La Serena Beach Jazz

Some photos from a fantastic free jazz concert on the beach in La Serena. Flash just made everything look like white ghosts so I have embraced the blur!

The first group was a five piece with piano, guitar, bass, drums and a frontman who sang and played flute and saxophone. They were all super tallented but the frontman was particularly gifted and spiralled off on outrageous solos. The obese guitarist "Piqueño" was great too, with tight question and answer sections with the pianist. Sometimes his solos verged on metal. The bassist, who looked like a physics teacher, was the only one not to play a solo.

And who could blame him because the next act "Bass" was comprised off three bass guitarists. The sat down to tune their basses and out of the melé their first song emerged. The set continued with an appropriately unusual mixture of ambient, jazz, funk, experimental, world, and even some Chilean folk. A typical song sounded like hearing 3 ten minute long bass solos played simultaneously. But not nearly so bad as that sounds. The Maestro played a solo piece which thumped, rolled and widdled. The uber-tallented-one played a mind-boggler, just as much of a technical feat as a musical one. Then they regrouped in a sloppy way to finish on a crescendo.

The last group of the night where a nine piece with drums, purcussion, guitar, bass, sax, flute, trumpet, trombone, and a wierd brass instument I didn't recognise that sounds like a big trumpet. They played an afro-latin sort of style and also some bluesier numbers that sounded like a latin version of the band from Blues Brothers.

All in all a great night on the beach!

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...

Bicycle Repair Man: Classic Python's Sketch

I love the way it mocks the lazily written Superman scripts. Especially the bit about international communism at the end.

RTW Argy-Bargy

A little more about circumnavigations, following on from my History Lesson.

Firstly, the frankly odd world of RTW cycling worldt record.

A record was "set" by a man with the faintly unbelievable name of Steve Strange back in the heady days of 2005. He did 277 days. Mark Beaumont (yeah? Scottish guy. You saw him on a phone advert) managed 194 days. Then a bloke called James Bowthorpe, using a bike with a belt instead of a chain managed it 20 days quicker. Then a bit of a angry-young-man, called Julian, appeared on the scene and did it even faster: 165 days. Although it all still seems a bit unsettled at the moment...

This Julian chap has a bit of an axe to grind with Mark Beaumont which gets a bit heated, odd and, well, unreadable by the end (I skipped to the more interesting bit: the comments).

My thoughts on the matter are that it is slightly silly (which I like!) to turn the world into a race track. Because of that, the "contenders " have had to conjour up "sensible" motivations: Mark wanted fame, a tv series, book, and a springboard to his next adventure. James wanted to raise money for Parkinson's desease, and Julian wanted to moan about Mark, the world and everything. I think there is still a lot of leeway left in the record and I wouldn't be suprised to see several more attempts. Perhaps by retired proffessional cyclists?

Regardless, at the moment I wouldn't dream of going as fast as those guys (around 120 miles a day) because if I did I would miss out on so much good stuff. More fun is to get involved with local events off the beaten track, to go off on adventurous side trips (very slow going on gravel or bad roads usually) and just spend time chatting with people you meet.

On a more positive note, Vin Cox (with a name like that the record is practically in the bag) will set off on his record attempt today (7th February 2010). His route is more adventurous than the ones to date taking on as it does Africa and South America. However, his choice of name for his expedition leaves a lot to be desired: The Great Bike Ride. In 2012 he plans to organise the first ever round the world race. I've got to tell you: I'm interested!

Ok, next there is the controversy over the Human-Powered RTW record. (Which I am interested in as a possible future expedition!!!) Colin Angus has basically done it, but not to Guinness guidelines... Jason Lewis too. Here are the guidelines. Here is a bit of Colin's website. Even if someone does it to the guidelines, it would still be a great trip, possibly even worth trying to do it faster or longer!

Cazuela Recipe

Cazuela is, as far as I can make out, a cross between a soup and a roast dinner. In fact, it's a bit like a roast dinner tipped into a soup. Its a simple dish you can find throughout Chile. I like it.

Calzuela has a piece of meat (usually chicken or beef on the bone), then there is a potato, a sweet potato, some other vegetables and a piece of sweetcorn. I'm not sure how you are tradditionally supposed to eat it. I usually use a spoon to drink the soup and then attack the rest with a knife and fork. I'd hazard a guess at the recipe being a bit like this:

1. Put all the ingredients (beef, potato, sweetcorn, veg, etc) in a pot with the stock.
2. Cook.
3. Pour into a bowl.
4. Eat.

Pedal Pusher

Pedal Pusher
by MC Abdominal (featuring Young Einstein the DJ from Ugly Duckling)

Squirt a little cross country on the chain,
Get a fresh rag wipe down the frame,
Ready to go, tie my army pants at the knees,
Already got enough pants covered in grease.
Slip on a discman, eyes so sharp,
They do the listening,
While suplying vision at the same time,
Waste no time to slide my ride in to a break in the line of traffic,
Don´t ask me why man, some reason I need a matchstick,
Inbetween my lips to help me concentrate,
Until I reach that zone where there is no need to contemplate,
Every movement,
Muscle memory compute the conclusion quicker than the thinking mind,
Strictly relying on insticts to wind,
Through this river of grime,
Exhuast pipes, potholes, pigeons,
Streetcar tracks you can slip in,
Pedestrians, pretty girls to divert your eyes at that crucial juncture
Plus the constant posibility of a puncture.

I'm a pedal pusher, push pedals like crazy, from A to B
I'm a pedal pusher, push pedals all day, from A to B
I'm a pedal pusher, I push pedals,
and I would say "Eat my dust" but it's already settled.

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.