Caribbean To Cape By Bike

Mendoza to San Carlos de Bariloche

March 3rd, 2010

Miles: 898.20; Ascent: 42,387 feet

The first few days out of Mendoza were hard work. I’m not kidding. They really were.

My life (that week horsing around with the boys in Mendoza aside) has been reduced to a few simple priorities:

1. Find food.
2. Find water.
3. Find somewhere to sleep.
4. Make progress.

Eating, drinking, sleeping, cycling. Truly, the simple life. (And as if to make up for the lack of other distractions I am doing each of these in abundance.) But on the road out of Mendoza it seemed I would not be entitled even to these simple pleasures without a fight. The ants ate my food. Water sources on the rough and remote 40 remained few and far between. Nights under canvas continued to be achingly hot. And, when I finally rejoined tarmac (which always holds at least the prospect of some decent progress), a howling westerly gale reduced my speed to a paltry 6 km/h. Along the flat! I gave up the ghost altogether after 10. I’ll admit it.

I could count the number of ‘easy’ days cycling I’ve had on this trip on one hand. However much it looks like all the ingredients are coming together for a few easy miles, there’s always something (the road surface, the gradient, the temperature, the wind) making you work for every inch of progress - I’m not kidding.

One of the worst things you can do from a motivational point of view, I’ve learned, is “destination-set”. The moment you pinpoint somewhere to get to on any given day, you set yourself up to be the victim of any number of factors which might prevent you from doing so. A headwind ain’t half so frustrating if you haven’t convinced yourself you have to make it to, say, El Sosneado by nightfall. I try to avoid destination-setting as much as possible; you always get there in the end, and, in any case, the unexpected stops are invariably the more interesting.

I did not, for example, expect to spend the night in an old abandoned railway station in Los Parlamentos. But I did. I really got a bang out of that. And, lo and behold, the next morning the wind had turned in my favour and had blown me all the way into the relaxed town of Malargüe before I knew it. It would have been perfect, only it was a bit hot…

South of Malargüe, however, the tide started to turn and the changes came thick and fast. The road improved, the landscape softened. Streams and rivers ran with water (an encouraging sight after three months of dry river beds); the snowline came down; air temperatures dropped by the day. This was more like it!

It wasn’t long before I was crossing the Río Colorado and entering Patagonia at last. For me this was a significant milestone. Although it constitutes only a small part of my journey through South America, Patagonia has always been the focus of this trip. It’s only taken me eight months to get here! To enter Patagonia is to arrive in a place the names associated with which - Trevelin, Chubut, Futalefú, Chaitén, Villa O’Higgins, Santa Cruz - are places I have dreamt about visiting for years.

And I tell you what, cycling out of Las Lajas up to Pino Hachado, you could certainly tell you had arrived. I’m not kidding. You really could. In the space of only 50km, climbing through your first groves of araucaría trees, you entered a different world. By the time I’d reached the Chilean border it was drizzling slightly and seriously cold. In Peru this pass, at only 1,800m, would have been tropical; here, at 39°S, I was pulling on every piece of warm clothing I had.

I was not heading for the border, but for a dirt road a few hundred metres before customs which I could follow south into the Argentine Lakes. It was late in the day, however, and a decrepit old sign, “BAR”, at my turn off tempted me to investigate further. “Águila Mora” turned out to be a fantastic little place to stay. I was given a small cabin complete with horsehair mattress and heavy bedding, and kept the cold at bay in front of a cosy wood-burning stove. The owner, a slightly stooped man of about seventy, had initially struck me as a bit of an old duffer, wandering around in his pajamas and all, but the photographs adorning the bar of him in his heyday, in each one surrounded by hordes of (different) beautiful women on the Argentine ski-circuit, suggested he’d been no slouch when it came to enjoying himself. The old dog! That killed me.

The Lakes District is home to Argentina’s beautiful people, the “haves” and the “have-yachts”. Luckily, there’s also room enough for louts like me. And it’s a good thing, because it’s stunning; the Lake District on steroids. Everywhere you look there’s yet another beautiful view, another azure lake, another crystal-clear stream. And when you feel like stopping, pick your spot, pitch your tent and take a dip. I wish you could see it. It would knock you out, if you had any sense anyway.

It’s also a fairly relaxing old place to move around. I don’t have any qualms about leaving my stuff unattended at a campsite, or the bike unlocked outside a shop. Everyone does it. And I’m normally paranoid as hell about that sort of stuff. I’m not kidding. I really am.

There’s only one fly in the ointment. Flies. Nasty ones, called tábanos, a type of horsefly. They’ve got a really nasty bite, and are the most persistent little buggers around. They infest Patagonia from December until around late-February, early-March, when they all die off. Good riddance as far as I’m concerned.

All of this, however, is Patagonia for softies. The real action starts here. First up, the famous Carretera Austral, a notorious road which winds its way south for 1,250 km through some of Chile’s most rugged wilderness landscape, not to mention some of its worst weather. The route is well-known for mercilessly pulling bicycles apart, so this could well be the bike’s biggest challenge to date. And mine, I suspect.

Further south, where the southern icefields and their glaciers bring the Carretera Austral to a halt, I’ve got the full force of the Patagonian steppe to contend with, before a final sprint across Tierra del Fuego as far south as the road goes.

All of which assumes, of course, I’ll get that far.

In Bariloche, however, sunshine, a rest, and a chance to catch up with Aaldrik and Sonya before they start heading east towards Buenos Aires and Brazil. It’s been great to see them again and share some stories about our last couple of months on the road.

The Lakes has been a pretty sociable place all round really. There was Rich and Karlene from New Hampshire in Villa Pehuenia. Pat and Jeremy from Jersey in Junín. “Goat” from California in San Martin. Michael from California and Raul from Santiago at Lago Villarino. Not to mention all the other cyclists I’ve bumped into on this popular cycle-touring route.

And let’s not forget Leonardo. I thought I had the place to myself when I set up camp on a deserted beach on the shores of Lago Ñorquinco, near Aluminé. And then old Leonardo turns up in his beaten-up old kayak, taking refuge from the wind in my little cove as it whipped the lake into whitecaps. We had some tea and shot the breeze until the wind died down, when he got back in his kayak and continued on his way. Random.

