Finding My Strength Within

Upon leaving Bolivia, one thought occupied my mind, and it was getting onto some smooth pavement as fast as possible. As much as I had enjoyed Bolivia, I was ready for a change from the sluggish kilometers I had been pushing through for the past week. I was ready to ride fast and far. I wanted to look at my GPS each day and be amazed at the distance that separated me from the night before.

It has been a while since I had felt such a strong contrast between two countries as I had when I crossed into Chile. From Colombia to Bolivia, each country had its unique qualities, but the changes between them were slow and gradual. From Bolivia to Chile, I was crossing from one of the poorest South American countries to one of the richest. Even out here in the middle of nowhere, over 50km from the nearest town, I could feel the difference immediately. Cars were big and new, the road was paved and in great condition, and most noticeably, almost everyone who passed me honked and waved. There was also a dramatic increase and other travelers, mostly on motorcycles.

While it wasn’t as breathtaking as Las Lagunas, this road still had tremendous views, but from the comfort of a paved road. Now that I had started heading east, I was also gifted with the beautiful gift of tailwind. I had thought the wind in Bolivia to be horrible, but the wind here was much stronger. A few sections of the road would turn, and I would have the wind at my side, making it a challenge to maintain a straight line in the road.

After covering more distance in just two hours as I was making each day on Las Lagunas, I made it to one of the very few wind-sheltered spots to camp between here and the border to Argentina. Shortly after setting up my tent, I heard a loud snap and I saw my tent had collapsed. I assumed that one of the pole links had snapped and wasn’t too worried as I had a splint to cover the broken pole, but upon further inspection, I realized the damage was more complicated than that.

The poles connect to a 3-point hub, and one of the connecting pieces had snapped out of place. It appeared to screw in and out, but the thread was ruined and I couldn’t screw it back in. Panic started to seep over me as this tent was my shelter, my house. It is my main protection against the elements and gives me my only sense of comfort and safety. Cowboy camping (sleeping without a tent under the stars) could work, but it was already cold and it would only get colder. My tent was invaluable in this climate to help trap heat and was usually drastically warmer than the outside air.

I needed to find a temporary solution. I remembered I had duct tape and rope; surely I could do something with that. With no real strategy, I began to use the rope and tape to connect the tent pole back to the hub. I ended up with something that seemed like it could work for the night, at the very least. I ate my dinner, and spent the rest of the evening in my haphazardly bent tent, thinking of how I would properly fix it.

In the morning, the flaws of my fix showed. Somehow, I still slept soundly throughout the night. I only had one more night in my tent until I would be in the big city of Salta, Argentina, where I would have more resources to fix the poles properly.

As I began the day with a beautiful clear sky and a bit of tailwind, the worries of the tent pole slowly dissipated away. Early in the morning, I had a 10km climb, a climb that in Bolivia, I would have had to hike most of, but now, on the smooth pavement, I was able to ride quickly up. After the climb, I flew down a long and straight descent, reaching a new personal best speed of 75 km/hr (47 mph). I had a brief thought during the descent, reminding me that the smallest mistake or mechanical issue would cause me to fall and horribly injure myself, but it only caused me to smile as I took my hands off my breaks and handlebars to lean on my forearms and get as low and fast as I could get.

“What? There’s no way I’m already here.” I thought to myself as I saw the sign welcoming me to Argentina. I used to look at my phone nearly every 30 minutes, slowly counting down the kilometers to the next point of interest, but I had just ridden for hours without looking, the time and the kilometers going by faster than ever.

Even though I still had nearly three months left until the end, I felt an immense satisfaction crossing into Argentina. For two years I said I was biking to Argentina when people asked me, and here I finally was, the last country on my way to Ushuaia. I would be crossing back and forth between Chile and Argentina a few times, but this was the last time I would experience the excitement that comes with a new country.

