From Anchorage to Ushuaia by Bike

Since leaving France, we’ve had a few problems, and we are doing the best we can to continue to bike home.

The first day Sébastien had difficulty changing gears. Some weren’t working at all and we took a closer look. The derailleur looked a little strange to us but we couldn’t figure out what the problem was. We took it in to a bike shop and the mechanic told us it would take 2 weeks to fix. We continued on our way… and that night the derailleur got stuck in the spokes. We tried to pry it out and ended up frustrated. We tried to figure out what to do. The next morning turned around and headed back to Guadalajara, a small town north of Madrid. The detour meant an extra 30 km, but the old guy who owned the bike shop was pretty passionate about his work. He spent a long time looking at Sébastien’s bike, asked million questions about our trip, and didn’t believe us that we’d biked more than 21,000 km through the Americas. In the end, the derailleur hanger seemed to have got dented during the voyage across the Atlantic. He straightened it out with a wrench and said that it should last until Paris. We crossed our fingers as we set out, heading through the back country of Spain, far from any bike shops.

That might have been the only mechanical problem… but it wasn’t. Sébastien’s chain started acting up again. While we were going uphill, the chain fell off. Sébastien swore – another broken chain! We looked for a place sheltered from the wind to try and fix it. But naturally, one of the links broken off again.

Wind? Yes, there is wind. We’ve had a lot of wind, actually, mostly a tailwind. We’ve been making good progress, pushed along by the wind. But as you all know, the wind can be the worst enemy for cyclists, and certainly for campers. Since Madrid none of the campsites have been open. So we’ve been bush camping, with showers in the frigid rivers every other day (we can’t always find rivers, or else it’s too cold to shower). Once, we got lost following a road on our map that doesn’t exist anymore. Tired, we found a good place to camp for the night. The wind was pretty strong, but we expected it would go down with the sun, as it normally does. Normally, but not this time! That night, the wind got stronger. Our little tent shook like crazy and we were worried it wouldn’t hold. So at 5 am, in the middle of the night (the sun doesn’t rise until 8), we packed up camp. The road went down to a little village, where we spent a couple of hours in the only bar that was open. The TV was on and we found out that there was a storm in north of Spain. The waves in San Sébastien were more than 5 metres high, to the delight of the surfers, but to our great consternation. The women standing in front of the map of Spain assured us that the storm would soon calm. We were sceptical at first, but in the end it did die down. Phew! The next night we were deep in the forest, protected from the wind and rain (but not the damp), and we slept like logs for 12 straight hours!

Since our return to Europe, we have had to deal with consumerism. Everything comes in family-sized packages. What are we going to do with 36 rolls of toilet paper?! The smallest packs of 6 are still too big for us and our little panniers.

The last couple of days of biking, there was a lot of traffic on the roads. It was holy week, and a lot Spain was on vacation and headed out of the city. But even though there were a lot of cars on the road, they were still very careful of us cyclists.

We haven’t really been trying to meet people along the way, but neither has anyone spoken to us. We get a certain feeling of indifference towards us, a new sensation.

After 7 days and more than 500 km, we arrived at the foot of a wall, at the bottom of the Roncal Valley, in the middle of the Pyrenees. It wasn’t as impressive as we expected! After 3 hours of solid effort, we arrived at the top of the Pierre Saint Martin pass, 1760m high, disappointed that there was no sign to welcome us back to France. The glacial wind helped us in our climb, pushing us up part of the way and chasing away the black storm clouds that threatened snow which would have damaged our tires. Folding up the still frozen tent was enough winter for one day! Wearing all our warm and wind-proof clothes, we began our descent towards Béarn in the Barétous Valley. Guillaume met us there and biked with us the last few kilometres of this symbolic leg of our journey. He and his wife Rachel had biked through the Americas a couple of months ago, and they welcomed us warmly into their home. We had a great time sharing stories and got lots of good advice about our return home and the conferences we are planning.

Sara & Sébastien