As Leonardo said, “We live in a crazy world.”

That almost killed me. It really did.

* We’re still feeling the aftershocks of the Chilean earthquake all the way down here in southern Argentina. There have been about 10 distinct tremors over the course of the past couple of days. It’s an unsettling experience. As Charles Darwin wrote, “A bad earthquake at once destroys our oldest associations: the earth, the very emblem of solidity, has moved beneath our feet like a thin crust over a fluid; - one second of time has created in the mind a strange idea of insecurity, which hours of reflection would not have produced.” Let’s hope Chile finds it feet again soon.

Posted in Argentina, February 2010, March 2010 | 1 Comment »

Mendoza to… Mendoza

February 25th, 2010

By special guest contributors Rob and Tim.

Miles: Er, some (on a wine tour); Ascent: Not much

Prior to our arrival in Mendoza from Buenos Aires, we had arranged with James to meet at the Monkey Hostel on the morning of the 30th January. So after being pampered with champagne and movies in our 1st class bus from the capital (beats cycling!), we arrived at the hostel. While at the reception checking in, who should cycle through the door but our friend on two wheels. The first question that came to mind was: ‘What’s with the pony tail James?’. Yes, a pony tail! On top of that were some rather fetching tan lines from 8 months in lycra and a tired looking bike in place of the one we remembered being built up in the Putney flat.

After the obligatory man hugs, it was time for breakfast, James’ second of the day (fatty). Whilst catching up over our corn flakes, as if it was destiny, we were approached by a guy with a look of disbelief on his face. First we assumed it had something to do with James’ pony tail, but then we realised that the Rickmansworth reunion was to be bigger than expected. The guy was actually Andrew Howse, a fellow ex-Batchworth Scout who had been travelling South America for the last 6 months with his girlfriend Emily. Of all the hostels in all of South America… it must have been meant to be!

The plan hatched over breakfast was to cram as many activities as possible into our few days together and to share some great experiences before James needed to pedal on his way south (plus we felt that the blog needed to cover at least some activities other than cycling!). James, ever the organiser of our group, had lined up a night rafting party in celebration of the full moon, which pretty much entailed white water rafting at night, before hitting the beers until the early hours of the morning.

After getting back in at 7am, however, the action-packed itinerary took a bit of a knock, and the day’s activity consisted of a slap up steak dinner followed by a few quiet beers on Mendoza’s bar street with Andrew and Emily.

The next day was to be far more active. We were sure that before arriving in Mendoza, James was probably looking forward to some time out of the saddle. However, as fate would have it, the best way to tour Mendoza’s many fine wineries was… by bike. James’ trusted steed was left in the hostel and replaced by, in our opinion, a far cooler beast in the shape of a retro beach cruiser. After cycling the tree lined roads in search of the wineries, our wolf pack shortly became bigger after meeting two Germans, a Yank and a fellow Brit in Pete, Natasha, Lauren and Antoinette.

It seems that a day drinking wine followed by a few beers was too much for our hero, or perhaps the last 8 months’ exercise had just caught up on him, as James could not be coaxed out of bed until mid afternoon the next day. However, the day was not to be without adventure as we decided that another day in the saddle would be exactly what he would want, albeit, this time, a horse saddle. So come the evening, we headed back into the mountains clothed in our finest checked shirts and jeans (queue inappropriate Brokeback Mountain jokes). After riding until sunset we headed back to the ranch for a traditional Argentinian asado (BBQ to you and me).

The next day was to be our final full day together, and we wanted to end it on a high, so had organised to jump out of a plane. At this point we should mention that our presence in the hostel had not gone unnoticed. One of the hostel employees, Kiki, had taken a shine to us Rickmansworth boys (or just decided that we needed some mothering). Apart from organising almost everything we did in Mendoza, she went the extra mile in the morning and brought us croissants and coffee in bed to help us with our early start - you won’t find that in Lonely Planet!

When we arrived at the ‘airfield’ or, how it could better be described, a mud track, the conditions were far from perfect, with unusually high winds. As some of you may be aware, one of our number, Rob, left to go travelling at the same time as James, but his path has been somewhat different (far less cycling and far more beer). So when the weigh-in for the jump took place, it wasn’t with much surprise that we saw Rob at the top of the list and therefore first to jump, closely followed by Argentinean steak addict Tim. As it would happen, the weight played to their advantage as the conditions meant that they ended up being the only ones able to jump that day.

After a long day of adrenaline (for some), we forced our exhausted bodies out for a last steak together and one more night on the town. For everyone except James, the day’s activities took their toll and we retired to our bunks, but James’ stamina shone through and he stayed out for a few more beers, not returning until the small hours… what happened that night, only James can tell you.

The final morning brought emotional goodbyes and even more man hugs, as we left to head south on another arduous bus journey… ‘Rob, pass the champers?’

Good luck with the rest of the journey buddy, it’s been emotional!

Posted in Argentina, February 2010, January 2010 | 2 Comments »

Salta to Mendoza

January 29th, 2010

Miles: 909.69; Ascent: 25,127 feet

I’ve been through the desert on a bike with no name. That’s right, despite protests from a few corners, the bike is still just “The Bike”, although if anyone feels a burning desire to suggest an alternative then please feel free to drop me a line.

But what I really wanted to talk about was the desert. Strange old places, desert highways. On a motorbike (why do they always travel in packs?) I guess it’s a bit different. You sing “Born to be Wild”, contemplate Kerouac and Pirsig a bit, and before you know it you’re cruising into the next town ready for your next factura/lomito/cerveza or whatever else takes your fancy.

Don’t get me wrong, you do all of that on a bicycle as well. It’s just that once you’re done with Steppenwolf and ZMM, you’re only a couple of miles down the road instead of a couple of hundred. What to do next?

There’s a lot of head space out there. My problem is I’m struggling to fill it. “It’s a lonely road that you have chosen”, as Keane keep telling me on my iPod, and yes, on those long and featureless sections of “the 40″, when you round a bend only to see yet another endless stretch stretching out to the horizon, I would tend to agree.

