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Day in El Chaltén

We finally arrived in El Chaltén.

But after the day before, my body and mind were so tense that I couldn’t really fall asleep. I also knew I wanted to wake up early and see Fitz Roy from closer — which would mean an extra 5–6 hour hike round trip. I already knew it would be partially cloudy, but still… the idea was there.

In the end, I decided to treat this king’s body and sleep in 🙂

I woke up and it was sunny. Instant FOMO.

I knew I wouldn’t get the same clear views of Fitz Roy as the day before, but the thought of getting closer really pulled me in. It was already 8:30 a.m., but I said screw it — I’m doing it.

I hiked for about 30 minutes and then saw the clouds rolling in. Decision time. I could keep going just for the sake of going, or turn back knowing no new views were coming anyway. I put the FOMO away and turned around.

Then… oh boy. The 80 km/h winds picked up in El Chaltén.

Our tent was pitched in a really bad, semi-exposed spot in the campground. With the wind getting worse, we decided to take the tent poles down but leave the mesh and rainfly, thinking there might be some light sun showers for an hour or two.

Yeah. Wrong. A full-on storm rolled in. Puddles formed on top of the tent without poles — and, even better, puddles formed under the tent too. Some of our stuff inside, like socks, ended up literally sitting in water. Thankfully, I had already taken the sleeping bags out just in case.

Rule learned (again):

If you’re breaking down a tent, do a full-on job.

Back on day two in Chile, we were hiding from the rain in an outdoor food truck–café combo, and someone had written on the wall:

“Quien se apura, pierde tiempo.” Whoever rushes, loses time. Amen.

So yeah — rough day. But we moved the tent into the bushes, and the next night was so much better.

Huemul circuit day 1

The sleep was better — but I still had a 4-hour interview starting at 6:00 a.m.

That meant waking up at 5:10.

To get decent internet, I sat outside a café. It was 3°C. I was wearing gloves, every layer I owned, and still — sitting in one spot for hours gets cold. At times I felt myself shivering.

FOR STRONG MEN — NO PROBLEM.

After that, the boys started the Huemul Circuit — a 3-day hiking adventure. Day one already delivered epic views. Hiking just hits differently. Of course, since we entered after my interview, we had to pay the entrance fee again ://// But hey — let that money improve the hiking trails in Patagonia. Tranqui.

We stayed at the designated campsite, where you can really see how people practice Leave No Trace — but also how they adapt. Benches and rocks get moved around to create shelters from the wind, because we’re getting closer to the Wind Pass, and once you’re out of the forest, it’s properly windy.

It was really nice seeing people out there again. I love hiking.

Huemul Circuit day 2

That day we technically did two stages instead of one. Weather-wise and time-wise, we decided to complete this hike in three days, so it made sense.

The first challenge was Paso del Viento — the Wind Pass. Even getting there was a mission. First decision of the day: cross a river or take the Tyrolean traverse. The river was knee-deep for me. With a lot of people at the campsite, we assumed there would be a long line for the Tyrolean — and knowing how long people can take, we didn’t want to wait 30 minutes or more. The previous days of bad weather meant that once things cleared up, a lot of people started at the same time.

So we crossed the river.

Then came the next challenge: the trail basically doesn’t exist. Constant rockfall makes it unstable and extremely slippery. The other option was to walk on the glacier for about 1 km — so that’s what we did. It didn’t feel sketchy, but we stayed right at the very beginning of it (or the end, depending how you look at it). It took longer than expected.

But once we reached the top — wow.

It honestly felt like Antarctica or Greenland. End-of-the-world type scenery. If this were The Truman Show, this would absolutely be the edge of it. Massive glaciers, sharp mountain tops, endless ice and rock. Some of the best views of my life while hiking — and very different from anything I’ve seen before.

Hiking here is just… different. Steep. Brutal. Totally Patagonian. Ascents and descents around 30% are normal. Loose rock, gravel everywhere. We had a section with a 50% descent dropping 300 meters — that’s insane. You move slowly, fighting for your knees and your balance the whole way.

