The climb began severely and I wore my winter hat, arm warmers, leg warmers, and vest. As I climbed and the sun grew stronger and my body heat rose I removed all except the leg warmers. I passed three construction road stops and spoke to the men. They wore winter clothes and many smoked cigarettes. Heavy trucks moved about. One crew dug into the mountainside to remove a concrete coating that had covered over snow. They would have to rework that section. Other men used gas powered blowers to remove sand from the newly poured concrete gutters so that sealant could be applied. As I would approach a crew of men I would first be met with awe and silence and then great cheering. I was told the summit was near the border but I could not find the final frontier check before the border. A tailwind pushed me in my lowest gear, out of the saddle. As I passed a crew of men, they held out a stop sign in jest, then turned it around to a green "sige." One man filmed me with his camera and the crew of fifteen men cheered and dropped their work. One man ran along side me as the others cheered and the man with the camera filmed. I could see the entire lagoon in its martian shapes. I passed the men and was grateful but I did not know how much I had. The road veered East and I stopped to eat more crackers and mayonnaise, a staple. I reached a monument and twin Chilean men asked me to stop and take my photo. They were on vacation and I told them of my journey. They told me it was downhill once I reached the border. I remounted the bicycle and hit ripio soon thereafter. Yet the ripio was supposed to begin at the border. As I looked up there was a sign: Welcome to Argentina. It had the familiar regional markings. The final cheering from the crew of 15 men was indeed the final summit. I had made it. Tears came to my eyes. The ripio was brown and orange and brutal yet delightfully fast. When it works for you in the right direction, when it works for you when you have a tailwind, when it works for you when you need it to work for you, ripio isn´t so bad. It was on this descent that I lost a sandal, but it did not matter. The road would flatten and the ripio would continue and the winds became brutal yet still in a tailwind. Water poured from small streams in cliffs. I passed a sign for a thermal bath but pushed on. Where, after all the descending was the Argentinean border check? The wind grew more violent and the air cooled and I put on my hat and arm warmers and vest once again. I passed wild horses and then cows.
Where there are cows there are people and where there are people there are homes and where there are homes there is water. I reached the frontier checkpoint and a man in his 20s processed the paperwork and told me about the conditions over the 200km to come. He told me where I could camp for free next to the station and that were was small almacen for provisions that still might be open. When I exited the office another man inspected my bags and gave me details on food and water in the coming days. I knew the area would be desolate for 300km and so I had to plan. The man told me there was a telephone booth as well but it wasn´t operational because there was no luz. I told him this wouldn´t be a problem as I had my own headlamp, but he said that I must wait later in the evening for the luz.Ah, the town had one generator for electricity in a garage. It was called "the luz." I cycled over to the small almacen and the woman was just locking up for the siesta. She opened the door for me and sold me a liter of beer, potato chips, peanuts in the shell. She brought out a table, a chair, and a glass and told me if I needed anything to inquire next door. She locked the shop and left me with my food, beer, and bicycle. I ate my food and drank my beer and went to the campground to set up the tent, shower, wash clothes, and then sleep until 7. I went across the street to another almacen for Serrano ham and bread and crackers and the man showed me photos of winter in the mountains, told me he drove a truck up the mountain as well for the road work, and I told him of my plans to meet the other cyclists in San Martin. He told me his sister lived in France, and called over to his senora for the price of crackers and his senora was stunning. I then bought a half kilo of yerba mate at another almacen (there were 3, and I hit up every one) and I went to my tent where I encountered 5 workers from Malargue who were roasting an asado. They called me over and shared a rich asado with tomatoes and bread and a mixture of wine and Sprite. They had to go shortly thereafter to return to their families, and left me with a kilo of asado (they instructed me to put in the Sprite bottle), a bag of bread, and a tomato. I hadn´t seen a tomato in three days, so I was excited. I left the food on the picnic table and checked on it throughout the night. Yet when I awoke the dog had eaten all the food. Given that there are no fresh fruits or vegetable in the town (they eat meat and bread), the dog had the meal of his life.
I rode 40km of ripio the next day before reaching Ruta 40. I had with me 12 liters of water and two days of food. I bought a hat at a small almacen after losing mine 3 days earlier in Chile at Mari´s almacen where I had spend the night in the foothills. The scalp had been pelted by sand in the canyon of the witches and it was good to again have a hat. I rode easy pavement another 50km and camped to volcanoes and a red sunset and a strong wind which further bent the tent poles.
