Chilecito to Cafayate (click this link for photos)
7.7.09
Hola,
Unfortunately the descent into Chilecito didn’t end for me as I spent the next four days in a nasty descent with the “Gripe”. Don’t think it was the pig flu but it was a pretty full on fever that laid me flat out in a deep dark hole, even now in Cafayate I’m congested and not 100%. Anita was a wonderful wife and definitely accelerated my recuperation by caring for me and making homemade chicken and vegetable soup. We were lucky to be in Chilecito though as we were able to purchase more aspirin and vitamin C, eat good food, and stay relatively warm.
It was a pretty harsh reminder that our bodies are our motors and that if the body is sick we don’t go anywhere. It was frustrating to realise that this is a significant limitation of our trip and sticking to a philosophy of riding to each of or at least the majority of our destinations means we need to be very fit and strong.
I spent some time reflecting on where I went wrong as we have generally eaten pretty well and I have been a bit of a vitamin Nazi for both Anita and I. We certainly go to bed earlier than in Sydney. (Indeed we are amused that in Sydney it was a significant triumph to be in bed BEFORE 10pm and now it is a triumph to be in bed AFTER 9pm.) Ultimately however I think it was a combination of a number of things: tired body, insufficient dinner, too long before lunch, not enough liquids, a very cold head wind while climbing and a pace that was too quick up the hill for my load and legs.
Indeed, undoubtedly contrary to perception, Anita is getting much stronger. Upon arrival in Chilecito and before realising I was going to get sick we had a semi official tent handover ceremony. I took the tent away from Anita way back in Valparaiso, Chile. On the climb to the pass to Chilecito Anita was clearly no longer struggling with her panniers as she was bolting up the hill. It might very well be that she was merely trying to escape my incessant chatter to Luis however.
Needless to say, being stuck in Chilecito was a big downer for both of us. While it was nice to be in a big town again it wasn’t such an attractive town. It seemed as though there was a fair bit of money around with lots of young people driving ‘suped’ up cars, trucks and motorcycles. There were a number of fancy looking shops, houses and even a day spa. (There is some mining industry nearby). It did not appear, however, that the town charged enough in taxes as many of the streets didn’t have sidewalks and many blocks were run down.
We did get out on one afternoon for a ride around to the nearby suburbs and looked at an old early 1900’s relic – it was a cable car system for bringing down the mining ore from a mountain many 10’s kilometres away and up at about 4000m above sea level. It looked pretty cool but probably best for everyone that it wasn’t used anymore!!
We celebrated Anita’s birthday on Saturday and then after 5 nights in our Chilecito ‘prison’ I finally climbed out of that dark hole and we rolled out of Chilecito on a very wet, tail windy and cold Sunday on June 21 to restart our journey along the Ruta Cuarenta(route 40).
La Ruta Cuarenta is a pretty special piece of road. It extends some 5000km (Sydney to Perth distance) from the very south of Argentina (near Rio Gallegos/north of the island of Tierra del Fuego) and runs all the way to the border with Boliva and La Quiaca in JuJuy province. It has legendary status in Argentina and it certainly deserves a return for future exploration but probably not on a bicycle – not for us anyway.
From what we saw between Chilecito and Calafayate it deserves its reputation as a wild, outback, lonely, beautiful, and grand amphitheatre of a highway. Unfortunately due to the weather on that wet, windy, cold Sunday we didn’t get to see Famatina, but then again it is just another 6000m peak so I suppose not so exciting really.
The weather was about the most miserable we have had in South America and certainly since that day before we crossed the Andes out of Chile. We had just about every stick of clothing from our bags on. Rain proof overmitts, rain proof overboots, goretex pants, goretex jackets, four or five layers of merino, polypropolene, beanies, and neck warmers. After some 25 days of riding we were finally using all of this cold weather gear we had been carrying. It was a pleasure to put it all on. The pannier bags were half empty without all that bulky clothing inside.