I feel like I’m just scratching the surface of Patagonia and the outdoors here. Thru-hiking gave me a solid foundation, but this feels like another level. And honestly — I’m really excited for what’s still to come.

We camped with views of small hanging ice glaciers. You could hear them cracking and breaking, ice falling into the water below.

End-of-the-world sounds to fall asleep to.

Huemul Circuit day 3

We started the night already alert — there were mice in the campsite, so we had to hang our food and backpacks. Minor inconvenience, honestly. Mice are just part of being outside.

The day itself felt a bit uptight. Knowing I had to start hitchhiking to Puerto Natales the same day made it hard to fully relax and enjoy the last stretch of the circuit. The hiking was mellow overall, but watching cows (or bulls?) fighting added some unexpected entertainment.

We also saw wild horses again — the second time on this trip — and this time it was a huge herd. If you haven’t watched Stallion of the Cimarron (Simarono žirgas) — do it.

We finally did the Tyrolean traverse as well. Not scary, but fun — a nice bit of spice added to hiking.

Once back in town, we confirmed it once again: yes, we are dirtbags, and we love it. Final cooked meal, eaten on the street.

Optimism

I’ve noticed that I tend to be overly optimistic sometimes. In my head, that just feels normal — and it happened again. I truly believed I could hitchhike from El Chaltén (Argentina) to Puerto Natales (Chile) with a bicycle. That’s a 5.5-hour drive through the Argentinian pampas. Not much to see there anyway, honestly.

El Chaltén is the end of the road, so everyone who comes in eventually has to leave. I waited 2.5 hours. Only 4–5 cars passed that were even remotely big enough to take a bike. At that point, I went looking for bus tickets, making sure there’d be space for the bike. That meant taking a non-popular time slot.

Buses

So here we are: 3:00 a.m. bus from El Chaltén to El Calafate.

And remember — I’m a dirtbag. I’m not paying for accommodation if I’m only sleeping 3–4 hours. Instead, I slept for two hours outside town, at the national park visitor center entrance. It had a roof, and it started lightly raining. Perfect.

The evening before, I said a proper goodbye. Just like that, the trip is reaching its end.

Alright — arrived in El Calafate at 6:00 a.m. Hung around the bus station for two hours. When boarding the second bus to Puerto Natales (a 6-hour journey), I was ready to pay the driver extra for the bike.

Turns out he loves bicycles himself. Endurance athlete in his young days.

He was super chill about it and just said: “Tranquilo, hombre.”

Faith restored.

That — combined with what might be the best choripán I’ve ever had (chorizo sandwich that absolutely slaps) — felt like the perfect goodbye to Argentina. For now.

W trek

The W Trek is called that because it’s shaped like a “W” — you go up and down.

Alright, it’s time for the famous W Trek. I have to say: booking campsites far in advance, arranging shuttles, and booking a boat ride just to get here is stressful — especially with CONAF (Chile’s national park system) being on strike, then changing the rules for the O Circuit (the bigger version of the W). I don’t know, it just feels like so much more planning than what hiking is supposed to be: putting your stuff in a backpack and going.

I tried not to have prejudices, but entering the park and seeing hundreds — maybe thousands — of people made me question what hiking means to me. Yes, I did Base de las Torres today, the weather was great, and the views were impeccable. I understand that beauty like this should be seen by more people. But I also understood that I will never do a commercial hike again.

In the campsites on the W trek, you can have dinner, breakfast, and a takeaway lunch for 100 USD per day. You can sleep in a pre-set tent for another 60 bucks. It’s crazy. I saw a guy drinking a pisco sour. That’s the reality. Patagonia and hut-to-hut hiking just don’t make sense in my head. I saw a guy hiking in a pure white rain jacket, like it was being worn for the first time — what the fuck.

I can’t help but compare this to the Huemul Circuit, where to see the beauty you have to carry everything for at least three days. That alone filters people out. When you meet someone there, you’re happy to see them — they’re killing it. You share the same hard times, and you share the same beauty too. Everything feels magnified.

