A Bull, Two Cows And A Chilean Fox
Originally posted to El Cantar de la Lluvia on Monday, August 21, 2006
The sun came up and it was sunny, the sky was blue, the air was fresh and happy. DíasDePlaya had invited us all to Zapallar, for a BBQ at his house. I woke up later than planned, so I set off alone, intending to get to Zapallar eventually, if I had the time and if the weather was still good over there.
I set off. This would be my second day of riding with the new windscreen on the bike. Yesterday I had set it slightly lower. The previous position kept the wind off my chest, and looked great, but sent a layer of turbulent air straight at the underside of my helmet. The low roar that this made was louder than my completely uncorked exhaust, at 90 km/h. It was driving me nuts, and would probably have damaged my hearing eventually.
In this lower position, it didn't do such a good job with the wind, but the turbulence was bearable. Anyway...
The trees of the Cuesta La Dormida were flowering again. I remembered a certain ride I did last year, with company, trying to get those embers alight again. The ride itself had decidedly non-platonic motives behind it, but the nice weather and the beautiful sights managed to sprinkle a bit of romance on the situation. Everything was nice and dandy, until she found a hicky on my neck. Ah well, nothing to do but to get back on the bike and take some nice soothing curves. A few minutes later, she was in a good mood again, and we enjoyed the rest of the ride. Ah, those days...
Just as with ride Escape a Cuesta La Dormida, I created a Placemark file for Google Earth.
I recommend you download it, and hit play in Google Earth. Remember to turn on terrain elevation, and crank the terrain resolution to the max. If you don't, there's no point to the tour.
I started things with my traditional empanada just west of Til Til.
If you look carefully at the following pic, you might be able to make out a thin diagonal line that rises from right to left, on the hillside. That was one of the roads I saw on Google Earth, and that's where I was headed.
Halfway up the Cuesta I caught sight of a narrow dirth path, up to the right ("Primer desvío" in the KMZ file). Having all the time in the world to do this area, I went up it to take a look.
It turned out to be a firm dirt road, but full of deep ruts from the rain.
There were also recent bike tracks, most likely downhill riders, since most tracks started from nothing just below large vertical drops.
A beautiful view, and narrow tracks that one could explore all day, if it weren't for... no, impossible. I can't be this unlucky. I'm sure I can hold it till Olmué.
I wasn't able to wait till Olmué. My intestine gave me a stern warning. I have never taken all my kit off so fast. That roll of toilet paper that I casually threw into my bag before I left, that one that I nearly didn't bring because of the space it took up, that glorious roll... to it, I dedicate this electronic plaque.
("Thanks for the favour granted"). Luckily I didn't do anything idiotic like squat on a nettle or anything. The greatest danger was rolling downhill, since (due to shyness) I was quite a way from the track, on a steep slope, hanging on to some small trees.
Relieved, I put what I'd learned in Scouts to good use, and left everything as it was.
I went back to the Cuesta's paved road, and got to the main junction at the top of the hill ("bifurcación" in the KMZ). I went up a dirt road, happy as ever. Until, of course, I came across a bull.
Bushes on both sides, and in the middle of the road, a bull. He wasn't castrated, and I have no idea if that is relevant to his behaviour, but seeing those massive balls hanging between his back legs, as he looked at me over his shoulder, was very intimidating indeed.
He eventually wandered off, and I went on. I reached another fork, and took the road to the right, that went slightly downhill, towards the west face of the hill range. After about a minute of riding, I stopped at a large rain gulley. I didn't have enough space or practice to get the front wheel up and over it. I got off the bike, and searched for large stones to fill the gulley (yes, it was that small). I crossed over my stone bridge, rounded a corner 3 metres down the path, and there it came to an end. Bugger.
I turned around, and went back to the main dirt road. I came across a plain, and there were two pick-ups parked side by side. They looked about 10, 15 years old. There was no one there. I wondered if they had something to do with the reforestation project that was apparently ongoing on some slopes near the road.
Another fork, and I took the right hand road. This one got narrower as I went along, clinging to the hillside. As I went up, the view was amazing. The road can be clearly seen in the KMZ. This is the view back towards the Cuesta La Dormida.
Eventually, after going on and on, it ended, surprisingly among the ruins of some rather large complex. Houses? A resort, here, stuck on a hillside in the middle of nowhere? Rich hermits?
It turned out to be a mine. Right beside the bike, when I dismounted, I found a pyrite-encrusted rock.
And there was the mine. Strangely, water was flowing out of it.
I got closer, and I understood why: the mine was completely flooded. The water was transparent, but had a very strong blue tint. Everything underwater was covered with a coat of sediment; it looked like fur. Not the healthiest water for drinking.
