Cacheuta to Santiago (Chile)

What a great way to start the day, with a leg-burning, pintch-gut hill. That climb led us straight to a vehicle tunnel, and with bike lights on, in we went.

OMG. When we popped out the other side… the views. A hydro lake, bluer than blue, surrounded by snow-capped mountains. We cycled around it in awe, soaking it all in. Then we spotted a coffee cart, a sure sign we had to stop.

Maree mentioned she hadn’t slept much last night, and to be honest, I think the constant headwinds have been slowly draining us both. So today, we took it easy.

After saying goodbye to the lake, we followed another river valley, with its steep rocky sides and massive scree slopes tumbling down. The river ran a murky chocolate brown; not from pollution, I reckon, just silt on the move.

By afternoon, a light tailwind graced us hallelujah! And as the day wore on, Maree wore out.

We’ve been following a disused railway line, and every now and then we pass a crumbling old station. That’s exactly what we found for our camp, an abandoned railway building.

The old stations are built solid from rock, but the one thing none of them seem to have is a roof. Dont think they must of mastered the craft of roofing!!

We pitched the tent inside the building to shelter from the growing wind. I’d barely finished pegging it down before Maree was zipped up in her bag, snoring.

The wind found us anyway. It slammed over the stone walls and funnelled straight into the tent. My tent’s a beast, so I wasn’t too worried, but the noise was next-level.

With Maree out cold, I hunkered down too, cooking dinner from inside the tent. No way a cooker would’ve worked out in that gale or me.

Faaaark… I really do struggle with this constant wind. I thought maybe after Mendoza we’d catch a break, but nope. The bastard found us again.

We woke to calm, no wind, just the river and the odd vehicle passing on the road. Bliss.

We had about 20 k’s to ride to the town of Uspallata where we needed to refill on water.

The morning was cruisy, following the river and dreamily soaking in the scenery.

We rolled into Uspallata and found a café to inject ourselves with coffee, a second brekkie, and what I’ve discovered in Argentina, a bloody good banana smoothie Commonly known as lecie banana hugo.

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With bellies happy, we grabbed a few bits from the supermarket, then stopped at the YPF gas station. We’ve discovered they’ve got fresh water on tap, gold.

Heading out of town, we spotted a car pulled over with four people standing outside. A man called out, “Hello!”

I slammed on the brakes. “You speak English???” I quizzed.

Turns out they were from Santiago, Chile, on a roadie to Mendoza. They’d stopped for a cuppa and snacks. These absolute legends chatted with us, while feeding us tea, biscuits, and eggs. Left me with proper warm fuzzies, that did.

Then it came. Light at first… but it built. You guessed it... the bloody headwind. It got pretty hairy. There’s no road shoulder on Argentina’s roads, so it’s sketchy enough when trucks roar past. Add a gusting headwind that throws you around, and my sphincter was puckering like nobody’s business.

Once again, an old train station building saved us. This one was down a steep 4x4 track, not exactly accessible by car, which made it perfect.

We did our standard setup, pitching the tent inside. This one had a few rooms, so Maree made a wee fire in one to cook dinner, and I set up the tent in another.

The wind swirled around a bit but settled early, finally giving us a bit of relief.

Ask me how many k’s we did today? Eight. That’s right! Eight bloody kilometres! And it took us over a gruelling hour to get to the village of Polvaredas.

After another hopeless attempt at hitching, we gave up and decided to find somewhere to hole up. At the back of Polvaredas sat a big disused train station and yard. We parked up on the main verandah, all the rooms were boarded off. We had a complimentry a picnic table in this one, so, picnic it was.

A cool find from the Mendoza supermarket, dehydrated hummus. So lunch was hummus, carrot sticks, and chippies. Fancy as.

Before long, a few local dogs wandered over. One in particular, a wee white fluff ball, decided we were his people now. Though judging by how clean he was, I reckon he already had a home.

We filled in the day playing head games with the wind. Every now and again it would take a deep breath, making us think it was finally dying off… only to unleash again with a roar.

By nightfall we’d settled in, mats laid out in the corner we wiggled into our fart sacks. Wee White Fluff Ball snuggled in beside us.

