Gloomy Beginning to the Carretera Austral

Even though we had just joined this route that I had been very excited for, it wouldn’t truly be me if I didn’t immediately veer off after only a few kilometers. Instead, Zach and I chose to follow a longer coastal road, hoping for a tranquil ride and good camping.

There was little traffic as we passed through small, quiet fishing villages. Colorful, wooden boats lined the shore, and the air smelt of the sea.

Locals confirmed our beliefs of easy wild camping as they assured us we could camp anywhere we liked along the coastal road. After looking for a bit, we came across a perfect spot with flat, smooth land and plenty of bushes to separate us from the road.

After we had eaten our dinners, we noticed the beach was covered in wild mussels. We were both lovers of shellfish and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to gather a bowlful to steam in a rich, spicy garlic broth.

We awoke to a cold, wet morning, a stark contrast to the endless clear skies and warmth I had enjoyed for most of my trip. After a short ride to the port of Pichicolo, we awaited the afternoon ferry to continue our journey on the Austral. As we sheltered indoors from the sporadic rain brought by passing clouds, worries began to creep into my mind, foreseeing that this weather might become the new normal. 

My one weakness is rain, especially cold rain. I have been extremely lucky, and somehow in the past two years of biking, I have never had to ride in the rain. I am an expert at avoiding rain by being in the right places at the right seasons or by finding somewhere to rest until the rain passes. Here, however, I doubt I’ll be able to escape it.

Five hours and nonstop rain later, the ferry pulls into Caleta Gonzalo. The scenery around was spectacular, with tall fjords in every direction. It was nearly 8 pm when we got off the ferry, and the rain increased. Finding some shelter to camp in was our priority. We knew there was a formal campground nearby, but to us, it seemed crazy to pay $15 each just to be able to pitch a tent in a field in the rain.

Just off the dock, we spotted a large pavilion that would be the perfect place to protect us from the rain for camp. We were a bit concerned we might get kicked out of here, as it wasn’t made for camping, but with the awful weather and the encroaching nighttime, it was easy to justify. As we pitched our tents, a few other travelers converged on our impromptu campground, giving us solace in our decision to wild camp here.

In the morning, the rain had stopped, leaving behind clouds that added a moody, mystical feeling to the air—something I found beautiful. Having spent a few years in Seattle, Washington, known for its similar weather, I felt right at home. As long as it wasn’t raining, I was happy.

I had left earlier than Zach in the morning as I tend to get around much quicker, and I was starting to grow impatient of waiting. There are moments I truly revel in during our travels together, such as huddling around our hot dinners at camp and sharing stories of the past and dreams of the future. However, when it comes to pedaling, I crave solitude where I can set my own rhythm and pause to appreciate and capture the beautiful scenery. We agreed to meet up before the town of Chaiten, where we would look for a cabaña for the night.

In Chaiten, we found a comfortable little cabaña to shelter in for the night. Zach had an interview with another brewery, and I made us a hearty dinner of choripan and potatoes, with some wine to wash it down. I usually prefer wild camping for a multitude of reasons, but the weather makes me weak, and I crave the comforts of a roof and the warmth of a bed.

Leaving Chaiten, we felt for the first time the wonderful tailwind that would be a common companion. The winds of Patagonia are known for being strong and consistent, and in this way, they would help guide us on our way south.

We caught some glimpses of the glaciers above between passing clouds. I was hoping that one day we would be gifted with some clear skies to be able to see all that we have been missing.

Later in the afternoon, the rain started, and I was stuck with nowhere to stop and take shelter. I tried to shelter under a tree, but it offered no refuge, and I pushed on until I found Zach waiting in a sheltered bus stop. I fought to keep my frustration in check, but my efforts were in vain, and I found myself snapping at his attempts at conversation. We faced one last climb to reach the next town, which Zach agreed would be the perfect place to call it a day and escape the rain. He continued riding while I lingered behind, hoping the rain would let up at any moment.

I realize I may sound rather weak and pathetic, and I take no pride in it. As I had mentioned, rain is my greatest weakness. Along with many other things, I longed to grow and strengthen myself on this trip, and I knew sooner or later it would be time to conquer this weakness. With reluctance, I started pedaling in the rain, slowly climbing the mountain at my feet and in my head.

I descended into Villa Santa Lucia drenched and shivering, yet happy to have arrived and be done. We found a hotel room where a hot shower revived my spirits, and we spent the rest of the evening next to a warm furnace with the sounds of rain falling on the roof.

