The Crucible

Chile Chico – El Zorzal, Chile

This story has heroes and villains. It has amazing scenery and great happiness. It has panic and sorrow and redemption. 

And it may not be over . . .

Diana and I thought we were being smart by going the Chile Chico route. We would have a short ride in the rain, followed by a ferry ride across the lake – meaning we would still be making forward progress – and then we would take the road along the southern side of Lagos General Carrera and re-join the Carretera Austral at the western end of the lake. 

It all seemed like such a good idea. 

But within half-hour of starting out yesterday morning the whole plan began to unravel. We knew there would be wind – and people had told us about it – but I guess until you experience it yourself you have no idea just how bad Patagonia wind can really be. 

We started with a big climb out of Chile Chico. Not that big of a deal. But when we reached the top we emerged into a big, open expanse – with the wind blowing full-force against us. And I mean full-force!

Terrible, horrible wind. 

Pedaling-as-hard-as-you-can-downhill-and-still-going-only-5mph wind. 

Blow-you-off-your-bike wind. 

Demoralizing, soul-sucking wind. 

After half-hour or so of epic battle – going basically nowhere – we confer. We are only slated to go some 38 miles or so for the day – but it is clear to both of us that there is no way we can make it that far. At the rate we’re going it will take us 15 hours to make it 38 miles . . . 

We try to flag down a ride. But there isn’t a pickup truck that can take us right away – so we agree to just keep biking along until something turns up. 

Of course, it’s hard to both ride and hitchhike. 

When you’re riding along it doesn’t really look like you need a ride. After all, you’re riding along . . .

It’s miserable. But we are slowly accumulating some mileage. And we occasionally turn out of the wind, or sometimes there’s a big granite wall giving us a little shelter. 

And in our Diana and John Way we decide that maybe we should just keep pedaling and see how it goes . . .

Here’s the other thing . . . 

It may be miserable. There may be an invisible force preventing us from moving forward without extreme effort, but it is also incredibly beautiful. 

The blue of the lakes around here – and particularly Lagos General Carrera – is incredible. The lake is fairly narrow – like maybe a mile or two wide by something like 75 miles long – and there are snow-covered mountains and peaks rising right out of the lake on the far side. 

Wow.

It’s not just the wind, though – although the wind stole all of our focus. Without even really noticing it we have been going up and down a ton. And not nice grades either. No. We’re talking grades of 10% or more straight up. Also, it’s cold. And the Popo’s Driveway Effect is worse than ever – because the sun is warm, and when there is an occasional reprieve from the wind, it is considerably less chilly. So we’re constantly stopping to take stuff off and then put it back on. 

Oh, and don’t forget that all of this is on ripio – gravel . . .

After an hour or two of the wind and the hills and the cold we are not in a good place. You kind of lose your sense of rationality when confronted with this invisible, kind of evil, relentless force. Soon we’re grousing at each other. Because even taking pictures in the wind is difficult. It’s like the wind is the equivalent of an evil enchantment that makes you mad at your spouse . . .

Eventually we actually succeed in flagging down a vehicle. We don’t have a plan, really – we just know we want the situation to change. 

“Hablas Inglés?” I ask as the pickup pulls up. 

“No, pero,” and he points to a woman in the back seat. 

Claudia.

And this is the part where the heroes enter the scene. 

I start to explain about the wind and how we’re trying to get to Caleta Tortel. 

“What do you want?” Claudia asks in perfect English. 

“Well, we were hoping maybe you could give us a ride to the next town.”

”Sorry. We are only going to right here.” And she points ahead a little bit.

They offer us some apples, but, of course, I already have apples because I’ve still been collecting a few here and there whenever I have a chance . . .

They drive off. 

Sad. 

And now, I don’t remember the specifics, but I remember that Diana and I are still not happy with each other. She bikes off. 

I end up stopping for a minute to look at the attraction that Claudia and family are stopping at: a super-cool slot canyon that goes down several hundred feet and is like 10’ wide – with a river at the bottom.

Afterwards I race off to catch up with Diana. And just as we are about to renew our pointless tete-a-tete (the real meaning of which is that neither of us likes this situation: working super hard to go essentially nowhere), we see Claudia’s pickup pull up in front of us and stop. 

Claudia explains that they have decided to drive us forward a bit. 

Again, no particular plan. Our stupid argument is instantly forgotten. We throw our bikes in the back of the pickup, climb in ourselves, and enjoy a ride of about 7 or 8 miles up the road. 

Well, we’re still nowhere near where we wanted to go for the day – we’re now at about 28 miles from Chile Chico, when we wanted to go about 38 – but we’re not feeling nearly so defeated . . .

We take a picture with Claudia and the whole family – her husband, Pablo, her Uncle Juan, and her two sons Luciano and Juan Miguel – and they send us on our way. 

Claudia explains that there is a considerable climb ahead. Great . . .

We head up. And up. And up. And, like so many climbs around here, it is super steep. And the wind is getting worse than ever. It seems like the higher you go the worse it gets. Until, near the top, we are blown right off of our bikes. This problem is worse for Diana because she’s lighter. Literally blown off of Little Ann. On a loose gravel road that drops off steeply on the lake side. 

Our brief interval of happiness is quickly supplanted. 

I think some swear words were used . . .

Again, what was said was really irrelevant. The words had no meaning other than this: “I hate this situation and I need to vent and you’re my spouse, so you’re going to take the brunt of it . . .”

