Panguipulli - Lican Ray

Leg distance - 36.01km
Leg time - 1:58.48
Total distance - 413.64km

I opted for a short leg today having decided to visit Lican Ray, a small and picturesque village on the Lago Calafquen. I wouldn't say it was a wasted day, as it was northbound progress after all, but I would rather have continued on to Villarica had I known what it was going to be like. Not that it's hugely unpleasant, far from it, it has two big beaches overlooking a stunning lake and volcanoes, but it's a resort town. An expensive, over-rated, dust bowl (one paved road) of a resort town. And the kind of resort town that not only knows it's a resort town, but also knows that none of it's attractions (the lake, the view, the sun...) are the product of its own merits as a town. It's depressing enough to be in now, during the tail end of summer, one can only imagine what it's like in the winter.

Not that you'd notice that it's the tail end of summer mind. Gone are the clouds and cool breezes of the southern lakes, it has been 30+C practically every day since leaving Valdivia - what a difference 400km make. Not ideal cycling weather, admittedly, but it's the mosquitoes that are proving the biggest annoyance. The bastards are having a veritable feast with my ankles and I don't have any insect repellent (there doesn't seem to be any in the whole of Lican Ray, either, just when it couldn't seem any less appealing). I've half been considering coating myself in Savlon antiseptic spray, which I do have, or even toothpaste. Either way, I'm expecting a night befitting of the shit-hole town that is Lican Ray. Bring on Villarica.

San Jose - Panguipulli

"The night's busting open, these two lanes will take us anywhere" - Bruce Springsteen, Thunder Road

Leg Distance - 78.39km
Leg Time - 4:50.18
Total Distance - 377.63km

You'll be glad to hear I have managed to download some photos, which you can see on Flickr ( http://www.flickr.com/photos/35127291@N05/?saved=1 ) or on my Facebook page. There are a couple of things I should point out about them: Firstly, there aren't many of them, at least not as many as I would have liked to have taken. This is because photo-taking has not really been a priority up until now, and the last thing you want when you're cycling is stopping every five minutes to take snaps. Secondly, the vast majority of them are of roads or taken from the road or in a similar vein. For the most part, these photos were taken not because of their aesthetic qualities but for what it was like for me to see those places, which obviously the camera can't transmit. The one of the motorway on the first day, for instance, probably seems like any motorway anywhere in the world, but at the time it seemed I could see the whole of South America before me. Besides, giving a camera and an open road to a Bruce Springsteen fan (and I apologise in advance for this simile) is like giving a paedophile a camera in the swimming pool changing rooms.

Finally, and because I know some of you will point it out, I'm not in any of them. I don't like taking photos of me with my camera, and I don't understand what possesses some people to think that a photo of say, a still lake with a volcano in the background, would be improved by them in front giving the folks back home a goofy thumbs-up - it's not like they're going to demand evidence (quite frankly, I think it's a bit egocentric. Bah humbug, I'm a joyless bastard, I know...). However, I will try pander to all requests and purloin a mini-tripod so that my dishevelled mug will soon be appearing on a computer screen near you.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy them, it's as nice for me to put them up as for you guys to see them, particularly as it's the only way for the non-English speaking friends and family to follow my misadventures.

Valdivia - San Jose de la Mariquina

"You can't stop us on the way to freedom" - Van Morrison, Tupelo Honey

Leg Distance - 52.93km
Leg Time - 2:49.32
Total Distance - 299.24 km

San Jose de la Mariquina is a small town, the kind of small town where most shops trade in two or more different businesses, so that a bakery may also be a laundry and a stationary store. After a couple of laps I found the first Hospedaje (slash restaurant slash butchery) and was shown to an alcove room that could have been considered charming had it not been for the swarm of flies that stirred when the landlady opened the door. I told her that perhaps I would look around the rest of the town first and was met not with a reduced price, but with a knowing nod from the landlady, painfully aware that the room was not fit for human occupation. Fortunately she was nice enough to let me know where another (the other) hospedaje was and I was able to secure a room for the night with no visible fauna.

Literally as well as figuratively though, San Jose is miles away from Valdivia. Not only is Valdivia a lovely city, but I felt I could finally relax and enjoy being somewhere rather than constantly worry about the cycling for the first time since starting. After Wednesday's nightmare day, it was also nice to stay at a hostal and have the company of fellow nomads again for the first time since Puerto Octay. Hostals are funny in that you often meet likable people (or maybe you just don't have enough time to get to dislike them), but you rarely meet memorable people, like Peter and Annette. Peter and Annette were an Australian couple in their fifties that combined lovable Australian small-town curmudgeonliness and turn of phrase with a seemingly unending fascination for (and knowledge of) the wider world around them. Whether it was down to the fact that they resembled a long left behind family unit for us strays or simply that they were usually the first to crack open the wine, every night the socialising seemed to start around them. Peter and Annette were travelling the length and breadth of the Americas and hoped to end in Los Angeles (California, not Chile) with a camper van and a Jimmy Buffett concert. Odd as it may seem, I found them and their trip inspiring, their excitement for it was so palpable it was contagious and in their Jimmy Buffett I saw my Atacama and my Bolivia.

