/9, Av15.60, max60, Tot21331, 11531
Fine warm with westerlies
The night was spend sleeping in almost broad daylight due to all the lighting in the park, this did not stop me from sleeping soundly.
In the morning a few electronic necessities were charged on the power points about the site.
A group of young guys and girls came by, they were still celebrating a big night, beer bottles in hand and very animated, still a little inebriated.
We headed up into town. I needed a bottle that was liquid tight to store the alcohol in, one was not found.
I made the decision not to take water in my bladder. The manager said there was water at 30km and 70km, here were pueblitos.
The road leaving town was a nice 8km run down to the Rio Neuquén, from here it climbed.
The warm wind was a light westerly with a little bit of north thrown in for our benefit.
For the first time in a week, there are no snow clad mountains visible, hence the warmth.
I finally got water from a creek that looked like its upper reaches were not to inhabited, the part I could see anyway.
One particular big climb took us to the pueblito of Colhueco, from here it was a gentle downhill cruise on the straightest of roads for miles.
At one point we tried to guess the distance to some small hills by the road, 5km we figured, it turned out it was over double that. Such is the immensity of this landscape.
An army convoy was heading towards us in an assortement of fairlay dated vehicles, every one tooted and waved.
Funnily enough, an old Merc, a heavy tow truck was the last vehicle in the convoy.
A Landcruiser troop carrier pulled up. The driver was a Belgian guy possibly in his early 70,s.
A hell of a character, he and his wife lived here in AR. They had travelled the world for 20 years in a Unimog. He gave us water and some good local knowledge.
One comment he made that sticks with me when talking about Chile was:
Over there it is to organized with freeways, everything you need, rain and very busy.
He said he loves the laid back somewhat disorganized system here in AR.
My sentiment tends to lie with his observations.
This side of the Andes has reliable weather and life is indeed very relaxed.
Also along this straight road were 3m wide shoulders, at 2 spots there were large concrete areas, we figured they were for planes to taxi and the road was occasionally used as an air strip.
At about 1845 we started looking for a camp. All that was on offer were dry sandy creek beds.
The landscape was bound by low hill to the east, to the west was just flat, scantily vegetated desert.
The wind was whistling across from the west.
Campsites away from the road out of the wind were almost not existent.
We rode over 10km looking for a site.
Having done this we now knew we could make it to Las Lajas tomorrow.
A side road appeared, one metres in was a line of piled dirt. This gave us protection from the wind.
In fact it was a perfect site in a lot of nothingness. The wind died down, it turned into a great evening with many stars again on display. Fried potatoes were enjoyed with copious amounts of coffee and tea, indicating my dehydrated state.
26/10/2013 sth Colhueco to Las Lajas
D64, TT5/6, Av13.54, Max53, Tot 21395, 11595
Straight westerlies, hard work with a south passage, with some west
Fine clear day
For both of us last night was a night of nocturnal callings. Dorothy had toothache and needed pain killers, these, I had readily available.
Me, well, at 0130 hunger hit me like a southerly front. My meal of fried potatoes just didn’t do the job. I awoke and just had to eat and rapidly.
Luckily, as usual the food was inside the tent. A whole packet of water crackers with salami, onion and tomato was consumed as fast as I could peel the skin off the salami.
Dulce de leche and bread was also demolished. It was an experience not had before. That of, beyond a craving. It was like coming up front a dive and needing a breath of air instantly.
In hindsight, the day had been sublimely huge from an expenditure of energy point of view.
By 0215 all was eaten, my body was properly fed, sleep came before it was known.
My tent has a vestibule on the right side to my head.
On my left side, there is just the inner and the fly to unzip. I can urinate in the wee hours without having to leave my sleeping bag. Oh so convenient on cold nights. Only my knees are near the exterior of the tent. The stream is sent to soak things some half a metre from the tent.
The dry desert sands stop any possibility of flow back to where it matters.
We took our time packing and finally got away about 1000. A yerba mate is always enjoyed as I pack up. Topping up the mate half a dozen times, is a good liquid intake spiced up with the delightful brew that so many Argentineans love. The mate is packed last and the bombillla goes in my bar bag.
Once on the road, the westerly hampered proceedings greatly. It was gear changing all the way. Even downhill, pedalling was required.
I boiled the creek water last night, drinking it whilst riding made me feel a bit dodgey.
A guy waiting for his son to get dropped off in a collectivo ( minivan buses) topped up my drink bottle with tap water. It tasted like honey compared to my boiled saline creek water.
The road was undulating, a situation existed, where it took us up and back on down again.
All day Dorothy rode ahead, early in the day she felt dizzy from the tooth problem. For me it was best she be ahead in case she succumbed to some further problems from the tooth.
Whilst behind, on one straight, two guachos crossed the road ahead of me. We greeted each other. They pulled up on their solid powerful mounts, their dog accompanying them.
The horses were animals to behold. Strong bodied, radiating strength, and like their mounts were hardened by their environment. Above all, they had warmth and spirit radiating from their presence.
The two guys had these same attributes.
We talked at length. Their sun burnt faces under their traditional berets, radiated pride, care for their animals and honesty, it was a pleasure to spend time with these legendary horse riders of Argentina.
One of the horses wouldn’t warm to me, but the other, a grey, let me stroke her jaw and mane. Maybe because we shared the same coloured hair!
It was special moment for me, for these were horses used to the loneliest, harshest of environments. An environment they knew and called home. , Where strangers are probably not often encountered. The rider bought him close for me to continue to stroke while we chatted.
Their footwear was soft clothe type attire, not designed to hurt their animals, further indicating a unique relationship with the horses, a bond not dissimilar to that of an father with his young child.
I asked to take a photo, they obliged. They also told me the lands out here are public. We warmly wished each other the best.
I rode on.
They continued across the road and on into the featureless scrubby desert, here they disappeared as they melted into the landscape, their landscape.
