Here we are. The trip is finished. This is the final One Road South update.

We biked the last few hundred kilometers to Lima in record time. We hung out together in Lima a bit, ate some celebratory cheeseburgers and toured town. Then we went our separate ways. Mike and Dan headed home the first week of September. Chris got a plane the second week. And I continued traveling on my own for a while. My solo adventures are chronicled at http://trustfalling.blogspot.com

Nazca Lines

Google Maps Location: -14.716667, -75.133333

I sat in the copilot’s seat, sweating with anticipation in the hot desert air. Finally, the pilot hopped into the capitan’s seat of the single propellor, 6-seater, Cessna airplane and we taxied off down the runway.

After a few days exploring the festivities that the small town of Chalhuanca had to offer, it was time to ascend up onto the alti-plano. We hit the road before 12pm and finished a hard 40km in a couple of hours. Chris and I were at the bottom of the ascent waiting for Mike and Daniel to catch up. After awhile, I told Chris that I was going to start climbing. We knew the climb would take at least 2 hours, and I wanted to get it out of the way. Unfortunately, Mike fell ill upon reaching the bottom while I was already more than half way up. I spotted Chris more than a few times while I was climbing, and figured that they were all behind me.

Behind the Scenes

I woke up early and dressed quietly while the other guys slept. We were in the town of Chalhuanca, in the Peruvian Andes, and I had heard that there would be a bullfight today. If I played my cards right, maybe I could help! I walked uphill, to the house of the "capitanes" of the Festival. Every year, a different family hosts and pays for the week of the festival. I had met the queen yesterday, and she had invited me to breakfast in the courtyard with the other participants: band members, dancers, bullfighters, bull wranglers, and chefs.

It all started with a rumor…and a very sick Dan Wallace. We had holed up in a dingy hostel, in an equally dingy town, with not much to do. Wallace had gotten sick. The cold of the misty mountain pass, and then the bone chilling descent afterwards had done him in. We found him at the first roadside truck stop, wrapped in his sleeping bag, holding a kitten for warmth. So we ended up staying in Abancay for a few days to heal Dan up. That’s when the front desk man told Daniel about the greatest festival in all of the Apurimac region (where we happened to be). Challhuanca, the home of the ‘Party of the Lord of Animation’. With a name as good as that, you knew it had to be worthwhile. Even better than that, it was on our way, and our three days of ‘hospitalization’ put us only a few days away from the beginning of the festivities!

Kindness of Poor People II

We were stopped on the side of the road, high in the Andes, to fix Mike’s broken spoke. My mind was wandering to the misty valley spread out below me, pretending to be an eagle soaring over the multi-colored fields, mud-brick houses, and winding river.

It had been well over two months since the ORS team was on the road, riding together. As we wrapped up our time in Cuzco, we were all growing anxious to strike out into the intimidating Peruvian Andes. The day finally came, and before lunch time we had checked out of our hostel, and bought food at the local store for a few days. Soon we had pedaled out of the central plaza and were huffing and puffing up the steep rode leading up out of Cuzco.

The mysterious ruins of Machu Picchu have baffled and delighted archaeologists and anthropologists for almost 100 years. How this stone city was delicately perched atop mountains is still unclear, and tourists flock to see South America’s most incredible man-made attraction. But what adds to the excitement of seeing the ruins is getting there.

It’s 8pm, and the streets lined with rocks that fit together like jigsaw pieces, are also filled with tourists from every nation around the world. The soft orange glow from the street lamps illuminates each hostel and restaurant archway, as well as the person underneath calling out menu descriptions and beckoning your entrance. Artisans haggle over the prices of their many creations neatly laid out on sidewalk display. And highly mobile foot vendors try to convince you that smoking is good, as they shove a pack of cigarettes in your face. The army of young shoe shining boys run around the romantic plaza, playing more than they are working. You could be in any Latin American city really, until you here the one word chorus echoing around every corner, “Massage?!” Its now confirmed, you can only be in one place – Cuzco.

Lake Titicaca

We visited the highest lake in the world! Well, the highest "navigable" lake. And… it was a nice lake. Wet and blue. Floaty and deep. But I’ve gotta say, it seemed like a normal lake. Nothing too special. It was actually kind of a let down. And with our bodies now accustomed to the altitude, we didn’t even feel like it was that high.

The Repair

I was wandering around the parking lot during a rest break in our bus ride, when I noticed the engine compartment was open. Curious, I went over to examine the underbelly of the beast.

“What on Earth am I doing?!?” That was all I could think, as I sat in luxurious business class, working through the hard hitting emotions accompanying me back to South America. I was saying goodbye to home and all things familiar, for a second time. I was returning to adventure cycling after three wonderful summer weeks at home in the US, having a blast with close friends and family. The time went too fast for sure, and knowing that I was returning to a very different and less comfortable life did not make getting on the plane any easier.

Recent Bolivian Politics

With the election of Evo Morales, the first indigenous president of Bolivia, the country has really started to change. Not everyone likes him, for sure, but he is getting things done.