This is part of the road I took to get there.
I wonder if the buildings were houses, offices, or what.
In the distance, Cerro El Roble.
The water that came out of the mine overflowed down the hillside, and everything it ran over was coloured an intense turquoise green.
Hot! In the distance, Cerro La Campana.
On my way back down, another mine, but as I peered inside, I saw that it was completely sealed off with loose rock. Or collapsed. From the cement wall, on a crooked and rusted nail, hung a shirt, a frying pan and tin can, and towards the cave-in, a plastic hard hat. It seemed as if someone had used it as a shelter, but I don't quite understand why: neither mine was in an operational state. I wonder if they had been placed there as a sort of tribute, reminder, whatever.
From out of nowhere, a fox crossed in front of me, and disappeared down the hillside.
As I came around a corner, still on the narrow hillside road...
This can't be happening. In the middle of nowhere, almost vertical hillside on both sides, a mine flooded with toxic water behind me and now a bull in front of me, a rather determined bull that had clearly come after me, following our encounter a kilometre away. Perhaps he didn't like me peering at his balls.
I slowly rolled closer. We stared at each other. I wondered if I should honk, turn the engine off, or what. I decided to come closer, slowly, slowly. Eventually, the bull turned slightly, and, well, I must confess I have never been happier to see a cow's udders. She was so similar to the bull I saw earlier, that they must be related.
So I rode back to the junction where the pick-ups were, and took another road, this time on the east side. A narrower, rockier, twistier road. I was quite surprised to find an elderly couple, steadily plodding down the trail. We exchanged a few words; they were part of a group that was hiking to the top of the hill, and they had decided to return before the going got too rough. So that explained the pick-ups.
I said goodbye, and carried on up for a few more minutes. The road ended in a small clearing, with one of the few trees I'd seen on the climb. And another mine!
This one looked active. I went in to take a look, and I couldn't see the end. I went back to the bike, got my emergency flashlight, and, camera in hand, decided to explore.
I must have gone in 10 metres, when I chickened out, and went back. Yes, I am a large chicken. Bwaaaaak.
In the distance, Aconcagua, the highest mountain in South America.
After that, I went back to the main road, and then descended down the Cuesta towards Olmué, heading west. On my way, I took all the small side roads that I'd always seen on my rides out here, but which I had never explored, like El Almendro, Quebrada Alvarado, and others). I had a great time exploring small valleys, trails, seeing houses, plots of land, cows, all very beautiful. I also ran into this gentleman, who seemed to be taking this calf out for a run.
I don't remember the details of all the small roads I explored. I would ride down ones like the last photo, which would get more and more narrow and rural, until it was no more than a cow trail, often on the side of a hill, which nearly always meant carefully coming back down in reverse, with no space to turn around.
After that, I rode through Olmué, and I intended to set off to Quillota via a route that, on the map at least, looked easily accessible. It wasn't easy. I got lost, ended up in Quillota, took another road, and got my bearings.
The scenery was nice, but the air was getting colder as I went on. I feared it would be cloudy when I got to the coast.
I got lost again, and I had to backtrack several times to find some intersection I'd overlooked, but I eventually found the right road.
A few km on, I called Camilo, and asked him what the weather was like in Zapallar, because I could see a giant wall of mist rolling in. He said everything was grey, cold, and damp.
Well, screw that. I came back another way, and somehow took a turnoff towards a lake, a bit before Limache. I had time before the sun set, so I decided to explore.
A wide dirt road, a semi-misty sky, and cold air. I came around a corner, and found this.
Yup, three Goliath trucks, used in mines. Parked on the side of a dirt road leading nowhere.
I stopped, and as I was trying to put the bike in a nice photogenic position, the breeze caused me to lose my balance, and I slowly dropped the bike away from me, a spectacle worthy of the Retard Ballet. I held on until it was resting on the ground, and I realized that the pedal was resting rather painfully on my foot. Trying to pull it free it did nothing. I let go of the handle bar and pondered my situation.
I eventually got it free, muttering about how a breeze could have made me lose my balance, and took the photo.
A few metres on, an open gate, so I rode in. To my left and right, grassy hillsides and families and their cars dotted here and there. The road was good, though a bit muddy. I spent quite a while riding around.
I got to the top of the hill, where the antennas were. The wind was cold and damp, and not nice at all. You could see the fog rolling in.
Cold, I came back down, went through Limache, and then back through Olmué. I was hungry, but I didn't want to miss the sunset.
Up the Cuesta La Dormida again, and went back to where I'd found the pick-ups.
I sat down to watch the sun set, enjoying not being in a rush, enjoying the end of the ride, listening to the wind, feeling the warmth of the rock I was sitting on, remembering what I'd seen during the day.