Riding on, some trucks were seen in the distance, so was Dorothys bike parked on the side of the road. She was sitting down chatting with her back against one of the drive wheels of the semi. The guys were having a break.
Pulling in we all chatted, we got some water and kept going. The guys were carting sand to Las lajas.
We were really battling these winds, it was unreal, welcome to Patagonia and the legendary winds.
Though, careful study of synoptic charts may make passage more predictable. The man waiting for his son told me tomorrow will be calm.
Again, behind Dorothy, a bunch of guys laying a plastic pipeline alongside the road were asked for water, they had plenty.
On asking, they were laying the casing for fibre optic cable.
The cable layers can pull the cable in 4km sections then have to join it.
The three pipes, 40mm approx are moulded together, the other two are for cables that maybe needed later.
Presently Australia is in the process of a fibre optic roll out. I told the guys they were lucky that no other pipes or cables were in the ground. In the past I have experienced accidentally cutting underground cables during my days as an Arborist.
From here it was still 6km to town, the wind still blew from my right. Every kilometre was hard work.
On arriving in town after crossing the Rio Agrio, Dorothy was waiting and had been for awhile, though it suited her, she had not suffered further from the tooth ache.
In town, we bought ice creams. The menta granozada is beyond description after 5 days in the desert.
We bought fruit at the supermarket, could not connect to the free wifi in the plaza, found a motel, had dinner, swapped photos, enjoyed a red wine, had a shower with plenty of flow and enjoyed time in a large room with two beds and a kitchen
Tomorrow sees me head west across Paso Pino de Hachado to Chile and Dorothy south to Zapala, still on Ruta 40.
These last ten days together, have in my opinion, been spent on the hardest part of Ruta 40, since entering Argentina at Paso Jama.
Our meeting by chance, makes me think again about Minnesota.
Dorothy said today, if not for me, she would have taken a ride in the sand storm. That could have seen her here days ago.
“It will look after you”, were the words of a Native American elder. Well for this 10 day passage we were both looked after. Our being together gave us strength and encouragement to move on through, often difficult conditions.
27/10/2013 Las Lajas,AR to Liucura, CL
D82, T5/7, Av15, Max62, Tot21478, 11,680
Perfect day, almost no wind
Dorothy got away before me, The owner let me stay a little longer in the Hotel.
She was heading south to Zapala for a break.
Chances are we may bump into each other again further south.
My journey was heading over Paso Pino de Hachado and into Chile.
The man I met on the side of the road yesterday was spot on with his forecast of no wind.
It was absolute bliss riding west with no wind, just a cloudless brilliant day.
The road followed the Rio Agrio for some time, riding was easy. It was nice to see some green vegetation.
Soon the climbing started, the gradient was gentle and without wind, good progress was made.
Lunch was enjoyed near one of the classic Patagonia wind signs, that of a depiction palm tree in a gale.
Not today.
Soon trees came into view, they were Araucarias, Monkey Puzzle trees. It was quite bazaar to see them way up here.
Once at the top of this section, the road even had some small descents on its passage.
The scenery was brilliant, that of the Monkey Puzzle trees growing amongst the most interesting rock formations and below me a mountain stream, people were seen fishing for trout from its banks.
Later I found out, the trout are few, due to over fishing.
It was so nice to see scenery that was not all brown and showed signs of receiving plentiful rain.
The Argentinian border crossing was reached about 1530. Here formalities were done.
They asked me how I was travelling, on hearing it was by bike they let me go through, not wanting to inspect my belongings.
From here, snow was on the roadside. At 60km the top was reached. From then on, it was a scenic delight downhill to the Chilean border control some 8km on.
The customs here were a bit more thorough, wanting to check my food, luckily my oranges and apple had already been eaten.
The facility was almost brand new and very modern.
My coca leaves are still with me, they were declared. They wanted to check my food pannier. All was ok except my salami.
I was told to toss it in the bin.
I still had bread and told the guys I would eat it here, that was ok.
So a five inch roll of salami was devoured in situ.
The time was spent talking with a couple of women who worked there.
Before leaving at 1830, I rugged up in longs, thick gloves and raincoat.
The air is now moist, it is great, my dry lips will be able to recuperate.
The girls said it was 15km downhill to Liucura, here were Alojamientos, they told me off a cheap one.
Though when reaching town, it had been passed further back.
Lodgings were booked across the road from the small tienda.
Dinner was enjoyed in the restaurant, that of chicken, salad and rice.
I still keep thinking how fortunate I was to have crossed the mountains on such a perfect day. The guys at the CL immigration said the wind was howling yesterday.
Riding through the snow clad areas in such conditions allowed me to ride in just shorts and a couple of woollen layers.
The owner told me the temperatures will be about 26 during the day and get to 10 in the evenings.
28/10/2013Liacura to a farm 8km east of Melipeuco
D66, T5/7, Av12.83, Max46, Tot21544, 11746
Fine, light winds warm
To say that I slept like a baby was a gross understatement, I slept like a thousand babies!!
Up in the morning, porridge and raisins and a coffee were enjoyed in the room.
Bread was bought at the tienda with tomatoes and onion.
I was taking the back road to Temuco, this meant 60km of gravel, it also meant few cars and a relaxed environment.
The road was in pretty good condition with corrugations not a significant factor.
What a different world to that of Ruta 40, every kilometre, there was a stream, lambs were calling out for their mothers and small farms with every manner of dwelling were scattered along the road side. Horsemen were occassional riding alongside the road.
The Araucarias were scattered all through the landscape as were Weeping Willow trees near watercourses.
It was a steady climb with descents every now and again.
Once at one high area I descending into a beautiful mountain valley. This section of the Andes has two ranges.
In this rich valley were hundreds of MP trees among other species.
