Leonera 5050m

I know what you are thinking:

"I havn't heard Pete Hubbard's dulcet tones in a while."

Well fear not. I have recorded my thoughts as I wandered up Leonera, a 5050m high mountain near Santiago. I headed off alone for 3 nights and had a headache caused by altitude for most of that time. I left the bike with the hostal owner and told him my plans and roughly when to expect me back. I ran out of water and had to melt some muddy snow and drink muddy water for a day and a half too. All the heights I mention in the recordings are wrong (giving a clue to the quality of my map) and I have probably pronounced most of the names wrong too. But hopefully you'll get the general idea. (Fbookers will have to visit the actual post for the recordings I am afraid.)


First message from Laguna Parva (my appologies for the wind noise):


Second message from summit of Cerro Pintor:


Third message from summit of Cerro Leonera (It is actually 5050m and I have forgotten how to say "mountains" somehow. Perhaps because I have been drinking liquid mud for the whole day?):


Fourth message from Camp Piedra Numerada (when I say "run" I mean "cycle"):

Algarrobo to La Serena

I ran out of options for avoiding Ruta 5. So, screaming downhill, I entered Valparaiso the way every other road user does. In town, I found the hostel where I had arranged to meet Ray, a Chinese cyclist who I had crossed paths with on the Carretera Austral. Also in the hostal was a cyclist from the UK called Sam. Together, we went out for a few drinks before Ray headed back to Viña del Mar where he was staying.

Although the hostal was full of friendly travellers, and the town seemed to have a Bohemian feel, it was quite a struggle to find anywhere to get a pint. The first place we tried you couldn´t hear yourself think from a howling Jack White/Kurt Cobain wanabee singing in bad English with a wierd, and huge quantity, of tremelo. The next place we got a beer and a talented trumpeter leaning off a staircase and playing a few jazz tunes.

The next morning Sam and I rode out to Viña to visit the bike shop. It was a nice sunny ride beside the coast. Viña and Valparaiso are really one long conglomeration along the coast. The towns are both built on the sides of several hills. A bit like a huge ampitheatre focusing on the coast. We had a good long chat and a few empanadas and headed back to the hostal. The hostal owner had organised a night of beer, pizza and a "supresa". The surprise turned out to be a guitarist and a singer, they were superb and played a number of songs from Chile and also from other Latin countries.

I had arranged to meet Ray in Viña at noon on Sunday. It would have been like a cowboy showdown if it had not been for the fact that it was at Burger King. Anyway, we "rode out of town".

After a few km we hit the Ruta 5 and, cycling side-by-side on the broad shoulder, we put in a good stint along the motorway. It got dark and we looked for a campsite by headtorch. What we found instead was Fransisco. This Chilean hardnut was fixing a puncture without much success. In the end I gave him my spare tube. In return he took us to Pichicuy where we camped for free in a squalid backyard of one of his mates. I just put up the inner-tent part of my tent as there was not much chance of rain. Fransisco put up his tent. Only it wasn't a tent it was a miniscule bio-bag, a lightweight tent just bigger than a bivvy bag. We took in the town, bought Frank a beer, and watched something dreadful. If you have seen the film "Little Miss Sunshine" you'll have an idea.

Waking up to mist, dew covering the sleeping bag, and the repugnant smell of the "out-house", we packed up double quick and got back on the road. Ray and I headed off a bit faster than our new Chilean amigo and soon had quite a lead over him. We stopped at service stations for either ice-creams, or to clean up in the baños. At one of these stops, I saw Fransico fly past. At nightfall we put on headtorches and racked up a 136km day. We stopped by a sliproad to look for a campsite, and with his roll mat laid out under the bench of a bus stop we discovered Fransisco. Finding a better spot, in a field, we camped.

With strong tailwinds we flew along with blue skies. The landscape was semi-desert now with western movie cactus and shapely arid hills. At sunset, we cooked up dinner in a bus shelter. We had passed a nice looking campsite earlier in the day and regretted carrying on. It was only another 40km to La Serena and, despite the darkness and the 140km we had already done, we considered doing it that night. Fortune prevailed and a campsite appeared advertised from the motorway as only 4km away. We stayed there, getting a good hot shower.

Without breakfast we nailed it to La Serena. On the way, in the busy city traffic, we lost F which was a bit sad as we didn't get a chance to say "Adios!" The city is a university town and beach resort. We found the main plaza and got dirrections to the campsite, but first we got some cheap and nourishing food in a cafe.

Now, Ray is fixing his stove and I am off to sample the delights of the beach. Maybe dip my toes in...

Desde Cobquecura hasta Algarrobo: Carpe Diem!

I press on keeping the sea on my left (the only method of navigation that hasn't let me down). Passing through many seaside resort towns and a few incredible national reserves. Now only a handful of kilometers from Valapariaso where I intend to brown off a little...

