The first overnight bicycle outing of
my trip was an excursion to Tierra del
Fuego, reached by boat across the Straight of Magellan from Punta Arenas. When we got there, Herve
and I just headed straight for the hills, following a loop route that began and ended in the strange little port town
of Porvenir.

We set up camp next to the dirt road alongside a little stream. Then it started raining and did not stop until the next morning. We had a nice meal of French dehydrated backpacking food in the rain. Then I crashed.

The next day we got off to a fine start, in the rain. It was a little bit muddy, but totally manageable.

Then the mud changed-- we
were on a new soil regime, one
with a nasty adhesive quality. The
mud stuck between the bike fork/
frame and the wheels, and the
wheels would not move. We had
to push everything, but even that
was nearly impossible.

I wanted to turn back, Herve wanted to
keep going. "If you knew anything about geology, you would realize this could go on for a while," I pleaded with him.

"I am a hairdresser. I know nothing about geology, and I am not turning around," replied Herve.

Turned out Herve's intuition was
good, the clay-like soil turned more
sandy after we pushed our bikes and trailers up one more excrutiating
hill.

Then we had a gloriously long
downhill, and as we were speed-
ing along a herd of llama-like
creatures crossed the road.

It started to rain again, real hard, and
we rode up to a farm but it was totally
abandoned. We tried again, and this
time there were some workers around
and they let us stay in their worker's
shack, complete with an old wooden
stove.

They invited us into the main house, painted yellow with a tin roof, for a stew dinner that night... very basic and very tasty. They were amused by our story about getting stuck in the mud. That night I read from a book by William Manchester about Ferdinand Magellan and his incredible journey around the straight that was just outside the window. His adventure made mine feel pretty insignificant.

In the morning the man who owned the farm was there, with his children. They lived in Porvenir. Bueatiful kids. They showed us around the farm.

We had breakfast in the yellow
house-- bread, butter, porridge
and instant coffee.

Then we were off again, this
time following the Strait
of Magellan rather than the
inland hills.

We saw old fishermen living in little tin shacks by the water, their colorful boats on the shore.

Then we were back in the
strange settlement of
Porvenir, with its mix of
Chilean and Serbian
influences.

Not much to do but ride around and take pictures of the tin architecture and the elaborate cemetery.

Next afternoon, we crossed the Strait of Magellan again, back to Punta Arenas.