9/10/2013 Caucete to 70km south, camping
D70, T8, Tot 20335, 10500
Fine calm day
Getting on the road at about 1230, about as late as I could stay at the hotel.
Asking about town, a clinic was visited to get yet another hole in a tooth fixed. This one was huge, upon spitting the excavation material out after the drilling exercise, the bowl was littered with chunks of metal. Feeling around with my tongue revealed nothing short of a dental canyon in the molar.
Before leaving the motel, salami on bread with tomato and cheese was enjoyed. The people on the roadside had told me of a series of backroads to take on the way to Mendoza.
Supposing to turn off at Villa Independencia, this turn was missed, only because a great tailwind was ramping me along the road at such an enjoyable effortless speed.
Another left turn was taken. The ride from here took me on a rural jaunt through small peublitos and vineyards intermingled with an assortment of crops.
Those being, pumpkin, tomatoes, onions and olives just to name a few.
There were irrigation ditches everywhere. Often running infont of people’s homes. Many homes were very humble affairs to say the least.
The ditch outside these homes was for the most part full of rubbish, down the road infront of more elaborate homes it was spotless.
It seems to indicate that those who struggle to feed and provide shelter for themselves, do not have time to consider disposal of waste properly or care about it.
Quite rightly so in some respects, I feel.
Though, in most places visited, there are absolutely no bins to put empty bottles or the like.
The water in this area is artesian water, most of it rising to the surface without pumping and still providing a good flow rate.
Much like the Great Artesian Basin in Australia, where many bores ran uninterrupted for years, just wasting water, until the government decided they needed to be capped.
Water supplies for the night were taken straight from one such bore.
It was great just stopping and chatting to people. At one house a bunch of guys were repairing an adobe roof. A young girl Paula told me she was studying English we chatted for a while.
After some time the road came back out onto Ruta 40, with trucks, no shoulder and a solid wind.
Often now, I stop in the middle of the day, it is no problems riding till 1930. It is cooler and there is less chance of being spotted setting up camp.
Stopping under a huge Eucalyptus for sardines on crackers and mate, a truck driver pulled over to tarp his load.
We shared the mate together. This tradition is coping a bit of flack due to the possible transmission of germs when using the bombilla.
Again about 1900, a camp was needed, it was a busy road with fences and houses along its edges where accessible.
A side road was needed, one soon came into sight on the right, this was accessed. It led to a dumping ground for all sorts of waste, much of it plastic.
These bags snag on the thorny trees and cacti, it is such a ugly sight seeing these bags blowing in the wind, attached all through the vegetation.
Once again, a small dry sandy creek bed was used, it was the most thorn ridden site yet. If I get out of here without a flat tyre or bed, luck will be the best description of my good fortune.
Pasta and tuna were enjoyed in a tomato sauce with chilli and garlic.
As the day cooled off the sound of plastic bottles could be heard as they contracted. Luckily, parrots returning late to their homes, squawked as they flew overhead keeping some sounds, those of nature.
10/ 10/2013 23km north of Mendoza
D105, T6, Av21.99, Max 31, Tot 20405, 10605
Zonda not blowing, 26°C clear
It was a mild morning, time was taken to update my writings, getting away about 0930, the airbed had made it through the night unholed.
I thought the tyres too, were ok. Not so, once out on the gravel road my front tyre was going down rapidly. On checking the tube, two spines had holed it.
This was patched, there was no sense in putting in a new one in only to be holed in this arid environment where almost every plant has spines or thorns.
Whilst patching it, a convoy of old trucks was carting gravel out to the main road, no one was in a hurry.
The road was still flat and the country monotonous, with that ever so dry feeling about it, though always interesting. Eucalyptus trees as always were the dominant species.
Off in the distance, west, above the range could be seen Cerro Tambillo, snow capped behind a heat haze.
The road kept getting busier and was becoming quite dangerous, I held my ground on the white line at the roads edge and kept dead straight when trucks coming from behind could be heard, two approaching at once was always a problem, there was not much room for the three of us.
Luckily these encounters were few and lasted a very short moment. Within about 30km of Mendoza, a few drinks were had at a kiosco, here some guys were spoken to about the road west among other things.
They said to be careful around 15km north of Mendoza, there are thieves about. I didn’t take too much notice, though acknowledged their concerns.
Getting closer to town, a couple of guys parked infront of a heavily treed area were asked if about camping in there.
It was no good. They then proceeded to tell me exactly what the other guys had said.
