Two stoves and no pillow 🇨🇱 🇦🇷

I continue to notice autumn bringing more rain and I feel the pressure to make northward progress. The remaining distance to cover in Argentina and Chile has me hungry for a change of scenery. For the first time I begin to notice life on the road becoming routine and I have a few less than fun days.

I spent a little more than a week pedaling around Isla Chiloe. The wooden churches that dot the island were definitely worth a side trip and I’m enjoying watching the natural beauty of the past months give way to riding through more developed areas and watching people’s regularly scheduled life. My convinction that the bicycle is the perfect means of transport grows daily as I quietly and unassumingly roll through little neighborhoods and watch people go about their day. Of the sixteen churches that are designated as UNESCO sites, I got to see three from the inside. Unfortunately, the churches are only open for one or two hours every morning and a weekly mass on Sunday so I could realistically see about one per day.

The Church of Santa María de Loreto in Achao was my first destination and the first one I got to see from the inside. It’s the oldest church on the island having been built in 1730. Unfortunately, due to the entire building being made of very old, very dry wood, it’s not permitted to light a candle in the church. Understandable. I enjoyed looking at the small details on the ceiling and floor, most notably the lack of any kind of metal fasteners. Instead, the original builders used wooden joinery for nearly everything. The church in Delcahue even had wooden columns that were painted to give the appearance of marble. I enjoyed taking in these small details and the amazing craftsmanship.

While riding on Isla Chiloe I encountered my first serious mechanical issues of the trip. For several days I had been hearing a noise coming from somewhere near the crankset that I could only describe as a croaking frog that protested once per revolution, coming and going every now and then. Eventually, while not looking for any issue in particular (I think it was during a lunch break), I noticed that I was missing four out of eight bolts that hold the front chainring in place. Interesting, I thought. I never quite understood why the bolts had to be bolts in the first place or why they had been made with tamperproof Torx heads or why it all hadn’t just been riveted together? I guess those are all questions for a different time. All I had to do now was get to a ferreteria and try to create a working fix. I had secretly looked forward to this kind of stuff. I spent a few hours in a small town hardware store making little custom bolts with someone whom I assumed was the owner of the shop. Through a mixture of broken Spanish and charades we eventually had something that looked pretty good and is still holding a few weeks later. I’m unstoppable!

The Church of San Francisco in Castro, the largest city on the island, was one of my favorites simply due to the massive contrast between the interior and exterior. On the outside, it’s a big yellow building covered in corrugated sheet metal with many features of a ’normal’ cathedral. I guess I’d just never seen a sheet metal church before. From the inside, though the warmth and attention to detail was again incredible. Having seen a few churches in Europe, unique in their own right, the subtle and not-so-subtle differences between these two worlds made this bit of the trip really unique for me. I was ready to head back to Puerto Montt happy to have come this way.

I opted to take the bus back to Puerto Montt because I was eager to cover ground and didn’t want to ride along the highway to go back the way I came. I spent a night and a day in the big city, bought some new shoes, and ran some errands before hitting the road. On the map I had seen an obvious pass with a busy road that led to Argentina but I had grown curious about a smaller one that required a few ferry rides and some gravel roads. To be sure, it looked convoluted but interesting. I went to the police and the national park office to find out more but found my only lead by asking some people at a grocery store. They told me that there was one ferry company that managed all three crossings and gave me their number. I called, booked my ticket, and needed to be at the boat at 9 AM the next day. Easy.

With the rest of the day free I decided to get a closer look at my first real volcano of the trip. I had seen it the day before while riding toward the border and now I had the time to investigate. I spent the rest of the day climbing a steep road and reached the end somewhere mid-afternoon. Unfortunately, it was cloudy and I didn’t get to see much. The road that had taken me the better part of a day to climb took about twenty-five minutes to ride down the next morning, stopping every now and then to let my brakes cool off. The bike and I are still quite heavy. Early in the morning I rode toward the port at Petrohue and boarded the first ferry of the day. I was assured I could make it up and over the pass, riding all three ferries in one day…

While on the hour long ferry ride I had some time to look at the road ahead and quickly realized this may be a difficult afternoon. I had three hours to check out of Chile, cycle 30+ km while climbing about 1300 m, and checking into Argentina. Cyclists rarely missed the boat I was assured. The bus carrying hikers took off and I hustled after it. An hour or two later the bus came back the other way and informed me that the second ferry had already left without me. “Sorry, dude!” I’m not exactly sure what it was. The rain, the wind, another night of spaghetti tuna and trail mix, or just the simple and sudden disappointment that my day wouldn’t go as planned, that I wouldn’t see familiar faces that evening and eat hamburgers. It was the first time during the trip that I hit a definite low point. During long hikes or trail runs (or this bike trip) I like to look for those sudden upswings that take a bad situation to something funny or lighthearted but that afternoon I never really found it.

The best I could do was to unleash my curiosity on a road grader. The keys were in it and I was certain I was the only person around. I didn’t get very far but I was comforted by how easily I entertained myself for a little while and settled into the acceptance of spending an extra day out here. Eventually I made it to the Argentinian border post. Having already closed for the day meant that I would spend the night in no country as I had checked out of Chile but had yet to check into Argentina. The Argentinians let me sleep under the roof of their car port and brought me blankets and hot water. I was happy to realize how excited I was to be sleeping under a roof that evening, especially when waking up to heavy rain in the night.

The next day the remaining ferry rides went as scheduled and I reached Bariloche. I was happy to be back in Argentina and to chat with all of the curious strangers. Sitting on a park bench cooking lunch, people will come stand near me and use the first bit of eye contact to enter a conversation. It’s my favorite part of the trip.

After spending a week hiking with friends in Bariloche I carried on solo toward San Martin de Los Andes along the Ruta de Siete Lagos. I spent two nights in town waiting out some rain and drying my gear. With Patagonia now properly in my little rearview mirror the road ahead is no longer as obvious or as well travelled by cyclists. If the route was once well travelled and obvious its form is now more free and creative. Thankfully, this comes at a time when I’m beginning to notice my own routine of life on the road taking shape. I’m comfortable and confident, curious to see what’s up ahead.