Laguna de Icalma was the centre piece of the valley, it was a large body of water feed by snow clad mountains to the north and dozens of small streams coming down and under the road from the east.
Fruit and a couple of Cokes were enjoyed at Icalma.
From here the road was covered in fresh 2 inch aggregate. Vehicles had yet to move it aside to form tracks. It was unrideable on the uphill sections.
A bit of walking was done here and there. The fascinating alpine scenery in its countless shades of green made the going easy.
The lake filled the lowest points along the length of the valley, with cabañas along its shores. Though the area was strictly rural.
Once at the end of the valley the climbing began again, the road was much better.
Of the four or five cars encountered, most were travelling dangerously fast on the rough road.
Had I been a little closer to one corner, it could have been curtains.
In this more developed country of Chile, people are in more of a hurry, in many ways, time and money were determining how they were driving.
Time, they probably didn’t have alot of, and money or the making thereof was probably the main purpose for their hurried passage.
During my time working for myself, this was very often my scenario. I was always busy. I was then trapped in this treadmill. Though at the time thrived within it.
Along the roadside were large areas of stumps and weathered logs, from logging days of old.
The Araucaria forests were keeping the light low at times. The trunks of these oddly branched trees, hence the name, were covered in a weeping moss. It was like tufts of hairs on the legs of advancing giants.
Soon the top was reached. By now it was rather cool.
My thick gloves were put on along with my raincoat.
The 15 odd km descent was concentration all the way the loose gravel was treacherous.
As always my 60 plus kg wants to propel me downward at a wreckless pace. In this respect the brakes were on all the way.
They are presently working on the road, so loose gravel and the unexpected were the norm.
Once things leveled out, the days efforts were rewarded with asphalt, it was so good just to ride along, and just take in the scenery with a easy mind.
Coming down the range, concentration was so demanding that often to enjoy the scenery I had to stop.
Coming off in this stuff would not be nice.
I started looking for campsites about 1830.
Most roadside land was fenced. One area was checked with just a wire gate, it could be seen from hte road and was wet under foot. It was far from suitable.
A farmer was seen above the road scratching around by his shed.
I went back and asked him if I could camp the night on his place. Not a problem.
I pushed the bike up to his cosy, dirt floored home.
We chatted for awhile and both walked the bike to a spot above the house.
After 5 or 6 weeks in the Andean rain shadow on Ruta 40 in AR, this, believe me, this was like the garden of Eden.
Above the house was a sloping area with short lush grasses, there were rabbits scurrying off, quail gliding to cover, sheep, heads down eating the lush pasture while their lambs played in groups. Rosehip and Blackberry bushes were scattered through the area, all with fresh new shoots and leaves, parrots recklessly flying by, squarking as they went. There were two streams either side of me, both crystal clear with spring water from the lushly vegetated range above.
The farmers horse was tethered to a tree by the house, the late afternoon cacophony of many bird species was all around. The air was moist and mild.
This was a world familiar to me.
This being so, provides me with more wonderment when in desert environments.
The dry landscapes of Peru, Bolivia and Argentina in their vastness inflict much more emotion as they are traversed. People, animals and plants in these dry places, are so special.
As witnessed by the many adaptions that makes them unique. Those of horrendously thorny trees, the llamas soft feet that conserve the land that feeds them, and the easy ambiance of the people whose lives are closely linked with the seasons.
It was just bliss camping with grass under foot, not sand. The gentle slope made for good sleeping conditions.
Just before nightfall the farmers sheep, some 50, sauntered unassisted into their yards for the night.
I felt so relaxed and at ease, back in a world so familiar. Though, of course these feelings were experienced east of the Andes.
Life really is easy with the presence of reliable rain and mild temperatures.
29/10/2013 The farm to Cunco
D42, T2/3, Av18.64, Max42, Tot 21586, 11788
Westerly blowing (of course!!) fine, though a bit cool
In the morning farmer bought his nephew over to meet me.
He was about 16 years old, he was having a chuckle at my Spanish skills while we were chatting. Pleasingly, he knew what I was trying to say.
When trying to discuss things not spoken about before, I sometimes feel so inadequate in my Spanish ability.
Having said this, it is improving, all be it very slowly. It is such a great way to keep my mind active.
Always whilst riding, I stop when words are seen on signs or other printed media, or when a word comes to mind that is not known.
My little electronic translator sees that a meaning is given to the particular word or words.
The hard part is just remembering it!
The farmer owned all the land to the top of the mountain, all forest.
Leaving after he gave me water from his house.
It had two rooms, was made of iron and had a dirt floor. My first impression was how cosy and homely it felt.
I explained how people in my country, have these ridiculously big homes and only use a small part of them. Many of them are often always wanting something bigger and better.
Most of these ambitions are motivated by the hope of capital gain. In our capitalist world almost all property is bought with this in mind.
Sadly for some, it is like a peacock displaying his fan.
In my opinion, some of these new fashionable white, sterile, perfect buildings with cold tiled floors are really, only vehicles for monetary gain.
It is so nice to walk into someones house that feels like it is truly lived in.
You know, a bit of stuff lying about, a few things that look like they are old and worn.
One whence inside, for me importantly, where most spaces look used.
Houses that have these attributes are instantly recognisable as soon as you walk inside. All credit goes to those who dwell in such abodes.
The ride to Cunco, though very gently downhill was hampered by the westerly.
Lunch of sardines in buns with tomato and onion was enjoyed. The old syringe under the park bench was not.
In Melipeuco, a bag full of bananas, apples and pears were eaten outside the shop.
Further along the road were Eucalypt plantations, pine plantations and again dwellings on what appeared to be small lifestyle type plots of a few acres.
Everything was lush and green, I am still getting used to this.
Once in Cunco, the Mauro Sport cabañas were booked, a little costly but having a whole cabin to myself was great.
