January 3, 2016
Fluke: El Calafate to Glacier Perito Moreno.
I consider myself lucky, should I not. The wind while making it's presents on route 40, didn't inhibit me to the point of giving up. I remember much stronger wind when I did the route in 2004; then, I had the handicap of it being all unpaved ripio, all the way south from Rio Mayo to El Calafate. But I survived and it was a memorable adventure. That same year I did the Caratera Austral in Chile, back north again, and thought at the time it is nothing special. I mean its a gravel road enclosed by forest in part with open clearings with small farms and small comunities; there's big ice-melt rivers and lakes. Generally, it's green and turquoise and like other places, whereas the Argentine steppe is unique in appearance.
The route is now all a good paved road, the exception being a seventy kilometre section they're still building, which will be completed soon. Of course route 40 continues south after the turnoff for El Calafate. This section from past experience is monotonous and the opinion amongst other cyclists that have to cycle it coming north from Terra del Fuego to reach the Caratera Austral, is unanimous. But most come to the conclusion that the rest of route 40 must be the same. All I will say is consider it and think upon it as a reasonable alternative to the Chilean route through Patagonia. There are journals here, my own, Albert Lee, who rode the route in April last, and there must be others.
One cyclist who is, is Crazy Guy Alec Ford. He contacted me in the guestbook saying amongst other things, that he took the bus on route 40 north, in which he was continuously draw to look out the window and so envied me riding it. He says he may never have the time or fitness. The latter, well, Alec ride at your own pace. You are an experience cyclist, which I'll say is more important, so will have stamina to continue albeit slower. And say you only average forty kilometres a day including rest days, with 1240km from EL Calafate to Esquel, it divides into thirty-one days, no more than a vacation. So follow your aspiration Alec, and do it.
The big visitor attraction to El Calafate is the Perito Moreno glacier, eighty kilometres west. So the plan today is to visit it. The weather is calm and would remains so all day. The plan is to set off about noon and arrive there late when the light is better for photos.
The day continues a mix of sunshine and big fluffy cloud blocking out the sun, casting dark shadows and turning it momentarily from warm to cold. The city avenue continuing well out beyond the built up zone into what must be land earmarked for urban development, then climbs a short steep hill, on the roll down the other side of which, my bike has an awful speed wobble. This is like the steering of a car shaking uncontrollably when driving. The handle-bars shaking back and forth and the bike feeling unstable. There has been speed wobble with this bike before, but not as bad as this. However, as the day progresses, it becomes less. Perhaps the bike is out of practise bearing a full load after a nine day layoff over Christmas and the New Year.
The traffic is steady to and fro the national park Los Glacieres; lots of excursion minibuses, cars and motorbikes, usually coming half a dozen at a time and all are considerate.
The road on isn't mush to write home about, except for a view ahead of grey rock and snow streaked mountain range rising into low rain cloud, which retains the southern ice-field, a large area of ice I've heard described as the Southern Hemisphere's equivalent of the Greenland icecap. It feeds the Perito Moreno glacier and numerous others, which advance down valleys all around it to feed lakes and river systems.
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The road comes to a tee at the bottom of a mountain massif, with a turning right to "Punto del Bandera"; the place on the lake shore (Lago Argentina), I believe the Argentine flag was first raised in the area by explorer Perito Moreno, back in the 1870s, having journeyed from the Atlantic coast up the Santa Cruz river in search of the river's source. When Patagonia was un-charted and still the home of nomadic indigenous people, the Telhueche. Here the road for the national park swings left and follows the mountain round to a point where it swings sharp right, with an unpaved road striking off on the left; whereupon, having been on the lookout for a place to pause for a late lunch, I spot a cluster of boulders a short way in upon the rough grass flanking the turnoff road.
The boulders are arranged in a rough ring and I push the bike inside and sit down to my salami sandwich. Then wish I had something to read, as I don't intend getting up for quite a while, wanting to get to the glacier late. Instead I look out across the steppe at the hills on it's margin and at some point eyes close and I sleep. Waking up I'm slow at getting up and it has gone six when eventually I rise.
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Just beyond where I'd stopped is the beginning of Lago Roca, which would be my companion on the left the remainder of the way to the glacier, with the mountain on the right transforming from grassy hillside to steep wooded hillside. Then I reach the national park entrance with a stop sign.