W trek continuous

The second day on the W Trek was full-on rain. I went up the middle W to Mirador Británico. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see much — the rain intensified, cloud cover was probably 80–90%, and it was cold. I was wearing gloves and my hands were still freezing. I kept going with the expectation that maybe it would open up at the top. It didn’t. Still, the rock formations looked cool in their own way.

The wind was so strong it blew my backpack rain cover away. Sorry for leaving a trace — but honestly, what was I supposed to do?

The park is filled with Americans, Asians, and Europeans. Chileans are probably only around 10% of hikers — and honestly, they’re cool.

There are so many people here, yet so little connection. For me personally, this just isn’t a concept I like. Huts, refugios, and all that infrastructure ruin the wild part of it. I’m still glad I came — if only to finally learn this about myself and not repeat the mistake in the future.

On a personal note: my Melanzana has not received a single compliment. I’m kind of sad about that :////

On the last day, I did an in-and-out hike to see the glacier. That spot was the windiest place I’ve ever stood. I literally couldn’t fall forward — the wind was holding me up. I can’t even imagine what a truly bad wind day looks like there.

Some random cool pictures I took on the W trek below.

The end(?)

And just like that, the South America blogging comes to an end — or at least this chapter does. We’ll see if it’s really the end.

Thank you, my fellow readers.

Hard work (?)

6 hours of hiking with 1,700 m of gain followed by 6 hours of gravel riding with another 1,200 m really did a number on my body. I honestly felt like I was back on those first days in Colombia—thighs, quads, calves all sore. Not painful, just… cooked. I guess I’m just human after all.

Gravel always makes me more tense. Emotionally I’m glued to the ground in front of me, trying not to slice my tire open on a rock, so there’s less time to actually enjoy the scenery. On this day I mainly just wanted to arrive. The goal was simple: reach the old pier at the abandoned ferry station and camp there.

After dinner, a Mexican guy rolled in—he’s been cycling for seven years, all around South America. No rush, no timeline, just riding. He even has this extra little cart tied behind his bike to carry all his stuff. He weighs about 60 kg and the bike setup is 80 kg. That’s hilarious.

We talked for an hour in Spanish, and honestly, I got another compliment on my Spanish. Slowly I’m starting to believe that if I just keep going, maybe one day I could actually be fluent. I would love that. And I guess that means continuing the Spanish journey after this trip too.

Caleta Tortel

Alrighty — approaching the famous Caleta Tortel. Apparently it wasn’t even accessible by road until the early 2000s; before that, it was all boats. The whole place is connected by wooden boardwalks—literally a few kilometres of them—and it always rains here. Luckily only light rain for the boys today.

We went for a walk and instead of turning back, decided to make a loop by climbing 200 m up the hill and coming back into town from the other side. Classic bad decision—muddy, wet, and basically zero views because everything was inside the clouds. Still… kind of interesting in a weird way.

Cycling here was actually easy: under 3 hours, almost completely flat, less than 300 m of vert. Honestly the recovery day I needed. The walk made it feel like a real full day anyway.

We were eating sopaipillas con palta y queso (basically the cheapest filling option in Tortel) and checking out the extremely random food options here. Interesting menu choices, let’s say.

Camping in the rain tonight but luckily the trees are protecting us, and I’m just happy we didn’t have to cook fully exposed in the downpour.

Break the day & stay getting dry

Woke up at 6:30am – the feet-side of the tent was literally in a puddle, but my Garmin congratulated me with a sleep score of 100. That has never happened since I bought the watch in May 2024. I don’t believe it at all – I’ve had much better nights of sleep – but no time to think about that. There’s a ferry at 10:00, and we’re 30 km away with 700 m of elevation.

First 10 km were easy until the intersection. Then started the actual climb: 15 km, 600m, steep, bike-push territory mixed with short stretches of cycling.

Why the rush, you ask? Three different weather apps all promised a massive downpour starting around noon. So the plan was at least to cycle the morning part dry’ish and then find shelter.

We reached the ferry with about 5 minutes to spare. If we missed it, we could’ve waited inside the small waiting building—but it was taken over by what seemed to be a homeless person. First time I’ve seen a homeless person in South America, and out of all places, Puerto Yungay, Patagonia – literally in the middle of nowhere. This guy raised about a hundred questions. Google that place.