They told me to go up the road and ask a farmer to stay on his place.
I thanked them and proceeded to do just that.
Riding to the gate of the first farm, a lady was asked if I could camp there, she asked the owner.
I told him I needed nothing, I had water and food.
He opened the gate and we wandered over to the farm buildings, they had just killed a lamb and were beginning to skin it.
There was rich red blood everywhere.
This took my mind back to days when I worked in the long since closed meat works at Whakatu in Hastings, NZ.
One particular day, a visit was made up to the slaughter end of the chain. I was in the freezer run in gang. This is far from the bloody end.
Watching the slaughter men slit the throats of the animals at close proximity, there was this smell of warm blood. A kind of smell you could almost feel as it permeated your nostrils.
Always remembering how nausea overcame me.
It wasn’t the act of killing the sheep that struck me. It was that smell.
Another day out of curiosity, a visit to the cattle slaughterhouse was made.
Here the animals were moved down a narrow walkway to a person who placed a gun to their temples, which sent a spike into their brains. This rendered them unconscious.
These animals were visibly terrified and were shaking.
They only way they could be moved towards their fate was with electric prodders.
Once stunned they slumped to the floor where a hook was placed through a shank in the hind leg. They were then strung up and had their throats slit.
All the while the other animals awaiting their fate could see this.
Whilst watching, one animal, still with nerves reacting kicked the slaughter man whilst hanging. Well, he went berserk and literally attacked the throat area above the head.
Here, it was the fear in the animal’s eyes and their shaking that will never be forgotten.
A retreat to my little part of the process was made, here there was no blood.
The carcasses were far removed from the living thing.
Today as we buy meat it is so far detached from the living thing, one does not even think of that aspect when eating meat.
In the supermarkets, it is cut to the same shape, packaged neatly and has blood absorbing pads placed beneath it in the polystyrene tray.
It is almost like it is something made in a factory. Something that is very enjoyable to eat, because of this detachment from life in a paddock or in many cases, a shed.
Martin, the owner, a guy about 30, was great company, he offered me his shower, use of the kitchen in the old house and a place to put the tent.
The farm was 25 hectares and was mainly in grapes though a large part was for cattle grazing.
He had almost every animal of any use to man on the property, sheep, pigs, dogs, cattle, chooks and cats. Though sometimes I feel cats derive more benefit from us than we them.
He also said that this area south of here was dangerous, moreso at night though. It felt great to be within the confines of someones property with a bunch of gnarly dogs on the alert.
He gave me a bottle of local red for the night.
I decided to set up on a trailer in a shed, no need for the tent. He told me the mosquitoes don’t arrive till November.
11/10/2013 farm to 45km sth of Mendoza
D74, T4.5/8, Av15.47, Max34 Tot20479, 10679
Fine cool with Se wind
Up early, Martin wandered over, we would catch up out on the property before I left.
Once packed I rode out to see him and his off sider.
We talked more about the state of farming. Like all farmers he was under payed for what he produced. His grandparents were Italian and Spanish.
Like many Argentineans I have met he was frustrated and sad about their politics. Such a rich, beautiful, bountiful country but really shut off from the rest of the world because of their dodgey economics and loan defaulting.
He asked me to come and meet his wife who was expecting their first child in 5 months.
They were still completing their new home.
We sat around the table talkingfor hours drinking mate, eating walnuts with bread and salami.
I did not leave till 1100.
They were great people, his wife gave me some homemade dulce and Martin gave me a bag of walnuts and another bottle of red.
I could handle this excess weight!
Sure enough closer to town, the housing became decidedly shanty like, it was nice to be moving through here in the middle of the day.
Mendoza was busy, People from Chile flock here in the weekends to buy cheap clothing and visit wineries.
Hotels were largely booked or just too expensive. At one place a bunch of policemen quietly told me it was for prostitutes. On checking, because it had downstairs rooms it was costly and with no net.
At this point in time I had no need for a prostitute!!
The city was incredibly shady with Plane trees lining most streets.
I pulled in at a Gidos and piggishly ate 3 large ice creams, they are so nice, especially Menta Granazada, (mint chip)
The decision was made to ride on.
So at about 1400, leaving town, a Vea supermarket was spotted in a quite area.
They let me park the bike inside the building. Finally, I found some coffee without added sugar.
The wind was up, traffic was heavy on the 4 lane road.
Though, as each exit ramp was passed, it lessened. Come 1930, a camp site was again required.