So what would possess three guys who have spent the past seven months riding bicycles to spend their downtime renting other bicycles for a paid tour? Here’s a clue: we start at over 15,500 feet up, and end up at 3,555 feet. And in between, its a bumpy, deadly ride.

Altiplano Adventures

First of all, let me save you the time: wikipedia tells us that Altiplano is "Spanish for high plain, in central South America, where the Andes are at their widest, is the most extensive area of high plateau on earth outside of Tibet."

Finding yourself at 4,000+ meters, it is often the case that you will find oneself coasting downhill. As we left the twisting warrens of Potosi, we found out how true that can be. We started near the top of some high rolling grassland just outside of the city, buzzing past a sleepy power plant, and a bus stopped at a highway checkpoint. As we rode by, the colorfully dressed women and children selling snacks alongside the checkpoint laughed and waved at us. Soon, the descent began in earnest, and we quickly lost some altitude, and gained a lot of scenery. The rolling grasslands began to be punctuated with tortured ridges of rock, cutting through the earth.

The city of Sucre presented us with a different view of Bolivia than we had seen thus far. Having entered the country in the middle of nowhere (the roadless salt flats) and having cranked through the poor agrarian countryside, we noticed the first signs of wealth as we approached town.

Potosi Mine

The high altitude in Potosi proved Kryptonite for our super-biking muscles, so we stayed for a few days to acclimatize. At 13,420 feet, Potosi is the highest city in the world. It was founded as a mining town by the Spanish invaders in 1546, and still continues to be a thriving (albeit poor) mining city today.

The town of Potosi is the highest city in the world (according to our guide book), and you feel it. Walking up a steep hill, riding the bike around town, sometimes even standing up, and you feel all 13,300 feet of altitude. Potosi is an old city, founded by the Spanish conquistadors who were interested in the silver deep beneath the hill that sits above the town.

Uyuni

We rolled into Uyuni long after dark; legs tired from the hard push through the salt flats and sandy desert roads. The hopes of American-style pizza had lent sustaining power to our legs.

Procrastination had got me again. I had put off getting my Bolivian visa after losing the original with my passport. During my two days in Santiago, Chile, I had completely forgotten to visit the Bolivian embassy in my excitement to go north in the Desert. Now, a few hundred kilometers from the Bolivian border, it was on my mind again.

Goodbye Chile

After nearly six and a half months, we’re finally quitting Chile. I’m sad to be leaving, but eager to get on to Bolivia.

Chile has been wonderful. The people here are, in general, very loving and open. They love foreigners and have been very generous. We are leaving many new and close friends behind. In honor of our friends, I have the priviledge of writing the Chile Summary.

Chuquicamata

When the dictator Pinochet privatized Chile’s mines, it was arguably one of the best things for Chile’s economy at the time. Granted, Pinochet was a horrible murderer, but he did manage to get Chile’s economy back on track. The Atacama Desert in the North of Chile is one of the richest mineral deposits in South America. And the mineral riches there are Chile’s primary export, propelling its economy into the world stage and soon to first-world status.

The red ball of the sun was dropping low towards the horizon as we left the dust of Calama behind us. Pushing out into the Atacama for one last ride in the great desert, we were loaded down, ready for days of nothing. We camped to the west of Chukicamata, the huge gaping pit in the earth. Even late at night, the mine was lit up like a Christmas tree, and spewing smoke; a bast that never sleeps. The next day we continued the slow climb through the blasted desert, passing the sleepy towns of Chiu-Chiu and Lasana. Chiu-Chiu, sleepy in the hot sun, and Lasana, hidden in it’s deep, cool, canyon. The slow freight train from Calama to Ollague passed us in the heat, pushing it’s way north towards Bolivia. We felt akin to the train, heavy laden, slowly and steadily pushing ourselves onward.

Salt Caves

Here we are, in the famous Valley of the Moon (Valle de la Luna) outside San Pedro de Atacama, a desert oasis in the north of Chile.

http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=san+pedro+de+atacama,+chile&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=40.001301,93.076172&ie=UTF8&ll=-22.90812,-68.362083&spn=0.182157,0.363579&t=h&z=12.

Peace,

As of Sept 6, 2009, the bike trip is over. We´ve spent 9 months in South America as a team, and ridden from Tierra del Fuego, Argentina to Lima, Peru. Chris, Mike, and Dan are back in the States. Daniel is still in South America.

San Pedro de Atacama is a sleepy village, nearly lost to time, at the edge of Chile. You can practically see both Bolivia and Argentina from town. The twisting dirt streets wind between rows of adobe huts that seem to have sprung out of the desert.

Calama

My eyes open for the first time into harsh, white light. My feet are freezing, and I tuck them up into the warm torso of my sleeping bag. I probably should have used my tent, but I had wanted to watch the desert stars. I breathe in the cold, dry air through my mouth. My nose has long since crusted with desert dust and dried snot.