To be fair, the oppressive heat of summer here in northern Argentina (often well into the forties) was never going to make this my favourite stretch. Give me the Antarctic over the Sahara any day. And I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve often been more interested in the prospect of some shade and a cold beer than some of the magnificent country I have cycled through. Putting it more bluntly I have, on occasion, been a grouchy old bugger. My photo album has undoubtedly sufferred as a result. I will just have to remember how spectacular some of those sections really were: Salta’s vineyards, La Quebrada de las Conchas, the climb up to Cuesta de Miranda, La Ciénaga, the Cuesta del Viento reservoir and the beautiful Calingasta valley, to name but a few.

And yet, despite myself, the ride from Salta has been a real mixed bag of experiences - a series of encounters, events and emotions which, looking back on them as a whole, are probably exactly the sort of thing I was looking for from this brief sabbatical on the road. They just sort of came and went without me really noticing. Or maybe they just felt normal.

Anyway, I don’t intend to bore you or myself by trying to write them all down, but here are some selected highlights.

A night in at the brewery. The title says it all really. Lovely owners. A delicious range of home-made German beer. Tent in the garden. Roll on the good times! A “must-visit” for any cyclist (or beer-enthusiast) passing through Santa Maria (Bernado y Griselda, Cerveceria “Ruta 40″, Barrio Los Sauces, Casa # 30).

A night out in Cafayate. Which started, in typical Argentinean fashion, at two in the morning. And led to all sorts of places. And me sleeping the whole thing off in the middle of the town square the next day. No stamina these days.

A night in an old-persons home in Villa Unión. Don’t ask.

Some long and lazy lunches. The heat has led me to adapt my cycling habits somewhat. OK, so I still can’t bring myself to hit the road before nine or ten (never been much of an early-starter, me), but midday temperatures coupled with Argentina’s distinctly nocturnal habits make late afternoon and early evening prime cycling time. Which leaves plenty of time for eating, drinking and snoozing between about noon and four o’clock. Marvellous.

An asado or two in Sañogasta. Before I’d even found myself a spot at the local camp ground I’d been invited to join a family’s Sunday afternoon asado, and was soon greedily guzzling down barbequed meat and ice-cold Coke whilst I chatted with them about the route south. Having put up the tent and had a quick dip in the nearby pool, exactly the same thing happened with the family “next door”. We ended up eating, drinking and chatting late into the night, and they left me clutching armfuls of presents for the road ahead. Kept me going for a good couple of days, that lot. Lovely people, and a lovely evening.

The first truly frightening experience of the trip. I’m often asked whether I get scared and the answer has usually been, well, no, not really. Not because I am particularly brave, I hasten to add, but because there hasn’t been much to be particularly scared about. The other day, however, camping next to one of the lonelier stretches of the 40, I was, I must admit, a little spooked. The reason? Wasps! Like most Argentineans, they appear to love mate, and a large swarm decided to go after mine with exuberance. The air was soon reverberating with the sound of hundreds of them, and the prospect of them turning their attentions to me in the middle of nowhere was giving me no small amount of concern. Of course, I did what any particularly brave person would do in the circumstances. A runner.

A spectacular evening of sunsets and thunderstorms near Tocoto. Camping by the side of a road which I was later told most Argentineans don’t even consider taking in a truck. Enlivened further by a stand-off with a scorpion which I surprised packing up my tent the next morning. By the time I’d regained my composure and got my camera out, my adversary had lost his and, doing what we all do in such circumstances, buried his head in the sand.

Impromptu Spanish lessons in Calingasta. With the amazing Cecilia. A humbling experience in every way.

The desert hasn’t quite turned to sea yet, and until it does I haven’t got any plans to let the bike run free for the time being. But there are plants and birds and rocks and things here in Mendoza, and I hope these are early signs that the worst of the hot, dry desert roads are behind me. It will feel good to be out of the sun, and have some rain for a change. I guess I’ll just have to keep on pedalling to find out.

La, la, la la la la la, la la la, la, la…

* The boys are back in town this week. My arrival in Mendoza coincides with that of Rob, Tim, Chris and Simon, some of my oldest friends, who, having had enough of the smog in Buenos Aires, have headed west for some clean living and mountain air. Which gives me a perfect opportunity to put the bike away and join them for a bit of a “lads holiday”. Well, we’ll get the mountain air at least. Can’t wait…

Posted in Argentina, January 2010 | 1 Comment »

San Pedro de Atacama to Salta (Paso de Sico)

January 7th, 2010

Miles: 340.52; Ascent: 14,843 feet

Here’s a list of the presents I have received over the past month or so on the road:

New freehub, axle and cones (courtesy of Cristian at Café Chuquiago in La Paz)
Dinner in Challapata
A large bottle of mineral water
A cup of tea
4 lollipops
2 cans of beer
A bag full of some unidentified herb (perhaps I shouldn’t have accepted this one!)
A “Buff”-type neck scarf
2 box drinks (peach and apple)
A sandwich (ham and cheese)
A Japanese brand of chapstick (peppermint flavour)
A can of Red Bull
An apple
A packet of Dextrose tablets
A jar of Marmite

Not a bad haul I reckon. This goes some way towards making up for the Chilean postal service’s failure to get my sister’s Christmas present to me in San P de A before I brought my brief sojourn in the thin country to an end and headed for Argentina.

After the trials and tribulations of Bolivia I rather foolishly assumed that all would be plain sailing from here. The bike gliding gracefully along perfectly smooth tarmac, effortlessly eating up the miles towards Patagonia, was kind of what I had in mind. No such luck, unfortunately. I hadn’t reckoned on Paso de Sico, that innocuous-looking line on the map which I had decided to follow to the Promised Land (by which I mean, a country whose national diet consists principally of big fat steaks and copious amounts of red wine).

Now I have, by now, cycled over my fair share of mountain passes here in South America. I haven’t, however, until now, come across one which goes on for more than 500km. The Andes are at their widest in Bolivia, between 18° to 20°S latitude, but here they must come pretty close, and Paso de Sico takes you all the way from one side to the other. Paso de Sico isn’t actually a pass at all, but the name for the rather arbitrary frontier between Chile and Argentina here. The Paso de Sico route in fact takes you over a series of passes high up on the altiplano, as you cross, from the west side of the Andes to the east, the continental divide.

