To the South, into the Cold and Rain

Holiday, what Holiday?
The next morning, a Monday, I felt as if in a dream. All the stores were closed, nothing was open. And I had a list of things that I needed to get me moving South. First, I went to the nearby laundry – cerrado. I returned to the hostel, gave the clothes to them to wash and they said they would be ready at the latest by the following morning. I asked what holiday it was that day, as nothing was working. They confirmed that it was some holiday, but they did not know which one. I checked the list of holidays, nada, until mid-October. I went to the station to find the best way of getting out of Santiago and of avoiding the highways.

Just like our Country under Totalitarianism
The surroundings of the Presidential Palace were full of policemen with water cannons on full alert (in the afternoon they sprayed water and clouds of tear gas). Buses were covered in wire mesh as protection against thrown stones. There were many carabineros with dogs ready for action. The regime clearly feared any occasion when many people were gathered together in one place. The next day the Chile – Peru football match was to be held (fortunately the score was 4 - 2, or the frustrated fans would have battled with the police). There were several large-screen TVs set up in the city, but with police barriers and guarded by a massive force of police with dogs. Pinochet had things under control here. Chile, in comparison to Bolivia, is Heaven on Earth, but at what price? The question was whether it would last.

[Santiago de Chile] Festive riders guard the Presidential Palace, but from the morning the Police prepared water cannons and protected buses (with netting) in the side streets for the arrival of demonstrators

[Santiago de Chile] Carabineros guarding the Presidential Palace appear calm; the scrum was to start a couple of hours later

No Way by Train
My original idea was to travel for about 40 km by Intercity train to Santiago and then to continue by bike. Completely incomprehensibly, it was only possible to transport a bike in the commuter train if wrapped as baggage. So I inquired at the normal railway station, but they made such a fuss ("maybe on some routes we will have to take the bike from you") that I bypassed them and turned to the proven TUR BUS company. It transports bikes without any obvious displeasure (unlike its competitor, Pullman). I wanted to sleep in the bus overnight, so I chose a route which departed from Santiago at midnight and would arrive at 6 a.m. It is worth noting that, although fares are stated at the ticket office, the actual fare is always lower. In this case, it was nearly 50% lower (the fare stated on the board was 15,000 Pesos, while the actual fare was 8,200 Pesos). That is the bitch of competition.

In the hostel, I slept as if on a bed of roses. At noon I put the bike and bags into the luggage room for safekeeping and headed for the outdoor stores. Although I had impregnated the equipment against rain when purchasing it two years before in Japanese Kagoshima, the jacket had not lasted very well, with water permeating through the sleeves after half an hour of intense rain. I had to travel by subway to Providence, where there are a couple of outdoor stores. Finally I had success: I found wind-stop gloves without a problem and a very good quality Gore-Tex jacket with Performance Shell at a North American price, that is roughly 200 USD. But the problem had been to find those stores in the first place.

[Santiago de Chile] The view of Alameda from the Santa Lucia hill

[Santiago de Chile] The view from the Santa Lucia hill

[Santiago de Chile] The view from the Santa Lucia hill

[Santiago de Chile] Providence – a modern area with unbalanced and probably unregulated buildings – closing in from all quarters

In the evening, there was the previously mentioned football match which I watched with two cans of beer on the large-screen TV in the city center. After 10 p.m., I picked up the equipment at the hostel, but the rear tire was flat. I considered that it was a valve fault, and worked hard to pump the tire. I decided that in future I would carry an additional 3 dkg of weight (the pump weighed an amazing 5 dkg) and opt for something more efficient at pumping. However, I had no problem arriving at the TUR BUS terminal on time, first on footpaths and then on the cycling track along the Alameda. Just before the main station, I was dangerously overtaken by a kid on an unlit bike. He had not waited for the green light at the crossing, but cycled so close to a police car that they clipped the side of his bike with the right side of their car. The cops immediately intervened, and uncompromisingly beat the boy, handcuffed his hands behind his back, shoved him into the car and threw his bike into the bushes. The regime was obviously nervous and who knew what would happen next!

The Bus did not Arrive, No Problem!
I arrived at Platform 15, this time I did not remove the pedals nor turn the handlebars around. The bus did not move even five minutes after the scheduled departure time, but next to it was a bus that was due to leave five minutes later. The driver told me that my connection had apparently been canceled, that I should arrange it in the office and that he would meanwhile keep an eye on my bike and luggage and would not leave until I returned. In the office they confirmed that my connection had indeed been canceled and that I should travel to Concepción on the bus departing five minutes later. This was already clear to the bus drivers, they had loaded my stuff and in the ratio of 1:1 crew to passengers (driver and conductor plus two passengers), we arrived at Concepción at 6 a.m.

