Getting going 🇨🇱 🇦🇷

I’m currently taking a few rest days in El Calafate. The past few days and weeks have seen some lonely stretches, with plenty of wind and sun and little protection from either. It’s given me a newfound respect for the immense distances of the Americas; it feels like I’m moving my way through something that just goes on forever. My first stop in El Calafate involved a burger and some beers. It was good to be in town again. Only after hopping back on the bike in search of a place to sleep did I realize just how tired I felt. Maybe the past few days of cycling and hiking had been more grueling than I realized. Maybe burning the candle at both ends in giddy excitement for what lay ahead comes at a price.

Between this post and the last I rode from Punta Arenas to Puerto Natales where I again took some rest days. In most major towns I’m opting for a few nights in a hostel. Afterwards I headed for Torres del Paine National Park, a definite highlight for this stretch. I spent a few days in the park doing day hikes and riding short distances after which I rode back into Argentina and made my way to El Calafate. In between the points on the map and the words on the page lies plenty of distance, wind, and maybe a little experience gained.

The novelty of it all still hasn’t worn off and most days there are more than a few moments where I find myself on the bike, by myself, grinning like a fool. Chatting with people, the views, the Spanish that keeps getting me a little further in conversation, and just the general “wow, I’m out here!” feeling. Admittedly, there have been plenty of humbling moments. My definition of wind is quickly adapting itself. Weary southbound cyclists tell me of their own run-ins with a few bad gusts. “Just take a bus,” they say. And some nights I’m tired of eating pasta with tuna and tomato sauce.

But I’m also adapting. Every morning, my body protests a little less as I hop back on the bike. I’m managing to get up earlier in order to ride while the wind takes its daily break. To avoid the wind in the evening I’ve been finding some creative spots to camp like the abandoned yellow house in the picture. The wind is so persistent during the day that I often awake in the night because it’s too quiet. For a few hours in the middle of the night it can be eerily calm. In the morning, it’s often just a matter of getting back on the bike and heading off into a headwind with rain clouds ahead.

I eventually made it to Puerto Natales and again opted for a few nights in a hostel. I found one that fit the bill and gladly dropped my bags and headed for the shower. With the booming tourism industry here, especially this time of year, it makes sense that families with bigger houses take advantage. I came to find that the hostel was essentially a family’s home in which they opened up a few rooms as dormitories. All the better, because in the morning I sat down with the grandparents and made some broken conversation. Abuela didn’t seem too interested, but abuelo and I had a fun morning trying our best to talk with one another. I came away thinking that these are the highlights of solo travel.

In and around and even before reaching Puerto Natales, I could begin to see bigger mountains up ahead and the peaks of Torres del Paine. The park had very little infrastructure and the trails were heavily overused and eroded but it’s clear to see why people are drawn to the park. I spent three days there and the main attraction is the single, large massif seen in the pictures. What’s neat is that you spend a few days in the park and get to see those same mountains from different angles, at different times of day, and with differing shades of light. It was again very windy.

As I cruised the short distance toward a new campsite, I saw a few cars gathered in the pullout of a hairpin turn and stopped to ask what they were watching; a puma. I got to chatting with a friendly British lady who was excited by my trip. I can’t remember if I told her how much pasta and tuna I’ve been eating, but a few minutes later she kindly offered me some leftover tomatoes and ham from her lunch. I think we were both surprised by how enthusiastically I accepted the offer of fresh vegetables. It was a wholesome moment and together we reflected on how happy you can be with just the basics.

The ride out of the park and toward the border felt perfect. Where the wind went was a mystery, the road was good, I had some music going, and I was just cruising. Again I thought to myself how nice it was to be out here. I made my way to the border town of Cerro Castillo. Like a pilgrim reaching the promised land, I headed for the local convenience store for empanadas, coffee, and a food resupply. The next section across the border would be a quiet one and my first kilometers on the famous Ruta 40. I opted for a shortcut, which meant riding a rough gravel road with the worst ripio I’ve seen so far. For at least a little while, no one in the world knew where I was and I appreciated the isolation that came with being there. I found a small passthrough under the road, the only shade I could find, and took a nap to avoid the worst of the mid-day heat. Eventually even this road came to an end and I was happy to reach pavement again. I camped at some kind of service center for road crews where they were happy to give travelers water and a place to sleep in the garage.

I again got up early to avoid the wind and spent the entirety of the next morning riding ~35 km into a headwind with an ever so slight uphill. It was draining. But I came to find that the big benefit to riding a bike is that unlike hiking, the downhills are already paid for. After another rest break, one of many, I finally crested the ridge which opened to a beautiful view of a massive river valley and the even greater joy of 20 km of downhill, which took all of 30 minutes. It was glorious. Before reaching El Calafate the wind picked up again but I was almost there. I was no longer screaming into the wind but smiling. This is what I was looking for. It’s pretty windy out here.