Adventures with Crocodile Dundee

Anna's new accessories

This has been a tumultuous week for the author as criticism of his work was received for the first time. The previous blog post (that only some people were able to read) highlighted some of the lesser known problems we face each day and apologies for the content are certainly not forthcoming. To notice one day that a complete section of last weeks blog had been unceremoniously deleted made me feel rather like a North Korean journalist. It is clear to me now that I must sing from the party line - Anna is happy, healthy and smells like chamomile.

This week of cycling has been an entertaining one as we were joined by uncle Dallas, or big Dal; an Australian directly resembling Crocodile Dundee in both appearance and abilities. Before leaving Cohaique he fixed Anna's front rack, attached a handy new box to her bike and fashioned a handlebar bag out of a camera case; all in less time than it takes to say "throw another shrimp on the barbie." Not only did he manage to pass some of his worldly knowledge onto us but he also kept us constantly amused with his colourful stream of comments on 'nutbars' (all motorists), and 'cats' (everyone else).

With the weather staying hot and dry our first few days out of Cohaique felt somehow like a family holiday in the south of France, with frequent breaks for ice-cream and our first dip in the river. On the second day out of town we arrived at our next 'casa de cyclesta', this one run by Jorge, a legend of a man who has housed around 3000 cyclists in his time. We were even treated to an impromptu performance by an Argentinian couple funding their travels with their guitar and ukulele.

After 2000kms without so much as a scratch on our pristine bicycles, things started to break just as we left the last bike shop for 400kms. 20 kms out of town I noticed my wheel was wobbling like a tipsy toddler and we pulled over to take a look. A couple of spokes had seen better days but handyman Dallas tightened things up and hopefully it all holds together for the next week or so.

Our honeymoon of paved roads was soon over and we returned to the delights of gravel. With them we were back to snow capped mountains and forward to rainforests. The climbs were tough but the views were as spectacular as ever.

After spending a few days looking for fishing utensils we finally managed to locate the necessary items and were ready to go. On setting up camp beside the river one night Dallas confidently threw in a line as we prepared for a trout dinner. Two hours later after successfully hooking a 2 pound stick we settled instead for pasta.

We had been hearing horror stories of the upcoming road for days and tentatively set off from La Junta for a 70km section described by one man as 'the worst road in the world.' Anna was newly kitted out with a big fat new tire while Matt manfully slid onwards on his anorexic wheels. After 10kms Dallas noticed his GPS had disappeared and we headed back to camp to look for it, but to no avail. With that sweaty backtrack our chances of finishing the stretch in one day were slim and we came to a halt well before the end. The road was even worse the following day as we choked our way through dusty air and wobbled our way over the rocky road, the surface of which more closely resembled an English beach than a road. Some slow motion falls and subsequent uphill pushing were the theme of the day.

We camped at Santa Lucia, a small village at the turn in the road. After much deliberation we have decided to cross back into Argentina as Dallas continues North through Chile. We parted ways over a breakfast tub of ice-cream and set off for Futelefu. We arrived dirty and bedraggled the following morning, ready for a good hose down. From here it is just 10kms to the border as tomorrow we cross countries yet again.