Photos from Rio Grande to the Argentine and Chilean border posts of San Sebastian and west to Porvenir.
Dec 222014
Iain
Dec 212014
Sitting in the waiting room at the Argentine Customs post of San Sebastian, my dream shattered on the floor in front of me. It had turned into some kind of living nightmare that I couldn’t escape from.
Tormented by the wind for days on end, occasionally a little respite, exhausted, demoralised, full of self pity I did the only sensible thing I could do at that time, I ate.
It was around midday. I had dug deeper than I thought I had just to get here.
The room was heated, there was a sink with running water, even a stove to cook with. Next door was the en-suite toilet, the only thing missing was a shower. The perfect staging post to collect myself together and go again.
My head however, was gone. The final kilometres to get here had broken my will. I sat there and decided that this was too much, I was in over my head.
I knew this first part of the trip was going to be one of the hard parts because of the wind. I underestimated it, maybe I was just hoping that I’d get lucky and it would be ok.
It wasn’t ok, it was far from ok.
As the wind roared outside I got out my sleeping bag and went to sleep for a couple of hours that afternoon. I was mentally drained and physically exhausted. Rest was what my body was crying out for.
That evening I sat and considered my options, a number of hitch hikers came and went, all managing to get lifts.
One even had news of a Japanese cyclist that had left Rio Grande the same day as me but had made it a long way down the road, they had stayed in a shelter together the previous night. This further stripped my confidence. He must have gone twice as far as me in a day when I physically couldn’t.
This road was good for a certain breed of person, much stronger than me, physically and mentally. That was it, I was out of my depth.
I thought I could turn up here and carry on my European summer cycle after a month in Buenos Aires getting lazy.
The other issue was the road from here on was gravel and there were no settlements until Porvenir, 160km away. It promised to be open land which the wind would take no prisoners on.
The information I had was that it was 15km to the Chilean Border post, another 25km to a shelter of some description by the road, 20km to a bus stop, 40km more to another bus stop and an estancion you could camp at. All possible places of safety, of shelter from the wind. Then the final 60km or so, nothing apart from the relief of the land might promise some protection.
I looked at my out of date wind speed forecast for the next few days and with it showing up to 100kmph wind at the worst it just confirmed that it wasn’t possible to cycle it.
I went to sleep on a wooden bench that night in the waiting room with no real intention of getting up to cycle in the morning. When I woke, the noise outside confirmed my worst fears. Needing no further encouragement to abandon any attempt at trying to cycle, I had breakfast and went to speak to the border guards.
My problem was if I was to try and hitch out of there, I needed to get stamped out of Argentina first as a lift wouldn’t wait. What if I didn’t get a lift though? What happens then? After some discussion, they said go get stamped out, so I did.
I walked back to the waiting room, now officially between countries and wrote Punta Arenas on a piece of cardboard.
It was 8.30am. I had quietly and quickly thrown my dream on the floor and went about asking for a lift from anyone with a vehicle that looked big enough to get the bike in. As you might imagine hitching with a bike and lots of bags is not very easy. I got two lifts, both however upon realising there was a bike said no.
I was that close to getting out of there on four wheels not two.
3.30pm came round and I was sick and tired of trying to get a lift. I was now wallowing in self pity about not even being able to get a lift out of there. I did also wonder what the border guards would do as I had been stamped out of Argentina that day. I decided I would cross that bridge when I got to it.
Unable to cycle, unable to hitch, my only other option was to cycle back to Rio Grande and get a bus from there to Punta Arenas. This utterly depressed me and seemed like such a bad option even though I thought it my only one.
I think it was the spark that made me rethink.
I looked at the wind forecast again and the distances to the shelters. The wind was forecast to be less at night, still strong but manageable, not the 80-100kmph but more like 50kmph.
I started to work out a plan. I managed to convince myself that although it seemed nuts to cycle into the night in this wind on this road that it was infinitely better than cycling back to Rio Grande.
My mind was set, I would leave at 9pm, ride to the Chilean border, rest for an hour or two, then try to reach the first shelter. If I could make that shelter I was still in the game.
With that decided I needed to get some sleep and eat before I left, as I climbed into my sleeping bag, one of the familiar border guards came in and said, what is happening?, you have stopped asking for lifts.
I said, it’s ok, I leave at 9pm. He seemed pleased and left me to it.
Just before leaving, whilst I was packing my final things, four English guys arrived on bikes. They were planning on hitching from where we were instead of riding the road. I told them about my experience and left them to ponder it overnight.
As I cycled out of the border post, down the dusty, bumpy gravel road, the horizon stretching out in front of me, west towards the setting sun the excitement came back. The wind wasn’t bad and it would make you wonder what all the fuss was about, however I knew what was coming.
