From Puerto Williams
it was 105km of easy sailing west to Estancia Moro Chico. The road headed west
towards the ocean and there was a tailwind and the riding was quiet and easy.
There were prairies and grazing fields and small trees twisted west in the direction
of the wind. I rode mostly alone, letting Carlos ride ahead and the
solitude was good. The road was concrete and flat. I ate an apple, a boiled
egg, crackers, and cookies while riding. Leg and arm warmers under the jacket
and pants.
We reached a Carabineros outpost in Moro Chico and the Carabinero offered us shelter in a barn across from the outpost. A tailwind is helpful when riding, but harmful while camping. We cooked pasta for dinner and I slept well. In the morning I moved my tent from the barn entrance to the center of the barn as a cold rain began to fall. By noon the rain subsided and we packed up and set off in a strong cross to slight headwind.
We rode 45 difficult kilometers to Villa Telhuelches that day. On one stretch a nandu ran along side me for 200 meters. It was graceful and I watched its plumes rustle in the wind. I did not think to stop for a photo but the two of us ran together. As a truck approached from the opposite direction, I feared it would suddenly try to cross me, which was exactly what it attempted to do before it had some sense and changed direction.
The cold and the wind have been difficult on the feet, and I purchased new thermal socks in Puerto Natales and use the light wind covers as a barrier. The left toes on the right foot began quite cold and I worked to keep sense in the toes. The sun began to heat my right foot from the West as I rode South—the black wind covers absorbed the heat well. But the wind was intense. I had taken the thermal shirt off earlier and I kept the rain jacket on for the whole day even though at one point I wanted put the thermal shirt back on. It wouldn’t be safe in the strong wind—taking any layer on or off strips a man of too much heat and there is always a risk the bike will fall down or something will blow away. A flat, too, can mean disaster with frozen hands and hypothermia.
We stopped at the Carabinero outpost and inquired about a place to camp for the night, sheltered from the wind. The Carabinero pointed us to a construction shelter where we could pitch our tents. We filled our water bags and bottles at the outpost and set up camp at the construction site. After cooking polenta and soup, I fell asleep at 8 and slept until 11:30, then read for an hour, and slept until 7:30. I wrapped my shoes in a plastic bag and slept with the shoes in my sleeping bag at night to warm them. This worked well, and in the morning the shoes were dry and warm.
I thought about how a man traces back to his warmest and most comforting experiences when he suffers or when things are tough. Some men just go back to a prenatal pleasure and never want to go back to the tough times they once experienced. They block it out and just take a path of food and shelter and whatever work to keep them on that path. Other men are toughened and transformed by the tough times and the suffering, and they can then go on and explore at another, even more difficult level.
Before departing that morning we bought hot bread from an almacen. 10km outside of Villa Telhuelches we ran into Franko and Florence, a young couple from south of Lyon who had been riding for a year and a half. We rode with them for a few kilometers.
It was a 100km ride from Telhuelches to Punta Arenas. I rode along the ocean and there was a wickedly strong crosswind near Gobernador Philipi. As the sun set, a strong, cold wind and light rain began. We found alojamiento in the dark and I talked an old woman down 2000 pesos for the room. It was clean and comfortable and she spoke proudly of her daughters in the United States and Canada. The Canadian son-in-law was a fisherman and he used special lures to catch large trout in Colorado, and the woman had his large fish displayed on her wall. Taped to her walls were photos of her daughters’ families. That night, while out for groceries, I was nearly knocked down by a strong wind while walking. I hoped that the wind was unusual that night, and fortunately it was, as the storm made the papers.
The old woman served us breakfast in the morning and we left for a cheaper lodging that a Spanish cyclist had mentioned in an email to Carlos that night. That day I walked the city looking for warm boots, but none were in my size. The Spanish cyclist, an Italian, a Pole, two Swedes, Carlos and I barbecued an asado of ribs, beef, chorizo, and chicken that night and drank wine in a metal shed to shelter from the wind.
In the morning Eduardo, the owner of the hostal, cooked us eggs and served us coffee, yoghurt, oatmeal, pastries, bread, jam, and butter. Eduardo knows more about this region than most. He said he likes his own place and likes to work directly with everyone who sleeps here because if anyone gets ripped off it would be his ass on the line, "sin vasolina, con arena." I liked that phrase and laughed a lot at breakfast. He has run the hostal for 15 years now. His dog follows Carlos and me around town. He spoke of the gauchos on the estancias and how they like it when you bring them cigarettes and wine and mate because wine is forbidden and they don't go often to the city and so the cigarettes go fast. Years ago gauchos would come from the estancias to Punta Arenas and leave Eduardo with their money, sometimes 6 months of salary, and he would act as their bank. They would get drunk and come back for money, sometimes twice in a day.
Carlos and I spoke about one theory offered by Mauricio to explain the lack of hospitality South of Puerto Mont on the Carretera Austral. Mauricio said the gauchos had survived the solitude and severity of the terrain and were unprepared for tourists. They weren't accustomed to money either. So when they rent out their rooms to tourists they almost want nothing to do with it. They just take the money and hope there is no problem. But then there are the stories from Eduardo of the reception of cyclists and hikers in Tierra del Fuego, who are hosted by the Gauchos on the estancias and given asado and who expect no money in return, because money is of no use on the estancias as there is nothing to buy. The food, just potatoes and meat, mountains of meat, are free for the workers.
Tomorrow we set off on a boat to Porvenir, where there will be a 450km ride west and then south to Ushuaia.
A saint of the road.
The bus shelters reflect Serbian immigrant architecture.
Moro Chico
A nandu. Look carefully.
