Fri 16th Sep: San Blas to Chilecito

September 16, 2016

The place I've camped is a kilometre up from the end of town, in among thorny scrubbery. It's the first morning that when I clammer out of the sleeping-bag it isn't freezing cold, even before the sun has risen. A delightful Spring morning. The bushes provide roost to numberous small birds with soothing birdsong.

I have my work cut out for me today. Having previously ridden this exact road from San Blas, the town below my campsite, to Chilecito, almost exactly ten years ago. A tough road toward the end of the day. That day I run out of water when it was hot and uphill all the way, like a treadmill set at full resistants. So today I'm prepared. I've plenty of food and liquids.

The first five or so kilometres are a gradual uphill slog: the continuation of the rise away from San Blas. Not a hill but a broad dry pampa tipped up. Once over It's level horizon, the road ahead stretches out in a straight line toward a range of distant hills. Just before the hills I know to be the location of Pituil, about thirty kilometres away.

Picnic, late breakfast, early lunch in a village plaza: a veritable oasis of grass and trees in an another-wise scrubland desert.

I arrive in Pituil shortly after eleven, or nearly half past the hour. An oasis. A garden in the otherwise scrubland desert, with vineyards all around. Irrigated greenery enclosed by tall elm tree windbreaks. The village plaze planted in exuberant trees, with newly open buds and leaves.

Needing bread I enter an Amacen (shop) on the corner, where a burly man is buying a large quantity of bread. As the old woman shopkeeper piles the bread on weighing scales, he turns to me and asks me the usual questions, where I've cycled from and the like. I don't know how to answer his question "Where are you cycling to?" at this point. East to Cordoba. Continuing east to Uruguay. But, I've changed my mind. Now my plan is to continue south. That's the beauty of cycle-touring. The freedom to change direction on a whim.

The old woman behind the counter is indeed very slow. And tight. I'm trying to find change among the coins in my wallet to make up 190 centavos to two pesos, an insignificant amount that most others wouldn't worry about, but she waits as my butter fingers sort through the ball of change until, I make up every last cent.

I picnic under a big tree in the middle of the plaza, realising this is what cycle-touring is all about. I could be anywhere here. A Spring morning in southern France.

Around Pituil, vineyards stretch for many square kilometres.

Later leaving the village and the vineyards around, it's back to the reality of dry pampa scrubland. The long straight road stretches ahead to a level horizon.

Midafternoon the wind rises. A headwind, though nothing too serious. The worse being a long uphill straight. A treadmill.

A 4pm rest at the end of a long gradual uphill treadmill.

The beginning of Chilecito, in the middle distance around behind the spur of hills, at the top of yet another uphill treadmill.

I arrive in town timely, but the hostel that I remember from my previous visit is shut. So I've to resort to plan B, which ended up in me cycling around for almost two hours.

One alternative hostel wanted 350 pesos. The woman though was nice about it, saying, have a look at the room, telling me there are cheaper places near the central plaza.

I revisit the tourist infomation office. They point me to where I now write, Hotel Ruta40. But before that I checked out the municipal campsite marked on the town-plan provided, which wasn't fun. A long uphill ride to find out it is closed.

I'm exhauted after all that. Thankfully I've checked in for two nights. I plan to have a rest day tomorrow.

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