To Infinity. And Beyond . . .

Puyuhuapi – Refugio Rio Cisnes, Chile

The “campground” we stayed at last night was not exactly the Boundary Waters. First off, it was another back yard situation. But instead of setting up camp in the back yard grass (of which there was none, by the way), there was a long half-lean-to structure with a sand floor. Probably can get 8-10 tents under there – with about two feet between tents. Worse than being a lab rat . . . 

Fortunately, I guess it’s the off season and there was only one other tent – and they set up at the other end of the lean-to. 

No place for a fire either – although there were two other small out buildings. The first was literally the wood shed, but with a big dog living in there. The second was a kitchen type facility – complete with a wood fired stove inside and a sink outside. 

You know the stove. It’s the one your great-grandmother used on the farm in Fergus Falls – or wherever she was from before she moved off of the farm when she was 95 and into the nursing home because she almost burned the house down – probably because she was still using the old wood-fired stove . . . 

You can still see the things in antique stores in the States – but I don’t think I know anyone who actually uses them anymore . . . 

Well, we could have just used our regular little gas stove, but we decided that we should give the wood-fired oven a try as kind of a cultural experiment – and because we were cold . . . When I walked up to inspect the situation this morning there was a sign that said: “If you have trouble building a fire just ask the homeowners.”

That was challenge enough for me . . .

I headed to the woodshed, risked walking past CUJO, who was sitting in his doghouse standing guard, grabbed some kindling, and went to work. It wasn’t pretty, but I eventually achieved some flames. Worked pretty well actually . . .

What we didn’t account for, though, is the heating up period. Sure, you can get some stuff burning. But the goal is not to build a fire, it’s to eat breakfast. And that requires heating up the big iron edifice – not just having a fire inside it’s big pot belly.

Half an hour later we had coffee and tea, scrambled eggs, and we were even able to toast our bread on the stove top, and soften the butter. Oh, and it eventually heated up the whole little kitchen facility as well – which was good because even on warm days – and today was an unusually warm day around here – it’s cold in the morning.

Dang. Once you get these things going they are pretty great actually. 

Not part of our story directly, but now that we have gone down this old iron stove alleyway I want to dwell here for a moment. The alleyway is not just about the old iron stoves – though they do seem to be the appliance of choice in Patagonia kitchens. (We stayed at Violeta’s Hostel the other day and she had one. Kind of explains why it took her over an hour to cook us a piece of meat and some rice – had to heat up the stove first . . .) No. This alley way is about wood generally. 

Wood for building houses. Wood for heating houses. Wood for making breakfast and dinner. What we’ve realized is that there is a reason that most of Latin America uses concrete for all of their construction. There just isn’t wood for making 2x4s lying around in Mexico or Colombia. Not like Chile. There is definitely wood around here . . .

This same idea applies to pan (bread) as well. Up in Mexico and Colombia they pretty much do all their cooking by burning a few sticks on a grill. You can’t make bread on a grill. Or, well, I actually love making grilled bread – but that is another story – and it’s complicated and not really that practical. Point is that the fact there is no significant quantity of wood, and, thus, no history or tradition of stoves, explains why the Mexicans and Colombians and such don’t know how to make bread – and instead make tortillas on the grill. 

But the burning of wood down here is not all roses either. Turns out that when everyone cooks their breakfast and heats their homes with wood the air quality is terrible. Puyuhuapi – the town we were in last night – probably has a population of about 300 people. But Diana and I thought we were going to have emphasemia if we stayed in the town another hour this morning . . . 

Alright, back out of that dirty, smoky alley . . .

After our late breakfast we hit the mini-market for some last minute supplies – because our 50-mile journey for the day had an Atacama-like level of services. That is, none. Nada. So we needed to pick up some bread and anything else that we could scrounge up for lunch . . .

That done, we finally headed out onto the Carretera at about 10. A downright slothful time to leave . . .

It was probably 11 before we completed our first 5 miles. A combination of factors led to this new land speed record for slowest start ever . . . 

First off, it was beautiful! 

We’re biking literally right next to a fjord. The upshot being that we had to take pictures. I mean, how often are Minnesotans biking within 100 yards of a large finger of the sea that is absolutely breathtaking?

And then, once we were sufficiently far away from Puyuhuapi – which must mean “smoggy” in whatever indigenous tongue would apply (there is no phone service here so I can’t look it up . . .) – we had to stop and take pictures of the town and all the smoke. 

