Wednesday, Oct 5th
No rain today, at least not when I was riding. I slept a solid 8 hours in the smoky shack, disturbed only once by dogs barking outside. I’m not sure how many different ways I can pack the bike but I’m determined to find the best one. Weight balance, wet vs dry, access, how not to unpack everything each night. I have dropped the rear rack to lower the centre of gravity and hopefully take some of the strain off of the bolts. This meant some alterations with the hacksaw I got in Puerto Montt as I didn’t like how close to the tire the horizontal support tubes were. Jorge now has a new saw.
500m out of the gate and straight into a long steep incline. Lots of hills today. At the top I met the two cyclists I’d seen yesterday as they were setting off for the day, a European couple on the same route. They were aiming for Hornopirén today also and informed me that the ferry only leaves once a day until the high season in December. That meant we’d all be staying in the port town and waiting for the morning ferry.
The road wound on, vehicles passing noticeably less frequent. The climbs were tough, one in particular stretched out for 4km of varying incline. The bike is carrying so much weight that there is no stepping down through the gears as the effort increases, as I’m used to on a road bike, and any momentum held on the approach instantly disappears. It’s straight to the lowest gears almost as soon as the incline begins into an energy-conserving low-resistance spin that’s just enough to keep crawling along. It’s a new technique to me but it works, I haven’t had to dismount yet. I imagine this will change once I hit the gravel.
The surrounding peaks started to grow and rivers appeared in the valleys along with an increasingly alpine feel to the landscape. More cabins dotted the banks of the winding river and a large blue kingfisher sat on a power line watching the water below. Upon approaching the top of another steep climb I saw a pack of dogs in a fenced off garden on my left. They began to bark and ganged up on one of their own, it’s yelps were chilling but cut short as their attention turned to me. The fence looked secure as the ran alongside me but the gate not so much. All seven of them ran out into the road and chased me for well over 100m, my occasional shouts discouraging them only briefly. I don’t get it, some packs of dogs are so chill as to barely raise an eyebrow when I pass, others are vicious little shits who will throw themselves at any spinning wheel. I quickly forgot them as I rounded the next corner to an incredible view of forest framing the first snowy peak of the trip, and an equally incredible downhill section where I hit 63kmph.
The rest of the day was a bit of slog, questioning my decision of putting off lunch until I got there, fuelled only by the occasional handful of almonds. Eventually I dropped down the valley into the fjord town of Hornopirén and sat by the coast for a while before getting a tea in a cafe by the water. Eduardo, a fixed-gear riding artist from Santiago who was painting the menu board, said he knew a place I could stay and that he’d ride with me across town to the Refugio El Galpón. I’m here now, sat by a stove trying to dry out some clothes I’ve washed in the sink. The refugio is a large open-plan hostel or communal living space, I can’t tell which one as I’m the sole occupier. The owner showed me round, made up a bed for me and got the fire going. I went for a wander but the rain came in again so I’m back here waiting for tomorrow and making up spent calories with avocado, cheese and tomato sandwiches.
Austral Spring 