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Published: December 11th 2009
Cycling was an absolute pleasure when we left La Quiaca. The weather was not too bad, our reunion with tarmac was incredible, the road was reasonably flat and we were carrying some good-looking steaks. They cost us about one pound each. The only slight blip during the day was an alighty thunderstorm. We could not have timed our arrival at a convenient shelter at a check point much better. We sat there and waited for the storm to pass, which it did, straight over us with a dose of simultaneous thunder and lightening. It did not take long for the first Falklands reference to emerge, just less than 24 hours in fact. A military man at the checkpoint, on learning that we were English, muttered something to Raphael in Spanish followed by a guffaw and some nervous smiles from Ross and myself. The group of them seemed rather friendly though and we were soon on our way as the blackened clouds faded into the distance. We stopped cycling just shy of a town called Abra Pampa (yes, Abra unfortunately means ´pass´) and set up camp behind a small sand dune amongst a the familiar surroundings of the baron plateau. We still
had some light left in the day, so we could put in some quality time discussing and preparing our steaks and other trimmings. We decided the best course of action would be to seal them briefly in a hot pan over the fire, then grill them to order on flat stones heated by the fire. This was our most comlpex meal to date and what ensued was a tiringly convoluted cooking process resulting in a fine meal, complete with a red wine sauce and Raphael´s rice with vegetables. Another night under the now full moon completed a near faultless beginning to our brief journey through Argentina.
Ross and I both awoke the following morning to a flat tyre. As we had by now run out of spare inner tubes, it was vital that we found and repaired the culprit. As Ross inflated his tyre, it became apparent that it had been one pump too far and the cheap inner tube broke at the valve, leaving Ross with the grim sound of rapidly escaping air and the prospect of a rubbish day. Raphael kindly relinquished one of his spare inner tubes, and though they were for rims of 26 inches,
it seemed to do the job for Ross´s 28 inch rim.
We stopped off in Abra Pampa for a quick bite to eat and some more delicious meat. After being in Bolivia for so long, it was a pleasure to meet chirpy locals who were not afraid to smile, or show a degree of politeness towards these itinerant foreigners. The climb after the town which we had been slightly afraid of was in fact laughable. At 3780m above sea level, this was no challenge, being a whole kilometer lower than our highest pass on the trip, back in the early stages across the Andes in Peru. As we reached the top it rapidly dawned on us that this was effectively the end of the Andes for us, and from here, we were only going to get lower. It was quite a sad thought, but the emotion soon passed and we began to appreciate the proximity of the finish line. We sat out another windy storm in a local shop. Again, great timing, as we just caught the end of the draw for the World Cup. Raphael seemed bizarrely content with Switzerland´s group, though I, along with most people, do
not share his admirable optimism. England, we agreed, should have no problems. After this brief flirt with normality it was back to business. The remainder of the day was spent idling down hill, into a gentle headwind, whilst ogling the gradually changing scenery; first, multicoloured mineral-rich swirling mountains, followed by a descent alongside a river, through towering mountains, increasingly covered in greenery, with very very little traffic to quash our continued awe for the surroundings. Making very good time, we camped early, so that we had more sunlight to construct an elaborate and appropriate fireplace for another astonishing meal, this time consisting of steak (of an impossibly better quality than the last) fried potatoes and red wine sauce of much better vintage than that of the previous night. Argentina had given us a dream welcome and with every passing day we became sad that soon this would be over.
More down hill for breakfast and for lunch, Arsenal - Stoke in the most unlikely of places, though it is not surprising that even on the other side of the world, there is a demand for watching Stoke play football. We had lunch in a very quaint slightly European looking
town called Humahuaca. A very over-priced meal was preceded by some delicious empanadas (small pasty-like local favourites filled with meat and vegetables or cheese) and accompanied by a couple of confident beers, as we felt we were making extraordinarily good time. This was a bold move, because as we left the town in a very relaxed state of mind, a direct head wind was felt, reminding us that we were not at the finish yet, and swiftly slashing morale. Even cycling downhill was a struggle, going into such a forceful wind. It´s a little bit like if you were to drag a baby elephant along behind the bike, except less interesting. We pushed on regardless for a couple of hours. The frustrating thing about the wind is that there is no one to blame making it harder to deal with. This large section of downhill that we had been looking forward to from the very beginning had been ruined by the bloody wind. We agreed that we should not struggle cycling downhill any longer and make camp, get up early and hopefully avoid the afternoon head wind. It turned out to be a good idea, as the area we camped
in was a small cove walled by weathered rock providing us with adequate cover from the wind, but more importantly preventing too much wind from disrupting another grill.