“Hola,” came a male voice. A man stood under the verandah, keeping a polite distance.

“Hola,” I mumbled back, half-asleep.

“Are you ok?” he asked in Spanish.

We stumbled through our patchy Español. He switched to broken English. We explained we were cycling and the wind had pinned us down, so we’d taken shelter. He nodded, said it was ok, this was a splace.ace. He asked if we needed anything. When we assured him we were all good, he wandered off. I reckon he was our neighbour, just sussing out the riff raff on his doorstep.

Feeling safe, I shut my eyes and drifted off, dreaming of calm, still days.

Wow. Just… Wow!!

That’s how I started my day, with a big Wow!

It had snowed overnight. Every mountain around us was dusted like icing sugar on a sponge cake. And best of all, it was calm. No wind. No noise. Just stillness.

“Let’s go, babe.”

We ticked our way up the mountain valley, sun on our backs, snow-capped peaks winking at us. I honestly felt like yodelling.

Then out of nowhere, a café. And open! What sorcery is this?

So at 11 a.m., we tucked into a plate of lomo and salad, soaking up the view.

Back on the bikes, we climbed higher, and just when I thought the day couldn’t get any stranger, bam, an Inca market. Buzzing with people and knick-knacks, right in the middle of the mountains. All those cars and buses that had passed us earlier weren’t crossing the border, they were coming here to shop!

Surreal.

Not long after, the wind returned. Of course it bloody did.

And not just any wind, a freezing, face-slapping headwind that hit us right on the steepest section. The valley turned brutal, funnelling gusts straight at us while the mountains stared down like they were testing our commitment.

We could see where avalanches had carved scars down the slopes, a reminder that winter here means business. But not today. Not enough snow. Just enough chill to make our fingers go numb.

We entered a tunnel, like pedalling into a walk-in freezer and popped out the other side in Las Cuevas, the last village before the border. Quiet as a ghost town. If there’d been tumbleweed, it would’ve been frozen mid-roll.

Worn and iced up we rang the doorbell of the only hostel and, for the price of our firstborn, scored a room for the night. Dinner was extra — lentil stew. Nah, hard pass.

Showered and thawed, Maree fired up the jug and whipped together a gourmet meal of dehydrated mashed spud, salami, and cheese. We washed it down with a cheeky cerveza.

Two more cyclists arrived later, Brazilian lads, absolute machines, doing the up-and-over route tomorrow to Chile, while we planned to take the tunnel. Fair play to them. I’ll save my suffering for another day.

Breakfast included.

What a joke that line usually is. Nine times out of ten, it means two bits of dry toast, a scrape of jam, and one sad coffee. And today was no exception.

“Come on,” I muttered, staring at our ‘feast.’ “Where’s the fruit? Where’s the eggs?”

I looked at Maree. “Once we’re over the border, we’re parking up and having tuna con arroz, eh?”

To get to the border, we first had to go through the tunnel, but cyclists aren’t allowed to ride it. So, we waited for the border policeman who shuttles bikes and bodies through in the back of his ute. Classy travel.

Halfway through the tunnel is the actual Argentina–Chile border, but we got dropped off at the Chilean side and had to pedal another 4 km downhill to the processing station.

Chile’s border setup was definitely more regimented than anything we’ve hit so far. Lines, scanners, rules, the works. They even confiscated our sad-looking carrots. I swear they were practically fossils, but nah, biosecurity said nope.

Then came the reward...downhill heaven.

The kind of descent that makes you laugh out loud. The mountain valley opened up beneath us, a ribbon of road winding through jagged peaks and glacial blue streams. It was pure, freewheeling bliss.

Eventually, we pulled off behind an old derelict building for lunch. Out came the cooker, tuna and rice sizzling away while we sat in the sun soaking it all in.

And then… he appeared.

The bastard.

He must’ve snuck through customs and waited till we were relaxed, full, happy.

Then, wham! Right in the face. The bloody headwind. Again. Can we not just have one downhill we don’t have to pedal into?