Rain picked up hard, so on the boat I was borderline shivering. Luckily on the other side the rain slowed down again. I’m really glad we made that ferry; if the downpour had continued we probably would’ve ended up sleeping right there at the dock on the far side.

Next plan: maybe camp at Maria’s in 12 km – supposedly indoor accommodation.

We made it – rain wasn’t that bad. Bought some bread from the family, then continued to Refugio para Ciclistas. Apparently this region is known for crazy rain so there’s more “infrastructure” for cyclists. Refugio means you have a roof over your head and a bench to sit on.

Light rain, but the refugio was still kind of wet inside. Weather wasn’t horrible – more like showers – so we continued 10 more km to the real shelter with a wood stove. The promise of fire is powerful.

We ended up cycling 78 km with 1600 m gain in 5h15. The final refugio was such a gift – wood fire, we dried our tents and sleeping bags from the previous night.

From the outside it sounds like fun and giggles, but these Chilean climbs really mess with my head. Too steep for me to pedal properly – my cassette is too small and my lowest gear still isn’t low enough. Same story as before, but now we’re closer to the end, so… baby steps.

We made it, everything’s dry, and as always – the road provides.

Villa O’higgins

Alrighty, only 3 rainy hours to the end of Carretera Austral—easy peasy I said in the morning, but the sun actually came out and the kilometers were easier than expected.

Just chilled in Villa O’Higgins, feeling surreal to be entering back into Argentina in a few days.

Back to Argentina

So I’m ready to tell you our big plan for getting back to Argentina and reaching El Chaltén. Since we’re in Villa O’Higgins, the first step is taking a passenger-only ferry across Lago O’Higgins. It runs only twice a week, and calling it a “ferry” is generous — it’s basically a small boat. Bikes are allowed, luckily.

After that crossing, we have 20 km of steep, gravel-mud-dirt “road,” where you’re basically pushing your bike for 4–5 hours. So: 2 hours on the ferry, then 4–5 hours of bike-pushing misery. Eventually you arrive at Lago Desierto.

At Lago Desierto, you can take another ferry to the other side, but it’s expensive — $35 per person plus $15 per bike, so $50 each. Instead, we decided that one person stays behind with the four bikes while the remaining three hike around the lake. The hike is about 12 km and should take around 3 hours.

Once reunited on the other side, we still have to cycle the final 36 km to El Chaltén. And that was the original plan.

Did it work?

Plan sounds exciting, doesn’t it? Well… it actually has a bottleneck. Lago O’Higgins can get really windy — and when I say windy, I mean 50 knots, so around 80–90 km/h. And that’s exactly what’s happening to us for the next few days. The forecast shows constant wind between 70 and 90 km/h.

So we’re basically stuck in Villa O’Higgins until the wind calms down, which will probably take about 4 days. For now, we’re just chilling, eating, and waiting for the best to happen. What else can we do?

It’s funny — you can plan everything in Patagonia, but in the end, the weather decides who’s in charge.

Mind games

Oh yeah, it’s now confirmed — we’re waiting extra 4 days, and hopefully we’ll leave on the boat once the wind finally dies down. Until then… time. Too much of it.

And that brings up the real question: what do you do when you suddenly have all the time in the world? This place has one restaurant, a supermarket, and that’s basically it. Nothing more, nothing less.

The funny part is that because we bought the tickets with Phil’s American credit card — Capital One, baby — we (well, it is actually Phil only but he is generous and treating others too) technically have money to spend now that the trip is delayed. In theory, we could buy everything this town has to offer. In reality, this town has almost nothing. We’ve now started calling Phil Sugar Daddy, but since we’re in Chile, it had to be in Spanish — so he’s officially Papá Azúcar. No idea if that’s even the correct translation, but it’s funny enough. As long as we keep each purchase under $50, it’s all good and fully reimbursed.

So here I am, asking myself: what would I do if I truly had all the time in the world? Because that’s exactly what I have right now. I am already bored and there are two full days of doing absolutely nothing. It rains every 30 minutes, so leaving town doesn’t really make sense either.

