Badlanders MCC Website

 

My quest for Santiago

 

So, a few days into my break in Santiago, I agreed to stop walking around Santiago, let Silvano rest her aching feet and do some work on my BLOG.

 

The cycling was tough in the few days leading up to Silvano arriving in Santiago. I talked of the sheer brilliance of sudocreme for sorting out saddle sores, but it only really works when you give your backside a day or two to recover from wounds caused by some pretty rough surfaces on the hard shoulder. I didn’t have time for a 24 hour break. With the result there were some painful seeping wounds. Too much information I know!  But I thought you should at least read about the pain, even if you are not required to experience it. Now, you can normally solve this, with some minor adjustments to your seating position. However, that is only practical for a few hours cycling at most, not for nine or ten hours. You just have to grin and bear it, and at night-time apply plenty Sudocreme. Taking one of the 600 mg Iboprofen tablets certainly helps and though I’m no fan of painkillers, as I like to feel whatever is causing me pain, there is no doubt about it; they become essential when there is no time for rest in order to recover naturally.

 

I reached Curico which in Mapuche means " Land of Black Water" eight days ago and though I did not get a chance to see much of the place, it looked like a much improved city from the point of view of landscape and architecture. The roads weren’t bad either. When I arrived in Curico, it was must the same as Temuco. I cycled around for an hour or so before I could see a hotel. Then, like the proverbial number nine bus, there were three all once, positioned right in front of me at a set of traffic lights. I checked out the price of this really nice hotel; the Hotel Turismo, which I expected to exceed my budget, but for the quality of the hotel it seemed really reasonable at £33. I then checked out the more basic hotel across the road, which I expected to be about £20-25, only to find they wanted £45, which was scandalous! I went back to the hotel Turismo, having convinced myself that I’d misunderstood the price. The receptionist confirmed the price, called a porter to take my bike into storage. (I explained that it wouldn’t be as easy as that and that I’d need to help him). He said, not at all; no problem sir. At which point the porter took my bike off the wall it was resting against, tried to turn it around, and without realising that it needed a turning circle bigger than an articulated lorry, went over like a sack of potatoes. Him with legs akimbo, the bike and the trailer flat across the concourse outside the hotel. I went out and though tempted to recover the bike first and check it was ok, showed an uncharacteristic politeness by attending to the porter first. He looked a little dazed. “Esta dificil” I said. “Si” he said. I asked him where it was going and that I would follow him and that I’d take the bike.

 

My room was embarrassingly luxurious and as a result I still couldn’t believe the price. However, I was having a shower first and was desperate for some decent food. After a relaxing shower, I went back to ask the price. With a degree of frustration, he said, very slowly, “Triente uno mille peso!” “Gracias,” I said. “me recomienda un buena restuarante”. He explained that in the centre most of the restaurants only serve fast food and that I’d need to go to the outskirts. His favourite was Casa de La Esquina. Though he knew the street, he said it would be difficult to find. He explained that it was behind the top sightseeing spot which was the Cerro Carlos Condell. I thanked him, heading off in that direction, not expecting to find it. However, about half an hour later, following a climb up Cerro Carlos Condell for a spectacular night-time view of the city, I stumbled across this little restaurant discretely tucked away in the suburbs of Curico. It was a perfect recommendation, and a stroke of luck that I found it. By far one of the nicest places I’ve eaten.

 

Cycling out of Curico the next day was one of the more challenging things I’d done. Should have followed my instinct, but instead followed someone’s directions, which took me into another barrio that became almost impossible to get out of.

 

I have talked about the change in temperature and by and large I have enjoyed some pretty good weather during my days of cycling through Chile. However, that was about to change between Curico and San Fernando. It was depressingly bad weather. And one of the most annoying things about it was, as I cycled north towards Santiago, the sky got darker, the rain heavier and yet I could see behind me that Curico, the place I’d left was bathing in a bright blue sky and great sunshine. Nevertheless, it was a case of onwards and, well, onwards.

 

I had a thoroughly depressing cycle ride between Curico and San Fernando, which should have been a picture postcard sunny ride, given the fruit trees and vineyards lining Ruta 5. But all I could see was a view of dismal dark clouds; which was at times foggy, at times drizzly and at times I experienced almost impenetrable rain. The spray from the HGV’s was soul destroying, and often blinded me. I also experienced my first bit of proper road rage. A white pick-up van full of numbsculls decided, I suspect, that it was having to drive too slowly as it joined the highway, because it could not pass me. As a result the horns started to go and there were loud shouts from all the guys in the vehicle. I haven’t yet learned to interpret Chilean or Argentinian insults, so did not know what was being said. I just knew from both the tone and the fact that they were displaying angry gestures. I responded in the best way possible, with a loud “Beinvenidos a Chile” followed, by the usual finger salute!

