Category: cycle-touring

Day 9: Camping El Chucao – Villa Mañihuales

Distance: 53.76 miles

Time: 6:15

Elevation Gain: 3,153

In the morning, my eyes were much better, and I was up and about to see, first the French girl, and then the Swiss couple, leave, each treated like a mini celebrity by the host, in what was the first few weeks of them running the campsite beside their cabin. Located right at the bottom of a very difficult climb for cyclists, I think it should do quite well.

It was a stunning day, with the temperature set to rise to around 27°, and as I pedalled away, I found myself in a beautiful spot, ringed by mountains, and pedalling along a lake.

It wasn’t long before I saw two cyclists up ahead, and spotting an orange triangular flag on the back of one of the bikes, I assumed it was the Swiss couple from the campsite, however on drawing closer, I discovered that this pair were younger, and were in fact a German couple from Potsdam. They had been on the road for a year already, and not keen on returning home in the winter, would be carrying on until at least the spring. They had started, in the Dominican Republic, before cycling around Cuba, and then down Central America from Mexico to Panama, before skipping the north of South America and continuing down through Argentina and Chile. Where was best I asked? To which the response was that Cuba and Nicaragua were pretty great, but that Chile was quickly climbing up the list.

The couple stopped for a break, so I pushed on myself, over some very lumpy miles to Villa Amengual, where I stopped looking for a shop, to find the group of three who I had seen at the restaurant the day before, sitting on a bench in the shade. They joked that they’d just heard about my red eyes from the Swiss couple. The group consisted of males from Australia and the Netherlands, and a female from Germany. They were on trips of various lengths, the shortest being the 6 weeks the German girl had, and they were in the middle of trying to pack large quantities of stuff, including a very large box of wine, into their panniers.

They believed the shop they’d been to was closed for lunch, so I found another, before returning to hide under the same tree, just as the German couple from earlier turned up.

Soon after, a Belgian cyclist turned up, joking about how we’d all likely met the same people over the last few days, solely knowing them as ‘the Australian guy’, or ‘the two Germans’. However true that may be, this sense of community within the cycle touring fraternity was always a highlight of a trip.

Eventually, I made to leave, and it wasn’t long before I spotted the group of three about to go for a swim, down off the road, in beautiful Lago Verde. It was a hot day and the water looked inviting, but the call of the road was too great, and I was keen to start chipping away at the distance to Mañihuales.

The backdrop to the ride was sensational, with snowcapped peaks and abundant wild flowers, lining the fields.

Just as I was about to stop at a bus stop for a break, the Belgian cyclist, turned up, his name was Julien, which disproves the myth that we never know each other’s names, and he said he had 6 weeks to do his trip. Sounded very reasonable I thought, until he told me his trip was from Santiago to Ushuaia. He was planning on continuing a few more miles to a campsite at Lago Aguirre Cerda, ‘maybe he’d see me there’, he asked. That sounded great I responded, but I’d only covered 35 miles, so I was hoping to manage a few more.

I’d covered nearly 54 miles by the time I reached Mañihuales, stopping at a bakery, for a small pizza and a doughnut, before moving on to a shop, where I discovered a large group of cyclists from New Zealand and Australia. ‘Oh you’re from Scotland’ they asked, ‘whereabouts, we’re travelling with someone from Fife, and someone from Dundee’. Right. Well I’m from Fife too, as it happens…

Day 8: Puyuhuapi – Camping El Chucao

Distance: 43.14 miles

Time: 5:47

Elevation Gain: 3,858 feet

Having done many of these trips, cycling back to back days, without much of a gauge on how I was recovering, other than how I was feeling, on this trip I have a new watch that gives me feedback on metrics such as sleep quality and ‘body battery’. After New Year’s Eve, my body battery had started the day at 46 out of 100, so I had managed my effort as best as possible, taking it slow and stopping after 30 miles.

Fortunately, after an excellent sleep at La Sirena campsite last night, and a sleep score of 98, my body battery was up over 90 and I was feeling ready for what was going to be a very tough day, featuring the hardest climb so far.

After leaving the campsite, I did a little shopping, intrigued by the regular trend of supermarkets not to sell any sort of bread products whatsoever, on this occasion I was pointed down the street, so set off in that direction, until I found a sign that seemed to look hopeful.

In entering what looked like the empty front room of someone’s house, a women emerged and I enquired about ‘pan’, to be pointed in the direction of a small box in the corner covered with a tea towel, and only containing about 10 rolls, the sole produce on offer.

