El Carril to Belen

Today my brain was in overdrive, one of those days where the legs are spinning on autopilot, leaving the mind free to wander.

I was thinking just how cruisey Argentina’s been so far. Yeah, we’re on a secondary main road, but compared to Peru, Ecuador, and Bolivia, it’s a dream. Fully sealed, barely any potholes, and no pushing our bikes up endless rocky hills. Sure, there’s no shoulder, but the traffic’s light and drivers actually give us space.

We’re not grinding out 1000-metre climbs day after day, not battling sandy deserts, not rationing food or water. All we’ve gotta do is point south and pedal. Our legs just spin without thought — it’s like the body finally found its rhythm again.

It’s a welcome break from the chaos and challenge of the last few months. Don’t get me wrong , I've loved every bit of it: the sweat, the swearing, the hunger, the exhaustion. But right now, it’s nice to just ride.

Over dinner, I told Maree how I miss the local women, the ones herding goats, tending fields, or selling food by the roadside. Argentina feels… corporatised. The farming’s like back home, big scale, machine-heavy, no sense of community living off the land. No women chatting over their sheep, no roadside fruit stands, no market chaos. Just shops, cafes, and farmland that stretches forever.

Maybe that’ll change the further south we go, but for now, it feels like we’ve slipped through another vortex, same continent, totally different world. It’s wild how a made-up border can shift everything you see and feel.

By afternoon, the farmland gave way to a gorge straight out of an old Western. Swap my bike for a horse and you’d think I was chasing bandits. Red cliffs rose beside a winding river, dotted with cactus and scrub.

We spotted a flat patch by the river that looked perfect for camping, so we scrambled down for a look. Then I clocked a small dwelling off to the side. Bugger!! Someone lives here. A young woman came over, curious but kind. I explained we were cycling through South America and looking for a spot to pitch the tent. She wandered off, came back a few minutes later with a smile, and said we were welcome to stay.

Sweet as.

The river was shallow, so we just lay there like salmon, letting the cool water run over us. After another hot day on the road, it felt like pure bliss.

This morning we had friends for breakie...of the feline variety.

Argentina doesn't have the same explosion of stray dogs so we have been lacking furry friends.

Three cats turned up, tentive at first but then they become all one with us. I think by thier friendliness thier person is the land owners.

After fending our friends off our breakie we hit the road back up the canyon. After an hour or so opened up and we were again in a desert. Different this time, a river ran weakly through it, both sides lined with red rocky sand. Far off in the distance on our right side ruggered grey rocky hills stood to attention on our left red pancake structures tower over us.

Another mind blower geological wonder. As the day continued the heat grew and the red pancakes closed on on both sides. At least here we could ride there was no sand pushing. But this landscape could move, it was fragile. You could see with heavy rains would come heavey silt, sand and stone movement. The dry creek beds would come alive and angry throwing the landscape into turmoil. I'll take the dry heat cycling through here, being in here in the rain would give me the shits!!.

By mid afternoon the wind had picked up but it couldn't decide what direction to come from. It swirled, one minute we would be in a head wind swearing at the effort. Next minute we would be regaling in a tail wind only to be blindsided by a fierce side gust.

Giving up on finding a sheltered camp for the night we saw an old piece of road that looked inviting. Sure enough once we were down it 50m we were secluded from the road. The view, outstanding we were up above a wetland lined with rolling hills. Down below us was a herd of goats, one had just given birth but mumma goat didn't want a bar of baby.

Twice Maree went down to rectify the situations. But not for lack of trying couldn't get mummy goat near the baby. For me it was like Goat TV. On the second round a local lady appeared, Maree did her best to explain the situation

I think the lady knew Maree was trying to be helpful. The lady picked up the wee baby and herded mumma down the grassy bank and out of site. Im guessing she was taking them to her yard.

We watched the night close in before doing what I do best...sleep.

How many times do I have to say it... I love waking up in a tent. Watching the world wake up outside, the light creeping through the door, the birds starting to sing.

The great thing about tent life when you’re on an adventure is that every morning’s different, and this one was pretty spectacular.