The RentaCar agent dropped the keys into my hand and I walked outside into the desert, leaving piles of paperwork behind me. Natan (age 12) and I headed over to purvey our new path to freedom: a four-door truck like the Miners use to drive the desert roads. And the most important thing… beefcake four wheel drive!

“Welcome to Chile! You have 90 days to get out.”

This is essentially what our Chilean tourist cards told us. The deadline was to ensure that we enjoyed ourselves in their country, but didn’t stay and try to work, or worse, stay and mooch. Day 90 came and went while the four of us were finally reunited in Calama. We were pretty busy with a conference at the church, an overnight trip to see geysers, and another side trip to Iquique. A week after, Daniel was the first to make the “oh, crap!” realization. We decided that we needed to head down to the police station to inquire about our new illegal alien status.

"You guys should come up to Iquique (say: "ick-kee-kay") next week and speak at the youth group. There’s a beach there," said Carla, a girl we met last week at church in Calama.

How hard did we have to think? Well, actually, pretty hard. Daniel and Dan had just spent two weeks doing the city thing in Santiago, and they were eager to get back on the bikes. Chris and I had had a good time riding across the desert, and felt strong and ready to head to Bolivia. But Carla’s invitation to meet the kids she works with and hang out on the beach trumped our wanderlust.

During the bus ride from Calama to the coastal town of Iquique, I could only think of one thing: the beach. We don’t get many opportunities to spend time at beaches on this trip. In fact, it has only happened once. Mike, Chris and I had an awesome beach day on the island of Chiloe, but needless to say the trip was too short, and left me longing for more sand-time. My wishes were granted when we decided to take up an invitation to visit Iquique, and give a presentation about our trip to a youth group there. We planned on staying at least three to four days, and while the bus bumped along westward through the desert, I dreamed of reuniting with salty seas and sandy feet.

Calama: an arid, desolate, dull-colored mining town. Dust-ridden, in the middle of the driest desert in the world, and hundreds of miles from anywhere, Calama has no useful resources above ground, and is devoid of anything green. However, what it lacks in general attraction and ease-of-living, it makes up for in the beautiful personalities of its people.

Months earlier we had met some happy Canadian cyclists, Mike and Jenna (check out their blog, ‘Long Haul Honeymoon’ on our Blog-Roll). After talking for a few minutes on the side of the road, they told us we had to stay with Amelie and Jose Miguel in Copiapo, Chile, when we were in the desert. They sent us an introductory e-mail, and we proceeded on our ways. Cue to the desert. We rolled down into the small town of Copiapo expecting a day of rest, and then back on the road. As soon as we arrived, we felt like we were in paradise. Amelie, Jose Miguel, and their daughters Maite and Elisa were a wonderful family, and they had made the most beautiful home out here in the desert.

Santiago seemed to enter my mind each day. After the ferry-ride across the choppy Straight of Magellan, my first step onto mainland South America brought the Chilean capital into view, even though it was still thousands of miles and months of riding in the distance. By the time I was pedaling on the homestretch to the capital of Chile, with Temuco in my rearview, my anticipation had grown so much, that it was nearly enough to act as the fuel my legs needed to ride the last 700Km (435 miles). Making the trip in four days, I arrived at the Campbell’s residence, a grimy, sweating, and more than happy mess.

The generousity of poor people

You remember that rough time we had last week, riding from Temuco to Santiago?

There was one night that I want to tell about, that gave me hope and revitalized me for the next week. It also made me a little sad.

“There’s something wrong with my rack,” I said.

A few hundred meters back, I had felt the weight on the bike shift slightly. By the time I caught up with Chris and the Swiss cyclist who had been riding with us for a few days, I knew that this problem was probably no small deal. We unloaded the bike and practically gasped at what we saw: my poor rear rack had broken not in one spot, but three!

The desert was the release from civilization. After we passed through the town of La Serena, the fences disappeared. Those barbed wire fences had been alongside the highway ever since we rolled out of Ushuaia, 4000 km back. Between towns, or small desert outposts, hundreds of empty barren kilometers could roll past. Decaying truck stops, dilapidated shacks, dust blown and fading, became oases, giving us water and food in the vast expanse of wasteland.

“So I’ll see you guys up there then.” These were the last words I said to my teammates before I boarded my Fuji spaceship, hit the launch button and blasted out of the city of Temuco. I was so excited to finally be on the home stretch to the grand city of Santiago that my legs did not stop pedaling for the first two hours out on the highway. I knew it was a week’s ride to the capital, but after the initial 30 miles, my legs told me that I’d reach Santiago in less time. Four days later, I reached the outskirts of the “city of smog.”

Mike and I had been riding hard for four days. 465 kilometers lay behind us, and there were 250 kilometers between us and Santiago. It was near the end of the big push. The team had split up into ones and twos, traveling light and and fast to make good time from Temuco to Santiago. The night before, we had found a beautiful golden field to sleep in.

Now this was a bicycle trip!