I crossed into Argentina at Paso Jama, a tiny border town with not many services, but it did have a shiny new gas station that took credit cards and had a hotel. I ran inside and enjoyed a fine three-course meal of snacks and sweets. I ate myself into a coma and then got a room in the hotel. One thing that I would miss a lot about the previous countries was the affordability. I used to be able to eat out multiple times a day and stay in a lot of hotels, but everything would be much more expensive in Argentina. In a way, it was a good thing; I wanted to go back to being a dirty cyclist, sleeping on the side of the road and preparing all of my food.

Upon leaving Paso Jama, I was already thinking about being in Salta and enjoying a few days off. I was still struggling with saddle comfort and knee pain, and after nine days in a row cycling, it wasn’t getting any better. There were still over 350km between me and a nice rest.

After a few blissful days of pavement, I was a bit bitter to get back on gravel. However, after what I had gone through on Las Lagunas, this was so much better and ultimately didn’t bother me at all. Happiness truly is relative.

Tonight, I was able to figure out a better temporary fix for my tent pole that didn’t require tape or rope. It didn’t look beautiful, but it would do the trick until I could properly fix it, which I still wasn’t sure how I was going to…

The longer you look at this building, the more beautiful it becomes. It is a perfect puzzle of rocks, somehow fitting perfectly together to form straight lines from chaos.

Finishing up what would be some of the last gravel road riding for weeks, I arrived in a small town that had a large military building. I had heard they allow travelers to sleep in the large and unused dorm for a low price, and thankfully, they did, as I wanted to fix my tent before spending many more nights in it. It was strange but pretty comfy sleeping in this room full of beds, all to myself.

The next day, there was one small climb between me and Salta. It was a special moment for me and one I had been looking forward to for over a week. It was the final time I would be at such high altitudes. For nearly four months, I had been almost always over 3000m (10,000ft) and over 4000m (13,000ft) for the past month. I had become decently acclimatized, but there were constant side effects. I had an endless cold; my nose was always running. My lips and skin were dry and always burnt from the sun, which is also much stronger. Sleeping was harder, and the altitude can cause some bizarre dreams. Most impactfully, though, was the fact I felt like I had only half the strength and the power I usually have. The lack of oxygen in the air constantly left me breathless on the most trivial of climbs.

I had been dreaming of this descent for weeks also. From the top of the pass to Salta, it was 130km with 3000m of descent. It would be the longest and largest descent I’ve ever done. I had been thinking it would only take me a few hours, averaging nearly 30km/hr the whole time. How foolish of me to think it would be so easy. There was one variable I forgot about, wind.

With over 90km left to go, the valley I was descending turned into a wind tunnel of direct headwind. Instead of an easy 30km/hr, I was struggling to maintain 10km/hr. I tried to maintain mental fortitude, but I was slowly breaking. I could only think about how many more hours I would have to ride to make it to Salta. I felt cheated and betrayed. This was my descent that I had earned after weeks and weeks of tough riding and climbing. This was supposed to be fast and easy, a vacation after hard work. Wind is the cyclist’s greatest enemy. An invisible enemy you never really see but you feel with your entire body. I tried as much as I could to push down the anger, but the occasional scream burst out of me as I pushed on. I even stopped a few times and considered hitching a ride as I told myself there was no way I could make it before sunset. Somehow I managed to find the strength to keep moving each time.

It was harder to enjoy the incredible scenery while I was in a constant battle with the wind, but I couldn’t help but stop and appreciate the slow change in landscape as I descended. I started in a semi-green high plane and then a hot and dry cactus-filled desert until things started to become more green and beautiful.

As I descended further into a landscape full of color and life, the wind started to subside. A grand smile washed over my face as I started going faster and soaking up this landscape I had missed so much. Green was a color I had rarely seen for far too long.

Suddenly, I was surrounded by trees and greenery. The mountains were covered in a layer of bush and trees. The air was becoming warmer and humid. I had finished the main descent through the valley, and only 30km lay between my goal. I was going to make it.

The last 30km went by fast, as I had no doubts about my ability to finish. I had been riding for 8 hours, but my legs felt unbreakable like I could ride indefinitely. Now, I was at a much lower elevation, my breathing became long and deep, giving my muscles more strength to ride on.