After breakie and pack-up, we cruised into Cafayate, leaving the desert and those red pancake hills behind us. We treated ourselves to a second breakfast at a café, luxury! And even better, they had free Wi-Fi. Not for the ‘Gram, mind you, we just needed to check our route to Mendoza. Priorities.

Then came resupply time, which in Argentina seems to always start with chorizo sausages for that night’s dinner. Don’t worry, we grabbed a few veg too, balance, right?

Now, I did say a few days ago that Argentina hadn’t thrown much challenge our way… I may’ve spoken too soon. The sun’s a brute. In Colombia, the heat was humid and turned us into soggy puddles. Here, it’s dry. we’re getting cooked like our saussies on a barbie.

I’ve even gone against my ethos, and Kiwi law, and swapped my helmet for a wide-brim sun hat. Living on the edge, baby. I’m also silently thanking the legends from Sasaima (remember Colombia?) who gifted me that long-sleeve sun top. It’s now a permanent part of my riding kit.

We’ve been sucking back the water and spinning the legs, stopping only when we find shade, usually a lonely tree or a dodgy bus stop. Standard reality out here.

This afternoon we have traded our red pancaked hills for vinyards. Rows and rows of grapes vines that streach all the way to ruggered rocky hills. The land is still desert like but now grey gravelly sand between vineyards.

After battling through the afternoon heat and wind we’ve opted for a paid camp. This one’s more like a bachelor pad, looks like some kind of heavy vehicle operation runs out of here. There are trucks and diggers parked up, and a bunch of lads doing “lad stuff” all afternoon.

The kitchen’s a giveaway: greasy pots, plates stacked sideways, beer bottles scattered about. But they’re a friendly bunch, and we’re feral enough to fit right in.

We stoked up the BBQ, cooked our chorizos, and watched the boys play with their big toys. Top-notch evening entertainment.

The lads were up early, warming up their trucks, which meant we were awake too. Not the worst thing as we figured we might as well hit the road and get some k’s in before the heat started cooking us.

We cycled through small clusters of houses scattered across this rocky desert. It looked like a massive quarry, minus the diggers and trucks. The ground beside the road was silty, gravely and loose. We crossed a ridiculous number of concrete fords through dry riverbeds, each one a reminder of how much water must rip through here when it rains. I’ve said it before, but in a good downpour this land must move mountains. It’s so fragile and raw, like the whole place is just hanging on by a thread.

Before pulling off the road for lunch, we rolled through an area where the hillside had come down and swallowed buildings whole. The remains of houses, half-buried in dirt, told the story. Whatever rain hit here last time must’ve unleashed hell. It was eerie, like a ghost village reclaimed by the land.

The afternoon sun turned up the heat, and with its friend, wind, it just sucked the life out of us. We filled every bottle we had, about ten litres between us, but after another 20 k’s we’d drunk nearly half. There’s no shade out here, just the odd scraggly tree and a lot of mirage.

We finally found a random roadside camp, tucked beside a dry riverbed. The ground’s all gravel and dust, like we’re camping in a quarry. Off in the distance, dark clouds are brooding over the hills, real angry looking. I’m just hoping they stay put. If it rains out here, I doubt I’d sleep a wink. Feels like one good storm could send the whole valley rushing past our tent.

Our day ended with us only making 4km in an hour! It wasn’t from lack of trying!

But it started differently. Different to most days since… well, as far back as I can remember on this adventure.

We’ve had so many bluebird days that waking to an overcast sky actually felt like a treat. I was quietly hoping it would stick around and give us a sun break. The air was cooler, calm, perfect cycling weather.

Our first mission was to refill our waters before heading into remote desert again. Luck was on our side. About 6km down the road we found a wee café, complete with a fresh water tap. Drinking water, not just “water.” A total luxury. Since we’d only had one morning coffee, we made the most of it and grabbed another fix while we filled up.

The shop owner was a bloody legend, he came out grinning, holding a 1.5-litre bottle of frozen water as a gift for us. Honestly, that’s gold out here.