I couldn’t deny this sentiment inside of me, but why did I feel this way this week? I think the five days of riding from Temuco to Santiago looked a bit more like my bike tours in the United States than the first four months of South America. First of all, Chris and I could see each day’s progress on a map, something that was difficult to do when we were battling headwinds all day in the pampas, or dealing with broken racks on the rocky Carretera Austral. This week, we had nothing but smooth, straight highway in front of us, so all we had to do was crank.

The mad race to Santiago!

The guys left Temuco on Thursday afternoon, eager to get on the road. I stayed, and kept talking with Lorena about missions and life. Time wore on, and I ended up staying until Sunday.

Strangely enough, Temuco is the first Chilean city that I feel like I got to KNOW. So much of our time has been spent in small towns, where an hour’s worth of walking has shown you the whole town, or on the reverse side of things, in large un-approachable cities, where it seems easier to just spend time with the people we are staying with. Temuco had just the right amount of size and history, approachability, and hidden beauty to make exploring it a pleasure. Normally, I’m not the kind of person who likes spending time in cities. After a few days in the noise, smell, and general "city-ness" of most towns, I find myself yearning to return to the wilds.

Hey Mom,

I know it’s been a while since I’ve written to you. Sorry about that.

This week has been such a blessing for us. We’ve been staying with Mama Zadie, and we made Empanadas! Check out the movie! She has beds for all of us, so it has been a real treat to sleep on a mattress.

After another few days of riding through chilling rain, and a very exciting vomit by Chris outside of Villarica (try not to down a liter of strawberry milk before riding), we arrived in the famous adventure town of Pucon. First off, the town has some of the most beautiful scenery we’ve seen on the trip, when clouds aren’t dominating the sky line. We rented our first hostel on the trip, another big moment for us. After everyone had their turn washing off the last three days of road grim in the warm shower, we set our plans for the next few days.

My alarm went off in the darkness of the early morning, but I was already awake. Soon our little hostel was a flurry of activity, packing food, searching for gear, Daniel staggering around, still half asleep. This was the moment we had been waiting for, the volcano was in our sites. We had been waiting for three days for the thick clouds to clear out above us. Finally, the weather was clear, and before we knew it, we were suiting up, boots, gaiters, ice axes, crampons, helmets, and a packed stuffed with a jacket, fleece, gloves, food, and water.

Patagonia was almost behind us. The snowy mountains, blue rivers, and spectacular skies, would soon be replaced by strip malls, tractor-trailers, and busy metro-areas. We had one last chance for Patagonian adventure-tourism: the exciting town of Pucon, nestled between Lake Villarrica and Volcano Villarrica. It promised to give us one last taste of the active, cold-weather active lifestyle.

After a short ferry ride, Mike, Chris and I pedaled back onto mainland South America. Within two days we approached the city of Puerto Montt. This port city, about the size of Allentown, PA, had a few surprises in store for us, including a bee sting to the jugular for me and lots of goodies mailed down by friends and family back home for the group. Daniel also rejoined us after his time in Santiago. Puerto Montt will always be as remembered the location of the first One Road South McDonald’s Fest, where for almost two hours the guys and I binged on the greasy but oh-so-tasty fast food. We left town that same day and I spent the next day paying for it with the runs and severe stomach cramps. Next time, it’s BK.

Hola Hola!

After a long break, we’re back in the game!

In order to catch you up on all the great stuff we’ve seen in the last month, we may have two updates per week for the next month. Once we get caught up, we’ll be back to a lighter schedule.

Too Easy!

I woke up this morning in a nice, soft bed, with a full stomach, in a climate-controlled house, and had the distinct feeling that this trip is getting too easy. We’ve come a long way from the windswept barrenness of the Pampas, the freezing rain of Patagonia, and the terrible washboard roads of the Carreterra Austral. We know ourselves now. And we know each other. We know Who provides for us. And we’ve gotten comfortable in this groove.

Hey folks! Sorry to keep you all waiting for so long, but here is our latest video called "Turning the Page." The video needs to be accessed by and external link because we are currently working out the kinks with our new launcher. Hope you all enjoy!

Chile Chico

"O my goodness, I’m on pavement…and its all downhill!" This was all I could think of as I made my approach on the town of Chile Chico. The previous few weeks of riding had been spent on horrible gravely washboard roads that murdered both bike and body. What a feeling it was to hit that blacktop, accelerate to a respectable speed, and NOT look back! Chile Chico was the celebratory return to civilization after weeks of living in the wilderness of Patigonia. We spent a week in the small town hanging out with our friend, Pastora Eva, helping her put together her new home. Eva was a pastor we met in Puerto Natales, and she was transferred to a church in Chile Chico shortly after we left her. It was nice that we could be with her as she was introduced to the new town and church since we were a link to her old life in Puerto Natales.