To some extent, we now have all the money we could reasonably spend here — but we’d still much rather be on the Argentinian side, in El Chaltén. So does money bring happiness? I don’t know. Not in these four or five days, at least.

I guess it’s a good moment to slow down and reflect — even though I kind of hated being there for so long.

The reality for 6 days

So what do our days look like here? Pretty basic.

First of all, we were lucky enough to pitch our tent under a roof — a big win with temperatures close to zero, plus rain and wind.

The daily routine includes chopping wood. We take turns, and it keeps us warm while we’re in the hut.

The hut itself has no insulation at all, so we’re using a lot of wood just to stay afloat. We spent many, many, many hours in that hut. It has a small kitchen, so we can cook, sit around, hang out.

And one thing became very clear to me: I’m not ready for a 200–400 people small-town lifestyle. It feels like people here just exist — they don’t really live.

There is a Wi-Fi spot close to the hut. Even though it’s technically covered, you still can vet wet — rain gets in, the air is damp, and if the weather is bad for too long, it’s hard to stay there. And while we were here, it was raining most of the time.

6am to 9:30pm

So finally, the day has come. We’re leaving Villa O’Higgins.

The morning started with about half an hour of cycling, followed by a 2 hour bumby boat ride.

After that, we had to rush to make sure we caught the ferry. Rushing meant cycling when possible and pushing the bike when it wasn’t. The first 14 kilometers were fine. The last five, though, were literally a hiking trail that had been rained on for the past four days. Mud up to the ankles. Constantly stuck.

At first, I thought it was funny. But honestly — no. I take that back. It wasn’t funny. It was type 3 fun. Not fun during, not fun looking back, and definitely not something I want to repeat.

However, that day we got the best views of Mount Fitz Roy in the background, so I managed to take some shots. I was extremely happy just getting closer and closer to it.

After that came another ferry. To save some money, I gave my bike to Phil and hiked around instead. I was already completely exhausted, but even after that, there were still 2.5 hours of cycling left to reach town. So I did that too. Combination of physical and mental exhaustion didn’t allow me to fall asleep either, great.

All in all, my day ran from 6:00 a.m. until 9:30 p.m.

Cycling stats (5 days cycling, 5 days stuck in O’higgins)

331.8 km | 21 h 21 m | 4,674 m gain

Daily Averages

66.4 km | 4h 16 min | 935 m gain

Rest in Coyhaique

We stopped in Coyhaique, our last proper big town for a while — probably around 30–50k people, which feels huge after all the villages on the Carretera Austral. A few other travellers had told us about a Couchsurfing opportunity there, so we decided to go for it.

We ended up staying with 71-year-old Eliana, who lets cyclists camp in her backyard and use the facilities inside. At this point it should really be called tent-surfing, not couchsurfing. We were there together with an Irish couple who had actually contacted her first, but they don’t speak Spanish and she doesn’t speak English. She’s very clear that if you want to stay with her, you need to speak Spanish.

At one point she called Conor (the Irish guy), but Phil picked up because we were all hanging out together. After that she started calling Conor “el impostor”, which I found very funny.

The next morning we had to move all of her firewood — she put us straight to work.

In the evening we cooked her dinner (we kind of insisted, but she was oddly specific about it): she wanted to eat at 8pm., and since she only got home at 7:45, she was surprised dinner wasn’t ready at 8pm. During dinner, me and Phil basically worked as live translators between her and the Irish couple, bouncing conversations back and forth across the table. The following morning each of us had to collect a bag of pinecones, because that’s what she uses to start the fire in winter.

Eliana used to be a teacher, and before she retired one of her coworkers told her, “Do you want to travel without ever leaving work?” and signed her up for Couchsurfing. I appreciate that origin story a lot.

She’s funny, odd, and definitely memorable, but there’s a fine line between Couchsurfing and just working for your stay. Maybe that’s part of the deal: you pay with stories, pinecones, and a slightly smoked clothes.