A few days ago, I woke up and didn't have the usual bleary-eyed feeling. I leapt out of bed, packed up my tent, downed a coffee and gobbled a cheese sandwich a bit too quick. It was a day for cycling and I got on the road. Cranking uphill, out of the forest, I needed a low gear. Nearing the crest, in blue skies, I was sweating, panting, and enjoying myself. I'd only been awake 30 minutes. I spotted a small shop and drank a bottle of something bright red and fizzy. The road sloped downhill into the distance.

Today was a day for music. Not mellow chillout. Today I needed go-faster-music: Brazilian Drum and Bass! I set of and shifted up to 14, my top gear, and stiffly pushed the pedals round. As I gained momentum, my legs were wizzing round like crazy. Today was not a day for freewheeling with your hands on the brakes. Today was about careering round corners leaning at an alarming angle. Farmland and dotted low shrubs and trees blurred past but I kept my eyes focused on the road. Today was a race. I saw a sign and it informed me, or rather, it challenged me: San Antonio 86km. I did a quick mental sum and realised, yes, it was a race, against the sun. I was in the mood to give it everything. I'd be exhaused by the time I arrived in the town, at sunset, but it would be worth it. I dug in.

There was a slight incline approaching and instead of shifting down I sped right at it in top gear. I kept going until my thighs started to burn and then shifted down, but only to 12. Then back to 14 as soon as it flattened out. I needed higher gears that day. Instead, I turned up the music.


No Excuses

Tomé to Cobquecura

Standing on the furthest point of the spit of sand that pushed out in a bay, I turned to Christian.
"Impossible," I said. We looked at the river, more of a lagoon really, with crashing waves about 30m wide. And, having a track record with rivers, I knew it was out of the question.

The most dissappointing aspect of this was that we (myself and 3 Chilean hardnut cycletourists) had spent a good 2 hours riding our bikes through cow fields, carrying them over fences, and pushing them through loose sand. And now it looked as if we would have to repeat the journey in reverse.

I should have known not to trust these guys as the previous night their "tent" had turned out to be little more that a few bits of tree and some transparent plastic sheets. They did have a guitar, a drum and some shakers. So we built a fire and had a sing-song.

But then we'd continued on our way and realised that the bridge was a 20km detour inland. Nevermind, I thought. But these guys were built of stuborn stuff. When we reached some little yellow fishing boats we considered stealling one, but decided against it.

After pushing the bikes back, tediously, through the sand we found a group of fishermen at the boats. We asked for a lift and they agreed. It took for people to load my bike aboard and then I jumped on and off we went. Two eager Chilean lads did the rowing. Hard work I imagine.

On the other side of the river I hopped off and they went and set their nets before picking up the Chileans. After another 40mins of pushing through san we reached the pitiful excuse for a road. The coastscape here is incredible with amazing little sany coves. The downside is that between each smugglers bay is bookended by a crazy steep descent and crazy steep climb.

We reached Cobquecura and plonked ourselves down in the Plaza de Armas. There were some table-football tables so we had a game or two. Then we saw a poster for a band called "Los Tres", that the Chileans told me were fantastic, playing that night. So we found someone's backyard to camp in. At first 1000 pesos but then the owner liked us so let us stay for free. There were a bunch of kids camping there drinking wine and coke ("jote") and playing loud reggaeton from an SUV that I blocked in with my tent.

Los Tres were interesting. Think Dad Rock: Rolling Stones leaning towards Status Quo with a bit of Chilean folk thrown in for good measure. But the crowd was awesome. They knew, and sang, every word to every song, danced, jumped around, shouted, screamed and this made the atmosphere electric. It was a big gig for a small town and everyone was there from 1o year olds to grandmothers, and they all seemed to be having a whale of a time. It cost 1000 pesos for a ticket but my Chilean friends negociated it down to 800, about 1 pound. Then we went back to the campsite to whip up a bbq and cook some longanisa (sausages) and make sandwiches with them choripan.

Cañete to Tomé: Sergio, a fantastic guy!

Cycling up and down hills in forests. Often overtaken, a little too close, by great long trucks full of tree trunks. I looked for a place to camp between the rows of pines. Then I thought. Screw it, I'll go to Caranilahue. I cycled around a bit and struggled to find a campsite or hospedaje so I asked for dirrections in a bike shop.

Sergio, the shop owner, would have none of it. I was to stay with him, he said. Seriously, what a generous man. He introduced me to his lovely family, gave me food, a shower, internet, washing machine, and a bed for the night. I listened to his son and his friend practising trumpet and viola for a concert the following night. He was constantly thinking of new ways to be generous. And to make me laugh. He had great fun teaching me Chilean slang words: Modismos.

In the morning, after a great breakfast, Sergio insisted we take my bike into the workshop for a tune-up. I began to fix the minor damage to the front brake. I thought I would just bend it back in place, but Sergio replaced the bent part and rebuilt the whole thing. And put new blocks on. Then Paulo, Sergio's assistant, cleaned the whole bike, tuned the brakes, adjusted the chain, plus oiled it, tightened all the bolts, and pumped up the tyres. I tried to pay but he would accept nothing, not even for the parts. Then it was time for a massive lunch of pasta and eggs. Sergio then decided that it was too dangerous for me to cycle to Conception so my bike and all my bags went in his pickup truck and he drove me to his other shop. Then he, his wife Nancy and I, went out for Once, hot-dogs and juice. Again, I tried to pay but he wouldn't have it. He said that I had to come with them to the concert.

