Stage 4, Leg 4: Rio Grande to Ushuaia

We were sad to be starting the last leg of the trip but we were glad to be leaving the flat windswept plains of northern Tierra Del Fuego for the mountains that curl eastwards along the north shore of the Beagle Channel. We followed the Atlantic coast for a while and, looking out to sea, it was amazing to think that we are now so far south, there is no land to either the east or the west ... just open ocean. The ride south of Rio Grande to Tolhuin was easy enough and we were faster than expected because the wind had dropped significantly. We had a few stretches where the road turned westwards, straight into the wind, and if the gusts from the previous few days had continued, we would have crawled along at about 6-7km/hr. As it was we maintained a fairly consitent speed of about 30km/hr and completed the 120km in just under 5 hours. We were also spurred on by the occasional glimpse of the snow covered peaks that surround Lago Fagnaño. It's been one of the amazing aspects of this trip, when the landscape surrounding you is built from such huge natural features; deserts, vast salt flats, huge mountains, and the oceans, you can often see your destination from quite early in the day. Despite the distance being over 100km, we could see the ghosts of the mountains from just 20-30 km out of Rio Grande, and they just got bigger and closer with every hill climbed.


We camped in Tolhuin by the vast, picturesque, and extremely cold Lago Fagnano. It has an amazing setting, lying to the north of, and paralell to, the mountains that plunge into the Beagle Channel. It is a huge body of clear glacial water fringed with pebble beaches and smooth driftwood. The colours here are somehow always cold; even when the sun set, the usual oranges and reds seemed to lack any warmth. We had been cycling all day with full thermals, gloves, coats and hats and we didn't take much of it off to sleep in the tent that night. Luckily, there was a log cabin where we could light a fire and keep warm before the dash to the sleeping bags. We met another French bike tourer here who was just starting out on his trip and had just completed his first day. Olivier was a really nice guy but we all felt sick with jealousy as he had the whole adventure ahead of him.


We wished Olivier the best of luck the following morning and set off south as he headed north. We had anticipated stronger winds than we seemed to be getting, and it now seemed possible to combine the next two days we had thought necessary to reach Ushuaia from Tolhuin. The last day of cycling had crept up on us and it seemed to have arrived too early. We were however glad to have one last mountain pass to complete before the end of the journey; it seemed fitting that after following the Andes for nearly 6000km, cycling over 4500 of them, we should cross them one last time to drop into our final destination, Ushuaia ... el Fin Del Mundo.


Without telling Catherine, I had secretly hoped to be cycling through snow on the Paso Garibaldi because it would look 'atmospheric' in photos, although we seemed to have arrived a month too early. We were surrounded by beautiful mountains on all sides but the snow line was still well over 100m above us. Fortunately our first view of the Beagle Channel and it's islands, suddenly appearing during an amazing descent through the mountains behind the city, more than made up for it. The southernmost limit of our journey didn't disappoint; it was packed with small sailing boats, sturdier vessels heading for Antarctica, and even a succession of tall ships making a short stop during a round the world regatta.


We headed for the puerto for a few photos in front of the 'Fin Del Mundo' sign, and congratulated ourselves on completing a mammoth journey from the arid deserts of the north all the way to the frozen southern tip of the continent. I'm sure the locals must be used to seeing odd foreigners in tights, high-fiving eachother by the sign, pretty frequently but plenty were still kind enough to ask us about the trip and congratulate us.


We did however have one last task for the day: Together with Pierrick and Vincent (who were celebrating their 7000km with a bottle of Beaujolais from home), we had promised ourselves that we would go to a bar and drink so much that we would forget our own names. The night was a success and we were still in a bar at 4am drinking with the Potuguese navy and some guys from the Argentine Airforce (avoiding awkward conversations about the Falklands!). If anyone was wondering, it takes 14 bottles of local 'Beagle' beer before a Portuguese naval officer will admit to being prepared to fire on a civilian Spanish vessel if nobody would find out.