A red jacket park employee waves me to a stop. Then at that moment a small minibus with Chilean number plate come along and pull to a halt. He turns and talks to the driver, saying it is too late. A sign before me has park opening hours, 08.00 - 21.00; it is now half six and the glacier is thirty kilometres further. In short the park employee is telling the driver that he's only allowed in the park until nine, and therefore the driver sees it as not worth his while entering at the gate this late.
Meanwhile, a board in front of me has park admission: Foreigners $260 ($ symbol for peso); Members of Merosur $200; Nationals $160; Provincial (locals) $30. So as the employee continues talking to the driver, I go into an office and ask another employee sat behind a desk where I pay. He replies irritated that they are closing and waves me out. I return and astride the bike and the other employee is still talking to the driver with his back to me, so I do what any sensible person would do at this point. I ride on into the park.
The road on is quality concrete with expansion joins, a big emprovement on the dusty ripio when I visited in 2004. All the traffic is oncoming leaving the park for the evening; one car blasts the horn, seemingly in protest that they are leaving the park whereas I'm in the park at this late hour going to the glacier. I suppose the same car driver, Argentines love nothing better than to chat and will stop and chat with the employee manning the entrance and say there's a bicycle in the park, isn't the park closing soon? And the people there will be on the radio and soon a park ranger will drive along and tell me to turn round and leave.
Soon I am riding on with no more traffic into the still of the evening with distance booming ruptures in the glacier ahead. The road though becomes ridiculous up and down as I rush to reach the ice-face as early as possible. I am only seventy kilograms weight and am a strong climber, but still find hills hideous, especially when I want to hurry up being slowed by short steep rises, only to freewheel back down into a hole the other side and climb a further steep rise.
Scaling my way up what is the final steep climb, which goes on for futher than the others, a park ranger's pickup truck come driving slowly down. Oh no. The car-driver who blasted the horn in protest has spoken and the entrance gate people have been in contact. I think the pickup is about to stop, but drives slowly on down and minutes later returns back up passing slowly.
I reach the ice-face where the ranger's pickup is parked. A woman ranger quickly appears and asks "hable espanol?" to which I reply "si" She then ask am I with this campervan, which I have come to a halt behind. It has bicycles on the back and probably she assumes I'm with it. I say no. She then explains that it is not permitted to camp in the national park and didn't I see the park times at the entrance gate, going on to say, it is thirty kilometres back to exit the park. Yes, I reply, but it doesn't get dark until eleven. Then she says politely, don't camp in the park and wave me to go ahead to the steps down to the viewing walkways. What a relieved she didn't ask to see my non-existent entrance ticket.
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It is such an experience to be alone here at a world famous natural wonder. When I make my way down many hundred of metres of gangway, as far down as I can go. The only other human presence is a young couple garbed in warm outdoor clothing, the air frigid, watching as there's a thunderous boom within the glacier, followed by a rupture on the ice-face where a lump of ice bigger than a house come away and crashes down with a loud rumble into the ice-float full water below with a huge splash sending a tide of ripples outward. To see this at this hour of day with close to nobody about, without the awes and woos from hundreds of others every time there's activity at the ice-face. And to think my timing was unplanned, but perfect. I was allowed into the park late and together with two other souls who remained silence, see the glacier without the human gaggle of chatter and crackly play-backs of video filming on phones.
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Well I though I better not push my luck. When the ranger warned me not to camp within the park, I thought I'd keep her at her word by riding back to the park entrance, much as I would've liked to have camped in many tranquil places along the way. But, think if I oversleep in the morning and am passing the entrance on the way out after eight, when the people at the gate come to work, they are going to know I didn't cycle in very early and now am on my way back; they're going to know I overnighted in the park and will wave me down.
I have the same stupid steep hills to scale in the opposite direction, slowing me as the light grows dim on the way back, but it is very slow at getting dark here and I reach the entrance gate just at dark. There is still light enough to ride and I continue, wanting to reach the turnoff and the boulder ring where I lunched in the afternoon, as it was also a good camping spot. But it is further now I am tired and it's after half eleven. I need to stop, so give in and pull in at a culvert, up a slope from which I find a kind of level spot by the fence to pitch the tent.
Today's ride: 112 km (70 miles)
Total: 3,546 km (2,202 miles)
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