Caption: ¨Ushuaia, the southern most city in the world, so they say.¨
Caption: ¨Good wine, great steaks and better conversations. New found friends from Wales and Bulgaria.¨I would take breaks from my all consuming book, Mysteries by Knut Hamsun, to watch the happiest animals playing I have ever seen. Horses were bucking and chasing each other like kids playing tag in nature´s yawning expanses. Lamas and big fluffy sheep were bumping and bounding over each other while curious foxes darted across the road. The land gets flatter, more windy, and the days longer the farther south we get until we finally arrive at the bottom of South America in a town called Ushuaia on the island of Tierra del Fuego (Land of Fire).
Caption, ¨An hour before the storm.¨After taking a month break from riding I was anxious to get going so instead of trekking in the National Park of Tierra del Fuego I opted to purchase 4 days worth of food and hit the road going north immediately. It was a good choice. I left and right away within the first 50km a storm rolled in and I took cover next to a lake appropriately named Lago Escondido (Hidden Lake). I found a path and maneuvered my bike on foot down to the waterfront with a curious excitement in my belly. It was pure wilderness camping on the bank of a unpopulated lake. It was the perfect spot. Alone. I mean really alone. I cooked up a pasta, took some clean water from the lake that was once a clear blue glacier, and then saw the storm come in. The wind and rain battered my little tent with me in it for 24 hours straight. Great, is this what biking Patagonia is going to be like? The wind gusts gave birth to Wizard of Oz dreams of fly spinning up into the air. I read, and ate, and slept, and read, and ate, and slept. When I finally poked my head outside the tent the surrounding hills were covered in a layer of powder sugar snow. Is this summertime?
Caption, ¨An hour later once the storm rolled in. Looks and felt foreboding.¨I continued onward until I made it to Tolhuin situated on the banks of the Lago Fagnano. This is where the wind starts and really does not stop until you get 500 km North. The winds get up to 120kph and create 3 meter waves (9 foot) in the lake from the wind swell. It is really not so much a gust as a constant blast of wind, like sticking your head out a car doing 60 mph. Now try to ride your bike in that with full luggage bags that act as open umbrellas towed behind you. Luckily there was a camp ground with wind breaks set up so your tent does not blow away.
The wind blows and blows, and blows your body heat away, then blows your moisture out of your skin and eyeballs, and eventually blows your patience away. I continued North. Wait, did I mention that most of the people bike WITH the wind, going South, not like me, going North right into the headwind? It doubles the travel time and takes 3x the effort and energy. At first I thought, ¨Well, against the wind, how bad can it be?¨ Let me tell you, far worse than one imagines.
As I was saying, I continued North to Rio Grande and did some more wilderness camping along the way in a field filled with sheep and guanacos (lamas). These curious creatures would come check me out then get frightened and scamper off. Birds flew into my tree area protected from the wind and chirped away while I read my book and jotted down some notes basking in the sun under my cowboy hat. This was a truly peaceful spot, and I think the fox I saw agreed with me too. Thoughts flew around my head along with the birds. Is the experience about enduring or to give you a new appreciation of creature comforts you have once the experience is over? At this moment the experience is the enjoyable part. I have comfort, food, water, time, and great weather- from my protected spot, in a good warm mood, I can hear the invisible hand of the wind pass over the tree tops and it sounds like a roller coaster made of cotton candy passing- but only 48 hours ago I was just surviving to get out of an uncomfortable situation. Then a quote from my book Mysteries makes me laugh out loud, ¨The world maintains that no rational man or woman would have chosen this way of life - therefore it is madness.¨ I guess so. It makes me realize that I am strange, even for strangers in strange lands. A ´list´ of items to check off in life does not exist for me, rather I have whims. Yes, I agree, the word whim is as flimsy as it sounds but somehow it has gotten me this far.
Caption,¨Direccion Obligatoria. Ya, sometimes it feels that way in life.¨
Caption, ¨Whimsical camping.¨
The next morning I get up yet again without the sound of an alarm clock. A breakfast of dried fruits, nuts, oats and chocolate fill up the gas tank for 2 hours of pedaling before the next gas stop. Exactly 2 hours later the last of the trees were behind me and the wind began punishing me for everything I did in my life and my last life and my future lives. A constant 40kph headwind was being grounded against by my two steeds and Falcor, my thighs and my bike respectively, while tucked into a ball and wind tears arched down my cheeks. It was a grueling ride and once I got to Rio Grande I checked into a hostel to recuperate and think about what the hell I was doing in Patagonia battling these winds. Talking to the local I was griping about the strong wind and he says, ¨Strong Wind?¨ with a hearty chuckle. ¨This is a breeze!,¨ and he continued to laugh.
¨Oh, jesus and baby jesus,¨ I thought. No way. This is bad.
The trees in Patagonia are bent over and wind blown to one side, as crooked as my back will be after this experience.
Caption, ¨I was thinking, why would anyone live here? I still am wondering.¨
Rio Grande is a wind scorched forlorn shack-filled shit box designed with all the love and personality that only a gas company could urban plan, its only industry besides sport trout fishing.
