La Serena, Part 3: Back To Santiago

Originally posted to El Cantar de la Lluvia on Wednesday, August 30, 2006

And on the third day of our trip to La Serena, we woke up early, and packed our stuff. Some would set off later that day, but I wanted to spend the day taking the meandering scenic route, inland and far from the boring Ruta 5. Previous chapters include Part 1, Part 2A, Part 2B.

This was the route we took:



And from Los Vilos, back towards Viña del Mar, and then home via the Ruta 68.

FuturoAs and son.



It was foggy and drizzling. Yuck.



Ben, Dusan and Rodrigo #2 and I set off in the general direction of Ovalle. We soon left the mist behind, and the air got noticeably warmer. I was starting to enjoy myself.

The non-oring chain was in a sad, sad state. I put anything I could on it. Ben lent me some generic grease, which I smeared on in ridiculous amounts.



Rodrigo #2's bike. Completely un-restricted exhaust, 750 cc displacement. It was just too loud, however you try to justify it. And the man had replaced the standard kickstand with an eagle's foot.



Please appreciate my well distributed load and general packing skills. Ridiculous, isn't it?





After the climb, lots of twisties.

Embalse La Paloma.





Silence, cool breeze.

I would have loved a swim, but we had to push on.



This is where Rodrigo #2 and Dusan went their own way, since they'd be taking the Ruta 5 back to Santiago.

Ben and I set off in search of dirt roads.



The embalse.



Yours truly.



Near Monte Patria. Yup, that's Condorito and Yayita, comic book characters deeply ingrained in Chilean pop culture. What are they doing here?





We rode through many desolate towns, all dry, dusty, the townsfolk sitting in the meagre shade to be found on the north sidewalk, back to the wall, in doorways, staring at us as if we were astronauts. I don't think it was through any particular sense of awe or amazement, I think they were just bored.



Speaking of astronauts...



And we carried on to the next town. And another. In each town, people were sitting in the plaza, and sometimes, there were cute girls walking around. We could just imagine what the locals were thinking as we rode slowly past the town hotties, something straight out of an old western: go back the way you came, stranger... we don't need people like you here... and neither do our women! he'd growl, then spit tobacco out the side of his mouth, and a tumbleweed would roll by.



We stopped at Combarbalá because my chain was not only dry again, it was making a strange sound. I checked it, and it was so loose that it was capable of missing the sprocket teeth entirely. Not nice. I tightened it at a Copec, using a borrowed ratchet, and all was well.



After Combarbalá comes Cuesta La Viuda, with some lovely twisties.



At some point, Ben stopped to take some pictures near the turnoff that we had planned on taking, toward the Reserva Nacional Las Chinchillas. I shot past, and he caught up with me 10 minutes later. We had no option but to ride on to Illapel.

And here, the sun had set, and before the light went, we put on all our cold weather clothes.



We came down an endlessly long road to the coast, with the last of the day's glow in the sky. Every now and then there was some solitary light at the side of the road, or on a hillside, but other than that, nothing at all, just the silhouette of the hills against the darkening sky.

Every now and then Ben and I turned our headlights off simultaneously, and as soon as we did so, the sky was flooded with a silver ribbon, the Milky Way. There was no moon out, but the stars were enough to see the road markings.

Normally I rode behind him, but during one of these blackouts, I was in front. Whily I had added LED running lights to my bike, his could go completely dark. It suddenly occurred to me that he could be 2 metres or two kilometres away. I tapped the brake while looking in the mirror. Sure enough, there he was, a red ghost against the black background.

We eventually reached the Ruta 5, and carried monotonously on to Los Vilos. We considered spending the night there, and rode around town. We were amazed at the amount of motels and the lack of hotels. On my second trip to La Serena on the bike, I'd learn that in Los Vilos, a motel is a place for families to spend the night, not somewhere you go during lunch break with your secretary.

I then remembered some friends would be having a party at their apartment in Viña del Mar that night, so I called them, and we agreed to drop in. Hours later we arrived, had a nice time, and then set off to Santiago, via the Ruta 68.