Well, we made it. Whilst we let it sink in and think about how best to sum up the trip of a lifetime, here are some exciting statistics from the last four and a half months on two wheels ... and occasionally two legs:

Exciting Cycling Stats:
Total distance cycled: 4627km
Total no. of days cycled: 54
Longest distance cycled in one day: 158km
Most shameful daily distance (without a specific destination): 38km (excuse: mudslide had destroyed road)
Fastest speed: 70km/hr
Fastest speed (sober): 66km/hr
Hottest (known) daily temperature cycled: 45 degrees celcius
Longest unbroken stretch of sunny days: 31
Total days cycling in rain: 5
Highest pass cycled: 3000m (Highest altitude off the bikes: 5300m in Bolivia)
Longest continuous climb: 35km
Longest continuous descent (without pedalling): 26km
Largest (known) altitude gain in one day: 2000m

Miscellaneous stats:
No. of dogs & cats unofficially adopted by Catherine: 45,328
Most pointless town: Talocasta (1 resident)
Worst injury & most spectacular crash: Catherine's speedy 'descent' into Bardas Blancas
Best Cuisine: Any Asado (although special mention has to go to Doug in Capitan Montoya)
Worst cuisine: Bolivian 'Bangers and Mash'
Successful marriage proposals: 1
Most useful Spanish phrase learned: 'Claro'. Translation: 'Got you', 'understand', 'yep', 'sure', 'with you on that one'. This allows you to 'participate' in conversations of which you can understand nothing.
Worst stretch of road: A lot of competition here between the many corrugated, sandy stretches of ripio throughout the journey, but it has to be cycling the 8-lane motorway out of Mendoza.
Longest continuous distance cycled with a dog chasing the wheels: 30km (between La Junta and Puyuhuapi)
Most dangerous animal encountered: It's a toss up between 'all birds' (we've seen them eating every other animal on the continent), and the ants in the desert north of Chilecito because they tried to eat the bikes
Number of times a lorry driver indecently exposed himself to us: 1
(un)Official sponsor of the trip: Quilmes Cristal Cerveça
New favourite wine: Bodega Fin Del Mundo - 'Ventus' (tinto, tres varietales)
Food most likely to start a fight if offered to either of us within the next year: salami or pasta


10 English Pounds will buy you:
A 250km coach journey in Argentine Patagonia

6 beers in a Chilean brothel
4-bed cabaña in northern Argentina
One dorm bed in Southern Patagonia
8 blasts on the microwave in a Coyahique hostel (the cheek)
Enough top-quality Argentine meat to feed a starving family of 10 with an asado
A one-hour massage from a tranny in Bariloche

Boring bike stats:
Punctures: 5 (all mine) - Catherine cycled over 4500km over some unimagineably bad terrain without a single puncture. A shining advertisement for Schwalbe Marathon Plus tyres.
Broken spokes (whilst riding): 2 (mine)
Snapped chain: 1 (mine)
Broken headset: 1 (mine)
Bald tyres: 1 (mine)
Broken pannier racks: 1 (mine)
Regrets that I didn't buy Catherine's bike: 1 (mine)

I rode a 2008 Panorama Ridgeback with Blackburn lowrider aluminium racks and Continental tyres, whilst Catherine rode a (seemingly indestructible) 2008 Dawes Horizon with similar Blackburn racks and Schwalbe Marathon Plus tyres. We both ran 27inch wheels with 'road touring tyres' (and spent the holiday explaining the decision to everyone else on 26inch mountain bike fat tyres). We both had to replace cables, brake pads and the chains and cassettes, but this was part of the wear and tear we expected prior to the trip. The Ortlieb panniers were faultless, as expected due to the glowing reports on other people's cycling blogs. There were many tricks that we learned along the way and there are some aspects that we would change for a subsequent trip but overall, the bikes and equipment lasted incredibly well considering the demands.


... and here is a photo of my favourite painting seen during this trip:

Stage 4, Leg 3: Punta Arenas to Rio Grande

The French had obviously been converted and asked for another fry-up before catching the ferry the next morning. In turn, I have also been inspired by the French, and will be wearing my padded spandex tights for the first time. English to the last, I will be protecting my modesty beneath my baggy cycling shorts however, so no need to add a 'child filter' to the blog just yet. The reason for the switch is the fact that Punta Arenas is the first place to be consistently bloody cold. Rain or shine, it's freezing here. We arrived at the dock early and saw that the water was absolutely flat. We were incredibly lucky to make a crossing of the Magellan Straights in these conditions because we had been told that the journey time can often be doubled from 2 to 4 hours becase of the wind and the turbulent waves.