Mozart and Beethoven. Fantastic stuff, even if you know nothing about classical music (like me), you'll recognise that great opening to "The 5th". Duh Duh Duh Der. Duh Duh Duh Der...
I was exhuasted by it, and all the clapping, but then we had to go and watch a football match at Sergio's brother's house (on telly!). The match was in a stadium nearby and on the way back we drove past with all the crowd spilling out. Then, I slept in his flat above the shop. In the morning, another huge breakfast and sandwiches for a packed lunch. "Thank you," didn't come close to being enough, but it was all I could say. And to tell him how generous he is: a massive understatement.

I set off out of Conception, overtaking a horse and cart, with a huge grin. Here is an idea. If you see a cyclist, tourist or a backpacker wondering around. Go over and chat. Invite them to your house, feed them and put them up for the night. You´ve got a sofa, right? This world needs more Sergios!! Better yet join Warmshowers.org

He does look a bit like Baldrick....

Pucon to Cañete

There were a few options. The big roads: Ruta 5 in Chile and Ruta 40 in Argentina. Neither really appealed. So instead I headed out to the coast. First beside Lago Villarrica, with Volcan Villarrica behind me I arrived in Villarrica (the town). Next I headed into a westerly wind to Freire and up the motorway (shudder) to Temuco where I stayed in a Hospedaje. Then, further west along the Rio Imperial to Nueva Imperial. Then to Carahue which has an impressive collection of antique steam traction engines.
Soon enough I crossed the river and struck north on a dirt road. I camped beside the road in a forest.

Then. I had one of those mornings when everything conspires against you. Firstly food. I had eaten all the bread, oats and biscuits so the only option for breakfast was to cook on the stove. Which I was too lazy to do. Then, as it was a hot sunny day, I drank all the water double quick. Throughout my thirsty, hungry morning I headed along a hilly forest gravel road in very bad condition. No rivers, no houses and no shops or cafes. On the up hill sections I was slow enough for the horseflies to catch up. They love a sweaty cyclist. Just as good as a horse as far as they are concerned. I will have you know, I'm rather talented at catching and squishing horseflies left-handed. (Horseflies if you are reading this - watch out!). Anyway, I ended up punching myself in the face a few times whilst waving my deadly-horsefly-killers (ok, arms) around.

The only effective relief came from nailing downhill at stupid-km/hour (I don't have a speedo). With the quality of the road (terrible) I should have been more careful, and I ended up hitting a patch of loose gravel and my front wheel, which doesn't have much grip now, went one way, and I went the other. I took a spectacular header. Rolled over a few times. Came to a stop in a crumpled heap. Damage: grazed elbow, grazed wrist and minor bending damage to part of the front brake.

After a few more hours of suffer, sorry, cycling, I reached Tirua and dived into the first cafe for a feast (Cazuela and about 5 bottles of coke). From there I managed to push on as far as the lovely Lago Lleu Lleu (which is just too many vowel sounds for my liking!). I found a great campsite which would have been: 1 pound 90p with cold water showers, a view across the lake, a picnic table and a fire pit. Instead, it was free because the owners were away and they turned the water off. So just the lake, picnic table, and fire to enjoy. Plus the fetid bogs.

This morning, unshowered and ripe, I dived in the lake. Woken up by the cold swim and a couple of coffees I scooted along to Cañate. Coast has its interesting moments but I have been spoiled by Patagonia and the Lake Districts.

Volcán Villarrica

Knowing that I would spend the day today climbing a volcano, and that I had to be at the minibus for 6.30am, I got an early night. Trouble was the neighbours didn't. Got about 4 hours sleep before the alarm clock beeped.

So, a little bleary-eyed, I bundled into the minibus with the other punters (mostly Israelis). Then the choice: walk up to the top of the ski lifts or pay 5000 to go up the lift. It was a fine walk.

The climb up was generally a snowplod in perfect conditions. Neither crampons or ice-axe were really necessary and the guide didn't really add much either. At the top we messed around taking silly photos, ate some food, looked as deep as we dared into the crater, and enjoyed the stunning views, especially of the other nearby volcanos Lanín and Llaima. Then we slid back down on our bums.

San Martin to Pucon

I was hoping to find a guide to climb Volcan Lanin in Junin de los Andes but everything was shut between 1pm and 5pm. I arrived at 1.10pm and I didn't want to waste that much of the day there as it was a fairly grim spot. I did however stop at a roadside cafe and have a platefull of empanadas which are a great snack food for cycling.

