Wanderlust

Día 4: A morning to destroy all other mornings in a contest of who is the greatest morning ever (82km)

Chapter 1 Baptism of Gravel (4/6)

Komoot GPX Chile, Puerto Río Tranquilo to Cerro Dieciocho (82km)

Similar to normal life, there are travelling days that pass without major incident. Staging posts on paths to greater things.

Then, there are days which add intrigue, arranging the building blocks that lead to future summits.

And finally, there are days which blast apart the very fabric of prior experience. A grenade bursting in the synapses, overwhelming the senses so totally that new frameworks must be formed to deal with what our eyes claim to witness.

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The stars last night were on a par with anything I’ve ever seen. The Milky Way as visible as a sheen of dew on wet grass in June dawn sunshine.

The only reason I didn’t stay looking longer was the creeping freeze that steered my body towards its cosy sleeping bag.

The dawn brings a crunchy frost. Tents taught and bikes glinting. The lake ready to be thawed by an as yet unseen fiery orb. When sun does come, it heats us through glassy Patagonian air. The greens glow, the blues shimmer and purples unfurl across the horizon. The only explanation for our luck with this visual extravaganza is that we did something very good indeed in previous lifetimes. 

Once we’ve descaled ourselves of irritating ‘spikeys’ that cling to our thermal socks and long sleeves, we head back out on the Carretera Austral. Three Americans spin past heading south, clearly jealous of our continent spanning agenda.

At breakfast we’re invited into a Chilean lady’s front room; her restaurant is yet to open. The freshly baked hot bread does wonders for our resolve.

In the afternoon we pass roadmen smoothing out our gravelly path. Perhaps the times of true isolation for this enchanting region are destined to end in the near future. I’m sure the newly made surface smells of fresh pesto, but Jake’s not quite as convinced.  

Up and away into the forest we disappear. Canada or Alaska is the only reference point I have for this oil painting of a route.

We sneak through an unpadlocked gate and bed down amongst tall trees all around. Nature’s magic has been wrought on us once more.

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