At the top there was a small glacier beside the smoking cauldron, not at all what we were expecting.  For the trip down, our guides had given us a spare nylon butt protector and a cheap hotseat sled.  Means of descent  turned out to be a ONE KILOMETER slide on your butt– my entire childhood of buttsledding practice  finally coming to fruition! 

Of course with 300 people climbing the volcano at the same time the regular track was clogged up with peope who did not wish to butt-sled at full gas, so it was out of the track for me to zip around them and self arrest with an ice axe.

mountain biking volcan villaricca

Hotsprings… general laziness followed.  We found out that two different groups of our new-found  friends would be in San Carlos de Bariloche at the same time and as it was not on our route, we bussed over there–making more “friends” on the way.

Once  there we hiked an amazing trail up to a mountainous lake and then met up with our Aussie bus friends for some local music at a packed bar where we were the only Gringos.  The table beside us turned out to be the last chance for  the drunken locals.  If they did not become responsive after 30min they’d be out into the parking lot.  Next it was to a night club (which do not OPEN up until 2am) where in proud Argentine fashion we watched the sun rise over the Andes and lakes before picking up our things, heading directly to the bus station and falling  alseep during breakfast.

We had a warm welcome on our return to Pucon, and learned  that a Dutch girl, Marjam, wished to join us for the next leg.  Our route was a road impassable to cars so the campground was shut down…..that meant that we had to climb IN and OUT of the bathroom through the window!  A feat which proved to be quite a struggle for  Matt and I.

trails less travelled

Again the lakes route was stunning with breath-taking views.  Marjam went back to Pucon to finish out her work contract there and find a bike before bussing down to continue on our tour.  We headed to Puerto Fuy where we had to catch a ferry towards Argentina.

The local micro- brewery was a beautiful building, across from an “Avitar”-looking hotel which did not appear to touch the ground.  This brewery, despite the snazzy helicopter outside, had no beer.  Amazingly, this was the second time this happened to us here).

Our 28h visit to Argentina ended with an odd predicament.  We had  to “stamp out” of Argentina, but there was 45km over a pass (snowed in during winter) before entering Chile.  We were NOT allowed to spend the night in between.  We left  Argentina after 5pm in the rain (accompanied part-way by a stray dog) and had a long haul up and over the pass before finally making 60km to the first acceptable campsite.  Of course, all produce, meat and cheese was taken away at the border.  

 After a night with the Los Cascades firemen we started riding and encountered an elderly man out walking with a team of 6 secret security agents.

We naturally stopped to chat and found out that this sharp old tack was ex-president Patricio Aylwin who sucessfully manuvered Chile out of its dictatorship.  He spends his days eating, sleeping, walking and promoting international justice.  Pretty much like Matt and I.

camp life

Entering Puerto Varas we were only a days ride from truly entering Patagonia.

a typical lunch and supper

 That night we camped with a family who had a pair of plum trees.  In the morning we each put 10 or so in our jerseys.  Of course, by the afternoon we had forgotten the last 3, sat down some place and had jam running down our backsides.

The road to San Rafael was mind-numbing, over 40km through the Pampas (arrid prairies) without a single turn.  What made it even harder was that there were telephone poles beside the road for most of it.  So even though we could not see the road past the horizon we could see from the poles that it continued on relentlessly straight.  Some locals stopped at the same lunch area as us and gave us an old map, and some cola.

In town we met a couple of great kids who helped us out finding a bike shop, food, and free camping.  There was even a velodrome where I worked up a good sweat doing some hot laps with the trailer.

In the morning we were off for another long remote stretch in the Pampas, then our first stretches of Rrrrripio road, which is pure and simple gravel.   Once the gravel turns into the inevitable dust, they  have a grader head out and push aside the softest part, exposing the more solid layer further down… until it gets all dusty again and another grading is needed.  Like snow plowing I suppose.

