Paradores (Roadhouses): Estancia El Condor to Rio Senguer.

December 18, 2015

Corrugated iron, a loop of wire and a 1960 car number plate.

The last of yesterday's rain has moved on east obscuring the newly risen sun, while the sky to the west is cloudless, so here's to a fine day ahead.

It is barely six o'clock and head gaucho Raul, has just passed in in a spritely stride. Probably to check on the sheep closed in the corral for tagging today. He greets me with a warm "buen dia!" Ten minutes pass and he's back rushing in the opposite direction.

I am making good progress today. The fine day I predicted by looking at the sky first thing, with a moderated northwest wind fanning me along. My aim Rio Senguer by day's end, where supposedly I can camp on the riverbank.

I pass Estancia Nueva Lubeck around ten. The last of a few since leaving El Condor, before a long stretch of dead straight road with fenced in scrubland either side stretching off to a level far horizon, except for two little round hills rising beyond the horizon; which, going further, transform to a lumpy blue horizon, the hilly far side of a valley ahead.

I reach the valley shortly before noon, with a big dip down and an abandoned petrol station, with café, now a smashed forlorn shell on the right where the road levels out again.

The place is called "Parador La Laurita" on a rustic old roadside sign. I have passed this way a couple of times previously. The first in 2004, when it was still in business. I had a sandwich in the café that afternoon and later camped in the garden at the side. Quite a continuous flow of passing cars and trucks patronised the facilities, two Chilean trucks overnighted on the forecourt. And I got talking to the then old couple that ran the place. She told me her mother immigrated from Wales and she and her husband had moved here when newly wed, which would've been the fifties.

Most probably then the road was a dusty unpaved road, perhaps impassable after prolonged heavy rain, making such a petrol station and cafe in the middle of nowhere a necessity. Today with a good paved road and more fuel efficient cars and trucks, there's less need for a stop on this long stretch.

Valley of previous picture: a place called "La Laurita" with abandoned "Parador" (roadhouse).

This is either the temporary road used when building the new road, or, old route 40 across arroyo La Laurita: in the latter case, vehicles would've had to ford a river here in the wet season.

It is a green relieve from the brownish steppe scrubland with an estancia tucked in the shelter of barranca slope off to the left. And immediately ahead the road curves off to the left a kilometre or so and can be seen doing a sharp swing back to the right going up the slope ahead by the two round hills first seen on the horizon earlier.

Founded 1938. I've read that route 40 was numbered in 1935, linking north-south tracks and improved earthen roads. A far cry from today's smooth tarmac road.

The traffic is light in a way that it can go a whole five to ten minutes without a vehicle. Trucks making up more than half, with haulage firms like "Isodora. Punta Arenas" in big lettering on the sides of trailers. The only other two wheelers are touring motorcyclists.

Four such motorcyclists pass in succession, each raising their hand in greeting to me when passed just as I'm approaching another parador, Los Tamariscos in time for a lunch stop. The four have pulled in too when I get there and are snacking on biscuits.

I go into the shop and buy a much looked forward to bottle of cold coke. I needed to fill my water bottles anyway and didn't want to just ask for water, it may be a scarce resource, without buying something. In any case the coke is a reasonable twenty-five pesos. Outside I set up my stove in the shelter of the hedged front, the wind having strengthened by now. Meanwhile the motorcyclists come over and the more talkative introduces himself and says they are from Ecuador, offers me a biscuit, which I greedily except. He applauds me on riding this road, remarking on how tough it must be, something I get a little miffed at hearing so often. Yesterday was tough alright, but today is bliss; sunny with a tailwind and wild expansive vistas. How could anyone call riding a bike on this road today tough, unless riding the opposite direction.

Oh yes, he then uses his phone to make a video, introducing me as the brave Irishman on his bike, and gets me to say a few words, to post on Facebook, just as I've both hands full keeping my polenta from burning.

I reach where the road splits, straight on becoming route 26 to Sarimento, and, route 40 going sharp right, descending down the barranca of the Rio Senguer valley; where immediately I've a crosswind, but it's only about a kilometre down to a bridge; on the far side of which, I turn off down a track doubling back alongside the raised bridge approach to the riverbank. And as it is still only six o'clock, I take my time looking for the most appropriate place to pitch the tent. The most important criteria is a windbreak. The only obvious break is the concrete approach footing to the bridge, so it is down to one spot. There just happens to be an old sheep carcase near, but just fleece and bones, having been dead for probably years. No unpleasant smell of rotting flesh. So I go ahead and put the tent up and have a relaxed evening until dark marvelling at the wild surroundings of the river and the bridge, looking to be 1970 vintage. There is no sign of an earlier bridge to the side which preceded it, though the river is quite wide and this nineteen-sixties built was an achievement in itself. I supposed there used to be a ferry before that.

Rio Senguer valley with barrancas sides: the main river that drains the area.

Today's ride: 166 km (103 miles)
Total: 2,553 km (1,585 miles)

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