April 9, 2016
Here Comes Trouble: Route 5-km678 to km582.
The dogs return first thing in the morning. They bark. I remain dead still like the evening before and they soon leave. There is nothing much else I could do, anyway.
I am bowling along the wide shoulder of route 5 much like yesterday, wishing to put in a good day's ride. The sky battleship grey and there may be rain ahead, though.
A white van passes and pulls to a halt on the shoulder up ahead, the driver with door open sitting half out looking back waiting for me to reach as far. Oh no, he's going to offer me a lift and I'm going to have to explain to his bewilderment that I'd rather ride my bike. My thoughts as I pull level.
A thirty-five something man with the first hints of grey in neatly trimmed black hair and two day old stubble chin also with hints of grey. He asks me as anticipated would I like a lift. I politely decline. Then asks where I'm from and where I've started and where and how much, the usual line of questioning I get from friendly people met on the road that I tire hearing my own voice answering. Then says there's another cyclist behind me. How far? I ask. Not far, he replies and adds, he would catch you up if you wait twenty minutes, then you'd have a companion.
I had been looking forward to lunchtime reaching the next town, Victoria; approaching which, there's a big Copec service station that I stop at and, I'm locking the bike in a children's playground outside, when along come the cyclist, a tall young man with a backpack on his back and a big beard. He sees me and rides over and we lean our bikes together and enter the cafeteria.
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He would later introduce himself as Helmut, a cycling instructor with a website from Austria, but first, from the go, talking very loud and nonstop, it is difficult getting a word in edgeways, as we pick up trays and put cold starters and yogurt on them before getting to the servers dishing up a choice of meat and vegetable main-courses.
"Chileans aren't very friendly" he whines. "In Argentina, the people are very friendly. They're always talking to me. Here they never talk. I went into a coffee shop for a hot chocolate and the girl that served me said I have to sit outside because I smell" I almost crack at this point. I cannot smell anything. He is clean and attired in neat cycling clothes. He told me it is too cold for him to camp and so has access to a shower daily in guesthouses where he overnights. Lets say he rubbed the girl up the wrong way, as he was fast doing me as I try countering, but he doesn't listen, butting into what I'm saying mid-sentence.
With our trays full, we pay, the set price of five-thousand pesos (£5) and take a seat, where I'd looked forward to a quiet hour pondering the day and perhaps writing some notes, but he has moved on to cyclists he's met in Southern Patagonia, complaining that most are incompetent bike riders. And why do so many go cycling in Patagonia, mainly aimed at the Carretera Austral, which he'd cycled in part on the way south before switching to Route 40, where, he said he never met another cyclist and so is proper cycle touring, unlike meeting seven or eight cyclists a day on the first-mentioned route. At last I agree with him on this one point.
The near one sided dialog goes on. I have a coffee and he plays with the mash potatoes on his plate with a fork while talking. Eventually, having finished the coffee and seeing the time, I decide its time to go further.
We ride on together. The rain having held off and later the cloud breaking and shattering. The resulting sun warming. On that I stop upon an incline to remove clothing, when Helmut says he'll ride on, because he wants to reach the town of Los Angeles by nightfall. He being a bit faster than me, perhaps due to the lighter load he's carrying.
Not long after, route 5 is passing through an extensive area of forest and it being after five, I decide to call it a day when I come to the first track in, which leads away from the road through a plantation which had been burned in recent years and is in the process of being cut down for firewood; large areas of sawn stumps and piles of short logs and no shortage of levels spots to pitch a tent.
I set up camp on a small hillock where two woodworkers tracks converse, thankful of being a fair distance from the constant noise of the road and with a couple of hours peace to read before it gets dark.
Today's ride: 96 km (60 miles)
Total: 7,896 km (4,903 miles)
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