Ripio

We of course practiced the national past time of grilling.  The meat here, especially the beef is fantastic.  There is not a magical breed of cows that taste better, they simply dope the animals and in restaurants heap on the MSG more often than not.  Fresh is one of the keys, every local grocery store has a butcher on hand with a line up.

got ribs?

In Chos Malal (ominous town name) we met Greg, and had an epic day camping out at the fire station.  We lost food to a local animal for the 3rd camping spot in a row.

Despite travelling such relatively short distances, we could still see that there were slight changes in the countryside now.   We had a pleasant afternoon of rain before Las Lajas.  Crossing back into Chile we got to see trees again.

Then we booked it to Pucon, party city for the Chilean elite during the summer.  Somehow there are no large, or even bad-looking people there…

This is also the start of the lakes route, which has a series of lakes, and stunning active and semi-active volcanoes (Chile has over 100 of these).

the route LESS travelled

Canyon del Pato, Peru

Tunnels lead to more tunnels, over 50 one day.  Things were steep and there was no place flat to camp.

A friendly family running a restaurant pushed the chairs to the side and I slept indoors on the floor.

From there I spent Christmas and new years in Santiago Chile and mountain biked, on what was then a demo bike, and now replaces my $5200 custom malfunctioning Co Motion.

We had some beautiful, but tough days back on the bike heading towards Mendoza Argentina, but great canyon views.

Then it was over the Portillo pass, famous for the oldest ski area in South America, and (NorthAmerican) summer training for all the great ski teams.

Aconcagua, the highest mountain in the Americas

the beauty of the Andes (ironically this is where Seven years in Tibet was filmed)

long narrow dirt descent... a blast

largest adobe pyramids in the Americas. Paint on mud still clear after a few years at the Huaca de la Luna

I eventually left Trujillo Peru and headed south with another Canadian cyclist, Michael Schratter, who is fundraising for the Vancouver charity http://www.ridedonthide.com/However, his narrower tires along with his time and distance needs in order to keep to his tour schedule made it impossible for us to stay together.  So for me it was a left turn-off onto a dirt road along the coast.

Much of the Pacific coast of South America is a desert, stretching from northern Peru through to southern Chile.  It is just sand dunes.   For a cyclist, it is dull to look at and when the wind picks up around lunch time, you spend your afternoon being sandblasted.  After 70km. of this, I had had my fill and was looking forward to the cordilleras negro and blanca which I had heard so much about.

The first 50km had been on a private mining road where I met only a handful of cars.  There were almost no houses, and only the odd ruins of a modern-looking town on a flood plane above the river.  None of the houses had roofs, most of the windows and doors had been bricked up, but new entryways had been punched in the walls.  There were no tracks in the sand surrounding them and I cautiously picked one of these post-apocalyptic places to shelter from the blowing sand for the night.

I was relieved to wake up undisturbed, but in the calm of the morning that quickly changed, as sand flies feasted on exposed flesh and prompted me to break camp 30 minutes faster than usual.

This cordillera seems to be named “negra” due to the vast amount of coal in the surrounding canyon.  I saw miniature-looking miners swinging from ropes far above me on the canyon walls.  I had a great dinner in a small restaurant in Yuracmarca. Then the proprietor pushed aside some tables to allow me to sleep inside.

The following day was simply spectacular.  The road which is following an extinct train route, featured around fifty tunnels (I lost track at 18) carved into the mountain side.

At the top of the valley I rode into the higher cordillera “blanca”, named for the snow-topped mountains, which are allegedly the most beautiful in the world.   Among the peaks is the one which Paramount Pictures uses for its signature shot.  Midway through the range is the trekking town of Huaraz.  The sad part is that I was never able to see the mountains.  Their bases were visible for a few hours mid-morning, but above 4000 m it was always cloudy, that layer descended down and by 3 to 4pm a cold rain would start to fall.  From here my planned route was to head farther up into the mountains, which would have put me farther into the cloud layer.