The first 90km to Socaire were straight and forward, skirting the eastern edge of the vast Salar de Atacama as it shimmered away on my right hand side. En route I called in at the ALMA project and watched a video about what is being billed as the biggest and most exciting astronomical project in the world (http://www.almaobservatory.org/). I was hoping it might shed some light on A Brief History of Time, which I have just finished “reading”. It didn’t.

After Socaire, however, the pavement ends and you’re on your own. Quite literally, most of the time. The South American Handbook mentions that “From Salta there are routes… to Chile over lonely passes”, and I think they probably had Paso de Sico in mind (practically all public and heavy traffic now uses the fully-paved Jama pass, further to the north). It’s certainly a bit remote, but that’s like saying Liberace was a bit camp (Liberace was gay? Ed.). On New Year’s Day I saw only one other vehicle in eight hours.

The New Year’s Eve celebrations on offer up there weren’t exactly riotous, as you might imagine. I had, however, foreseen this eventuality, and had gone armed with special provisions to knock up a gourmet meal and see the New Year in with a bang. So, having found some well-placed rocks to shelter from the wind, about 20 kilometres before the Argentinean border, I prepared a feast of fried onions, “Smash” potato, mayonnaise and chicken soup, before raising a mug of Horlicks to 2010 at 14,000 feet. I had planned to stay up to watch the clock strike twelve, but unfortunately had fallen fast asleep by 9 o’clock. Quite the glamourous lifestyle, huh?

The location, however, more than made up for the lack of the usual New Year’s Eve entertainment. The remoteness of the route also held its appeal. To be alone in the midst of such incredible space and landscape was a frightening and exhilarating experience.

The border itself was a typically basic affair; a sign over the road in the boondocks and suddenly I was in my seventh and final country (I will now be hopping between Chile and Argentina all the way down to Ushuaia). There’s no Chilean presence at the border (you have to get your exit stamp in advance in San P de A), but 11km into Argentina you roll up to a handful of buildings home to Argentinean border control, where I was stamped in and became official again after three days sine patria.

On the Argentinean side the road began to deteriorate (although never to the same degree as the roads in Bolivia; it was all just about cyclable), and it was another three days before I reached the small mining town of San Antonio de los Cobres, a tumbleweed and pistols-at-dawn kind of place, perched high up on the windswept puna. The trip across the cordillera had been spectacular, but after another five days living out of a tent I was starting to tire of my own company, and by the time I finally rolled into town I was practically salivating at the prospect of a hot shower and bed for the night.

This actually turned out to be even better than I hoped. I splashed out on a really quite excellent room at Hosteria de las Nubes, the best hotel in town (to be fair, there aren’t many), and got not only the hot shower and bed I was after but a three-course meal in their rather swishy restaurant as well. Now that the railway which the hotel was no doubt intended to serve is sporadic at best (the famous “Tren a las Nubes”, which, when it’s working, must be one of the most spectacular train rides in the world), the place is totally incongruous, but it’s also a clue to the vast difference in the quality of services in Argentina to those available in other South American countries further north.

From San Antonio the road climbs up to one last pass, Abra Blanca, before finally dropping out of the Andes altogether as it plunges down the Quebrada del Toro towards Salta. It wasn’t the highest, or the hardest, but it was probably the last time I’m going to be at any significant altitude for the remainder of the trip (you never know, there’s always Aconcagua!). I love mountains, but after nearly a month and a half on the altiplano, the transition from the desiccated environment of the high plain to the running water and rolling green hills of the lowlands was almost as reinvigorating as the extra oxygen in the air.

I’m now in Salta, a beautiful and lively city in north-west Argentina, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the vast array of everything on offer here. Bolivia is only a few hundred miles north, but the two places are worlds away. I have a feeling I’ll get used to it, though.

To get me started, the next 1,000 or so kilometres to Mendoza pass through Argentina’s best wine country. Now there’s a challenge I’m ready to take on…

* I’m having terrible problems with wind in the afternoons. Any suggestions as to how I might deal with this troublesome issue gratefully received.

Posted in Argentina, Chile, December 2009, January 2010 | 2 Comments »

Christmas round up 2009

December 25th, 2009

For any of you following my little jaunt around South America, here’s a little caribbeantocape Christmas round up:

Days on the road: 198

Time in the saddle: 760 hours 34 minutes

Countries visited: 6 (Favourite? Colombia, of course.)

Distance travelled: 5,265 miles/8,473 kilometres

Total elevation gained: 345,105 feet/105,188 metres

Maximum altitude: 16,169 feet/4,928 metres

Average speed: 6.92 mph/11.14 kph

Maximum distance travelled in single day: 111.17 miles/178.91 kilometres

Minimum distance travelled in single day: 0 (this happens quite a lot)

Punctures: 4 (5 including the one in Lucho’s workshop)

Major mechanical problems: 1 (cracked rear rim)

Buses/lifts taken: 0

Vows never to do this again: Countless

Happy Christmas everyone!

Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments »

Cuzco to San Pedro de Atacama

December 23rd, 2009

Miles: 1,067.10; Ascent: 43,733 feet

For the past three weeks I have been on the dark side of the moon, out of contact amidst the wild and surrealistic landscapes of Bolivia’s southern altiplano.

For years I have been dreaming about taking a bike through this remote place, poring over Google Earth images, researching possible routes, imagining possible outcomes, and for the past couple of months my thoughts have been almost entirely focused upon realising my adventure in Bolivia’s wild south-west.

Now, having done it, I wonder why I ever latched on to such a stupid idea.

I travelled through this area by jeep in 2006, so I thought I knew what I was letting myself in for. I knew the route passed through vast expanses of barren desert. I knew the roads were bad. I knew there would be few opportunities to find water, food, accommodation or anything else for some 400 miles. I knew that I was likely to be pretty much on my own for the best part of a month.

