Gabo’s sun-blasted centurions

Día 8: The brilliance of the Colombian maestro and a distant finish line (103km)

Chapter 2 Live forever in your dreams (2/8)

Komoot GPX Coyhaique-Lago Aguirre-Cerda (103km)

“What matters in life is not what happens to you but what you remember and how you remember it.” -GGM*

Chile: Alto Baguales to Lago Aguirre Cerda, 103km

It all started with Gabo. Winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature (one of six Latin Americans to do so since 1945). He studied at the university of Bogotá, wrote for the Colombian newspaper El Espectador, and then worked as a foreign correspondent in Rome, Paris, Barcelona, Caracas and New York. That alone gives you some idea of the breadth of his life story and subsequent experiences to draw upon.

Whether writing a report on the story of a shipwrecked sailor, recounting interviews with a Chilean dictatorship infiltrator, shining a light on the Colombian government’s desperate negotiations with Escobar, or reimagining the final days of General Simón Bolívar, there is something so simple, yet so electrifying about his word selection.

I lost count of the times I listened to his defiant, brazen speech upon recieving the Nobel Prize in 1982. Lecturing on the "unearthly tidings of Latin America, that boundless realm of haunted men and historic women, whose unending obstinacy blurs into legend."

His is a deep understanding. You can’t help but find comfort in his words.

"You can’t eat hope,", the woman said.

"You can’t eat it, but it sustains you," the Colonel replied. -GGM**

Today we hoped to go big.

In the morning we coasted down a misty valley, noting the change in paisaje from late summer, yellowing fields to greener, more luscious vegetation. It was here that roadside shrines to San Sebastian popped up frequently. Even more often than the delectable cafes selling cheesy empanadas and fried breads. We laid waste to the latter and paid ever fewer respects to the former.

At the foot we turned North onto what would be a straight shot up the valley. Villa Mañihuales the target. The shady morning gave way to glorious rays and the road, for the first time of the entire trip was flat, dry, and perfectly smooth.

Q: What happens when you cross 5 day gravel hardened legs with brand spanking new tarmac?

A: Twice as much distance covered at double the pace.

A rare long-distance road sign revealed Santiago to be just 1639km away. Rapid calculations determine we will make it in time for Nicole’s arrival. But the race is on. We knock off 80 kilometers in well under four hours, sweeping from one side of the valley to the other on stone bridges, leaving lorries for dust and car drivers baffled at the superiority of our blurred calves to their clunky machines.

These ridgelines are much closer and steeper, the Western side in shade by the time of our second breakfast. Cattle graze on manicured green fields. This feels like a wonderland of plentiful water and abundant charm. The crisis of climate yet to visibly mutilate this glowing valley. It replenishes our hearts.

“He was still too young to know that the heart's memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burden of the past.” -GGM***

Garcia Marquez is arguably better known for his titanic novels Love in the Time of Cholera and One Hundred Years of Solitude. These standout 20th century works sold millions of copies and brought the ideas of magical realism to much broader audiences. Seasoning realistic scenes with layers of illusion not subject to physical or natural laws became his trademark. Like telling the story of a a very old man with enourmous wings.

Or suggesting that cycle tourers can be faster than cars.

Gabo lived from 1927 to 1914, and his ashes were eventually laid to rest in Cartagena, on the northern tip of the South American continent. I was aware of this last time I was present on this continent, 7 years ago. Now the golden bust placed in the cloiseters of the town’s university seems a fitting end point for this trip.

The sign said 9500km to that Caribbean nadir. I wonder if I’ll get the same confetti treatment.

“It is not true that people stop pursuing dreams because they grow old, they grow old because they stop pursuing dreams.” -GGM****

The pace of centurions made time for a stodgy caramel bread and butter pudding the size of a an overfed cat, a Maquis tea (not sure they’ll catch on outside Aysen), and copious packeted snacks. In the evening we inched out of town, reveling in a final cruisy golden hour towards another Patagonian lake campsite.

Said campsite proffered a sign declaring Wifi and hot showers but was blocked from the road by a temporary wire fence. Unsure of whether the season had passed we tentatively crept towards a cabin with lights on and TV noise leaking through the wooden cracks. We were encouarged by the presence of a dog chained to a tree, and a feline friend who was treated us like long lost relatives. But there was no response to our knocks. The TV continued to blare.

We got the feeling the owner had declared they’d had it with tourists for this year. We had to console ourselves with sneaking some delicious mountain water from their flowing tap, then crossing the road and hefting our bikes through the wire fence.

With the promise of rain the following day, we thanked the Pachamama for her golden blessings thus far, took it in turns to dissuade the disrespectful kitten from gashing our canvas as she purred, and fell into a deep sleep. Time to rest aching legs after a glorious One Hundred Kilometers, Dude.

“It's enough for me to be sure that you and I exist at this moment.” -GGM*****

*GGM in conversation with his biographer, Gerald Martin.

**No-one writes to the Colonel (1961)

***Love in the Time of Cholera (1985)

****Memories of My Melancholy Whores (2004)

*****One Hundred Years of Solitude (1967)

If you want more quotes from the maestro, click here.

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