At a large construction site for a trucking yard, the live in guard was asked, he was a young guy. He was worried what his boss might say. Fair enough.
The side road was taken ,a guy and his son were asked, they told me to go to an old house that no one lived in across the paddock from us.
This country in places was still planted in grapes, many set up for manual harvesting.
On inspection of the building, it was ideal. Having stopped I realised just how cold the wind was. The shelter it offered was welcome.
Again, the tent was not set up.
My tent footprint was just placed on the ground. The orange aura of Mendoza glowed above the horizon to the south as night fell.
The wine was enjoyed and the home made dulce with bread complimented it.
I ditched the commercial dulce and used the container to store Martins gift. The glass jar was just too heavy.
12/10/2013 45km sth of Mendoza to Tunuyán
D44, T2, Av21, Max40, Tot20524, 10723
A bit fresh and overcast, wearing thick gloves again
It was actually a bit cool this morning, with 40 odd km to Tunuyán, with freeway conditions, it was easy riding. Last night the building was full of dust, for the first time I felt a bit grubby.
Soon arriving at Tunuyán, every ferretería was checked for Bencina, no one had it, the closest product was paint thinner.
Super fuel was bought for the first time to use in the stove. Most other cyclists use this. It will be interesting to see how it burns and how clean it is.
A guy at a bike shop kindly gave me a pair of slightly damaged riding gloves. He informed me of the road ahead. Though, these Argentinians can speak so fast. Luckily, the context of our conversation was known.
Across the road t another ferretería, the lady had traveled in Patagonia she told me of places to go.
She also offered me a jar of homemade peach dulce, embarrassingly I had to turn down her offer, it too was in glass and heavy.
The hotel San Luis was booked.
The owner was a mountain biker.
He told me all about my proposed ride across Paso del Planchón to Chile, west of San Rafael. He had done the ride on a mountain bike.
This will see me cross the Andes again arriving south of Santiago.
D70, T8, Tot 20335, 10500
Fine calm day
Getting on the road at about 1230, about as late as I could stay at the hotel.
Asking about town, a clinic was visited to get yet another hole in a tooth fixed. This one was huge, upon spitting the excavation material out after the drilling exercise, the bowl was littered with chunks of metal. Feeling around with my tongue revealed nothing short of a dental canyon in the molar.
Before leaving the motel, salami on bread with tomato and cheese was enjoyed. The people on the roadside had told me of a series of backroads to take on the way to Mendoza.
Supposing to turn off at Villa Independencia, this turn was missed, only because a great tailwind was ramping me along the road at such an enjoyable effortless speed.
Another left turn was taken. The ride from here took me on a rural jaunt through small peublitos and vineyards intermingled with an assortment of crops.
Those being, pumpkin, tomatoes, onions and olives just to name a few.
There were irrigation ditches everywhere. Often running infont of people’s homes. Many homes were very humble affairs to say the least.
The ditch outside these homes was for the most part full of rubbish, down the road infront of more elaborate homes it was spotless.
It seems to indicate that those who struggle to feed and provide shelter for themselves, do not have time to consider disposal of waste properly or care about it.
Quite rightly so in some respects, I feel.
Though, in most places visited, there are absolutely no bins to put empty bottles or the like.
The water in this area is artesian water, most of it rising to the surface without pumping and still providing a good flow rate.
Much like the Great Artesian Basin in Australia, where many bores ran uninterrupted for years, just wasting water, until the government decided they needed to be capped.
Water supplies for the night were taken straight from one such bore.
It was great just stopping and chatting to people. At one house a bunch of guys were repairing an adobe roof. A young girl Paula told me she was studying English we chatted for a while.
After some time the road came back out onto Ruta 40, with trucks, no shoulder and a solid wind.
Often now, I stop in the middle of the day, it is no problems riding till 1930. It is cooler and there is less chance of being spotted setting up camp.
Stopping under a huge Eucalyptus for sardines on crackers and mate, a truck driver pulled over to tarp his load.
We shared the mate together. This tradition is coping a bit of flack due to the possible transmission of germs when using the bombilla.
Again about 1900, a camp was needed, it was a busy road with fences and houses along its edges where accessible.
A side road was needed, one soon came into sight on the right, this was accessed. It led to a dumping ground for all sorts of waste, much of it plastic.
These bags snag on the thorny trees and cacti, it is such a ugly sight seeing these bags blowing in the wind, attached all through the vegetation.