Then I pushed on as far as the Chilean border for my 5th border crossing. Along the way the road returned to probably the worst quality gravel road so far. However it was hard to be distracted because I was cycling through amazing forests of Monkey Puzzle trees and Volcan Lanin was looming larger as I pressed on. As this was a national park there were heaps of signs everywhere saying NO CAMPING so I was keen to find a very discrete spot to camp. It grew darker and still I didn't find anywhere and then the forests disappeared to an area of low bushes. When I reached the border at dusk there was a campsite and I stayed there. As I turned up a Mapuche man had a grill going with a few sausages left on it. He sold me one in a sandwich and then I pitched my tent in the dark and slept.

The next morning I felt a bit lathargic and had some unpleasant bowel movements. Nevertheless, I pressed on. It was one of the hottest days so far. In fact rather too hot for cycling as I am not used to the heat yet. I stopped for a long lunch at a roadside cafe. Then continued along a road that is in the process of being paved. Whilst this process goes on it is in terrible condition with perilous loose gravel and sand. By the time I reached Cararrehue it was about the hottest time of day and I was exhausted and thirsty. I bought a litre of fizzy orange in a shop and colapsed on my back on the concrete and poured it down my throat. Despite only being halfway through the afternoon I decided to camp there. I asked a kid if there was a campsite and he said he would take me. I set about following him and asked how much the campsite cost. He said 500 pesos which is about 60p and much less than any campsite I have ever been to. Well, he just led me to the football pitch, near the river and asked for his 500. I had to laugh at that and paid up and camped in a really nice spot. Still feeling a bit iffy I just ate bread and jam for supper and read a little of my book before sleeping.

Today, I made a relaxing cycle to Pucón being constantly overtaken by racing cyclists. As I reached Pucón I saw many runners too. "Wow," I thought, "What a sporty town!" Then I saw a poster: Domingo Iron Man de Pucón. I'd love to stay and watch but not sure I can justify staying here for another 4 days. So, I am installed in a campsite here and I have just registered for a guided trip up Volcan Villarrica tomorrow. Should be fun. Watch this space!!!

Swimming Lessons

This post focuses on some close shaves. So, I suppose it is appropriate to begin it by announcing that after over 70 days of trying I have abandoned my facial hair experiment and shaved the pathetic beard away. Damn it feels good. I will warn you now that this might all get a bit dramatic later but, if you are of a nervous disposition, don´t worry. The only damage was a bruised hip, cuts and bruises on my shins, a sore knee and a soggy camera.

Puerto Montt tried to do me in. Twice. I won't hold that against it. However, it is an ugly port town. Makes Portsmouth look like Venice.

The first attempt on my life came with my arrival into the town. I was overtaking a row of cars down a steep hill when my front wheel hit a patch of oily water and slipped from under me. Bike and I slid our separate ways. Damage: bruised hip.

The second failed assassination occurred when I was on foot. I was looking in shop windows, hoping to find something tasty to eat, and fell (cartoon style) into a man hole. I was held up by my shins and swayed back and forth like a punch bag. Damage: cuts and bruises on both shins.

Having escaped with my life I made for Puerto Vargas. Why, oh why, hadn't I stayed here instead? It was a delightful lake side town 20km further. As I poodled along the side of Lago Llanquihue I wondered, among other things, how to pronounce that name, whether Volcán Orsorno would come out of the clouds, and whether there would be somewhere to eat soon. Answers: Yankeeoeh, yes(!!!), and yes(!!!). Volcan Orsorno is a beautiful volcano, very similar to what a child would draw if you asked him, except without red and orange crayon lava flying out the top. Its best enjoyed drinking a huge glass of fresh raspberry juice and eating a giant hamburger. I cycled past it mesmorised.

Then, I took a road that looked to me like (but wasn´t) the road to Entre Lagos. After 20km I camped by the side of the road, ate some bread rolls and listened to a dog bark at my tent for over an hour.

In the morning I packed, in gorgeous sunshine, and continued on my way. The gravel road was fine for another 20km but then started to narrow. Then there was a bridge in very poor condition. Then there were some very boulder strewn parts of the road. Soon I began to deduce that this road wasn´t particularly popular with cars. The scenery, of forested mountains, was wonderful and there seemed to be a few farm buildings here and there. Then I reached some very large puddles and took exceptionally pedantic measures to keep dry feet (Ha!). Then, with grass growing out of the middle of the road, I nailed it down a huge steep hill which ended up going straight into a wide river.

At first, it seemed that the river was wide but not particularly deep. I wheeled out the bike a bit, but then decided it was too deep for my boots. Back on the bank, I took off boots and socks, and changed out of trousers into shorts. Barefoot, I started to cross the river in shallow, but icy cold, water. About three-quarters of the way across, I realised that it was starting to get a good deal deeper. The current was pushing into the bike and, up to my waist in water, I was struggling to stand up and pull the bike. Then, as my panniers are watertight, the bike became afloat. Shortly afterwards, trying to hold on, I too lost my footing on the riverbed. Holding on to the bike with one hand, and attempting a little of the old one-armed-doggy-paddle with the other we rushed down stream perilously fast towards some rapids. I managed to get a footing and heaved myself and the bike up on some rocks. In seconds we were about 100m downstream from the road (if you can call it that!).