As the sun sets so late at this time of year, it would only be properly dark not long before reaching the Chilean border post. Sure enough as night follows day, my nemesis returned. As it got dark the wind started blowing hard.
Arriving at the Chilean border post just before midnight, I left the bike outside and walked into the office.
Still wearing my cycle helmet I approached the immigration desk, a line of officials behind the counter. I understood enough that there were saying to each other, what the hell is this guy doing on a bicycle at this time of night?
I told them in stilted spanish about the wind, they know about the wind here, it’s not a glamour posting. They tended to agree that it was less at night.
Instead of having my bags x-rayed and a sniffer dog trying to find an illicit lump of cheese I got a man with a torch who didn’t want to be outside in the cold. I volunteered the small amount of honey I had left as a sacrificial lamb and he didn’t look very hard in my bags. That will be the benefit of crossing the border at midnight. Formalities complete I went back inside and asked the immigration official if I could just rest there for a while.
He was fine about it, clearly thinking I was barking mad for cycling at this time of night. A slow procession of people came though whilst I sat there but not many. I stripped off my layers and dried them on the radiator, I had been sweating to much and was now cold. As I stood next to the radiator warming myself, the same immigration official called me over.
Would you like a coffee, he said?
Si, si, si, por favour, muchos gracias!
What an absolutely top guy, he didn’t need to do that and probably shouldn’t have. I sat and drank my sweet, black coffee and felt the warmth of not just the coffee but the human gesture feel me up with energy.
It was gone 1am when I decided now was time to go. I didn’t want to get to where the shelter supposedly was before it was light as I had no idea what I was looking for and really didn’t want to miss it in the dark.
I thanked the immigration staff profusely, zipped up and went outside to hear the sound that now sends shivers down my spine. It’s the whining noise the wind makes as it goes past a building or flag pole at speed. It lets you know that when you clear the cover of the buildings, you know what is coming.
I had to go, I had to try. The safety net I had was if it goes wrong and it is to much, I can turn around and the wind would bring me back to safety very quickly.
I set off, clearing the lights of the border post thinking ever more about what the hell I was doing. I just kept telling myself, 25km, that’s it and you are still in the game. There was very little traffic, the second car I passed stopped and gestured me over. I thought he was going to check I was alright. He asked me directions to somewhere. I laughed and apologised, I’m not from round here.
The wind slowly but surely turned up its intensity until I was once again struggling to keep it pointing forward, the bags acting like a sail, pushing me into the deep gravel whereupon I would have to come to a stop to avoid falling over.
I checked my distance after two hours and found I had barely done 12km.
That made me think I wasn’t going to make it, I couldn’t turn around now so had to throw all my chips in. I turned the anger and frustration into pedaling motion and emptied my tank, I thought I just had to speed up and risk not making it.
Finally at around 5am, with the sun rising I saw a shelter but it wasn’t enough kilometers down the road, it was 3km short. In my exhausted state, I looked in it, thought maybe the ‘real’ shelter is better, got back on the bike and made another 300m or so down the road before reality kicked in and I realised I was being nuts. I turned back around. Once in the shelter the force of the wind disappeared. It’s a glorious feeling. I quickly ate something, got my sleeping gear out, laid it out on the metal bunk frame (yes really) and went to sleep.
I awoke some five hours later, got up, ate something and went back to sleep for a few more hours.
I decided to leave at 3am (sunday) that night and make the 20km to the next shelter, a bus stop. The forecast told me Monday was going to be next to no wind so I just needed to keep moving and hope for a good day Monday.
Getting out of my relatively warm sleeping bag at 2am was a feat in itself but the motivation to make it to Porvenir was enough.
Off I cycled in the dark, at 3am, into a bitingly cold wind. Thankfully the effort of riding a laden bicycle into a crazy headwind soon warms you up.
I made the bus stop and found a hut with a door! Amazing. Time for another breakfast and a rest.
I was feeling ok and decided to try a bit further.
On the roof of my last shelter someone had drawn a map of the road showing where you can get respite from the wind. There was apparently an abandoned building another 20km down the road. I aimed for that.
Then a strange thing happened. The wind died down, it no longer gusted in waves and merely provided a chilling effect.
It started to become enjoyable, there was no traffic at all on the road, a beautiful blue sky and the Magellan Straits in front. There was even some foliage by the road and lamas running around.
That was when I knew I would make it. I carried on past the abandoned building, to Estancion Amonium where four old men live and tend to their land. They let me camp for the night and filled me up with as much water as I could carry.
Monday was another beautiful day, the road got hilly and hard but thereby also sheltering me from the wind that was there. I camped just short of Porvenir in a spot out of the wind with a fantastic view. Deciding that there was no point riding into Porvenir that day as there was no ferry on Mondays and I would end up in an expensive hotel.