The Wayward Valve
The rear tire was flat, the valve was almost entirely loose. I tightened it with pliers, pumped for ten minutes up to 2.5 bar (which was hard labor with that super-light pump), but still it leaked. So, to the great amusement of the audience, I turned the bike around, removed the rear wheel and tried to change the inner tube. However, the nut over the valve could not be loosened either by hand or pliers. It was clogged with salt from the Bolivian salt plains and I could not budge it even with the pliers. Finally I had to extract the valve from the inner tube. I threw it into the trash can and immediately two locals started fighting over it. There had to be a bike store in Concepción and it was clear that I could not leave without a new inner tube. Also the front inner tube had endured equally adverse conditions and so the question was when the destructive power of the salt would take effect and that inner tube would also perish.

From Bad to Worse
It was 7.30 a.m. and the Oxford bike store, where one might expect to find inner tubes with Presto valves, opened at 10.30 a.m. Meanwhile, the sky had totally darkened. For the first 15 minutes one could have hoped for a better ending, before a flood was launched that Noah would have needed to build an ark for. I bought two inner tubes and headed off in the direction of the 100-km distant Nacimiento. But the downpour was so intense that I gave up and, after a few kilometers, turned and headed back into town. Under the pressure of circumstances, I decided to make a fresh start the following day. I stayed in the hostel, frozen, wet and experiencing a rare annoyance. I went to bed and for an hour warmed myself up by reading fiction on Kindle.

Uphill and Downhill
In the morning, a glorious day was born. Partly cloudy sky, no significant wind, just enough warmth for cycling. I extricated myself from Concepción and cycled across the at least 2-km wide Bio Bio River. Along its left bank, I enjoyed cycling on flat ground with a minimum of traffic. This lasted for 55 km, when I reinforced the good feeling with a hearty soup and a half-kg of ribs in a pub in the small town of Santa Juana. Thereafter, the hills began and I really started to enjoy it. The route was not boring. One moment a slight uphill, then a downhill ride, simply fun. I only had to beware of the heavily loaded trucks carrying wood to the pulp mill near Nacimiento. All around, the fragrant landscape was filled with forests and scattered farms.

[Near Santa Juana] A nameless waterfall by the road

In Nacimiento, I met up with two guys on road bikes, whom I had already encountered along the way about 20 km out of town. I asked them about accommodation and they took me to a house where it was agreed to accommodate me for a fairly good price of 12,000 Pesos with breakfast—not very happily (again I had forgotten to remove my helmet, scarf and goggles). As I did not like it there, I went to ask at the hotel on the square, where they wanted an unrealistic 26,000 Pesos. Meanwhile, Alexandro and Cristian showed me the local sights – especially the view of the nearby pulp mill whose stench obliged the whole region. I returned to the guesthouse, but they did not want me any more, claiming they were already full. I inquired in the booze store, where I had previously bought a beer, and they sent me to a 2-km distant hospedaje. There the cabaňas were all occupied, but one was going to be available at 8 p.m., so I booked it. The price was 10,000 Pesos (18 USD). I agreed and went back to Nacimiento to eat, returning at 8 p.m. I was pleased to discover that the light was good enough to cycle in the evening. And by 8 a.m. it is also light enough, which gives 12 hours for cycling. What luxury! And the days would be getting even longer.

When I saw my cabaňa, I nearly fell on my back in surprise. It was a spacious cottage of about 40 m2, with a super clean bathroom, refrigerator, stove, lounge suite, wooden furniture and a TV with about 80 channels. I reckoned that I did not deserve this and went to the pub to use the free WiFi to write this story. But I still wondered about it and inquired about the normal price. It was double – 20,000 Pesos (approx. 36 USD). I was given a cheap price, because it was available only at 8 p.m. (so it had already been paid for), and because I was friendly towards to them, the owner said politely.

[Nacimiento] Alexandro and Kristian, my cycling guides through Nacimiento

In the closet I discovered half of a white shirt and it was a clear signal that I needed to clean the chain. This situation occurs whenever I find a towel or appropriate cloth thrown by the roadside. In the morning I set to work. A handy banana box was lying nearby with which I covered the tire to prevent spattering with WD. I washed the chain thoroughly and then cleaned it with the cloth before smearing it with my favorite Finish line. It had always been translucent, but now thick white gel poured out of the bottle. I did not know whether this was an innovation by the manufacturer or the result of Bolivian night frosts. Some parts of the bike were still heavily saline, particularly the SPD pedals from which I could not clean the salt. Despite this, they were working quite well. Then I began to battle with the pumping of the tires which were critically underinflated. My wonderfully lightweight pump was able to inflate the tires to less than 1 bar and that was all. Fine, I thought, I would walk the bike to the gas station which was 100 meters away. But I kept wondering about the reason and finally figured it out. The pump had a loose fitting and when I tightened it, it worked well. I pumped 2.75 bar into the tires and, with my forehead covered in sweat, hit the road.