During the next day’s ride, I noticed my rear tire had lost a lot of air. Upon further inspection, I realized the problem was pretty bad, and the hole from a week ago had gotten bigger and now wouldn’t seal. I had pushed this old tire a bit too far, and now I was faced with the daunting task of removing the tire and installing a tube, which can be a challenging ordeal on the side of a road. Thankfully, a kind couple saw me with my bike upside down and a tire removed, and I was offered a ride to the nearby town where I knew Zach would be waiting for me.

In the town of La Junta, Zach and I attempted to install the tube I had kept for over two years for this case exactly, only to find out it was riddled with holes as well and would need to be patched. I resigned on fixing it for the day and would take a day off tomorrow to patch and install the tire. Zach wanted to continue riding, which in a way is what I wanted as I felt I was a cloud of negativity and I was holding him back. The gloomy weather was affecting my mood a bit more than I would have liked.

I spent my day off resting and getting the tire set up correctly with the tube. It wasn’t too hard, other than making sure the tire was seated correctly on the rim. The cold weather made my hands and the rubber very hard to work with, but leaving the tire next to a warm furnace helped the tire bead seat correctly. It was a pain to get the tire off and on correctly, so I hoped that the tire could make it a few more days until I could replace it in Coyhaique.

Now it was only me and the weather. The darkness outside seemed to awaken a similar darkness in me. My thoughts wandered to far and forgotten corners of my mind,resurrecing distant memories of failures and mistakes for me to scrutinize. I continued to pedal and let the thoughts come and go, a meditative practice trying to calm my racing mind. Sometimes succeding but usually failing, the darkness followed me as I continued to try to outride it.

Podcasts served as a welcome distraction for my thoughts as I climbed a steep gravel road, which only led to further glimpses of the stunning glaciers and mountains shrouded in the embrace of the clouds.

I saw the rain clouds sneaking up behind me out of the corner of my eye, attempting my best to reach the next town before it arrived, but my efforts were futile. I carried on riding through the heavy rain, comforted by the thought of a refuge and a cozy fire awaiting me.

The wonderful host Iness had created this refugio nearly a decade ago to provide cyclists a warm haven along the hostile Austral. Alongside me, nine other cyclists found shelter here, and as the rain poured relentlessly outside, we gathered in the warmth of the firelit living room, sharing tales over a hearty dinner.

I have yet to mention the sheer number of cyclists I have been running into on this route. As I had said at the begining, this highway is world famous and every year for the summer season, hundreds, if not thousands of cyclists flock here to ride this iconic stretch. Every day, countless cyclists would pass me, and what used to be an exciting moment to stop and share info now was rarely more than a friendly passing wave.

The sound of rain the next morning, along with the warmth of the furnace, pulled me in, and I made the easy decision to take a day off to avoid the weather and work on my blog.

The following day was better but still gloomy. I used to be energized and ready to start riding as soon as the sun rose and woke me up in my tent, but here, the sun never emerged to awaken my energy. Getting out of my warm bed was a challenge as the darkness tempted me to sleep longer and longer. The days of being outside and biking for more than eight hours were gone, and now a day of five hours seemed like a success.

I arrived in the town where I was originally planning to seek a roof for the night, but it seemed like the weather might be changing for the better. Consulting my weather app, I saw that tonight and tomorrow would be clear and sunny, so I continued riding to look for a wild camp. I had been avoiding camping because the last thing I wanted to do was pack up a sodden campsite in the morning.

Most cyclists use an app to help us find wild campsites, and because of that, it’s not too uncommon to run into others in very strange places. I showed up at this spot, and two cyclists who I had met back at the Refugio were already here. Thankfully, there was space for all of us.

The weather forecast proved to be correct, and the next day was wonderful. The sky was clear, and the sun was out for the first time on the Austral. My mood greatly improved, and I enjoyed the ride to the town of Coyhaique, one of the biggest towns on the Austral and the midpoint of the route. While in town, I reconnected with Zach, replaced my rear tire, and worked on my blog.

The sunny weather was gone as quickly as it came, and I kept extending my stay an extra day each morning as the weather wasn’t calling me to get back on the bike. On the fifth morning, the decision was made for me to continue as the hotel was fully booked and I couldn’t extend my room an extra night. I was a bit annoyed but glad to have the push I needed to continue.

With the Austral half done, I will end this blog here and save the second half for another blog. Thank you all for reading along, and stay tuned for the second half, which I will try to get out soon!