Tuesday came and the wind was back but I knew that even at my slowest pace I would get there in a couple of hours, hard going but not far. The road surface was loose and bumpy, but my frustration soon went each time I thought of what it had taken to get here.
Arriving in Porvenir was a milestone, a reminder to look back on that I can do this.
If I fail without trying then I’ll always regret it.
If I try, I might, might, just do this.
Dec 192014
Photos from Ushuaia to Tolhuin and on to Rio Grande.
Dec 182014
I had left Ushuaia in beautiful sunshine with hopes high and riding on a cushion of air that came with actually beginning this dream of mine.
To ride the length of the Americas. I was now actually doing it, rather than talking about it.
The road wound its way through what is the end of the Andes, gorgeous scenery and the weather like a crisp autumnal day, although it is summer here.
I camped early before the one low pass on the route, not wanting to overdo things.
I was nervous.
I thought the weather might turn without much notice. The few days I had spent in Ushuaia before I left told me this could happen. Stopping early, I put the tent up and went about cooking with petrol for the first time. This helped settle the nerves that I could look after myself. I needed to remember I had done this for 3 months across Europe.
After all there was no one else to help.
That is the one obvious thing about doing a trip like this on your own, you have to do everything, no one is there to cook or clean for you when you don’t want to. That is the easy part. You also don’t have anyone to motivate you, to make the decision to stop or go. A second opinion, a sanity check.
After two days I reached the town of Tolhuin, the first from Ushuaia. I knew the bakery (Panaderia La Union) let cyclists stay for free and for however long you like! They even had a special bunk room in the warehouse for cyclists.
The two cycling days had been good but I knew I needed a rest. I had underestimated the strength of the sun, I had got sunburnt and was feeling drained. The UV index the Met Office uses goes off the scale here, as it did in Buenos Aires. I should have known better.
Refreshed, but getting more scared of the wind and the forecast for it, I left before I could change my mind. The day started well but it wasn’t long before the wind got up. I was fighting to keep the bike in a straight line and deliberately pulling over and stopping when the trucks went past as the draft from them was uncontrollable. This, with hindsight, is the main problem. It is the gusting speed of the wind, not the constant pressure.
When I finally ended up flat on my back due to the draft from a truck I knew it was time to camp for the day. I had been stationary at the side of the road at the time. A pick up truck, driving the other direction, upon seeing me fall over, immediately stopped to see I was ok. That was a good boost for the confidence that people look out for each other in this part of the world. Especially when they see you on a bicycle, I think most of them think ‘we’ must be mental. I tend to agree.
I found a semi sheltered spot next to, but hidden from the road and set up camp for the day, hoping tomorrow the wind would be better.
It wasn’t, it was worse.
On that second day, I cycled for a couple of hours and came across a farm (estancion) which I could see from a distance and was pining my hopes on reaching it and the owners letting me camp there. However I couldn’t find anyone and there were lots of buildings, even the useless guard dog wouldn’t bark to alert someone I was there. Eventually I found a lady who I understood enough to realise she was saying I couldn’t stay and I would have to leave. I was gutted and tried to make a case but it obviously wasn’t her decision to make.
I was put out that someone wouldn’t let me camp in their garden. I guess I shouldn’t have gone expecting help. From their point of view I had got myself in to this situation, I could get myself out of it.
Not much further down the road, I luckily found a spot amongst some sand dunes, between the road and the Atlantic Ocean. It was sheltered enough from the wind but partly visible from the road. I no longer cared about hiding. After the experience at the estancion, I was pretty sure no one would stop.
Some hours later, I was found by a French cyclist, Nicolas. He had been to the same estancion and had exactly the same experience. Turned away, he found the next shelter he could, which was next to my tent.
Fresh from riding across Europe, Asia and Australia his tales soon told me that he was much better shape physically and mentally than I was. I was initially taken aback by his grubby appearance and his nonchalance about getting petrol all over his hands as he showed me something on my stove.
I thought, is this what I will become?
He was however, a really nice guy, had some very useful tips and what turned out to be very sage advice. Appearances are often deceptive.
We agreed the next morning to ride into Rio Grande together, it wasn’t far, however I was learning very quickly that distances are massively warped by the wind here. Two cyclists riding together into a wind is vastly easier than one on his own.
I had planned a days rest in Rio Grande as it might have been nearly half way off the Isla Grande de Terra del Fuego but it the hard part was in front of me. The weather forecast told me to go as the following day the wind would be light but the day after it was bad. My head told me to rest and get some strength back.
Nicolas left in the morning to continue on his way. I stayed and rested.
The next leg, 240km from Rio Grande to Porvenir, was where things would get difficult. Between Rio Grande and Porvenir on the other side of the Island there are no shops, no where to buy food, no towns, just the border crossings and some estancions. Oh and the small matter that the wind here is often very strong, very little relief from the land and always against my direction of travel.