Now in shade, I began to shiver. My feet were especially cold, so I wrung out my socks, and poured out the water from my boots and put them on. Then, I had to take off the panniers and scramble over the rocks to the road with them, and then go back for the bike. Damage: bruised knee. Camera was in my pocket and got a good soaking (I hadn't expected the water to come above my knees) and won´t switch on. Hopefully it will work once it dries out.

After that I faced another 10km of terrible road, not even gravel now just mud. But us Hubbard's are built of stern stuff: so I headed on. In the end I reached a meadow with a few cows grazing in it. The road just ended. Dead end. A Chileno appeared, out of the woodwork, and I asked him if the "road" led through to Entre Lagos. He said, "You have to go that way," and pointed in the way I had just come.

"But you will need a horse. It cannot be done on a bicycle," he advised. Then he added helpfully, "There is no bridge over the river."

So I retraced my tracks, dreading another river crossing. This time I took the bike and panniers separately. In fact I took the panniers in two goes. In total I crossed the river 6 times. I followed the same route I had come back to the paved road and found the correct turn off in another 10km. In total I had put in more than 100km of detour. Been totally lost. But I had seen some awesome views of the two volcanoes in this region and had a great adventure (and I didn´t drown or loose my bike and all my stuff down some rapids...

Later, on the right road, I med a Switz called Chris and we cycled together chatting and then arrived in Entre Lagos and found a beautiful lake side campsite. Now I´m off to get us a beer to share...

Chiloe so far...

Arriving in Quellon fresh off the boat from Chaiten was a bit of a shock. Despite only being small writing on the map it was bigger than any town I've been to sinse Punta Arenas. I took it slowly along to Chonchi. The whole way along there were houses by the road or barbwired farmland. There are gently rolling hills but that's not a problem if you've got the Carretera Austral still in your legs. Chonchi is a delightful little fishing port with colourful buildings. I walked into a shop and bought a bottle of fruit juice and asked if there was a campsite.
"Yeah," the shop owner said, "Juan Carlos´s house." He said it as if everyone knew that.
The selfsame Juan Carlos was a funny little character with a beard that made him look a bit like a leprichorn. The campsite, in his back garden, was a nice enough spot and I met an american couple of cyclists heading south.

From Chonchi it was a short 20km hop to Castro, the capital of the Island, where I am now. I headed out last night in the hope of finding some traditional Chiloe folk music but first I went for a pizza. Whilst getting my bill a pair of Brazillian brothers and a German guy asked if I wanted to join them for a drink. We had a couple of beers and the one brother, Rodrigo, kept getting extra chairs and inviting Chilean girls to come and join us. Good spanich practise. Then we all climbed into taxis to go to a nightclub a few miles from the town.

The place was thumping out Reggaeton: sort of a beat heavy mixture of Dancehall with Merengue which origionates from Puerto Rico. There is also definately a hip-hop and R&B influence to Reggaeton with many a Beyonce remix with a gravel voiced rap interlude (what I think of as urban music's equivalent of the guitar solo). All reggaeton songs have the same drum beat which, depending on your viewpoint, is either infectious or infuriating. In short, reggaeton is pretty dreadful. Nevertheless it is very popular across Latin America and also seems to have a growing toehold in the USA and Europe. I think the reason is that it has a strong beat to dance to.

And dance I did. Although, because I was wearing hiking boots, I was unable to unleash the finest moves held in my reportoire. Well, that's my excuse. Later, having sampled the dangerous chilean poison Pisco Sour and its partner in crime Piscola, I walked home, getting fairly lost in the middle of some farmland when I attempted to take a shortcut. I arrived back at the Hospedaje Bellavista just as dawn was breaking and found the front door locked. I rang the bell but when there was no answer I tried pushing one of the windows open. I managed to slide it open enough to climb inside but there were a range of little orniments balanced on the window sill. So, whilst balancing tentitively on the window ledge I had to move them all out of the way. I spent the morning comatosed.

Chaiten

(Note for Facebookers: There is a flickr slideshow of my photos from Chaiten that can be seen on the blog or here.)

From the 30th April 2008, Chaiten, a port town towards the north of Patagonia (and for me the end of the Carretera Austral), was hit by a series of low and medium intensity earthquakes. The 7000, or so, people of the town began to worry. At half past midnight on the 2nd May 2008, their worries were validated. A loud bang jolted them awake and they felt, and saw against the night sky, Volcan Chaiten erupt. The volcano, thought to be extinct, was 10km from the town and the plume could be seen 180km away. The water supply to the town was soon cut off to prevent poisoning. The largest evacuation in Chilean history, involving navy ships, left about 1000 people in the town that night. On the 6th May there was a secondary erruption and by that night there were only 20. The rivers filled with ash and the town was flooded. A new branch of the river formed and wiped away hundreds of houses. Of the houses left, many are severly damaged by the mounds of ash.