And the sun set, and it was time to go home.
The sun came up and it was sunny, the sky was blue, the air was fresh and happy. DíasDePlaya had invited us all to Zapallar, for a BBQ at his house. I woke up later than planned, so I set off alone, intending to get to Zapallar eventually, if I had the time and if the weather was still good over there.
I set off. This would be my second day of riding with the new windscreen on the bike. Yesterday I had set it slightly lower. The previous position kept the wind off my chest, and looked great, but sent a layer of turbulent air straight at the underside of my helmet. The low roar that this made was louder than my completely uncorked exhaust, at 90 km/h. It was driving me nuts, and would probably have damaged my hearing eventually.
In this lower position, it didn't do such a good job with the wind, but the turbulence was bearable. Anyway...
The trees of the Cuesta La Dormida were flowering again. I remembered a certain ride I did last year, with company, trying to get those embers alight again. The ride itself had decidedly non-platonic motives behind it, but the nice weather and the beautiful sights managed to sprinkle a bit of romance on the situation. Everything was nice and dandy, until she found a hicky on my neck. Ah well, nothing to do but to get back on the bike and take some nice soothing curves. A few minutes later, she was in a good mood again, and we enjoyed the rest of the ride. Ah, those days...
Just as with ride Escape a Cuesta La Dormida, I created a Placemark file for Google Earth.
I recommend you download it, and hit play in Google Earth. Remember to turn on terrain elevation, and crank the terrain resolution to the max. If you don't, there's no point to the tour.
I started things with my traditional empanada just west of Til Til.
If you look carefully at the following pic, you might be able to make out a thin diagonal line that rises from right to left, on the hillside. That was one of the roads I saw on Google Earth, and that's where I was headed.
Halfway up the Cuesta I caught sight of a narrow dirth path, up to the right ("Primer desvío" in the KMZ file). Having all the time in the world to do this area, I went up it to take a look.
It turned out to be a firm dirt road, but full of deep ruts from the rain.
There were also recent bike tracks, most likely downhill riders, since most tracks started from nothing just below large vertical drops.
A beautiful view, and narrow tracks that one could explore all day, if it weren't for... no, impossible. I can't be this unlucky. I'm sure I can hold it till Olmué.
I wasn't able to wait till Olmué. My intestine gave me a stern warning. I have never taken all my kit off so fast. That roll of toilet paper that I casually threw into my bag before I left, that one that I nearly didn't bring because of the space it took up, that glorious roll... to it, I dedicate this electronic plaque.
("Thanks for the favour granted"). Luckily I didn't do anything idiotic like squat on a nettle or anything. The greatest danger was rolling downhill, since (due to shyness) I was quite a way from the track, on a steep slope, hanging on to some small trees.
Relieved, I put what I'd learned in Scouts to good use, and left everything as it was.
I went back to the Cuesta's paved road, and got to the main junction at the top of the hill ("bifurcación" in the KMZ). I went up a dirt road, happy as ever. Until, of course, I came across a bull.
Bushes on both sides, and in the middle of the road, a bull. He wasn't castrated, and I have no idea if that is relevant to his behaviour, but seeing those massive balls hanging between his back legs, as he looked at me over his shoulder, was very intimidating indeed.
He eventually wandered off, and I went on. I reached another fork, and took the road to the right, that went slightly downhill, towards the west face of the hill range. After about a minute of riding, I stopped at a large rain gulley. I didn't have enough space or practice to get the front wheel up and over it. I got off the bike, and searched for large stones to fill the gulley (yes, it was that small). I crossed over my stone bridge, rounded a corner 3 metres down the path, and there it came to an end. Bugger.
I turned around, and went back to the main dirt road. I came across a plain, and there were two pick-ups parked side by side. They looked about 10, 15 years old. There was no one there. I wondered if they had something to do with the reforestation project that was apparently ongoing on some slopes near the road.
Another fork, and I took the right hand road. This one got narrower as I went along, clinging to the hillside. As I went up, the view was amazing. The road can be clearly seen in the KMZ. This is the view back towards the Cuesta La Dormida.
Eventually, after going on and on, it ended, surprisingly among the ruins of some rather large complex. Houses? A resort, here, stuck on a hillside in the middle of nowhere? Rich hermits?
It turned out to be a mine. Right beside the bike, when I dismounted, I found a pyrite-encrusted rock.
And there was the mine. Strangely, water was flowing out of it.
I got closer, and I understood why: the mine was completely flooded. The water was transparent, but had a very strong blue tint. Everything underwater was covered with a coat of sediment; it looked like fur. Not the healthiest water for drinking.
This is part of the road I took to get there.
I wonder if the buildings were houses, offices, or what.