I anticipated it would take me a week to cycle it.
After reaching San Sebastian and the border, whereupon the Chileans would remove any fruit, vegetables, meat, animal products, etc from you the road heads west directly into the wind until just before Porvenir where it heads north again.
I had to go food shopping in Rio Grande and I had to be smart about what to buy and to make sure I had enough food. The only thing worse about a headwind on a bike is doing it with an empty stomach. I got what I thought was a generous weeks food with a little extra in case things went wrong.
I rolled out of Rio Grande the following morning before 6am, the bike felt really heavy, noticeably so. I had left so early because as far as I could tell the wind was always bad in the afternoon.
The day started well but rapidly went downhill, unlike the road, until I was left gasping for breath. In my lowest gear, wrestling the handlebars back and forth as the wind blew the bike away from me, only for me to grab it, over compensate and go back the other way.
It is an exhausting way to cycle.
The landscape had become stark and devoid of cover, nothing to break the winds might, I was spent, again. I spied a few buildings in the distance, an estancion, once more I pined my hopes on being able to camp next to the buildings. This time there was a locked gate and no way to get the bike through. So I left it there, climbed over the gate and walked down the track towards the buildings, struggling to walk in the wind.
I knocked, no answer. I knocked again, louder, no one came to the door.
I went round the back, somebody clearly lived there but they were out. This is not happening, I thought. Thankfully outside the gate, back by the road, there was a drainage ditch. When sat on the floor, it sheltered me from the wind. I was learning that at times like these, getting out of the wind was all that mattered.
I sat there for an hour.
I returned to the house, knocking on the door loud enough to wake the dead. Still no answer.
I couldn’t sensibly go any further, out of options I set the tent up in the drainage ditch. It was just deep enough that the top of the tent was below the road but not wide enough to stake the doors of the tent properly so they flapped around like an overheating elephant.
It was only early afternoon and it wouldn’t get dark till nearly 11pm. I was completely visible to the passing traffic, no longer a concern I had. Dejectedly, I sat in the tent contemplating how I had ended up here. Sleep came easy, no one bothered me. Much later I heard a vehicle stop, the gate I had climbed being unlocked. I didn’t get out of the tent, by this point the effort to move was too much. They didn’t come asking who was camping outside their gate either.
My thoughts that evening were dominated by whether the wind could be worse tomorrow. It couldn’t, could it? I was half way to the border from Rio Grande, I only had to do the same distance again and then I knew I could rest at the border post.
In the morning it was more of the same, although I was more tired. Then came a stonking great hill straight into the wind which broke me.
I had less than 10km to go to the border, about an hour and a half at the speed I was travelling. After cresting the hill I expected a respite from the wind but all I got was a smack around the chops from a 80kmph gust of wind.
I started to crumble mentally, broken down by the continual onslaught, stuck between the unfairness of it all and the futility of what I was doing. I couldn’t reconcile it. I was doing this by choice, I can make it stop, I don’t have to be here. All I wanted was a break in the wind. It didn’t have to be this strong, just a little less and it is manageable, this was too much, it wasn’t fair.
I’m not strong enough, I have bitten off more than I can chew. Just back down for half an hour, please, please.
Tears started to flow.
The patheticness of that was all to apparent to myself. I’m crying because it is difficult to ride my bike.
The wind answered back by drying those tears immediately and reminding me of the futility of asking the weather for a break.
I reached the border post, barely able to hold the bike up, bent over the handlebars wondering where I was supposed to go when a guard approached. My Spanish had deserted me, apart from ‘descanso’ (I rest). She pointed me in the direction of the waiting room. In the shouted Spanish I understood, she said you go and rest as long as you want, for the night is fine, when you are ready, come and get your passport stamped.
I didn’t realise it at the time, but that was to be my home for the next 33 hours.
Dec 032014
Today, Wednesday 3rd December 2014, I get on to my bicycle and I cycle out of Ushuaia. The same bicycle that I rode away from my front door and cycled to Spain on.
Way back in July when I posted Time to Roll the Furry Dice, I dreamt of this day. I honestly gave myself less than a 50% chance of getting to Spain, I thought my knees would give in, let alone that I would get to cycle out of Ushuaia with the whole of the Americas stretching ahead of me.
That sentence sends a shiver down my spine.
I am an ordinary person, trying to make sense of life and play the cards I am dealt. This trip was an impossible dream I once had, something other people, who know more, who are more experienced, who are more confident individuals, did.
I’m attempting to do something that makes me want to run home, eat a pizza, drink wine and watch TV.
Yes I’m scared. Yes I don’t know what I am doing or quite what I am getting into. You never really do with anything in life until you begin.
If I can have one wish from my words on this website. It is that someone reading it goes out and does that scary thing they don’t really believe they are capable of. The thing other people do but they can’t.
