First, I understand what the pampa is. I rode the pampa for the last 2 days and it brought back many memories. It's incredible how the pampa runs the length of the country. It just changes temperature. I camped under a bridge last night in the midst of the heavily fenced off Pampa. I do not like the fencing of Ruta 40 in this section of Chubut. It has something to do with the tribal territories here, or the oil and gas interests. In the middle of nowhere up North, there was no fencing. In the middle of nowhere here in Chubut, the fencing is intense. As an example, there were two layers of fence to protect a beautiful lake, one I could have used to camp or to filter water.
Urs had implored me to seek out the Carretera Austral. And then today, in the midst of the desolate pampa, with the memory of sleeping under the bridge fresh in my mind, I saw a man approach me from the south on a bicycle. He crossed over to my side. I asked him where he was from. Bulgaria, he said. Without even telling him my name I asked him which part. Pleven, he said. Peycho had ridden two months from Ushuaia, had pushed his bike across the vicious headwind as he travelled West to Chile, saw the glaciers, rode the Carretera Austral. I told him I struggled with my route each and every day. I would let the Bulgarian decide for me. My heart and soul have always been with the Bulgarians and I told him I trusted the judgement of a Bulgarian. He said for my first time I would be remiss to miss the beauty Carretera Austral. He said Ruta 40 is pampas. I knew the pampas, and I knew the wind. What was more, I knew I would still have to ride a good chunk of Ruta 40 to get to Ushuaia, and what was more, I would have to cut back into Argentina anyway and still ride some of the toughest parts of Ruta 40. How could I ride to Ushuaia and *skip* the Carretera Austral? Here I am, riding along the border, with the ability to dip in and out of the frontiers. I hadn't liked the paved Chilean roads thus far. I really like the mountain passes, though, and the small towns and roads near the mountain passes. But the Carretera Austral is the gem of Chile. It is mostly unpaved and has some of the world's greatest wonders. You get to take boats in sections. There is drinkable water from the streams and open camping. It was the route that got me excited in the first place of heading to Patagonia.
I have ridden Ruta 40 from Salta to Mendoza. Then from Las Loicas to Las Lajas. Then from Junin to Esquel. I don't know the exact tally but about 2500km of Ruta 40. I won't let Ruta 40 dominate my riding. I will pass back and forth the mountains. Once more tomorrow, and then again, perhaps 700-1000 kilometers South. After that I will have another 1000-700 kilometers on Ruta 40 to get to Rio Gallegos, where it ends (or where it begins, actually, at kilometer 0). From there, about 400km to Ushuaia.
I suppose there is something great about following Ruta 40. Not for the title. No, there is a good reason for only staying on Ruta 40 in these parts (as opposed to the beautiful parts of Ruta 40 that make Northern Chile pale in comparison). The reason is this: by going to the severe and desolate parts, you encounter a rare group of people who haven't been bothered by many outsiders. They are more generous and spontaneous with their time. They are more curious and less harassed. I understand that I will be missing out on this. But I want to see some wonders on the Carratera Austral. How much time do I have left on earth? When will cancer, a car, or the state strike me down? To reach Ushuaia, to experience the greatest of Ruta 40 and the Carratera Austral, after that I can't see what they could do to me to ever take away the wonder I will carry with me for my life, whatever its length or content.
So it is tomorrow that I cross over the Andes once again into Chile. It will be a different Chile this time. How can I refuse the earnest advice of a Bulgarian?
The last 4 days of riding:
My ride from Barliloche to Esquel was pleasant. I camped North of Bolson my first night with a family that owned an old Almacen and museum of native culture, then camped on a lake owned by a French family the next night, and then camped under a bridge in the pampas the third night. A hostel in Esquel at the moment, studying the maps over dinner with three Argentineans, one a cyclist from Chilecito, a town I know well.
As Ruta 40 departed the Andes and made its way into the pampas, wind replaced all that was green. Most animals went away but a few birds remained. The new water filter worked very well, although an native from Leleque told me I could drink from the streams.