I’m ready though, I thought. I like the outdoors. No problem. The reality, however, was far, far harder than I ever anticipated. If you’ve ever pushed an 80kg bike through half a foot of sand for eight hours you’ll know what I mean.

Memory, however, seems to be very effective at quickly editing out all the painful bits, so as I sit here soaking up the comfortable surroundings of San Pedro de Atacama, just across the Chilean border, I can already begin to reflect on what an incredible, intense experience the last few weeks have been.

First, I needed to convert the bike from the soft, flabby, day-tripper it has been up until now (sorry buddy, don’t mean it) into the full-on expedition junkie it has now become. Out went the puny little 0.5-litre water bottles, to be replaced by two 1.5-litre Coke bottles in jury rigged bottle cages. A further two 2.5-litre drinks bottles (more water and spare fuel) went on top of the front panniers to make room for a 10-litre water sack on the back. The obscenely overweight bar bag was reinforced with ‘occy’ straps to prevent it from pulling itself clean off the handlebar. And I finally took the plunge and gave away some of the books and clothes that I have been loathe to part with for so long. The sacrifices we have to make!

Next, food. A brief stop in Oruro gave me the opportunity to stock up on a few necessaries for life in the sticks: pasta, soup powder, porridge oats, powdered milk, dried fruit, nuts, peanut butter, with a few tins of tuna thrown in for an occasional treat. The bike was getting really heavy now.

Preparations/procrastinations complete, it was time to get on with it. My first job cycling-wise was to cross the Salar de Uyuni, the highest and biggest salt flat in the world. Three long days from Oruro on gradually deteriorating roads got me to the northern shore of this dried up inland sea. The next day, dropping my wheels onto the crunchy white surface of the Salar itself, I pointed the bike south and was good to go.

I spent three days traversing (from north to south) this absolutely magical place. The sensation of crossing such a blinding white expanse of nothing for mile after mile (accompanied by the rapid “tick-tick-tick” of your tyres crunching through the 10 billion polygons which cover the surface of the Salar) was almost hypnotic. Maybe I fell asleep? It definitely makes you go a bit mad in the head at times, like slipping in and out of consciousness.

VIDEO - Salar de Uyuni

Finding a nice flat spot to camp certainly ain’t a problem, although getting the pegs in is something of a challenge. It’s worth the effort though. Once the wind dies down, the silence and vastness of the place, together with the planetarium night sky, makes spending the night out there a truly unforgettable experience.

On reaching the southern shore of the Salar I was reluctant to leave. However the next, and far longer, stage of the journey towards Chile stretched out ahead. This route, little more than a series of 4WD tracks of very dubious quality for most of its length, winds its way south for 200 miles along the Chilean border down to the far south-western corner of Bolivia. Never dropping below 4,000 metres above sea level, it is well-known for passing through some of South America’s most stunning landscapes: smouldering volcanoes, steaming geyser-fields, weird and wonderful rock formations, flamingo-studded lakes of all the colours, star-laden night skies. I can vouch that they are all there. And very nice they are too.

What is also there, but which perhaps you might not fully appreciate before setting out, is a LOT of desert, vast expanses of deep, un-cyclable sand, intense solar radiation during the day, freezing temparatures at night, and howling westerly winds every afternoon. All of which devote themselves wholeheartedly towards halting any progress you might be tempted to try to make in the desired direction.

The roads were so bad sometimes they would almost make you weep. They certainly made you swear like a trooper (sorry mum!). Even pushing the bike, the wheels would hardly turn in the loose, deep sand; you effectively had to carry your fully-laden bike for hours at a time. If, ocassionally, you were lucky enough to find a six-inch wide track where it was just about possible to cycle (usually washboard), a gust of wind would promptly rocket along and blow you off again into the mush. It was one of the most exhausting, draining and frustrating experiences of my life.

VIDEO - Sud Lipez

Just as significant is what isn’t there, at least for most of the time: water, food, accommodation, any form of communication with the outside world. The total lack of moisture in the air completely dried me out; after two weeks I was waking up with my nose blocked, my mouth stuck together, completely parched. My cycling shoes dried out so completely I couldn’t get them on. Toenails have dropped off; wounds (of which I picked up the odd one or two) haven’t healed in the dry air.

Of course, there were also some magical experiences. Camping amidst bubbling geysers at nearly 16,500 feet. Spending a night in the shelter of an old ruined building with Patricia and Marcus, travelling on their old Russian motorcycle and sidecar. The first sight of volcán Licancabur, on the Chilean border. Finding that odd stretch where you could actually cycle a few kilometres. Eating peanut butter at the end of a day. To name but a few. Trip of a lifetime.

Am I pleased I did it? Yes, most definitely. It’s been a clear highlight of the trip so far, as well as being the realisation of a long-held ambition of mine.

Would I do it again? No way. Next time I’ll be back in a jeep!

* The bike is now safely tucked away in a very comfy little hostel here in San Pedro de Atacama, where it’s going to stay for a while, at least until next week. It’s time for a few days R&R for both of us, and an attempt to find a turkey to eat on Christmas day (the Christmas lights are up in San Pedro, but in the middle of the Atacama desert, with the sun blazing down, it’s just not the same somehow). Once all that’s done and dusted I’ll be doing a bit of a U-turn and crossing the Andes again, before beginning the long haul down northern Argentina.

Until then, Happy Christmas everyone!

“And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear.
And if the band you’re in starts playing different tunes
I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon”

Posted in Bolivia, Chile, December 2009, November 2009, Peru | 2 Comments »

Huánuco to Cuzco

November 17th, 2009

Miles: 788.44; Ascent: 59,236 feet

Am I still in Peru? It would seem so, having just arrived in Cuzco, South America’s tourist Mecca. It feels like I have been cycling through this country for a lifetime. When will it end? Will it ever end?!

Truth be told, Peru has been an absolutely amazing country to ride. Thinking back over the past two and a bit months it’s incredible how much variety there has been. The painfully hot and steep roads around Namballe and San Ignacio, on the fringes of the Amazon basin. The windy and desolate coastal steppe. The snowy peaks of the Cordillera Blanca. And here, in Cuzco, the flat, barren altiplano stretching out invitingly towards Bolivia.