Hardly beating the sunset, I arrived at Salta. Excitement filled me as I got my first taste of an Argentinian city while I headed to my hotel. The smells of food and asado (grilled meats) fill the air, tugging my head side to side, investigating each new smell. I had ridden 160km (100 miles) in 8.5hrs and food was the only thing on my mind. I dropped my bike off at the hotel and headed into the city to feed my craving.

I end up spending five days resting in Salta. I had ridden 11 days in a row to get here, the biggest nonstop stretch I’ve had in all of South America. My body was beaten and bruised, desperately needing time to recover. While here, I managed to fix my tent pole by drilling a hole through the pole to use metal wire and secure the pole to the hub, along with a generous amount of heavy-duty metal glue.

Ruta del Vino

I left Salta eager to start pushing and achieving big days. I had some ambitious goals in my head of where I wanted to be before I stopped for Christmas, a goal I would push further, and further away I found my real strength.

80km out of Salta, I met a cyclist couple at a store where we were each individually drawn by the signs for helado (ice cream). Stijn and Maartje, a couple from the Netherlands, had been cycling from Peru towards Ushuaia during a sabbatical from work. We chatted over snacks before continuing off on the road together.

I can sometimes be weird about riding with others. I love riding my bike alone and at my own pace while enjoying a nice podcast or audiobook, stopping often for photos without the worry of slowing others down. It had been far too long since I’d ridden or traveled with any other cyclists, so I decided to give it another try as we took off into a beautiful canyon road.

The views were incredible. Sharp and rocky mountains of a rich red color surrounded us, while a line of bright green trees and foliage filled the inside of the valley, creating a beautiful contrast of colors. I was having flashbacks to my time riding through Utah.

Signs of Empanadas al horno appear on the side of the road, and without saying anything we all stop to investigate. Another Dutch cyclist couple I had briefly met in Bolivia, Joost and Maaike, were here as well, so we all decided to stop here and eat and camp together. Argentinian empanadas are known to be the best, and I can attest to that. These, made from a traditional mud horno (oven), were fantastic and went down smoothly with some Coca-Cola.

All of us talked and laughed while we set up camp and cooked our dinners. All curious about what and how the others were cooking, hoping to get some new tricks. I don’t know why I was such a cranky loner cyclist for so long, I was having a great time with everyone.

Probably what Argentina is most famously known for is wine and boy, was I looking forward to experiencing (getting drunk) this wonderful part of Argentinian culture. Stiijn and Maartje stayed up with me as we drank some delicious wine and played a Dutch card game that they traveled with.

The next morning, we all planned to meet in Cafayate later in the day. It’s a small town, but it is in one of the best wine regions in all of Argentina.

The riding through the rest of the valley was nothing short of fantastic. It was easy ridden with incredible views.

Signs of the world-famous wine region started to appear as vineyards began to fill both sides of the road.

In Cafayate, all of us cyclists met up at a local bodega (winery) in the evening. Along with the two Dutch couples I already knew, Martine and Maurice would be joining as well. Cycling must be popular in the Netherlands, or something.

A lovely night full of wine and empanadas followed as we laughed and shared stories late into the night.

Ruta 40

When I arrived in the town of Cafayete, I joined Ruta 40. This route is as iconic to Argentina as Route 66 is to the USA. 40 travels the entire length of Argentina, over 5000km from the north to the south. I will be following this road for the next 2500km to Patagonia.

This was a section that a lot of my cyclist friends opted to skip, as it isn’t known to be the most scenic and most cyclists wanted to hurry down to enjoy the Patagonian summer. Since Bolivia, I had rediscovered the appreciation of all parts of cycling across countries. Pushing through the tough and boring sections only makes those good parts that much better. Plus, I like to look for the beauty in the desolate.

As a lover of the desert, It wasn’t too hard for me to find some beauty out here.

The further south I went, the longer the days were getting. The sun was starting to set past 8 pm, and it filled me with energy to ride as long as the day would allow. I used to stop around 3-4 pm, but I found it very difficult to do that here, knowing there was another four hours of sunlight. I also felt full of strength and motivation, more than I think I’ve ever felt on this trip. After my time at high elevation, everything felt easier. I was completing long climbs without stopping even once; I was riding for hours without a worry in the world.