Today I start painting my rainbow. I truly wonder how far it will go. To be able to begin is something I will treasure forever, as is all the support, love and encouragement from friends, family and strangers. Thank you one and all, however this is merely the End of the Beginning!
Please share this post by talking, via email, or on social media with someone that you know who needs convincing they are capable of doing what they dream of.
Dec 022014
Warning: This post contains references to distances and co-ordinates!
My face was a picture as my bike in it’s trusty cardboard box came round on the luggage carousel. It was one of the last items out, most passengers had left already, and it was clearly the most damaged. The box was open, upside down and pretty much destroyed.
I thought I was surprisingly calm about this, I surprised myself. I looked inside the box, easily done when it is ripped open. There was my bike and critically my cycling shoes which were loose inside the box. All disassembled parts of the bike were securely attached to itself so as long as nothing was damaged it would be ok.
I have underestimated how hard, or impossible, it is to get hold of specific bike parts in Argentina. Therefore losing my cycling shoes would have been a massive hurdle to overcome.
Confidence in my ability to get through at least the first part of this trip has waned. I put this down to a lack of time on the bike since I left Spain and the experience of learning Spanish which began well but deteriorated rapidly towards the end.
Therefore small issues to resolve are now being built up in my head to be much bigger, I’m creating my own excuses. Part of my brain is looking for a way out of this as it clearly feels this is a very bad idea.
Welcomed into Ushuaia by a blowing gale did little to dispel my fears that the wind is going to be a big problem cycling and camping. The freezing rain didn’t help either.
With this mind-set I tend to fall into the trap of looking at the numbers as a way of framing the enormity of the challenge, the numbers in relation to a bike ride aren’t really comprehensible. They are merely just a way of putting something into context. A little context, to frame my lack of confidence, then is as follows:-
Ushuaia, Terra del Fuego, Argentina
The Southern most ‘city’ in the world.
54 degrees South
68 Degrees West
Deadhorse, Prudhoe Bay, Alaska, United States of America
The Northern most ‘city’ accessible by road in North America.
70 Degrees North
148 Degrees West
To travel between them I need to cycle 124 degrees in a northerly direction. For those that struggle with co-ordinates, there are 180 degrees between the South and North Poles. So around two thirds of the way up the planet.
I also need to cycle 80 degrees West. That’s nearly a quarter of the way round the world. Forget going a long way north to south I also need to go a long way West. So that’s why people tend to take this route North to South….
I have the total distance to cycle at somewhere around 25,000 kilometers (15,000 miles). I honestly don’t know if that is correct but it’s the best stab I’ve managed to work out. If I’m within 10% I will be impressed!
Here is the handy picture of the globe showing the start and finish of my European route as well as the Americas.
Luckily I still can’t really comprehend the above facts and figures. However the numbers that I can comprehend, and are playing on my mind, are the distances between the ability to buy food in Terra del Fuego/Southern Patagonia.
100km (60 miles), becomes 250km (150 miles), maybe as much as 350km (210 miles). Not so much as a banana available because there are no shops, there are next to no people living here outside of the few towns. There are estancias (farms) in this area so there are people so if all goes wrong I can head to one of them and ask for help. If they are in.
Slowly but surely as I get the bike and all my gear as it needs to be and ready to go, the confidence is coming back. This is good timing as I’m planning on leaving in two days. I know what I need to do, I know how to do it, it’s merely a succession of hurdles to overcome. As a good friend said, if it was easy you wouldn’t be interested in doing it. (Ask me again in a month or two…)
They have a good word, for what I need to remain, in this part of the world. I doubt I need to translate it for you.
Tranquilo.
Nov 242014
Just before I flew to South America my 9 year old niece hit me with a very pertinent question. I had expected to be asked it more often but I think she was only the second person to ask since I left the UK in July 2014.
“Why are you doing this Uncle Iain?”
I’d had over 3 months cycling across Europe to come up with an erudite answer. However, all I could offer in response was that was a good question and that this was just something I want to do.
In a nutshell that is correct but I owe a better explanation and when times are tough, if that’s my fall back position then I’m not going to get very far.
I have been fortunate in life to be born in the United Kingdom, thereby giving me an access all areas pass to the world in the shape of a UK Passport. This is a privilege a lot of the world do not have. I have spent a lot of the last 15 years or so travelling to far flung locations, often on holiday from work and with some longer trips mixed in. I once took 2.5 weeks off work and went to Antarctica on holiday. I don’t say that to boast but to frame my wanderlust and spirit of adventure.
As a kid I would go out to play with friends on my bike and we would explore the local woods or just cycle further than we had been before, just to see what was there. I just loved the newness of exploring, of seeing somewhere I had not seen before. It is no surprise that I never lost that wonder, just that the scale of the adventures increased.