I have been asked several times now about the bike's name. Now, I've always been of the mindset that the only people who name machines are repressed homosexuals who are only one hot exhaust pipe from committing despicable acts. However, it has occurred to me that since I'm going to rely on the bike for transport and company (platonic, mind) for the best part of six months, we'll need to be on first name terms; for the good times and the bad. While trying to come up with a name, I thought of a Van Morrison song that I was listening a lot to around the time I decided to do this trip, and instantly there seemed nothing else that the bike could possibly be called. And thus, Tupelo Honey was baptised.

The sea, the sea

There's probably a limit as to how many bad days I'll be able to blame the wind for, so I may as well get them in now. It would have been naive to assume that every day was going to be flat calm, or that every road was sheltered by trees, but yesterday, to put it bluntly, took the piss. An 80km stage was always going to be difficult this early on, so a head wind on a loaded bike with the aerodynamics of a sideways cow was not ideal. Unless you've experienced it before it's difficult to describe what it feels like to build up some speed, shift up a gear only be blown back by a gust so that you have to shift down two gears and start all over again. For six hours. And always, without fail, the wind would gust at the precise moment that I shifted up. It was uncanny, so much so that there were times when I thought I controlled the wind with a mere flick of the shifters. Soul-destroying does not begin to describe it.

And then there was the knee. Oh the knee. It was fine for the first 25km, after that it was as bad as it had been on Tuesday, and even with the ibuprofen, tubi-grip (thanks Trish!) and anti-inflammatory cream it was bordering on agony by the 50km mark. I have never been so happy to see a steep hill as I was around the 55th km, as it gave me the perfect excuse to get off and push the bike for half an hour. Thankfully, the knee must have taken pity on its own out-of-shape self and gave up complaining after that (either that or it was so swollen and the tubi-grip so tight that I stopped feeling it) and it was barely a nuisance for the last 20km. Of course, not that it made a difference as by this stage the left side of my neck, my thighs and, yes, my saddle area (is that a cheer I hear?) were all fairly tender to say the least.

Still, I made it to Valdivia. And before darkness fell and the condors began to circle too. Never mind that it was probably too long a stage to have tried out this early on, never mind that I should have given my knee more chance to rest up, never mind that I'll probably have to stay here for 4 or 5 days to recover; I made it to Valdivia. With a wonky knee and a head wind, and I never even tried to hitch a lift with a pick-up truck. More down to the fact that I couldn't summon the energy to do so than out of mental resilience I suspect, but hey ho...

Still, and despite the pain in almost every part of my body today, I can't help but feel encouraged by it all. It all seems to be falling into place: I'm getting into a routine on cycling days, I'm coping (barely, but coping) with long distances and I have a nice cyclist's tan coming on (my arms look like they've been semi-dipped in wood-stain). Happy days.

Rio Bueno - Valdivia

Leg Distance - 84.68km
Leg Time - 6:31.48 (No, really)
Total Distance - 245.32

Too exhausted and in too much pain to type, if you want to find out what Valdivia is like Google it or something...

Osorno - Rio Bueno

Leg Distance - 39.93km
Leg Time - 2:57:33
Total Distance -160.64km

Yesterday was one of those days that everything seemed abnormally difficult from the outset: the panniers took forever to balance (even though I was barely carrying any extra weight from the previous day), the stack (cycle-speak for the stuff strapped on to the rear rack) wouldn't stay in the middle, and a stubborn head wind made it impossible to get into a comfortable pedalling rhythm so that at times it felt like I was pedalling through treacle. To top it all off, a twinge that had appeared in my left knee during the previous stage yesterday developed into an outright pain. It's nothing more serious than a strain I suspect, but it was painful enough to be a distraction. This is what I get for tempting fate by telling people that the physical side of things was going better than I expected.