A reluctant early rise was met with yet another puncture for Ross and an early headwind. We came across a well-named town, Volcan and had lunch, desperately hoping that the wind would at least die down. The area was now turning into a luscious green and was a great sight. Large trees, grass and ample oxygen in the air were all warmly greeted by us. However as we rolled out of Volcan, we began cycling through a cloud. Not a quickly passing thundercloud, but more like the type which reminded us of England...No definition to the cloud, just a light grey sky, blanketing the surrounding scenery, spitting out rain at a consistently feeble rate for the remainder of the day. At its worst, we pulled up beside a bus shelter, made a cup of tea and had a game of cards, by which time the weather was fractionally better, and we were able to continue our damp descent. Finding a camping place in these conditions is not fun, so we decided
to, for the first time, enter an official campsite and actually pay to pitch a tent. Despite being a very contrived form of camping, it was more than welcome as we stayed in a large hut and were able to cook yet more tender steak under cover. This time it was accompanied by grilled peppers and pasta.
Our penultimate day started with a head wind, which fortunately died down, as we continued descending. We skirted around a city called Jujuy which did not sound or look exciting thus did not warrant a visit. From here the road, which was very much ´cross-counrty´, was arguably the nicest cycling experience, or at least the most comfortable. Green arable fields, a machinised harvester (something we definately did not come across in Peru, Bolivia or Chile) and a dull sky again reminded us of England. We had lunch in a very yocal place run by a man who slightly resembled Diego Maradonna. It was still spitting when we set off, but as we were now only about 80km from the finish line. The bikes at this stage were in real trouble. Ross had broken an irreplacable spoke (by that I mean a spoke
on the back wheel, on the side of the casette) and a noisy set of gears and an ill looking chain, whilst my chain was clunking (usually a sign that it is about to fall apart) I had a slow puncture on the back wheel and the gears were constantly changing. The remainder of the day was a final stretch of uphill. This was surprisingly painless as the road wound around exceptional coutryside between steep hills with the occasional view of a large lake. The dreaded chain however was not enjoying the uphill and broke a following three times, now making it much shorter than when new, making several gears unreachable. It was frustrating that our last night on the road was to be marred by rain, but at least we came across a stone barbeque at the top of the hill. Yes, we were carrying more meat. This time a varied choice of liver, steak and beef ribs. We felt we needed to challenge ourselves, yet perfect the steak and the red wine sauce. We also had some grilled aubergine with tomatos. Satisfied that we had at last become masters of camp cookery, we settled down for our last
night of camping, pondering how we will feel the following day, after the last 48km.
It was an odd feeling setting off for the last, tiny portion of our journey. The road continued not to disappoint us in quality yet it continued to gently climb through the low-hanging damp clouds and jungled hills. This wasn´t a problem and we continued cycling through the mist at quite a pace for an incline for the first 11km of the day. Then, we were reliably informed by a slightly ageing Argentine cyclist, it was all downhill to Salta. Music to our ears. We stopped off in a very nice town about 20km from Salta to have a celebratory lunch, and our last en route. Rather expensive, but rather good. The last 20 km flew by and we approached Salta thanking our bikes for not falling apart. Ross had even more to be thankful for as during the last 20kms he had 2 further spoke breakages. Our bikes really did limp pathetically through Salta and over the finish line. Not Raphael´s however, but I think that that may be because he actually knows how to properly maintain his bike.
It was a fairly
anticlimatic finish, though soaked with a wave of relief and a great feeling of accomplishment. It was more measured than emphatic, which I suppose is apt, as the whole trip has been at a slow pace, being on bikes and thus we have had the finishing moments in our minds and in our sights for some time.
Reluctantly we finish here and all that is left for us to do is jump on a bus for a 16hr journey to Buenas Aires, pack up our weary mules and head home. We hope you have had some enjoyment/interest in reading our blog and looking at the snaps. Huge thanks for the comments, they were very much appreciated, especially when things got really tough.
We also want to thank Raphael for his company since La Paz. Despite his questionable palette and irrational obsession with condensed milk he has been great company and Ross and I have thoroughly enjoyed having him cycle with us.
Venimus Vidimus Vicimus!
Total distance cycled: 3026kms 1880 miles
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Auntie Claire
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BRAVO!!!!!!!!!!
WELL DONE BOYS! Not much more one can say to congratulate you. Despite the high mileage covered, it does not take into account the difficulties of those mountains and terrain. What a journey to remember. Also, how's the spanish? See you soon! Love Auntie Claire PS - Don't forget my xmas presy - the llama of course!