A Bike-By leg wax and other contradictions

I am tapping away on our laptop from a green leather crescent chair, in a wonderful 1970's cafe in central Neuquen, sipping a delicious coffee, nibbling in a ladylike manner on a sugar covered croissant and aware that in a matter of hours I will be erecting our green nylon (or teflon or rayon or krypton) tent, blowing up my own bed and preparing for a wet wipe shower somewhere unknown, shortly into 604 kilometres (I like to be very specific) of near perfect emptiness.

Such are the contrasts of this trip. Each day is a mini Odyssey, without, in the main, the Homeresque thunder bolt wielding gods, nymphs or six headed monsters, but with plenty of rough and smooth.

The Kindness of Strangers

On one of our early bus journeys South from Buenos Aires, Liz mentioned that Kate Adie's autobiography is called The Kindness of Strangers.  The name was taken from her experiences of complete strangers showing extraordinary generosity to her during her times in improbable (usually war stricken) places.  This phrase stuck in my head.  It has somehow resonated in recent weeks each time we've been on the receiving end of yet another unsolicited kindness through Argentina - which, incidentally, is not a warzone.

Rip'n it up....

Ah yes...it really was an amazing week last week (see Phil's blog). The romantic 'Route of the Seven Lakes'. We looked up by day at the dramatic sheer cliffs that towered above us, and by night at a ludicrous number of stars, we looked through moss dripping trees, past sudden explosions of bright orange flowers, to rivers of the blueiest blue rushing by in glacial coldness, we looked out from out tent at white sand campsites and across the waters of these extraordinary lakes, and we looked into the eyes of birds of prey, of geese and swifts and the occasional loping canine. And we looked down. Down at the road surface. We looked down, A LOT!!

Because last week we experienced....Ripio. Gravel Roads. Roads not made of tarmac but of gravel. We travelled by bike over 50k of them.

The Ruta de los 7 Lagos

We have had a magical week.  Since the last update, we have left the joys of Bariloche, and done a full working week of cycling.  About time, you cry in unison.  We know, we know - it has been a somewhat stuttering start, what with having to move North from the gales of Tierra del Fuego and then a bit of convalescence time in Bariloche, but we now feel that we are properly underway.  We (and the bikes!) have completed our first 450km.  We are getting fitter and more used to life on the bikes, and are starting to feel better about telling people what we are doing.  This week, we did 190km along the Ruta de los 7 Lagos, from Bariloche to San Martin de los Andes.  More about that in a moment.

Life gets sweeter and sweeter

Our story resumes since we made the decision to call off the battle against the wind in Tierra del Fuego - to be resumed later in the year.  Watch this space.

Since then, it has been by no means all wailing and gnashing of teeth.  Yes, we theoretically wanted to do the route in one dollop, but we always knew we'd need to be flexible, whether in the early weeks, or several months in.  We have at least learnt early, as Liz suggested in the last blog, that certain elements are not to be trifled with.  Going with the wind, when sensible and viable, will make for a far more enjoyable trip.  And joining the dots, to try to cover the entire route, remains more than feasible.  The dotted red line may yet be of a decent length.

It's elemental...

This week we have been more than made aware of the power of the elements. Dominating the airwaves, and the conversation here is news of the terrible earthquake in Chile. As the death toll rises, and the tensions mount it becomes an increasingly sobering picture of how helpless we can be when nature exercises it's power. With Haiti so recent and the incredible storms in Europe this week, there are reminders everywhere.

Our own difficulties with the elements are therefore put into perspective. When we left Rio Grande last week to head on up Tierra del Fuego and back onto the mainland we went headlong into a series of challenges. First came a puncture on Phil's bike only about 3k into the journey. Then a side wind so strong that it kept pushing us off the road and when any sizable lorries went past (and there were an enormous number) we almost completely lost control. 9k in and we realised we were risking our lives and so when we saw what we thought was an Estancia we decided to seek shelter until the wind abated a bit. It didn't.

Sleeping around

Who'd have guessed the first three nights on the road would be in beaver country, in a bakery and at a crime scene?