One of my favorite movie quotes is, “Life is like a box of chocolates, ya’ never know what’cha gonna’ get,” by Mrs. Gump. This quote carries a lot of significance for us on this trip, because when we ride out each day from camp, we have no idea what’s around the next bend. There could be a riot or a glacier or anything! And this spontaneity is one of the reasons I love traveling this way. Spontaneity can lead to really good things, and since we run things pretty loosely around here in the One Road South world, there are a lot of chances for wonderful things to happen. One thing we’re learning is not to take life too seriously. I’ll give you a great example of a great day, full of spontaneity, that happened to us just recently.

Return to the Wilderness

We are pedaling out of Cochrane. The road is hot and dusty. The sky is big and blue above us. The cold ‘Rio Baker’ flows swift and deep below us. What is happening? Are we sweating? It hasn’t been hot and dry enough for sweat in quite a while. The sun burns our necks gloriously. A sun burn never felt so good. Nevermind the depleted ozone layer. Patagonia has turned a deep shade of blue, cool green, and snowy white. We climb up to the other side of the valley. Our late start has caught up with us, so we camp after a short day’s ride. A grassy meadow is our home, a fire is crackling on our hearth. We have stacked up a pile of scavenged firewood big enough to last us for the winter. The sun sets over the Andes, while we cook hotdogs over the hot coals. Save for the pies the local livestock have generously left us, things couldn’t get much better. The next day, our dreamworld of green pine forests, and tall mountains continues to pass by us, gently spilling us onto the shores of Lago General Carrera. I sit down beside the edge of the dusty road. It’s time to eat, I take out my lunch of apples, ham, cheese, and a few rolls of ‘hallulla’, the round table bread so commonly eaten down here. A lunch on the road never lasts long enough, but sooner or later we have to keep on moving.

I crawl into back into my tent, which isn’t hard to do since the zipper doesn’t hold the door closed. Pre-dawn light creeps over the horizon, but I’m looking forward to a few more hours in my sleeping bag. This was the seventh trip behind the tree tonight, and I’m clueless as to what else could possibly be exiting my body with such urgency.

I realized we had forgotten to talk about some of our everyday experiences traveling from Villa O’Higgins to Cochrane, our first stretch of the Carretera Austral, or the road that stretches north to south through Chilean Patagonia. Built in the 1980’s by Pinochet, it’s one of the most challenging, and beautiful roads in the world. Here are a few notes from the road:

“Super enfermo“, we’ve learned, means super sick; which is what Mike and I were when a break in the weather prompted the team and I to head out of Tortel, and make for the town of Cochrane a couple hundred kilometers away. It’s no fun being super sick, but through it we witnessed some genuine acts of kindness by total strangers. For example, while Mike and I waited at our campground/public pavilion that morning in Tortel, we managed to look so pathetic that a couple of tourists passing by gave us food (two cans of peaches) and another couple even gave us money! I didn’t think we looked so pathetic as to warrant these gifts, though. At the time I was fixing some parts on my bike, coughing and fending off an over-curious puppy; and Mike was passed out on the deck “starfish-style”, soaking up the precious rays of sunshine. We apparently looked worse off than I thought! It is also worth noting that at this time Mike was dealing with an intestinal parasitic infection which wreaked havoc on his digestive system for the next week.

Most of my optimism has vanished, diluted by the raindrops that saturate my clothing from my wool hat to my Gore-Tex shoes. What used to be excitement and anticipation for the next chapter of our journey has become misery, and the gray blanket hovering over the mountainous terrain is mirrored in my expression. Days and days of rain have narrowed my perspective. Where I previously appreciated just being outside, not at work, without a boss, not hiking with a heavy backpack, not having a mortgage or rent to worry about, the only thought throbbing in my brain is to minimize the immediate discomfort. And what is worse than the current dripping state of every single piece of gear I have is the lack of hope that anything will improve in the near future.

After surviving the infamous “Hike of Death”, our next task was to ride the ferry across Lago O’Higgins to the town of Villa O’Higgins and enter the Carreterra Austral. This was accomplished, even amidst almost constant rain, intimidating clouds of mosquitoes and very cold air temperatures due to thick overcast conditions. We were even received into a family of travelers I dubbed the Lago O’Higgins Community Outreach Program (LOCOP).

Ever traverse a 12 meter long climbing rope suspended across a swollen river just as wide, without clipping in? Me neither, that is until just recently. After my massive rack failure on the way out to catch the ferry at Lago Desierto, and our subsequent return to town, Daniel and I decided to hike out to Lago Torre, a few hours outside El Chalten. It seems my knack for procrastination has followed me even to the far reaches of South America, and also spread like an airborne virus to my companions.

Deep blue glaciers were suspended high above us, obscured by the thick clouds hanging around the mountain tops. The deck was slippery with water, it was raining as we slid along the cold blue surface of Lago Desierto. As the boat cut through the water, the anticipation built like the bow wave the boat pushed up in front of us. The steep black cliffs released their granite grip at the north end of the lake. A small patch of green grass and woods sat behind the small wooden dock. The Argentinean border station sprawled across the edge of the lake, small curls of smoke lazily drifted out of the tin chimneys. We left our boat and walked towards the border post. Bored soldiers sat inside in front of the television and ‘toman la mate che’, sipping the ubiquitous tea from wooden cups. After our passports were stamped, we set out to find Chile. There wasn’t even a sign to indicate where the trailhead was. Behind some horse stables, we found a rickety wooden bridge that seemed to lead up the side of a muddy slope. The bridge was the path to more than just a hike through the woods.