Mimicry
My saddle started to disintegrate, so I stuck it together with the silver tape. And I was glad that my bike increasingly resembled an old hoe pulled from the dustbin on Iron Sunday. At least it would discourage any potential applicants for its illegal acquisition. Likewise, my ragged and bleached cycling clothes were already sharing their fifth trip with me (in Alaska they had been new). Although the helmet was new, it was covered with silver tape like a war wounded to evoke my meager financial situation and deter potential thieves and rogues. Unfortunately, it had an unwanted effect on the other hand: good Samaritans invited me for coffee and cake out of compassion , and I had a hard time explaining to them that I had enough of everything, that I appreciated their invitation, but would love to pay for myself or even for them.

Country Roads or Highways
The moment of decision came in Angol. Either I could go to Temuco on country roads, which was about 50 km longer, or head for Collipulli and there enter the Pan-American Highway. To make sure, I asked carabineros whether it was still possible to cycle on the highway. Sure, no problem. So I ate a delicious empanada (pastry - patty - filled with all sorts of stuff, hot, cheap, tasty, nutritious and, according to the type of filling, sufficiently unhealthy). And again I was able to induce an excellent atmosphere in the store. This is how I do it: if the saleswoman is young, receptive, or older but pretty (but after 6 weeks on the road, almost all women appear to be so), I greet her “hola guapa” (Hello, Beautiful). It works immediately - without exception, all of them preen their feathers, throw a smile at me and enquire what the caballero wishes. Caballero tiene hambre (“The gentleman is hungry”), he feels like eating empanada, soup, beefsteak; he simply needs to replenish his calories. So I ask what she can recommend and I am convinced that, from the available options, I will get the best deal. And in addition, the chicks are happy, one of them even blushingly thanked me for the compliment.

[Near Angol] This owl didn't make it

[Collipulli] The local village square is a bustling place dedicated to dead generals; a prefabricated fountain in the foreground

Pan-American Highway
The Highway is boring, but one proceeds fast. The wide, almost 2-meter verge, usually perfectly tidy, reliably protected me from the monsters passing on the left. I paid attention to entry and exit roads but otherwise it was fácil (easy). Along the Highway there are many stalls selling fruit, honey, beverages and all the vendors greeted me. Relaxed cycling, only the noise of the passing traffic was annoying. I stopped in Victoria, and with quite considerable effort located cheap accommodation (hospedaje, guesthouse). Besides one hospedaje, there was only a disproportionately expensive hotel. So it goes in small towns there.

[Collipulli] The Mallico railway viaduct is a National Technical Monument

[Near Victoria] Chileans caught me out and led me literally to the road

Temuco
In the morning, it was immediately clear to me that it was going to rain that day, it was only a matter of time. It started raining quite lightly slightly before 11 a.m. Then water streams began to lash the road, so I stopped at a parada (bus stop) and took a nap for about half an hour for the worst blast to pass over. Temuco was 20 km away, so I did not mind even if I was completely soaked. The only problem was that I had to cycle without glasses; they are useless in heavy rain. On the periphery of the town, a beautiful cycle route began, running parallel to the Panamericana and ending about 3 km before the center. Accommodation was not a problem, it is a large city (250,000 inhabitants), without any important sights in it.

[Temuco] The house (in the background) was the home of Pablo Neruda, a famous Chilean poet

[Temuco] Chileans love horses, even for dinner

Whimsical Tarjeta VISA
I carried two payment cards with me. The MasterCard operated under all circumstances, both when paying in stores and when withdrawing money from ATMs. But the VISA card did not work at all in stores and most ATMs refused to issue money, with the excuse that the card had not been issued in Chile. Only some ATMs poured cash with this card. Interestingly, it was not a matter of the respective banks. An ATM of the same bank could provide money in one town while not in five others. So far, I had received cash on the VISA card only from those ATMs which had the maximum withdrawal amount pre-set at 200,000 Pesos. Most of the others allowed only half as much. So I decided to keep paying attention to this and really wondered whether this rule was universally valid.