Fri 21th Oct: Rio Foyel to El Bolson

October 21, 2016

I wake up these days by body-clock, usually just before the sun breaks over the hills to the east. This sees me up and out of the tent by seven. This morning though is frosty, which is only to be expected here with a cloudless sky.

I have got to the point where I no longer think of a campsite as a place just to sleep, but a place to live for the part of the day I'm not cycling, having arrived not much later than five in the afternoon with a few hours of daylight left. It doesn't get completely dark here until quarter to nine. Once I have the tent up and bike unloaded, I have coffee before spending time writing up the journal for the day. When done it's time to start preparing dinner and so on.

In the morning I'm in no hurry either, taking time to dry the tent and air the sleeping bag before loading everything on the bike.

This morning I'm especially late. Goodness gracious, it's half ten when I wheel the bike up the laneway from the riverbank out to the road. But I've only 35km to cycle to El Bolson, my goal for the day.

The point is, I've reached my goal, Patagonia and from now on its short days taking in the scenery. And even relaxed days in the tent if it's raining. Okay, there'll be exceptions to this rule where I'll have to ride a long day cause there's just isn't anything interesting for to stop early for, never mind a reasonable place to camp.

On the stretch of route 40 from Bariloche to El Bolson, the scenic snowcapped mountains rising beyond dark forested hills continues today. The only downside on this road are the local truck-drivers. However, this is the beginning of a long overland route through Argentina for Chilean truckers on the way to Chilean Terra del Fuego and Punta Arenas in the far south. The Chilean trucks stand out from the locals insofar as they slow down and wait behind me if there's oncoming traffic. Then and only when there is nothing coming, they move out and pass me on the opposite side of the road. The Argentines, not all but most don't slow and are often forced to pass me leaving little space for error due to oncoming traffic.

Indeed many of them blare the horn while bearing down on me from behind, driving me off the road onto the rough gravel shoulder to the side as they speed pass with wheels rolling on the white line on the edge of the road. I see them as the dimmest of dimwits, as a reasonable intelligent person would see that the public highway means just that, it's for the public, not the preserve of truck-drivers, or biggest and strongest.

Anyway, it takes something to be negative on such a fine day, with the sweet smell of pine sap in the air, but being run off the road for fear of my life does that.

In El Bolson, an old Methodist church, perhaps, built by Welsh settlers.

Waiting for the senora. She come just after I took this, but he jumps up and walks away from her, out between the parked cars and looks across the street. From where a tall young man, also wearing a beret with a little girl on his shoulders come moments later. The old man's son and grand daughter no less.

El Bolson, a large town but with a rural feel as just beyond the main thoroughfare are houses on small plots of pasture encloses by trees from where there are the familar calls of banderias and tauras.

I first call at the ice-cream place and am shocked to see the price of an ice-cream is 70 pesos, but go ahead and treat myself this once, not to be repeated.

I check into "Hostel Joy" close to the town centre, paying for two nights.

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