In Coyhaique I also managed to finally fix my broken spokes, so hopefully this setup will hold for a while.

Cycling out

Cycling out of town after a rest day always feels a bit different. It doesn’t matter that we’ve already done thousands of kilometers — that first day back on the bike always comes with a bit of a newbie mindset. That’s how it felt leaving Coyhaique.

We said goodbye to Eliana in the morning. She hugged us, wished us all the best, and honestly, I think I might have gone a bit too hard on her in my head. Yes, we “worked” for our stay, but in total it was maybe 25 minutes of actual effort spread over two nights. Not exactly slave labor. She’s just… herself: kind, a bit odd, and very set in her ways.

The riding itself was good. As we got closer to the Argentinian border, the wind started picking up — a nice little reminder of what’s waiting for us once we cross back over. Still, the day felt solid. We pulled in around 1,600 meters of vert, which I’d personally put in the “good day at the office” category.

The views are getting better and better, and we’re now in the small town of Villa Cerro Castillo, where we’re planning to do a hike the upcoming day. As always, once we started making dinner, the local dogs appeared out of nowhere. We’re camped in this beautiful spot with purple flowers (lavender, I think, probably wrong) all around, a stream or river running in the background, and mountains towering behind it all.

If the white noise from the water does its job, tonight should be a great sleep — and tomorrow we can go rip that hike.

Hike hike hike

Hiking is always exciting. First of all — I still can’t believe how much CONAF (Chile’s national forestry & protected areas service) charges for park access. 27 euros for a day hike… it’s a full-on money-making machine at this point.

The uphill itself was 6.5 km with 1,100 m of gain, and it felt totally fine — not hard, just steady. It felt amazing to have that strength in the legs and to be reminded that the best views really are only accessible by walking/hiking. I guess that’s where my roots and strengths are. This hike brought all the love for hiking back and had me daydreaming about what else I want to hike in the future 🙂 Great feeling — thinking about new adventures, mixing biking, hiking, and who knows what else later on.

In the evening we chilled with Conor and Jessica, who caught up to us again after our stay at Eliana’s, and with two of the chillest dogs ever — they’d get some belly rubs, then just wander off and do their thing. This trip has really made my relationship with dogs very love–hate: when they bark and chase you on the road, it’s not exactly pleasant, but in Chile and Argentina so many of them are relaxed, friendly, and just genuinely loved.

Dust, wind and rain

Had another interview this morning. I found shelter in this small shed near an bike station — perfect protection from the wind and rain… until a pickup truck parked like 20 meters away with two dogs in the back. They barked at every car and every person passing by. So, yeah — not the ideal interview setup.

The day itself brought back all the “good” memories of Argentinian wind. It was hectic. We hit the last stretch of paved road, which means the next 450 km of the Carretera Austral will be gravel, rocks, sand — whatever they decide to throw at us. We’ll see.

And of course, just to make things more fun, we entered a construction-site road. So now I had headwind and dust blowing straight into my face. I can honestly say it tested my spirit — but it was fine. I just kept reminding myself: this is exactly where I want to be. I can suffer now and look back one day at all the hard stuff I did. Dust, wind, rain – bring it on!

Then, as it started raining, I was excited for the rain since it cleaned some of the dust off!!!!

And clearly, if you pour your energy into days like this, the universe throws you something in return. Hikers say “the trail will provide.” Here, I guess, the road will provide. And it did — we knew there should be an abandoned house somewhere near where we planned to stop for the night, and we found it. It was sick. Perfect end to a chaotic day.

My diet

I eat about 200 g of chips per day — yeah, you read that right. My body is constantly craving salt because I’m sweating so much, and since pretzels or crackers basically don’t exist in South America (or at least I haven’t found them), chips have become the go-to. So yeah… roughly 1,000 kcal a day are just chips.

Overall, my diet is pretty simple: chips (obviously), sweet cookies like Oreos or anything similar, sour patches, and whatever has the most calories for the least weight. I really miss simple homemade food.