In our case we passed an enjoyable and comfortable two hours drinking coffee and watching dolphins play in the wake of the boat. Aboard the boat we were confronted with our Carretera past in the shape of 'Pisco' Pete, a large gruff bike tourer from Poland who drinks neat Pisco before bed. It was nice to see him, although we were unsure about cycling together with a Baltic sailor in his fifties that looks like he may have killed a man. Pete's a nice guy but he has a habit of drawing his thumb accross his throat at inappropriate points in the conversation, and he studies you in such a way that makes you concerned that you are unknowingly being added to his list of 'no good people'. The criteria for joining this list seem to be quite open, as it currently includes 'Moroccans' and 'Peruvians'. The decision was his however, and as we chugged past huge comorant colonies to dock at porvenir, he was saddled up and off down the road before we could say a proper goodbye. Despite being sad to begin the last leg of the journey, it was an exciting feeling setting foot on Tierra Del Fuego; the distant and mysterious land that features in a variety of stories about explorers, early penal colonies, epic whaling expeditions, antarctic expeditions and doomed yacht races. The excitement continued as we checked provisions and left Povernir to set off into the interior, where the remoteness of the western side of the island surrounds you very quickly.

For the rest of the day we followed the unkindly named Bahia Inutil (Useless Bay) on a rolling dirt track that hugged the beaches and occasionally lifted us up onto the cliffs for amazing panoramic views of the straights and the dwindling Andes, faraway on the mainland. A highlight was standing on a deserted beach watching the dolphins surf the waves almost to the shoreline. This is why cycling is such a good way to see a country; there are no coaches taking backpackers to see the 'amazing surfing dolphins of Bahia Inutil'. There are no viewing platforms here, just a couple of bewildered cyclists stood on an empty beach watching the dolphins doing what they do on a Sunday afternoon.

After a slower start from the ferry, the French boys had caught us up again and we all camped together in a canyon out of the wind. It was only after we had put the tents up and started dinner that, whilst looking around for firewood, we found a large number of skulls and bones. Sometimes even whole legs. Presumably the birds had gone to work on the sheep at some point. We thought it would make an interesting picture to put a jawbone on the fire. Never do this. Just as I learned a few moths ago never to extinguish a fire by weeing on it, the smell of burning bones is hard to remove from jackets and hair.
The following day we shooed foxes and sheep from the campsite and re-joined the coastal track heading eastwards. Eventually the bay ran out, taking the beautiful sea views with it, and we were back in endless pampa again. By now we were almost constantly frozen and completely covered in thick gloves, tights and thermal tops.

This is bad for cycling however because as soon as you hit a hill, you overheat and have to peel all the layers off again. You then set off downhill and freeze to death in the wind. After many costume changes, we completed 100km of ripio and eventually reached the borderpost at San Sebastian, where we camped for the night behind the only hostel in the settlement. Despite the doors of the hostel being jauntily plastered in the stickers of touring clubs from all over the world, the owner treated us as if we had just hidden his moustache comb. He came dangerously close to destroying the recent hard work of Puerto Natales and Punta Arenas in making us think that Chileans weren't all humourless and ill-equipped to work in the field of customer services. We slept within sight of the border and Catherine stayed up into the night plotting what foodstuffs she could traffick this time.

The Chilean border guards were typically grumpy and the Argentine guards were typically jolly, full of questions about the ride. The no-man's-land between the two was ruler flat but as we got closer to Argentina, a streak of silver appeared to divide the grass from the sky; the Atlantic ocean was visible for the first time this holiday and it felt amazing to have now crossed the continent from the Pacific to the Atlantic ... albeit at the narrowest point.

Because of the fierce tailwind blowing us southeast, we hurtled along the Atlantic coast at speeds up to 65km/hr, covering 50km before 11:30am. When the road occasionally turns westward however, facing accross the wind, we had to cycle with the bikes on a 60 degree tilt to stay 'upright'. The wind was gusting that day at well over 100km/hr. We ate lunch in the shelter of one of the many oil pipeline stations along the coast, although I still question the boy's decsision to smoke next to the pipes. Tsk ... the French and their Gauloises.

