Los Andes, Chile, Mile 90

Greetings from Los Andes, Chile, where I have started another one of my bicycle trips.

Los Andes is a small town in the foothills of the Andes Mountains located about 50 miles east of Santiago.

Why Chile?  Why not. After 6 previous trips over the last 14 years,  there is nowhere new really left for me to ride in Uruguay, Paraguay or Rio Grande do Sul, and I can do without Argentina.  It came down to Chile or New Zealand, and Chile is cheaper.

Chile has a population of about 16 million, of whom 6 million live in and around Santiago.  Santiago is an incredibly beautiful and clean city with streets in excellent repair and not much of a crime problem. The Chilean national police are called Carabineros and all the guide books I bought warn that they are unbribable which is very…..different…..from the morons I have dealt with in Argentina. Chile has been democratic since 1989 when Pinochet lost a referendum and surprisingly accepted the results and left power.  November is late spring here, it gets light about 6:20 in the morning and dark about 8:30 at night. Days are in the 90s, it cools down to the 60s at night. Chile has an absolutely STUPID law mandating bicycle helmet use in cities and I was forced to shell out fifty bucks on one yesterday. I have never worn a helmet in my life, see no need to start now, and the helmet came off as soon as I was out of Santiago. Chile is 5 hours ahead of Pacific Time, and 2 ahead of Eastern Time.

I arrived in Santiago very early on Saturday morning following flights from Tijuana and then Mexico City.  By very good fortune, my (Now that I'm married to her mom, I get to say this.) daughter Edna has a good friend in Santiago whom she worked with for years who very kindly not only picked me up from the airport at 7AM, but took me to breakfast, then to pick up a ticket I had bought to a concert Sunday and then dropped my bicycle and saddlebags off at a youth hostel owned by the owner of my Airbnb condo that I couldn't check in to until 3PM.  Once he dropped me off, I assembled the bike and took it on a 19 mile ride through Santiago. Returning to the hostel at 1, Joaquin (Edna's friend) and his wife picked me back up and took me to a beautiful restaurant for lunch. Returning to the hostel, they dumped me off, I grabbed the bike and road the 2 miles to a nice 1 bedroom condo I had rented for two nights, and promptly fell asleep for 14 hours (!); I had been up about 40 hours at this point (I don't sleep on planes) and was exhausted.

Santiago closes off many miles of streets on Sundays and gives them over to bicyclists and joggers.  I took full advantage of this yesterday and put in another 23 miles through leafy streets and parks, returning to my condo just in time to take a shower and go meet Joaquin who had a bar he wanted to go to that sold many strange and remarkable brands of beer.  After trying all the beer they sold, we went to another bar that had different beer. Six hours and I-don't-know-how-many beers after we started, it was time to go to the Teatro Caupolican where British Lion, which is Steve Harris's (of Iron Maiden) personal band when Maiden is not touring, was playing the last leg of their South American tour.  Of interest to those who think Metal is dead, it is NOT dead in Latin America. Elva and I went to a two day festival in Mexico City in May that attracted 85,000 each day, and Iron Maiden sometimes still draws 100,000 per show in Brazil. Anyway, they rocked, we consumed more beer, and eventually made our way to another bar for more beer after the show ended.

All of this fun resulted in me waking up this morning feeling just a little bit off.  Which was too bad because a new customer was checking into my condo later, meaning I couldn't stay another day.  So, I grudgingly loaded up the bike and set off for Los Andes. The first 10 miles took me out of Santiago; at about mile 12 I passed the international airport where I had landed in the dark on Saturday morning.  20 miles out I reached the little town of Lampa. At this point, I really would have liked to find a hotel; I am too old for hungover exercise. No hotels were on offer, so I drank several Cokes in a gas station and continued.  I ended up drinking about ten Cokes on the day, and would have preferred to mix some water into my consumption, but curiously none of the places I stopped at sold either bottled water or Gatorade. Strange. Moving along I stopped at a little hotdog stand where the Haitian owner sold me more Coke.  Before the thousands of Haitians arrived in Tijuana two years ago, many other Haitians arrived in Chile. They are every bit as hard working and well received here as they are in Tijuana, and they are prospering.

Leaving Lampa, I rolled through other little places with names like Chicauma and Polpaico and Chacabuco.  After Polpaico, the road took on a significant uphill aspect, the temperature went over 90 degrees and I stopped having fun at all.  47 miles into the ride, at Chacabuco, disaster struck. The nice two lane highway I was on turned into Route 57, a superhighway with a big “No Bicycles” sign.  There was no alternate route. Not wanting to deal with the Carabineros, I stopped. This turned out to be fortunate because my map had neglected to mention the three mile tunnel through a mountain a few miles up the road.  I leaned the bike against a bus stop on the on-ramp and stood there looking forlorn and sad holding up my thumb to every passing pickup truck, hoping for a free ride. None stopped. Eventually a taxi did stop, we dismantled the bike and, for more money than I care to contemplate, he drove me the last 15 miles through the tunnel and into Los Andes,  where I reassembled the bike and found a hotel. I wandered out and found a “Jumbo” (Chilean Wal Mart), where I bought some items, specifically sun screen, that I had forgot to pack, then had dinner, and my day is done. Tomorrow I will go further up I to the mountains.