Tag: michael lindsay

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 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 2: Mañihueico – 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 – Mañihueico

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. Pablo 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.