After a few lazy days in Vicuña, waiting for better weather forecasts at the pass, we get on our bikes. We have 4291 meters of elevation ahead of us in the coming days in an environment without supply options. Yet we have miraculously failed to make an inventory of how much food we will need. So we drive out of the city with ‘something to eat’ in our bags, knowing that there will be one more village with ‘a shop’. Carefree.

A colorful escort out of civilization awaits us. This in the form of grape dryers, weaving, murales (wall paintings) and painted place names. I take in this colorfulness well, expecting that we will be surrounded by brown and gray in the coming days.

Sitting on a bench in the weavers’ village we meet another cyclist. His name is Ryan and he is from the United States. He’s on the road for the long haul as he makes a living testing new cycling gear, writing reports and taking photos for the theradavist.com website. Both he and his bike are completely dressed in black (except for an orange fanny pack) which gives him an oversized ninja appearance. We chat a bit and drive on separately a little later, expecting that we will meet each other again these days. And indeed we will see many more of him and he of us (especially through his camera lens).

The shop in the last village appears not to be well stocked. Still, I enjoy gathering our food for the coming days here among the meager goods. It reminds me of the shops in Tajikistan where there was never much choice and you could be happy if you found tomato sauce that had not yet expired. The less choice, the less work it is to make the best choices. With such a scarce supply, we always choose the most suitable items, you can’t miss that!
Just as we have filled our bags, Ryan also arrives at the shop. He also does his final shopping here. With a measly 670 meters of elevation gain under our belt, the three of us camp that evening in a quiet spot just outside the village on a stream under a large willow.

The next morning we leave together for the Chilean customs post, about 40 km and 860 meters of altitude away.

The road is completely asphalted until the Chilean customs. That’s nice mileage. I’m looking forward to it and ride uphill smoothly. Ryan and Paul stay behind. What’s up with that? That guy seems as strong as a bear to me. I wait for them at the border post while I use the Wi-Fi to text the family back home. When the men ‘finally’ appear, Ryan appears to be suffering from pain in his knee. Shit, of course I know all about that. We don’t want to just abandon him and Paul decides to use the wind and sun protection canopy of customs to cook a large pan of pasta. This way, Ryan has some time to let his knee recover and Paul doesn’t have to cook after the tough cycling day tonight. We leave when we are ordered out of the customs post because they are closing. Ryan’s knee is not running smoothly and when we unexpectedly kick into the wind, Paul and I also have had enough. We camp between the road and the river on a pebble surface. The fact that the pegs are difficult or impossible to go into the ground is not a problem for our tent. It’s not without reason that I swear by a ‘dome’. It can always stand because the tent poles themselves already tension the tent. With a tunnel tent or a teepee you need pegs to keep the poles upright. Without herrings you will have stayed in the monkey. Ryan struggles to set up his super lightweight tent. The strong wind makes it almost impossible. When Ryan gets to the river a little later, the wind still wins and takes down the tent pole, which then sticks through the canvas. Shit! ‘Luckily’ Ryan already has a new tent at home that needs to be tested… but that it is of no use to him now. We just hope it won’t rain in the coming days.

The next morning, Ryan limps around indecisively while we pack our things. He considers getting hitchhiked, although it is actually against his will and principles. In order not to be delayed (because our food supply is not inexhaustible), Paul and I set off. We indicate very roughly where we expect to camp. Who knows, we might meet there. We wish Ryan good luck and step up together. Yesterday our dot on the horizon was the customs post, today it is a large reservoir that will be located along the route.

The reservoir should be enormous, but we mainly find a largely dry basin. We cycle for miles along the cracked clay bottom of the lake. We are happy to discover a small stream that can still provide us with water today and tomorrow. After all, that’s what we were counting on.