Now, 20 months later, Chaiten is a ghost town. But people do live there. About 150. A few supermarkets are open. A few hospedajes and a few restuarants. A man I spoke to said, for the first 6 months after coming back he had not unpacked, just in case he had to go again at short notice. The government have now decided that Chaiten will not be rebuilt and instead Santa Barbara, about 6km away, will be expanded to replace the town. As yet no new houses have been built in the region.

On a miserable grey morning exploring the town, feeling self-conscious, I took photos of the destruction and graffiti. Here are some examples with my attempts at translations. (Spanish speakers, please help or correct me as necessary.)

EL GOBIERNO NOS NIEGA LA LUZ Y EL AGUA. AQUI ESTAMOS HACIENDO PATRIA.
The government refuses us light and water. We are making our homeland here.
CHAITEN NO MORIDA. VOLVEREMOS.
Chaiten is not dead. We will return.
ZONA 0. CERO LUZ. CERO AGUA. CERO APOYO.
Zero Zone. Zero light. Zero water. Zero support.
SI EL GOBIERNO STANARVAEZ HUBIESE PUESTO AGUA!!! MI HOGAR EXISTIRIA 30 ANOS BE ESFLERZO
[Sorry, this is beyond my translations skills.]
ESTA PROPIEDAD NO SE VENDE AL FISCO NI A PARTICULARES
This property is not for sale [not sure about the "al fisco" bit.]
CHAITEN NO MORIA SEGURIREMOS CONSTRUYENDO. PATRIA AL SUR DEL MUNDO, POR ESO EXIGIMOS. CAMINO CHILE, AHORA!!!
Chaiten will not die, we will keep rebuilding. Our homeland is in the south of the world and for this we demand a Road of Chile now. [This refers to a proposed extention of the Carretera Austral through Pulmin Park which has shelved since it gained sanctuary status.]
RECONSTRUCCION CHAITEN VIVE!!
Reconstruction. Chaiten lives.
VIEJO PASCUERO: EN ESTA NAVIDAD TE PIDO LA LUZ Y EL AGUA. CHAITEN VIVE!
Fater Christmas: for this christmas I ask for light and water. Chaiten lives.
NO ROBEN. Don't rob us.
LADRON: ERES UN HIJO DE PERRA
Thief: you are a son of a female dog.
OYE LADRON ERES UN ZANGANO Y CANALLA. AHORA ESPERA EL CASTIGO DE DIOS. PUTRETE!
Listen thief. you are a [not in my dictionary] and a swine. now wait for the punishment from God. Rot in hell! [literally: putrify]
Finally, I saw this at the Church, on the banner the "malos politicos" bit has been cut out. Maybe by the police :
SENOR, PROTEGENOS DEL VOLCAN, DEL RIO Y DE LOS MALOS POLITICOS. AMEN.
Lord, protect us from the volcano, from the river and from the bad politicians. Amen.

As it lashed down with rain I headed towards the sound of a generator, and sure enough, found a supermarket. I bought a packet of biscuits and was munching away when a minibus came along. They were heading up to visit the Volcano and wondered if I wanted to come along. I said I didn't really have the money and the tour guide asked, "What else are you going to do? Sulk around here?"

So we drove along the last section of the CA and into Pumalin Park (officially trespassing as it is now closed to the public). We drove across a part of the road that has been widened as a makeshift airstrip. A cartoony cherry-picker control tower, made everyone chuckle. As we drove, the sky cleared up a bit and we had a sight of the decimated forrests. Our guide pointed out that the giant rubarb plant I have seen everywhere is edible, even raw. We came to a point were the road is destroyed and stopped. From here we had to walk. The first thing I did was get some giant rubarb and eat it. Its disgusting just so you know. The road was split into several sections by landslides and rivers was strewn with volcanic rocks. Lumps of glassy black Obsidian were everywhere along with the solidifyed white frothy lava: pumice stones. After crossing and recrossing the newly appeared river, we reached a view point for the volcano and waited patiently for the clouds to part.

While we waited, I asked our guide about the Pumalin Park. The area, which has a unique ecology, has abundant mineral wealth and so industrialists wish to exploit this and also develop forrestry. This is one of the primary reasons to extend the Carretera Austral: to better facilitate the industrialisation. The granting of sanctuary status has forestalled this threat for the moment. I also asked about Chaiten and tried to peice together the events of the eruption. I asked about insurance. People were fighting in the courts but many companies refused to pay out. Many people did not have home insurance. Also many complex issues. The town people had to fight in the courts to have the river properly levvied. On the way back from the volcano we stopped off at Santa Barbara which is a lovely little secluded beach, over shaddowed by a forrested hill called Vilcun. I tried to imagine it growing to the size of Chaiten. The guide, Nicolas, pulled out a charango and played a few songs, including one he had written about the beach, and "Don't worry about a thing" the Bob Marley tune. Later, in the back of his van, I made a lovely recording of a traditional andean song called "Dos Palomas".