My first night in the area, I was caught in the rain, and having problems finding a place to camp.  After a few failed attempts I asked at a gas station.  As it would turn out they were Jehovah’s Witnesses and had a small chapel above their living quarters.  Even though it was the second level the floor was plank and dirt.  We moved aside some pews and voila, I had a sheltered camping spot.

After a few days with Eric and Merilee http://ericandmerilee.blogspot.com/2010/07/fixed-bikes-paradise-and-scorpions.html and Italian cyclist named Antonio, I decided I would have to bite the “bullet” and take a bus south to avoid the unnecessary cold of the rainy season.  I will come back and ride this part when its sunny.

that is Santiago Chile in the valley behind me. Great to have trails starting at the city limits

Update.  I am now in Santiago Chile, which is a modern mix of South American, North American and Europeans styles, cultures and commodities.  Pedro, who is the local Cannondale dealer has taken me in.  (We went for a Boxing day Singletrack ride but I will blog about this later.)  His shop Intercycles has given my bike a fantastic, and somewhat needed, cleaning and tune up.

Huaraz at its best, during the rainy season that is. Why I endured 70hr on Peruvian busses.

Camping in a barn. I was attacked by the rooster in the morning. Beyond my laundry hangs a half eaten sheep.

When I found one, they took me in, I bundled up in everything I owned, and some of what they owned.  After 2h I had defrosted.  Their 12 year old son happened to know 5 words of English, and despite my only speaking Spanish slightly better, could not believe that I could converse fluently in English.  To test his theory every 15-20 minutes he would hold up an apple, or point to a duck (conveniently walking around the floor of the kitchen) and ask me what they were in English, hoping to stump me.  I offered to teach him some more words, but he declined.

the dirt floor of a restaurant kitchen. Hidden in the dark are her herd of ginuea pigs.

From that high point it was mostly downhill 140km to Trujillo and the most famous of Casa de Ciclistas.  The not mostly part included 15km of climbing and 70 km of very dusty, very rough pavement.  I did some across one asphalt paving crew.   They were interestingly somehow creating pavement in a portable cement mixer and smoothing it with a 2x4inch board, as you would with concrete.

the uniform of the mountains

Once I did finally reach pavement I had the smoothest and best descent thus far of my trip.  40km of swooping corners (one bridge has a nasty lip, I would recommend breaking before that).  And there I was, at the Casa, to a smiling French Guy who clicked a photo of my dust covered face.  The Casa has been operating for 25 years, over 1300 cyclists have stayed here, but for the fist longer period of time, host Lucho is out touring himself.  It is a bit of a shell house.

first town in Peru after fighting heat stroke exiting Ecuador

Day One in Peru:
I woke up, a little south of San Ignacio and went to use a toilet which was just a whole in the ground.  The TP which my hosts were using was old notebook paper, houses were all made of mud brick.  I was sent off with a fresh pineapple as a parting gift.  

got dust?

The little rain in the night was enough to keep the dust down, but 10km down the road that changed and there was sticky clay that coated everything and made my ride a slog.  20km riding downhill along a river too me well over 2 hours.  Of course this and the previous 50 kilometers my map had shown as paved.  Then out of the dirt, pavement as I was starting to roll along well a man on a motor cycle pulled up beside me.  This is not too rare, but normally the driver simply yells GRINGO and drives off.  This time he was asking me to stop.  After a little hesitation I deemed him to be harmless and stopped my bike.  It turned out that he often houses touring cyclists and also had a friend 60km up the road in Jaen that I could stay with.  Though I was planning on riding farther, shortly after that my came off (but was still in the pedal) my multi tool had rattled to bits over the previously poundingly

bumpy roads, and I was dirty, hot so I decided to stop.  El Ciclista bike shop turned out to be the hang out for the local youth racing crowd and after my shower I spent the following four hours outlining training programs and strategies for a gang of 15 to 19 year cycling team.