As we pushed on to a town called Pituil we hoped to find accommodation as I was still not feeling very well and god bless her soul, we found Rosa’s Hospadaje. We aren’t 100% certain but Hospadaje seems to be anything from a private house where a room gets rented out to a proper hotel but the owner lives there also. Rosa’s place was pretty much a private house and certainly at the lower end of sophistication but she cleaned the room and bathroom while we waited. The water was hot (wood fired water heater) and let us cook in her kitchen. One of her most prized possessions was a coil ring notebook that acted as her Guest Registry. It was gold as some 30-40% of the guests in the book were other cycle tourists from Argentina and the rest of the world. Many were riding the Panamerica. We had missed two fellows three days. One was riding from Seattle, Washington to Ushuaia, Tierra del Fuego. It was pretty cool to see this funnel of cyclists coming through Pagancillo.
It was a Sunday and in the other room her husband and his mate were drinking hard and singing beautifully. We were sad to be too tired and ill to join them but their voices and music will resonate in our minds for many months to come. It was a true south America moment. Wonderful.
The next morning, we bid farewell to Rosa. She gave us a gift of her homemade Vodka. It was pure rocket fuel. Unfortunately the lid didn’t seal properly so Anita donated it to the shrine on the edge of town. (Please forgive us Rosa, if you ever read this, not that you will, but if you ever do....). The road to San Blas (seemed more like SanD BlasT) de Los Sauces seemed to go on forever and I continued to amuse myself by taking photos of Anita at many of the Ruta 40 kilometre mark signs along the way. We rolled through the whole town and we found the one and only restaurant that was open during the siesta. Sometimes the hardest part of cycle touring here is just to find shops/restaurants that are open during the siesta! We ate an enormous meal with soft drinks and Tea for 30 pesos. Amazing. We thanked her profusely and rolled out of town and out of the La Rioja province and into the province of Catamarca.
We found a quiet part of the Ruta 40, near a river, just over the border and camped basically on it. It was wonderful and quiet. Despite loving Rosa’s hospitality, we were grateful to have a quiet nights sleep without roosters crowing, dogs barking or attempting break and entry (Rosa had a dog that knew how to turn door handles and the b@$t@rd tried a break and entry on our room at 2am – scared us half to death!). Or buses rumbling for that matter (our Chilecito ‘prison’ hotel room was next to a bus maintenance shed with a monster sized dog).
Just as we were scoping out our camping options we spotted a little armadillo. I gave it chase and managed a couple of distant photos. It was pretty hilarious to watch the little fellow run. His armour stayed fairly horizontal while his tail stuck straight back and his feet flicked underneath of him. A fence finally saved him from any further photographic denigration. It was a chilly night but our -20°C sleeping bags kept us toasty warm. They seemed so ridiculous in Sydney but I haven’t regretted carrying those voluminous bags once since we started camping out. All in all, it was great to be back home in our tent in the middle of nowhere on the edge of the Ruta Cuarenta.
The next day was glorious. The clouds finally dissipated, the sun came out, the wind stayed on our backs (for the most part), the climbs weren’t too arduous, the views were sensational and it was one of those days that makes it all worthwhile. As we rode towards Londres (Spanish for London) the mountain ranges were layered in excellent sections with a magical straight road rolling down like a big carpet slide. We were gobsmacked by the beauty of our surrounds and thankful that we were there to enjoy what was being offered that day.
Unfortunately by the end of the day I was relapsing. No fever but a nasty sore throat and heavy tiredness. We found a hospedaje straight away but unfortunately there wasn’t anywhere to find food. The whole town was too busy getting ready for the town festival the next day to be bothered selling food to gringos. We stayed awake long enough (8pm) to see the local ambulance, fire truck, and police pick up roll through with their sirens sounding announcing the start of the big BURN off. People had been collecting corn stalks, firewood, and all things flammable all day to see who could make the biggest bonfire. It was impressive to see these massive blazes flaring through the town.
We had a rest day in Londres on June 24, so named because back in mid June, 1558 when El Capitan Don Juan Perez de Zurita founded the town, Maria Tudor of England and Felipe II of Spain had just hitched up together. Thus the name and thus the festival I suppose. We spent the morning riding up to see some Inca ruins and checking out the museum. Seems that Shincal (the ruins) were one of the more southern outposts for the Inca empire. I guess that means we are now officially on ‘the Inca trail’ as we head north towards the center of it in Peru. The festival in the afternoon was nice, the little kids hilariously cute, the politicians verbose beyond our limited attention spans, the police and army impressive and stern, and the caballeros (horsemen/women) gallant. We had a good chat to a young girl named Carolina whose father’s family had had their house in Londres for a few hundred years. They were city folk though so only came to Londres about 4 times per year for special occasions – it was her first time riding in the parade. We were very impressed with her maturity and grasp of English as a second language at the ripe old age of 16.