Oh, you and your spouse never have moments like this? Hmm. Okay. Maybe go back to watching the Cosby Show . . .

Things only get worse. 

There are no facilities in this whole stretch of road – for like 50 miles. So we’re looking for a “wild” campsite. We’ve carted food along, with the idea that we’ll cook over an open fire. But the wind is so fierce it’s hard to see how we’ll have anything other than a horizontal blaze, at best. And then there is the problem of the tent: where do we pitch it so that we don’t end up blown into the lake some thousand feet below.

(Okay – we interrupt this special report to offer some context . . . 

When I was in high school, three friends and I took an extended bike tour together. Was super fun and one of the formative events of my life. Anyway, we were biking up the North Shore of Lake Superior. We decided to bike up to Palisade Head – which was quite a climb at the time – but we we’re young and dumb so we probably didn’t even really notice.

When we get to the top it’s late in the day and we decide to camp up there – on a rocky promenade overlooking Lake Superior. The drop down to the lake is like the Cliffs of Insanity . . . About 1,000’ granite face.

But the thing is, it’s all rock up there. We couldn’t get a single stake in the ground. And the wind blew all night. So we’re literally holding the corners of our tent down with the weight of our bodies. 

It was not an ideal night . . .)

Visions of Palisade Head are going through my mind now. We look at a few sites, but end up moving on – hoping we’ll find something more sheltered. It’s now like 5:45 or so – and we are both tired – tired from the relentless wind, tired from the steep hills, and tired from the mental fatigue of dealing with this crazy day that juxtaposes some of the most beautiful scenery we have ever seen with – well, with everything that I just described. 

Oh, and we’re cold because the sun is getting lower in the sky, we happen to be in a big shadow from a cliff wall, we are heading up yet another super steep stretch of road, and the wind is once again blowing us off of our bikes. 

I look at a potential spot. There’s a small hole in the fence at the side of the road where someone has cut one of the three wires away, and there’s a path heading up off the road . . . I go through the hole and up the path. It’s kind of nice, and the wind is maybe a wee-bit less horrible. But there are old dried out cow turds around and the wind is really not that much less than it is everywhere else . . .

I head back down to the road and Diana pulls up. 

“Did you find a campsite?” she asks.

“Well, we could go through that hole in the fence, but . . .”

Before I can get another word out Diana is emoting. The last climb – and, once again, getting blown off of her bike, have just about killed her. 

“We can’t camp at someone’s house!” she says.

I explain, in not so many words, that this is just a piece of land . . .

The next few minutes were pretty ugly. The exclamation point on an already-rough day. 

The details don’t matter . . . We unpack the bikes, put our packs through the fence, climb through ourselves, and go back to the old cow patch . . .

We choose a space for the tent that is at least in a little cluster of vegetation – so as to provide some minimal shelter from the wind. Of course, it turns out that the vegetation is nasty bramble – but at least we manage to get the tent up. 

We keep hoping for the wind to abate because it is getting toward evening . . . Never happens.

Diana sets up the sleeping bag and stuff in the tent while I try to figure out dinner without a campfire. We were going to have pork chops – so I cut them up, throw them in the pot of water on our camp stove, and eventually add the same soup mix that we had a few days ago. 

The great thing about camping – and this is amplified when the day is particularly bad – like this one – is that pretty much anything tastes good. Indeed, our Pork Chop Soup Surprise was pretty tasty. 

We eat in the tent because at least there’s a little shelter. 

So that was it – the crucible that we apparently needed to pass through in order to make it to Caleta Tortel and the ferry. 

And they lived happily ever after . . .

NOT!

First off, the wind never stopped. All night it howled. And I don’t know how many times it felt like the whole thing was going to cave in. I kept wondering what we would do if the tent collapsed completely . . . 

About six months ago I ditched the little sections of rope that came with the tent – just dead weight that we never used. So I had to scrounge around to find things to tie the tent down with. Stole two bungee cords off of Diana’s bike to secure one side a little. Ended up lashing our cable lock to the tent and the bramble bush with zip ties on another side . . .

So that was a great night’s sleep . . .

But at least Diana and I are happy with each other again. Funny what a little hot dinner will do to warm the spirits. Also, our sleeping bag set up worked great and we were snug-as-a-bug all night long. (Are bugs really snug?)

And then this morning the wind was still howling. Relentless. We manage to make a quick breakfast in the tent – because, did I mention that there are no animals around here? But when we start up riding, it’s just a continuation of the end of the day yesterday. Huge descents and ascents. Scary wind. Both of us get blown off of our bikes in one particular wind-tunnel of a place . . .

I mean, come on . . .

Eventually we turned or something, and the wind did abate a little. But it was another crazy climbing day. I think 4,500’ over 38 miles. 

I don’t know about Diana, but I’m a wreck . . .

And now the forecast is for rain tomorrow . . .

Maybe the entire ride to Tortel is one big crucible. I hope we make it . . . Because that ferry ride at the end sounds amazing. And warm. And out of the wind. And, presumably, flat. 

But, and this is a big but – these were also two of the most beautiful days that we have ever experienced. And, as usual, it was fun to meet wonderful people like Claudia and her family – who may have saved our whole trip from the vagaries of a wind-induced pointless-argument-from-hell . . .

Patagonia, you are harsh and wild and breathtaking – and worth every bit of the pain and suffering . . .