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Link #14
24 Apr - 19 May, 2000
Bariloche to Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA (649 km)

Resort lodging and frightening camping. Frigid, hilly terrain and warm flatlands. Nasty wind in our teeth and glorious gales at our backs. Barren no man's lands then grassy pastures then a city of 14 million inhabitants. This most recent leg of the trip was one of contrasts. Though two constants have been the interesting places and, for the most part, very kind people.

Escuela Hogar No. 245
Our first day's ride out of Bariloche was a nasty one. We were pedaling route 237 along the Limay river valley. It was cold. It was wet. By about 4 in the afternoon we were cold and very wet. Not particularly excited about pitching the tent in the rain and the ensuing struggle to stay dry all night, we started looking for a roof - a shed or maybe a hay barn.

The first three estancias said they had no room. Each referred us farther down the road, saying the next place was bigger and would most likely have space. Eventually we came to Villa Llanquin - a small village on the other side of the river. We pedaled across a footbridge and asked the two men on the other side if there was a place in town where we could pass the night. They said no. I asked if there was a small shed. Again, no.

We wasn't from around there. And folks on the old Limay river valley didn't seem to take too kindly to strangers. A bit taken back but not totally squelched, we continued up the village's muddy road.

Next we came to the elementary school. There, at Escuela Hogar No. 245, or "Home School" we found the kindness that had evaded us all afternoon. The principal first pointed us to the historic school house out in the field. It was a tiny adobe structure with open air windows, nowadays used as a storage shed. She said it would be helado, or icy, in there. We said no problem, it looks dry and we have sleeping bags. You could tell she didn't want to send us out there, temperatures were supposed to drop with a chance of snow, but she didn't know what else to do. We said thanks and added that in the morning, if she likes, if the children like, we could do a little cross cultural sharing - tell them about our travels, a little about the States, and answer any questions. Again, she was hesitant; she seemed to be trying to size us up. We were drippy and speckled with road grime. Not exactly the refined emissary types - more like highwaymen in bright colors.

As we started for the door she asked us to wait while she checked on something. She scurried down the hall and a few minutes later she came back and asked us if we wanted to stay in the fifth grade classroom for the night.

We later learned that like many public schools in rural Argentina, No. 245 is a quasi boarding school. Because distances are so great, the kids arrive Monday morning by bus and stay at the school all week. There's bunk beds and outdoor bathrooms. There's a common eating room with satellite TV. There's two squat old ladies that cook all the meals. And for one night there were two American cyclists in the fifth grade room.

Our watch alarms went off at 7:30 in the morning. Class would start in an hour and we weren't exactly on the syllabus, so we packed up quick and then made some coffee and oatmeal in the kitchen. After the national anthem the principal introduced us and we did our thing. We got out our maps and tried to answer their questions.

Estancia Indio
After two days of riding through the low clouds and rain of the Andean foothills, we met a sympathetic truck driver on his way to the coast. We rode with him for an afternoon and evening and the next morning until about noon. Miguel dropped us off just short of Bahia Blanca, about 250 km north of where we had caught the train to Bariloche. From Bahia, we coasted a tailwind along a flat country highway for a couple days.

Just west of Tres Arroyos we were taken in by a farmer/rancher family. We met Alejandro Ambrosius as we were making camp behind an abandoned service station just off the route. Actually, we met him after he scared the living shit out of us.

We had just pulled off the road after a full day's ride. It was already dark and we were in stealth mode, setting up camp in a grove of eucalyptus when a pickup truck skirted a peripheral road and stopped out front, parking lights on. Soon car doors opened, footsteps crackled, and a searchlight fanned the trees over our heads. All the while, we were frozen, mid-action in the pitch dark, waiting to see what would happen next.

Did they know we were back there? If they didn't know, there was no reason to let them know. If they did and were after us, the darkness was our advantage. But if they were after us, what was taking them so long?

We guessed in whispers as to why someone might stop on a chilly night at an abandoned gas station in what to us was nowhere. So there we were, crouched in the darkness, the cold setting in, and hunger from a long day's ride beginning to rumble in our bellies. After 40 minutes we realized our wait-and-see strategy wasn't very comfortable. We agreed on a new, perhaps more obtuse plan: walk out there and see what was going on.

I came out from the bushes first. After two steps the searchlight was in my face. I'm not sure if sticking your hands up in the air is instinctual or learned. Whatever it is, that's what I did, and prepared to wet myself. Next came a thick Spanish voice from behind the searchlight.

"What's going on? Who are you?"

"We are...cycles...uhh...cyclists."

"What are you doing here?"

"We are...acampeando (pasturing)...no... uhh... acampando (camping)..."

With that the light lowered and the voice started to chuckle - the I'm-done-being-scared chuckle. I guess we had him going as much as he had us. Turned out that Alejandro and his ranch hand were waiting for the bus - it was the end of the work week and Juan was headed back to Tres Arroyos and his family. They hadn't seen us earlier. They were just killing time with the searchlight, looking for rabbits. We told him our story and like most of the locals, he thought we were a bit loco.

Alejandro invited us to stay on his farm that night, but I was still a bit unnerved and told him that we had the tent up already. Next morning he came back and insisted we have a proper meal before starting off again - he added that his parents, Gustavo and Regina, and wife, Karen, were expecting us. We packed up quickly, hopped into Alejandro's Dodge, and soon were seated before a full breakfast spread at his parent's house. Regina's English was good and she jumped at the chance to practice it. She comes from a Swedish descent, while Gustavo's parents, still alive and farming about 20 km from his place, came straight from Denmark.

Well, breakfast turned into an afternoon asado, or BBQ, and then dinner at Alejandro's. We ended up staying at the son's house that night. Salt of the earth people. Their estancia covers about 1200 hectares where they raise beef cattle as well as some crops - sunflowers, wheat, hay. They also have honey bees.

Buenos Aires
Perhaps better than to try to encapsulate Buenos Aires in a few cramped paragraphs, is to just lift an entry from my good ol' pen and paper journal and offer some extra photos.

Photo Gallery - Buenos Aires 

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