Tag: cycle

Day 5: El Amarillo – Villa Santa Lucía


Distance: 36.27 miles

Time: 4:06

Elevation Gain: 2,920 feet

As I made my way back out of the national park in the morning, there were quite a few vehicles coming the other way, so it was a surprise to see that the wooden barricade was still across the entrance when I reached it, until I saw the inhabitants of a motor home parking up to move the barrier aside, that was.

For the first few miles, on leaving El Amarillo, the going was good: bright skies, flat roads, minimal traffic, and a bit of a tailwind.

My notes suggested that this stretch should be poor gravel, so I was wondering when the bubble would burst. But 10 miles in, as I crossed an impressive looking bridge over the Río Yelcho, the wind had threatened to turn against me, and droplets of rain had hinted at showers to come, but the tarmac didn’t look like it would be ending any time soon.

The road undulated along the side of Lago Yelcho, a fine range of mountains towering over the far shore providing a majestic backdrop to the scene.

Beyond the lake, I climbed up to a bridge over a heavily swollen river, reminding me of the previous evening’s downpour, before a brief shower caused me to pause in a roadside shelter, donning my waterproofs for a short spell.

Still the tarmac endured, so when I reached the last ten miles, I wondered what the catch was, before quickly finding out, when I started to climb at an alarming rate, the road ramping up steeply, before turning into an unrelenting grind. My legs had little more to give and I wondered why this seemed so tough when climbs had been feeling relatively good up until now. Then I remembered I’d let some air out of the tyres for the gravel roads, that could be it.

Eventually I summited the pass at over 2000 feet, and quickly I was descending on fantastic roads into the valley on the other side, pleasant running all the way to Villa Santa Lucía where I hoped to find accommodation for the night.

Making in the direction of Campsite El Mañio, my eye was drawn to a food stall offering Empanadas across the street, so I opted to sort dinner first, and deal with where to sleep, after. My empanada arrived quickly, but the papas fritas took a little longer to materialise, by which time a fellow cyclist from Australia, named Andrew, had turned up.

He had started in Bariloche on the day that I’d arrived in Chile, but had been suffering with illness so had been staying in Villa Santa Lucía for three nights, now. He was hoping to make it all the way down to Ushuaia right at the south of Argentina, and had no real time constraints.

He recommended the place he was staying, Hostal El Mate, and at 25,000 (£20) Chilean Pesos for bed and breakfast, with a private bathroom, and bikes locked in a shed, that would do for me. Would I like for him to show me where it was and communicate with the owner on my behalf? Well, yes, that would be ideal.

Day 3: Hornopirén – Lago Río Blanco


Distance: 22:26 miles

Time: 4.11

Elevation Gain: 2,536 feet

Just along the road from the ferry port, there was a sign for a cabaña – or cabin – and Pablo quickly entered into a dialogue with the owner. It was quite large, on two levels and had 4 bedrooms, certainly plenty of space for the three of us, and relatively inexpensive. It looked like we’d evaded setting up our tents for another evening.

Being 100 yards along the road from the ferry port certainly came in handy in the morning, too, when we had to be packed up and at the ferry terminal at 9:00 to get our ticket dates amended from whatever they had been set to when we booked for this ferry the day before.

It was a glorious day, so I was not complaining at the prospect of a lengthy ferry journey in such a picturesque location. The fact that cyclists had to board first, a full hour before departure, did seem a tad excessive, though.
After 3 and a half hours of cruising down a stunning sea lake in bright sunshine, the curve ball of the bi-modal ferry was about to come into play. All we knew was that, shortly, we’d be alighting at Leptepú in the Douglas Tomkins National Park and we’d have 10 km to cover before the next ferry, potentially half an hour later.

As Pablo was a little worried about pushing hard with a sore knee, a plan was hatched with one of the drivers on the boat, that he could take our panniers between the ports in his pick up truck. The only issue with this was that the driver wanted to rush to make the first ferry, so a new plan was hatched where Marlen would go with the bags – and her bike – in the back of the pick up truck, and get out at the port to wait for us.

The first ferry? So there was a second ferry, then? That was the thought that played on my mind as we raced across the island, arriving at the port to find a long line of cars and the other cyclists who had been on our ferry, but no Marlen. We had to assume that the man with the pick up truck had made the first ferry, then, but without time to let Marlen out, perhaps she’d be waiting on the other side?…

While we waited, I spoke to a father and daughter from near Gold Coast, in Australia. The daughter had been backpacking in Chile, when the father had said he would come and visit, but only if it involved a cycle tour, so this was day two.

Eventually the ferry returned, and we were pleased to find Marlen waiting with all of our possessions on the other side.

The plan had been to carry on for 27 miles to Chaiten, but having had to wait for the second ferry, it was now nearly 4 o’clock, and we could see that the road ahead looked like it would be fairly rough gravel, so it was decided that we should aim for a campsite at Lago Río Blanco, some 16 miles away.

The road was rough and rocky, at times a challenge to keep going on a loaded touring bike, and I considered a new barometer for whether my 45 mm tyres were sufficient. If they made it to the end of the route in one piece, they were.

After Pablo had told us, on several occasions, that it was downhill for the next stretch, just before the track rose again, we arrived at a stunning viewpoint overlooking the Lago Río Negro, not long to Lago Río Blanco now, and still the road climbed and perhaps the steepest slope yet.

