34.7 mi / 7.1 mph / 3215 ft. climbing
Home: Refugio Las Raíces

Our alarm dinged us awake at 5am. I had to tiptoe past two tents (and near a third) to exit the outbuilding we were all sheltered in, but given the near-continuous snoring from the guy closest to us, it seemed that at least he didn’t mind. In order to give some respect to the late-risers, I brought all of our cooking gear outside to make breakfast (carefully planned the night before to minimize trips in-and-out), and then returned Rett’s coffee to her where she’d remained inside the tent. It was only a few degrees above freezing, but with no wind I was comfortable and returned outside to eat under the stars. Rett packed up most of our stuff, and then for the tent, I just took it down minimally and hauled it outside to fold up the poles and roll it up. All the extra care to avoid disturbing our neighbors is not something they necessarily would have given us in return, but I believe in the Golden Rule, even when it incurs extra costs upon us. However, one reason we were up so early was to hopefully avoid paying those costs again tonight! We rolled out at 7:10am, before a single other person (of 8+) had even gotten up to use the toilet.

We started with four warm-up miles that continued yesterday’s basically-flat stretch along the Bravo River, but then got smacked with the steepest climbing of the whole Carretera Austral, which continued for the next 15 miles. We needed to transition to another flat tier of the valley 900 feet above us, but that transition required 3000 feet of actual climbing, as the road both climbed too high, and then descended too low, multiple times. The grade-percentages regularly hit double-digits, with 15% grades not being nearly as uncommon as they ought to be. I did a lot of ferrying of Rett’s bike up the steepest sections, to maximize our overall speed, but there were even a couple points where I was forced to dismount and push. At least we weren’t also fighting the gravel, which again continued to be really smooth.

The combination of max-effort uphills followed by downhills in the chilly morning air (with intermittent sun) meant that Rett was alternating between sweating to freezing, and thankfully she was much more-proactive in managing the yo-yo than normal, even taking off her sweaty base layers during our multiple outfit-changes to keep the dampness from bringing on an unrecoverable chill.

Our target for the night was a cyclist-specific refuge (yet another thing that didn’t exist six years ago when Timothy Tower did this route). We had learned a few days ago from Jenny and Curtis that the owner had recently built a two-person (“matrimonial”) cabin, which would be a massive upgrade from the “bed in an 8-person bunkhouse” that we’d been expecting (the latter would be not just unpleasant, for jamming us in with strangers, but perhaps literally impossible due to our single, two-person sleeping bag). So we were essentially in a day-long race with the all the other cyclists from last night to get there first and claim the prize. Most of them were probably faster than us, but had the disadvantage of not being informed that they were in a race, and we had an hours-long head-start on them.

The first “vehicle” to pass us was our Danish friend from yesterday, but we knew he was riding all the way to Villa O’Higgins today (part of why he was almost as early as us, but he also seems to just be a rare sensibly-early rider), so we were glad to see him and soon sent him on his way.

Then during our roadside lunch stop, we spied two bikes appear half-a-mile back. Crap. Especially because a pair was much more likely to be our competition for the two-person bed. But, if they were so early, there is a chance they were also targeting Villa O’Higgins for tonight? Or maybe not, since they stopped at a bridge, and seemed to be doing a lot of exploring around it. Taking a swim? Maybe having lunch like us? Either way, we packed up and got rolling again before they reappeared, though again, if they were already this close, it likely wouldn’t be long until they overtook us.

Instead, the next rider to catch us turned out to be James, from San Diego, riding alone and also targeting O’Higgins. Phew, another break in our favor. We rode together for a bit and had a good chat (he’s familiar with the “FIRE movement”, a good thing for a 26-year-old to be aware of!) We crested the final peak together, and after the descent and our arrival to the 11-mile flat finishing stretch, we hit our first rocky and chunky gravel of the last few days, which his mountain bike could handle much better than ours, and he took off.

But then we saw him again less than a mile later, stopped at a pull-off with seating and a view, perhaps to eat his own lunch. We pressed on, the gravel soon smoothed out again, and all the help I had given Rett at the beginning left her strong at the end and able to take advantage of the increasingly-strong tailwind. We’ve had tailwinds before on the Carretera Austral, but frequently hills or a rough surface have rendered them meaningless, so it was great to have one that we could finally use!

Still, as the miles ticked down, I couldn’t understand how neither James nor that other couple appeared in my rear-view mirror. Slowly, my joke-theory became the only possible explanation: James was in fact our very own Mr. Bean/Rowan Atkinson/Christmas Angel from “Love Actually”. The other couple had stopped where they saw him sitting on the bench, and he engaged them in an interminable conversation. Every time they tried to get back on their bikes to continue, he would come up with yet another topic (“all we need now….is a sprig of holly”; “have you tried tubeless tires?”), keeping them stuck in place for us while we got ever-closer to our destination!

We turned into Refugio Las Raices at 2:15pm, with our Danish O’Higgins-bound friend as the only cyclist in front of us. There was a tiny chance that a northbound couple could have left Villa O’Higgins and stopped here after a short and early day, but the only other people besides us likely to do that are the Shaws (and yes, they did precisely that on their way north), but we know exactly where they are, and it’s not here! Our host Orlando soon emerged from his large circular house. “Is the two person room available?” we ask in Spanish. “Yes, of course!” Victory!!

Unfortunately our limited Spanish means that we can’t converse much more with Orlando, but his interest and amazement when I communicate that we rode here from Valparaiso is surprisingly-genuine, despite the fact that he surely meets people every day who do as much or more than us. We had learned from Curtis (who grew up in Honduras, so could converse extensively with Orlando over their two stays here) that he is a retired philosophy professor who had moved from a city somewhat recently to build a home in this remote place. Creating a refuge for cyclists had not been part of his plan at all, but once desperate riders came looking for shelter from the often harsh conditions, he understood the need and has been growing the refuge organically ever since. Perhaps he also discovered that he misses social interaction that is hard to come by in such a remote place, and this is a brilliant “free” way to get interesting people from all over the world to come to him. At least, “living along a popular bike touring route” is a thought Rett and I have often had when trying to balance our desire to settle in a remote and beautiful place with her desire for in-person human contact, so it’s cool to see it working in practice!

Orlando’s unplanned establishment is similar to Camping Maria where we stayed the night before, or a couple of other campgrounds in these remote stretches that grew from landowners just letting needy cyclists pitch a tent on their land, into an “official” operation (though Orlando’s city origins/knowledge make his place especially “upscale”).

It’s fascinating to experience these newly-born pilgrims’ refuges, two millennia after the birth of Christ. They generally offer some amount of food as well for us weary travelers, but maybe in a few years someone will move in across the road, notice the potential stream of steady customers, and build a proper tavern. And then a guy will come with the ability to repair our two-wheeled steeds, and also sell some parts and supplies (call him a “bikesmith”). And then, 500 years from now: London!

On a planet with 8 billion people, it feels like there is no more room for any sort of growth that isn’t carefully-planned (with government-created artificial cities such as Cabo San Lucas being the modern “ideal”). So to find this unique area growing organically, with individual humans responding to humans’ needs along this still-“new” Southern Highway, feels almost like time-traveling.

It was hours until the first other couple showed up, so it seems we won our race to the cabin handily. But, we learned that pitching a tent isn’t even allowed (or at least it’s strongly-discouraged?), either due to all the animals around or the frequent high winds. Since that’s what our Plan B had been, it’s especially good that we secured the one other option that worked for us. In the end there were “only” 5 others in the 8-bed bunkhouse, so it’s possible we could have made something work there in desperation, but we’re really glad it didn’t come to that!