We arrived earlier than expected into Rio Grande and found the road was blocked by a demonstration made up of teachers striking for better pay. They were blocking all traffic in and out of town, although they seemed to have a soft spot for cyclists, and so let us pass with no problems at all. We got talking to one of the spokesmen and his friend and they offered to take us out for the rest of the day, showing us around the town ... and into a few bars. We spent a great afternoon and evening drinking with Paula and César (and Vincent and Pierrick), eventually eating an obscene amount of meat in a parillada restaurant. When we asked César, at 1am, after many beers and more bottles of wine, whether the strike would continue tomorrow, he said: 'It's up to the governement'. We got the feeling that it would depend more on his hangover.

Day 50: Povenir to Bahia Inutil - 49km
Day 51: Bahia Inutil to San Sebastian - 100km
Day 52: San Sebastian to Rio Grande - 96km

Stage 4 - Leg 2: Puerto Natales to Punta Arenas

Inevitably we got up later than planned (Catherine had stayed up late watching Jennifer Aniston romcoms on SkyTV), and when we went down for breakfast we met a couple of French bike tourers. They had begun their journey almost 6 months earlier in Lima, Peru, and they were also about to set off for the south that morning. We left ahead of them as we were sure that they would catch us up, and just as we were revelling in the fact that our walking blisters were painless now that we were back in the saddle, one of my rear drive-side spokes snapped. Two weeks earlier, on the last climb into Villa O'Higgins, my chain had slipped off the largest sprocket and had become tangled in my spokes. The chain had snapped but I hadn't checked to see if there was any damage to the wheel. Looking closer, every spoke had a chunk gouged from it by the chain links and would need replacing. Just as I had the bike upside down, the rear wheel and cassette removed, and spare spokes lying all over the grass by the side of the road, Vincent and Pierrick cycled over the hill covered in heavily sponsored spandex. As luck would have it, they are both mechanics (Vincent is a bike mechanic at a Decathlon store near Lyon - how French), and they made really quick work of trueing the wheel once the spoke was replaced.

We set off together this time, originally because we thought that they would be handy in another spoke crisis, but eventually because (despite being French) they are very nice guys. Today was one of those days where the planets aligned and we really had perfect conditions; a very rare solid concrete road (very hard and very fast), a good tailwind, and virtually no traffic. The lack of traffic meant that we could ride in pairs, and so hardly noticed the 100km go by as we were talking throughout the day. The tailwind even meant that we were cruising at around 35-40km/hr, without pedalling, for long stretches.

We stopped talking occasionally just long enough to notice the rheas running alongside us; huge emu-like birds, about one and a half meters tall roaming the pampa. The birds along this stretch of road were pretty diverse; besides the rheas, we were able to see flamingoes, black geese (sinister / possibly evil), and the ever-present eagles and condors. The latter were always seen leaving the crime scene just before we cycled past more flattened armadilloes and skunks. Seemingly the only land mammals quick enough to escape either the cars or the birds are the beautiful patagonian foxes, looking genetically closer to cats than dogs here. All of these animals live on an increasingly flat plain of grasslands, criss-crossed by fences dividing the land between the sprawling estancias, and punctuated occasionally with twisted trees, blown completely bare of branches on one side by the unrelenting winds. After 100km we stopped at a restaurant in Morro Chico, to ask about camping possibilities nearby Morro Chico is just a collection of 5 or 7 buildings sheltering behind a huge rock protruding from the middle of the plain. Our luck continued when the lady inside said that she had a cabaña on her land that we could stay in for free. It was amazing because it had beds and a log fire, as well as keeping us sheltered from the howling wind. This lady is a new hero of ours because she continued to bring us fresh fire wood throughout the evening to make sure we were comfortable.