The cities, people and culture are changing just as quickly as the landscape. The people have become noticeably more easy-going as we have moved south. You hear “Amigo” (or at least “Meeester”) far more often than “Gringo” down here. They are more often than not a delight to meet, and are incredibly accommodating of our slightly unusual habits. Like walking around in Lycra the whole time. And camping in the middle of their villages.

The first question we get asked is always either “Where have you come from?” or “Where are you going?”. Some people are more interested in the past; others the future. Different ways of looking at life, I guess.

It’s been a long old slog down Peru’s Central Highlands. 3 weeks, nearly 800 miles (most of them on dirt roads), climbing more than twice the height of Everest in the process. An exhausting, but incredible, ride.

We have passed through Bolívar’s battlefields at Junín and Ayacucho. Pizarro’s provisional capital at Jauja. Peru’s industrial eyesores, Cerro de Pasco and La Oroya. We have shivered up on the puna and sweltered with the sandflies down in the Mantaro valley. Crossed the Pampas, the Pachachaca and the Apurímac, and all the high mountain-passes in between. Cycled some truly spectacular roads, with only the occasional llama for company. And eaten a completely unhealthy number of fried-egg sandwiches along the way.

We’ve slept on a football pitch near Ocros. In a school yard in Chulicuisa. In the midst of Inca ruins at Saywite. And, in Mayocc, on the floor of an elderly local gentleman and his dog, Juan. He didn’t have much, but what he had he shared with us. “Vamos Juan!”.

From Ayacucho to Abancay we camped six nights on the trot, in some quite amazing spots. One evening, a few hours beyond Andahuaylas, we found what I thought was a perfect campsite: just off the main road, by a little stream, with a beautiful view of the valley we had just climbed out of. A chap wandered down the hillside towards us, and we asked him whether it would be alright to pitch our tents there. “You don’t want to camp here”, he said. “This place isn’t safe”. Thieves, I thought cynically. Must be. “Why isn’t it safe?”, I asked. “Ghosts”, he said, with the utmost sincerity.

Ghosts we can deal with!

The inland route to Cuzco is “up and down”, but that is probably something of an understatement. These are BIG mountains: “up” means 2,000 vertical metres up, and “down” 2,000 metres back down again. Repeat ad infinitum.

On the plus side, the downhills have been truly epic. En route to Abancay, having crossed one of many high passes, we managed to cycle 40 km downhill and still be more than 3,000 metres above sea level. With another 1,300 metres still to drop! Another downhill section we started at 1 pm and didn’t finish until 1 pm the following day. They just go on forever. Surprisingly knackering they are too. Hundreds of bone-shaking miles hurtling down mountainsides have even made me think, heaven forbid, that I might prefer going uphill. Weird.

The main problem is that I am riding a bit of a bone-shaker of a bike, which admittedly isn’t perfectly suited to hairing down dirt tracks at high speed. I think most other cyclists checking out my ride are surprised that I have got as far as I have, what with its racing geometry and skinny tyres. Let them scoff, though! When it comes to covering ground this thing does the business, and it has proved on some of Peru’s more difficult routes that it can hold its own with some of its more rugged counterparts. To be honest, I think you can cycle round the world on whatever kind of bike you can lay your hands on. If you want to.

Ever since Huánuco we have regularly been bumping into another couple of cyclists, Aaldrick and Sonya, who are three years into a six and a half-year round the world tour (http://www.tour.tk/). They are a lovely couple, great company, and we have been teaming up for pizza and beer together at every available opportunity (all in the name of calorie-loading of course).

We all rolled into Cuzco in quick succession the other day and, despite all being badly in need of a good rest, were keen to celebrate reaching this milestone in the usual manner. After scoffing a kilométrica-sized pizza (Rob T, Tim B - do you remember those?) we found a pub serving (would you believe it?) a decent pint of Old Speckled Hen; a temptation too great resist, despite the exorbitant price. My first proper pint in five months. And it (actually, they) tasted bloody brilliant.

After that blow-out my body has most definitely been in need of a good rest. And I fully intend to give it one until we move on towards La Paz in a few days time. Cuzco really is something of a watershed though; the worst of the mountains (at least until I reach Chile and Argentina) are now behind me, and the road now continues paved and (relatively) flat all the way to Oruro. We’re now on the express route south towards Bolivia.

You never know, the next time I write I might have even made it through this blinking country. Maybe.

* Despite all of my meticulous planning and careful research (?), it still looks as though I’m going to be hitting Patagonia in the depths of southern winter. For some reason I seem to be the only cyclist around who intends to be there in May. Now, coming from England I’m all for a little bit of harsh weather, but this could be a different story. Should be interesting…

Posted in November 2009, October 2009, Peru | 2 Comments »

Trujillo to Huánuco

October 21st, 2009

Miles: 378.46; Ascent: 23,284 feet

You get called “gringo” a lot in Peru. Usually it’s a fairly friendly “Hola gringo!”, without any hint of negative connotation. Sometimes it’s a more astonished “Green-goh”, as if they can’t quite believe what they’re seeing. And sometimes it’s called out to you as a statement; a short, clipped “Gringo”, as if to remind you what you are, just in case you had forgotten.

Cycling through small villages in the mountains this starts to get quite amusing. You might get ten or twelve in a row, from every single person you pass: “Green-goh”, “Hola gringo!”, “Gringo”, “Gringo”… and so it goes on. I don’t mind, but it’s not much of an opener. It’s difficult to know where to take the conversation from there. “Yes, I’m a gringo (sort of). Where do you come from?”

It’s been a hectic and eventful few weeks since leaving Trujillo. Lots of “Gringo-s”. And, looking at a map, not a great deal of progress in the desired direction. No matter. All in good time. Well, 51 days actually, when my Peruvian visa expires. It’s a long way from here to the Bolivian border. Best get a move on.

It took me five days from Trujillo to reach Huaraz, following a remote road up the Rio Santa through the spectacular Cañon del Pato before being spat out the other end, 2,000 metres higher up, right in the middle of the Cordillera Blanca. Terrible road, 35 tunnels, incredible isolation, awesome camping, amazing scenery; a great bike trip.