In the distance, Cerro El Roble.
The water that came out of the mine overflowed down the hillside, and everything it ran over was coloured an intense turquoise green.
Hot! In the distance, Cerro La Campana.
On my way back down, another mine, but as I peered inside, I saw that it was completely sealed off with loose rock. Or collapsed. From the cement wall, on a crooked and rusted nail, hung a shirt, a frying pan and tin can, and towards the cave-in, a plastic hard hat. It seemed as if someone had used it as a shelter, but I don't quite understand why: neither mine was in an operational state. I wonder if they had been placed there as a sort of tribute, reminder, whatever.
From out of nowhere, a fox crossed in front of me, and disappeared down the hillside.
As I came around a corner, still on the narrow hillside road...
This can't be happening. In the middle of nowhere, almost vertical hillside on both sides, a mine flooded with toxic water behind me and now a bull in front of me, a rather determined bull that had clearly come after me, following our encounter a kilometre away. Perhaps he didn't like me peering at his balls.
I slowly rolled closer. We stared at each other. I wondered if I should honk, turn the engine off, or what. I decided to come closer, slowly, slowly. Eventually, the bull turned slightly, and, well, I must confess I have never been happier to see a cow's udders. She was so similar to the bull I saw earlier, that they must be related.
So I rode back to the junction where the pick-ups were, and took another road, this time on the east side. A narrower, rockier, twistier road. I was quite surprised to find an elderly couple, steadily plodding down the trail. We exchanged a few words; they were part of a group that was hiking to the top of the hill, and they had decided to return before the going got too rough. So that explained the pick-ups.
I said goodbye, and carried on up for a few more minutes. The road ended in a small clearing, with one of the few trees I'd seen on the climb. And another mine!
This one looked active. I went in to take a look, and I couldn't see the end. I went back to the bike, got my emergency flashlight, and, camera in hand, decided to explore.
I must have gone in 10 metres, when I chickened out, and went back. Yes, I am a large chicken. Bwaaaaak.
In the distance, Aconcagua, the highest mountain in South America.
After that, I went back to the main road, and then descended down the Cuesta towards Olmué, heading west. On my way, I took all the small side roads that I'd always seen on my rides out here, but which I had never explored, like El Almendro, Quebrada Alvarado, and others). I had a great time exploring small valleys, trails, seeing houses, plots of land, cows, all very beautiful. I also ran into this gentleman, who seemed to be taking this calf out for a run.
I don't remember the details of all the small roads I explored. I would ride down ones like the last photo, which would get more and more narrow and rural, until it was no more than a cow trail, often on the side of a hill, which nearly always meant carefully coming back down in reverse, with no space to turn around.
After that, I rode through Olmué, and I intended to set off to Quillota via a route that, on the map at least, looked easily accessible. It wasn't easy. I got lost, ended up in Quillota, took another road, and got my bearings.
The scenery was nice, but the air was getting colder as I went on. I feared it would be cloudy when I got to the coast.
I got lost again, and I had to backtrack several times to find some intersection I'd overlooked, but I eventually found the right road.
A few km on, I called Camilo, and asked him what the weather was like in Zapallar, because I could see a giant wall of mist rolling in. He said everything was grey, cold, and damp.
Well, screw that. I came back another way, and somehow took a turnoff towards a lake, a bit before Limache. I had time before the sun set, so I decided to explore.
A wide dirt road, a semi-misty sky, and cold air. I came around a corner, and found this.
Yup, three Goliath trucks, used in mines. Parked on the side of a dirt road leading nowhere.
I stopped, and as I was trying to put the bike in a nice photogenic position, the breeze caused me to lose my balance, and I slowly dropped the bike away from me, a spectacle worthy of the Retard Ballet. I held on until it was resting on the ground, and I realized that the pedal was resting rather painfully on my foot. Trying to pull it free it did nothing. I let go of the handle bar and pondered my situation.
I eventually got it free, muttering about how a breeze could have made me lose my balance, and took the photo.
A few metres on, an open gate, so I rode in. To my left and right, grassy hillsides and families and their cars dotted here and there. The road was good, though a bit muddy. I spent quite a while riding around.
I got to the top of the hill, where the antennas were. The wind was cold and damp, and not nice at all. You could see the fog rolling in.
Cold, I came back down, went through Limache, and then back through Olmué. I was hungry, but I didn't want to miss the sunset.
Up the Cuesta La Dormida again, and went back to where I'd found the pick-ups.
I sat down to watch the sun set, enjoying not being in a rush, enjoying the end of the ride, listening to the wind, feeling the warmth of the rock I was sitting on, remembering what I'd seen during the day.
And the sun set, and it was time to go home.
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