The following day we rode from Londres to Belen to restock our food supplies. North of Belen was a brilliant valley/canyon to ride through. The road twisted and turned and the wind shifted from tail wind to head wind and back to tail wind. With every turn we climbed another 10 m and some 450m for the day until we called it quits and camped in a dry river bed close to the Rio Belen. It was an excellent camp spot, away from the road. Dry on soft sand. Anita cooked more of her delicious soup for dinner and we went to bed with happy bellys and only a mild concern for potential flash floods (Stuart) or Pumas (Anita).
We were now back up to about 1500m and it was very cold over night. The sky was clear and black with a crescent moon and 2500-3000 m peaks all around us. So cold and clear in fact that the water in our water bottles froze solid and there was frost on the tent when we woke up. We rolled away from our camp fairly early and admiring both the newness of the road and the Drumheller like ‘badlands’ when I said to Anita, “You know Anita, we are so lucky here. This road is brand new. I reckon a few years ago this was dirt.” And within minutes, yes, you guessed it, the bitumen ran out and the Tierra (dirt) began. We rode about 10 km to Hualfin, stopping at a river crossing to replenish our water supplies. The Tierra wasn’t so terrible, the wind was at our backs, the road was firm. Lunch at a Hosteria (Bife de Lomo, Papas Fritas y Ensalada) gave us confidence and strength to push onto Los Nacimientos – “The Birth” or “The Source” or “The Beginning”. The significance of the name didn’t dawn on us until the next morning – the beginning of our own little honeymoon from hell.
We arrived very late in the day, about 5pm just before sunset. Our first attempt at requesting to camp next to a Kiosco failed, the elderly toothless owner rejected our request and suggested we enquire at the Municipalidad. We didn’t thank him for his help but we did say Chao. At the Municipalidad, I shared our story with Omar. He found it hilarious that this couple from Australia had turned up on his door step, on their Luna de Miel con Piernas muchos cansado (on their honeymoon with very sleepy/tired legs). He had no problem with us camping in the patch of dirt in the ‘park’ nearby. I use the term ‘park’ loosely. It was an expanse of dusty dirt strewn with rubbish and a pick up truck that had obviously been rolled and was now awaiting its fate as a rusting relic. Possibly it will be used in the future to remind children to drive carefully on the dirt roads to/from Los Nacimientos.
As we erected our tent we were watched by three yound children named Tali, Guida and Leo. They were very cute and intrigued by the gringos putting up a tent in their play area. The sun set with some brilliant colours in the sky. The wind was non existent. We had an excellent wash cloth bath in our vestibule and tucked into a pasta dinner filled with anticipation of exiting Los Nacimientos tomorrow with only another 10km of dirt road before “the beginning” of the bitumen all the way to Salta. Even at 1am when we both had to get up there was no wind. And even at 430am when Anita woke me to check on the drunkard knocking on everyone’s door to let him in it was mighty cold but the wind was not so strong. But by 730am as the sun came up the wind was blowing a gale, from the north. A head wind straight from the devil. It was a vile wind, made all the more vile by the dust that was penetrating the very tent walls of our home. You could taste the dust in your mouth. Everything in the tent was covered in it.
We would have left sooner as it was certainly better to brave the dust on the road than to sit still for a day chewing on our own gritty remorse but the kiosco’s didn’t open until well after 11am. Anita did finally manage to procure some not so fresh bread, cheese and biscuits for our journey. And so began the 27th of June, our date from hell on a honeymoon that has certainly had better days. Over the course of 5 hours we did manage to exit ourselves from the interminable dirt road and crawl our way to the bitumen. It turned out that it was not 10km but rather 16km and when you are cycle slogging and walking/pushing your bike at 3km/hour this is a significant distance!
