March 9, 2011
Rain drops keep falling on my head: but that's not so bad......
I'm afraid to inform you reader, that I am a cold Northern European that likes nothing better of an evening than to sit in the corner with my head in a book or the computer open in front of me. Argentines cannot quite understand this wish of my own company. "Solo", they say with disbelieve, when I tell how long I've traveled alone. Argentines, like to do things in groups including travel. They also talk loud and non-stop, another peculiarity they find with me. I like to listen. I enjoy a beer while silently pondering and reflecting: my mind seemingly miles away. "Que pasa Sean?" they ask me what's wrong when I sit there quietly; and then they turn to each other and comment "no entende": but I do understand, it's just that I don't want to talk now, and anyway...
Anyway, I've spent the last few days at "Camping Club Nautical" (in Rio Grande), and every evening I've come back from town with shopping to make my own dinner only to be invited to eat with the host. The work on the journal which I's expecting to do after dinner, isn't done as it's only polite to remain around the table and be sociable. I've already explained I'm not the life and soul of the party. "Sometimes you just want to do your own thing" says Anna from Holland. Anna and her friend Alister from Australia are cyclists that with another cycling couple, Pradro from Spain and Guillaume France, arrived on Sunday afternoon. The former have cycled from Alaska and met the later in Patagonia. Anyway to continue, I was invited to many meals during my stay at "Camping Club Nautical" which I heartily excepted and I owe a debt of gratitude to the host Norma and Carlos, and the Chilean couple that cooked great meals, Hubi and Jorge. ...and I shouldn't complain.
"Are you-alright?": my first day back on the road and I've met another touring cyclist before Leaving town. The English cyclist that others have seen cycling down Route 3; and he said, "you-alright?" with that unmistakable London-South East accent: he stouts out while passing with customary concern, as Is stopped twiddling with pump and valve topping up on air. I don't remember his name. He stopped and we exchanged stories. He has cycled from Buenos Aires following the coast as mush as is possible, and after reaching Cape Horn will cycle North following the coast where possible to Northern Chile, where the plan is to turn inland and cross the continent finishing in Brazil. We rode more or less together briefly before I stopped once more to adjust my saddle height and remove a layer of clothing while he rode on.
This was a few kilometres outside Rio Grande, where the countryside is still wide open flat with impressive vistas towards distant hills. It was a crisp Autumnal morning with only a few small scattered clouds. The road faces inland before starting a long gradual curve to the left, where complete, it crosses the Rio Grande river, and looking up stream, an earlier rusty steel and steel cable suspension bridge with wooden running boards can be seen; one section of which the cables have broken and it has tipped into the river, ploughing in the current. Shortly thereafter; a big transition can be seen in the landscape, namely, the yellowish pastures become dotted with green. There are trees, dwarf at first but then gradually bigger till full sized twisty moss barked Lenga trees, which are native. It's been a long time since I've seen trees. The tall finger popular trees planted by settlers around estancias and villages on the Patagonian steppe don't count.
The road eventually reached the seaside at Punta Maria, where it being time, I cycle off on a short track to the shore for lunch of steak sandwiches, leftover from last-night's dinner. It is an idyllic enough place if it had not been for big ruts left in the sand by what most have been an RV as a modest car wouldn't have had traction: worse; they had used the beach near the track-head, where I intended to sit and picnic, as a toilet, putting me very much off eating anything. I surmise it most have been them as the big stupid car would have screened them from passing traffic.
The afternoon saw increasing big and dark cloud moving in, and visible rain ahead. Soon the first drops pelted me and while Is stopped putting on the rain-coat, it came on rather too suddenly like the cold tap in a shower being turned on full. It bounced off the road for a few minutes, then it eased and bright rays of sun shone through while the road was left with a wet sheen mirroring the sky briefly before the sky darken again.
At this point; I see bikes slowly approaching with lowrider front panniers and big rear ones, dark silhouettes against the coming downpour. When we draw level, I crossover over to say hello. "Is there mush rain ahead" Elisabeth, the young woman to the fore inquires of me with an accent that French speakers have: then she turned her head and said something in French to Veronica to the rear, which Is taken aback by because she was riding a tandem with her six year old son. The tandem design was a cross between an ordinary rear and an up in the air pedaling recumberant front, smaller and compacter than usual recumberants as it's piloted by the little boy. Elisabeth is from the French speaking part of Canada and Veronica is French. I never got the little boy's name. They've started in Ushuaia and plan on reaching Lima by June.
The rain was on again when I left them. This time not as heavy, more of a steady drizzle. It did though ease in a short moment and a rainbow arched low across the road.
And so I put on a warm fleece underneath the rain-coat which I pulled up the hood on under the helmet; and warm full-finger gloves and rode on after a photo stop. Trucks past with a swish of spray; and the cars still whizz by too fast for the reduced visibility and chances of stopping should anything get in the way are naught in the slippery conditions. Honestly, I don't exaggerate, the reckless standard of driving in Argentina.
Continuing on in the rain, the road rolled gently up and down with wooded hills on either side, while ahead I could see a misty pointed mountain range. And finally the rain stopped for the day and the road soon dried out in occasional glances of sun between remaining cloud banks which created great contrast in light. The mountains ahead now loomed large. The Andes, or what remains of them this far South: a wonderful sight after weeks of seeing nothing higher than low brown hills.
And as I rode towards the mountains with a light heart, a suitable tune came into my head to represent the day; and I sung "nothings worrying me... ...but, still, those-rain-drops keep falling..." You know the song.
Today's ride: 106 km (66 miles)
Total: 11,662 km (7,242 miles)
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