Once again, a small dry sandy creek bed was used, it was the most thorn ridden site yet. If I get out of here without a flat tyre or bed, luck will be the best description of my good fortune.
Pasta and tuna were enjoyed in a tomato sauce with chilli and garlic.
As the day cooled off the sound of plastic bottles could be heard as they contracted. Luckily, parrots returning late to their homes, squawked as they flew overhead keeping some sounds, those of nature.
10/ 10/2013 23km north of Mendoza
D105, T6, Av21.99, Max 31, Tot 20405, 10605
Zonda not blowing, 26°C clear
It was a mild morning, time was taken to update my writings, getting away about 0930, the airbed had made it through the night unholed.
I thought the tyres too, were ok. Not so, once out on the gravel road my front tyre was going down rapidly. On checking the tube, two spines had holed it.
This was patched, there was no sense in putting in a new one in only to be holed in this arid environment where almost every plant has spines or thorns.
Whilst patching it, a convoy of old trucks was carting gravel out to the main road, no one was in a hurry.
The road was still flat and the country monotonous, with that ever so dry feeling about it, though always interesting. Eucalyptus trees as always were the dominant species.
Off in the distance, west, above the range could be seen Cerro Tambillo, snow capped behind a heat haze.
The road kept getting busier and was becoming quite dangerous, I held my ground on the white line at the roads edge and kept dead straight when trucks coming from behind could be heard, two approaching at once was always a problem, there was not much room for the three of us.
Luckily these encounters were few and lasted a very short moment. Within about 30km of Mendoza, a few drinks were had at a kiosco, here some guys were spoken to about the road west among other things.
They said to be careful around 15km north of Mendoza, there are thieves about. I didn’t take too much notice, though acknowledged their concerns.
Getting closer to town, a couple of guys parked infront of a heavily treed area were asked if about camping in there.
It was no good. They then proceeded to tell me exactly what the other guys had said.
They told me to go up the road and ask a farmer to stay on his place.
I thanked them and proceeded to do just that.
Riding to the gate of the first farm, a lady was asked if I could camp there, she asked the owner.
I told him I needed nothing, I had water and food.
He opened the gate and we wandered over to the farm buildings, they had just killed a lamb and were beginning to skin it.
There was rich red blood everywhere.
This took my mind back to days when I worked in the long since closed meat works at Whakatu in Hastings, NZ.
One particular day, a visit was made up to the slaughter end of the chain. I was in the freezer run in gang. This is far from the bloody end.
Watching the slaughter men slit the throats of the animals at close proximity, there was this smell of warm blood. A kind of smell you could almost feel as it permeated your nostrils.
Always remembering how nausea overcame me.
It wasn’t the act of killing the sheep that struck me. It was that smell.
Another day out of curiosity, a visit to the cattle slaughterhouse was made.
Here the animals were moved down a narrow walkway to a person who placed a gun to their temples, which sent a spike into their brains. This rendered them unconscious.
These animals were visibly terrified and were shaking.
They only way they could be moved towards their fate was with electric prodders.
Once stunned they slumped to the floor where a hook was placed through a shank in the hind leg. They were then strung up and had their throats slit.
All the while the other animals awaiting their fate could see this.
Whilst watching, one animal, still with nerves reacting kicked the slaughter man whilst hanging. Well, he went berserk and literally attacked the throat area above the head.
Here, it was the fear in the animal’s eyes and their shaking that will never be forgotten.
A retreat to my little part of the process was made, here there was no blood.
The carcasses were far removed from the living thing.
Today as we buy meat it is so far detached from the living thing, one does not even think of that aspect when eating meat.
In the supermarkets, it is cut to the same shape, packaged neatly and has blood absorbing pads placed beneath it in the polystyrene tray.
It is almost like it is something made in a factory. Something that is very enjoyable to eat, because of this detachment from life in a paddock or in many cases, a shed.
Martin, the owner, a guy about 30, was great company, he offered me his shower, use of the kitchen in the old house and a place to put the tent.
The farm was 25 hectares and was mainly in grapes though a large part was for cattle grazing.
He had almost every animal of any use to man on the property, sheep, pigs, dogs, cattle, chooks and cats. Though sometimes I feel cats derive more benefit from us than we them.
He also said that this area south of here was dangerous, moreso at night though. It felt great to be within the confines of someones property with a bunch of gnarly dogs on the alert.
He gave me a bottle of local red for the night.
I decided to set up on a trailer in a shed, no need for the tent. He told me the mosquitoes don’t arrive till November.