The road to Huaraz

In Huaraz I teamed up with a great group of Americans to try my hand at ice-climbing. With the help of a friendly local tour agency only too keen to help us spend our cash, we quickly hatched a plan to mount an assault on Nevado Pisco, an easy but high (5,752m) climb right in the middle of the Cordillera Blanca range.

Having hiked to our base camp at 4,700 metres we snatched a few hours sleep before an Alpine start at 1:00 am the following morning. The altitude took its toll on all of us, but we eventually reached the summit shortly before eight o’clock and were rewarded with incredible views of the surrounding peaks.

Chopicalqui at sunset

On the glacier just before dawn

Climbing Nevado Pisco

Approaching the summit

Happy campers

From Huaraz, my chosen route was to take me east, crossing the Cordillera Blanca and, with it, the continental divide near Huansala before turning south at Huánuco and following the Central Highlands down towards Cusco. Before I got going, however, I was due to meet Gloria Yabar de Llanos in Lima, to see more of the work which Opportunity International, through its local partner, ASIDME, is doing to help some of the poorest communities here in Peru. Happy to be avoiding the prospect of cycling in another capital city, I parked the bike together with most of my gear at a hostel in Huaraz and hopped on a bus to Lima.

This little excursion didn’t start well. Having left the bus station I ducked into a local McDonald’s to make contact with Gloria (I hasten to add that McDonald’s is not normally my restaurant of choice, but it did have free WiFi access which persuaded me, reluctantly, to darken its doors). Parking my pannier on the seat next to me I pulled out my telephone only to find, when I next looked up, a gaping, vacant space smirking back at me. Bugger. My bag had been stolen from under my nose while I had been sat less than a foot away. How stupid can you get?

With most of my things safely tucked away in Huaraz, things could have been a lot worse. Nevertheless, the little oik(s) still got away with, among other things, my rather flashy digital SLR camera, my wash kit (which doesn’t bode well) and, perhaps most importantly, one of my waterproof Ortlieb bike panniers, a technical bit of kit simply not available here in Peru. Luckily after a bit of digging around I managed to find the incredibly helpful Anibal Paredes, a cycling fanatic and part-time hotel owner based in Lima who, with only a few hours notice, knocked up by hand a very accomplished copy. If you ever find yourself in a bind in Lima, get in touch with him: http://www.cicloturismoperu.com/.

All of which has reinforced in my mind two very important lessons. One: travelling by bike is far better than travelling by bus. And two: never eat in McDonald’s.

Fortunately the remainder of my stay in Lima was somewhat more successful. I had the privilege of spending a day with the staff of ASIDME, visiting some of their projects in Lima. Millions of people are living in slums on the outskirts of the city in really quite appalling conditions. The energy and enthusiasm of the young staff at ASIDME, and, despite all the odds, the clients they are helping, really was quite inspiring, and all of the clients I spoke to testified how Opportunity International’s help is enabling them to improve their lives.

If you have been following this journey it would mean a huge amount to me and to Opportunity International if you were able to support their work by making a donation. You can read more about Opportunity International’s work in Peru here.

Clients supported by OI

These ladies took a bit of a shine to yours truly

Huge thanks to Gloria and her lovely family for opening up their home to me for a few days, for giving me such a warm welcome, for being so generous in their efforts to help me resolve my ‘technical difficulties’ (they ferried me all over Lima to replace lost items) and for the absolutely magnificent home cooking. It was great to meet you all.

Unfortunately, however, my stay in Lima could only be a short one. I had arranged to team up with Kevin Bauer (http://urupica.de/), a half-German, half-Bolivian cyclist I had met in Trujillo, to tackle together the challenging and remote stretch of road from Huaraz to Huánuco, and we were due to leave. So, only a couple of hours after stepping off the overnight bus from Lima, I was back on the bike and heading off with Kevin towards Parque Nacional Huascaran for the third and last time.

Challenging it certainly was. It has taken us five days to cover the fairly modest 150 miles to Huánuco, but in doing so we have crossed the continental divide, including two passes over 4,800 metres (16,000 feet), on rough dirt roads through the beautiful Huascaran National Park. I’m going to start running out of superlatives soon, I think, but this has certainly been the most spectacular and varied stretch of my journey so far. Long climbs. Long downhills. Wind. Rain. Hail. Snow. Thin air. Camping in the wild. Camping with locals. The middle of nowhere. Pretty much exactly the sort of adventure I had in mind before setting out. Great fun. Here’s hoping there’s more to come.

Cycling in Parque Nacional Huascaran

Snowed-in at 4,700 metres

Melting snow for a good 'ol cup of tea (thanks for the teabags mum!)

Melting snow for a nice cup of tea (thanks for the teabags mum!)

To our left water drains to the Pacific, to the right, the Atlantic

To our left water drains to the Pacific, to our right, the Atlantic

Camping near Chavinillo

Pachas

Kevin has cycled all the way from Mexico City and is heading for his home in La Paz, Bolivia, where he intends to finish his journey. We are both intending to follow a similar route as far as Cusco and, following the success of our high-altitude adventure, will continue riding together for the time being.

Kevin, having lived most of his life in Bolivia, is even less of a gringo than I am. But that doesn’t matter. For a little while, at least, there will be two gringos for the locals to shout at, rather than one.

*Thanks to Tom and Viv for sending me a book to read, which I picked up in Lima. London Fields by Martin Amis. There was one particular passage which struck a chord: “How will I ever know anything in the middle of all this warmth and space, all this supershelter? I want to feel like the trampolinist when he falls back to earth and to gravity. To touch the earth with heaviness - just to touch it. God expose us, take away our padding and our room.” Kind of sums up a lot of this trip I suppose. Thanks guys.

Posted in October 2009, Peru | 1 Comment »

Pacasmayo to Trujillo

September 30th, 2009

Miles: 84.54; Ascent: 1,125 feet

This short stretch started with a difficult decision.

The road between Pacasmayo and Trujillo passes through Paiján, which has developed something of a notorious reputation in recent years. Scare stories abound of cyclists being followed out of town and dragged off into the sugar cane fields which line the road to be unceremoniously relieved of all their worldly possessions.