I had set the goal to get to a small city, Chilecito, in four days for my birthday. It was 480km away, which means I would need to average 120km a day, which I felt confidently I could do. I used to not enjoy setting such hard distance goals as I would fail them and end up upsetting myself. Now, they pushed me further.

Looking at my map when I was planning this section, I knew it would be a lot of long and open stretches. Some might see it as boring, but it was fast and easy kilometers for me.

There were still sections of beauty between the wide open.

The last few hours of the day were tough. What started as a fast day with a tailwind turned quickly into fighting against a headwind. My mind was playing tricks on me as I spent too much time calculating how much longer it would be.
60km left at 30km/hr, Okay, I’ll arrive in two hours.
Alright, a little bit of headwind, 50km left at 25km/hr, and now about 2.5 hours left.
30km left now, horrible wind, going 10km/hr, so three more hours.
The closer I got, the further away I was. I wasn’t as bothered as I was on my big descent to Salta. There wasn’t anything I could do about the wind, so I may as well keep going however fast I can. If you want to bike through Argentina, you need to learn to accept the wind.

I arrived in Belén, the town I was hoping to, exhausted but satisfied by a long 145km day. I was surprised to see Martine and Maurice there already. We had left Cafayate the same day, two days ago, but I was surprised they had been riding as long as I had each day. Turns out they had hitchhiked here as Maurice had knee pains, and they were more surprised to see me there having biked it all.

If you look closely at my tent in the photo, you can see that my fix had not worked, and the pole broke again. I wouldn’t be able to do anything until I arrived in Chilecito, but that was fine as the solution I had found worked reliably.

The conditions in the morning were wonderful. Wide open roads with slow descents and tailwind allowed me to make 90km by noon. I was leapfrogging with Martine and Maurice through the day, and we soon ran into a French couple I had met in La Paz, Bolivia, Thom and Celine. We stopped together for the classic empanadas and Coca-Cola. They were all planning on stopping soon at a campground only about an hour away, but I wanted to keep going. I was only one day from Chilecito and I wanted to make the next day as easy as possible.

Along the side of the road, I noticed many of these shrines labeled Difunta Correa, and they were normally surrounded by bottles of water. Curiosity finally got to me, and I looked up online and found out that it’s an Argentinian folklore legend about a woman who was walking through the desert with her baby, but she ran out of water and died. The baby was found still alive. Now, these shrines are built, and people offer water bottles in return for good luck and safe passage.

After another 145km day, I now only had 80km to Chilecito. I’m going further and longer than I could have ever expected.

My two days off in Chilecito were mostly spent drinking wine in my cozy hotel room while I reconnected with hometown friends over a new game that came out. I tried yet again to fix my tent, this time with a slightly different strategy of tying the wire along with even more glue.

While I was still in Bolivia, I had the goal to get to Mendoza, Argentina, for Christmas, where I was going to meet Paula to spend Christmas and New Year together. I was only a few days away and nearly two weeks ahead of where I thought I would be. I decided to set another goal: to get as close to San Martin de Los Andes as I could before taking my Christmas break. It seemed so far away, and I would have to average nearly 100km a day, but I had no doubt I could make it.

As I continued south on Route 40 from Chilecito, it was a lot of the same. Long, remote stretches of desert road, with the occasional scenic mountain pass.

I would stop for empanadas at every chance I got. I would get a half dozen for around $4 and a cold Coca-Cola to wash it down.

Along with the massive quantity of local wines, Argentina was full of artisanal goods. It was never hard to find high-quality fruit jams and olives or olive oil. I never was a big consumer of durazno (peach), but they were in season here, and I couldn’t get enough of them. I was buying them fresh every day and getting durazno jam to eat on bread.

