March 10, 2011
The End, the end, the end....: Not, The End, End.
Facundo, a cyclist from Buenos Aires whom I met at "Camping Club Nautical" in Rio Grande, I was surprised to meet again in Tolhuin, as I thought, or at lease I thought I heard him say he's going North when he left (Tolhuin is South of Rio Grande). He has cycled from home to Ushuaia; from where he will cycle to Mexico. He doesn't seem to have much money, indeed he is working a few days at the bakery in Tolhuin where he is staying; and his gear is basic inexpensive, the tent is ripped and will let in the cold and rain. But I suppose he processes the most important thing, the will to succeed. I have seen so many cycle-tourers with state of the art touring bikes and everything else, though, somewhere sooner or later along the rough, dusty and windy South American road decide they have had enough and take the bus for part or all of the rest of their trip. "It's the difference between people traveling BY bike as opposed to those traveling WITH bikes" quipped Ian the cyclist I met back in San Julian. Wait a moment; confession time; before someone writes in and says "eh you took a bus; remember" yes yes indeed, but that has been to start-points or from the end: beside that's a long time ago. Later this afternoon I'll be in Ushuaia after thousands of kilometres of cycling, with no other mode of locomotion other than my own physical effort riding a bike and the feeling of achievement will be complete: if I sound proud; I am.
The day got off to a chilly start; in fact it would remain cold all day. Summer is barely over and the trees are beginning to yellow. Autumn this far South, I should think, is a brief transition to Winter. Dramatic banks of cloud hung overhead with regular breaks of sunshine through the morning. Although it threatened rain in the afternoon, when it did, it was only a brief shower; and all in all it was a wonderful day of changing light with countless photo opportunities from the road which wound it's way around wooded slopes below mountain peaks and along lakes which were only visible at times through gaps in the Lenga trees.
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The lakes are long and narrow, and look to be deep flooded valleys. As I appreciate, my only nagging anxiety is my chain is dry after yesterday's rain and I don't have oil with which to lubricate it; even my vegetable oil for cooking I've forgotten; as I have done teabags and coffee; left them behind on the common food shelf in Rio Grande (Camping Club Nautical). My lunch therefore is caffeine-less, sat on a patch of meadow grass and daisies by the roadside where I have steak sandwiches for a second day. The climate being cool the meat hasn't gone off yet. I've had enough of the steak now, now the third day in a row. I yearn for foods which are common back home, but unheard of here: simple things like Baked Beans and Digestive biscuits which are ideal cycle-touring camping foods.
My picnic was at the beginning of an 8km long climb to a pass, Paso Garibaldi, in which I cross the Andes. The climb is very gradual from near the lake along the steep sides of the valley. Allot of blasting and excavating has gone into building the modern road. Below can be seen the old road which follows the lakeside around before finally climbing up in a number of steep angular switch-backs to the modern road and the pass at the valley-head. A hard few hours climbing it would've been no doubt, if it wasn't for the new road and it's long easily ridden ramp which continues high above the old on a ledge.
Down the other side of the pass is steeper, and there is one great curve-hairpin where the road drops dramatically, before which can be seen, the road far below and it's incomprehensible how the road is going to get so far below in such a short space of road. But it does with me checking the brakes as not to lose control and thereby avoiding disaster.
On the flat below; I met the day's only other cyclists coming the other way. They are a Japanese couple and we only spoke briefly, as Spanish was limited and English basic. But I found out they are cycling to Bolivia having already reached there from Alaska. They flew South, from Bolivia to Ushuaia in order to complete their ride, the length of America before the Winter set in in the South.
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I was growing hungry again, so I stop and eat two boiled eggs. I had bread which I didn't touch as it was going hard and unpalatable. I wish I'd saved some of the sweet croissant like facturas from the bakery in the morning. They would've been just the thing to carry me through to evening. The road onwards was misery in my hunger and with the dry noisy chain which had require so much more effort throughout the day, now made it a real struggle riding a series of short steep hills; rounding each bend thinking it would be all downhill from here, only to reveal a short dip and another steep rise. The long downhill did come; not soon enough, but Is happy in the knowledge that it was only a few kilometres more.
Eventually; turning a bend, the Beagle Channel comes into view and the city of Ushuaia. A fantastic vista, unforgettable in the late afternoon light, with the range of majestic mountains beyond the flat grey sheet of water. The city; a scattered jumble of houses and commercial buildings, stretching out towards islands which seemingly almost bridge the channel and spread up the slopes on the near side. The road comes in on the hillside and down below is the port with acres of ship-containers stacked high. And looking down upon the wide trunk-road by the port and waterfront there's a steady hum and flow of trucks and cars. The main-road in, above the city, is closed ahead for roadworks and the traffic is diverted zig-zag fashion down a steep muddy track, through a housing estate and out by all those three or four high stacked containers to that road seen from above where I ride the next couple of kilometres from traffic-light to traffic-light at the side of slow moving strung out traffic.
On the main San Martin street, after satisfying my hunger at a bakery, I turn up a chain-breaking steep climb towards the campsite. Ushuaia is one of those cities that are all up hill and I arrive a half hour later out of breath outside the pavilion of said campsite where Alister the cyclist that past through "Club Nautical" comes out greeting me and invites me to dinner together with girlfriend Anna and the other cycling couple they are with, as they'd made too much spaghetti. Nice; not having to cook.
Today's ride: 111 km (69 miles)
Total: 11,773 km (7,311 miles)
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