It was in the middle of town, the owner was a good guy, breakfast was provided, importantly it was sunny.
Washing was done.
The water is always a dark brown after a week in the same riding gear. Roads really are dirty places. So are winds laden with dust.
Dinner was ham, avocado, cheese, lettuce, onion in fresh bread rolls and a litre of vino tinto.
Followed by the sleep of all those babies again.
D64, T5/6, Av12.45, Max70, tot21092, 11291
Fine. Light winds.
We awoke to another crystal clear day. I repaired my tyre at Badas Blancas. It still has a slow leak though. This was pumped up, and we were again confronted with more gravel and loose rock .
The corrugations were relentless. Though after awhile you do get used to them. You learn to accept their presence and ride them.
Half the time, it is not worth looking for a smooth patch, often there is not one. The effort required to keep crossing the road is sometimes just not worth it.
A semi was bogged in the soft sand on the roads edge, they had been there all night on this little used section of Ruta 40.
The guys gave us some, as it turned out accurate distances as to the end of the gravel.
We crossed the Rio Grande at El Zampal, the place was nothing more than a point of reference. The river was running full of silt.
At Ranquil de Norte we got water from a tap at the school, otherwise the town was dead quiet, due to siesta.
From here we battled on over the gravel. This really was hard work.
It was a great time to be in the company of another cyclist, sometimes on the corrugations combined with a climb, speeds were as low as 5-6km/hr.
Finally arriving at Laguna Nueva, the gravel terminated.
On the asphalt, it was sheer pleasure after a couple of days of dust and corrugations.
The wind was still blowing, it was one of those days when it just wouldn’t die down as the afternoon wore on.
The country around us was still on a grand scale.
One downhill stretch before Barrancas, was dead straight, it was like riding down the side of a shallow wok and back up again.
Arriving in Barrancas, we pulled into the gas station come store.
It was the first kiosco since Mallarque, we enjoyed chocolate, sweet biscuits and drinks.
The owners let us camp on their property.
The cool wind blew most of the night.
Almost all inhabited places have Poplar trees growing around them.
All the trees here had water channels leading past them to keep them alive.
Just before arriving at Barrancas we crossed a river of the same name. It marked the provincial boundary between Mendoza and Neuquén.
I am now in the region of Patagonia, with this comes the legendary winds.
For the first time here in South America wind is now a daily issue during travel.
It is generally always out of the west, though if we are lucky, a bit of north is added, this is in our favour.
Dinner was cooked in the still strong wind.
Our tents were the only places that offered any decent refuge from the westerly.
23/10/2013 Barrancas to Nth of El Tril
D64, T4.5/9, Av13.16, Max55, Tot21156, 11355
Fine fresh westerly
There was no reason to hang about here, we were up early and on the road. Again, places camped at that have animals like dogs and chooks about always seem a bit dirty. This place was no different.
Climbing out of the river valley, we came to the actual town of Barrancas. Here bread was bought. Dorothy had to check an email regarding spare parts. Expecting no emails of any importance, mine were not checked.
It was great to have some fresh bread, we sat outside the panadería and ate a baguette or two, mine with dulce de leche. This stuff is so good. A great fix of sweetness.
Leaving town, the terrain was still everso dry. It was a day of small ascents equally followed by descents. The scenery was captivating, many colours, the blue sky, ranges with erosion scars leaving just the most fascinating scars.
Scalloped patterns were quite common on the lower portion of the slopes.
One common denominator was the lack of vegetation.
The Andes influence on the climate here is almost 100% resulting in a rain shadow.
Lunch was had at Buta Ranquil. At the service station a bunch of Brazilian guys on motos were pulled in for gas.
They took a heap of photos with us and asked all sorts of questions, they were on a 10 day jaunt on Ruta 40.
We found a corner outside the building free from the wind and sat down for some time enjoying chocolate and other goodies from the gas station.
Mate is so nice over lunch, it is a good pick me up.
A small bottle of alcohol was bought to prime the stove.
When using petrol, the priming process leaves black soot all over the underside of the unit.
Burning the medicinal alcohol to prime it eliminates this. It worked incredibly well. Another little add on to my kit.
Cerro del Tromen, with its volcanic peak at nearly 4000m was always present in our vistas. The road from here took us around its base.
From here we had some huge climbs, though not great distances. They would elevate us then release us back down to a lower spot on the other side only to begin all over again.
Soon the need as always arose for a campsite.
Our good fortune lead us to an old house site in an elevated position some 500m off the road.
There were a couple of adobe houses in various states of repair, both unliveable The flat area infront of these was surrounded by poplar trees. Nearby was a creek.
Settlement out here is impossible without water nearby.
Nearly all water courses had Poplar trees (Alamo) at some point on their route, indicating someone may be living or had lived there.
Goats were frequent visitors to this location. They had been seeking shelter in the two old dwellings. They had no conscience when it came to shitting indoors.
It was a warm windless magic evening we both wished we had a red wine for the occasion.
I fixed the puncture in my rear tyre, it was the smallest of holes. One only immersion of the tube in water could reveal.
As night fell, twinkling lights of what we guessed were mining camps could be seen in the distance.
Lights of another kind were overhead in their millions. It was a night where any star with half a mind was out and about, showing off.
Having a tent, allows one to just pull in at these most unexpected places for the night.
24/10/2013 North of El Tril to Chos Malal, camping
D72, T/7, Av17, Max76, tot 21228, 11427
Lovely day with north in the wind
A fresh northerly greeted us as we arose, though it was very cold. This got us moving and out of the camp by 0845.
The early morning vistas to the east from this elevated site were expansive to say the least.
My tyre had held air overnight, there is nothing worse than a very slow leak, the temptation is always there just to keep pumping it up every few hours or more.
The northerly pushed us along at a great rate, often having the power to move us up hills.
At one climb a couple of minivans were parked on the roadside.
