In my last newsletter, I wrote about what I expected would be a 150-kilometre stretch of desert with no water or infrastructure. It turned out to be a fairly normal day on the road this week—normal, at least, for this part of the world.

There is still very little around. It’s mostly me and my thoughts, occasionally a podcast, and a bike coated in dust.

I thought I wouldn’t have much to say about this week, and to be honest, I hoped that would be the case. It would have meant that nothing dramatic had happened. 

The pavement gave way to gravel and the road was harder to ride than I imagined. The sandy and rocky surface makes the bike sink in the ground. I had to push instead of pedal multiple times; it was the only way I could make any progress. Exhaustion and thirst comes also faster this way, which is not ideal when the next river is miles away.

Before the trip, I assumed I’d encounter a warmer, more open culture than back home. To be fair, the bar is not very high, at least compared to Switzerland. What surprised me was how much more generous people became the farther I rode from anything. The more isolated days turned out to be one of the most social ones, which is exactly what I needed to keep my morale high. 

Most passing cars look me in the eyes and make an ok sign as they go by. If I don’t reply with a thumbs up, they always stop for me. Those who don’t signal at all usually stop right away. First questions are always practical: do you need water, do you have food, are you ok, and then they become curious and ask what’s your story, where are you going, why are you doing this. 

An older couple stood out as extra friendly. They stopped to refill my water and gifted me some snacks and a banana. The husband was a cyclist and has always wanted to do a trip like this. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the chance and they were doing it with the comfort of the car. He saw something of himself in me and wanted to support me as much as they could, to help me achieve what he could not.

While having lunch by the side of the road, a motorcyclist stopped by. I helped him snap a few pictures, and a full-blown conversation followed. He was riding his bike while his three sons followed in a car; I would have expected the opposite, but the father earned my full respect. It turned out they were a family of dentists, and they shared the name of their clinic, along with detailed instructions to call if I needed absolutely anything. Now even a nasty cavity cannot stop the progress of this trip.

Because of my very slow progress in a long gravel-only section and tiredness, I decided to hitchhike to the nearest city. It was already 4pm and there was 3h of climbing ahead that I was not ready to tackle. I spotted a guy stretching on the side of the road next to his car. I guess he had a long journey. I approached him, we talked for a bit, I believe I passed the vibe check and did not look like a serial killer, so he was more than happy to load my bike in the back. There was a language barrier as he did not speak English and my Spanish is nada, but we managed to exchange some words and some hand gestures during the drive. 

I make a conscious decision every day not to rely too much on hitchhiking. Only when it is necessary. Cutting short the remaining days through the desert is very tempting. At start, I was captivated by the sights and by how the landscape opened for miles in every direction. All here in this environment is new to me. Now, the changes in views are almost non-existent. It feels like I ride though the same scenery everyday. Same dust, same road, same bushes. The only changes are the people I meet and my unexpected bike issues. Heat is another challenge for me. Cycling in a straight line for hours, pedaling at near-maximum power while barely moving because of the harsh headwind sometimes makes me wonder where the nearest airport is. I usually put those thoughts to rest with a good podcast and a message to people from home (Probably not too late to mention: there’s no mobile signal out here so thanks Garmin Inreach). 

I’ve already complained a fair amount about the Patagonian winds. Gusts commonly reach 60km/h and they are even stronger now in the summer. I was expecting it to be a problem at some point, but not at this early in my trip and not in this way. 

I was riding a remote segment of 85km, when after lunch, the winds picked up relentlessly. With 50km/h headwinds, advancing by foot was faster than riding my bike. I decided to camp out at kilometer 45, knowing from the forecast that weather will improve tomorrow. 

There are a few rules I always follow when choosing a campsite: I pitch the tent according to the wind direction and good tension in all guy lines, not too close or too far from water, in a place out of sight from the road. The first hours, everything seemed fine. The tent shook from time to time, but nothing to be worried about. At 10pm I crawled in my cosy sleeping bag. 