But the bigger problem – and the real cause of our slow pace – was the Popo’s Driveway Effect. It’s a huge issue in Patagonia. In general, it’s a really big problem in places where there are tons of gradients to the air temperatures. Not such a big deal in Minnesota – where if it’s cold, it’s cold – or if it’s hot, it’s hot. But in places with mountains and lakes and streams and oceans, in places like that the Popo’s Driveway Effect can create havoc for the whole day . . .

I mentioned Popo only a few days ago. Diana’s Mom. She used to wear big dark glasses – and Diana says that I’ve been wearing Popo glasses – which she says are “transitioning” glasses of any kind – because she says they look “weird.” (I’ve tried to tell her that she’s being disrespectful (to me and Popo), but I think she likes feeling like her Mom is with us in spirit . . .) Anyway, the last twenty years of her life, Popo lived in Sunnyvale, California. When we visited we would frequently go on bike rides with Diana’s brothers and cousins. We would start in Popo’s driveway and then head up into the foothills – sometimes climbing 2,000’ or so – where it was much colder . . . 

The problem was that we would decide what to wear on the ride as we gathered on the driveway in front of Popo’s house. For whatever reason that spot is about 20 degrees warmer than the rest of the Bay Area. Always sunny there. Never windy. So we would strip down and leave our warm stuff behind: “No need for that!” Only to find that when we would reach the top of the foothills it was like 30 degrees – and now we had to go back down with only a t-shirt and shorts. 

The thing is, there are a lot of Popo’s Driveways around here – places where the sun is shining and there’s no wind and we feel so warm and comfortable . . . So we are constantly stripping down, re-packing our stuff, and then, half-a-mile later, when we find ourselves in a huge mountain shadow with howling wind, stopping, digging everything back out, and putting it all back on. Only to reverse again a mile later – once we have emerged back into the sun. 

So now it’s 12:30 or so, we’re on a section of ripio (gravel), and we decide to have lunch by a pretty river. All good. 

And now it’s 1:15 – we’ve biked about 12 miles and we’re working our way down the ripio – when we come across Chris from Colorado. Chris has been biking through Patagonia for the past few weeks. He tells us that we are in for a 3-hour climb because there is a really big hill and it’s all really bad ripio. 

He points out that “it’s kind of late to just be starting out on such a big day . . .” He thinks about this a second, and then adds: “But I’m sure you’ll be fine.” (It’s one of those statements we all make when we’re trying to be nice – but the words don’t really mean what you’re thinking. Because what Chris is clearly thinking is something like: “Oh boy, these people are in trouble – I hope they can finish before dark . . .”)

Great . . .

The thing is, we didn’t realize that there was any ripio today. We knew there was a climb – but we thought it would be of the run-of-the-mill variety. Not on hike-a-bike gravel . . .

We don’t chat long because we’ve got to get going . . .

And, yes, it was a big climb. And, yes, it was all ripio. 

But it really wasn’t that bad. In fact, with the breathtaking scenery it was downright enjoyable. 

We eventually make it to the top – some 2,000’ of climbing later – and agree that, once again, Patagonia has outdone itself. Today’s ride is the best yet. It just seems like we’re going Buzz Lightyear’s way: To Infinity . . . Well, you don’t need me to spell it out for you . . . 

Suffice to say that we are impressed. This place is incredible!

We ended up landing at a beautiful campsite that Diana found. Right along the river. And fortunately they serve pizza here. Because there was not a single store or service of any kind since we left Puyuhuapi. So it was either pizza, or draw straws to see who got to eat who tonight . . .

The pizza was good – although, to be fair, we were hungry enough after our day of riding that we probably would have enjoyed just about anything. But, better than the pizza was our host: Diego. Diego told us all about the flora and fauna around here. He says there are tiny deer – pudu. There’s fox. Pumas. Even skunks – although I find this difficult to believe because we haven’t smelled skunk since someplace in Mexico. Maybe the skunks are more polite down here? Or, maybe because there are no other animals to challenge them they don’t need to let loose with their smell defense as often . . .

We have one more beautiful day coming – and then it looks like it might become much cooler and rainier. So we’re hoping to put in a good day tomorrow and then land in Coyhaique – which is a town of 50,000 people where everyone burns wood to stay warm – on Thursday. Plan is to get everything ready for our final few days slog to Caleta Tortel and the ferry at that point . . . 

Did I mention that Patagonia is amazing? I think Chile has been holding out on the rest of the world. I mean, we’ve all heard of Patagonia – and we knew there was a store with this name – but I thought it was a small remote part of the country that was like 10 miles from Antártica. 

It is so much more . . .