The result of which is that I have decided to stay an extra day in Rio Bueno rather than move on to Valdivia today as planned - it's a 70km+ leg and I didn't think it was time for heroics, not this early on anyway. As far as towns to stop and rest go, Rio Bueno is pretty high up. According to the Chilean tourist guidebook, it is reputed to have the nicest central square in southern Chile. Don't call your travel agent just yet though, picturesque though the square is, it obviously isn't much of a horse race - I wouldn't be surprised if someone had edited the words "out of all towns named Rio Bueno" out of that sentence in the guidebook. I am of course, being hugely unfair. Rio Bueno is cosy and friendly and laid-back and all the good things you'd want from a small town, as welcome as it was unexpected.

Plus, my accommodation is here a veritable Ritz compared to Osorno: spacious clean room, comfortable bed, a shower that works, and, more importantly, I am allowed to keep the bike inside the building. Having come into this with low expectations for accommodation, how and where I am allowed to store my bike is fast becoming the yardstick with which all digs are rated. Love me, love my bike.

It's at this point that I should perhaps break the news that the bike and I are married. Well, not literally married of course (divorce has only been legal in Chile for a few years, so there's probably a fair way to go before marriage with inanimate objects is accepted), but certainly as legally wed as a man and his bike can get. It all stems back to when I first went through customs in Punta Arenas. You see, bike manufacturing is something of an industry in Chile, so the import of expensive foreign bikes when no import duty is being paid is at best frowned upon. Certainly Eduardo, the customs man, seemed very flustered, and asked me to accompany him to his office. Well, I say office, but the place could not have looked less official if it had been set up on a donkey-drawn cart. Eduardo's "office" was on the side of a decrepit corrugated iron hangar, the remainder of which was taken up by warring factions of local feral dogs (every now and then Eduardo would look up from his typewriter as a blood-curdling yelp resonated through the building). Fortunately, I wasn't subjected to torture by the Chilean pushbike mafia (it did cross my mind, yes), instead I was made to sign a form declaring that I wasn't importing the bike for business purposes. And that, I thought, was that.

Then Eduardo made a note on my landing form. Put quite simply, this means that I cannot leave Chile without the bike. Our fates for the next few months were now inextricably bound. By law. The bike was as good as a teenage girl I'd left pregnant and Eduardo the honour-saving father in law, cocked and loaded shotgun in one hand and marriage contract in the other.

Of course, this didn't change anything, I had (and have) every intention of leaving Chile with the bike, but seeing it being made obligatory by law put things in a different perspective. I wasn't just going to rely on the bike for transport, I was also going to have to be responsible for every aspect of it's safety and well-being. Bearing this in my mind it's no wonder that the bike's comfort ranks as high (if not more) as mine when choosing accommodation.

Puerto Octay - Osorno

Leg Distance - 53.82km
Leg Time - 2hr 45mins (or thereabouts, the timer actually said three and a bit hours but I spent a fair chunk of time trying to find the hostal in Osorno.)
Total Distance - 120.71km

It's difficult to find a place that guidebooks are so consistently indifferent about as Osorno. Even the official Chilean guide admits it holds no special attraction for visitors. I instantly liked it on account of it not being at the bottom of a hill, but other than that I have found myself agreeing with the guidebooks. Things aren't helped by my lodgings, which short of having a coin-operated vibrating bed could not be any more the stereotypical budget accomodation: a shower that switches uncontrollably from a raging torrent of molten lava to an icy drip, a lingering smell of damp, and miserable landlords (the guidebook said Grandparent-like atmosphere, I hate to imagine what childhood that particular writer had). But it's cheap and the bike is safe, which is all I can expect of towns without a particular tourist industry such as Osorno.

I loved Puerto Octay and could have stayed there for days, and can't help but feel that maybe I should have. I'm getting a little too obsessed with covering ground and moving north, which totally defeats the point of the trip, but at the moment it feels like the right thing to do so it's a bit of a difficult balancing act. Looking on the bright side though, I am inching ever nearer to Valdivia, which I cannot wait to get to, and where I will probably spend some time.

Sorry, still no success trying to find somewhere to download photos (haven't tried that hard admittedly), but will do soon...

Frutillar - Puerto Octay

Leg Distance: 32.92 km

Leg Time: 2:30:54

Total Distance: 66.89km

Today, as you will have noticed from the time, was a fair bit tougher, largely down to the road out of Frutillar (I didn't even attempt it) and the last 5km into Puerto Octay; a series of impossibly steep hills which eventually got the better of me and I found myself ending the leg as I't started it - pushing the bike, not an easy task given that my thigs locked into cramp as soon as I stepped off the bike. The downhills, however, were a great opportunity to try and determine my terminal velocity, and although I had to brake I managed to reach a heady 59.1km/h, but I reckon I could break 65km/h given a long enough hill.

