February 17, 2011
South to Tres Cerres
The campsite in Fitzroy is good in that the man that runs it didn't charge me any money, and what more can one ask for: the showers worked and the toilets were clean. Angel and his friend, these are the two guys that I spoke with last night, had packed up there camp early and were out by the roadside thumbing a lift South. I rode around to the cabin where Nancy and John are staying and met Nancy outside.
Nancy told of how John's arm was very stiff after yesterday's fall; thankfully it was somewhat improved today. "Where is he?" I ask. " He-sa working on the bike. He-sa having to re-ro-out the gear and brake cables, so he can use the front brake. Also the gears won't change" She pondered the idea of taking a bus back to Comodoro Rividavia, to a bike-shop to buy bar-end shifters. "You're seen the cabin, it's real nice" she continued. I have indeed. It is the lap of luxury and for four of them works out cheap."It-sa long time since we slept in beds. I guess we will stay here today and most likely tomorrow" She is concerned about the 280km stretch South to the next town, San Julian. There is suppose to be a petrol-station at Tres Cerres, roughly midway which is the only water. While an adult cyclist can comfortably cycle 140km a day; they after all are cycling with children and therefore most limit themselves to about 80km a day. I said goodbye and maybe they'll catch me up in San Julian as perhaps I will remain there a few days.
I return to the shop to stock-up on extra food. The young lady was very chatty today asking me what time I got up at as it had now gone ten and perhaps she thought I'd overslept. "No, alevandant me a 7.30" I reply. She smiled. I then had to fill-up on water. The friendly man at the campsite had given me a 2 litre bottle of water but Is going to need alot more. There is no water coming out of the tap at the village petrol-station when I turn it. The attendant directs me three blocks where there is a communal water-pump; such is water a scares resource here.
The village as it is is a dozen blocks of colourful fading paint clap-board and block houses divided by dusty streets. The water-pump is by the plaza "Plaza Eva Peron" which has swings and benches; and looks out upon the Patagonian steppe on one side. I cycle past Angel and his friend still waiting by the roadside for a lift. After a few words they wish me good luck and I ride on. I looked back at the village a few times, each time it was smaller and finally I looked over my shoulder and it had past out of sight. It had gone. All-around was a vast brown wilderness stretched out as far as the eye could see; beyond the imagination of I a European used to green valleys and gentle hills.
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I pass through the turn-off for Puerto Deseado and see on the left the clump of trees which is the village of Jaramilo which on the sign is 7km away but only looks as though a few hundred metres away. Shortly the road descends down into a great wide canyon with orange barrancas and a sandy dry river through it's middle: the valley of the Deseado river; followed by a long climb out the other side.
The day remained thankfully windless and the sky cloudless. There were off in the East rising cumulus clouds, like the white plumes of many power-station cooling-towers. I could see lakes, illusions which weren't really there. The road ahead faded into the sky long before the blurred brown horizon where distant hills floated in mid-air.
I thought how empty it all looks: no animals: then I see a Fox but it had seen me first and was running along the fence. It stopped though, turns and looks at me. I had now stopped and stood still while I carefully take the camera out. The Fox remained starring up at me on the roadside long enough so I could take a photo before running off.
The landscape became more interesting as evening approached: the road wound it's way around and over red-ish brown hills; and there were herds of Guanachos by the roadside with their distinctive loud screeching call, perhaps warning of danger: they run across the road and clear the fence in a hop before I get near.
Shortly; I stop at a turn-off for the Petrified Forest Natural Monument: it is 50km of stones and dust every time a vehicle passes. Sat with the trailer as a back-rest I lean my head against the pannier and doze off; and hear a familiar voice call my name. I awoke with a start and discover no one there: all is silent except for the distant whinging sound of an approaching truck.
It had been a long day and I now counted down the kilometres to the petrol-station, Tres Cerres. I did see three conical hills in a row ahead, so I supposed that is the three hills in the name, so it cannot be far. I eventually on cresting a fold see it, seemingly a long way off, a small white box in immense surroundings. I was expecting a very rustic place, slightly rundown, run by rustic country-folk. The petrol-station at Tres Cerres though is anything but: on getting that far I discover a massive shiny modern service-station and a fancy motel; it was a hive of activity with trucks pulled in for the night. The cafeteria had a fine selection of food. I sit-down to 6 Empanades de Carne, which are small meat-filled pies, 6 are a filling meal: and gulp down a couple of glasses of cold beer. Later, I find a spot by a picnic table in the garden front to the motel to put the tent; and despite there being alot of car engines running nearby and headlights, I slept soundly.
Today's ride: 134 km (83 miles)
Total: 10,786 km (6,698 miles)
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