How is progress measured? For some, one’s number of sales determines their "success." For others, papers published, projects completed, products manufactured, transmissions lubed, miles of concrete layed, and so on. So what about the four of us? What constitutes our getting somewhere?

Hola everyone! I hope you enjoy this week´s Travel Log. I wanted to update you all on our video production status. We have completed two brand-spanking new ones, but we have run into a problem that we anticipated: long upload times. So Chris is going to the post office right this second to mail home a CD. It is tough to predict when it will get to the states, so thanks for your patience. Until then, enjoy our words and pics! Here´s one of a tree that grows socks…crazy!

Here we are in El Chalten, Argentina.

It is Thursday and we arrived here 7 days ago. It seems like we can´t get out of a town in less than a week! We left once already, but had to return to repair Dan´s bike before entering the Carreterra Austral. That meant a bus trip for Dan to the last town, and 6 hours of building a new wheel for me. Now that it´s taken care of, we´re on our way!

“I guess it’s okay…its poopy.” This line was said more times than I care to remember in the last week in a half. Let me give you the context: after pulling off the road for the day, pealing our butts off the bike saddles and walking around looking for a good place to set up the tent(s), someone would end up describing the ground and large amounts of excrement saying, “it’s poopy.”

Here’s an example of an article I wrote for our Reach the World update. You’ll see shorter sentences and easier words…

www.reachtheworld.org

_____

Well, Chris just left for Buenos Aires. That is the capital city in Argentina, and is almost as big as New York City! The problem is that it is 40 hours away, by bus. He is going there to get an "Emergency Passport" at the United States Embassy.

WARNING – GRAPHIC PHOTOGRAPHS

It was another normal day on the pampas, Rheas and sheep, a few million short thorny bushes, the wind laughing at us, and vast expanses of nothingness – pretty much a normal Friday. Passing kilometer 55, on ruta 7, going east towards Esparanza, we stopped in at Estancia Vangaurdia to beg for some water; as much as we like the pampas, we’d rather not die in them. If I had to pick a place, it’s not a bad one, but like I said, not quite yet. Luckily for us, this estancia wasn’t the normal 15km of rough gravel track from the main road; they’re into long driveways around here. There were a few gauchos standing around in front of one of the smaller buildings sitting at the foot of the hill above us.

We’re falling into a routine of riding hard for five days or so, spending a few days (or more) in a town, resting, then getting back on the road. This past week was one of the "back on the road" weeks. It is difficult to describe the range of emotions I feel as we prepare to get back on the bikes. Samuel and Latitia showed us such love for the week and a half we spent with them in Puerto Natales, Chile, so it was easy to get a little choked up trying to find the words (trying in Spanish, and therefore, in vain) to express how much their kindness meant to me. Despite this, my eagerness to cover some miles was growing. Looking at the big map of South America is kind of depressing, considering the measly amount of kilometers we’ve covered in almost two months. Still, we know we’re doing it the right way: putting the experience and the people above the odometer.

This week, we stayed with a Chilean couple in Puerto Natales. It has been a great opportunity to be a part of normal Chilean life.

Here is a snapshot of a typical family life.

While it might sound exotic, backpacking several thousand miles from home in Patagonia’s Torres del Paine National Park was not all that different than any other backpacking trip I’ve been on. There was the sweating, burning muscles, pain, and usual masochism of any normal backpacking experience.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

A steady tap against my feet has awoken me for the third time this night. Few things in nature are this consistent, I think. It must be water. Sure enough, the uniform dripping continues as the rain pools at the edge of the royal blue tarp suspended above me. My brain feels as foggy as the sky above the trees, and I struggle to remember how the heck I got myself into this situation. Oh! Thaaaat’s right. I put that monstrous pack on my back and walked for hours, only to nestle in the warmth and security of this degenerate plastic lean-to.

In this summary of our latest happenings in the land of Chile, let me start by explaining how much we are learning about time management, commitments, and flexibility. We planned to be in the town of Puerto Natales for about two days (time management), and we planned to use the internet for updating purposes and the like and then move on (commitment). We ended up staying in town with friends for a 3 days, then backpacking around the local national park (Los Torres del Paine) for 3 days where two of us (Daniel and myself) got severely sick from drinking the river water, and after resting/hanging-out for another 5 days with our new friends (FLEXIBILITY).

So, we are finally making some headway! We’re all the way to Puerto Natales, Chile, now after a little over a month from landing in Ushuaia, Argentina. We’ve traveled through wind, rain, sun, hail, rainbows, and freezing cold nights to get to where we are and have had some pretty awesome experiences so far.