I realised yesterday that I should really stop going on about myself and actually describe the places I'm going through. Part of the reason I haven't is that but for the view of the lake and the Osorno volcano, both Puerto Varas and Frutillar are pretty unremakable. Both are old German settler towns and popular tourist spots, nay traps, for Chileans and gringos alike.

Much is made of the German influence in both towns (more for the tourists' benefit than the locals' cultural identity, I suspect), and nowhere more than in the Kuchen. Kuchen are German cakes or pastries and in Frutillar particularly, you cannot walk two steps without seeing a place that sells them: Supermarkets, bars, craft shops, bookshops, petrol stations... All have a refigerated display cabin offering three or four different varieties. One can only wonder whether the local brothel offers patrons a line in German pastries following (or indeed, during) the consummation of the more traditional business transaction. Even the landlady at the hostal where I stayed served up a huge slice of the stuff as part of my breakfast. At least I think it was a hostal.

Sadly, my one night in Frutillar was not a peaceful one as I was twice woken up by an air raid siren. My first thought was that either the town had run out of Kuchen and martial law had been implemented; or they were taking the German experience beyond the realms of good taste. Luckily it was neither: apparently forest fires had raged through the night

Happy in the knowledge that the town was well stocked with Kuchen, I rode off in a thin smoky haze. And it will probably be a while before I use the Trangia again, too.

PS: Sorry there hasn't been much activity on the photo front, haven't had a chance to download them.

And still no saddle sores, but the northwest region of my left butt-cheek was a bit tender on the bike today, so (metaphorically) watch this space! And apologies also for the formatting being all over the shop, combination of old computer and the blogger composer having been designed by a retard.

Puerto Varas to Frutillar

Leg Distance = 33.97km
Leg Time = 2 hours give or take, forgot to time
Total Distance = 33.97km

So, I finally managed to leave Puerto Varas and have made it to Frutillar after a pretty straightforward cycle. Most of it took place on the Ruta 5 motorway, and other than the road out of Puerto Varas it was all fairly easy going (the one out of Frutillar is even worse and by looking at the maps they aren't the only two. If any of you invent a time machine please go back a few centuries and tell Chilean settlers to stop building towns at the bottom of great big fucking hills). Admittedly, cycling on motorways isn't ideal (I did my best to ignore the crosses on the side of the road), but they have a wide hard shoulder and no overly steep climbs, so very convenient to cover large distances.

In some ways today was as easy as it is going to get: I hadn't cycled properly for a week so I was fresh, and the fact that I was finally on the road was a huge distraction; no doubt the novelty will wear off in a couple of weeks. Having said that, and melodramatic as it sounds, I felt nigh on elated when I finally pulled into Frutillar. One of the scariest things before starting was not actually being able to imagine what the day to day pedalling would be like, so finally getting a uneventful day's cycling done is a huge boost. Even if it does mean there are no funny stories for you guys to enjoy; not even the slightest saddle sore. Bear with me though, tomorrow (Frutillar to Puerto Octay) I could yet be eating my words.

Take 2

As suspected, the bike only needed a minor tweak and is now changing gears seamlessly once again. Slightly embarrassing, but preferable to a bigger problem, especially as getting a replacement freewheel or derailleur would have almost certainly meant ordering them - I'm beginning to think I should have done this on a more traditional bike, like a rickshaw. In any case, certainly not half as embarrassing as the mechanic's 10 or something year-old son competently working on a bike in the background, only looking up occasionally with a gaze of what hopefully was pity, but more likely contempt, at my incompetence. The mechanic himself seemed more understanding and carefully explained what was wrong before sending me on my way without even charging me for his time.

So, short of any more gear problems magically occurring overnight, I should be off on my first leg in the morning: 35 odd kilometers to Frutillar , which borders the Llanquihue lake. The upshot of yesterday's little technical glitch is that I am now raring to go (it was teeming down this morning anyway, so it all turned out to be quite serendipitous) and to be honest the extra day proved a godsend - I've now planned my route for the next 10 days or so, whereas the previous days involved much staring blankly at maps and dithering about where to go. I've also decided to leave a couple of things behind to lighten the load, mostly non-essential except for perhaps the cycling shoes. It wasn't the easiest of decisions, but two pairs of shoes seemed like two much of a luxury for the load. Plus I'm not that experienced using them and I had visions of falling into the path of oncoming traffic after failing to take the shoe off the clip; I don't particularly want meet my end in a scene that wouldn't be out of place in Road Runner cartoon. Only time will tell whether it was the right decision I guess...

Anyway, will hopefully let you know tomorrow how I get on, saddle sores n'all.