My sweet dreams were stopped not even 30 minutes later. I felt something against my face. It was the tent. Half of it was flattened to the ground, the other half was maybe 10 cm above ground, supported by the last standing pole. The wind was so powerful that even lifting the fallen fabric off my face was difficult. 

Grabbed my jacket, went outside to check what was going on. A tent pole was broken. Not that big of a deal, I could repair it, I had a spare one. Looking closer, I saw bigger issues: the entire outer shell of the tent snapped in half. That could not be repaired. It was done. It is what it is. After some deep breaths, I had no choice but to grab my winter clothes, snuggle back in the sleeping bag and try to sleep in whatever the conditions were. I put my head towards the part of the tent that was slightly above the ground in whatever was left of my tent, and in what felt like a few hours I was sleeping again. 

I thought that things couldn't get any worse. Of course, they can. I woke up in the middle of the night. The mattress was deflated. The wind had died down, the air was calm again so the temperature, with all my winter layers, I was now drenched in sweat as it was cracking for dawn. I woke up every now and then trying to inflate my mattress, but next time I was waking up, it was deflated again. At some point I just accepted my fate and stopped even trying to inflate it. Later that day, I found a puncture in it. 

I had 40km left until the next city. After the least refreshing sleep lately, the conditions during the day did not improve at all, but somehow I made it. By the time I checked in at the accommodation, I had already searched for all the nearby airports and routes back home.

The next morning, I laughed at my attempts to give up. Sometimes when you feel like quitting, all you need is a good night’s sleep apparently :)

I went to all the outdoors shops in this small city. There were three, not that many anyway. One of them had five tents. I chose one and suddenly I was eager to continue my journey. Without a tent this trip is impossible.  The long stretches without any real sign of civilization aren’t over, and whether I want to or not, I have to camp. 

I spent two nights in this city to fully recover and now I’m back on the road!

3 days after the tent incident, fun is not finished! While riding, my front right luggage detached and fell. I stopped and while trying to put it back I realised the rack bolts which fix my rack into the bike frame snapped. I guess I’m not as minimalistic as I thought and that bag was too heavy. The bolts snapped in half. The issue was that half of them was stuck inside the bike frame.

Though, not being a minimalist allowed me to over prepare. I had extra bolts, but as half of the broken ones could not be taken out of the frame without any tool I had they were of no use. My day was saved by zip ties. I used them to tie the bag to the frame and redistributed the weight from that bag. A quick fix that seemed to be enough until the next town 80km. 

I visited every mechanic shop in this city, be it for cars or bikes. Finally, I found a guy that was willing to at least try to fix it, instead of saying that they don’t have the proper machine or don’t know how. He tried but unfortunately the metal was too rigid and could not get the bolt out by drilling it. First word problems, buying high quality things can turn against you too! 

My quick fix with zip ties seems to be holding on surprisingly good for now. I will continue with it for the next 250km until San Carlos de Bariloche, where I’ll try my chance again in solving this small issue. Worst case, I keep the current setup

At some point when I stopped for a little break, I saw something moving 1 meter ahead of me. It was an armadillo! He started digging, probably looking for food.  I’m sure I would have missed it if I was cycling. I had no idea they lived here and they blend in so well in the environment. I felt even luckier later when I read that they are more active during the night. They look like a little tank with 4 legs. 

I can describe it in one word: milanesa.

This breaded beef cutlet is absolutely everywhere and usually the only available option. That led to me eating a milanesa a day for more than 10 days in a row (is this some kind of world record?) And those were the good days when it meant I could find a restaurant.

The good part is that the portions are incredibly large. I definitely need the calories. I was able to finish my portion every single time and but usually within two hours the eternal hunger was back. 

1200+km ridden with 12000m climbed!

At the end of the day I’m totally destroyed but the next morning more than often my legs are ready to go back at it.
By the next email I should be already on the Carretera Austral and that means the desert part is finally DONE 🎉

See you next week,
Sorin