The monkey puzzle 🇦🇷 🇨🇱

So while waiting for the rain storm to pass San Martin de Los Andes, I spent my time there reading, roaming around the little town, drinking beer, chatting with other cyclists, and eating vegetables. It’s hard to eat a decently balanced diet on the bike so I take every chance I can get to roast vegetables and get some good food in me. During my time in San Martin I had met a French couple over dinner who were also cycling north and we decided to leave town together.

We continued northwards through the towns of Junin de Los Andes and Aluminé doing some long days of riding together. At a nondescript intersection after a brief break with mate and brownies, we parted ways. I was headed west back toward Chile and they would continue north electing to stay in Argentina. My reason for once again entering Chile was because I had heard of a trail through a fairly remote stretch of the Andes that offered the added intrigue of an indigenous group that is reclaiming their native land from the Chilean government. “Yeah, let’s go check that out!” I thought. Link to the trail

When I looked at the map, riding this trail seemed like a natural progression on my way northward. More than that didn’t really factor into the planning. I stocked up on groceries at the considerably less expensive Argentine grocery stores and made my way to the border. Stamp. A ride through no man’s land. And a stamp. Funny how it’s becoming a fairly normal occurrence. The first day back in Chile involved a bit more climbing before I was allowed to coast downhill toward the town of Melipueco. The Chileans seem to be very fond of fencing in their property so a quick stealth camp was not in the cards. I looked online and found a paid campground just out of town. It being late in the season, this one was also closed as many of the regular tourist haunts seem to be at this time of year. The lady let me camp in her yard, though for a small fee.

I rode into Melipueco and went for some warm food. The .gpx file I had found online showed this town as the southern trailhead and I hadn’t really been feeling too well because of a slight, nagging stomach ache. I lingered a bit here and there, did some groceries, and got a late start on the trail, riding only a few kilometers to a nice riverside spot. It was a nice feeling being there, I was dry and I made some rice with beans for dinner. Things were pretty good.

The next day I packed up and started early. From the looks of it the trail was a lot of climbing and descending. Up, down, up, down, up, down. You get the idea. With the bike loaded full of food this can be quite tiring. From what I had read online, the trail passed through quite some private property where it was necessary to ask for permission to pass. On this first day I came across my first fence right as some guys were passing through in a truck. I asked in my best Spanish and it went without saying that I was free to pass. That seemed easy enough.

For the most part the riding was really lovely. The area had been and remains volcanically active, which gives it a really sureal, moon-like appearance at times. Most of the trail consisted of a fine, gravely, black surface that I’d been told was some kind of cooled, broken, volcanic run-off. After riding the first half of the trail I came about the town of Lonquimay late in the day. I elected to treat myself to a hotel room and, more importantly, a shower. The tough days of riding with a stomach ache and eating nothing but packaged foods was wearing me down. The break felt necessary and I’m glad I listened to myself even though it wasn’t really what I wanted to hear. I just wanted to keep going.

After my night in Lonquimay I hit the road late and was back on the bike. I hadn’t done much research into the route before starting but unexpectedly came across a CONAF ranger station where they told me the road up ahead, the one I had planned to take was closed due to early season snowfall. As there wasn’t a route around this would really mess up my plans. I looked at the map and tried chatting with the ranger. Sometimes my Spanish gets me surprisingly far and sometimes I feel like I’m not even close. With this guy I was getting nowhere. After looking confusedly at the map for fifteen minutes he told me that if I walked I could probably pass over the snow affected area. I had heard enough and took off up the road. Albeit not very quickly because it was steep, my bike was heavy, and I was tired.

The road quickly turned back to that fine volcanic gravel as people in cars travelled the same direction. The ranger had told folks they could ride up to where the snow started, take in the view, and then turn back. Especially on those slow, I’m-going-nowhere, grueling climbs, people regularly stop to give me stuff. It’s one of my favorite parts of the trip. A Chilean couple stopped to give me a pack of donuts and a Sprite. Hell yes! I rode to the edge of the snow, hopped off my bike and started pushing. Riding through the snow with the bike had quickly proven impossible so I was happy to push. I had made it this far riding on the thought that if it wasn’t doable, if the snow proved too much, then I could just turn around and easily convert all of that gained energy rolling back downhill toward a small town. But now I was going up and over the pass toward what proved to be an absolutely amazing campsite.

I camped high up near a view point overlooking a valley full of volcanoes. It was one of the best wild camping spots I’ve found yet. I cooked some dinner and got to bed shortly after sunset. As demonstrated by the thin layer of ice rime covering my tent in the morning, it had gotten pretty cold, but I fell asleep content in the knowledge that I had taken a small, well weighed risk by ignoring the ranger’s advice and carried on over the pass. It felt good to be responsible for myself and to succeed in what I was attempting. In the morning I donned my warmest clothes for the long descent into the valley. I ate my breakfast in the warmth of the sun.

Having gone up and over a pass that was closed to most vehicles meant I didn’t see many people the next day. I was now in the area that local, indigenous Mapuche groups are trying to reclaim from the Chilean government. At least, that’s what I had been reading online. The night before I would reach the main commune of Chenqueco I had a little bit of cell service while laying in my tent. Here I made the mistake of reading more about the territorial claims of the Mapuche and their occasional refusal of entry to travellers. I didn’t have enough food or desire to turn back so I spent the rest of the night hoping they’d let me through. Best not to read stuff online and just go for it.

Early the next morning I was on my bike again but only briefly because the “road” was nothing more than a horse trail that I spent the morning pushing my bike up; the worst hike-a-bike so far. I had lunch at the top of a small pass and then got to ride down an equally rough downhill section. At first I went slowly but quickly learned that sometimes the rough stuff is easier if you just let go of the brakes. On my way to the commune I made it past some houses that looked pretty empty and I rode all the way to the bridge right before town. Here I ran into an old lady named Maria who began talking to me. It took a brief moment and her increasing frustration for me to realize that she was the border control agent, the maker or breaker of trips, the one who would or wouldn’t grant me passage. Evidently she was quite upset that I had passed through her land without paying the toll. I gave her a little bit of money, which was enough to grant me passage and I rode on through town. That was it. As I rode off I laughed about myself and to myself for having worried about it and for having been grifted by an old lady, writing it off as a “cultural experience.”

That night I was overjoyed to reach some thermal baths for a very welcome dip. The place was pretty spartan but the water was hot. It was an incredible feeling after riding a few hundred kilometers of rough trail. Reaching the town of Ralco the next morning meant the end of the trail. In town I ate a nice lunch and bought some basic groceries for the final day’s ride toward Los Ángeles. I arrived there early the next day and rode around town looking for a hospedaje. A few days break in a decent sized town was exactly what I needed. Next stop Santiago!