Misery: Rio Leona to El Calafate.

December 25, 2015

You know your always goin to be mov-in. You know your never gonna stop mov-in. Your rollin. Your a rollin stone.

When you wake up its a new marn-in. Sun is shinin its a new marn-in. Your go-in. Your goin home.

"Baker Street" by the late Gerry Rafferty.

-----

Well it was going to take more than music today; it being good for heart and soul and for sanity and all that and I don't have it electronically piped to my ears, but don't need to as long as I can sing and hum while riding, as I do.

The day is bleak from the start. When looking out first this morning, from cloudless sky yesterday evening, the sky has all closed in with low misty cloud and not long after setting off I feel the first few spots of rain on my face.

The climate here reminds me of Northern Sweden. There can be warm Summer days, but when cloud closes in blocking out the sun, it can be pretty cold and when it rains, which it did an awful lot the Summer I cycled there, its absolute misery. Persistent cold rain all day. And it's no surprize Patagonia is similar as it's far south from the equator toward Antarctica.

The rain isn't too bad at first, being drizzle as I follow the river valley of Rio Leona south to arroyo Turbio, an unimaginative ugly industrial name for a place if ever there was. Here the road swings right and climbs out of the valley upon rolling steppe, looking like Scottish moorland in low drizzly mist.

However the rain intensifies further to a steady cold dripping and before long, I'm saturated; not having a front mudguard, rainwater sloshes up off the wheel and feet are soaked and feeling like plates of ice.

At one point there's a lake to the right, Lago Argentino, but only see a glowing green hallo in low mist. Then descend and cross a bridge over rio Leona, the second crossing of the river, where a little further it empties into Lago Argentino. And further descend and cross a second bridge over another river, rio Santa Cruz, which drains Lago Argentino.

Once I've climbed back up from rio Santa Cruz, I know it isn't much further to route 11, a right turnoff for El Calafate, but in this weather it just seems more, as I pedal hard to stay warm. Then when I get as far and go right, the road surface on 11 is badly rutted by truck wheels, so I've the twin misery of having to ride further out in the road in poor visibility, and ride in a stream: the wheel rut flooded. The road is very up and down also, with an especially long downhill pass the airport, where I further lose body heat and brakes are mushy. And by now my hands are too numb for quick braking anyway.

I descend into Calafate where the main avenue is flooded.

I have little over two hundred pesos left in my wallet, nevertheless, I'm determent to get inside and eat before I think of anything else. And if I can't draw cash at an ATM, face the consequences later. Therefore I enter the first restaurant. Inside is classy with posh outdoor types. There's an open fire by the only available table, where I hang my raincoat across the chair and stand warming myself. Then a waitress brings a menu, leafing through which, I'm shocked at the prices. A simple green salad a hundred and fifty pesos. So I get up and leave. The place next door looks more modest, still with posh outdoorsy types on winter breaks from the northern hemisphere. The prices here are still excessive, but I bite the bullet, as it's only one day, and have a lomito completo (steak sandwich with cheese and ham) and beer, which nearly cleans me out.

Later it is such a relief when I find the bank that likes to say yes and their ATM functions with my card.

I find Hostel Calafate. The price for a dorm bed is two-fifty a night, but I'm not going back out in the rain, so again pay out. It'll do for one night while I look for somewhere cheaper.

Inside: a test shot, the moment my camera start to work properly again.

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas....And I'm off somewhere cheaper.

Although there's trees and Christmas decorations and a group of young Germans about town wearing Santa Claus hats, it doesn't seem like Christmas with the long Summer days, though the temperature is in single figures Celsius and drops to zero during the few hours of darkness. The next morning the rain which continued all evening turned to wet snow overnight.

The next day I check out of Hostel Calafate and into Hostel Huemul at the end of the block for a more modest hundred and fifty a night. I've been stuck here clearing a ten day backlog of journal pages. And also doing a lot of eating. When on the road living on rice I invariably dream of food. Pancakes for breakfast how my mother made them, spread with melting butter and sprinkled with granular sugar. Even simple boiled potatoes with their skin served with butter. I also like to make a vegetable casserole with lentils and pork sausages. I've over ate. Tomorrow (Jan 3rd) I'm back on the road and back on a meagre rice and polenta diet.

Not the hostel dog. He owns the street and has banned bicycles and scooters passing through his territory, pursuiting those infringing the law and in the worse cases of fragrant abuse of the law, handing out on the spot finds of a hundred teeth marks. He busies himself of mornings doing maintains work on poles and car tyres, where the scent of his territory may've faded and need renewal. Then socializes with other dogs in the street and finds people to fuss over him and feed him.

Today's ride: 98 km (61 miles)
Total: 3,434 km (2,133 miles)

Rate this entry's writing	Heart	0
Comment on this entry	Comment	0