Chile

Sunday 16th
Crossed the border!

Nothing changed. Same scenery, same ripio road, same winds! But it´s Chile - not Argentina, completely different.

And not used to having 13kms between leaving a country and entering the next one! Who owns the land? If sheep are born there, in what accent do they baaaah? Who made the road? If I get flags of "Sweeneya" made can I claim the world´s narrowest country? Do radios work here - or is it just static?

Headwinds are tough and dull and make you think strange things. 90kms today to leave just 65kms tomorrow to Porvenir and a ferry to the mainland, just in case the winds are worse.

The Frontera

Saturday 15th
A tough, dull day into more headwinds. 80kms to reach the border crossing to Chile - a minor milestone.

Nothing at the border except a petrol station and a bare patch of ground to sleep on. Saturday night celebrated by washing my cycle shorts in the petrol station toilets. Livin' Da Vida Loca!

And the winner is..... The Wind

Friday 14th
Not moving today. No legs left. The wind wins. And I don´t care about admitting it.

Chance to catch up with some other cyclists here as well and get some route tips from old salts. Ethan and Brook if you are reading - RESPECT. These guys are riding road bikes with skinny tires, Brook with a carbon fork, on the Carretera Austral.

To non cyclists that means - Insane.

Or to use more words, something light, built for speed, and prone to shattering if stressed or chipped, on roads made out of what you get when you demolish a building with a wrecking ball.

And the industrial strength footpump! Must have weighed 10 lbs, doubled as a weapon, and I now know was christened "Pete" by some other American cyclists I later met who thought you were equally insane.

Starting to discover "the club" now as people you meet have all met other cyclists going vaguelly the same way. You get news about where they are and hear rumours of their adventures. Met Cesar, another American who had actually heard about me from people I´d met on the road and was trying to catch up so as to hike together later in Chile. Weird world.

Wind

Got my first taste of the real Patagonian winds today. It´s just rediculous. It doesn´t gust, or die, it´s just a constant noise in your ears, and a drain on your strength, physical and mental. I´d read about it, but nothing prepares you for the maddening relentlesness.

Every time you change up a gear it´s a minor victory, and you celebrate with increasingly maniacal glee. I cycled down a steep hill and was working hard to do 6 mph. Going up hill is the only releaf as the hill temporarily blocks the wind - you accelerate to 7mph! The lorries pass and you hear the SMASH of wind against your chest and just hold on to the bike until it stops dancing beneath you. Scary stuff. If the road turns a bit, you cycle with a cross wind and try to get 50 metres before you lose the fight and drop off the road again. 10 hours of the hardest effort I´ve yet endured (including running with Mr G. Cookson! ;-) got me 85kms to Rio Grande and a well earned tent pitch at the back of the seemingly famous (mentioned by every cyclist I met so far) Hostel Argentino.

Drained. Need sleep. Fortunately there are other cyclists who understand and take pity on me with food. Oh how the food intake is increasing.....

Things that go "Splash" in the night

The next nights camp is less inviting, being an river dug out to flow under the main road. I pitch my tent in a field full of cows and am given a strange warning by a passing fisherman complete with mimes of teeth biting and wild gesticulations towards the Agua (water) - the only word I understand in sentences I know I would be better off gleaning more information from.

Anyway deciding that maybe I won´t go for a swim, I settle down for the night. Then comes the first SPLASH of something large in the water. At first I think someone is throwing things off the road bridge above to scare me. I sit freezing in the growing gloom to try and detect movement - nothing. But with an intelligence that is worrying, the splashes only recommence once the tent is zipped up. I reason that nothing has tried to eat the tent so far and install headphones so as not to hear any more. A good ploy as I awake the next morning, alive, and with my MP3 still on. Never did get to see what lurked beneath, but something big and with teeth if the fisherman is to be believed.

Argentinian Hospitality

First "proper" day of cycling today started with soaking wet clothes and ice in my panniers - last night was freezing. Still the hills getting out of Ushuaia get the blood flowing, its a lovely sunny day and the cycling is fabulous amongst the mountains. There´s a 500m pass (Paso Garibaldi) which winds on past a couple of small lakes to giant Lake Fagnano where the views are stunning across this 100km long expanse of water. The wind is starting to pick up - warnings of what´s to come, but for now it just causes the water to shimmer and lap at the shore whilst I take a standard lunch of bread and cheese.

Reaching Lago Escondido a small village some 60kms from Ushuaia, I enquire of a woman about a campsite and am immediately invited to pitch in her back garden. Before the tent is out of the bag, I´m ushered inside for a beer and then plates of food start to arrive. This looks very promising. The whole family turns up and it´s the grandson´s 3rd birthday party and suddenly I´m the guest of honour. The evening is a blur of psuedo Spanish (for me - their´s is fine), beer, photos, wine more beer and enough food to kill off any hunger. The tent gets pitched at 1am in an alcoholic haze.

The next day is a slow start as I wade through breakfast and lunch before wobbling away at 2pm after hugs and tears (I kid you not). The hospitality to complete strangers is humbling, and as I ride away it makes me think about the way we perceive strangers back home.