Dorothy was talking with a woman and a man. It turned out they were geologists working for YPF, the main oil company here.
Most trucks on the road were tankers carrying gas to Chile.
Here is a brief detail of this company and AR fuel situation:
Argentina and YPF acronym for Yacimientos Petrolíferos Fiscales ; English: "Treasury Petroleum Fields" Flogging a Dead Cow The recently nationalised oil company agrees on a big foreign investment Jul 27th 2013 | BUENOS AIRES |
Out of gas
LITTLE more than a year ago President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner announced the nationalisation of YPF, an oil company owned by Spain’s Repsol. Ms Fernández called it a victory for “energy sovereignty”, claiming that Repsol had plundered its Argentine holding for quick profits without investing in exploration or development. But on July 16th, after a year in which YPF’s oil and gas production continued to disappoint, the government announced that it had agreed on a big joint venture between YPF and a different foreign oil giant, Chevron.
Argentina’s energy industry is in a sad state. In 2011 the country became a net importer of energy for the first time since 1984, further eroding its foreign-currency reserves, now at their lowest in six years. Nationalisation has not helped: in the first quarter of this year YPF’s output of crude oil fell by 0.7% and of natural gas by 3.7%. April saw a fire at a refinery. Energy imports are expected to reach $14 billion this year, up from $9.2 billion in 2012.
The great hope is vast shale-oil and gas reserves in Neuquén province, which Repsol discovered shortly before the government expropriated YPF. The Vaca Muerta (“Dead Cow”) field is estimated to hold 16 billion barrels of shale oil and 308 trillion cubic feet (8.7 trillion cubic metres) of shale gas, which would give Argentina the world’s fourth-largest reserves of shale oil and second-largest of shale gas. Extracting the deeply buried spoils is complicated, costly work. Jorge Ferioli of the World Energy Council, an industry research group, estimates that developing Vaca Muerta will require $68 billion-89 billion. YPF lacks such funds, and Argentina’s borrowing costs in effect bar it from seeking international financing.
As well as bringing expertise, Chevron has promised an initial investment of $1.24 billion in Vaca Muerta as part of its joint venture with YPF. The deal was announced after Ms Fernández issued a decree seemingly tailor-made for Chevron, which states that energy companies that invest over $1 billion will, after five years, be allowed to sell 20% of their production abroad without paying export taxes or being forced to repatriate profits.
Opposition parties, which backed the expropriation, have labelled the Chevron deal a “re-privatisation” and challenged the legality of the decree. They will make the most of the controversy in the run-up to congressional elections due in October. “A year ago the government considered energy sovereignty to mean ‘Spanish, get out’, whereas now it seems to mean ‘Yankees, come in’,” says Daniel Montamat, a former energy secretary and former head of YPF (under opposition governments).
YPF faces obstacles to attracting more collaborators. For one thing there is runaway inflation and a distorted exchange rate. More pressing is the government’s unfinished business with Repsol. Argentina has yet to compensate the company a peso for the $10.5 billion it claims it is owed. Last year, anticipating its deal with YPF, Repsol sued Chevron in Spain and the United States; on July 24th it sought an injunction to halt the deal. Keeping the lights on in Argentina is not getting any easier.
There were about 10 people scattered over the close slope. They said the strata on the road cutting indicated possible oil deposits.
This is oil country.
There were some great downhill runs on the road. The road from Malargue to here has been travelled at altitudes of 900m to 1600m.
Lunch was had by a small stream out of the wind.
Sanate elections were held this weekend, President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner has lost a lot of popularity if the results are anything to go by.
Presidents here, by constitutional agreement cant stand for a third term, this is her second term.
Coming down one hill at 65 km/hr, rounding a bend, a strong head wind saw me go from this speed to 15km/hr in the space of 20m. It was quite surreal.
Crosswinds in gusts are the problem when freewheeling down hills at speed.
A firm grip on the handlebars and fingers near the brakes needs to be maintained at all times.
There was a great 10km run down into Chos Malal, we deserved a favour for all the climbing done over the last few days.
In town we headed to the local gas station, they had a modern cafe and wifi. Here we took turns at heading to the supermarket for supplies.
The motels we checked were full or to expensive.
We found our way to the municipal campground, here they had hot showers and electricity, so it all worked out well.
There were a few other campers, the manager said they have quite a few cyclists staying here.
25/10/2013 Chos Malal to 30km sth of Colhueco
D104, T6/9, Av15.60, max60, Tot21331, 11531
Fine warm with westerlies
The night was spend sleeping in almost broad daylight due to all the lighting in the park, this did not stop me from sleeping soundly.
In the morning a few electronic necessities were charged on the power points about the site.
A group of young guys and girls came by, they were still celebrating a big night, beer bottles in hand and very animated, still a little inebriated.
We headed up into town. I needed a bottle that was liquid tight to store the alcohol in, one was not found.
I made the decision not to take water in my bladder. The manager said there was water at 30km and 70km, here were pueblitos.
The road leaving town was a nice 8km run down to the Rio Neuquén, from here it climbed.
The warm wind was a light westerly with a little bit of north thrown in for our benefit.
For the first time in a week, there are no snow clad mountains visible, hence the warmth.
I finally got water from a creek that looked like its upper reaches were not to inhabited, the part I could see anyway.
One particular big climb took us to the pueblito of Colhueco, from here it was a gentle downhill cruise on the straightest of roads for miles.
At one point we tried to guess the distance to some small hills by the road, 5km we figured, it turned out it was over double that. Such is the immensity of this landscape.
An army convoy was heading towards us in an assortement of fairlay dated vehicles, every one tooted and waved.
Funnily enough, an old Merc, a heavy tow truck was the last vehicle in the convoy.
A Landcruiser troop carrier pulled up. The driver was a Belgian guy possibly in his early 70,s.