The next morning we woke up to another lovely sunrise over the plains, although it quickly clouded over and threathened to rain. The landscape had sucessfully ironed out the previous day's lumps and bumps and we were now cycling through an entirely flat and shelter-less windswept plain. It did at least provide us with the quintissential picture of the remote Patagonian wilderness that I had been hoping to see. Like all beautiful and remote wildernesses throughout the world however, it was carpeted with land mines. This enlivened the search for a suitable wild campsite since the warning signs ran at regular intervals on either side of the road for some distance. With the prospect of a potentially lethal pitch, we drew straws to decide on whether we should press on to complete the full 150km to Punta Arenas. Catherine pulled the short straw and decided that we should go for it. We continued south, now in freezing drizzle and increased traffic (the road joins the main road heading towards Rio Gallegos), until we were suddenly cycling alongside the gunmetal grey Straights of Magellan.

It was great to finally see this famous waterway, separating the mainland from Tierra Del Fuego, although seeing the wind whip the tops off the tall black waves filled us with dread for the crossing; just as famous for re-introducing people to their breakfasts. We continued alongside the water, at shore-level one minute and along cliff-tops the next, until we entered Punta Arenas via the sprawling northern industrial parks, the huge wool factories and docks, and eventually the multicoloured suburbs. We rented a cabaña for the four of us, showered and went straight out for beers and burgers to celebrate the 2nd highest daily kilometer count for all of us; 150km through freezing rain and wind ... but at least we didn't have to worry about popping out for a pee during the night in the middle of a mine field.

Despite arriving a day ahead of schedule, we only had one day in Punta Arenas if we were to catch the most convenient boat for Porvenir on Tierra Del Fuego. We agreed that we would cook for eachother; In the morning Catherine and I forced Vincent and Pierrick to 'enjoy' a full English breakfast complete with fried bread and double helpings of tea. Watching their faces as they ate classic English cuisine was like watching a cat having a bath. In the evening they returned the 'favour' by preparing ratatouille. Joking aside, I think we all did a pretty god job at improving Anglo/French relationships with these meals ... they were bloody fantastic.

I will also be forever in debt to Vincent, who quietly and generously re-built my rear wheel, replacing all of the chain-damaged spokes, whilst I was in the internet café. Nice man.

Day 48: Puerto Natales to Morro Chico - 100km
Day 49: Morro Chico to Punta Arenas - 150km

Stage 4 - Leg1: El Chalten to Puerto Natales

This is the start of the last stage, and the defining factor for this stage is time. We seem to have run out of it. There is still a huge distance to cover (over 1100km) and if we hope to complete the Paine circuit on foot, we just don't have the days left to complete the whole stage by bike. This is a big disappointment for me (not for Catherine, she loves buses), but we both agree that we would rather sacrifice some of the cycling than miss out on the sights and activities of Patagonia. We looked at the map and listened to travellers heading north, and decided that we would travel by bus between El Chalten and Puerto Natales. This is a significant distance (420km) and means that we will unfortunately be unable to complete the 5000km target that we had set out to achieve. It is howvere, supposedly the 'least interesting' section remaining as the route leaves the mountains and glaciers, and instead passes through the flat and featureless pampa. We certainly don't want to miss any of the cycling in Tierra Del Fuego, especially crossing the 'finish line' into Ushuaia.

Leaving El Chalten, the bus took us very quickly to El Calafate, and we immediately appreciate that if we had to miss any section by bike, this was indeed the best bit to miss. There wouldn't have been a great deal to write about.


El Calafate itself is a tourist mecca purely because of it's access to the Perito Merino Glacier, the third largest in Argentina, and the only one with a road driving right past it's nose. Other travellers had been very unkind about Calafate because it seems to exist solely for tourists, and therefore carries all the associated baggage: high prices and no soul. Every cloud has a silver lining however, so with GoreTex shops also come well-stocked bike shops (I needed to replace the head set on my bike), and with the backpacker-budget pizzerias come the 50-flavour heladerias (ice cream parlours); we enjoyed a lovely ice cream from the interestingly named 'Tit Ice Cream' - not very appealing if you think about it.