In the morning I passed black lava fields and a deep canyon cut by the Rio Grande. Soon deep ripio began and the silt and stones made it difficult to find purchase. Soon the rear tire burst and I changed the tube. Minutes later the tube burst again and I realized the large sidewall cut I had booted in Brasil was cut open by the ripio. My hands could not take another change with the Schwalbes so I used the lightweight road tire. It spun freely in the silted ripio, but my map indicated only 22km, so I could power through. The dark volcanic formations grew dense. The road steepened and I could not gain traction and ran with the bike. Just another 5km, I thought. Two potassium miners ate lunch by the roadside and offered me yerba mate, which I drank, and cheese and meat, which I could not eat due to a suddenly explosive intestinal track. They told me I had 80km of ripio to go. The map was incorrect and the men were right. How could I continue walking the bike for 80km? It would not be a bike ride. I would run out of water in a day. Perhaps the road would flatten. I continued to ride and would dismount the bike every few minutes and push the rig to the right or the left. I wanted to toss the bike into the canyon and run but I would not have enough food and water for 80km. I continued in this manner for 20km until the ripio became manageable to the point where I did not have to walk the bike. A family in a Land Rover from Buenos Aires stopped me and told me I had 69km to Barrancas. Ah, that meant the miners had overcalculated the ripio. They should have said 60km of ripio, not 80. Yet they said the road was fea and they were right. I refused a ride from the family and continued to empty my intestines on the roadside and continued to ride. The ripio turned more compact and I could ride now in the middle chainring on the washboard surface. A man appeared in the distance smoking a cigarette on the roadside. A bicycle? I approach Raul and he wore a jumpsuit, aviator sunglasses, and gardening gloves along with traditional Argentine sandals. We sat and spoke for a half an hour and told me of the wind and the climbing ahead and was at peace in the midst of terror. He was from the North and had been riding in South America for 20 years. Nothing phased him. He had ridden the road before and said at one time it was paved but the sun and snow and rain had peeled the surface. But he wanted to camp and I told him I would ride until I found pavement, no matter how long it took. 15km, he told me. But I knew I had 25 and this is how far I rode until the road began. I had defeated the unridable ripio and now I needed water. I rode to a lagoon and there were 5 small homes and a boy filled up my water bag while I spoke to his father. A pack of dogs ran with me as I left to an almacen 13km in the distance that the man had mentioned. When I arrived at the almacen in Ranquil Norte a ponytailed man shared a liter of beer with a dark skinned gaucho in a black hat, white shirt, and traditional waistband. Antonio passed the beer to me and the three of us finished it. Antonio´s two daughters waited for him and begged him to come home and he asked them to bring another liter and we drank that too. The daughters asked for their father to come home. It was 10 in the evening. He asked them for another liter and the three of shared the liter as the daughters watched and pleaded. Antonio would introduce me to a neighbor who gave me a spot of grass in front of the municipal building in which I camped for the night. I awoke early to a strong wind and the tent poles were further misshapen. I rode a 20km descent and was hit by a wickedly strong cross wind and small amounts of rain. Finally the canyons narrowed and so too the rain. I saw a sign for the region of Neuquen and I knew I was moments away from reaching Patagonia with my own legs. I crossed into the Patagonian border and wind immediately nearly blew me over. I walked into a tourist office and the man told me of the wind. He told me it blows every day, every day it blows strongly. I rode 4km to Barrancas and it took me 45 minutes. I walked the bike up the hill in the headwind 4 times and was blown deep in the road several times. I found a good and cheap hostel and rested for the night, cleaned the bike, and spoke with a Canadian couple who were riding motorcycles around the world and an Argentinean father and son looking for copper in the mountains.
I rode 40km to Buta Ranquil the next day in a strong headwind but could go no further and slept immediately when I found a room.
I had ridden three days in the Andes over Paso Pehuenche and my legs were drained of energy and spirit. Never had I encountered a descent that had exhausted me, but even with a tailwind and a crosswind the whipping sand along the orange rocks and river had spent me beyond what I had thought capable. Urs would have told me to rest two days in a hostel, but there were no hostels. There was a free campground and the five workers from Mallargue fed me asado and Sprite with wine and left me a kilo of asado which was stolen by the dogs that night. That had left me bread and a tomato, an item you can´t get in those parts, and the dogs ate that too and the meal must have been their best. I repeat myself, but I remember.
I was in a rush to St Martin de Los Andes for Navidad, but I knew it was impossible. For the fiesta at Ano Nuevo, I thought. After the hard descent I bought food for 2 days and water for one, thinking the 160 km would be a breeze. I camped early and drank wine and fought wind with the tent but when the wind subsided and the flies left it was a good night with many fine photos.
