Six Weeks on the Carretera Austral

Day 33 – Tuesday March 29: Over the hills to Cochrane

 It rained and blew violently during the night, and everyone feared that we’d be facing a very uncomfortable day. But we started out about 10:00 and managed to stay just ahead of the squall line. We followed the Rio Baker downriver past the largest rapids we’ve seen so far, and then it joined with another large river, the Rio Chacabuco. At that confluence the Rio Baker comes in beautifully blue and frothy, while the Rio Chacabuco appears brown from the vast quantities of mud and silt it carries. From there on the Rio Baker is sand-colored. Just after the confluence the road headed uphill in a series of the steepest climbs we have so far encountered – at least 19%. Some walked and counted themselves lucky to have made it at all. Ultimately we picked up some downhill speed for the final push into the town of Cochrane. The nearly 50km seemed longer because of the steeps, and we had gained about 2800 feet.

Our B&B was the house of a jolly man who clearly liked having guests. Pictures on the wall suggested he was an empty-nester. The town of Cochrane itself occupies a crossroads. It has a huge town square, a couple of good cafes, a restaurant, a super Supermercado, and an internet café. Unfortunately the connection speed there was so slow that we couldn’t talk by phone on Skype or upload pictures. We enjoyed dinner at the restaurant and returned early for our next ride. The route was becoming a little cloudy now, a little unfocused, but we rose to a rich breakfast to set out on the next leg.

Day 34 – Wednesday March 30: Camping halfway to Caleta Tortel

Because of the ferry cancellation south of Villa O’Higgins, we were now trimming our sails to suit the wind, and David (through Laura) made arrangements for us to stay in a Campsite with a Refugio – Refugio and Los Nadiz camping -- a small structure with four bunks and a rudimentary kitchen. It lay at the bottom of another serious pass that traveled east to west, back into the wet landscape. More serious uphill and downhills took us over yet another pass towards Caleta Tortel.

At the bottom of a spectacular descent Steve and Steve Jahn and John, though, passed up the turnoff to the campsite/refugio and ended up many miles and hundreds of vertical feet ahead. In the rain and cold. Eventually they realized their mistake and turned back some 30km beyond the turnoff. Mercifully Tikka and Dario had come looking for them with the truck, and the three were able to get inside and warm. But the message was clear: we had no real other options in this deserted landscape, and we had to make sure that everyone was on the same page to avoid disaster. That night five of us slept on the floor of the refugio kitchen because it was so cold and windy and rainy outside.  The original ride to the refugio covered nearly 60km and 2600 feet; the three rogues had clocked in yet another 30km and perhaps a thousand feet more of elevation gain. Just about everyone slept fitfully.

A new big worry was that Tikka discovered his truck had lost its brakes, and he had to descend using the engine drag on the transmission.  This in turn meant that the next day Tikka had to return to Cochrane to find a mechanic to fix the truck while the rest of us would press on without support for a long day in foul weather to Caleta Tortel. Also, we had been riding steadily without any more days off, so everyone was getting tired. But even more strenuous adventures waited ahead.

Day 35 – Thursday March 31: Torturous road to Caleta Tortel

Complicated day today. We left the Camping/refugio site in the rain and started making our way to Caleta Tortel, which we thought was about 60 to 70km away. Tikka and Dario and Steve Jahn, who wasn't feeling all that well, headed back to Cochrane where they hoped to find a mechanic. And it trned out to be even more complicated than that, ...they found out in Cochrane that the rear end of the truck was trashed, as well as the brakes. They worked with an amazing mechanic who fashioned the part they needed for the rear end, and they were able to get things fixed by the end of the day and to come back over the pass to find us.

Meanwhile a lot of time passed, and in the very late afternoon we began to dribble into Caleta Tortel, which marked the end of the Carretera Austral for us. The distance, though, had turned out to be tricky, and as we were riding without support – that is, with most of our gear in the truck or the trailer. – ii was a bit unnerving. We had pressed on, and the ride turned epic. Long -- 97km on really nasty roads -- up and down and finally up and up to arrive around 5:00 in Caleta Tortel. It was still raining, hard, and we were freezing.

It is an amazing town, unimaginable. It's built on steep stone cliffs and until 2003 was only accessible by water. The town came into being in the thirties by building walkways on stilts between houses and shops, so you have to climb up and down stairs and along these walkways. Which were very slippery for people walking in bicycle shoes. The town is unbelievably situated looking out at a fjord. But the rain was really coming down and it would be dark soon After an hour we finally found our place to stay, which was warm and welcoming. Our guide David had ridden this ride to make sure we made it, and he arrived with Tom around 7:00. No sign of Tikka and Dario and Steve Jahn though, and then darkness dropped down. No streetlights in this town because no streets. And you had to park at one end, high up, where the road arrived and dead-ended. The owners fixed us dinner and we went to bed exhausted.

We feared the worst for the truck, but In the morning we came down to breakfast to find that everyone had made it, though not until midnight, in a water taxi.  The truck was fixed and we were all together.

We had some new directions to ride though, starting out that very day.

Here's the reposting of our last day on the bikes. Excellent ride...

Day 37 – Saturday April 2 – What a Finale!

In the film version of Ray Bradbury’s The Illustrated Man, starring Rod Steiger, one episode concerns a group of spacemen stranded on a planet where it rained incessantly, unrelentingly, drilling down on their helmets as they make their way through the thick jungle. They were looking for Sun Domes, places that had been constructed where one could get out of the rain. Otherwise you’d go crazy. The wind in Patagonia is like that. It blows constantly through much of the day and night at about 50 or 60 miles an hour, and it gusts to 70 or 80. This is real no man’s land, though indescribably beautiful.

We rose at our camp site, somewhat sheltered from the wind, packed up and prepared to go. We were heading southeast, and the wind always blows out of the northwest, so it was behind us for the most part. Steve Jones went down within the first half mile as we tried to cut across a quartering wind from the right, but then we turned left downwind and pedaled away. The road rose up along cuts in the buttes and disappeared over blind hills. After about 30km we were starting to get used to it. And then the road began descending gradually for almost 40km.

This meant that we had sixty mile-an-hour wind at our backs, gusting to ninety and pushing us along the gravelly, rutted and washboard road. But if you kept your head you could really haul. John clocked the fastest time – almost 57.6km/hour. It was impossible to turn around, of course, but that wasn’t the way we were going anyway. We flew on that road for about 30 miles at that pace, and none of us expects to experience that exhilarating speed and riding pleasure again.

We finally stopped at an intersection of Route 40, which we had to take to get to Bajo Caracoles. Upwind. The truck loaded us up and we arrived in the little village covered in dirt and dust and laughing. .

The settlement Bajo Caracoles is an odd little place, with a gas station and a squat hotel with a bar. Nothing else around, though, for perhaps 75 windy miles. We celebrated and hosed off and celebrated some more. After dinner we collapsed into bed for our trip by bus to El Chalten the next day.