I loved the rhythm I had found. Camping nearly every night, preparing almost all my food, and spending nearly eight hours every day in the saddle. It was a rhythm I had lost for a long time. Losing that rhythm nearly made me lose my desire to keep traveling on my bicycle. There were many moments when I thought I wouldn’t make it this far. Now, I had much larger dreams and desires. Was Ushuaia truly the end? I’m not so sure anymore…

Nearly every town in Argentina that I passed had a Municipal campground and sometimes several other ones. They were nice places to sleep and had access to potable water and showers for a small fee of around $4. I normally don’t like paying to camp and especially don’t like camping in towns as it can be rather noisy, but out here in the desert, fresh water was hard to come by, so I would usually end up camping at one of these.

This campground I found was neighboring some vineyards owned by the brother of the owner. I couldn’t resist trying some of the wine I was camping right next to, but I didn’t want to drink a whole bottle to myself. I asked if I could have a half bottle, but the brother handed me the full bottle and told me to drink as much as I wanted, and I could pay for what I drank. I drank a bit while cooking and eating, and the next thing I knew, I had already finished the whole bottle. Whoops.

I feel almost out of things to say at this point. Not much exciting was happening these days as it was the same cycle of ride, eat, sleep, and repeat. It was a routine I was in, even though it was routine I was trying to escape when I first quit my job to embark on this trip. Routine is not a bad thing, as a matter of fact, it is quite important. We are animals who love, and who need routine. It is what helps us feel a purpose in this world. It’s just the routine I was in before wasn’t fulfilling me the way I needed, the way this routine was fulfilling me.

There was a section of road that I had been worried about for a few days. I constantly check the app Windy for the hourly wind forecast. It is a critical tool that helps me decide how to best plan and prepare with the strong winds of Argentina. One section seemed to have a constant and powerful headwind, just north of the city of San Juan. When it finally came time to start this section, the wind was nonexistent for the first few hours. Suddenly, nearly all at once, it came. Pure headwind, over 40km/hr. Not only that, but the wind was blowing a wall of dust and small rocks in my face. Even with my glasses, my eyes were in pain.

The wind was impossible to bike in and even a challenge to walk in. I could hardly look forward as my eyes were full of dust. I was still 100km from San Juan, and there was nothing between here and there, and I didn’t have the supplies to walk the rest of the way. Back in Bolivia, I had made the internal promise to myself I wanted to bike all of it for the rest of the way, but I knew there would be exceptions when it came to things like this. Mostly, I didn’t want to resort to bussing across sections due to laziness. Where I was now, though, the only logical option was to hitchhike through the wind. Hitch-hiking in Argentina is rather easy, and in no time, I had a ride with some cute doggy friends to the city.

While in San Juan, I needed to re-up on some cash. Argentina has been struggling with some of the worst inflation in the world over the past couple of years. Due to this, there is a big disparity between exchange rates. The bank/official rate is much lower than what the street rate is. Most travelers use Western Union to send money, as the rate is much better than getting cash from an ATM. Since there are only so many good places to get cash, it is common to need to get a lot at once. In the photo above, there is around $550 in Argentinian cash. It is hard to find bills larger than $1000 ARS, which used to equal $10 USD but now is only $1 USD. I left the Western Union feeling like a drug dealer with so many stacks of cash.

As the countries change, so does what I eat, as certain things are cheap and easy to find. I’ve recently discovered that fiambres, or cold cuts, are very common here. I would get some cheese and salami for the day, along with some fresh bread or crackers. It felt really good to be eating so much more fresh and real food compared to Bolivia, where I survived on cookies.

From San Juan to Mendoza, the highway became very high-trafficked by large semis and trucks. With only two tight lanes and no shoulder to ride on, I had a few too many close calls. I came across a truck that had pulled over and asked him where he was going. He said Mendoza and offered to take me with him. It was an easy decision, and the driver thought the same, as he was a big cyclist, but said he would never cycle this road. Too risky for no reward, he said. While I was a bit conflicted as I wanted to avoid skipping any sections, sometimes there are exceptions, and the past two days felt very justifiable to me.

He dropped me off near the center, and I went to a cheap hostel for the night as I planned to leave the next day. I would be coming back in about two weeks with Paula, and I wanted to get as far south as I could in that time.

This marks a good halfway point for my time in Argentina. Thank you all for reading and following along, I hope you all had a great Christmas and New Year.