Many cyclists opt to take a bus through this dangerous stretch, which is easy enough. Problem was, I didn’t want to take the bus. I realized that it has become important for me to do this trip entirely under my own steam, unless circumstances absolutely prevent me from doing so. Which meant I would have to cycle through. But I also knew I would feel mighty foolish if I failed to heed well-worn advice and the worst were to happen.

With my little internal debate still raging, I automatically climbed back on my bike in Pacasmayo and rather aimlessly began to close the gap between myself and a decision. By the time I had got a few miles down the road I had made my mind up. I would lay siege on the place with a meticulously devised plan involving strategy and cunning which I was sure would outwit even the most determined thieves Paiján had to offer.

The precise details of “Operation Paiján” were as follows. I would establish an advance base camp in Puerto Malabrigo, about 10 miles outside of Paiján itself, where I could lie in wait before the final push (Puerto Malabrigo also happens to be well-known as the best surf beach in Peru, boasting the longest left in the world, which was an added bonus). The next morning I would start early and, all being well, be through Paiján before the thieves had even had chance to finish their morning Quaker. And if things started looking a little hairy I would catch a ride to Trujillo and cycle the stretch in reverse another day, without luggage. OK, so it wasn’t much of a plan, but it was the best I had.

So, after some fairly pathetic attempts at surfing, I was up with the larks the following day and pedalling like crazy through Paiján before I knew it. Approaching Paiján, it struck me how similar the whole mental process had been to deciding whether or not to run a difficult rapid back in my kayaking days. Your head would tell you to walk around it, but there was always this irresistible urge to have a go, and a feeling that the trip would always be compromised in some way unless you did so. Then, once you had made the decision, all you wanted to do was jump in your boat and get it over and done with as quickly as possible.

Approaching the dreaded Paijan

Of course, nothing happened, and Paiján looked exactly the same as just about every other town I had cycled through during the previous 400km. It’s funny how such prior knowledge can so drastically alter your perception of and approach towards a place. Had I known nothing of Paiján I would have simply cycled through none the wiser, with probably the same result. Which kind of reinforces my view that you can’t let these stories dictate the terms of your trip. It’s not places that rob you but people, and that can happen anywhere. I just hope it doesn’t happen to me!

I’m currently stuck in Trujillo, waiting for a new rim to be delivered from Lima. Inspection of my rear wheel revealed a number of deep cracks (which I must have picked up somewhere en route from Caracas), and the quality of the roads ahead dictates the sense of getting it replaced before going on. And it’s now getting a bit frustrating, I must say, to see my time in the Cordillera Blanca getting eaten away while I am twiddling my thumbs here waiting for spare parts.

It could be a lot worse, though. As a cyclist, Trujillo is not a bad place to stop. Indeed, it is something of a mecca for long-distance touring cyclists in Peru, being home to the famous “Casa de Ciclistas” of Luis Ramirez D’Angelo. Known to cyclists all across South America simply as “Lucho”, he has been hosting cyclists since 1985 (I signed in as number 1191), and the volumes of testimonials which have been left by cyclists over the past 25 years are testament to the warmth and hospitality of him and his family.

Lucho working on my front wheel, shortly before discovering cracks in the rear

Bicycles rule the roost here. Normally when I stop for a little while I am quite happy to put the bike away for a few days and indulge in the relative luxury of walking and bus travel. That’s not an option with Lucho around, however, and I’ve been earning my keep by helping him shuttle load after load of his garage full of musical equipment (by bike, of course, complete with a specially-made trailer) to and from a nearby school.

En route to Lucho's for lunch (by bike of course)

In return, Lucho is working his mechanical magic on my bike, giving it a complete overhaul and rebuilding my rear wheel, if and when the long-awaited replacement rim finally arrives.

Trujillo itself is a beautiful, relaxed city, and exploring its old colonial streets and nearby ruins, together with a spot of fishing in nearby Huanchaco, should provide me with enough distractions to while away at least a few more days.

Plaza Mayor, Trujillo

Chavin ruins at Chan Chan

Chilling out in Huanchaco

At home at the"Casa de Ciclistas"

Also resident at the house is one Heinz Stücke, something of a legend in cycling circles and also, as it turns out, a thoroughly nice bloke. In 1962, aged 22, Heinz set off on his bike to explore the world. Nearly 50 years later, pushing 70, he’s still going strong, having cycled some 600,000km and visited all 200-odd countries in the world. Remember that story a few years ago about the guy who had cycled all over the world only to have his bike stolen on his first night in the UK (in Portsmouth)? That was Heinz.

As you can imagine, Heinz has got some incredible stories to tell, and, as a mere novice by comparison, it has been a pleasure to share some of my own experiences with him too.

Heinz and me, on "Bike Friday"

With less than 30 places in the world left to visit, which he is continuing to tick off one by one, Heinz is shortly due to re-enter the Guinness Book of Records as the man who has (literally) cycled everywhere. He has thrown down the gauntlet and challenged me to try to beat his record. Now there’s an idea…

Heinz's journey since 1962

Posted in Peru, September 2009 | 1 Comment »

The first 3,000…

September 25th, 2009

I’ve recently passed the 3,000 mile mark, and my cycle ride from Caribbean to Cape for Opportunity International is now well underway.

Only another 4,000 miles or so to go…

As some of you know, in doing this trip I am hoping to raise money for Opportunity International (http://www.opportunity.org.uk/), a charity which is working in developing countries across the world (including South America), to help people lift themselves out of poverty.

Fundraising currently stands at a paltry £320. Huge thanks to those of you who have donated already, but I am sure we can do better than that!

I have visited some of Opportunity International’s projects in Colombia (http://caribbeantocape.com/blog/?p=77) and witnessed for myself the difference that OI’s work can make to people’s lives.

It would mean a huge amount to me and to Opportunity International if you were able to support this journey by making a donation. Every penny donated will go directly towards OI’s projects in South America.

I promise that for every pound donated I will cycle a little bit faster!

You can access my fundraising page and make a donation here:

http://caribbeantocape.com/support

Thank you.

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »