November 21, 2016
Mon 21th Nov: near ? to turning for Paso Raballos (17km north of Cochrane).
The sun is hidden in haze first thing this morning. Slow to get going. But once it would, it would be yet another cloudless hot day. A bit of Gerry Rafferty's Baker Street helps set the mood: the dawning May morning; the sun breaking on the horizon; bringing to life dew damp grass and wildflowers. The fishy sound proceeding the saxaphone, that goes, dar dah dah, dah dah dee.
Mind I wrote about having to take a ferry yesterday. Well, when I rode this road back in January 2005, there was a car ferry, "Transadora" as they call it here, across a narrow strait of Lago Carrera, where the lake drains into Rio Baker. Since then however, a bridge has been built. I reach this point an hour after setting out; following on with the lake on my left, which has been my companion for two days. And once over the new bridge, the road follows on along a fjord-like bay. The road so far in find order so I can roll along at a fair pace. There still is though short sections of washboard, and places with crater potholes that I swerve around.
Shortly I come upon the French couple, taking down their tent a little in off the road. Their names are Theo and Michel. They'd pressed on yesterday and found a much better campsite than what I did, on a level grassy promentary, shielded all around by clumps of dwarf beechwood, with a limitless view out across the fjord and the mountains around.
Further on I pick up the same pair of thin tyre tracks of yesterday, seemingly very fresh today. Then on cresting a hill, see cyclists just ahead. I soon reach the girl who's trailing behind, almost stopped on the steep downhill with one foot on the ground. The section so steep that I go further and get off to walk. She tells me her name is Frances and is from England. Who asks me where I cycled from and when I say, replies with overwhelmed sighs of "amazing!" and "how cool!" You spend days alone, then suddenly you meet a girl that becomes so flattered by what you say, you feel she's in the palm of your hand. Sadly, her boyfriend is waiting further down the road. I knew nevertheless I'd get on well with Frances.
I meet her boyfriend called Alex, who I like too. We talk about bikes and the route mainly, as most cyclists who meet on the road do.
Shortly, Theo and Michel catch up and we are a company of five; until, a long hill strings us out. The French leading on ahead; upon which, I open the lungs, giving the pedals a hard spin, giving it all in a surge of power that sees me spin out and pass them against burning pain in my legs.
We come together again upon the steep descend to Puerta Bertrand; where the English and I turn off into the village, to a shop to buy a few things for lunch. Then lunch together on a bench outside the shop.
The French having ridden on I remain with the English for nearly the rest of the day; until late-afternoon; when, the road winds up a steep hill. By this point I'm feeling tired. I need to stop, as the others push ahead. Then the road levelling out on top with a deep drop along the right side into a gulp with a large river at the bottom, the Rio Baker. And shortly, I come to a left turn, route X83 to the Argentine border, Paso Raballos. A little in this road I see unfenced pasture with clumps of dwarf trees, whereupon I push the bike in well away from the road to a promentary, a level grassy sward with all round view.
The weather seems to be on the change, as a bit of a breeze picks up billowing the tent as I put it up. And later when I've had tea and write, thin cloud has blown in. Will this mean a break in the find weather.
The wine tastes fantastic, having felt the warmth of the sun. And it's hard to believe this far south I sit here at half nine in shorts and tee-shirt and it still isn't dark yet.
Well, the only thing further worth reporting is, an hour later while in the tent I hear pounding footfall and deep breathing outside. Looking out, I see cows stirring at the tent and now me. Curiosity I suppose. Soon they have lost interest and begin wandering off in the dark.
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