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Link #3
26-30 January, 2000
Saltos de Laja to Temuco, CHILE (281 km)
South of Chillan the Panamericana highway turns strictly one lane, not
divided, and almost entirely under construction. Makes for sandy, potholed
shoulders and lots of dust. We punched through a couple sandstorms that
made us look a lot more like the locals in a couple short minutes. With
those road conditions, plus temperatures in the 90s and southern headwinds,
it easily became the toughest leg to date.
Enjoyed our first full-fledged public Chilean Camping Experience in Saltos
de Laja (30km north of Los Angeles). The area is actually quite spectacular.
Saltos are waterfalls and the Laja is a river. Rivulets of water appear
to spurt from lava rocks at the crest of a cliff and plummet 60-70 feet
to a deep pool. In the middle of the austral summer, this place swarms
with people all to ready to get wet.
Complete with power outlets, light bulbs, and seemingly prerequisite
BYOTV perched atop the picnic table, public camping is an extravaganza
to write home about. The particular camping site we chose came with duchas
naturales, or showers compliments of the local stream. From our picnic
table we could hear three to four different TV sets and a couple radios.
And that was background noise for the vacation-happy kids and frustrated
babies. Needless to say, our earplugs were close at hand that night.
Next morning, we woke early and pedaled through cool air until we hit
Los Angeles. The Chilean LA is a much smaller town than the southern Californian
metropolis you're probably thinking of. As an agricultural town of 160,000
folks, it surprised us with it architecture and plazas, shops and restaurants.
Cafe Prymus on the corner of Colo Colo & Valdivia should not be missed.
Their European style café cortados (pretty close to a cappuccino) make
you instantly forget the staple powdered Nescafe.
Later that day, after the heat subsided at about 6 pm, we struck out
of Los Angeles headed for Mulchen. The scenery quickly changed to rolling
countryside with lush farmlands, all lit up golden by a sun about to set.
We made it only 2/3 of the way there when we met a fellow cyclist trudging
up a hill. His name was Juan Dario. He asked us if we had a place to pass
the night. At first we were very cautious, suspicious even, and declined.
A little farther down the road, when we met up with him again, he offered
a second time. We decided to follow him as he weaved through the cobbled
streets of San Carlos Puren, a tiny pueblo on the side of the Panamericana.
It turned out to be an experience to remember. Juan Dario, his wife Maria
Soledad, and daughters Daniela & Jocelyn live in a tiny casita on
the same plot of land as his brother Santiago and a few other families.
Dario has been building the house for three years now and it's about three
quarters done. It's probably about 400 square feet with one main room,
a bedroom, and a storage room.
They prepared a dinner of bread, sweet quince spread, and coffee. We
contributed some cheese, more bread, a few peaches, and some wine. The
meal was celebrated by a league of flies and other flying insects attracted
by the lone light bulb hanging from the ceiling.
Communication came with lots of labor. With our broken tongues and theirs
as fast as white lightning, there was more gesticulation and laughter
than meaningful conversation. Though one things was clear: Dario badly
wanted us to stay the night in their house. After much polite refusal
and waving of hands, we managed to convince him that we preferred the
open air and thus pitched our tent behind his house.
After a good night's sleep and a light breakfast, we mounted up again
and continued south. Soon after leaving San Carlos Puren, we came upon
a fantastic trestle bridge, El Puente Malleco - apparently the
highest in Chile at a little over 100 meters above the valley floor.
About noontime, we hit the town of Collipulli (COU-YE-POU-YE) after quite
a few rolliepollie hills. We parked in the town's Plaza de Armas, and
immediately had throngs of curious folks about. Nicole seemed to especially
draw the crowds. Perhaps it was her bright yellow jacket.
We ate half a chicken, a couple pounds of papas fritas, French
fries, and drank a couple liters of soda. Yum. Immediately thereafter,
we retreated to the plaza to take our regular, doctor's prescribed siesta.
Two hours later, we woke to a half dozen sets of eyes gazing attentively
at us and our bikes. We smiled and took in their questions one at a time.
Where do come from? Where did you ride from today? Where are you headed?
Now, we can answer those questions in almost perfect Spanish.
A few minutes later, we got back on the Panamericana and pointed our
wheels south, to Temuco.
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