*It's hard to condense things, especially weeks in retrospect. There's also distracting easy-listening covers of Lady Gaga and Black Eyed Peas, etc., playing in the cafe where I'm writing. But I will persevere, friends, to describe to you my bikepacking odyssey. (Similar to backpacking, bikepacking is about traveling via remote/rugged terrain, in addition to paved roads, and camping along the way.)
I should start by saying that I began seeing a guy in Coldfoot who had previously been on a trip cycling from Deadhorse to Ushuaia. He was interrupted by the pandemic part way through Argentina, and planned to return this January to complete the journey. His descriptions of grueling mountain passes, stunning landscapes, and interesting people piqued my interest -- not to mention his companionable temperament and jazz playing prowess on ukulele. We did a bit of long-distance dating and agreed I'd join him for a chunk of the ride in Patagonia.
And so in early March, I set off. Fairbanks is very far from Buenos Aires, requiring several flights and affording countless opportunities for miscommunication about a lost bag. That lost bag was my hiking pack, and contained my tent, sleeping bag and pad, water filter, and cook stove. Objects, in other words, rather significant for a bikepacking trip.
But at least I made it into the country, and was met by Jace in the touristy city of Bariloche. It's a dramatically hilly place, some streets descending alongside stairs, fronting a large alpine lake. We procured me a mountain bike with rack, panniers, and eventually a sleeping bag when it seemed my bag was lost forever.
We would escape from and return to Bariloche several times. We would stay at such venerable institutions as Moving Bar Hostel (spoiler: contains a bar and many people jostling around); a luxury home/Christian ministry to travelers; a charming guesthouse with the loveliest rose garden; an efficiency apartment that transported me back to comically neglected NYC housing; and, seemingly, the airport, where I made repeated pilgrimages in hopeless supplication and eventual rejoicing for my lost bag.
We drank tasty German-style beers, ate countless orders of papas fritas, cooked in hostel kitchens, practiced Spanish, got SIM cards and bus cards, discussed spiraling inflation and changed money for embarrassingly thick piles of high-denomination pesos, and even finally rode bikes. More on that in the next installment.
This couldn't make me even an ounce happier.
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