 

 About 10k from San Fernando, as I was cycling along a lengthy and very rough part of the hard shoulder (which does nothing for the saddle sores, I can tell you), there was this white pickup parked by the side of the road, up ahead. Now I did wonder if this was my welcoming friends from earlier and was preparing myself for a possible confrontation. However, as I got closer I could see this was a luxury pickup not the heap of scrap I saw earlier. As I drew up ready to pass, this guy rolled down the window, perhaps sensing my depression of over five hours of cycling in dismal weather, and asked if he could give me a lift. I thanked him for the offer, but explained that I was only going into San Fernando which was about 10k away and that it was more hassle than it was worth dismantling the bike and trailer. We had a chat about what I was doing and he explained that he and his wife and two kids were doing a similar trip, albeit by camper van from Alaska to Ushuaia later in the year. He said. Look, if I can do anything for you during, your time in Chile, just give me call wherever, whenever. He gave me his card. Turns out he’s one of the top exporters of berries around the world from Chile. Humanity in action yet again!

 

I arrived in san Fernando and though I was going to set up tent on the outskirts, I decided that I’d cycle through as far as I could and if I couldn’t find a reasonably priced hostel, I’d camp on the northern outskirts of San Fernando. I did find a basic hotel, called the Gran hotel, which was anything but gran (d), however it did the job. I spent about 2 hours cleaning the bike and truing the front wheel which took a battering from the holes and bumps on the hard shoulder. I was off at 10.00 the next morning and cycled almost the whole route to Santiago. Though the legs were a little tired, this cycle through the valleys of San Fernando and Colchagua, past Pelquehen and Rancagua in brilliant sunshine was pretty special and made up for the dismal day from Curico to San Fernandez. That is; until I reached the Angostura tunnel.

 

Even the word Angostura brought me out in a cold sweat. You’ll recall the dog attack in Angostura in Argentina. I was hoping that this would not be my next “angostura bitter” experience! I arrived at the toll gates for the crossing and rather than cycling right through as I normally do, (which I have to tell you is one of the most enjoyable parts of the cycle trip- as everyone else has to pay....and  I go free!), I decided to stop and see if I could speak to one of the staff or a policeman, to check whether I would be allowed to go through the tunnel. I waited for about 10 minutes hoping that one of the toll staff who check the automatic gates would come over to me. No-one did. In fact they studiously avoided any form of eye contact and ignored my waves.

 

Now crossing from the nearside lane across the other lanes is suicidal without a bike, but with a bike...and a cumbersome bike and trailer to boot, is simply impossible. I had no choice but to wait. But I waited and waited and no-one came. I look at every sign to see if there was anything preventing cycles from going through the tunnel and could see nothing. At that point I put on my luminous top. Put on my head-torch and indeed every light I had. I was lit up like a Christmas tree! I decided that I would scale the pretty steep climb up to the entry to the tunnel and head through as quickly as I could. It was about a mile from the toll gate up to the tunnel. Guess what was waiting for me as I reached the tunnel. No, not a policeman stopping me, but a sign with a bicycle and red cross (symbolically) through it- clearly showing that you cannot go through the tunnel with a bike. That, only after I’d cycled the steep hill a mile away from the gates, with no ability to turn around to go back down a one way road!!! How stupid was that? I took the view that I’d prepared myself as best as I could and as I could see daylight at the other end of the tunnel, had made up my mind that I would go hell for leather through the tunnel. I waited to check that there was no traffic coming up the hill and went for it. In my mind I had this angostura bitter devil in my ear that I couldn’t shake off. The good news was, that, though I’d had a fairly steep climb up to the entry to the tunnel, it was downhill from there. I started to pick up speed instantly and whilst my head torch was of little good to me, I was undoubtdedly hitting some high speeds, with my eyes fixed on the opening ahead of me. Suddenly these lights lit up the road in front of me, which was, I suppose, a bad sign as it meant I had a vehicle behind me. It was a big cama bus and it politely slowed down, put its hazards on to warn other traffic there was an idiot in the tunnel on a bike and every other vehicle behind it moved to the outside lane. I emerged to bright, blinding sunlight and quickly pulled on to the hard shoulder to allow any slow moving traffic to pass waving my thanks to the bus driver. I looked at my bike computer. I had reached a top speed of 37.5 mph cycling through the tunnel. I remember having a caravanette that didn’t even reach that speed!

 

Though it had to be done, I vowed that it would most probably be the last time I cycled through a tunnel. Then I reached Santiago and the autopista! There were some equally hairy moments cycling in the dark on the autopista going into Santiago, such that, at about 8pm at night as it was now so dark in those sections that hadn’t any road lights, I decided it was time to stop. It was also clear that me being there wasn’t appreciated by some of the vehicles that passed by, esp those joining the autopista at speed. Given the availability of much larger grass verges from Buin to San Bernardo, camping was at least possible. At one stage I was even contemplating paying for a ticket for the busy Buin Zoo and spending a night with the chimps, but I decided to travel on a bit and then set up camp for the night. The annoying thing was I was within an hour of Santiago, if not less.....but I thought it was better to reach it on a bike rather than an ambulance.

 

There was enough light from street lights to see what I was doing to erect the tent, though the noise that night was relentless; all night. And in the fleeting moments when I didn’t hear vehicles, I heard lots of barking dogs.....my favourite animals! Actually, I was starting to feel sorry, well almost sorry for the dogs. I passed no less than 36 rotting dog carcasses by the side of the road from where I started counting... just outside temuco. Now if they were hit while chasing bikes across a busy road, they clearly deserved it, but I doubted that to be the case. They were probably just not streetwise enough to survive a busy highway!