A hell of a character, he and his wife lived here in AR. They had travelled the world for 20 years in a Unimog. He gave us water and some good local knowledge.
One comment he made that sticks with me when talking about Chile was:
Over there it is to organized with freeways, everything you need, rain and very busy.
He said he loves the laid back somewhat disorganized system here in AR.
My sentiment tends to lie with his observations.
This side of the Andes has reliable weather and life is indeed very relaxed.
Also along this straight road were 3m wide shoulders, at 2 spots there were large concrete areas, we figured they were for planes to taxi and the road was occasionally used as an air strip.
At about 1845 we started looking for a camp. All that was on offer were dry sandy creek beds.
The landscape was bound by low hill to the east, to the west was just flat, scantily vegetated desert.
The wind was whistling across from the west.
Campsites away from the road out of the wind were almost not existent.
We rode over 10km looking for a site.
Having done this we now knew we could make it to Las Lajas tomorrow.
A side road appeared, one metres in was a line of piled dirt. This gave us protection from the wind.
In fact it was a perfect site in a lot of nothingness. The wind died down, it turned into a great evening with many stars again on display. Fried potatoes were enjoyed with copious amounts of coffee and tea, indicating my dehydrated state.
26/10/2013 sth Colhueco to Las Lajas
D64, TT5/6, Av13.54, Max53, Tot 21395, 11595
Straight westerlies, hard work with a south passage, with some west
Fine clear day
For both of us last night was a night of nocturnal callings. Dorothy had toothache and needed pain killers, these, I had readily available.
Me, well, at 0130 hunger hit me like a southerly front. My meal of fried potatoes just didn’t do the job. I awoke and just had to eat and rapidly.
Luckily, as usual the food was inside the tent. A whole packet of water crackers with salami, onion and tomato was consumed as fast as I could peel the skin off the salami.
Dulce de leche and bread was also demolished. It was an experience not had before. That of, beyond a craving. It was like coming up front a dive and needing a breath of air instantly.
In hindsight, the day had been sublimely huge from an expenditure of energy point of view.
By 0215 all was eaten, my body was properly fed, sleep came before it was known.
My tent has a vestibule on the right side to my head.
On my left side, there is just the inner and the fly to unzip. I can urinate in the wee hours without having to leave my sleeping bag. Oh so convenient on cold nights. Only my knees are near the exterior of the tent. The stream is sent to soak things some half a metre from the tent.
The dry desert sands stop any possibility of flow back to where it matters.
We took our time packing and finally got away about 1000. A yerba mate is always enjoyed as I pack up. Topping up the mate half a dozen times, is a good liquid intake spiced up with the delightful brew that so many Argentineans love. The mate is packed last and the bombillla goes in my bar bag.
Once on the road, the westerly hampered proceedings greatly. It was gear changing all the way. Even downhill, pedalling was required.
I boiled the creek water last night, drinking it whilst riding made me feel a bit dodgey.
A guy waiting for his son to get dropped off in a collectivo ( minivan buses) topped up my drink bottle with tap water. It tasted like honey compared to my boiled saline creek water.
The road was undulating, a situation existed, where it took us up and back on down again.
All day Dorothy rode ahead, early in the day she felt dizzy from the tooth problem. For me it was best she be ahead in case she succumbed to some further problems from the tooth.
Whilst behind, on one straight, two guachos crossed the road ahead of me. We greeted each other. They pulled up on their solid powerful mounts, their dog accompanying them.
The horses were animals to behold. Strong bodied, radiating strength, and like their mounts were hardened by their environment. Above all, they had warmth and spirit radiating from their presence.
The two guys had these same attributes.
We talked at length. Their sun burnt faces under their traditional berets, radiated pride, care for their animals and honesty, it was a pleasure to spend time with these legendary horse riders of Argentina.
One of the horses wouldn’t warm to me, but the other, a grey, let me stroke her jaw and mane. Maybe because we shared the same coloured hair!
It was special moment for me, for these were horses used to the loneliest, harshest of environments. An environment they knew and called home. , Where strangers are probably not often encountered. The rider bought him close for me to continue to stroke while we chatted.
Their footwear was soft clothe type attire, not designed to hurt their animals, further indicating a unique relationship with the horses, a bond not dissimilar to that of an father with his young child.
I asked to take a photo, they obliged. They also told me the lands out here are public. We warmly wished each other the best.
I rode on.
They continued across the road and on into the featureless scrubby desert, here they disappeared as they melted into the landscape, their landscape.
Riding on, some trucks were seen in the distance, so was Dorothys bike parked on the side of the road. She was sitting down chatting with her back against one of the drive wheels of the semi. The guys were having a break.
Pulling in we all chatted, we got some water and kept going. The guys were carting sand to Las lajas.
We were really battling these winds, it was unreal, welcome to Patagonia and the legendary winds.
Though, careful study of synoptic charts may make passage more predictable. The man waiting for his son told me tomorrow will be calm.
Again, behind Dorothy, a bunch of guys laying a plastic pipeline alongside the road were asked for water, they had plenty.
On asking, they were laying the casing for fibre optic cable.
The cable layers can pull the cable in 4km sections then have to join it.
The three pipes, 40mm approx are moulded together, the other two are for cables that maybe needed later.
Presently Australia is in the process of a fibre optic roll out. I told the guys they were lucky that no other pipes or cables were in the ground. In the past I have experienced accidentally cutting underground cables during my days as an Arborist.
From here it was still 6km to town, the wind still blew from my right. Every kilometre was hard work.
On arriving in town after crossing the Rio Agrio, Dorothy was waiting and had been for awhile, though it suited her, she had not suffered further from the tooth ache.
In town, we bought ice creams. The menta granozada is beyond description after 5 days in the desert.
