Monday 14th & Tuesday 15th, Nov.
I woke up early but didn’t get out of bed for at least another hour, my motivation still doused in gin from a distillery visit the night before. When I finally did get up it was to an empty guesthouse and a breakfast spread laid out on the downstairs table for me. I slowly packed my things and did a run to the supermarket. I over-stocked my food bag as it was good pickings Puerto Natales and my legs were feeling strong after my two-and-a-half weeks off the bike, I’d manage the extra weight and from what I’d heard it was back to smooth roads from here. My plan was to make it 100km down the road, now Ruta 9, “La Ruta del Fin del Mundo”.
I’d been apprehensive about this stretch and my research was summed up by the “this bit sucks” I found on one blog. The road was leaving the Andes and the Cordillera Paine mountains behind as they tailed off into the plaines that would stretch out to the end of the continent. I’d seen it from the high vantage point of the national park; flat and exposed land all the way to the horizon, notorious for its strong winds. Any worries I had disappeared as the winds were non-existent for now. The rain came in for a while but it was a warm day and eventually the sun reappeared and heated the land. It felt great to be back on the bike, and even more so to be on paved roads again. My pace was fast and the kilometres quickly counted.
Prairies, plaines, scrubland, savannah; all appropriate descriptions for the landscape here. Big-barn farms claimed some space in the expanse but mainly it was unkept lands dotted with low trees. The road went straight and straight some more. After the rains the skies looked huge. Clouds climbed high, some dumping their rain in the distance, others sat atop the faint shadows of the mountains I was leaving behind. Not much else changed during the day, my energy dipped in the afternoon but returned after food, towards the end of the afternoon I was flying down the road as if I was on an unladen ride in the countryside.
As I approached the 100km mark a few buildings came into view in the shadow of Morro Chico, a stand-alone hill that was the only break in the flatness for miles around. I’d seen that there were some abandoned houses that could be used as shelters nearby so kept an eye out. I saw one that fit the description sat slightly off the main road by a small river, a police checkpoint sat opposite. I thought it best to ask them as it was right in front of their compound and one of the officers waved me inside to talk to the sergeant. After asking me a few questions about my trip and how long I’d plan to camp they offered me one of the buildings in the compound – an unused cabin with no power or water but with all its windows and doors intact. They let me shower in the station and even gave me some donuts, hand-made by one of their mothers and pulled from a huge bag in the kitchen. The officers were posted there for a month at a time and had five days left on this rotation. I made some pasta and sat on the little porch to watch the rain clouds rolling in again.
I was up early again, long before any of the carabineros in the neighbouring cabins. There was no running water in the one they’d opened up for me so I took my time packing up. I made breakfast beside the neglected log burner and waited for the outpost to open so I could wash up. I said my thanks and goodbyes and crossed over the bridge, turning the first corner in 40km and heading south. I was lucky, there was still no wind, so I was happy to take advantage of the cool morning and get some kilometres behind me.
This was real plaines, even the low trees of the day before had thinned into empty grassland to the horizon. There really was nothing but me, my bike and my thoughts, but the road was smooth and fast. It felt good to be back at an energetic cruising pace, even with the weight of extra food and water. All the efforts of the carretera and the days of hiking showed themselves and I felt power and endurance that could keep me going all day. I put on an audiobook, the geographically appropriate tale of Fitzroy and Darwin’s journeys to Patagonia in This Thing of Darkness, and pushed south.
The bird life was busy. Over the course of the day I saw parrot-like Austral Parakeets swarming a bush, was watched curiously by a Crested Caracara falcon standing sentinel atop a fence-post. I triggered the offensive shrieks of Southern Lapwings distraught that I’d dare to be within 100 metres of their nests, passed pairs of Magellan Geese standing in the fields, and looked up at trios of Black-Faced Ibis as they honked their ways back towards the mountains. Sheep made up most of the wildlife I saw until at one point a tall guanaco appeared upon a hill, its gaze following me as I rode past.
There was a lake at 100km that looked like it might be a promising place to camp however when I got there it was barren and uninviting. With plenty of time left in the day and still feeling good I made the decision to carry on another 50km Punta Arenas. The weather was turning but the wind was at my back for the most part and it gave me a boost through the fields of wind turbines and a number of curious golf-ball like satellite domes on the approach to the Strait of Magellan. Once I hit the ocean road the wind had really picked up and I had to lean sideways into it for the last 20km to stop it blowing me into the now double lanes of industrial traffic. I made it to into the port town and crossed straight through to where a Chilean cyclist I’d met before had saved me a bed in a cluttered but friendly hostel. We went out for a meal and I ate for two, recovering some calories after my longest day of riding so far. I stopped off for extra empanadas on the way back before passing out on a top bunk well before it was dark.
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Austral Spring 