It was 6:30 AM by the time we got back home, exactly 72 hours after setting off to La Serena, extremely tired, frozen to the bone, dusty and starving.

An unforgettable trip.

Almost Cerro El Roble

Originally posted to El Cantar de la Lluvia on Monday, Saturday, August 26, 2006

On my last ride to that favourite destination of mine, the Cuesta La Dormida, I had noticed, in the distance, Cerro El Roble. I later found, thanks to Google Earth, that there is a road that leads to the top.

I set off under cloudy skies, hoping that, when I got to Til Til, the weather would be nicer.

And it was, more or less. I had my traditional empanada and diet coke at "Los Máximos Pinos" (where I overheard that the young kid on a tricycle was called "Máximo"), and carried on until the Rungue turnoff.

I got to the beginning of the road up to Cerro El Roble. A nice lady in a small guardpost informed me that there was snow on the road, and that I would probably not be able to get to the top. I said I'd go as far as I could, and then I'd come down again.



The road was in good conditions, and it was rewarding to see the peak get closer.

The scenery was a strange contrast of clay and grit, sun, rocks, mediterranean vegetation, clouds, snow and dripping forest.

When the snow started, it wasn't as I had expected. It was piled in well-delimited zones, about 20-40 cm deep. Other vehicle's tracks allowed me to carry on.



The tracks were narrow, and if I my front wheel had hit the side of the snowless track, I would have surely lost my balance. To avoid this, I stuck my legs out, and slid them along the snow, like stabilizing skids.



Every snow drift was deeper than the last. Inevitably, I was eventually unable to carry on. And predictably, I was stuck in the snow, up to the rear sprocket.



I would have to wait a few weeks before getting to the top.



I decided not to repeat the mistake I made in the mud, and took my riding gear off before attempting to pull the bike free. It wasn't that had.

Occasionally, the clouds parted in their mad, mad race over my head, and I caught glimpses of Cerro La Campana.



I took another trail, but this too was snowed over. I got stuck a second time.



Another track, this time on the west hillside. Horse tracks suggested that this trail probably carried on till the valley floor.



Finally, a large landslide had made the trail bike-unfriendly. A pity. I really wanted to find out what was on the other side.



And coming back, a view of the hill I was on on the last ride.



This small lagoon, near Rungue.





The snow and mud took the lubrication off my chain almost instantly. My mix of 80W90 gear oil and Silkolene Titanium will have to be changed for something more resistant.

Off to Curacaví With Andrés

Originally posted to El Cantar de la Lluvia on Monday, August 21, 2006

A few days ago, Andrés asked if I'd like to see how his new house was coming along, in Curacaví. María del Carmen, his wife, and the rest of her family, would go by car and meet us there, since her parents were having a house built on the same piece of land.

Before they arrived, we took the road that leads to Colliguay for a few km.



Blossoming trees and tunas (prickly pears for those that must use the akward, fumbling english name).



After a few nice routes here and there, we heard they'd arrived, so we turned back, to say hello.

Hot, hot, hot. Andrés spoke to the man in charge of the construction, while I wandered around, sometimes in the sun, sometimes in the shade.

I wondered if the digger used an ignition key, and if it had an alarm. I was surprised that the hydraulic pistons didn't have any oil leaks, considering that they were exposed to dirt and grit constantly, unlike motorbike shock absorbers, that need to be protected from crud.



And off we went for another ride.



In the middle of the pic, his in-law's house, and off to the right, by the T junction, is where his house would be built.



His 125 Jiahshe behaved well. He kept going on about how he wanted to change chinese the tyres, but they were frankly brand spanking new, and had better grip on the dirt than mine.

Hot.





A man and hist bike.



Blossoms!

Up and up we went.

On one of the hilltops, we found a large pile of construction material, old and weathered. Clearly this had been someone's bad idea. "But honey, the view is wonderful!".

After exploring another valley, we rode home.