Then we all went out and celebrated a birthday with Chicha (a fermented corn drink) and the local delacy, Kuy, or roasted guinea pig.  The later gets the locals very excited.  It is served up in quarters so that every serving includes a paw and claws.  There is very little meat (but it of course tastes like chicken) and the skin is as rubbery as eating a bicycle tube. 

fly covered pork drying in an eatery

Day Two:
I woke up and found that I would have a motorcycle and bicycle escort for the first 30km of riding which was nice.  I crossed the fifth most important bridge in Peru.  Which did not seem like much to me, but two tour buses were stopped and Peruvians were taking photos.  It is the only connection to Amazonian portion of their country.  The elevation in Bellavista is only 300m though the lazy rivers here are far from the Amazon.  It was hot, but nothing compared to Central America and the roads were surrounded with rice paddies.  As I started to think about camping I stopped in a store, which was an unlit room which had three shelves on the back wall.  I asked for tuna and was given a can, when I read the label it was anchovies.  I explained that tuna was a different fish from anchovies, and that I would prefer tuna.  Different fish piped up the husband, do you want salmon?  Sure, salmon sounds fine I replied, do you have some?  No the replied, we only have tuna, which of course was Anchovies.  At a later store I found a can labeled salmon but upon reading the can it was salmon like fish which was 3 things neither myself nor my dictionary had heard of and/ or anchovies.  

Shortly down the road I saw the disturbing sight of a young boy, dead beside the road partially covered by a tarp.  (Two weeks ago I had ridden past another body, which I did NOT see but Baptiste did, it was burning in a garbage pile.)  Camping by the river that night, in a town of 80 people I overheard my host gossiping that this was the second boy who had died this week, he was 18 and apparently perfectly healthy.  

When I asked where the bathroom was I was met with a confused look.  I tried again, showing my toilet paper to clarify my intentions, and was told to use the river.  I asked if anyone in the town had a toilet that I could use, but it turned out that everyone there craps in the river.  Mysteriously downstream fit young people are dying. 

leimebamba where the climb really got started

Day 3:
The previous day I had been riding on a single lane dirt road, farther up the same river and found a nice resort amongst the dirt houses.  I asked how much it was to camp and the lady replied that their rates were $54 US per night.  I explained that I had a tent and just wanted to shower and possibly to eat at the restaurant and what would that rate be? 15 soles (around $6) including my own bathroom and two meals. There were a group of 10 European tourists there complaining about how sore they were from riding over these roads in Toyota SUVs, that the food was crap (as some were Vegan the rice, corn, potato and meat meal was the same minus the meat).  When you are over 100km from any paved road in Peru soy milk is not readily available.  It helped me to put my hardships into perspective.  By that evening I had crossed a pass at 3680m elevation.  I had been climbing continuously for 239km nearly three full cycling days.  The longest descent was 500m due to a mudslide which was climbed over rather than removed.  The first two and a half days were more gradual climbs beside a river.  

Near the top of the climb I met a family who had a pet eagle 

300 km of single laned dirt roads, 60km looked like this. Photos do not do it justice.

I descended 72km, crossed a bridge and climbed 35 km up the far river bank. 

Weekend, especially Sunday riding is dangerous in the country because most people on the road are drunk.  M-F drivers are noticeably slower, and give me a wider birth.  If you need to ask directions on the weekends usually I need to find women or children because everyone over 16 is passed out or on the brink of passing out.

I am sure that Canadians do not know much about Peru, I could not have told you what its flag looked like before coming down here.  When I tell people that I am from Canada, I am often asked if it is a large city. 

Here few people know more than 5 – 15 words of english but every white person they see gets to hear those words which include:

Meester, Good morning, Whats your name… of course when I first rode across the boarder into Mexico I could only count to five.

There were many cobbled roads in Ecuador.  Made from river stones… brutal on bikes, but cars seemed to do ok.

These photos are all from Baptiste… see it was briefly sunny.

