Mon 12th Dec: near Las Hornaquitas to approx 10km north of Bajo Caracoles

December 12, 2016

Tami aike. Once provided hot water for Mate and simple overnight accomodation, is now a road services post.

Parador and hotel Las Hornquitas: a sturdy stone built from the 1930s.

There's no change in the weather. There's a vail of dark blue-grey with rain up ahead to the west. And there's barely a glimpse of sun to the east, behind me. But at this time of morning, half seven, it's calm.

I've just passed what is now a Puesto Viadal, or roadworks service depot. What was once a roadhouse: a stone cottage with red corrugated iron roof. I stayed there the night when I came this way in 2004. Ten kilometres on and I'm passing Las Hornequitos: a Parador and hotel. Another stone house looking to be from the 1930s, when car travel would've been very slow on what roads there was at the time. Probably wagon tracks, two wheel indentations in the natural sand and pebbles. Over the years though, road services teams would work on making the way all-weather by tipping loads of small stones from river beds and grading it level. And I read somewhere that the road was first nominate the number 40 in 1935, connection a continuous north south string of wagon tracks and horse trail the lenght of Argentina.

Half nine: the wind is starting to rise as ahead to the west, the hills are white with snow after yesterday's percipitation. But, not much further the road does a great curve to the right, turning headwind to tailwind. Beyond the curve, Route 37 for the Perito Moreno national park splits off west. I had planned turning here for the park, but I would've been riding directly into the wind; and, do I really want to ride 90km on little small stones, tripping underneath my wheels. Given that the weather is looking so bleak, with snow on the hills to the west.

Luckily, that rain I saw earlier has moved over and on north east, leaving in it's wake wet road drying out.

The road stretches straight and far ahead, blending into a whitish sky, with hills off on either side and ahead suspended in mid air, as I fly along with the wind. I keep going making the best of it for about five hours until I need to stop for,lunch; whereupon, I halt at a place the road has been elevated with steep high banks sloping down either side. Where I push the bike off down the east facing bank where there is good wind protection. Here I pitch the tent and get inside with my food pannier.

Once inside the sun comes out, warming things up momentarily. Next I hear the racket of rain on the tent, then see hailstones bounce off the ground outside. Half four, having napped, I pack away the tent shivering cold and see a dark vail of rain coming up behind me. I hastly push the bike back up to the road and set off again, still with a powerful tailwind, determined not to be caught by the rain behind me, while I see another downpour off over the hills to the right. There's all sorts of dark blue grey cloud moving across, with white fluffy cloud in-between, where I'm riding.

I see the unbelievable,two cyclists coming the other way and swing over to their side on reaching them. They are Korean, both very lightly loaded: the reason becomes apparent when I start riding on, when a pickup truck support vehicle pulls up behind them.

Danniel, one of two Korean cyclists I met heading south into an awful headwind and sleaty downpour. I also met three Colombian cyclists with clenched chattering teeth; while, I have a fantastic tailwind and hoping the storm doesn't catch up with me

Not far on, from riding upon a boundless plateau, the road starts descending to a valley with row of level topped barranca hills the far side. I pass the old Olne parador near the bottom and as the road levels out across the valley, pass through a sudden flourish of greenery that follows the Rio Olne. Beyond which I see three more cyclists approach, one leading the others as they struggle into the wind. I swing over, they are Colombian. The leadman Steffan, mentions a Casa de Ciclist in Bajo Caracoles, the next village where they stayed and set off from today. But here in the wilderness, with so many good camp spots, why would I need such.

The long bleak featureless stretch comes to an end with a drop down toward Bajo Caracoles with fresh snow on the hills.

The small crossroads settlement Bajo Caracoles.

The road climbs into the hills before descending to an almost boundless great hollow, Bajo Caracoles. The village of that name alongside the road; a few trees and clapboard houses looking as though dropped upon the Patagonian steppe.

I ride about seven kilometres on from Bajo Caracoles, when the the wind moves increasingly to the west; turning to crosswind. Therefore, I'm forced to halt at the next possible campsite, where the road is elevated with a bank down on the right facing east.

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