January 9, 2016
Demoralized: near Tapi Aike to near PN Torres del Paine.
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Shortly after eight I reach the small settlement Tapi Aike, consisting of a shed, a police station, a petrol station, a single house and still no sign of life. The petrol station shop locked where I'd hoped to buy a large bottle of coke for the day, but the toilets are open, so I fill my water bottles from the washbasin tap.
It is a bright windless morning. Though I'm afraid it won't last long. And being back on tarmac, I'd like to get as far as possible today to compensate for the slow day yesterday. But I know with it being this calm now can only mean strong wind later. For this reason I get going again without delay
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I make a bit of distance, passing an old abandoned hotel, nothing more than a large one storey shack, which was still in business the day I passed in 2004. Then I stopped for a sandwich. Inside was rustic, seemingly unchanged for fifty years. There was a small woodstove out from the wall with stove pipe to the ceiling. The other cliental were baggy trousers gaucho types. That day was extremely windy out and I barely make it five kilometres more on the then ripio road, when it become impossible and shortly, along come a pickup truck and offers me a lift to the next town, Rio Turbio, which I gladly except.
By this point today it has become breezy and further it has strengthened to moderately strong crosswind until the road curves left and it become midway between crosswind and tailwind, pushing me on fast just as the road goes downhill; where at the bottom, I see the road swing sharp right, whereupon it'll be headwind.
I struggle on slowly to where I see a road service shed ahead, where I pull in and sit against the sheltered side for a half hour, eating a whole packet of biscuits, leaving only one packet of biscuits to do three or four days more, while watching clumps of rough grass to the side blowing hard back and forth, glad of the respite and hoping the wind doesn't get stronger.
Although strong, the wind doesn't strengthen to the point where it is impossible to ride. It is a hard slog but at least I'm making some progress. Ahead is a range of hills like a wall, which the road gently ascents toward and shortly, I see ahead the right turnoff for a border crossing to Chile, that will take me to Torres del Paine. At this moment I'm of a mind to continue straight on, skipping the detour to the park and crossing into Chile via the crossing beyond Rio Turbio, all paved road and the small city of Puerto Natales reachable by evening; whereas, the turnoff will be more into the wind, riding upon ripio, with a few days more of wind and perhaps rain while living on rice. But as I draw level with the right turn, I think I'll see what the road is like anyway.
It is unpaved but reasonably good ripio and shortly after leaving route 40 at a right-angle, curves left round a hillside and drops downhill into a somewhat sheltered valley giving renewed enthusiasm. Still on the curve further downhill I see a car pulled in at the side with someone outside leaning in the window apparently chatting. The car then drives on leaving a blue wind-jacketed person behind. A hitch-hiker I assume as I get nearer. Then closer discover what looked like a backpack in the verge is actually a bike with panniers. Another touring cyclist.
"You speak English. Good" he says. A young man who's wind reddened face peeks out of his hooded jacket. "I from Czech Republic" he says when I ask where he's from and adds "people in car also from Czech Republic. Good to talk with other people from Czech Republic".
We ride on together to begin with, but he riding a mountain bike with superior ability on loose stony ripio to my road tourer, soon leads off as the road descends more steeply to a valley bottom where we're suddenly back into a crosswind. Then over a bridge the road rears steeply up, where I make some ground catching him up again as it levels out on top and we struggle further into the wind to a Gendarme Argentina border customs building.
Once the passports have been exit stamped, we lunch on the sheltered side of the building. He has boiled eggs to eat that won't be allowed into Chile. Also an awful lot of Arabic bread not allowed into Chile, he cannot finish and offers a whole bag to me, saying it may be a little off; nevertheless, I gladly except as a welcome accompaniment to the packet soup I'm simmering on my stove. It was fortunate meeting this other cyclist as the bread alone would invigorate me for the rest of the day. All I can offer in return is a look at my new map. He used to Google maps on his phone then spends quite some time pouring over the novelty of a paper map.
He sets off for the Chilean border customs leaving me to read my new book for a half hour. Then moving on the way ahead is a wide grassy slope down, a transformation from the Argentine side, with grassy partly wooded hills either side, the village of Cerro Castile a cluster of small box-like houses at the very bottom. The wind pushing from the side, meaning I've to be careful to avoid being pushed over into loose stones and skidding the bike and falling. Then levelling out in the valley bottom, the road swings sharp right into the wind, with the last half kilometre to the Chilean customs complex at the entrance to the village a slow crawl.
When I get there I'm surprized to see the Czech cyclist's bike still outside the customs building, thinking he'd be long gone by now. Inside he is at a window filling in a form for his bike, having had his passport stamped. He tells me he got here just after a bus and had to join a long queue.
He sets off into the village before me, being blown to a halt after only a few metres. The front wheel having skidded on gravel and bike falling under him on it's side. I am delayed meanwhile by Chilean agriculture department inspectors who take every item out of my front right pannier, meticulously going through the internal pocket and turning up small bits which I haven't seen in months and thought I'd lost. They show no interest in seeing inside any of the other bags, just this, but find nothing incriminating. Then put everything carefully back in it's rightful place and thank me for my cooperation.
I push the bike out from the building's shelter avoiding the gravel the Czech cyclist came off on, then cycle much easier than before in the shelter of wooden and corrugated iron roofed houses to the first shop, a touristy place, the glass door plastered with travel stickers left by motorbikers who've passed this way. The most interesting thing for me, apart from rustic wood planked walls and corrugated iron roof, is a sign "Money changed" knowing that having some Chilean pesos to spend on energy full sugary things like biscuits will be necessary to get me through the next few days.
I know the exchange rate here will be rotten and as it turns out the touristy gaucho dressed proprietor complete with big black beret is offering 40 Chilean to the Argentine peso; retrospectively, I know the rate should be 45 to 50. But he has me over a barrel when I buy sixteen-thousand Chilean (£16), with four-hundred pesos Argentina (£19): a high profit margin to him and lost to me. I then have a delicious big homemade alfajora (shortbread caramel biscuit sandwich) and coke, needing a sugar boost, coming to three-thousand, but he then reduces it to two-thousand on account I'm a cyclist.
I cycle further. Needing to fill up on more water before leaving town, I stop at the last house which happen to be a shop. When the shopkeeper is away filling my bottle, I see salami and bread which will keep me well nourished the next couple of days; also a big carton of wine. Having forgotten to buy tea it'll make a good alternative beverage. So when the shopkeeper returns I buy all three items, coming to a very grand total of 6,900 (£7).
The way on is into terrific crosswind and slightly uphill, but at least it is tarmac. Then cresting the hill I see the road halfway down the following descent swing right, meaning I should have a helper wind. And then see the Czech cyclist's bike leant outside a bus shelter a little ahead.
The bus shelter a comfortable cabin wherein I find the Czech sitting on the bench comfortably but disheartened. I take a seat too and say just a little ahead the road swings right and we'll have the wind more to the rear. He replies "I have enough of wind. Wind, wind, every day. It is demoralising". He then looks at the map on his phone, enlarging it to pick out a river in the valley below and says "If I get to this river, I camp". I tell him he could sleep in this shelter and before going further, add I'm cycling on and will try to get as far as possible today.
Ahead the wind is not only more to the rear, it moderates to a less forceful breeze. An hour or so later I'm stopped taking a photo when a shadow of a cyclist cripes in on my side. The Czech cyclist again. We cycle on together until we come to where the road has a bank down on the right, providing good shelter and level grass at the bottom along a fence, where I decide to pitch the tent. He says he'll ride on to a river as he needs water.
Today's ride: 92 km (57 miles)
Total: 3,846 km (2,388 miles)
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