We’re back on the road, and it feels good. Sometimes, especially in the morning, it feels terrible. I think my sleeping bag must be the most comfortable place in the world, because it takes a Chilean Army Truck to get me out of it sometimes. In the morning, the team practices our gastro-intestinal orchestra, while singing the praises of our favorite breakfast, polenta. It’s loved and hated with vigor, and no meal of it’s yellow grains passes without a debate over it’s merits and shortcomings. Wallace’s quest to make it taste ‘just like cornflakes’ continues.

The pampas: thousands and thousands of square miles of low hills, spotted sheep ranches, clusters of grass. The wind is so fierce that little vegetation thrives here. Only small, thorny bushes, and short trees that look as though they are permanently in a wind tunnel.

What’s been the biggest surprise for you since you’ve started the trip? Anything completely unexpected or different than you’d originally thought?

That is a good question. I guess it comes and goes.

December 30, 2008—53° 9’ 23.21" South Latitude, 70° 54’ 20.08" West Longitude

"-53.156447, -70.905579" in http://maps.google.com/ for the exact location!

We had some memory card malfunctions, so we don’t have as many photos this week. But guess what. We’re warm and safe and dry! And, this whole week has been magnifico (magnificent)!

You’ve heard from us about adventure cycling, what we’ve been up to, and some of the people we’ve met. But what’s it really like in Tierra del Fuego? How is it similar, how is it different to the Northeastern United States: what we call "normal"?

The sight was almost too much to take in all at once: after days of hills, sheep fields, and more hills, the town of Porvenir finally appeared before us. We descended the last hill. Colorful rooftops spotted the hillside opposite Bahia Porvenir, the bay at her base. Time for some much-needed comforts of civilization.

We travel around the world on bicycles. We have all the things we need to survive on the bikes, so they are very heavy (muy pesado). We are slow (lento), very slow (muy lento); and we get tired (cansado), very tired (muy cansado). However, this is not such a bad thing because we get to experience South America unlike other travelers that get around via motorcycles, vans, or busses. Our slow pace allows us to spend time getting to know the land, the interesting flora and fauna and all the wonderful people we meet along the way!

We left the border station after midnight, crossing into the 14 kilometers between Chile and Argentina. The border guards seemed nonplussed at the four bikers getting their passports stamped in the middle of the night, dressed in neon colored jackets, wearing headlamps and bicycle helmets. Just another day in the life of an Argentinian border guard. Only 14 kilometers seperated us from Chile, but the night seemed to drag on forever. First the roads, fifty meters after leaving the border station of San Sebastian, the wonderful paved roads ended, dumping us into a sliding mix of golf ball sized rocks and deep sand. Our friend Angelo told us that these roads were fixed, not ripio! With only the pale white beam of our headlamps to guide us, every moment required total concentration just to keep from wipping out. We were all starting to doubt the wisdom of trying to beat the wind by traveling at night. It had worked so well coming from Rio Grande to San Sebastian. Just as we thought things couldn’t get worse, the trucks came. A seemingly endless line of great rumbling, clanking, earth shaking, dust raising death machines grinding past us in the night. Wonderful. With every truck that comes around the corner, the four of us come to a sliding, gravely halt, pulling off the road to let the metal beasts past.

Que Babaridad! That basically means "wow"; which is what I said I the team and I rolled out of Ushuaia’s airport on our overloaded touring bikes. As we cruised down a long hill I looked down at Susan (my green Fuji touring bicycle) and said, "Well girl, here we go!" I believe accurately describing my feelings during the first two weeks in South America in a blog is pretty much impossible; but I’ll give it a go.

The One Road South adventure will be chronicled in the News Journal this Thursday!

For all those living in Delaware, check the cover story on the Crossroads section of the Thursday News Journal, December 18th! We’ve got a pretty big article in there with a few great pictures.

This week, we left the haven of a tourist town, Ushuaia, and began our bicycle journey North. It was a bittersweet departure because we knew where everything was and had all our needs filled. With loaded water bottles and food supplies, we exited the town on Wednesday the 10th and slept near a river a few miles outside of town. Morning came, and with it, a visitor from across the river. His name was Fabriccio, and he wanted to show us a nearby waterfall. We were wary, and didn’t know if he wanted us to pay him, or if he just wanted to lure us away from our gear. It turned out that he just wanted some company. He runs a campground (that happened to be a few hundred yards from our "free" campsite) and didn’t have many guests at the time. http://www.kawiyoppen.com.ar/ is his website!

Welcome to Saturday afternoon:

I’m riding head into the rain, cranking slowly in a gear that’s really too high for this speed. Even with the high winds blowing in my ears, I can hear my bike creak with the excessive force of each pedal-stroke. We’re carrying too much weight, and these hills accentuate that fact. The wind blowing against me doesn’t help either. But I know I can’t shift to a lower gear, because the higher RPMs hurt my knees.

!A mi me gusta Argentina!

I really like Argentina!

Today is a great day! The sun is shining, there is no wind, and I am inside with a full belly. We are taking a rest day.