11/10/2013 farm to 45km sth of Mendoza
D74, T4.5/8, Av15.47, Max34 Tot20479, 10679
Fine cool with Se wind
Up early, Martin wandered over, we would catch up out on the property before I left.
Once packed I rode out to see him and his off sider.
We talked more about the state of farming. Like all farmers he was under payed for what he produced. His grandparents were Italian and Spanish.
Like many Argentineans I have met he was frustrated and sad about their politics. Such a rich, beautiful, bountiful country but really shut off from the rest of the world because of their dodgey economics and loan defaulting.
He asked me to come and meet his wife who was expecting their first child in 5 months.
They were still completing their new home.
We sat around the table talkingfor hours drinking mate, eating walnuts with bread and salami.
I did not leave till 1100.
They were great people, his wife gave me some homemade dulce and Martin gave me a bag of walnuts and another bottle of red.
I could handle this excess weight!
Sure enough closer to town, the housing became decidedly shanty like, it was nice to be moving through here in the middle of the day.
Mendoza was busy, People from Chile flock here in the weekends to buy cheap clothing and visit wineries.
Hotels were largely booked or just too expensive. At one place a bunch of policemen quietly told me it was for prostitutes. On checking, because it had downstairs rooms it was costly and with no net.
At this point in time I had no need for a prostitute!!
The city was incredibly shady with Plane trees lining most streets.
I pulled in at a Gidos and piggishly ate 3 large ice creams, they are so nice, especially Menta Granazada, (mint chip)
The decision was made to ride on.
So at about 1400, leaving town, a Vea supermarket was spotted in a quite area.
They let me park the bike inside the building. Finally, I found some coffee without added sugar.
The wind was up, traffic was heavy on the 4 lane road.
Though, as each exit ramp was passed, it lessened. Come 1930, a camp site was again required.
At a large construction site for a trucking yard, the live in guard was asked, he was a young guy. He was worried what his boss might say. Fair enough.
The side road was taken ,a guy and his son were asked, they told me to go to an old house that no one lived in across the paddock from us.
This country in places was still planted in grapes, many set up for manual harvesting.
On inspection of the building, it was ideal. Having stopped I realised just how cold the wind was. The shelter it offered was welcome.
Again, the tent was not set up.
My tent footprint was just placed on the ground. The orange aura of Mendoza glowed above the horizon to the south as night fell.
The wine was enjoyed and the home made dulce with bread complimented it.
I ditched the commercial dulce and used the container to store Martins gift. The glass jar was just too heavy.
12/10/2013 45km sth of Mendoza to Tunuyán
D44, T2, Av21, Max40, Tot20524, 10723
A bit fresh and overcast, wearing thick gloves again
It was actually a bit cool this morning, with 40 odd km to Tunuyán, with freeway conditions, it was easy riding. Last night the building was full of dust, for the first time I felt a bit grubby.
Soon arriving at Tunuyán, every ferretería was checked for Bencina, no one had it, the closest product was paint thinner.
Super fuel was bought for the first time to use in the stove. Most other cyclists use this. It will be interesting to see how it burns and how clean it is.
A guy at a bike shop kindly gave me a pair of slightly damaged riding gloves. He informed me of the road ahead. Though, these Argentinians can speak so fast. Luckily, the context of our conversation was known.
Across the road t another ferretería, the lady had traveled in Patagonia she told me of places to go.
She also offered me a jar of homemade peach dulce, embarrassingly I had to turn down her offer, it too was in glass and heavy.
The hotel San Luis was booked.
The owner was a mountain biker.
He told me all about my proposed ride across Paso del Planchón to Chile, west of San Rafael. He had done the ride on a mountain bike.
This will see me cross the Andes again arriving south of Santiago.
 Paula, una estudiante de inglés
 Privado, solamente mi y basura y espinas! Pero estuvo muy confortable
 Uvas, variedad, Ceresa Chica, el dentro es blanca, piel es negra.
Los plantas fueron cincuenta años plus.
Las frutas son uvas de mesa.
Los racimos son muy grande
 Martin, con uvas jovenes, variedad Malbec detrás
 La aura de Mendozo de mi camping lugar.
|
 Nidas de lorros, construido con ramas lleno de espinas.
 Estos tanques en los techos otra vez
 Cerro Tambillo en la distancia, oeste, esta 5631 metros alto.
 Cerca el centro, Mendoza
 Muy basico y lleno con polvo, pero estuvo protección del viento
|
