Ride2Tale — Paso Agua Negra and 130 km of trail in the dark

"The generosity of some people you meet along the way can't be explained. It can only be received."

We set the alarm again. It had been a while. Not exactly with joy in our hearts, but apparently we're hitting the road again. Leaving Chile and back into Argentina: a long, dull day, an encounter that makes up for all of it, a pass at 4,700 m and a trail that ends in the dark. A heavy-duty restart.

The long road to Socos

Jessy and Priscilia have been up for ages and are already gone when we load the bikes at 10:20 a.m. The day's goal: get closer to La Serena, 500 km further north. We knew the day would be long and dull on a straight road... and it is.

We still make a detour through Zapallar, on Jessy's advice. The town is upscale, nicely set by the sea. We take the chance to have lunch — we'd set our minds on eating empanadas to watch the budget, and we end up spending 40,000 pesos at a restaurant with a sea view, total fail. In the afternoon, the tolls pile up all along the road, not much each time, but by the end we've shelled out a good eight to ten euros, an unpleasant surprise.

We reach the Socos hot springs in the late afternoon. Two options: a hotel at 98,000 pesos or camping at 20,000 pesos. We take the camping, our budget thanks us. By 6:30 p.m., the tent is up and it's already dark. The wind sets in, the cold with it, there's not a soul around. We're a hair's breadth from going to bed without eating.

Luis, our guardian angel

Just as we're about to "cook" dinner, Luis appears. He's renting a cabin at the campground, not far from a plot he's developing to build a house. He sees us freezing and offers us a coffee and a cake in the warmth. We gladly accept.

The moment we decide to boil water for a pack of instant noodles, he asks if we want to go to a restaurant. He offers us his car keys, then ends up driving us there himself and treating us. We're almost embarrassed by the offer, but we accept.

He recommends a chacarero, a burger with green beans. "The best," he says. It's genuinely delicious. Even Thomas eats some — that says it all! We spend two hours at the table talking. Luis tells us about his life: his daughter, a lawyer in Australia, his late wife, his work, the house he's having built. He teaches us a Chilean word, "cachai," a catch-all expression along the lines of "you know?" Anyway, we head back to the campground with full bellies, delighted with this improbable evening.

Vicuña and Sandra, our lucky star

The next day, Luis has breakfast ready: a sweet yogurt with Chocapic cereal. We pack up, exchange a few words and say our goodbyes. By 10 a.m., we're set to leave.

We zip to Ovalle to do some shopping and to send back the Santiago metro cards we forgot to return to Jessy, then we take the back roads toward Vicuña. We're not quite sure what to expect, pavement or off-road. We're pleasantly surprised to find asphalt with plenty of bends. We pass through small villages, houses that look like shacks, visible poverty, but splendid landscapes. We climb steadily, hit an easy stretch of Chilean gravel, cross the pass through the heart of the mountain. It's stunning, very different from the rest of Chile we've crossed so far.

We reach Vicuña around 4 p.m., settle in for a coffee, and we find a place to stay in five minutes: Casa Lucila. While we sip our coffee, a French woman calls out to us: "Are those your bikes?" She's been living in Vicuña for a month and is thinking of staying. She explains that the region is highly prized by astronomers because the sky is exceptionally clear, almost zero light pollution. She tells us about her hostel, Scorpius, where she lives and works a bit. We jot down the name, just in case.

Good thing we do. Casa Lucila double-booked and the room isn't available after all. So we decide to head to Scorpius. You have to ride up the curb to get in, but the bikes can sleep inside, perfect. Ricardo, the owner, is a fan of our bikes, we spend a good evening chatting. We prepare our coca-leaf infusion for tomorrow, to tackle the 4,700 m of the Paso Agua Negra into Argentina.

Paso Agua Negra: 4,700 m on coca tea

Before leaving, we get a photo session of the bikes in Scorpius's patio, then it's off to the Chilean PDI (the local police station) for a duplicate of Adeline's travel card, which she lost. They tell us La Serena is the nearest place to get one... We're not particularly keen to turn back, it's nearly 60 km away, so we try without it and we'll see how it goes at the border.

At 10:15 a.m., we set off. Full tank in Rivadavia, 83 km left to the border on a beautiful road full of switchbacks. At the border post, the immigration officer asks for Adeline's PDI... Damn. Thomas shows his, it works. Just as well. Now that we've cleared the Chilean border, we set out on the most beautiful border-crossing road we've seen since the start of our trip.

The asphalt begins magnificently. The colors of the landscape shift, the ochre and yellow rocks take over completely. Then the famous sign: "Fin de pavimento." The gravel begins by a splendid lake between the peaks. The coca infusion does its job, we don't feel altitude sickness. The switchbacks come one after another, we climb gently. Suddenly the pass appears, 4,700 m, we're here. Eight pee stops, fifteen photos and fifty "wows" later, we're at the top.