Villa Telhuelches
Statue of Magellan
The first night in Punta Arenas.
The asado.
Telling stories while cooking asado.
Beans.
Juan, the Spaniard, setting off to Porvenir.
Eduardo´s dog.
We reached a Carabineros outpost in Moro Chico and the Carabinero offered us shelter in a barn across from the outpost. A tailwind is helpful when riding, but harmful while camping. We cooked pasta for dinner and I slept well. In the morning I moved my tent from the barn entrance to the center of the barn as a cold rain began to fall. By noon the rain subsided and we packed up and set off in a strong cross to slight headwind.
We rode 45 difficult kilometers to Villa Telhuelches that day. On one stretch a nandu ran along side me for 200 meters. It was graceful and I watched its plumes rustle in the wind. I did not think to stop for a photo but the two of us ran together. As a truck approached from the opposite direction, I feared it would suddenly try to cross me, which was exactly what it attempted to do before it had some sense and changed direction.
The cold and the wind have been difficult on the feet, and I purchased new thermal socks in Puerto Natales and use the light wind covers as a barrier. The left toes on the right foot began quite cold and I worked to keep sense in the toes. The sun began to heat my right foot from the West as I rode South—the black wind covers absorbed the heat well. But the wind was intense. I had taken the thermal shirt off earlier and I kept the rain jacket on for the whole day even though at one point I wanted put the thermal shirt back on. It wouldn’t be safe in the strong wind—taking any layer on or off strips a man of too much heat and there is always a risk the bike will fall down or something will blow away. A flat, too, can mean disaster with frozen hands and hypothermia.
We stopped at the Carabinero outpost and inquired about a place to camp for the night, sheltered from the wind. The Carabinero pointed us to a construction shelter where we could pitch our tents. We filled our water bags and bottles at the outpost and set up camp at the construction site. After cooking polenta and soup, I fell asleep at 8 and slept until 11:30, then read for an hour, and slept until 7:30. I wrapped my shoes in a plastic bag and slept with the shoes in my sleeping bag at night to warm them. This worked well, and in the morning the shoes were dry and warm.
I thought about how a man traces back to his warmest and most comforting experiences when he suffers or when things are tough. Some men just go back to a prenatal pleasure and never want to go back to the tough times they once experienced. They block it out and just take a path of food and shelter and whatever work to keep them on that path. Other men are toughened and transformed by the tough times and the suffering, and they can then go on and explore at another, even more difficult level.
Before departing that morning we bought hot bread from an almacen. 10km outside of Villa Telhuelches we ran into Franko and Florence, a young couple from south of Lyon who had been riding for a year and a half. We rode with them for a few kilometers.
It was a 100km ride from Telhuelches to Punta Arenas. I rode along the ocean and there was a wickedly strong crosswind near Gobernador Philipi. As the sun set, a strong, cold wind and light rain began. We found alojamiento in the dark and I talked an old woman down 2000 pesos for the room. It was clean and comfortable and she spoke proudly of her daughters in the United States and Canada. The Canadian son-in-law was a fisherman and he used special lures to catch large trout in Colorado, and the woman had his large fish displayed on her wall. Taped to her walls were photos of her daughters’ families. That night, while out for groceries, I was nearly knocked down by a strong wind while walking. I hoped that the wind was unusual that night, and fortunately it was, as the storm made the papers.
The old woman served us breakfast in the morning and we left for a cheaper lodging that a Spanish cyclist had mentioned in an email to Carlos that night. That day I walked the city looking for warm boots, but none were in my size. The Spanish cyclist, an Italian, a Pole, two Swedes, Carlos and I barbecued an asado of ribs, beef, chorizo, and chicken that night and drank wine in a metal shed to shelter from the wind.
In the morning Eduardo, the owner of the hostal, cooked us eggs and served us coffee, yoghurt, oatmeal, pastries, bread, jam, and butter. Eduardo knows more about this region than most. He said he likes his own place and likes to work directly with everyone who sleeps here because if anyone gets ripped off it would be his ass on the line, "sin vasolina, con arena." I liked that phrase and laughed a lot at breakfast. He has run the hostal for 15 years now. His dog follows Carlos and me around town. He spoke of the gauchos on the estancias and how they like it when you bring them cigarettes and wine and mate because wine is forbidden and they don't go often to the city and so the cigarettes go fast. Years ago gauchos would come from the estancias to Punta Arenas and leave Eduardo with their money, sometimes 6 months of salary, and he would act as their bank. They would get drunk and come back for money, sometimes twice in a day.
Carlos and I spoke about one theory offered by Mauricio to explain the lack of hospitality South of Puerto Mont on the Carretera Austral. Mauricio said the gauchos had survived the solitude and severity of the terrain and were unprepared for tourists. They weren't accustomed to money either. So when they rent out their rooms to tourists they almost want nothing to do with it. They just take the money and hope there is no problem. But then there are the stories from Eduardo of the reception of cyclists and hikers in Tierra del Fuego, who are hosted by the Gauchos on the estancias and given asado and who expect no money in return, because money is of no use on the estancias as there is nothing to buy. The food, just potatoes and meat, mountains of meat, are free for the workers.
Tomorrow we set off on a boat to Porvenir, where there will be a 450km ride west and then south to Ushuaia.
This shot of the nandu was taken by Carlos. These birds are hard to shoot.
:Above, a sandwich with meat and cheese and hot milk with sugar. Next: there are many strip clubs in Punta Arenas. Here, an evangelical church next to a strip club. Note the cross. If things don´t work out with God, you can try your luck with the strippers. Vice versa.
