Not Having The Foggiest: Cachi to Questa de Obispo.

June 24, 2016

I am forced off the road to camp this evening by thick fog. You could say "I haven't the foggiest idea where I am" as visibility is so poor. The only thing I see is the ground I've pitched the tent on is level and I hear mooing of cows and see their grey outline as they stand off a little and look curiously at my tent.

But first, I began the day in Cachi.

I would recommend the hostel where I stayed. Okay, there was no heating, but that's usual here. Even though at this time of year, nighttime temperatures are severe, there's no such thing as central heating and the only place to be is in bed rapped up underneath three or four wool blankets. It had a place to eat where my supper was a steak sandwich and beer for a modest 100 pesos (£5). The other guests, a family at the next table all worn thick overcoats and wool hats as they ate, as did the proprietor and her husband sat at another table.

Well, it is still cold while having breakfast. The last couple of days had been so good, while this morning there's complete cloud cover; a murky dull looking day. I'm dressed for winter as I set off from the hostel down the street into the plaza, stopping at a corner food shop where I find everything I need for a two day ride back to Salta.

Then, ready to set off, I couldn't resist entering the warm interior of a hip coffee bar a few doors down for coffee, the proprietor of which, a fortysomething motorcyclist type who looks as though he's moved up here from Buenos Aires, I've seen about the place on previous visits to Cachi, but this time of morning is too early for him and two girls serve.

On the wall is a poster, a map of South America with a line showing the motorcycle tour he did covering 14,000km and having crossed a few dozen Andean passes. The rest of the walls are covered in Jazz and Blues music memorabilia. Indeed, the music on the sound system provides a perfect relaxed ambience. I am particularly struck by the track "Born Under A Bad Sign" the original, I think by Albert King, a piece with a great bass line and guitar counter melody.

I could have stayed longer. When I get up to pay, the girl doesn't have change. The coffee is 35 pesos, but I have hundred banknotes, a twenty and a five, so she excepts twenty-five pesos.

I double back north from Cachi, back uphill to Payogasta, beyond which I take route 33, continuing gradually uphill the north side of Serra Tin Tin, an elongated hill, which would dominate the view to the right for a few hours.

The road climbs to a wide plateau enclosed by Tin Tin, another hill ahead and another to the left. I have now entered the national park "Los Cardones" (the cactuses) because of the area's large tree cactuses all around. The road at this point is dead straight for quite a long way; called on a sign "Recta de Tin Tin" and to the side of the road is interpretation boards to say this road has been in use since the 15th century, when it was a major Inca communication link, and has been in use ever since through colonial times up to the present.

A cyclist from the Basque Country, who left his mark a month earlier.

I Lunch on a cheese sandwich in a yellow painted shelter, while the day gets colder, leading me to rap up warmly before going further. The road swings left and climbs up toward and through the hills to the left. I expect it'll be extremely cold up where the road reaches the pass, Cesta de Obispo. But then to my dismay see cloud rolling down the hillside ahead where the road goes.

By the time I reach as far I'm in cold fog and at Cuesta de Obispo, where from previously having ridden this way there's a chapel and usual attitude sign, I just see grey silhouette shapes to the side. Then descending I'm feeling even colder. Feeling that I need to get off the road, camp and warm up inside my sleeping-bag. I come down a few steep switch-backs when I come upon an opening on the inside. So here I am. I pushed the bike in through the fog and found some kind of rough mountain pasture; finding a level place with blackened ashes of a fire where people had camped previously. I pitch the tent.

You are crossing a nationl park. "Oh? I hope I don't have to pay for the privilege"

Today's ride: 58 km (36 miles)
Total: 11,141 km (6,919 miles)

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