March 28, 2016
Seven Lakes: Route 215, km107 to Lago Villarino.
The way continues steeply uphill. There's a place with a hundred metres or so respite, whereby the way levels, at which point with a low saddle in the mountain ahead, it is reasonable to think that this is almost the end of the climbing, until, turning a bend and seeing another long steep incline ahead. It mush be a one-in-eight gradient, not terrible bad for a short distance, but for many kilometres it is very tiring pedalling away in the smallest gear. Altogether from the Chilean border control post I left late yesterday to the top of the Cardinal Samore pass, is a twenty kilometre climb going by the kilometre marker boards in the verge, from km97 to km117; where, eventually, two countries converge: the Chilean road meets the Argentine road; black newer tarmac meeting older greyer tarmac in a straight line across the summit.
In like manner the kilometre boards change colour from the previous bright green to the first black and white board with km31, to the side by the black-grey line. And there's a signboard to the side with distances to places ahead; 17kms to the border post and 31kms to route 40, where I plan turning left.
The eastern side of the mountain is equally as steep downhill. The mountains around on this side barer big lumps and tall pinnacles of rock. The lower slopes clad with trees showing the first brown and red tinges of Autumn. The air frigid cold and sky clear blue and sunny.
The seventeen kilometres to the passport control post passes quickly, where the road reverts to a section of purposely rough concrete leading to a box with a pole-barrier across the road, inside the window of which, a young olive green uniformed gendarme officer greets me cordially and writes bicycle on a ticket and hands it to me for presentation inside the customs complex building a hundred metres further. Therein an officer behind the desk leafs through my passport and asks me where I'm going. San Martin de Los Andes, I reply. Then asks, have I a reservation. A reservation? I ask. For a hotel, he clarifies. No. But I'll be staying in Hostel Puma, I reply. To which he stamps my passport and hands me it back, then sends me to join a queue to a second desk to get the ticket with bicycle thereon stamped, just a procedure mainly to declare any electrical or other domestic goods bough in Chile, where all consumer durables are a lot cheaper, as Argentina imposes steep tariffs on all imports. I am not asked, supposedly as the person behind the counter sees bicycle on the ticket and concludes I'm not carrying anything I shouldn't without declaring, stamps the ticket and I'm through, except there's another similar section of purposely rough concrete leaving, to another box where I hand in the ticket.
The fourteen kilometres further to the left turn onto the seven lakes route, is a more gradual downhill. The first lake "Lago Espejo Grande" I intend on stopping to lunch by the shore. It is just beyond the turning, though access to the shore is another five kilometres. Thankfully this road is now sealed tarmac, unlike the rough gravel and dust of every passing car when I last rode this way.
The lakeside is how I remember when I camped here a few years ago. I find a shaded spot, the day warmer down here, in among the trees. The ambiance is spoiled for a while when a van towing a boat drives onto the beach and backs into the water to launch. But once launched and a middle aged man has gotten aboard and an outboard motor started, it zooms away across the lake and is gone, leaving peace for a good hour and a half, before I go further.
The nice smooth tarmac road continues through forests and pass lakes. Its hard to remember what the old road was like before, apart from it was awful slow going.
About six o'clock I see a cyclist ahead, looking as though stopped, but then I see the cyclist is very slow. I soon catch up and we ride abreast. A young man plastered white with sun cream. We exchange stories. He tells me he's from France and this is his first cycle tour, having started in Ushuaia in January and that he now likes touring.
I reach Lago Villarino, my gold for the day for seven, to the left of the road, a long lake narrowing into a reed fringed river outflow by the access from the road, all along which is a wide short turf riverbank backed by bushes, an ideal place to camp. Two tents are pitched already. But its a large place and so the nearest tent is about two hundred metres away from the spot I choose to camp upon.
I pitch the tent and set to cooking supper. This evening I'm down to pasta with a can of tuna. There only remains fifty kilometre to San Martin tomorrow, a half day's ride, where I hope a bike shop there can do something with my loose hub cones. I think my next wheels are going to have cartridge bearing and I'll carry the tool and spares to work with them.
Today's ride: 88 km (55 miles)
Total: 7,427 km (4,612 miles)
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