After only 40 km but 1590 meters of elevation, Paul and I call it a day. We pitch our tent where the road meets the river again. That river is like a lifeline. We need her for drinking water and water for cooking. It almost feels like a basic necessity to rid ourselves of sweat, dust and sunburn after a day of slogging in the heat in the river. Despite the heat of the day, I shiver from the cold when I wash myself in the river. I tower above the shallow water and catch the cold wind on my wet skin. We are now at 3700 meters and as the sun sets the temperature also drops. We eat in the tent and crawl into our sleeping bags early. My sleeping bag! How I missed that one. In recent weeks the nights have been so warm that I often slept without any covering. Yet there is nothing nicer than being able to snuggle up in a soft sleeping bag or under a blanket while the fresh air caresses my nostrils..

How would Ryan have fared? Paul didn’t expect him here… I did… I can’t imagine that stubborn bike guy is going to hitchhike. While we listen to a podcast together we suddenly hear ‘KNOCK KNOCK’. And sure enough, it’s Ryan! The hitchhiking didn’t ‘work out’, although it he hadn’t really tried very hard either, he admits. He pitches his tent next to ours and we agree to set the alarms for 7:00 the next morning.

While I fall asleep like a log, Paul is tossing and turning. He had already noticed while cycling today that he was short of breath. Now he has some pain in his chest and he simply cannot sleep. A typical case of oxygen deficiency at this altitude. He doesn’t have any significant headaches so there is nothing to worry about yet. The next morning he is quite tired from the bad night, which is a shame. Still, we get on our bikes early because a big day awaits us. The day of the pass!!!

Ryan prefers to leave late and doesn’t yet know whether he wants to make the ‘summit attempt’ in one day with his painful knee. Our plan is to cross the pass and sleep at a similar altitude on the other side. In any case, we will leave a sign on the road near the place where we camp. He waves us goodbye and crawls back into the tent.

The lack of oxygen is now starting to affect me too. The climbing feels harder than it should be based on the gradient. We know that we will only come to a stream three more times and that the river will then deviate from the road to its source, the glacier. We take a break at one of these streams. We are actually sitting in the grass, something that becomes scarcer with every kilometer. A little later we pass the magical limit of 4000m. For Paul it is the first time that he has exceeded this elevation.

More and more often we have to get off the bike to catch our breath. Closer to the top, the road begins its hairpin bends, or serpentines. We already saw on the map that there is a gently ascending route (for the climb) and a steep route (for the descent) on this side. We can choose twice which route we want to take. The first time we stubbornly decide to take the steeper route. It saves a lot of kilometers and means we don’t have to cycle against the wind. There is a strong wind that we benefit from as we drive straight ahead. We bridge the steep section at our best to the point where the two paths meet again. “We’re not doing this again,” I puff. When we arrive at the second junction a little later, the ‘easier route’ turns out to be closed. So nothing to choose this time. While panting and puffing, we continue our climb, each struggling and suffering in our own way.

Then we reach the few obligatory serpentines just before the top. We land in a hairpin bend. We’re not really hungry, but we’ll have a high tea. While we are sitting there, a car sputters towards us up the slope. He stops, tries again, stops, then starts rolling backwards down. We laugh our asses off. Previously, a camper van carrying a German family had to make a U-turn because the engine could not cope. Now we are witnessing a refusing machine. And while our legs don’t let us down. The car drops back and a little later comes up the slope at full throttle. We wave to the relieved driver and then get back on our horses.

I watch with admiration how Paul climbs up like a snail, slowly but steadily(!). He swings left and right across the road in an attempt to reduce the gradient, but manages to stay upright. That is no longer possible for me. My legs have never soured so quickly and I can’t pedal through them for long. I can no longer make enough speed to stay upright, so I have no choice but to walk. Step by step I push myself and the bike up. It doesn’t take more than a few mouse steps at a time before I have to stop again to recover. I laugh at how I’m floundering here; out of breath, with sore legs and still enjoying it! Climbing up under my own power.