However, nothing lasts forever, not even the bad times and when we finished up about 3 km down the road we had found a perfect campsite near the road but relatively well hidden with a wind break and a calming wind (it figures). We managed to wash ourselves from one (yes that is One) litre of water and conserve the remainder for our trip the next day. We were well exhausted but I was ever so proud of Anita who despite having one of her rare outbursts “This is ridiculous Stuart, I’m hitching a ride from here!!” managed to still push on without giving up.
She continues to amaze me with her ability to cope with significant challenge. More amazing even than when at the 12km of dirt mark a boy rode his mountain bike out of the desert scrub with his two dogs herding about 10 horses. I mean, we were in the middle of NO WHERE and this boy comes from NO WHERE with his bike and his dogs and his horses. That was pretty amazing but let me tell you, Anita is more amazing than that.
The following day we rolled across a plain at about 2300 m on a road that was dead straight for about 25km. About 12km into our day we could see the bus that had just passed us disappear into the distance and snuff out like a small candle light. Anita said, I reckon that mountain range is about 20km away. She was wrong in the end as it was 21km. When we got to the 35km mark we dropped off the high, desert, dusty, dry plain and dropped down along a river bed – with, can you believe it? Water! A river bed, WITH water. We had a lovely lunch stop and then managed to polish off the day by rolling some 80 odd km into Santa Maria before 4pm. Glorious. All the pain and suffering of the previous day washed away as we cruised at speeds of up to 45km/h with a tail wind and dropping altitude.
In Santa Maria we stayed in a nice hotel with a warm/hot shower AND it had lots of water pressure. It is difficult in this part of Argentina to get a shower that has both water pressure AND hot water. We told the lady she had the best shower between Santa Maria and Mendoza. She nodded her acknowledgement at the compliment but it appeared that it was a fact that she was already well aware of. After indulging in soft drink, sweets, tortillas and ice creams we still managed a decent dinner before going to sleep.
We were slow to get going the next morning as I had another spoke to replace on my bicycle (rear wheel) and Anita’s rear wheel needed truing. On closer inspection I realised that her rear wheel has formed a swelling in one part of the rim. She had been complaining for a few days about how terrible the rear brakes were. I kept telling her that she needed to clean the rim properly but it would appear that she will need a new wheel/rim in Salta.
The ride into Cafataye over the next two days was pretty pleasant and uneventful really with lunch in Amaicha de Valle, and a stop in a town called Colalao del Valle where we found a great little Hosteria. Although it did cause some reflection after Amaicha why we always seem to attract the drunkards in the plaza while we are eating our lunch. Such a pity that other citizens aren’t brave enough to come to talk to the weird gringos!
I did earn significant brownie points for suggesting we roll on another 5 km in the afternoon head wind to Colalao. (Anita had suggested we camp under a tree in the blowing sand and wind but my memories of Los Nacimientos were too strong despite the temptation of camping wild and free.)
The further north we went the more the scenery started to green up. The mountains started to change shape and colour and the number of wineries increased. We arrived early into Cafayate and shopped around for the best Hotel, Hostal, Hospadje on offer and decided that Mitra’s El Portal de las Viñas was our place for Cafayate. She ran a clean ship, cleaner than just about any hotel we have ever stayed at on this planet. When we arrived, she had the cleaner in one of the rooms with the beds hoisted up on their sides so that the cleaner could PROPERLY mop that floor. She was aghast when we were in our room and Anita had already put one of the towels in the bathroom thinking that the cleaner had only placed one towel in the room. Very amusing at the start, suffocating after a while but nonetheless, we had some of our best and most contented nights sleep there, especially when Mitra stopped calling out “Todos bien?” (everything alright? Every 5 minutes).
Having reached Cafayate is a significant milestone achieved. We are now less than 500 km from the border of Bolivia and we have been told that from here the scenery is some of the best in Argentina. We are also soon going to cross the 2000km mark in our journey. Our legs and minds while tired are now much stronger.
And the riding is about to get even more enjoyable. We will savour the bitumen between here and the Bolivian border...
Chao,
Stuart (and Anita)
Posted byStuart Kane at 12:22 AM
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We are sorry for de "gripe". But you can ride in de legendary Ruta 40; Stuart and Anita are legendaries now!.
Very intersting the pictures.
A kiss.
Diana y Gustavo.
From Rosario - Argentina