I left after two nights rest from Rio Grande with a Swiss German couple that had just started their trip that is scheduled to last 2 years all the way up to Alaska. And I do mean ´scheduled´ in the way that only a Swiss German could plan it with GPS, laptop, personally designed biking shirts, and an alternator that can charge all their electronic devices from the motion of the wheels. It is a classic case where technology trumps common sense. They have spent a small fortune with every outdoor/biking gadget ever invented and have managed to pack their entire house, including, I think, a kitchen sink and their couch with them. They have too much shit. The bike frames look like a paper clip about to buckle under the strain. I love getting behind them and watching them ride these two sloppy drunk cows down the road struggling against the wind. While they are both ´in shape´ they are still getting used to the weight and the long days in the saddle. It makes me realize that I am in now fit and can ride, although before I did not notice it. I rode in the front of them to break the intense headwind, but they still could not keep up and told me, ¨You take off like a rocket!¨
¨No, you just have too much shit,¨ I tell them, but it is a little bit of both that is true. I call out, ¨Ok, lets take a rest for food and water. It´s been about two hours.¨
The Swiss German reply was,¨It will be two hours at 8:17¨.
I am not joking. He said 8:17: We had to ride until 8:17 to stop even though I called out a rest at 8:10.
Caption,¨The sloppy drunk overloaded Swiss German water buffalos before the crash. End of pavement.¨
It is the first time since I started in Sept that I have biked with company. There are positive and negatives. In general company is nice, but then again we are talking about all the spontaneity and exciting conversation of a sweet, but dorky Swiss German couple that has the same sense of humor as a Whiffle ball bat, wait, that is not fair to the Whiffle ball bat, a bicycle pump.
There are often outbursts of Swiss German words coming from either one of the couple as if they hit their thumb with a hammer or they forgot one of their massive bags at a stop 100km behind, or their tent is on fire, but nope; it is usually about something like, ¨Where did I put that sausage?¨ Meanwhile I have sprung to my feet ready to attend to a tragedy.
Two Italian men bikers approach us and we exchange pleasantries. They continue on and the Swiss German couple remarks, ¨They were so typically Italian.¨ HA! I thought, I am sure they thought the same about you two, and come to think about it, me too, being American.
Caption, ¨Shelter.¨
Our days started earlier now because the winds pick up at 9am and are strong until 6pm, but it is light out until nearly 11pm so we can always ride in the evenings too. The Swiss Germans, who when unpacked look as if grenades have gone off in their bags, need 2 hours to get prepared in the morning. I tell them to wake me up half way through packing, and we leave at 6am each morning. By 8am the winds hit and by 10am the winds reach up to 70 or 90 kph and make traveling impossible. We would take refuge in a river gully, or behind a shed, and make pasta and read while being baked in the sun cause there is no shade now, not until you reach the city. With a mild headwind we can still make 15kph an hour but with wind it drops down to about 4kph and that is with every ounce of force you have in your body. The wind blasting past your ears is deafening and really annoying (again, picture head out the window on the freeway). It is so bad that I put in ear plugs and I can hear my deep breathing and pounding heart. This cannot be good for you. We still manage to average 50 to 60km a day by riding in the mornings and evenings.
Caption, ¨All trees have blown away. Flat flat flat.¨
We are riding on ´ripio´, or dirt/pebble roads. I tell the couple to watch out cause the load they are carrying can be a little dangerous and make a tire slide out. Less than an hour later the guy does a full shoulder face plant at 20kph into the ground with his feet locked into the pedals. A pure pancake slap to the ground, and skid. Ouchie. I almost ran over his head but managed to stop. He was banged up but luckily no broken collar bone or arm. I was expecting the worse from how he fell. As graceful as a giraffe on ice skates.
Caption, ¨Look at that proud smile. I thought he was done for.¨
Once in a while we pass people biking south and they are chipper as can be with big smiles painted on their faces. We are dug into WW I bunkers waiting for a respite to continue the drudgery. It is a relatively fun free experience. My hands are so wind chapped and used from setting up camp and tinkering with the bike that they have started to crack in the folds making them painful to move. No showers. The filth is caked on. Hair is heavy and oiled. We continue to ride. We wake up and it is 4 C degrees, and with wind chill it goes down to -5 C degrees.
My notes from my journal are short and sweet. ¨Tierra del Fuego can kiss my ass!¨ I have also had a spate of strange nightmares that I wont go into at the moment. You get the idea, it´s a constant torment. I realize that a day without wind or rain in Patagonia does not exist and I will have to deal with that reality. I justify everything by hoping this wind will get me over my hatred of wind. I have always disliked wind since I was a kid, so in comparison, after this trip of a month battling against the wind, nothing will seem windy ever again. I will be old and my kids will be able to say, ¨We know, we know...when you were in Patagonia, now that was windy. This is nothing...¨.
On the bright side I have never been so happy for a windless moment. Ever. It´s so nice it makes you believe in God. The countryside, with innocent puffy white clouds seemingly impervious to the winds, is postcard perfect and puts bubbles in your blood when the beauty catches you off-guard.
Caption, ¨Blood bubbles.¨
Slow days of fast wind. My moods swing with the weather. The couple wants to go slowly, but I want to get out of the elements and on the last day I push myself 85km in headwinds to make the boat from Porvenir to Punta Arenas where a hot shower and a windproof bed awaits. The couple wants to take it easy, and that is fine. With my new found freedom I took off like a ferret released from a cage. I put on music and smiled and sweat the whole way to the boat. It was liberating.
Caption, ¨Dinner.¨
I am now ´a free man´ again and resting in Punta Arenas for 4 nights. I am leaving tomorrow alone, and would have left this morning but the bike shops were closed yesterday, Sunday. So instead I leave Tuesday morning to battle more wind all the way to Puerto Natales (250km) where I will be meeting up with Amy, my friend from Madrid, to continue biking together. Much welcome company.