About a kilometer before the top, the terrain becomes more level. Paul encourages me to get back on the bike and cycle the last part. Puffing and whining, I pedal alongside Paul and together we ride to the ‘finish line’. PASO DE AGUA NEGRA! We did it!

It is mid-afternoon when we reach the pass. A descent of more than 100 kilometers and 3200 meters of altitude now awaits us. We’re going to spread it out over two days. We are tired and want to enjoy the descent. Just as we start the descent we see two yellow people moving painfully slowly forward on the serpentines below us. Cyclists! We’ll just take a picture of them. Such a photo is always nice to have and is impossible to make yourself. I ride ahead of Paul and meet the cyclists on their climb.

They appear to be two Italians who don’t seem to have much idea of what awaits them on this climb. Their tires are (too) narrow for the bad gravel on the Argentinian side. We had the wind at our backs the entire climb. They are now climbing against the wind and have a descent with a strong headwind ahead of them. There’s nothing more we can do than not hold them off for too long and wish them the best of luck. Paul and I watch them continue, shaking our heads. How glad we are not to be them!

Descending on the Argentinian ripio (it is as bad as ever) is not without effort. Still, with my new (wider) tires with big mountainbike studs, I’m having fun and thunder downhill at a steady pace. I beam when Paul compliments me on my ‘descending skills’.

We keep our eyes open for a camping spot out of the wind and then suddenly spot some old walls on the other side of the river. The stream is not wide or deep, so we cross it barefoot with our bicycle in hand. The walls all appear to be walls of small pieces of ground. Most are ideal for setting up a tent. What purpose would they have served in the past? We are thinking of including sheep. But why several and not one large corral?

I make a large arrow out of boulders at the turnoff. the road so that Ryan, if he too braves the pass today, knows where to find us. Paul cooks a large pan of curry with our last vegetables and once again we go to bed early.

I’m delighted! These days, this pass, this deserted, rugged nature, this slog on the climb and the bouncing down, the camping without any light pollution from civilization… THIS is enjoyment for me. Thid is perhaps what I love most when it comes to biketravel. Here I am a happy. Here I am ME.

Then the question remains. “What did Ryan do?” I don’t expect him to have crossed the pass today. However, Paul thinks we can expect him at any moment. That should be around this time, 8:00 PM. I sit down and look through the mesh of the tent. And, there he is driving! I shout ‘WOOOOOHOOOOOOOO’ and see him take the turn at my arrow of boulders towards our campsite. ‘This is going to be funny’ we think… now he finds out that he still has to cross the river. We quickly put on our warm clothes and run outside. When he sees us on the other side of the river, he sighs deeply and steps into the water. It is quite cold outside now. We chat for a while, give him the leftover curry (specially saved for him) and then crawl into our tent. Tomorrow we sleep in!

I would have loved to stay another day here in the wilderness, but both our food and gas have run out. Also Paul slept very poorly again. We decide to descend towards Rodeo and look for a campsite there for the luxury of a much-needed shower. We bounce over the ripio for a while, but soon it makes way for brand new asphalt over which we race down. Now that Ryan has rejoined us he takes some beautiful pictures of us.

To our surprise, we still have to pedal quite a bit while descending because the wind in the valley makes a sudden change. But then eventually Argentine customs comes into view. The ‘check-in’ process is smooth. Our passport is checked and entered into the computer and we look through the pages again with hope, only to conclude with disappointment that once again no stamp has been placed on the Argentinians. But, we’re in. Back in Argentina. The land of bad unpaved roads, the land of the idiotic president Milei and the most volatile exchange rate in the world (mas o menos). But also the land of chipa chipá (dough balls with cheese), alfajores (delicious chocolate cakes previously described here) and affordable butter.

We’re happy to be back and looking forward to exploring northern Argentina!
How we like that and how different it is from the south you’ll read in my next blog.

For now, a warm greeting from sultry Cafayate,

Hera