The switchbacks on the way down don't thrill Adeline, but they get done. We cross paths with a few riders coming the other way. We reach the carabineros' cabin to give our names and plate numbers, proof that we made it across without trouble, then race on to Las Flores.

We haven't had lunch all day, and we realize there's a time change. It's nearly 5 p.m. when we reach the Argentine side. We stop at the gas station to grab a quick bite and look for somewhere to sleep. Most campgrounds are closed this season, but we find one in Bella Vista. It's charming, there's a covered kitchen, we decide to pitch the tent inside to shelter from the cold. Instant noodles for Thomas, raw veggies for Adeline and off to sleep — we're wrung out from our day.

Argentina and its roads, its asados, its clouds

Over the following days, we rediscover the vastness of Argentina, a few long straights, but also bends that would make the Cévennes blush on Route 150. In the evening at Villa Unión, the booking falls through: Casa de Coy is under renovation, no roof, a little awkward... We go back to the Hotel Palermo — the owner had approached us earlier in the day, we're glad to have this backup plan. The next day, May 1st, we get scolded for vacating the room at 11 instead of 10. The owner has a party. We're in the wrong, fair enough. But when we leave, he's still chatting with the cleaning lady. Anyway...

At lunchtime we stop at a picnic area, alongside Argentines preparing an asado while a motorcycle race gets organized nearby. They wave us over, Thomas bets we're about to be invited. Bingo! A few good cuts of meat and friendly conversation. We make a little video for family and friends, who absolutely want to be in it. We follow up with a quick photo session before leaving. False start because Adeline forgot her backpack... lucky we can hear the shouts from far off!

Our return to Argentina is also marked by shifting landscapes and fickle weather. As we approach El Mollar, we see a big cloud in the distance blocking our view of the valley. "Nothing too bad," says Adeline, speaking too soon. We ride through it for 30 km all the way down: visibility at two meters, sunglasses on the tip of our noses, invisible cows on the verge, visor coated with droplets, cold whipping our eyes. It's only 10 km from the end that we come out of it. The night in El Mollar will be musical, there's a party in the bar next door until midnight. We thought we'd have peace and quiet but we get treated to a canine choir until morning. Latin America! The next day, we set off with the sun but it won't last... we run into the same cloud leaving the valley! Still, visibility is a bit better and we discover lush vegetation after several days of crossing rather dry trails. Argentina really always finds a way to surprise us, even after three months exploring it.

We reach San Miguel de Tucumán without a hitch, where in the evening we join a group of local Bitcoiners, "Club Satoshi", for an impromptu meetup. Four hours of conversation in Spanish, about Bitcoin in Argentina, really great fun, and we leave with a cap as a souvenir.

130 km of trail, two rivers and an arrival in the dark

This is the day we'll be talking about for a long time. In San Miguel, an Argentine admires the bikes and tells us there's an alternative route to Route 9 that goes all the way to Salta. 135 km, supposedly easy. After three days of asphalt, we're itching to get back off-road. So we head to El Tala where we deflate the tires to take on the trail.

The first kilometers confirm the forecast: easy gravel, good pace. Then the track narrows, the terrain gets steep and broken. Ruts, mud, sand, rock. In two hours, we've covered 30 km of the 135 planned. And we haven't even hit the rivers yet!

The first one arrives, a rider is stuck in the water. We stop to help him out, he secures the way for us to cross. Thomas takes the AJP through: it's deep and a bit tricky, but the bike makes it perfectly. He also rides Adeline's across to keep her from falling into the current. We still ask: "Are there a lot more rivers?" "Varias. But this one is the deepest"... promising.

Five hundred meters further, second river. Thomas rides both bikes across again. We've done seven kilometers in forty minutes. Thomas is worried, he sees the clock ticking. Adeline reassures him: if need be we'll camp, and according to the map there are two hard crossings left and then it gets better. Either way, we have to push on.

Then the terrain changes. We cross to the other slope, drier, the track widens. We run into more streams, but nothing comparable. Night starts to fall while we're still on the trail. We descend at dusk without bothering to take off our sunglasses. One last steep section, then straight ahead into the dark. We do eventually stop to take off the sunglasses, no choice now that night has fully set in. In the distance, the first lights of Guachipas. It's 7:30 p.m. as we enter town, relieved.

Thomas is up for continuing on to Salta where we have a booking, Adeline doesn't feel like looking for anything else. 80 km of asphalt at night, should be doable. A woman in the village square stops to admire the bikes and ask for a photo. We're friendly but we don't linger. We arrive at 9 p.m. at Matias's Moto Posada, exhausted and with soaking-wet feet. Matias is super nice, we chat over a well-earned pizza.