November 4, 2016
Fri 4th Nov: La Laurita to Alto Rio Senguer
I am awake early: at daybreak listening to an owl hoot, followed by the dawn chorus. Then the kwack-kwack of a bandurias couple flying over. I remain listening for a half hour, until the sun breaks over the hills: the time 6.40. Time to make a move. Other than the birdsong, it's dead still. Hard to believe the noise those tall elm trees at the back of La Laurita-roadhouse made yesterday evening while being shaken violently by the wind, before the storm eventually settled at 8 pm.
I'm hoping for a calm morning and, I don't spend too long on my morning coffee ritual. I've the tent down, all packed on the bike and set off at half seven.
An absolute remote, but incredibly wonderful place, here; where the road on from La Laurita crosses marshy flats, across the dry riverbed of Arroyo Genoa. Then veers round to the right and climbs diagonally up the barrancas, with the two round hills seen yesterday from afar, just beyond the rim of the incline.
The way levels out upon brownish scrubland, with hills continuing along the left and level to the right. Not far on, a noticeable tailwind has risen. Which becomes crosswind, when I go right-on reaching a turn off: a road I'd planned reaching yesterday, going west to Alto Rio Senguer. The wind at this point is very manageable, though. I'm able to keep a reasonable pace while praying it won't turn out another strong wind day like yesterday. And as expected, a kilometre in from the road-junction, the road goes sharply downhill to the Rio Senguer valley and recrosses the marshy Arroyo Genoa. The road then stretches out ahead across lush pasture, supporting great herds of rust colour-whitehead cattle, to the next row of barren barancas, that the road climbs to a level brown horizon.
The wind gets gradually stronger during the morning, but I'm determent to keep riding as long as possible, not to be cheated of my destination-gold for the day. There is now more lush pasture either side, irrigated by a network of water-channels, from which, I fill two litres of water for cooking. And the only shelter there is when it comes time to stop for lunch, is a culvert.
| Heart | 0 | Comment | 0 | Link |
When I sat down, I felt nausea, dehydration from not having drank very much yesterday. I remain sat in the culvert mouth for over two hours, in which time the wind has increases considerably, blasting through the pipe underneath the road, fluttering the flame as I boil water for tea. Later, I'm feeling better, having drank 1300ml of boiled purified water.
Riding on is wobbly, walking pace to begin with. But within a kilometre, I'm blown across the road, knocked to a halt where, I hold onto the bike to avoid being blown over. When the strong gust has passed and I can move again, the only course of action is to walk and push, not easy against the mighty press of the wind.
Having struggled with the wind for about half an hour, a car passes, then a little ahead, the car goes left, continuing off at a right-angle south. Which means, I have reached a north-south aligned road, the road I'm on is about to meet: a point I'm glad to reach. Where turning left and going the way the car went, it's 7km further to Alto Rio Senguer. A milestone with a minimum distance left to my gold.
None the less, the wind becomes a dangerous crosswind on this 7km section. From the junction, I try riding, but It's impossible. Even continuing to push, the wind forces me from right to left over the road, pushing me on over the shoulder and down a bank to a fence following the road. Thereupon, it is a precarious push forward, toward an elm tree windbreak on the edge of town.
Reaching the elm tree windbreak takes forever. Not far at all it seems, but the misconception of distance plays tricks with judgment. When I do get as far, the rough vehicle track I've struggled pushing along, continues with the trees along the right side providing a degree of shelter so that I'm able to ride the remainder of the way into town.
I cycle the whole length of the one street town, then return back along the other side of the wide avenue main drag. Alto Rio Senguer, on first impressions seems a rustic timeless place. Perhaps, the Patagonia Bruce Chatwin saw when he was here in 1975, nothing much having changed out here in it's isolated far from anywhere location. There are many old 1960s Ford and Chevolet pickup trucks, the traditional estancia run-about. And lurid light blue and pink hotels.
The shopkeeper where I put my food on an old fashion counter, exclaims "Patagonia es ter-re-ble." He tells me there is no municipal campsite, but It's ok to camp at fogones (barbecue fire-places) by the riverbank. The man at the petrol station where I fill up on water also confirms I should be all right camped there. And, Paso Colye, the closest way to Chile, is 40km, and 90km from there to Coyhaique.
The riverbank is gravel-bar pasture and beech woods, the later providing great shelter for the tent. Supper; I was going to open one of two cans of chickpeas weighting me down since Trevelin, but I already have had enough mash potatoes, salami and bread to do.
Another early start in the morning, to get most of the way to the border before the wind does...
| Rate this entry's writing | Heart | 0 |
| Comment on this entry | Comment | 0 |