But I needed to rest. My back, my legs, my spirit, needed rest after such an ascent and descent. Yet the following day would be my hardest: 80 km of rippio and 110 km of courage. Time was growing short and there was no time for two days of rest. I rode 30 km and rested at one town, then 40 km and rested at the next. Perhaps I had it in me to ride the 88km to Chos Malal, but I had heard the wind and the climb was very tough. But how tough could it be.
My back and legs already hurt in the first kilometers. The wind was strong but there was a strong descent and then a tailwind. 25 km passed and I knew I was in the favor of the gods. I passed a German couple riding with a 2 year old and I figured if they could ride, so could I.
After I parted with the Germans, the climbing began, but so did a wicked headwind. It increased in strength and the sun went away and I donned my heavy gloves, winter hat, and rain jacket in addition to the arm and leg warmers. I climbed for two hours then stopped to rest. I knew I could make the next 50km, I had plenty of daylight.
The climb and then wind did not end. When I yelled in triumph, the climb continued. Then it continued and so did the wind. I could not feel my left foot so put on my foot warmers. So I could feel my left toes once again. I continued to climb and I my legs fell out under me. Wind swept me left and right. I walked my bike up the last pass. There was a small level area and the wind and ascent begin again. I put my head down and pushed forward, out of the saddle and in my lowest gear. Eventually I reached the summit and pushed by bike uphill. It was all downhill from here, 35km, I thought. I took off my jacket, took off my winter hat, put on my baseball cap, and took off the winter gloves. I went around a canyon and then the sun disappeared and the temperature dropped and the wind began again. The descent suddenly became as hard as the ascent.
I put on the jacket and the winter hat and the winter gloves and tightened the hood around my winter hat but I was still cold. Rain clouds, dark, hovered above and the wind was deafening. I pushed on.
The wind grew stronger and I looked at the count of kilometers to Chos Malal. 30km. I could make it, despite the wind, even in a rain storm, I could make it.
Then a false flat began and suddenly the fangs of the cordillera revealed themselves. They were snow capped and dark clouds hovered above. The wind increased in strength. Rain clouds moved in quickly. The sky turned black. I would not be able to take out clothes to warm myself under the jacket. The wind was too strong. The tent poles were already misshaped from earlier battles with the wind and I could see no good spaces for the tent. Jesus, the cold was intense, the wind was growing stronger, I needed to rest, and there was no chance to rest, just push ahead and hope I made it.
As I moved on I felt rain drops and I was cold and moving at 7km per hour. The wind bit at my face. I realized I could not set up my tent, it would be destroyed. But I could get in the unpitched tent and survive the storm on the roadside and hopefully live. I looked at the cordillera and it smiled it me with its fangs. Hypothermia was minutes away. Shit, I knew the gear was bad, but I thought I had much time before the bad wind and cold and rain hit.
Shit, shit, to freeze now, to freeze far before Patagonia is supposed to get bad. I would flag down a truck I thought, at the first truck that passed. But there were none. I rode on, just about to walk the bike again. An old pickup truck pulled by and then stopped. A man came out and asked if I needed a haul. 25km away, but with a rainstorm and the wind, I could not refuse. We pulled my bike into the bed of the pickup and we tied it down. His pregnant wife and 3 year old daughter were inside and they were accomodative. He started his engine and was hellbent on getting to Chos Malal. He had some things to take care of. We wound through the switchbacks and a liter of beer materialized. We passed it back and forth and he blasted his favorite music. His wife began to cough and I realized it was my smell. He passed a package of gum to me and I took a piece. He turned up the music and we continued to pass beer and he sped and I wondered if we would make it. We reached town and he dropped me off at the town center and we unloaded my bike and I offered him 20 pesos for gas and a beer for his friends. He hugged me and as I got on my bike he reached behind his back seat and gave me a cold liter of beer for the camping. We hugged again and he left. I was empty and spend and could barely stand.
I opened up my laptop later and it was gone, gone for good. The screen was scrambled and illegible.
I had no idea Patagonia would hit me so hard and so early. I thought I would ride to San Martin de Los Andes and the hard parts would begin far south. The locals here told me the weather had been strange, very bad, not normal. I didn´t care either way. I could barely stand. But for a man to stop and rescue me in such wind and rain. I cannot repay Argentina and Patagonia, but it has changed me in a way a bullet changes a hardened warrior.
I continue on tomorrow morning. What the gods give me, I cannot tell.
I asked the owner of the inn the name of the cordillera with the fangs and the wind that had scared me off my horse. He said it was the Cordillera de Viento.