Again up near Cotopaxi, a 3830m high lake.

cool pic, though getting a little late…

Home, sweet, ”chilly’ home

River crossings have been frequent…

Pacha Mama near Quito.  Cowboy Haven

Baptiste photos are here

http://picasaweb.google.com/americaonabike

blog is here (in french)

http://www.frenchguyonabike.blogspot.com/

Suerte Baptiste, see you in Trujillo perhaps

Cotopaxi

Baptiste, the “frenchguy” and I ended up sharing some very cold days up at elevation in Ecuador.

Going around the Quilatola loop we missed an unmarked remote turn, and ended up taking an unmarked more remote route

We had been planning a ride around Cotopaxi, but after 9 days with some rain and nearly continuous fog we decided to head south to Cuenca (a slightly disappointing city).  Of course we were overcharged

(by Ecuadorian prices) for food and we received another case of food poisoning. The people generally were less friendly than in the north,  not that we did not meet some great people, but they were not as warm as in Colombia and northern Ecuador. And the “Gringo Gringo” cries are out, which is not really a bad thing, something like yelling “foreigner”.  I often hear them without actually seeing the people. Still, it is better than the dogs that chase me.  And sometimes children would silently chase me while I was slowly climbing up some dirt road, which was a little odd. 

My tent is just visible on the top right of the picture, taken from my first Inca Ruins at Inga Pirca.

A different way to cook pork….  

traffic jam

Here are the rest of his pictures http://picasaweb.google.com/americaonabike/84MocoaPastoIpiales#

soupping with Hanna

thank you again Igel & Paola

pictures are up from the Casa Ciclistas San Agustine here

http://grenzenlos.ath.cx/gallery/Ciclistas_2010/k_P1250091

great pizza night, great company

each cyclist who visits plants a tree!

drop-offs are what makes Mocoa-Pasto the most dangerous road in Colombia

So much has happened in the past week that I will just do a quick Photo/blog to catch up.  I had a fantastic time with Igel and Paola at the “casa ciclista” in San Agustin.  Chatting with the 5 other Cyclo-tourists and generally geeking out over maps was also exciting.  From there I rode south to Mocoa, where I camped out at the restaurant at km4.  The women there helped me to make my own banana-leaf-wrapped tomales.  Next door was a night club/brothel, and  the ladies were excited when they saw me.  My host sent me inside and chased off the hookers… though I did get one kiss “on the house”!

.

Halloween - friendly police checkpoint

Next morning I caught with ” French guy ” and Hanna for what proved to be an exciting ride over to Pasto.

Near Ipiales I stopped at a really neat church built right over a river.  Next up was a surprisingly calm and simple border crossing into Ecuador,  more climbing and a chilly night at more than 3000m elevation.  In the morning there was some light rain, but a 50km descent warmed things up.

I was being eaten by sand-flies by the time I made it to Otavalo, a pictureque town brimming with native craft and fruit markets.   From there I rode south and made it to the Equator, which was very exciting to me.

At age 5 when I asked my father (a physicist) why the water spun counter clockwise when it went down the toilet, centripetal force was part of the long answer I received.  He also claimed that south of the equator  it spun the other way.  On that day, at age 5, I dreamed of going to the Equator and flushing a toilet to see if the water would go straight down.  Well, I made it to latitude 0.0.0 at noon on Thursday and ran to the toilet….to shoot a video!

That  morning, just 30km north of the equator, the “flush” had swirled  counter-clockwise….  in the evening, just a little south of the equator, it swirled clockwise, but, on the line (you guessed it)… STRAIGHT DOWN!

Day of the Dead. San Francisco CO.

Church on a River

to do list... ride south

Ecuador camping spot over 3000m. cool the maniquins are for New Years

entering the other half of the earth. left foot south, right north

rail trail

a a really great day of riding

making Tamales

the road starts up (from Mocoa towards Pasto)

Cloud Forest

switchback with Hanna and French Guy