Eventually we plummeted down to the lakeside and turned into the campsite, which was in a beautiful spot, but unfortunately only had a very few camping spots, mainly on decking beside the water’s edge. Luckily one of the other campsite inhabitants offered us part use of their parking space, to set up our tents, and another couple brought us over a table and chairs to use, turning it into quite an acceptable ad-hoc campsite.

Day 2: Manihueico – Hornopirén

Distance: 32.18 miles

Time: 3:59

Elevation Gain: 2,644 feet

After a good sleep in the ‘Glamping’ pod, I heated water to have with some quite pleasant granola with cranberries that I’d picked up at the supermarket, before packing up to leave.

The entire stay including the evening meal and a local craft beer, had cost around £20, which definitely seemed like good value, especially when combined with our host’s good humour.

Setting off, with Marlen and Pablo again, we enjoyed a short stretch along the coast, the weather was fair, but there was a stiff breeze in our faces as we headed in the direction of Contao.

Soon, however, the road turned inland and started to climb, and we struggled up steepening gradients, working our way through the trees, into ever strengthening sunshine.

The windchill took the edge off as we crested an undulating plateau at 800 feet elevation, and views back out towards the sea emerged.

A lengthy downhill followed with Pablo and Marlen rocketing into the distance, confidence inspired by their background in mountain biking, and also their far superior hydraulic disc brakes.

Shortly afterwards, we stopped at a local minimarket for some snacks, the sign suggested that it was open, but there was no one inside, not until the shopkeeper emerged from the house nearby to open it up for us.

Pickings were slim, but I ended up with a packet of small scones, the hardness of which gave the impression that they’d been in the shop for a considerable amount of time.

Surprisingly, though, they did taste quite good, especially after Pablo produced a squeezable pouch of Manjar Tradicional as an accompaniment. It’s a type of Dulche de Leche also common in his home country of Argentina.

Another climb led to an attractive and fertile open valley, with horses stretching their legs in the fields that lay either side of the road.

The last descent, down into Hornopirén, was joyous, with a great road surface, and fantastic views of the happily situated bay starting to unfold.

First port of call was, in fact, the ferry terminal, as we strove to source the elusive tickets for the next part of the route, the Bi-modal ferry to Caleta Gonzalo. Elusive, in that we had spent the entirety of the previous ferry crossing – the day before – attempting to buy tickets online, before realising that the system would not be working any time soon.

And in case you’re wondering what a Bi-modal ferry is, it’s a ferry journey, in which we’d have to get out and cycle in the middle. I’m sure it’ll catch on…

Day 1: Puerto Montt – Manihueico

Distance: 33.6 miles

Time: 3:41

Elevation Gain: 1,719 feet

Unsurprisingly, I got off to a slow start, rushing to get all of my equipment packed and out of the room by the midday check out time. Rolling down the hill to the large shopping centre down by the waterfront, I was optimistic that my bike seemed to be working quite well, and it felt quite comfortable after the last minute handlebar stem swap out.

Although the forecast was promising showers for the day, the hot weather of the last couple of days had made me regret only bringing merino wool baselayers as they could be a little warm in the sunshine, so I rushed back into Decathlon to pick up the lightest synthetic t-shirt I could find, and followed that up by hunting down the Unimarc supermarket to pick up some supplies and a lighter, for my stove.

Finally, setting off along the coastal cycle path at just after 2 o’clock, I was now officially pedalling along the Carretera Austral. Less than a mile later the main road climbed steeply over a bluff, and I continued along the coast to avoid it, being passed by a couple of cyclists going the other way, which gave me hope that this could be a passable route, a hope that soon evaporated when the road turned to dirt a few metres later, and even more so when I encountered a large puddle of standing water covering the entirety of the road.

Never keen to retrace my steps, I climbed tentatively around the edge and carried on my way, passing a large number of surprisingly docile dogs, one of which looked like it’d jumped out of its fur when I emerged at its side, and pedalled by. Finally, the shoe was on the other foot.

Eventually, I rejoined the main road, Highway 7, and as I stopped at a bus stop to have a snack, the pair of cyclists that I’d seen going the other way earlier on, cycled past, having presumably also encountered the large puddle on the dirt road, but taken evasive action.
Shortly after I stopped for my first Empanada of the ride, similar to pasties, this one was of the chicken and cheese variety and was very pleasant.

Back on the road, I was soon hot on the heels of the cyclists from earlier, and I was gaining on them as I tackled the first climb of the route, one that proved tough in the warm sunshine, especially as I was still wearing my waterproof trousers after the earlier downpours.

Catching up with the pair as they stopped outside a shop, we quickly became introduced, they were a couple from Switzerland, Marlen and Pablo, although Pablo was originally from Argentina.

There was some debate as to whether any of us were planning on pushing on towards the Caleta La Arena ferry this evening, or whether we were hoping to find somewhere to camp sooner. Pedro had cycled this stretch in the opposite direction the year before so was hoping to stop at a campsite this side of the ferry, but in the end we missed it, so carried on up and over a couple of short hills to the ferry port, conveniently just as the ferry was arriving.

Disembarking at Caleta Puelche, it was only 4 km to what Google Maps showed – mysteriously – as ‘Camping y Glamping’, and our hearts sank when we arrived and it was deserted, but we made good use of Pablo’s native Spanish language skills to call the number in the window, and the host rushed along to make us feel at home.

In the end, we all decided that our tents could wait for another day, and the ‘glamping’ setup would do the trick, in this case, a large tent with bed, lights, and power. He also offered to make us burgers for dinner, so my stove could also remain happily ensconced within my panniers.