From Anchorage to Ushuaia by Bike

Coming up to the border

We knew that the Andes were waiting for us as we left Mendoza. It was the last time that we would have to climb so high. The mountain was 3200 meters in altitude and we had allowed ourselves 4 days to get over it.

The first day was tough since we weren't used to climbing. We biked up 1600m and then went back down 200m to Potrerillos. There was a little campsite, basic and expensive for what is was: $13 for a site for 4 people with a tent and a car. We negotiated with them a little and paid about $11.

We also had our fourth flat tire, and our fifth. It was too hot and the glue from the patch dried too quickly too stick. It exploded twice more when we tried to inflate the tire.

The next day was supposed to be the easiest, but it turned out to be hardest of all. We didn't actually have that much to climb in terms of altitude, but it was hilly and our legs were tired. Around 1pm in the afternoon, the wind changed to a headwind. It was so strong that we had to pedal downhill at 15km/h (when normally we should have been going 35km/h!). We decided to stop to eat. In theory, the wind was supposed to drop so that we could make it to Uspallata (1880m). Fortunately the wind did go down.

Thursday, more uphill – our legs were sore. My knees especially were causing me problems, and would flare up regularly. The scenery was beautiful. We were surrounded by mountains of all different colors, some of them crowned with melting snow caps. After 21 km, the wind shifted. It was the same wind as the night before and it meant that it took twice as much effort to go uphill. We got stuck on a steep incline and I just couldn't go any further. Sébastien wasn't very motivated either: the toughest thing for a cyclist is a strong headwind. We thought about turning around, but we had already climbed up a fair bit, up to 2000m. Somewhat ruefully, we agreed to stop a car. I waited by the side of the road and flagged down the first pick-up truck that passed.  It whizzed right by us at first, and then slowed down and backed up to see what we wanted. It was a couple from Mendoza, headed towards Santa Cruz on business (the wine producing region in Chile). They agreed to take us as far as the international tunnel "Cristo Redemptor," the border between Chile and Argentina. Generally bikes aren't allowed in the tunnel, but the company that manages it usually allows cyclo-tourists to go through.

Los Libertadores

The Chilean and Argentinean customs are grouped together in a big border complex, in theory to make things easier...

There were tons of people. There were a couple of buses waiting and lots of cars trying to get across the border. I lined up for the second window, following their instructions. There must have been 20 people in front of me. When I got to the window, they asked me for our vehicle registration. I explained that we were traveling by bike. The customs officer didn't seem at all surprised, and instead asked for my PAX. What's that, you say? It's apparently an official paper handed out by the national guard, naturally in another office. I headed over there, but the police had no idea what I was talking about. Eventually they understood and they said that I would have to pay a fine since I didn't have the "Immigration Andean card". This time I was the one who didn't understand. I told them that when we entered Argentina, the customs at La Quiaca told us that we didn't need one. They believed me, and in the end we didn't have to pay US$10 each. Phew!

So back I went to the second window, where the line was even longer than before. The Argentinean customs officer stamped our passports and sent us to the Chilean customs, window 3. The was barely any line there, until one of the bus drivers had all his passengers go through in front of me. And then I figured out that we also had to fill out a form. I got out of line with two copies of the form, and once we had filled them out, I got back in line. The officer asked first for the vehicle registration. I showed him our PAX and once again explained that we were traveling by bike. I thought for sure she was going to make us go back and get another official form! She looked at Sébastien and stamped his passport, and he went quickly back to keep an eye on the bikes. Then she stamped my passport too. Finally!

One might think that that was the end... but no! Next we had to go through the SAG, which strictly controls everything that comes into Chile, particularly fruits, vegetables, honey, animals and animal products, and plants. The man from the fourth window asked for my vehicle registration, and I had to explain (again!). He stamped our forms and said we would have to wait until someone came to inspect our bikes and panniers. Sébastien quickly signaled to one of the SAG employees who came right over. We opened all our bags and she asked us whether we had any fruits, vegetables, honey, etc. Of course not, we ate all our food before we got into this section. We had picnicked only a few meters before the border complex! We had even given away a couple of our bananas to some people waiting in a bus, since we didn't want any of our lovely fruit to go to waste. She stamped our forms and told us that we could go. We had been there two hours and didn't need to be told twice to leave! The officer at the border asked for our fruit-free stamp, and made us show our passports, and then we were out of there.

Welcome to Chile!

Finally, in Chile! We thought we had to turn our watches back an hour, but we didn't need to. Yet another mystery of the times zones.

Only 62 km to Los Andes, 2500 meters down and 30 hairpins turns. We decided to try to make it there that night, despite the fact that we were tired and it was already getting late. The headwind certainly didn't help any, but we made it there around 7 at night and found somewhere to sleep.

The cost of living is even higher in Chile than in Argentina. Our budget didn't really leave much room for solid walls, and even less for eating out. We also rediscovered quite a few French customs, such as budding in line for the bank. In Argentina people waited in line, 10 feet from the ATM to make sure the person ahead had enough space to conduct their transaction! People here bump into us in grocery stores and want to pay and get out as quickly as they can.

Sara