Not long after, a light headwind picked up. Nothing serious, just a tickle at first. But as the day dragged on, it turned into a full-on fight. We got into playing the drafting game, swapping turns in front like pros, but the wind kept amping up notch by notch.

The road stretched through flat, gravely scrubland, endless desert with nowhere to hide. Twice we found small mounds of rock to crouch behind for a break, but by the second stop we were faarked.

We checked our maps and spotted a note, people had camped by a wee roadside chapel 4km ahead. Sweet, we thought. We can do that.

Barely.

An hour later we rolled in, broken but relieved, and collapsed behind the chapel. It’s fenced off, which makes it feel like we’re part of some weird desert zoo exhibit. As the local animals thought so. Dogs, goats, chickens all wandered over one by one to check us out. Hope they got thier moneys worth?!

We woke to calm. No wind. Just stillness. Bliss.

We had a bee in our bonnet to get going early, beat the wind, and knock out 30k before it showed up. There were some free hot pools a few km’s off route we figured were worth investigating. Plus, after yesterday’s ordeal, a cruisy day sounded bloody good.

At the turn-off onto the sand road to the pools, there was a small kiosk, one of those random wee blessings that pop up just when you need it. We loaded up with chorizo sausages, spuds, veg, and a box of wine. Not your goon box like back home, these Argentinian numbers come in 1-litre milk cartons. Classy as.

We pedalled down the sandy track towards the red rocky hills. First stop was a Maniciple Camp, one of those government-sponsored ones. This place was like a ghost town. I swear I could hear the Western movie soundtrack playing. Tumbleweeds and all.

You could tell there’d been a massive flood through here at some point, the whole place looked wiped out. Probably why the pools just a bit higher up were free.

We pitched up camp and collected wood for a barbie. First order of business: cook some sausies. Second: hit the pools.

While Maree headed straight up the hill, I went off exploring the area. The landscape was unreal, towering red cliffs and wild rock formations that made you feel tiny. Proper outback vibes.

The pools themselves were quirky as, little concrete shacks with wee two- to four-person tubs inside. Rustic, yes. Relaxing, absolutely.

What’s not relaxing is those bloody afternoon winds. They always find us. They mess with my head. Every day, those Argentinian gusts test my patience. Wind’s always been my kryptonite.

After our soak, we crashed in the tent, both of us out cold for a solid three hours. Guess we needed it.

The night was all about tending the barbie and eating more sausies under the stars. No complaints there.

I woke up deflated!!

Well… truth is, I’ve been deflated for a while, my sleeping mat has, anyway. I tried to fix it back at Frank’s, but I must’ve missed a hole.

I’m a dead sleeper, so I just crash out on it even when it’s flatter than a sheet of paper. But I reckon my body’s had enough of that carry-on.

Maree, the super weeer. reckons she’s up two to four times a night for a pee. I wouldn’t have a clue. I’m out cold. But the living legend blows up my mat every single time she gets up. With me still on it! If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.

Back on the desert road today and, sure enough, the headwind showed up again. This time, it brought its mate, gusty! Between the heat and the wind, it’s bloody exhausting. The constant roar in my ears wears me down. After days of it, I start going a bit mental, moody, irritable, and short-fused.

I ended up pulling my buff over my ears to block the noise. It helped a bit… but made me hot as hell. So yeah, now I’m hot and bothered.

I take back everything I said about Argentina being cruisey. It’s challenging me all right , just not in the way I expected. It’s testing my head, not my legs.

We had to push on today too. couldn’t chuck up the tent early because we were out of rations. Belen was the goal, 80km away, and we needed to get there to restock.

When we finally rolled into town, all we wanted was an ice block. We found a wee tienda, grabbed one each, and sat quietly in the shade, just us, our melting ice blocks, and sweet, sweet silence.

Restocking was its usual challenge. These shops are all a bit random, no two have the same stuff, and none have everything. But we managed to scrounge enough food for a couple of days and headed out of town.

We treated ourselves to a paid camp for the night, shower, a bit of Wi-Fi, and a break from the wind. Simple needs, but it’s the little things that bring back a happy H.