We bought fruit at the supermarket, could not connect to the free wifi in the plaza, found a motel, had dinner, swapped photos, enjoyed a red wine, had a shower with plenty of flow and enjoyed time in a large room with two beds and a kitchen
Tomorrow sees me head west across Paso Pino de Hachado to Chile and Dorothy south to Zapala, still on Ruta 40.
These last ten days together, have in my opinion, been spent on the hardest part of Ruta 40, since entering Argentina at Paso Jama.
Our meeting by chance, makes me think again about Minnesota.
Dorothy said today, if not for me, she would have taken a ride in the sand storm. That could have seen her here days ago.
“It will look after you”, were the words of a Native American elder. Well for this 10 day passage we were both looked after. Our being together gave us strength and encouragement to move on through, often difficult conditions.
27/10/2013 Las Lajas,AR to Liucura, CL
D82, T5/7, Av15, Max62, Tot21478, 11,680
Perfect day, almost no wind
Dorothy got away before me, The owner let me stay a little longer in the Hotel.
She was heading south to Zapala for a break.
Chances are we may bump into each other again further south.
My journey was heading over Paso Pino de Hachado and into Chile.
The man I met on the side of the road yesterday was spot on with his forecast of no wind.
It was absolute bliss riding west with no wind, just a cloudless brilliant day.
The road followed the Rio Agrio for some time, riding was easy. It was nice to see some green vegetation.
Soon the climbing started, the gradient was gentle and without wind, good progress was made.
Lunch was enjoyed near one of the classic Patagonia wind signs, that of a depiction palm tree in a gale.
Not today.
Soon trees came into view, they were Araucarias, Monkey Puzzle trees. It was quite bazaar to see them way up here.
Once at the top of this section, the road even had some small descents on its passage.
The scenery was brilliant, that of the Monkey Puzzle trees growing amongst the most interesting rock formations and below me a mountain stream, people were seen fishing for trout from its banks.
Later I found out, the trout are few, due to over fishing.
It was so nice to see scenery that was not all brown and showed signs of receiving plentiful rain.
The Argentinian border crossing was reached about 1530. Here formalities were done.
They asked me how I was travelling, on hearing it was by bike they let me go through, not wanting to inspect my belongings.
From here, snow was on the roadside. At 60km the top was reached. From then on, it was a scenic delight downhill to the Chilean border control some 8km on.
The customs here were a bit more thorough, wanting to check my food, luckily my oranges and apple had already been eaten.
The facility was almost brand new and very modern.
My coca leaves are still with me, they were declared. They wanted to check my food pannier. All was ok except my salami.
I was told to toss it in the bin.
I still had bread and told the guys I would eat it here, that was ok.
So a five inch roll of salami was devoured in situ.
The time was spent talking with a couple of women who worked there.
Before leaving at 1830, I rugged up in longs, thick gloves and raincoat.
The air is now moist, it is great, my dry lips will be able to recuperate.
The girls said it was 15km downhill to Liucura, here were Alojamientos, they told me off a cheap one.
Though when reaching town, it had been passed further back.
Lodgings were booked across the road from the small tienda.
Dinner was enjoyed in the restaurant, that of chicken, salad and rice.
I still keep thinking how fortunate I was to have crossed the mountains on such a perfect day. The guys at the CL immigration said the wind was howling yesterday.
Riding through the snow clad areas in such conditions allowed me to ride in just shorts and a couple of woollen layers.
The owner told me the temperatures will be about 26 during the day and get to 10 in the evenings.
28/10/2013Liacura to a farm 8km east of Melipeuco
D66, T5/7, Av12.83, Max46, Tot21544, 11746
Fine, light winds warm
To say that I slept like a baby was a gross understatement, I slept like a thousand babies!!
Up in the morning, porridge and raisins and a coffee were enjoyed in the room.
Bread was bought at the tienda with tomatoes and onion.
I was taking the back road to Temuco, this meant 60km of gravel, it also meant few cars and a relaxed environment.
The road was in pretty good condition with corrugations not a significant factor.
What a different world to that of Ruta 40, every kilometre, there was a stream, lambs were calling out for their mothers and small farms with every manner of dwelling were scattered along the road side. Horsemen were occassional riding alongside the road.
The Araucarias were scattered all through the landscape as were Weeping Willow trees near watercourses.
It was a steady climb with descents every now and again.
Once at one high area I descending into a beautiful mountain valley. This section of the Andes has two ranges.
In this rich valley were hundreds of MP trees among other species.
Laguna de Icalma was the centre piece of the valley, it was a large body of water feed by snow clad mountains to the north and dozens of small streams coming down and under the road from the east.
Fruit and a couple of Cokes were enjoyed at Icalma.
From here the road was covered in fresh 2 inch aggregate. Vehicles had yet to move it aside to form tracks. It was unrideable on the uphill sections.
A bit of walking was done here and there. The fascinating alpine scenery in its countless shades of green made the going easy.
The lake filled the lowest points along the length of the valley, with cabañas along its shores. Though the area was strictly rural.
Once at the end of the valley the climbing began again, the road was much better.
Of the four or five cars encountered, most were travelling dangerously fast on the rough road.
Had I been a little closer to one corner, it could have been curtains.
In this more developed country of Chile, people are in more of a hurry, in many ways, time and money were determining how they were driving.
Time, they probably didn’t have alot of, and money or the making thereof was probably the main purpose for their hurried passage.
During my time working for myself, this was very often my scenario. I was always busy. I was then trapped in this treadmill. Though at the time thrived within it.
Along the roadside were large areas of stumps and weathered logs, from logging days of old.
The Araucaria forests were keeping the light low at times. The trunks of these oddly branched trees, hence the name, were covered in a weeping moss. It was like tufts of hairs on the legs of advancing giants.
Soon the top was reached. By now it was rather cool.
My thick gloves were put on along with my raincoat.
The 15 odd km descent was concentration all the way the loose gravel was treacherous.