As I climbed up to the junction which would see me rejoin the Carretera, an overexuberant, dog emerged from a nearby property, hurtling towards my back wheel, until I slowed and got off the bike. I’ve noticed an interesting trend about dogs in Chile, in that wild dogs seem to have no interest whatsoever in cyclists, whereas the ones that react angrily towards me are all either farm dogs, or presumably pets. It did get me wondering as to whether anyone had studied the effects of nature versus nurture with regards dogs’ behaviour towards cyclists.

The first 7 or 8 miles were a pleasantly undulating foray along the coast, and mercifully still on tarmac. So far there had been a lot more tarmac than I’d been led to believe.

After a conversation the other day, with Steve from Manchester, in which he had asked how my Spanish was, resulting in me laughing uncontrollably for a minute, before explaining that I had been doing Duo Lingo Spanish for quite a while now, but was in no way able to communicate in Spanish. He had recommended the Coffee Break Español Podcast, which was recorded in Scotland, so I had downloaded a few episodes and began to give it a listen.

Although my conversational Spanish was non-existent, I could, at least, take a little satisfaction from the fact that I understood enough to know that a sign reading ‘Puente Sin Nombre’ meant bridge with no name.

After 8 miles the road ran out, and I stopped to let a little air out of my tyres, to take the edge off the jarring effects of the rocky terrain. In passing Camping Las Toninas, the road turned inland and back into Parque Nacional Queulat, where I spotted a restaurant in the trees, and also the friendly Argentinian from the campsite in Puyuhuapi.

His name was Jorge, and he had started cycling from his hometown of Bariloche in Argentina, a popular starting off point for the Carretera Austral. He was waiting for some women whom he’d met at the campsite and who had offered him a lift over the upcoming climb, which they had told him was dangerous with all the passing trucks.

Turning my attention to the restaurant in the trees, Valle Los Coihues, I ordered mushroom risotto and a coke, and enjoyed the shade on the terrace, while noticing that three of the other occupants were also cycle tourists who I was yet to encounter on the road.

The next stretch, back along the coast, of Fiordo Queulat, was rough, and surprisingly busy, with each passing vehicle throwing up large clouds of dust. The temperature had started to rise, and, whereas, for the last few days, it had maxed out at 20°C, the forecast for the next few days showed it reaching the high 20°s.

All in all, a perfect storm was brewing, the suntan lotion on my brow had started to mix with sweat, and was migrating in the direction of my eyes, where it had been joined by dust, and by the time I reached the bottom of the 5 km gravel climb, Cuesta Queulat, I was already having to stop every time a vehicle appeared, and wait for a minute afterwards for the dust to settle. The opening slopes were a real struggle, steep and loose, and I was off the bike as much as I was on it.

The upper hairpins offered fantastic views of neighbouring snow clad peaks, but I could barely open my eyes wide enough to frame the photos on my phone as my eyes’ sensitivity to both, light, and the dust, ramped up massively.

Two hours later, as the landscape opened out and I reached the top of the climb, the road surface suddenly switched to concrete. The descent would have been a delight, if my eyes weren’t such a red, itchy, mess, and I was able to keep them open enough to see the full extent of the terrain below me.

Infuriated that my progress had been so slow, I was still keen to push on towards my planned destination of Villa Amengual, but it was half past 8, and I was at 43 miles for the day, a lot of which had been over challenging terrain, so when I rolled past a sign for camping on the right hand side, I continuing for long enough to see the road ramp up ahead before turning around and admitting defeat.

On arrival at the site, there were momentary pleasantries with my campsite hosts, and the other guests – a Swiss couple also cycling South, and a French girl heading North, before the state of my eyes started to cause some alarm, and the Swiss lady went running off to her tent in search of some eyedrops.

Day 7: La Junta – Puyuhuapi

Distance: 30.0 miles

Time: 3:42

Elevation Gain: 2,359 feet

Happy New Year to my readers!

Perhaps unsurprisingly, after the Fiesta de Año Nuevo the night before, I was a little slow in getting up this morning, that isn’t to say that I was asleep, though, as the sun had been trying to bore its way through the side of the tent from very early in the morning, so I’d only had four or so hours of sleep.

Due to the poor rest, it was after half past 1 before I finally said my goodbyes to the remaining people from the party, being handed an ice cold beer by my host as I made to leave, very kind but not something I would be drinking any time soon!

I made my way into town, unsure if some enterprising sole would be likely to open their shop on New Year’s Day. Thankfully they had, and I was able to stock up on snacks for the ride, including a large bottle of Gatorade.

On setting off from La Junta, the road continued to track the river, but to my dismay, in constant undulation, and there was a stiff headwind. At times my speed was hovering just above 4 miles an hour, but I knew that if I just kept turning the pedals, I’d get there eventually.

