Doritos for dinner 🇦🇷

Four weeks after leaving Ushuaia I rolled into El Chalten, a town known for big alpine climbing routes and hiking trails. I knew I’d spend at least a week here relaxing, looking over the bike, eating good food and drinking loads of coffee, and preparing for the road ahead. On more than one occasion people had said to me that my pace on the bike was fast so I wanted to try my best to relax, to foster and protect my motivation to ride the bike. I’ve now been here for a little more than one week and I’m itching to hit the road again.

Last time I posted something I was in El Calafte and from there I headed west toward Lago Roca and the Perito Moreno glacier. I headed out of town on a quiet dirt road in the early afternoon. It was more of the same bumpy ripio that I’d become intimately familiar with. Along the way I stopped on the side of the road to see what a man was foraging for. Calafate berries, he showed me. They’re kind of like smaller, sour blueberries. I ate some. We chatted a bit, I understood about half of what he told me and maybe I was completely unintelligible in Spanish but it felt like a conversation. Progress, I thought. “Hasta Luego!” I said and rode off.

I made it to Lago Roca, found a campsite, and saw some familiar faces. I chatted with an Argentine couple whom I’d last seen while camped at the highway service station several nights before. I stashed my bike behind their van and climbed the nearby Cerro Cristal. As I’ve come to expect, it was uniquely windy at the top. I had a snack behind a large boulder, popping out every so often to appreciate how powerfully, tears-in-your-eyes, going-to-fall-over, windy it could be on the summit. I hustled back down toward my campsite for a quick dinner of tuna pasta and some rest. I decided to spend another day just relaxing there because it was quiet, offered a great view of the Perito Moreno glacier across the lake, and to catch up on some reading.

The next day I eventually packed up and got a late start toward the glacier. It was still a long ride from the ticket office to the edge of the peninsula where one can see the calving face of the glacier up close. For the distance that I had cycled to see this natural phenomenon, I had rather quickly seen it. The sky showed some telltale signs of rain so I headed for the sole café and a cup of coffee and some snacks before heading back toward El Calafate. At the start of my trip, I had with me a lightweight rain jacket that was on its last legs. One of the aspects of this trip that I find most difficult to put into words is the strength, intensity, and persistence of the wind. Suffice it to say that the rain jacket is no more as it was quite literally ripped from my body as I tried to put it on. My only remaining waterproof garment was one of those thin, disposable ponchos that little old ladies wear. I geared up and hit the road headed back toward El Calafate when it started raining.

Fifteen minutes in and I was proper soaked. I had heard of a stealth campsite a few hours up the road, under a bridge and had planned to sleep there. It’ll just kinda suck for a while, part of it, I thought to myself as I pedaled along. Even though the cars passing by probably thought, get a load of this guy, it was a marginally humorous situation and I just got on with it. I was still out here doing it and whatever it was, was pretty funny. As I was pulled off on the side of the road to take off some wet clothing a van pulled up, a sliding door opened, and a lady asked “¿vamos?” I started this trip having resolved to just say “yes” to the things that came my way and right about now, the implied ride back to town sounded pretty good! I gladly obliged at which point my bike and bags were rapidly ingested into the back of the van with a few more shouts of “¡vamos!” and nervous glances at the oncoming traffic. Weird, I thought, they must just be really safety conscious; there was plenty of space for cars to pass, what’s the rush?

After the commotion my wet bike and bags were now all over the back seats but we would cover the next 60 kilometers in about 30 minutes; cars are amazing, I thought as I looked out the window at the downpour! I briefly chatted with the lady and gathered that the bus was from the municipality and used for ferrying employees of the national park to and from town. We shared a mate and listened to some reggaeton, quickly reaching the limits of my Spanish. No worries, I thought, everyone was tired from a long day as I smiled and stared out the window, relishing in my dumb luck and the speed with which things can go from bad to good; how dramatically a situation can improve in the span of five minutes. We reached the edge of town and stopped in a small dirt lot, I asked if one of them lived here but quickly gathered that no, I was getting out here. When I reflected on the whole episode and asked some other people in town, I can only conclude that by virtue of whatever tourism cartel operates in these parts, the municipal workers van is not allowed to give rides to tourists but nonetheless these people stuck their neck out for some wet weirdo on the side of the road. I loaded my bike and rode to the hostel, egging on some dogs that gave chase along the way and feeling like nothing could stop me now.

At the hostel in El Calafate I had met a fellow northbound cyclist and we had resolved to ride the next section together. The road to El Chalten promised to be more of what we’d both grown accustomed to; long, dry stretches of hot, windy desert with a teasingly subtle uphill. We both decided it’d be nice to have someone to share the suffering with or at the very least someone to cycle behind. We stopped to chat with a few cyclists along the way but it was an otherwise uneventful ride; we covered the distance to El Chalten in about three days. I noticed the wind really getting to me mentally. The otherwise friendly, encouraging waves and honks from people in cars became frustrating more than anything else. The wind had taken up residence in my head. Cyclists going the opposite direction having the time of their lives, timidly telling you of an effortless 100 km before lunch, as if complicit in the wind’s tireless efforts. A constant, day’s worth of effort to move along at a walking pace. Pedaling. Exerting effort. To go downhill. I’m happy to have this stretch behind me and to hear that the road up ahead trades wind for rain. I’ll take it!

After two rest days in El Chalten we set off to hike the Huemul circuit known for its great views of the Southern Patagonian Ice Field, a massive tub of ice that feeds every glacier that I’ve so far seen on this trip. Meant as a four day loop, we figured we could do it in less so we trimmed down our gear and “camelled-up” with hearty meals of lamb, cake, and coffee. After setting off later than expected, we eventually cruised past the first camp with slight hesitation, deciding to continue up and over the “windy pass” before dark. What followed was a tough scramble up a steep scree field in the dark. We crested the pass in fading light and quickly descended toward the second camp. Lightweight would come to mean meager meals of a few avocados, some chips with bread, and a handful of spare trail mix. I made camp and went to bed hungry listening to the light pitter-patter of snow on my tent. It felt good to be up there. To be rewarded in my efforts with a view, to be exhausted and hungry and content. The following morning gave rise to more good weather along with continued panoramas of the ice field. We thought we’d be able to cover the rest of the distance to town in a second day but decided a spot by the lake was too good to pass up and camped out for an unplanned second night. Peanut butter for dinner.

We spent the last morning of our hike brainstorming what we’d order when we got into town; we eventually made it back in the early afternoon and summarily completed our culinary checklist. A few more days of rest followed and I’m now waiting for some better weather before hopping on the bike and continuing north. I’m itching to move along and get out of this town and onto the Carretera Austral, a section that I’ve eagerly looked forward to. All good things in time as I wait for another weather window.