I went for dinner in a place called Turco, one of the few open. Miranda and Pete, who'd also come up to the volcano, were there so I joined them for a good chat, a few beers (luke warm as fridges don't work) and a big plate of fried salmon. They are a pair of teachers working in Columbia and very friendly. Despite my protest, they paid for dinner. (Thankyou very much guys!) Feeling very happy and content (full stomach, faith in human kindness) I walked back to the Don Carlos Hospedaje in starlight (street lights don't work).

Coyhaique to Puyuhuapi

Off to work with a chainsaw and some bulls.

From one barely pronoucably named town to the next, eh? Having said goodbyes to the Christmas crowd, I headed out into the rain and, climbing uphill out of Coyhaique, Brett wizzed by in a pickup truck he'd hitched a ride with. I pushed on. Endless rain and cloud obscured the mountian views but fortunately the waterfalls, which are incredible, were full to bursting with vast quantities of the wet stuff. It almost made me want to strip off and film a rudimentry Timotei shampoo advert.

I failed to reach Manihuales because the lights went off and I camped by the side of the road. In the morning, as I was packing my tent up a couple from Switzerland cycled by and had a chat. They've been on the road for 2 and a half years crossing europe and asia to reach Japan and then flew to Mexico and cycled down here. Epic. In Manihuales I had some coffee and cake and in a few hours time caught up with Moni and Thorsten. We got wet together as the weather continued to throw water down on us. Eventually we stayed in a lovely Hospedaje in Villa Armengual. But first we watched a man off to work with a chainsaw over his shoulder and two giant bulls harnessed together.

In the morning it was still raining and I decided to put in a big day and reach Puyuhuapi. The first obstacle was a mountain pass on a narrow and steep gravel road. Through what looked like forests of giant rhubarb, I hairpinned my way upward and then, in a crazily dangerous way, spiralled my way down. I reached Puyuhuapi and set up in a lovely campsite with canopies for the rain and a wood burning stove to cook on (if you have infinite patience) or dry your socks.

HAPPY CHRISTMAS!!!!

Brett and I woke up at 5:30am, in the pouring rain, to get to the ferry port at Chile Chico in time. We waited, getting soggier, whilst everyone else got on the ferry but we were made to wait till last. Cycle prejudice is rife. Inside the ferry was crazily crowded so we squeezed ourselves in to a cafeteria to eat breakfast of oats and yoghurt and coffee. I headed off from Puerto Ibanez with the rain still lashing down, selected a low gear and started climbing. I left Brett faffing about with getting warmer clothes out of his panniers.

I bumped into Monica and Thorsten again at the junction with Ruta 7, where the tarred road snakes its way up to a 1100m pass. We had a bit of lunch sat in a bus stop shelter and continued up the hairpins. Thorsten and I had a good chat and, once we got to the top, took some photos in the snow. (White xmas!) When Monica caught up we continued in sleet and then snow.

As we sped down hill the sky cleared and huge mountains loomed over the road. Fantastic views waited around each bend of forests, lakes and fast flowing rivers. Probably some of the most dramatic scenery of the trip so far. Another uphill bump and the scenery changed again turning into rolling green hills and farmland. Not unlike Hampshire believe it or not. However, a headwind picked up and, after I stopped for a few biscuits, M&T caught up. We camped in El Blanco beside the confluence of two rivers and ate pasta, cheese, chocolate, walnuts and cake (not all together (or necessarily in that order)).

Today, Christmas Eve, began with filthy wet weather and a biting cold headwind. The big mittens made their first outing of the trip. Fortunately it was only a short 33kms to Coyhaique, where I soon found Brett, the campsite and, later, Michael. So there is quite a crowd of us now. I think Monika plans to cook a traditional German xmas dinner tonight which should be nice. Crimbo Vino is bubbling much slower so fingers crossed it will be drinkable tomorrow. Planning to have Boxing Day here too (to recuperate).

Hope you all have a fantastic Christmas time and all the best for 2010!!! Stay tuned for my New Year's Resolutions...

Cochrane to Chile Chico: Salchicha the dog

Rolled out of Cochrane and put in a shortish day to Puerto Bertrand. Rear tyre blewout and I had to bodge a fix with duct tape. There I met a dog that looked suprisingly similar to one I had seen in Cochrane. But I thought nothing of it. However, as I attempted to make chapatis and read my book the crazy little dog kept pestering me. She followed me when I moved up to a campsite and met up with Bret for a dinner containing both rice and pasta. Bret gave me his spare tyre which looks excellent. After a good dinner, good hot shower, good coffee I hit the sack. The dog slept next to my tent.

In the morning, we breakfasted on porridge, coffee, leftovers and stupid jokes. Then I left before Brett as he was buggering around packing and he wanted to take it slow because he's picked up a little knee problem. As I rode out of town (I love saying that, it feels like I'm a cowboy!!) the dog followed me. I call her Salchicha - stupid name for stupid animal. I tried my best to persuade her to go away but she followed me for 65kms. She could run up hills faster than me and could catch up in a few minutes after I had nailed downhill. She had a great time chasing after other dogs, rabbits and birds. Eventually she decided that a campsite where there were people cooking on a bbq was a better chance of finding a generous human (I refused to feed her).