As always my 60 plus kg wants to propel me downward at a wreckless pace. In this respect the brakes were on all the way.
They are presently working on the road, so loose gravel and the unexpected were the norm.
Once things leveled out, the days efforts were rewarded with asphalt, it was so good just to ride along, and just take in the scenery with a easy mind.
Coming down the range, concentration was so demanding that often to enjoy the scenery I had to stop.
Coming off in this stuff would not be nice.
I started looking for campsites about 1830.
Most roadside land was fenced. One area was checked with just a wire gate, it could be seen from hte road and was wet under foot. It was far from suitable.
A farmer was seen above the road scratching around by his shed.
I went back and asked him if I could camp the night on his place. Not a problem.
I pushed the bike up to his cosy, dirt floored home.
We chatted for awhile and both walked the bike to a spot above the house.
After 5 or 6 weeks in the Andean rain shadow on Ruta 40 in AR, this, believe me, this was like the garden of Eden.
Above the house was a sloping area with short lush grasses, there were rabbits scurrying off, quail gliding to cover, sheep, heads down eating the lush pasture while their lambs played in groups. Rosehip and Blackberry bushes were scattered through the area, all with fresh new shoots and leaves, parrots recklessly flying by, squarking as they went. There were two streams either side of me, both crystal clear with spring water from the lushly vegetated range above.
The farmers horse was tethered to a tree by the house, the late afternoon cacophony of many bird species was all around. The air was moist and mild.
This was a world familiar to me.
This being so, provides me with more wonderment when in desert environments.
The dry landscapes of Peru, Bolivia and Argentina in their vastness inflict much more emotion as they are traversed. People, animals and plants in these dry places, are so special.
As witnessed by the many adaptions that makes them unique. Those of horrendously thorny trees, the llamas soft feet that conserve the land that feeds them, and the easy ambiance of the people whose lives are closely linked with the seasons.
It was just bliss camping with grass under foot, not sand. The gentle slope made for good sleeping conditions.
Just before nightfall the farmers sheep, some 50, sauntered unassisted into their yards for the night.
I felt so relaxed and at ease, back in a world so familiar. Though, of course these feelings were experienced east of the Andes.
Life really is easy with the presence of reliable rain and mild temperatures.
29/10/2013 The farm to Cunco
D42, T2/3, Av18.64, Max42, Tot 21586, 11788
Westerly blowing (of course!!) fine, though a bit cool
In the morning farmer bought his nephew over to meet me.
He was about 16 years old, he was having a chuckle at my Spanish skills while we were chatting. Pleasingly, he knew what I was trying to say.
When trying to discuss things not spoken about before, I sometimes feel so inadequate in my Spanish ability.
Having said this, it is improving, all be it very slowly. It is such a great way to keep my mind active.
Always whilst riding, I stop when words are seen on signs or other printed media, or when a word comes to mind that is not known.
My little electronic translator sees that a meaning is given to the particular word or words.
The hard part is just remembering it!
The farmer owned all the land to the top of the mountain, all forest.
Leaving after he gave me water from his house.
It had two rooms, was made of iron and had a dirt floor. My first impression was how cosy and homely it felt.
I explained how people in my country, have these ridiculously big homes and only use a small part of them. Many of them are often always wanting something bigger and better.
Most of these ambitions are motivated by the hope of capital gain. In our capitalist world almost all property is bought with this in mind.
Sadly for some, it is like a peacock displaying his fan.
In my opinion, some of these new fashionable white, sterile, perfect buildings with cold tiled floors are really, only vehicles for monetary gain.
It is so nice to walk into someones house that feels like it is truly lived in.
You know, a bit of stuff lying about, a few things that look like they are old and worn.
One whence inside, for me importantly, where most spaces look used.
Houses that have these attributes are instantly recognisable as soon as you walk inside. All credit goes to those who dwell in such abodes.
The ride to Cunco, though very gently downhill was hampered by the westerly.
Lunch of sardines in buns with tomato and onion was enjoyed. The old syringe under the park bench was not.
In Melipeuco, a bag full of bananas, apples and pears were eaten outside the shop.
Further along the road were Eucalypt plantations, pine plantations and again dwellings on what appeared to be small lifestyle type plots of a few acres.
Everything was lush and green, I am still getting used to this.
Once in Cunco, the Mauro Sport cabañas were booked, a little costly but having a whole cabin to myself was great.
It was in the middle of town, the owner was a good guy, breakfast was provided, importantly it was sunny.
Washing was done.
The water is always a dark brown after a week in the same riding gear. Roads really are dirty places. So are winds laden with dust.
Dinner was ham, avocado, cheese, lettuce, onion in fresh bread rolls and a litre of vino tinto.
Followed by the sleep of all those babies again.
 Estamos ahora en Patagonia Norte
 Brasilleños con suyos motos
 Mas tarde en el dia, un jugar muy popular con las cabras.
 Borrachitos en Chos Malal, son las ocho y media en la mañana. Ellos estaban muy feliz.
 Estabamos muy afortunado encontando este jugar
 Yo he estado a través de el desierto en un caballo con no nombre
 Paso de Pino Hachado
 Estos Mercs viejos son aun trabajando en todos partes
 Las Araucarias primeras
 El cordero fui muy inquisitivo
 Piernas de los gigantes!
 Lava de Volcan Llaima, Hay una erupción 1751
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 Barrancas
 Siempre seca pero todos el tiempo interesante
 Dorothy en el valle delante de cerro del Tromen
 ¿hay aceite en estas colinas?
 La primavera en el desierto
 Loros con suyos huecos en los precipicios cerca la carretera
 Rio Agrio en Las Lajas
 El dia estuvo perfecto, con no viento
 Despues de AR aduanas
 Chile!!
 Laguna de Icalma
 Mi casa, Cunco por dos dias
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Eden!
