Chapter 6 Bipedal therapy

Día 38-39: Pendulum travel, Mendozan wine and the warmth of Argentinians (130km)

Día 38 Pendulum travel

Cacheuta to Mendoza (GPX 91km)

Arriving in Argentina has its perks. Amongst them the huge increase in our spending power.

At the turn of the twentieth century, Argentina was on course to be a world leading economic power, fulled by its nascent beef industry. But military juntas, poor resource management, world wars and debt defaults have destabilized it to the point of rampant inflation and the repeated devaluation of its pesos.

Mark Carney, former Governor of the Bank of England recently asserted that Truss had created “Argentina on the Channel”, rather than “Singapore on Thames” with her unfunded tax cuts. Now you know why.

The current crisis makes it very easy to use saved £s to live a life of luxury here. Especially given that our definition of luxury is £2 campsites and £6 for 12 empanadas. Oh and it’s £2-3 for a really delicious bottle of wine. Bikepacking sommeliers we will most certainly become.

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Arriving at lunchtime after 800kms south through Chile, we need to replicate that distance northwards back to Mendoza’s latitude, this time on the Andes’ eastern flank.

The first thing we notice is the wind. It’s a battle to make it from the van doors to the supermarkert. Birds change direction violently, dogs lips are forced back to reveal smiling teeth and small children, unable to tether themselvs to heavy objects, fly past in the gales, lost to the storm.

We power through devastatingly remote gravel roads on Ruta 40, at one point passing a tourer who could have been a forgotten attic ornament for all his layers of dust.

Facefuls of boisterous breeze & blaring music sustain our focus. Jake and Nicole are the hero drivers all day, I’m just the hype guy repeatedly playing Volver by Lágrimas de Sangre.

We finally arrive at Potrerillos on the Eastern side of the pass, having left our equivalent spot to the West - just 200km as the condor flies - four days ago. It’s taken ten times as many kms to get us here. The Daft Punk pendulum swings down, and up the other side.

We’ve got everything crossed that Paso Los Libertadores is still closed. Otherwise our near 2000km round trip looks a little absurd.

Success! The pass is mercifully still shut. Jake’s van idea enters into travel route folklore.

After the other two head to big city Mendoza so Nicole can work with good wifi tomorrow, I camp near some hot springs. I get semi-useful help from an enthusiastic young lad who is fascinated by the bike (his feet didn’t quite reach the pedals), and the tent (I had to redo all the pegs he put in).

“Ohhhhh so this is how you do it!!!”

“Err, kind of, yeah. Well done!”

His highly technical support is unwavering until his mother calls him off.

The next day, after a breakfast of churros (chewier than a pair of shimano touring sandals) I decide to ride away from my destination, as high as possible, until lunch time.

Up, up, up and the white peaks flutter closer without quite coming within reach. I drink icy water straight from the river, then let the pendulum fall, barreling down 1000m to Mendoza.

Scroll down for Día 40.

Día 40 Mendoza gente

Mendoza to Cabanas los Horneros (GPX 39km)

One aim of this meandering transcontinental trundle is to scout out future homes. Jake and Nicole change their future place of residence weekly and Jack is open to ideas. None are fussed about returning to £900-a-month rent and a life of failing public services with a distinct absence of red wine that is both affordable and delicious.

Mendoza leaps high on the list of suitor cities. All wide leafy streets, bustling cafe culture, and more wineries than you can shake a greasy empanada at.

A long overdue night out here gives us a chance to get to know the thoughts of its gente (people).

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Our taxi driver: relaxed, talkative, full of Mendoza.

“You’re going out to town?

You want drugs?

Marijuana? Cocaine? Heroin? Crack? We call it Paco here, it fucks you up.

Jajaja

I’m joking, I’ve never touched drugs in my life. I’m 57 and I’ve never done any of it. Not alcohol either. It’s not for me.

Listen, I have the privilege to live here in Mendoza. The privilege I tell you. It’s a beautiful place to live. Calm, safe, good quality of life.

That’s the government building.”

So you support the government if the life here is so good?

“No! He’s a bomba! Mendoza is great because of the efforts of its people. It’s nothing to do with the government. Only the efforts of the people.”

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We ask two lads in the bar about the World Cup celebrations. They shudder and instinctively wrap arms around each others shoulders, as if transported back to that moment when Gonzalo Montiel held the breath of 45 million argentinos before taking the 5th penalty against France.

Razor wire tension before explosive nationwide euphoria.

“Man it was crazy. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat, every single game. It was the greatest thing ever.”

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In a petrol station cafe the next day. An Englishman 17 years into his stay in this fine country.

“Be really careful with your bags here, crime is a serious problem.’”

Jack: Have you ever had trouble yourself?

“No, never. I lost my wallet once but actually had it returned to me.”

So much for rising crime.

As repeatedly demonstrated to us, the press stoke fears about the consequences of immigration but the animosity we experience is non-existent.

Admittedly, we are not Venezuelan, and Venezuelans fleeing their country appear to bear the brunt of the propaganda across the Southern cone.

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We find a quiet campspot doubling as a rubbish heap a few kms off Ruta 40. Nic and Jake go off in search of puppies whilst I tend to the frying aubergine.

As night falls a motorbike light scrambles its way towards us in the gloom.

“What are you doing camping here?”

Uh oh… We just wanted a quiet space to camp.

“I’m the guard for the winery over there. If anyone comes, tell them I said you could be here.”

Sighs of relief. He’s softly spoken and gentle.

“It’s pretty safe here, if you see any bikes or noise on that road it’ll be people going to the house up there.

Don’t worry, I’ll look out for you. Look after yourselves. I’ll be here if you need anything. Have a good evening.”

An angel of the night.

I had previously been warned about the arrogance of Argentinians, but they have been welcoming, supportive and kind at every bend in the road.

✅3000km down.

Officially my longest bike trip after La Vuelta Atlantique (c2900km) last summer, but still some way to go to top Jake’s 7,500km down East Africa.

Whatever the distance, this experience is astounding.

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