I’ve always loved cycling. It’s a passion deep within, rooted in the freedom I feel it gives me. When everything is firing and I’m on song the high I get from controlling a bike is beautiful. It’s a beauty that I haven’t found in other skills in life. So it’s little wonder that cycling is something I love doing.
Of course, loving cycling and having a spirit of adventure doesn’t explain why I would want to cycle the length of the two American Continents. They might, however, explain why I would want to spend a few months cycling around Europe in the Summer. That was my test run, my warm-up if you like. To ensure that I knew what I was getting myself in to. I should point out that I had never (aside from a 2 day practice run before I left) actually been on a multi-day ride before embarking on the ride from Watford to Spain. I wanted to see how I would react when faced with that as my life. You never really know until you try.
I want to do something extraordinary with my life. I want to look in the mirror and be proud of what I see. I want the person looking back to have a confidence in his eyes that he can overcome what ever is put in front of him.
I want to show other people that they can achieve their own impossible dreams. I want to put my small dent in the world and encourage other people to do what they want to do with their lives rather then what they think they should do.
I want to show my niece and nephew that they can be anything they want in life.
So I picked something I don’t think I can complete, I picked something so impossibly long and difficult that I will surely fail.
I’m aiming to prove myself wrong.
This short video sums it up succinctly, I want to feel this way time and again (but not every day, that would be exhausting!).
Nov 142014
View from my room in Balvanera, Buenos Aires
I’ve been in Buenos Aires for nearly three weeks now. I am here to attend a language school for four weeks to learn as much Spanish as I can prior to starting my extended cycle ride.
I fly to Ushuaia at the very bottom of Argentina on the 30th November 2014 and shortly after will depart in the only direction possible, north, towards my ultimate destination of Deadhorse, Prudhoe Bay in Alaska. If you click on the links they will show you exactly where I am planning on starting and finishing. The finish is somewhat inauspicious due to it being the gates to an Oil Field. I have got a long time to find a way around that!
As the clock ticks down towards the 30th November my mind is filling, slowly and surely, with hopes, fears and dreams. In a strange way my actual dreams at night are vivid enough for me to realise they are symbolising my fears.
I have a recurring dream that tells me I am feeling vulnerable. That I will be shedding my layers of protection and putting myself into scenarios that will make me decidedly uncomfortable. Those scenarios are all to do with the weather (shelter from), food and water.
My day dreams however are full of hope and excitement and positivity about how the trip will be and what I will encounter. I’ve been to some of the places before and seen photos of other parts. The thought of riding my bike through that scenery brings a rather large smile to my face.
You don’t need to be a psychologist to deduce that I am putting a ‘brave face’ over the top of my worries. The archetypal swan; above the surface appears serene and graceful but below the surface is paddling like mad just to stay still.
However, there is no way in the world I would have had the balls to have told the world that I was going to cycle across Europe before commencing a ride the entire length of the Americas unless I had learned how to manage my fears and the concept of ‘kidding yourself’. It is, however, a constant activity and can get draining.
The hiatus between finishing the European trip and starting the Americas doesn’t help as I have more time to think up new problems rather than just getting on with it. That said, looking at the current weather conditions in Terra del Fuego it’s not such a bad thing!
The beginning (Terra del Fuego/Patagonia) and the end of the trip (Dalton Highway from Fairbanks to Prudhoe Bay) have the potential to be problematic due to climatic conditions, lack of supplies and/or the terrain.
In truth, I really don’t know what it will be like to cycle in Terra del Fuego and Patagonia. I have a preconception, as does every single person (bar one, who has done it) who has told me their fears about it. The good part is I’m not actually looking forward to it. That might sound strange but when I do get a day or two or more that I enjoy, the high is so much better. I am a weird mixture of pessimist and optimist. I always worry about the worst that may happen but embark on unusual escapades due to a thought that it might just be amazing.
I have this longing for a life less ordinary.
Everything in life is relative to yourself and for me to even start this trip is like landing a robot on a comet after travelling 6.4 billion kilometres. I’m so close to it that it is no wonder the emotions are piling up on top of each other.
This is my rainbow and it stretches from Ushuaia to Prudhoe Bay. To have the chance to reach the end of my rainbow is a privilege. I know there won’t be a pot of gold or anything else at the end of it, but the journey is surely likely to be as diverse as all the colours of the rainbow.
The beauty of it is they will be my colours that I paint. It will be unique.
I hope by sharing it with the world, from the dark days to the wonderful days, it becomes more than a selfish pursuit of my dreams.
I hope it encourages others to try something they think they couldn’t do, whatever that may be.
Oct 232014
When I arrived in Leon it was the start of the interesting cycling again. The previous days had been the flat plains which are brown, dry and well, pretty flat. The Spain that you know!
