I calculate that I'm roughly 75km from Tres Cerros, a parador (roadhouse) about midway on this 270km stretch. Soon I pass a sign "Tres Cerros 72km" so I'm about right. Having set off on the dot of eight, it isn't long until the wind rises directly from the west, so I'm battling with powerful crosswind. The road has climbed out of the canyon wherein I'd camped and continues across a plateau. I worry about the wind getting much stronger and making it impossible to continue. Then come relief when the road curves right, the wind becoming tailwind as I descend to another canyon. The pace increasing significantly through the canyon and up a rise out upon plateau again, where on the far horizon ahead I see three rounded hills seemingly floating in mid air over a mirage lake. The three hills, or Tres Cerros. I should make it there for lunchtime.

It takes a good time getting there, the three hills become attached to the ground and for a half hour I see ahead of me the stand of trees surrounding the parador and petrol station as I draw near. A touring motor bike arrives just before me and I see the rider look at my bike while I'm inside the café taking a bottle of coke from the fridge. Then when I take a seat he come in and over and sits down the other side of the table.

"So hows the cycling?" he asks in a north American drawl.

'Well, I met three other cyclists on this road yesterday, which made me feel I'm not alone'

He introduce himself, John from British Colombia, or BC as he shortened to, in western Canada, where he began his motorcycle trip to Ushuaia and is now on the way up to Buenos Aires, or BA, as he shortened it to, to ship the bike home then fly home.

He lamented "Those small Central America countries are hassle. The countries are nice, its just the borders. Kids, you can't watch them. Then I left my GPS and computer in a hotel room and those went missing. Things like that fuck with your head. Cash machines here in Argentina, half the time they don't pay out money. I've seen enough of Patagonia. There are things to see on this road, but I don't stop, I just keep on riding covering 700km a day."

I have to agree. I enjoyed springtime in the province of Buenos Aires and northern Patagonia, then route 40 south, but now I've had my fill of Patagonia. I need a change of scene.

Heart

0

Comment

0

Link

Log in to comment or reply

The café is dear so I make do with my own food, lunching sat on a bench out front looking on at the many trucks parked on the forecourt; two from the same haulier firm, the drivers chatting. A double-decker livestock truck full of sheep. Then a bus pulls in and disgorges its payload of pensioners on tour.

I have a wash, fill up on water and top up the tyres with air before going further. Leaving this oasis behind I pass a sign, Fitzroy 132km, where I can get off this route 3. I just can't take any more of the trucks, looking ahead and seeing them come lurching toward me and when they meet with me, I'll be stopped with a strong blast of turbulence. Also the ones that come from behind and don't slow and pass too close; typical Argentine thing, that.

The afternoon across rolling steppe with more of a reddish soil. I pass the turn off for the petrified forest. Tens of thousand of years ago when the climate here was warmer, Patagonia was covered in forest, then when the climate cooled down and the area became arid, the forest died and decayed, but some of the trees fossilised. Anyway, it is 50km of ripio due west to see one or two marvellised tree-trunks; it may take a day getting there.

I struggle with cross-tailwind and trucks until six when I descend to a canyon with a banked up road providing good shelter on the east facing side, where I pitch the tent.