Signs of Life

Día 6: Friends to come back to, a scarcely comprehensible downhill and a family size pizza. Each. (68km)

Chapter 1 Baptism of Gravel (6/6)

Komoot GPX Cerro Castillo-Coyhaique (68km)

I’m reading a book called Signs of Life, which was written by Stephen Fabes, a British doctor and cycle tourer.

A fortnight ago, I left London brandishing it to two close friends, unsure of when I’d see them again, but confident those friendships would only strengthen in time. Both ran with me through the night in last summer’s ultra. Both are here to stay I’m sure.

The book charts Fabes’ round the world bike journey, setting off at age 29, with the ambition of cycling the length of six continents (Antarctica was a pedal too far). He visits medical establishments along the way and thinks deeply about his and humanity’s place in the natural and man-made world.

It’s a superb recount of wandering, perseverance and a desire to see and connect with myriad individuals and communities. It left me wandering if this was the book that I could have written. Too late now I guess. I’ll have to find my own path to publication.

Fabes was the same age as me when I began this journey. But it took him six years cycling to complete his route. And to travel for that length of time you’d need to give up so much. Namely the chance of long-term friendly and romantic relationships, a stable career, certainly all your savings, and, most importantly, time with your family.

For me the cons out weigh the pros for that length of time. I can’t see myself carrying on for six years.

Not yet, at least.

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After last nights freeze there’s nothing to do in the morning but wait until the sun gods light up our frost encrusted canvas. The weather is extreme up here. I’m oozing sweat in the rays and dicing with death in the shade. Thankfully, we don’t have to wait too long.

If only there was something to get me excited for the day ahead. You know what would cheer me up? 50km straight of downhill.

Hey, presto.

These distances don’t make sense to an Englishman, but that’s another miraculous gift of the Andes. We may have suffered to reach this lofty nest, but throwing ourselves out of it will be sickeningly fun.

We screech down to El Blanco and stumble upon Rápido y Saboroso (Fast and Tasty), a roadside hut. Tentatively, because vegetarians in South America tend to be, we ask if there’s anything anti-meaty that the vendor can whip up for us. Without a flicker of disapproval he rummages in the freezer and retrieves a mighty veggie burger to be served with avocado, chips & sauces. We are made up. 5-star Google review for that man.

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The final descent (it’s scarcely comprehensible that we are still able to go downhill) is straightforward. Coyhaique appears. Safety secured.

The next day I’ve finished my book. I need to leave it here because it’s about 500 pages too heavy for a bikepacker. I want to pass it on, not cast it away. I leave it nestled on a hostal shelf, complete with a short message, waiting for the day it will inspire again.

The luxuries of town life in Coyhaique are a blessing after six days of wild camping (and eight without a wash). Hot showers scald our shoulders, coffee warms our bodies and a family size pizza each - with enough cheese on it to smother a small dog - makes gluttons of us both.

Our grassy campsite guardian ushers us gently towards a long and deep sleep. No need to worry about late night interruptions here. For the first time, we’ve paid for basic protections to guard us through the night.

These signs of life back in civilization will soothe our weathered bodies and nurse us back to full strength; a necessary process.

For there is much adventure still to come.

End of Chapter 1.

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