Before I forget, those of you who have Skype add me (roddy.cordeiro), it will be nice to hear familiar voices along the way.

Launch aborted

Bad news for all of you waiting for news of saddle sores: I've had to put my departure back a day.

To cut a long and technical story short: when I put the bike back together after the flight, the gears were playing up and after some tweaking I thought I'd fixed it. However, as I did some final fine-tuning on it this evening the chain started catching on the lowest gear and making the kind of noise that suggests the chain won't last too long if it continues. I'm almost certain I know what it is, and if it is that then literally it will be as easy as turning a screw to fix, but I can't shake the suspicion that it may have taken a bump on the plane, so I'd rather take it to a bike-shop and sell the basta... sorry, have it checked over by a mechanic tomorrow. A couple of google searches suggest it could also be something more serious so I'd rather not tinker with it for fear of making it worse.

Predictably, this has proved pretty demoralising. I wasn't looking forward to my first leg, but I was itching to get moving and get some momentum going. Then there is the issue of not knowing what's wrong with it (let alone being able to fix it). I knew I was no expert bike mechanic expert when I started, but to be defeated so early on does not fill me with confidence for the rest of the trip. Bus anyone?

D-Day

"The air was soft, the stars so fine, the promise of every cobbled alley so great, that I thought I was in a dream" - Jack Kerouac, On the Road

I had written an epic first post about how and I why I decided to do this, since so many of you have asked, but after re-reading it it just sounded a long and round-about away of saying "It seemed a good idea at the time". Instead I have just drawn up a list of frequently asked questions, which I hope will answer most of your other queries. Truth be told I'm not sure I know myself why I'm doing it, so there's probably not much point in trying to explain.

There's not much else I think I can say prior to getting on the road, other than that I can't believe it's less than a day away now. Even though it's only been five months it seems so long ago now since the fateful day I typed "Cycle South America" into Google. When I think of all the time spent painstakingly deliberating over, say, panniers, it seems like it has been years in the planning.

Without wanting to sound too far up my own arse, I can't begin to explain how I am feeling right now, but to put it in some sort of context it's probably somewhere between Springsteen's Thunder Road and when Red gets the bus to Mexico at the end of The Shawshank Redemption.

Anyway, hope the below answer your queries and, more importantly, I hope you enjoy the blog. Don't worry, it won't all be serious stuff like this, there will be funny saddle-sore and food-poisoning anecdotes, which is why you're all here, I know.

Take care and please keep in touch

Roddy

PS: No, I haven't forgotten about the challenges, will deal with that in due course...

Frequently Asked Questions:

Have you done lots of training?

- Probably not enough to merit a Rocky-style montage, but there has been a fair bit. I don't have a geographical limit or goal, so I can take it easy to begin with.

How long are you doing it for?

- Hopefully six months or thereabouts.

Where are you going to start?

Puerto Montt, or to be more precise, Puerto Varas, which is just down the road.

Why there?

It's as far south as you can get in Chile without being in Patagonia, which is windy, very sparsely populated and the roads aren't great, so not ideal for cycling...

Isn't that a bit of a cop-out?

No

When do you start cycling proper?

Probably Tuesday, I still have a couple of things to buy and get ready in Chile.

You're doing it alone, won't you get bored?

- I won't be taking a vow of silence, and I'm sure I'll meet other travellers or cyclists on the way. You'll also be shocked to hear that my life thus far hasn't been that exciting that I would find cycling through a continent mundane.

As above, but with mugged/ murdered/ raped etc instead of "bored"?

- I love this question, it's like asking an expectant mother whether she's not scared that her son will be ugly as sin. I hope not.

Where will the trip end?

- I simply don't know.

Why aren't you doing it for charity?

- It never entered my mind, selfishly enough. But to be honest, it was so hastily planned that it probably would have made things all the more complicated. And put on extra pressure. Certainly if the trip inspires you to make a donation don't let me stop you!

Will you be camping every night?

Nope, probably only when I have no other choice. My common ground with Ray Mears begins and ends in a first name that begins with a letter R.

How much stuff will you be carrying and how will you be carrying it?

My panniers, (saddlebags that hang either side of the wheels) have a total capacity of 65 litres (average for a rucksack is around 80), 20 of which will be the tent and sleeping bag alone, so pretty much the bare minimum. I guesstimate 20-25 kilos, but add daily water and food to that and it will probably be more like 30 (the weight of a large labrador, give or take)

What's with the cheesy title?

It's from a song by Jeffrey Foucault, and I liked the sound of it. It was either that or the oh-so-original "The Bicycle Diaries", which is seemingly the name of the blog of anyone who has ridden a bike in South America. Ever.