Well, as Liz's recent updates have already told you, we are under way.  On bikes.  Properly.  The bikes work, we appear to work, and we've tucked away a decent distance - getting on for halfway across Tierra del Fuego (even writing that feels rather exciting somehow - we're so lucky to be here!).  Liz has, I think, defied her expectations and worst fears and has gone from 'embryonic' cyclist to fully fledged ciclista in very few days.  She's outpaced me for good chunks, which doesn't in itself mean she's the next Lance Armstrong (and my excuse for some of it was a slow puncture!), but it does mean we seem well matched for going a long way on our steeds.

[Incidentally, she has now christened her bike: Winifred la Pinguina - named after her late grandmother and her favourite of the animals we've encountered so far... in that order]

The broom of God

Yesterday we went into our first headwind. Or, as the locals call it, we faced 'The broom of God'. I can tell you that if the good Lord was planning to sweep through a person, rootle about in the depths of their soul and leave absolutely no corner of them unblown or unexplored, he succeeded with a vengeance. I ended the day feeling as if I had cycled 50k up the steepest hill imaginable and with the novel understanding of what it is like to have to pedal as hard as you can to go downhill. I was as purged as a person can be and had a face like a beetroot. I can strongly recommend it for anyone feeling pentinent.

The first 100k..

Well, actually the first 105k...have been completed!!

It wasn't Julie Andrews in the end who got me through but, to Phil´s horror, the lovely Dolly Parton who saw me up a cruel end of the day hill yesterday evening with ´Baby I´m Burning´ which my thighs certainly were. We slept like the dead last night, after a big second day, in the back room of a huge bakery in Tolhuin surrounded by flour sacks and the smells of Empanada preparation.

We set off finally on Friday lunchtime, after a small back brake delay, fully loaded and heading for the hills. It was made very special for us because Mark, Sarah and Steve came and saw us off and made a real occasion of it. It was so lovely of them all and we have a hilarious little film of the actual moment which we will post at some point.

Climb every mountain...

Today, I will climb my first ever mountain on a bike. My first ever. I do not predict a Julie Andrews like twirling and singing but more a thigh busting grind and a lot of walking. As Phil referred to in his blog, Ushuaia turned out to have a little surprise waiting for us. And so, the start is not flat, but very very uphill! I am properly nervous.

I think I will resemble Julie in squeeky clean, new kittedness though. This is like the first day at school, when you have your shiny new pencil case and a crinkly and fractionally too big skirt. All the kit is clean and lovely, all the clothes smell nice. I am embryonic, unformed, unfit and amateur!! As we have sorted ourselves out in this glorious, Edelweiss town filled with adventurous types this has been all too obvious.

It´s the End of the World...

I mentioned today to Liz, as we paddled symbolically on a stony beach opposite Ushuaia´s harbour, that something ´wasn´t the end of the world´.  And then I realised, actually it is.  We are here.  You can´t go any further South without taking to the southern oceans and heading for Antarctica.  And yet, looking at the last couple of days, it´s about as unbleak as you can get.  Until the clouds rolled over the snow capped peaks that form the backdrop to surely one of the world´s most stunning city locations, we hadn´t seen a cloud in two days since leaving Rio Gallegos.  Whilst I worked this morning on extricating our bikes from by now two rather tatty cardboard bike boxes, it was properly hot.

The wheels on the bus...

went round and round for many hours! We have so far completed 34, sixty minute stretches of glam 'Andesmar' bus transportation in order to get to the biking start line. On Tuesday we will add another 12. And boy is it glam. On the first journey we were able to lie back completely flat, on the second almost the whole way and it was all really very comfy. (Additional space was made for the unnecessarily tall Mr Philip Bingham with the cunning use of bike panniers behind his head). This outstanding luxury was supplemented by regular feedings and onboard DVD entertainment.

Heading South

[Phil] I'm writing this as we sit in comfort in the 'Coche Cama' section of a bus heading through sunny Patagonia to Rio Gallegos; team policy is not to slum it too much yet. I cannot recall a corner or a tree since we left the outskirts of Trelew a couple of hours ago, nor can I see that changing for some time. Extending out to the horizon on both sides is an endless expanse of nothing. Barren, dry scrub land, dotted uniformly with a carpet of only the hardiest scrubby shrubs and tufty grass. Nothing can be bothered to grow above waist high. But there is wildlife. I just spotted a couple of nandus – emu like rhea birds which stand about 4ft high and trot around minding their own business in these parts.