Cycling towards inner peace in Patagonia

Flying over the Andes during the final approach to Santiago is something. The orographic vertebrae of South America occupy an area 18 times larger than the Alps, almost four times larger than the Rocky Mountains, and three and a half times larger than the Himalayas. They emerge in the north of the continent, between Colombia and Venezuela, sweep the entire Pacific coast and disappear into the depths of Tierra del Fuego. Throughout its 9,000 km, the Carretera Austral slides through the subtropical forests, meadows, glaciers, lakes and arid landscapes of Chilean Patagonia, accumulating a distance of 1,240 km, almost as long as Italy, of roads on its unpaved which make it the ideal destination for cyclists with an appetite for adventure.

I am a Spanish writer and creative director turned amateur athlete at the age of 30. Although I am a recent, and fervent, cycling convert, the truth is that I did not have a serious bike until the summer of 2020. The committed relationship with his bike of my Trastevere-born travel companion is also post-pandemic: Flavio, a forest conservationist and Instagram heartthrob (@flaviohikes), discovered an unexpected escape from the strict Italian lockdowns by temporarily becoming a cyclist in his hometown. The same bicycle that he used to pedal through the empty and cobbled streets of Rome during those months is the one that has been brought to Chile, a country that had always spoken to both of us for its famous virgin nature.

The logistics were not daunting: services to Santiago operate daily from various European hubs and twice a day from Madrid. From there, a two-hour domestic flight took us to Puerto Montt, the unflattering hometown of the Carretera Austral. From Puerto Montt we headed south, following the signs for Ruta 7, the official name for the Carretera Austral, to Chaitén, Coyhaique, Puerto Río Tranquilo, Cochrane and finally Villa O’Higgins, our coveted border destination. between Chile and Argentina This north-south approach is supposed to be the most convenient due to wind patterns and ground elevation; but that did not save us from heavy rain, scorching sun and, approaching Cerro Castillo, the most powerful gusts of wind we have experienced as cyclists.

Our original 16-day adventure was reduced to 12, due to a time change, so we cycled an average of 100 km per day accumulating, according to Garmin, a total elevation gain of 15,226 m. “Running through Patagonia is a waste of time,” read a bumper sticker on the back of a dusty pickup truck. So we didn’t; we just picked up our pace a bit.

We longed for the company of others, but only a few passed

The truth is that the Carretera Austral can be completed by anyone with a certain physical aptitude, innate determination and, above all, time to break it into smaller pieces. We quickly established a daily routine: breakfast at 8 am, followed by two hours of preparation to start riding the bikes before 10; lunch somewhere picturesque after completing two thirds of our planned distance, followed by a quick nap under a tree and back in our saddles until we reach our destination, usually in time for an early dinner.

Less than 30 years old, the Carretera Austral was originally built to avoid aspirations of Argentine hegemony on both sides of the Andes, and it remains the main artery of Chilean Patagonia. Your first few miles, outside of the chaotic streets of Puerto Montt, are lined with restaurants and convenience stores that may fool you into thinking the trip won’t be so adventurous after all. But the further south you travel, the wilder it gets, until mobile reception becomes rare and a handful of houses gather in small towns only every 100km or so.

We had a first idea of ​​what was to come after disembarking the ferry that took us from Hornopirén, along the colder fjords with their towering conifers and beeches, towards the warmer and more humid Valdivian forests of Caleta Gonzalo. These sit on the northwestern edge of Parque Pumalín, Chile’s largest nature reserve, created by the late North Face founder Douglas Tompkins and his wife Kristine, former CEO of the outdoor activities brand. Patagonia. Behind the fence that flanks both sides of the dirt road that leads to Chaitén and Villa Santa Lucía, the dense foliage of the beautiful nalca, whose leaves resemble a giant hogweed, and the Jurassic-looking Fitzroya cypresses quickly devour any trace of humanity.

Initially, we hoped to combine the camp with some remote eco-friendly five-star hotels. That didn’t happen. Flavio and I were so committed to our bikes and our spirit, that hiring a tour operator, taking a shuttle, or even hitchhiking to get to one of the more luxurious properties would have felt like cheating. This narrowed our lodging options to what was available on the route itself, which one night included a makeshift camp on a small beach on Lake Bertrand, directly across the water from one of the monumental glaciers of San Rafael Lagoon National Park. Most of the time we stayed in a variety of humble but impeccably clean bed and breakfasts, which served as a reminder that hospitality comes down to the warmth of human connection, not the number of Egyptian cotton threads.

We all do our best in our daily lives trying to be present and in the moment. Physical challenges like this force us to do it; of carefully folding a windbreaker so that it fits in the side pocket of a full backpack to riding a bike against merciless headwinds, each day was a continuous sequence of tasks that required our focus or our strength, or both. At the same time, the Carretera Austral provides a sense of belonging shared with other travelers. There was, for example, the Chilean family, driving their Toyota from the Atacama desert in the north, who allowed us to cook our noodles on their stove after we ran out of gas in Puerto Yungay. And the young woman herself decided to reach Ushuaia on foot from Mexico City, in an effort to raise awareness about the link between a sedentary lifestyle and today’s most common diseases. And the jolly Greek-British couple, former schoolteachers who have been on their bikes for the past two years. With each meeting, a mutual and sincere respect and admiration, based mainly on common effort, but also on the recognition of a peculiar wiring that we share: the hunger for the outdoors and a new adventure.

Yogis boast of finding answers to life’s transcendental questions on their mats. I like to think that we cyclists run into them somewhere in the tunnel vision between our handlebars and the road. It’s usually a cathartic moment that, at least in my case, comes with teary eyes. I had one of those epiphanies after a steep 5km long climb up a dirt road, followed by a smooth 20km long paved descent, with not a car in sight. It was just us against a backdrop of snow-capped peaks and a series of spectacular waterfalls making their way down into the valley. It was pure reward after an arduous effort and a simple lesson: that a brutal climb will always be followed by a descent. In cycling as in life.