Towards, Paso de Indios, -then Pampa Agnia.

January 25, 2011

Yet again, Tuesday is a day where the words are not there to describe the amazing red-rock cliffs and formations during the first part of the day onwards from from Las Altares. The Welsh pioneers on first seeing this place were deeply impressed with the tall symmetrical cliffs and chimney rocks which, to them them being good Church-going folk, looked like church pulpits, so they christen the place "The Altars"

Leaving Las Altares. All-along Route 25 are signs with places in the Andes worth visiting.

These pictures were taken 8.30-nine when the light was seemingly near perfect.

The sky was cloudless and there was a cold nip in the air while cycling away from the village through the valley of the Altars. Shortly, I stop to marvel and take photos where the road follows the base of impressive cliffs which look as if architecturally thought-out and carefully sculptured by some unknown beings. There's a curved concave hollow in the corner where the cliff turns right and so the road most follow. A bit farther at another corner, the builder which I suspect is Messrs Wind, has left a gap up through the rock big enough to take the road leaving a strange bit of lone-standing cliff leaning as if it may tip over on it's side. This I believe is called "The Ship" as it looks some what ship-like.

Up pass the ship the road goes, as though up through a passage, over a summit and then it's a long stretch across open dry scrub with the green willow riverbank off to the right. There are some rock formations on the left but they're a little bit from the road.

Eventually, the road climbs a steep hill near the riverbank. At the top there's a path off to a summit with a cross on it and below it on the slope is inscribed in stones, Paso de Indios. Care most be taken up here as it's a shear drop to the plain below where the river meanders in a serious of big curves. This is the Paso de Indios alluded to. The native American people corralled their horses in the river bends as they forded the river here during the seasonal migration to the Andes for the warmer Summer months.

Paso de Indios, the fording place. The bends were useful for corralling the horses during the yearly migration to the Andes.

It is here, that the road sweeps down and passes by the riverbank one last time, as hereafter the river's coarse is from the North and the road continues West up a long climb to the beginning of a mountainous plateau and on finally cresting the hill the village of Paso de Indios spreads out before the eye looking like a un-thought-out collection of box-like structures which had been put there yesterday.

I was going to buy something for lunch at the shop but I spotted from the road a gleaming new comidor which wasn't there the last time I past through. It passed the pee test, the toilets smelled fresh and were spotless, so one can only suppose the kitchen is the same. The diner too was light and airy. I had Charasco, which is fried steak, and a big salad, and it filled me up for the rest of the day. A trucker and his helper at the other side of the room preoccupied playing with his mobile and I, were the only customers. The lady taking the orders and serving was beautiful, she had, like most of the people in this area those Asiatic features of native American people. I felt inhibited speaking with her as I's so filthy not having had a shower since leaving Trelew on Saturday, and with all the dust that was in the air yesterday which was still on my face and in my hair. But she wasn't just a pretty face, she knew I's travelling by bike and had not had the possibility of a wash in days.

Not so understand was the shopkeeper, I still needed cold drink and other things before leaving the village. I began to browse the shelves. "Que buscando" what are you looking for, he said in a sharp voice. He stood and watched me like a hawk the whole time I's in his shop, as if I's some lowlife.

La Herreria, The Blacksmith was the village's original name, as depicted on this mural.

The climb up those hills in the previous photo.

Big Gin box. According to legend, during the time of the wagon trains, a wagon owner in order to lighten the load, off loaded and hid a big box of Gin somewhere here.

Pampa Agnia. The rural petrol station is at a crossroads.

Over the hill and the village out of view as I descend the gentle slope the other side, I saw something appoaching ahead which I thought to be another touring cyclist, but as I got closer I saw it was a motorcyclist pushing his bike. As we drew level I greeted him and he with a flushed face waved back, his girlfriend that didn't look amused walked behind. Well, I thought as I continued, he has only a little bit to push until Paso de Indios. Most likely ran out of petrol. Could though be pushing since morning. Just then I heard a bike engine start and looking around saw blue smoke and him waiting for his girlfriend to hop on before riding on. It seemed funny how things instantly turned around at the time, but on reflection, I suppose the bike had not the power for hills as where I'd seen it drive away was where the road levelled out before the decent to the village.

The rest of the afternoon involved quite a bit of climbing. Lady Luck had shone on me, as the wind was noticeable by it's complete absents all today. I past through a quaint valley called, Cajon de Ginebra Grande, or The Gin box, as back when the first settlers came through in wagon trains, a wagon owner needing to lighten the load, hid a big box of gin here, intent on returning for it sometime. There then followed another valley called, Cajon de Ginebra Chico, or little Gin Box, so carrying boxes of Gin was a common practise back then.

I reached the petrol-station Pampa Agnia at quarter to six, which had been my goal for the day as I could camp at the rear, but the lady behind the counter in the shop had sold out of big bottles of soft drinks which was the main motive of stopping, such is my thirst for for something cold to drink. There just remained small bottles of mineral water which were ice-cold. I bough one and took a seat by the window. There wasn't much point in stopping now so I thought since it's so still I may as well continue till dark.

As I sat there, I looked out the window. The lady's husband and two gaucho characters were sat down by an old sixties truck at the petrol-pump trying to shift stubborn wheel-nuts, as it had a flat. A teenage boy, wearing a beret many sizes too big for him, every bit the aspiring young gaucho, looked on.

I rode on after a half hour stopover, intent on riding to nightfall. Pampa Agnia is a vast impressively wild plain bordered by distant hills. I don't know why it is call so but I'm sure something important happen here in the early years of white colonisation involving a woman called Agnia.

I had almost reached a place called El Molle and Had had enough. The sun had just gone behind the hills in the West, so I pushed the bike in of the road and hid behind some thorns where there wasn't space for the tent, therefore I resorted to just rolling out the sleeping mat and getting into the sleeping bag on it.

Today's ride: 140 km (87 miles)
Total: 9,666 km (6,003 miles)

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