Icy heights
Día 5: A pup on the journey of his life, a climb to die for, and a downhill I almost died on (66km)
Chapter 1 Baptism of Gravel (5/6)
Komoot GPX Chile, Puerto Río Tranquilo to Cerro Castillo (66km)
En Los diarios motocicleta, Che and Alberto speed away from Buenos Aires, Argentina’s capital, with an assortment of canvas bags strapped across La Poderosa, their mighty motorbike. The gravel roads they traverse are to smooth tarmac what Lizz Truss is to competent leadership; a distant cousin.
On one such rickety surface crossing the pampas, they lose control of the machine and it flings them into a ditch. Che jumps to his feet and runs to one of the bags to retrieve an as yet unseen character in the film, a bedraggled puppy. A slinky stowaway on their brotherly voyage.
Glossy coated Patagonian dogs have been an important part of our journey already and today will be no different…
The ‘road’ alongside Río Ibáñez is so catatonically bad that I almost forget my surroundings and drift into a gravelly mood. To be fair, five days worth of bumping along at 10km an hour can take an emotional and physical toll. You yearn for a surface that will stop slamming your gooch into the saddle every 0.8 seconds.
Fortunately, I remember to stop, breathe, put on my second album of the trip, and channel some exultant euphoria from Young Fathers’ track Geronimo. An intimate Bristol gig with two great friends still fresh in the mind.
‘I’m on the verge of something divine that’s gonna keep me alive,’ scream the Scottish trio. Too fecking right.
Now I’m free to absorb the splendor all around with spirits spiraling high above the uneven carretera.
Despite our commitment to the wild, tarmac has been a priority ever since the three Americans heading south told us we only had a day and a half to go to reach the good stuff.
I’m the proud receiver of a cheese sandwich and a water refill from a generous driver as I snail my way up yet another steep hill (invaluable nutrients as my peanut supplies had recently cascaded to the floor). The other morsel the motorist offers is fantastic news: 2km till the asphalt.
We are galvanized!
A steaming, swirling & SMOOTH(!) downhill reward into Cerro Castillo follows. It’s sad to say goodbye to the true wilderness, but our two wheeled amigos are spinning for joy. Lunch in front of a barely believable window view is swallowed whole.
In town, we spot a gorgeous puppy atop his plastic throne on an Ecuadorean tourer’s bike.
‘He was so weak when I found him, I had to wait for two months for him to regain his strength before we carried on.’
This guy clearly saw the film too.
Later we climb towards the roof of the montañas, high above town. Sunlight streams down. Hairpin after hairpin.
Near the top, a friendly American is my second benefactor of the day.
‘Here, have a beer on me. I would have given your friend one, but he had an Astros cap on.
I spent 5 years on the Panamerican in a van and now I live just down there.’
I don’t mind it. I don’t mind it one bit.
However, a drastic change in fortune is afoot as I near the top of this Nevis-height climb. The ridge blocks sunlight. The green trees turn to autumn red. The temperature plummets. I make a terrible error in throwing on all my clothes and trapping my sweaty warm cycle shirt beneath. The sweat turns to ice on the way down. My hands so frozen Jake has to pass handmade fajitas through the gap in my tent.
It’ll be 12 hours before I can leave the comfort of that life-preserving sleeping bag.
Still, it’s a Wednesday I’ll never forget.
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Track: Geronimo - Young Fathers