As I approached Puyuhuapi I entered Parque Nacional Queulat, and worked my way along Lago Risopatrón, before the road climbed one last time, and I turned off towards Puyuhuapi, where it was peacefully situated on the banks of Fiordo Ventisquero. Still in two minds as to whether to continue the 10 miles to Camping Las Toninas or not, I rolled past a number of sparsely inhabited camping grounds along the coast, before finding an open food van nicely situated on the bay, I wasn’t off the bike for long before deciding that recovery trumped progress on this occasion.

The van did burgers and that was all I needed to know, except that I also overhead that it was open until 11 in the evening and that was interesting too. It took a little while to be prepared, but the bacon burger with fries and a coke that I received, were quickly dispatched, and very tasty.

The owners of the van were friendly, so I was back for an excellent hunk of apple cake and a coffee, just as soon as I’d pitched my tent.

The campsite I settled on was just along the road at Camping La Sirena. The campsite owners weren’t around, but a friendly Argentinian cyclist was able to give me a lowdown on the facilities, and to tell me that they’d likely be back soon. Although the campsite facilities weren’t the best, the covered camping area was good, and I got by far my best sleep yet.

Day 6: Villa Santa Lucía – La Junta

Distance: 42.52 miles

Time: 4:19:33

Elevation Gain: 2,717 feet

On leaving the hostel, I made my way over to the shop at the campsite, buying a few items before being told that they didn’t have any bread and to try the Empanadas stall across the road. So back I went to the scene of last night’s dinner, picking up a few bread rolls and 2 empanadas de manzana (apple pastries).

Just as I was about to head out of town, I spotted Andrew sitting outside a cafe on the main road, so stopped to thank him for his hostel recommendation. We got talking about all things cycle-touring, something he was new to after many years of hiking, most notably completing the Pacific Crest trail in the United States.

It was a stunning day, around 20°, with a stiff breeze, and I was surrounded by highly-vegetated mountains with snowcaps, it reminded me strongly of Norway.
I set off into the wind, and soon began to closely track the river, captivated by its startling turquoise hue.

After 10 miles, I lowered myself down to the drops on the handlebars, to combat the effects of the wind, and felt a swift change of mindset as the motivation for the trip switched from sightseeing and travel, to a desire to push through the miles on the bike.

Spotting a bus stop up ahead, I took the opportunity to escape the wind and restore some energy, and not long afterwards, another cyclist stopped to do the same. His name was Steve, and he was a school teacher from Melbourne, who had previously completed an end to end of Japan. He was originally from Manchester, which might explain why we were able to understand each other much more easily than with some of the other conversations I’d had on the road.

He was travelling fast and light, on a carbon gravel bike, with an aerodynamic set up of bikepacking bags, and rather neatly a 3 litre triangular water vessel that fitted within the triangle of the bike frame. He was pushing some big miles, hoping for 200 km a day, but there was obvious wear and tear on himself and the bike, which wasn’t helped when the bike toppled from its perch onto the road while we were talking. It seemed sturdy enough, maybe there was something to be said for a light carbon set up for this kind of ride, instead of the bombproof steel frame that I was lugging up the climbs?

Speaking of climbs, the rode undulated a few more times, climbing high above the river, before I dropped down to a bridge just outside La Junta, my eyes drawn to the sign for Camping Agua Vida. Reviews suggested it was the best around, so I rolled through the gate.

As I looked for a camping spot in the pleasant looking site, I passed a man with a flowing white beard stoking the fire underneath two large sheep carcasses. ‘Carne?’ It seemed like the man was offering me meat, but I wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

Later in the evening, as I was sitting at the picnic bench beside my tent, having just consumed a large pan of pasta, the man came over and repeated his question, at which point I turned and realised that everyone in the site was in the midst of a huge feast, with the meat the focal point and large bowls of salad and potatoes being passed around. Cutlery was thrust in my hand, and I soon realised that the man with the flowing beard was the owner of the site, and they were hosting the party.

Fortuitously, I was sat beside an Italian, Daniele, who happened to speak English. He came from the Dolomites, but now worked here most of the year round, largely at one of the thermal baths along the road in Raúl Marín Balmaceda, but also as a rafting guide up river in Futaleufú.

During the summer he went back to Italy and worked there for two months as a rafting guide too. His long term plan was to build a house and cabañas here, which he already had the land for, with one hectare in the area costing as little as €12,000.

The party was tradition at Christmas and New Year. Clearly the owner was in his element and fortunately Daniele was able to translate some of the amusing things he was saying. One quote being, ‘in the summer we drink fine wine with rich people, and in the winter, we drink’, and also, while pouring me a large tumbler of wine, he had implied that it was so that I would stay for another 2 nights. He spent the evening calling me ‘Escocia’, that much I understood.

It was a late night, and certainly a much better New Year’s Eve than I was expecting, I could see why Daniele might want to live here!