March 3, 2011
Holes and patches.
My watch shows 5.57: it's too early too early. I cannot be getting up this early this far South. It's still a while to sunrise and it's really cold out of the sleeping-bag. Good: I sleep again.
Days later on a wallchart map of the World, I was to stretch my thumb and forefinger between the province of Salta on the border with Boliva in the North to Ushuaia in the far South and found if I moved my hand to the Northern hemisphere, being careful to hold my digits at the same stretch, and placed the tip of my forefinger on the North Antrim coast in Northern Ireland which is roughly around the same latitude North that Ushuaia is South: I found that the thumb was in Mali or Senegal, which therefore are on the equivalent latitude North as Salta is South: such is the size of this country and the climate is almost never pleasant: dry and dusty; the incessant wind, or either too hot or bitterly cold. The climate at home in Ireland is timid by comparison.
The morning is still and grey. I have porridge and a cup of tea: then, while waiting for a second cup of tea to draw, I take the front-wheel into the warmth of the tent to repair a slow puncher. I don't think I'll find a hole though as it takes quite a while to go down. I have a go anyway. I inflate the tube, which has quite a few patches already, up till it's distorted out as fat as my upper-arm in places: almost until it may go bang if I pump any more. I run the tube around past my ear and feel a faint jet of air. I can also feel it if I run my finger over the area. But then I clean and glue it and can no longer feel it; the glue no doubt sealed it over. I had glued quite a big area and there was a danger of putting a patch on and missing the hole. I pump a few stroke more in order that the air-jet restarts: and it did, so I could patch it in the right place.
I reach San Sabastian after an hour on the road. The town I've been heading towards for two days is only a big hosteria (guess-house) with a sign in English "Quick food" meaning fast-food: and on the other side of the road the "Carbineres de Chile" or the police-station. But a few hundred metres farther is a big drive-thru shed with the road diverted into it. This is the customs as I now leave Chile and entry the Argentine part of the island.
Actually, I've been here in 2004, so I knew what to expect. Today the official just glanced at my passport and stamped it asking am I going to Ushuaia in a very civilized way. Six year ago, the official was not so cool. I think he was an ex-army officer. My comprehension of Spanish wasn't good then and I answered every question he asked wrong: he was furious "Adonde soy?"(where you from?) he barked. "Punta Arenas" I replied; and of coarse I'm not Chilean. "Adonde....?" I thought I wasn't going to get away.
And so there was the Argentine customs a few kilometres farther through a another hanger building with the overhead sign "Bienvenidos a Tierra del Fuego, Antartida e Las Islas de Atlantico del Sur": quite a mouth full; suffice to say Argentina is passionate about it cold Southern frontier.
The road South to Rio Grande follows at or near the Atlantic coast and the 80km I covered in little over 3 hours of coasting as the wind had gotten very strong from behind: indeed it would've been impossible to cycle North today. The day ended by the waterfront in Rio Grande with a loud thump from the front wheel; a broken spoke, which is indeed unusual, though not as bad as a rear wheel spoke break. I shall be here a few days any way, at the well known "Camping Club Nautical" in which time I'll have it sorted.
Today's ride: 111 km (69 miles)
Total: 11,556 km (7,176 miles)
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