Stark contrast to our days on Friday and Saturday, which included hours of headwinds, rain showers, mountain passes, and three broken spokes.

Buenos Dias mis amigos y familia!

Good day my friends and family!

We are safely in Ushuaia, Argentina: the southernmost city in the world! We arrived on Wednesday with no major issues. All of our luggage arrived intact, and we didn’t have any major problems in any of the airports.

I’m jolted awake from my sleep by a loud howling outside the tent. My drying clothes are springing around above my head as my little yellow home is shaken and beaten by this monster outside. Instantly I’m awake, hastily pulling on my rain pants and jacket. I’ve never heard the wind this strong before, I must be out there. I can hear the waves being thrown against the rocks below me. As I emerge from my yellow cave, i’m hit in the face with a salt spray, whipped up from the channel to my south. White foamy waves are crashing over the jagged rocks of our little beach. I climb out onto one of the large ones, 20 or 30 meters away from the grassy knoll where we’re camped. This is no longer the peaceful beach we initially found; "muy tranquillo" our Argentine mountain-biking amigo told us. Now it is the bow of a ship, crashing through the seas. I stand on the rock, surrounded by the spray and foam, and let the spray crash into me. South America is proving to be all that I imagined and more.

I’m lounging here in my friend’s house, satisfied and with a full belly. I have warm blankets, a soft couch, and a puppy sleeping with his head on my feet.

Outside, the snow is falling heavily, coating everything in white. It reminds me of where I’ll be in 10 days: Ushuaia, Argentina, at the southern tip of the world. It’s summer there now, but still cold enough to sustain advancing glaciers and Magellan penguins.

Beep beep beep!

Is it time to get up already? Man, that hardly seemed like 8 hours. At least the inside of our tent glows with happy, yellow-orange light. Guess I should peek outside and see if it’s still raining out. Ziiiiiip

The Lions and the Elephant

I once saw something as I trekked across the Savannahs of Africa, the likes of which I have never seen before.

I had been traveling day and night, through lion territory – sleeping during the heat of the day in any shade I could find, and usually high in a tree away from predators. I carried only my hunting knife and a wooden spear I had hardened in a fire.

I wake in Dan Wallace’s house, huddled under a few blankets. The night before had been spent talking until nearly three in the morning. Pulling on clothes, stuffing gear into my bag, I prepare for the day and stagger downstairs to Mr. Wallace’s coffee and oatmeal. His secret recipe: three sticks of butter and a pound of sugar…perfect. Starting to wake up, my bag is packed and re-packed several times, discarding extra weight that will not be needed during the day. I finally decide on a light jacket, two liters of water, some bike tools, a bright red bandanna, my camera with a 50mm lens, and two energy bars.

Short and Sweet, baby.

Flying into Salt Lake City, I sat next to a Mormon couple who was so nice. The whole flight, they smiled and smiled. They told me about Joseph Smith and Brigham Young and how the west was won.

Mike has really been getting good at editing videos. His sister teaches kindergarten at a local school, and he took the chance to get some shots while visiting here one day.

We’ll be visiting schools as a team during November, to meet the students who will be tracking with our journey, and to share some of our excitement. It’ll be good to connect faces with names on all the correspondence we’ll have while we’re on the road.

A team that doesn’t know how to work together falls apart, and individuals that aren’t prepared for the challenges ahead make poor team members. Creating unity and strong team dynamics has been a major focus of Daniel’s planning. This is made particularly complex by the 14 month duration of the trip, as well as the mission of producing effective content from the road. With all of that in mind, Daniel engineered a series of training checkpoints presenting us with progressively more difficult challenges: mentally and physically, to prepare us all for the long road ahead.

The scene: Philadelphia, PA

Our task: navigate Center City, finding clues Daniel had placed for us.

Daniel had spent several nights in the city, planning an elaborate scavenger hunt for us. But what made this a "training activity" and not just a high-school youth group game, was that we were all given focus points that were more important than the hunt itself. Dan W, who loves exploring and meeting new people, was tasked to hold back, to be our anchor. Chris M was to be the initiator of conversations with strangers, to use his analytical skills, and to be the scout in clue-finding. Chris T was to keep us all on task and focused without being overbearing. My task was to purposefully get to know Dan W. and Chris M. better, which was hard to do, since Chris was often 10 feet in front of us, doing exactly what his job was.

We had our first group training run this weekend, and it went really well. The weather was great, and it wasn’t too windy; you wouldn’t have thought it was February.

Hello!

Welcome to the One Road South blog. We’ll be sharing our experiences as we explore South America via bicycle over the the next year.

Starting on December 2nd, 2008, we’ll fly to Ushuaia Argentina, and begin cycling north through Patagonia and towards the heart of South America. We’ll eventually travel through Argentina, Chile, Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador, Venezuela, Brazil, Paraguay, and Uruguay.

My name is Daniel.

I’ve loved adventure since I learned to read. Back then, I let words take me to fantastic places on exciting quests. The addiction set in, and now it’s my feet that take me to faraway places.