Bicycle Diaries

Fully laden with food, snacks, fuel and water, we set off early from Mendoza bound once again for Uspallata. No, we haven´t gone mad; Uspallata forms a natural crossroads where the road from Chile meets the two routes to Mendoza and the road northwards towards San Juan and beyond. Previously we had taken the fastest route to Mendoza, and now we were returning to Uspallata along the isolated and unmade road through the Villavicencio Natural Park. As we rode out of the city, the snow-capped Andes stood at our left shoulders, but soon mountains closed in all around us. Eagles circled above and guanacos peered down from ledges high above. The road, tarmac'ed at this point, crept steadily upwards. As we approached the Park Ranger's residence at Villavincencio, the Ranger himself offered us a lift which Richard delined on my behalf! This is a recurring theme, which needs to be addressed. We stopped to look in at the excellent display about the park's flora and fauna and the Ranger re-appeared with bottles of the locally drawn mineral water and an offer of a camping spot, which we gladly accepted.

Just a kilometre away was a fine restaurant where we treated ourselves to vast slabs of cake and equally vast chunks of roasted goat meat. They do like their meat here, but don't go a bundle on vegetables. On our return to the Ranger's place, a German touring cyclist appeared and we were invited in by the Ranger for a hot drink. The Gardener from the nearby, unused, spa hotel was summoned and we all gathered for a night of home-made empanadas and friendly chat about life in the Park, plus the more delicate subjects such as Maradona's Hand of God! More chat ensued in the morning and, with the German cyclist absent, the subject roamed onto the potentially treacherous territory of opinions on the Americans, the English, the Germans and every other nationality. We were thrilled to hear tales of the time when Che Guevara and his friend Alberto stayed there whilst on their famous motorcycle tour and were shown special momentos of their visit. We enjoyed great company and parted good friends with hand shakes and kisses all round.

The day's ride took us onto dirt road and 15 km of climbing up winding "caracoles" to Cruz de Paramillo at 3100 metres. As we climbed, the views below were dizzying and spectacular and, as we topped the pass, a stunning panorama across to the Andes and Chile took our breath away.

Next, a downhill rattle to Uspallata where, as if to confirm its position as a crossroads in the desert, were gathered seven touring cyclists of varying nationalities, and bound in every possible direction.

Our exit from Uspallata began with an entertaining pedal through a ford, with local encouragement in the form of "Rapido! Rapido! Don't stop!" We continued then on dirt road for about 80 kms, climbing gradually through desert and scrub. The occasional stream crossed our path, and we saw the first of the many shrines to La Difunta Correa, surrounded by gifts of water from thankful travellers. That night we camped with Nick and Vicky, two Scottish cyclists bound for Columbia, who we had first met at the junction in Uspallata. Though devoid of home comforts, our pitch for the night had fabulous underfloor heating and, above, a canopy of a million stars.

The following day we launched ourselves on tarmac down to the shady, leafy village of Barreal and onwards beside the river to Calingasta for an evening of feeding and cleaning before tackling the 200 km of desert wilderness to Iglesia.

We cruised along beside the river, before topping up our water supplies to begin the big climb of the day into the parched lands. Several sticky hours later and with the hard work over, we tucked ourselves away for a night of silence and solitude. During the night lightning flashed all around and, after a little rain, the next day dawned a little cooler. This seemed to have encouraged the wildlife: an armadillo scuttled along beside the road - much smaller and faster than I was expecting. We saw an imense, palm-sized, hairy spider, which was later identified as being dangerously poisonous - now downgraded to merely antisocial.

After a cosy night camping in a garden belonging to a local society in Iglesia, surrounded by roses and fruit trees, we continued our descent to San Jose de Jachal, which is where you find us now. Normally, I would expect a descent to be fast and easy but, battling a fierce, gusty headwind, we had a difficult day and Richard was begining to fear for the Arsenal vs AC Milan footie on the telly that night. I suppose we should have been suspicious when we found out that the reservoir beside us was the venue for world class windsurfing!

Anyway, here we are, cleaned, refreshed and having survived a night in a bar discussing the growing tensions with Colombia in South America, the war in Iraq and the Americans (again). ("Don´t mention the war" came to mind. "I think I got away with it") I should have been a diplomat! Tomorrow we continue northwards; another two-day trip through desert wilderness to Villa Union, and then beyond. Hasta luego.

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