We felt that we had 'looking at galciers' covered, so we decided to book a 'walking on glaciers' tour. Very expensive but very worth it. The glacier itself is best described in pictures but we spent an amazing day wearing what looked like home-made crampons, tramping about on the ice, past freezing waterfalls, rivers and lagoons, jumping over crevasses, and peering into ice blue holes up to 50m deep. The only downside to the day were the two useless guides that looked like they'd rather be anywhere than on a glacier!? (evidently there is a point where glaciers become tedious) The mood was lifted continually however by the sight of an short fat guy from the States who was even worse at walking in crampons than Catherine. Catherine spent most of the day bent double in fits of laughter as he waddled and slipped about, trying to support himself with a walking pole, looking oddly like Willy Wonka greeting the ticket holders at the gate.
We were actually incredibly lucky with the timing of our trip because, whilst the glacier is advancing continually at the rate of 1.5m per day, shedding a stream of icebergs into the lake, we were just starting our trek, right at the foot of the 80m face, when a chunk the size of a 4-storey building calved into the water next to us. The cracking of the ice followed by the crash into the water was unforgettable.


Another day, another bus, this time to Puerto Natales ... the launch pad for the Torres Del Paine trek. We can't comment on the landscape that we missed out on here because we slept for the entire trip, apart from the tedious border crossing into Chile - the land that fears fruit and veg. Catherine proudly (but illegally) smuggled a tomato and an onion this time.

Not wanting to kick a country whilst it's down, but our experience of Chilean hospitality had left a sour taste in our mouths after the Carretera Austral. Individual Chileans were often lovely but our overall experience definitely lacked the warmth of Argentina. The Chile of southern Patagonia however has proved to be completely different, and Puerto Natales is a perfect example. Whereas the food along the Carretera Austral was often awful, here the choice and quality is amazing. The owners of the residencials are warm and homely and the people you meet on your travels are welcoming of travellers and cyclists in a way that we rarely felt further north. It may have something to do with the blurred line between Argentina and Chile here; there is as distinct animosity between the two countries in the north but here they all live under the unified Patagonian flag, always flying next to their national flag. The only thing the people of Puerto Natales are more proud of than their flag is a 5 mere high prehistoric sloth discovered in a nearby cave. It's image appears everywhere, even replicated in fibre glass, life-size, as you enter town. These are great people.


One of the must-do elements of this trip was to trek the Paine circuit in southern Patagonia. With side trips and extensions, it makes a 145 kilometer trek through amazing mountain scenery, past huge glaciers (still not boring yet), along beautiful forested valleys and glacial lakes. We even trekked by moonlight up to the 'Torres' on the final morning to catch the sunrise from the top which was an amazing experience. During the long days of walking, we saw Vicuñas, Patagonian foxes, Flamingoes, huge woodpeckers (the size of cats), and more face-biting mosquitoes. You will have to either google these animals or visit Patagonia to see them because my skills at photographing wildlife haven't improved. Most of these animals didn't even run away and I still couldn't get a decent picture. Thankfully, glaciers move much slower, and mountains slower still so we have plenty of them. Reading about the walk in any more detail would be even more boring than reading about a bike ride, so I have just uploaded a couple of pictures here and have included a link to a few more on our Flickr page.










One thing we are proud to point out though is that, fitness-wise, the cycling is obviously paying off; we completed the 8 day trek in just five full days, carrying all of our own gear and food (Catherine's bag was so big (and multi-coloured) that it was like trekking with Bertie Bassett). Spot the difference.

There was even a brief moment of 'excitement' when the park ranger told us that a forest fire had been started, and had cut off our exit from the cul-de-sac valley that we were camping in! Thankfully they got it under control within a few hours, although we are beginning to worry that Chile is a bit doomed at the moment.

Returning from the walk we met up again with Joan in Puerto Natales; he had finally succeeded in convincing his boss to let him extend his trip until November(!) so he was leaving Patagonia for a world trip. Our farewell meal together was in the local, and presumably unique(?) Chilean/Zambian fusion restaurant. We finally tried ceviche; raw chunks of fish 'cooked' in lemon juice and red onion, and it was excellent, (the African twist was serving it with coconut milk, chilli and mango). We were invited to stay for a lock-in, so we had another large night on the addictive pisco sours and the restaurant even had their own take on these: mango sours and Chardonnay sours. They were all pretty tasty and, when the owners found out that we had to be up early the following morning to begin cycling to Ushuaia ... all free. Love the (southern Patagonian) Chileans. Cycling tomorrow ... oh dear.