It got gusty enough to toss us around a bit. And somehow, don’t even ask me how, I stacked it into a barrier wall. For a hot second, I thought I’d broken my arm, but nah, just bruised, garrked and rattled.

First crash of the trip. Tick that box.

We finally rolled into Los Andes, hungry andtwind worn. Mission: ATM, food, figure out life.

While I was poking uselessly at the ATM, a bloke in a ute honked and yelled something. I wandered over with my trusty phone translator, and he told me there was another ATM down the road. Then he showed me photos of the of him cycling the Carretera Austral, the route we’re heading for. He was buzzing and stoked for us, like we were long-lost cousins.

Next thing, he invites us to his place to meet his wife and kids, and stay the night.

Lucky he did, because as he led us to the ATM, Maree’s derailleur just imploded. Bits pinging off everywhere.

So we chucked the bikes in the back of his ute and jumped it to go to his home. His wife came out smiling, and before we knew it, we were part of the family.

He was like a kid at Christmas, showing us his bikes and man cave. We all tinkered for an hour or so on Maree's bike before admitting the truth, Maree’s derailleur was absolutely cactus. I jumped on WhatsApp to my bike guy to order her a new one.

Then his wife brought out meat and pasta, meat for me, and they plied us with strawberry hugo’s.

Their two daughters were home, giggling around us, and between broken English, Spanish, and Google Translate, we had some bloody good banter and laughs.

And just when I thought the night couldn’t get better, we were asked if we liked sushi.

“Yeeees,” we grinned.

So off we went, second dinner. Sushi. Chilean hospitality level: elite.

Honestly, it felt so special to be adopted by this beautiful family. After weeks of wind, dust, and head-down survival, it was a reminder of how much kindness still rolls around this world.

Such an awesome morning. I lay in bed listening to the kids getting ready for school, the laughter, the chatter, the occasional shout from Mum to hurry up. The morning banta of family life. I didn’t want to interrupt their rhythm, so I stayed tucked under the blankets, just soaking in the warmth of it all.

When the chaos finally settled, Maree and I wandered into the kitchen where the calm after the storm brewed into coffee. Valentine and Malina were sitting there, relaxed and smiling. Valentine has a wicked sense of humour, cheeky, playful, a bit childlike in the best way, just like me. We got each other.

The hard part came next. We had to leave. We hugged Malina tight, then Valentine loaded us and the bikes into his ute and drove us to the bus station. He made sure we were sorted, tickets to Santiago in hand, bikes stowed, and only then did he wave us off. Big heart, that man.

Arriving in Santiago felt like a different world, loud, busy, and baking hot. We pushed our bikes through the city chaos, weaving between traffic and people until hunger hit hard. We treated ourselves to a lunch that blew the budget but filled the tank. Worth every peso.

Afterwards, a little spark lit up in me, I could still ride my bike wasn't broken So I told Maree where I’d wait and pedalled ahead through the city, just to feel that old rhythm again.

We finally rolled into The Fox Hostel, our little den for a couple of nights. Finally, we could stop. Breathe. Let the dust settle.

This next chapter’s a slower one, we’re off to volunteer at an animal farm outside Santiago for a couple of weeks before meeting Maree’s mum back here 14th of November. A recharge before the final leg south to Ushuaia.

Not going to lie, I’m ready for it. Argentina took it out of me. Mentally, emotionally… I’m cooked. But sitting here tonight, belly full, city lights outside the window, and Maree laughing beside me, I can already feel that spark coming back.

Today Maree went off on a mission to find a tent repair place while I did what any sensible human does after battling endless headwinds, absolutely nothing. My brain was fried, like a chip left too long in the pan. It needed a full reboot.

Maree was stoked to head off on her own little city adventure, map in hand and mission in mind. Meanwhile, I channelled my inner cat, rotating between sunny spots around the hostel, occasionally stretching, occasionally napping, and definitely doing sweet-FA!

By the time Maree got back, she was buzzing with stories from her day navigating Santiago’s chaos. Sounded like she had a blast.

Tonight we’re winding down with Chile’s finest, a ten-buck bottle of Merlot that tastes like pure gold after weeks on the road.