Today I met up with the German couple Monica and Thorsen who told me that Salchicha followed them from Cochrane to Puerto Bertrand. So in the last 3 days she has covered over 115kms!! Cycled on with M&T to Chile Chico a delightful little lake side town.

Only a 1100m pass between me and Christmas in Coyaique. Strawberry wine is coming along nicely fermenting all over the place. I have to unscrew the cap every hour to let the gas out. Will meet up with M&T and Brett. Not sure if Michael (nick named by Brett as "Iron Mike") will make it as he's still in Cochrane, but should be a good crowd anyway.

Tortel to Cochrane

At Tortel I loaded up on supplies. This involved knocking politely on what looked just like someones house, only I had spied shelves of food through the window, and then asking in my finest spanish for oats, chocolate and one of each flavour of biscuits. To get bread I had to go to another house and knock on the window. The woman inside delved into a huge sack and brought out 6 homemade rolls for 10p each.

Biscuits and chocolate have a short shelf-life in my panniers and were, of course, devoured before the end of the day. As is the usual fashion hereabouts the road was in a dire pot-holed, washboarded, gravely and hilly state and there was a head wind. Nevertheless the sun shone all day and as the light faded I found a nice spot off the road and under some trees to pitch the tent with a mountain veiw and a river nearby.

The next day I set off hoping to make it to Cochrane and when I passed a lovely cycling couple from Belgium they confirmed it was 65kms so I had a sporting chance of getting there before nightfall. Being about the time of day we decided to retire to the dining room for lunchoen together. By which I mean we sat on the dirt and ate cheese sandwiches.

After a good chat and feed I hit the road again but changed my plan when, 15kms outside Cochrane, I chanced upon Lago Ezmeralda. It was a beautiful spot so I decided to camp there and save a nights camping fee in Cochrane.

Cochrane is a little bigger than Villa O'Higgins, the internet a fraction faster, and it has a nice feel about it. There is a supermarket which is ideal if you need to pop out and pick up some cereal, milk, an outboard motor, a chainsaw and some plastic toys. Truely everything you might ever need is on sale.

Brett arrived and we bought some steaks to bbq. Also, led astray, I bought some lavadura and some strawberry juice with which I intend to concoct a "special" christmas vino. Wish me luck!

Chalten to Caleta Tortel

I have been through quite a bit since I last posted but not come across a decent internet connection. Incredibly, it seems to be quite good in this tiny village, Caleta Tortel, in a seaside cove, made entirely of wooden houses with boardwalks and wooden staircases connecting them. extrodinary. Its been tough going getting here. From Chalten to Lago Desierto was a nice enough gravel track and on the way I met up with a South African guy called Bret who likes to eat and drink. After getting the ferry across Lago Desierto we camped with a Switz guy called Michael. The next day was a grueling one. If you wanted you could hire a horse for US$30 but us Hubbards are made of sterner stuff. The bike had to be pushed up steep and deeply rutted horse tracks for 10km before coming down a heavily potholed and steep gravel track.

The campsite was stunning, looking out over the turquoise waters of Lago O'Higgins and the surrounding mountains. We spent a day looking at it, reading books and tinkering with bikes while we waited for the ferry to turn up. The 4pm ferry arrived at 8pm and took us across Lago O'Higgins (bit Irish sounding,eh?). By the time we got to the other side, after watching a great sunset, it was dark and the 7km in to Villa O'Higgins had to be made by head torch.

I decided to get going after stocking up on supplies in VOH. Not many shops open as it was a Sunday and election weekend, and I couldn't face another day sat around scratching my bum. It was good to get moving on the bike, but hard work. The gravel road here is tough going with many potholes and washboard tracks, not to mention the hills and winds (they're normal now!). Scenery is stunning to the point that there is no need to listen to ipod, or even think much, you just look around and soak it all in.

Puerto Natales to Torres del Paine

Thanks everyone for the birthday messages. I had a lovely time at a mountain Refuggio quaffing wine, spining yarns, eating cottage pie with egg and cheese and sleeping like a log in my tent despite 70mph winds. The next morning I poked my head out of the flap at sunrise to see a reddish glow on the torres before going back to sleep with a hangover. I´ve now hiked most of the W route and am now considering making it into a loop. Cuernas and Torres were spectacular, tomorrow I hike up to the Grey Glacier. Loads of cool people on the trail. Brits, Yanks, Israilis, French, Belgium, Spanish, Swedish to name but a few. Good for company and conversation.

Route from Puerto Natales to Torres del Paine national park was a bit windy and a gravel road most of the way. Met a switz guy who cycled from Alaska at a cafe in Cero Castillo.

Bad news is my camera screen broke and I now have no idea what will happen. Nevertheless, I still take photos blindly and hope for the best. I think I will buy on in Calafate as a birthday pressie.

Also, sorry to anyone who got a spam e-mail. Don´t know what that is about.