Badlanders MCC Website

 

If you have a swollen, throbbing ankle, following a dog attack, I suppose there could be worse places to stay than Villa de Angostura. Its a pretty little place with nice little shops; touristy, of course, but pleasant. There were no obvious carbuncles like the casino in El Calafate.

 

When I got out of hospital I stopped at the first Hosteria I came to which was an ACA (petrol station) run hotel just at the turning point towards the port or the Andes crossing to Chile /San Martin de Los Andes. I ate in the hostel that night and then at a local Parilla the following night as I rested my leg. Now there is a lot to be said for these petrol station hotels, as we know from the UK. It cost 150 pesos. I had a TV, bath; A BATH!- a very well decorated room (as arty as some of the best modern hotels I’ve stayed in), a great breakfast, all for 150 pesos- cheaper than many of the basic hostels I’d stayed in, where I had a private room.

 

When I got up,  the sun was shining, I’d taken a couple of strong painkillers, and I’m pleased to say the throbbing ankle had subsided, enough for me to want to get on my bike and go. There was a danger that this could be like Bariloche, where you just sit and chill for longer than you need to, or rather, have time to. At least it was me and not my bike that was sore.

 

I set off at midday, expecting to get to the Argentinian control point at about 4pm. There was a camp site there, where I could stay until the next morning before attempting the climb through the Andes. However, I made excellent time across the Argentinian stretch of the Cordillera, so decided to carry on to the Chilean side. In my mind I knew that my last crossing to Chile, resulted in a broken rear spindle- which could have been disastrous were it not for Manuel. I hoped I wasn’t going to face any problems this time, as being left in sub zero temps high in the Andes would not have been my idea of fun.

 

There is no doubt, whilst the last crossing into Chile broke my bike, this time, the Andes tried to break me. The climb through the Chilean section was pretty horrendous! Every time I turned a corner, I hoped I was at the top, only to have my hopes dashed as I climbed yet another turn at this tortuous border crossing. It was as always that mixture of pleasure and pain. The scenery was fantastic; the pain in the legs almost unbearable at times.

 

It became clear that I was not going to reach the Chilean border crossing point before dark, but I decided to carry on anyway. The disappointing part in this, apart from the scary cycle ride down a very long steep hill, was that I wouldn’t see the sights on the way down. However, given the choice between freezing to death in the Andes or finding some warmer conditions further down, I opted for the latter.

 

I arrived at the Chilean border crossing at about 7.30, having cycled for an hour in the pitch black, with nothing but my headtorch, the moonlight and stars to guide me. I almost lost the bike on a few occasions due to ruts in the road sending me awry. I realised  the second time that there was only one way to do the downhill bit, and that was slowly! That was the other annoying bit. Knowing how much pain and time it took to do the uphill climb, I was looking forward to a quicker downhill section, but it wasn’t as quick as I wanted it to be.

 

Though the customs control section was friendly enough, I forgot that I still had a banana tucked in the rear pannier. Having declared no dairy, vegetable or animal products on the entry form, I had to go back and do the whole thing again.

 

As I came out to embark on my trip , one of the guards said “Pais”. I said  “Escocia”. He replied “ “William Wallace”, followed by “ freedom”. Good old Mel Gibson!!!  I asked if there were any campsites or hostels closeby. He said “quatre kilometre, cabanas”. I thought, not again, I remembered my last experience with cabanna and dogs! However, sure enough, about four kilometres down the road, there was my home for the evening. A tattered, dingy albergue at 6000 pesos- about a fiver. However, it was like heaven compared to the alternative which was erecting a tent in pitch black and in sleeping in the freezing cold for the night.

 

 I was so glad to have cycled through the Andes, I could have cried. Though I’d skirted them on some steep hills, especially between Esquel and Bariloche, and they were tough, however it just didn’t compare with this challenge of the Andes crossing.

 

I prepared to bed down for the night, only to find that the new flask I’d bought had burst open and soaked most of my camping gear. Fortunately the sleeping bag survived. There was to be no pillow, or fleece liner!