The topography of Northern Spain is very hilly/mountainous on the sides/top and flat in the middle. Leon was the start of the hilly bit on the West side. The weather started to turn and get cold at night as well as damp. Still I wasn’t often lucky with the days until I reached Santiago where it promptly decided to rain all the time.
My route wound its way on back roads from Leon to Astorga, Ponferrada (where Wiggins won the World Championship Individual Time Trial two weeks earlier!), Samos, Sarria, Palas de Rei, Arzua, O Pedrouza, Santiago de Compostela, Pedrouzos, Negreira, Comeira, Pereira, Bainas, Bermun and finally Cabo Tourinan.
Oct 212014
I made a mistake. I guess I thought I was choosing an easy option which in my book is always the best play. Any fool can be uncomfortable, save your energy to fight the battles that need fighting, don’t be a martyr and put yourself in the fight.
By deciding to cycle the route of the Camino de Santiago I guess I thought it would be a way-marked route like the Eurovelo 6 route I followed earlier in the trip. Yes it is a (very well) way-marked route, in fact you don’t need the sign posts, you just follow the hordes of walkers or pilgrims as they like to be known. I didn’t follow the walking path, you seriously need a mountain bike with little luggage and an iron will to cycle that. I followed the road route instead, what with my lack of a mountain bike and my addition of 6 bags on the bike.
Some of it was great cycling, some of it was boring, some of it was extremely hard work, some of it on busy main roads with trucks hurtling past, some on quiet country roads with walkers all over the road….the same as a lot of my route towards Spain.
The problem came (and this is my problem, I know) with the sheer number of tourists, sorry I mean pilgrims that walk the route. Therefore you are just another one, by appearing in a town or on a road near the route, you must be cycling the Camino. Assumptions made without discussion, you are just a wallet to the locals and a fellow pilgrim to the tourists…..Everyone forgets how to say hello and merely greets you with the name of an elusive character called Ben Camino.
It frustrated the hell out of me to start with, then I just resented it, at one point I found it amusing as I would watch the face and listen to the tone of their voice as they greeted you by the elusive name of Ben. My favourite were the blokes (and it was always a man) who would put on a face that says, ‘I’ve been walking a LOT and I’m tired, but I’m hard so I will keep going’ and grunt out Ben’s name. Seriously mate.
The upshot of this was that it was a rubbish place to learn any Spanish as it’s so geared towards tourism that all the people in the shops would speak English at you and the people I met on the road were inevitably tourists. I need to be forced into doing something difficult like learning a language otherwise I’ll take the easy option.
The obvious point, why not change my route as I went?, like I had done in France. Well it turns out Spain doesn’t have anything like the road system of France or the UK. There often was no other option other than to continue heading west on the same route, so I decided just to stick at it and keep going. I managed to camp the whole way apart from three nights, but it got wetter and colder the further I went and I got bolder with my camping spots!
To reclaim (in my mind) the journey across Spain as my own rather than just another tourist, I found on a map that Cabo Tourinan was the most westerly point of mainland Spain. A valid reason for a visit, as valid as going to Basel in Switzerland.
The section from Santiago to Cabo Tourinan was the best and worst of times. I got the road back, once I cleared 25km from Santiago it was no longer on the walking route. As I got closer to the coast it was on to back roads and small villages.
That moment when I crested a rise and saw the Atlantic Ocean, I slammed on my brakes and slid to a halt at the side of the road with a smile plastered across my face whilst I grabbed the camera (photo at top of this page).
Free wheeling down the hill into the village of Tourinan, a town the world forgot, besieged by the weather, a small collection of buildings huddled together around a few narrow streets, I filled up my bottles from an old lady’s tap.
I then headed for the spit of land jutting out into the Ocean which is the Cabo (Cape) and where a lighthouse would mark the end of the road. It was another couple of kilometres out amongst nothing but sparse bush to the lighthouse. There was no more whooping, just a quiet satisfaction that the road hadn’t beaten me. My dogged perseverance was enough to get me there, I hadn’t won, I had merely been allowed to continue to my chosen spot.
The worst of times had been the weather getting there.
It had rained for 3 days and the wind had been up, only letting up occasionally. The previous night to arriving at the Cabo I had poorly pitched the tent due to lack of space, tiredness and general lack of any other option. The wind that night taught me a lesson. After being up three times in the night (in the rain) sticking my fingers into a bramble bush to try and peg the door down again I need to make sure I do it properly in the first place.
During the days the rain had been up in the ridiculous scale, far beyond comfortable cycling weather. I duly questioned what the hell I was doing out in this weather, cycling, just to get to an arbitrary point on a map. However I couldn’t bail out even if I wanted to, where else was I going to go? It wasn’t like I could turn around and go back home. My home was strapped to the rear rack and it was wet.
So I kept going, with the mantra running through my head, that the weather never stays the same for ever, it doesn’t last, it always will change.
Mentally I was down low; shouting at the wind and rain to give me a break as I trudged up yet another hill in my lowest gear with the wind buffeting the bike around and everything I was wearing was wet. It cost me something to cycle to that lighthouse, I sold some of my reserves of enthusiasm, hopefully I got more resilience back in return so next time I will be stronger.
As for that lighthouse. I had arrived around 5pm, at the most westerly point of Spain, I cooked my dinner in the shelter of a boarded up building adjacent to it and considered my options on where to camp that night. I had kept my eyes open on the way in for anywhere suitable but once I was at the lighthouse, the opportunity to camp on that desolate spot of land sticking out into the Atlantic Ocean was too much.
There was no one around at all, the ground was good and the undulations provided ample cover. The problem was always going to be the wind. I found a spot a few hundred meters from the lighthouse which ticked all the boxes apart from if the wind got up in the night it would funnel down past me. I had some cover from the vegetation and in one of those inevitable decisions which you come to regret, I thought sod it, it’ll be ok…..
I made sure to pitch the tent as well as possible, getting the stakes in hard and at a tight angle ensuring the flysheet was taught. Somebody was looking down on me as the rain had stopped and I got to sit and watch the last remnants of daylight vanish over the western horizon, letting my thoughts run and the tension evaporate.
I was rudely awoken during the night by the storm that came through. The wind was gusting like I’ve not experienced inside a tent before and the rain was incessant. I lay there for some time watching the flysheet balloon and flap from the strength of the wind, sounding like a machine gun firing next to your ear. Hoping upon hope that my diligence in getting the stakes in firmly was going to be enough.
I had time to think. ‘I’ve messed this up’. People are going to read about me on the news. I had visions of the wind picking the tent up with me inside it and blowing us down the hill and off the cliff face into the raging ocean. At that point I put the remaining panniers inside the tent for more ballast and managed to calm myself enough that there was literally nothing left I could do to help the situation.
I fell asleep, when I woke, everything was still intact and the storm had passed although it was still raining and a tad windy. An experience that will definitely help me remember that day when i reached the west coast of Spain!
I was due to have a day off, one I very much needed, but there was nowhere to stay (clearly I couldn’t remain where I was!) and it was raining and the wind got up again.
One thing led to another and I had another day from hell in the monsoon conditions, begging the weather to give me a break,’ you can rain, just don’t pour down like a power shower constantly’. I kept reminding myself of the futility of asking the weather for favours and knowing that it crushes you a bit more when it then gets worse.
So I rode back the way I came, curiously it was all uphill again, as it had been on the way to the coast and of course the wind had turned so it was in my face again.
I struggled on, deciding to bail and get a hotel as the tent was wet and I was at a low ebb. The hotel never came, there just wasn’t one. My mind played tricks on me, I could picture one I had passed on the way to the coast but when I arrived at that town it wasn’t there.
My spirits plummeted, it was all I had to arrive there and now I had to keep going, I was empty and I don’t know what was powering my legs, but they had to keep turning, so they did.
I thought again, ‘you are in this predicament because of a nonsensical desire to go to the most westerly point in Spain, just because’, which just beat myself up further. As I was now merely returning to where I had started, the futility of it all was compounded.
In the end I arrived in a big town that I knew there were lots of places, just before dark and got a bed. Exhausted, empty and very wet. The only thing worse was knowing I would be getting up in the morning to put my wet shoes on again for the 5th day running and cycle up some more hills. The only saving grace was that it was only 20km left to go before I could rest properly. It took me two hours. I’m not sure who was on the bike that morning, my body was, but my soul had long departed. I trudged along like a zombie, willing for it to be over, and when it was, I felt nothing.
Time will (and has started to already) fuzz over the despair parts and remember the good parts, the sense of achievement, the dogged perseverance, my mind will shape the journey as a whole rather than just remember the end.
For this is the end of my European travels, it ended at that lighthouse at Cabo Tourinan, the rest of the cycling is just commuting.
The ride from the UK to Spain was the warm-up.
A 3 month warm-up for the next leg, cycling from Argentina to Alaska, an 18 month trip. First I am moving to Buenos Aires (in a week’s time!) for a month to attend a language school to learn as much Spanish as possible. Then I fly down to Ushuaia at the very bottom of Argentina in Terra del Fuego and head north with the intention of aiming for Prudhoe Bay in Alaska. I’ll be leaving at the beginning of December 2014.
I’ll never make it, I’ll give up, the weather will defeat me, it is impossible for me. But maybe, just maybe I might make it. To be honest the dream will be complete upon the first peddle stroke leaving Ushuaia. To even make it to that point and begin the trip was a completely impossible notion for me, it was something other people did.
Now it is more than possible, it’s happening, I made it happen and that is a huge achievement for me.
A lighthouse moment.