Now we’ve entered this never-ending dusty gravel section, and again — it’s not the cute, aesthetic gravel you see on Instagram. It’s rocks, dust clouds, and endless bumps. The views are amazing, but it’s honestly hard to pay attention to them when I’m laser-focused on not slicing my tire open. 5-6 hours of riding like this is serious work — at least for me.

By the way — staying on the saddle is brutal. You’re always bouncing, which means your ass and shorts are constantly moving. The friction and sweat start to get irritating, and things get a bit troublesome in that curve between your thigh and your ass. But I guess that’s just one of those inconveniences you learn to live with out here.

Mental games

How do you stay motivated knowing the upcoming day is going to be at least five hours of—not exactly misery, but definitely unpleasant—demanding riding? That’s how I felt waking up that morning. My body was already hurting, and knowing we had a full day of bumpy, loose gravel and rocks ahead didn’t make it easier.

I tried breaking the day into two parts. Allegedly there was a small village within 30 km. That doesn’t sound like much, but it still took me over two hours to get there. And when I finally arrived, everything was closed. Not ideal.

We met a French couple heading north, just starting their trip, hopefully with many great months ahead. They told us the road further on was closed during the middle of the day because they’re using explosives to blow up rock and widen the route. It’s been like that forever, apparently.

We decided to keep going anyway and reach that point. Once there, we didn’t want to wait, so we found another road—but that meant pushing the bikes for a solid 10–15 minutes up a 15–20% incline. At least it was raining, which washed off all the dust I’d collected in the morning. We had to take a ferry over a river, yes, no bridge, actually a ferry to cross a river, ask Chile, not me.

On these hard days, I keep reminding myself that the day will end. Every day ends. Whatever happens, it ends. That mindset got me through many days and it still works now.

We reached Cochrane in the cold and rain. I was thinking about looking for a cabin or a stay inside, but we didn’t—and then the sun came out. Now we’re camping close to the river. There are a few houses looking straight at our tent, but at this point we honestly don’t care.

You get so used to not paying for accommodation that even something like six bucks for a campsite with a shower feels strange. After a while, you really do become a cheap fuck.

To be honest, after hiking across the U.S. the first time in 2022 on the PCT, then again in 2024 on the CDT, and now cycling through South America for four months, I just want to say: I love this lifestyle. I love moving every day. I love endurance. I even love the misery it brings and the joy that follows. It’s hard to put into words, but life feels lived this way. I feel like the captain of my own ship, and it doesn’t matter where the wind blows—I go where I want to go.

But the way, received compliment on my Spanish, from a Chilean, if you know, you know

One more hike

Hiking days are always something—especially in South America. One thing we’ve learned out here: if the incline is below 20%, people don’t even call it steep. A “normal” climb seems to be 1,000 m of vert in 6–7 km. So… we continued with that pattern. Apparently, CONAF couldn’t charge us for the entry on the way in, and on the way out the ranger didn’t care anymore, small win!

The uphill was exciting and hot, and stepping into the moss forest felt completely different from the wide-open Patagonian landscapes we’ve been used to.

Even though it was less than 10°C, the lake was calling. With that kind of perfect access, jumping in was basically mandatory.

Naturally, we overestimated our abilities again. It took longer than expected, and the trail had about 20% more elevation gain than shown on the maps. Classic South America—trust no one. It was muddy too; I went in all the way up to my ankle.

But extra work brings extra rewards. We finally saw a huemul (South Andean deer). It just stared at us for a full minute before quietly disappearing into the trees.

A pretty great way to close the week.

Cycling stats (4 days of cycling in 5 days)

329.2 km | 20 h 36 m | 5,712 m gain

Daily Averages

82.3 km | 5 h 09 m | 1,428 m gain

Hiking stats (2 hikes)

45.2 km | 11 h 06 m | 3,129 m gain

Per hike

22.6 km | 5 h 33 m | 1,565 m gain

Carretera Austral

In Puerto Montt for a day. What a low-key port city — not much is happening, people hustling, tons of malls. I wasn’t expecting that. A lot of thin-walled, poor-quality wooden houses too. Definitely not the most scenic stop, but I’m ready to start the Carretera Austral.

Resting feels great. My legs hurt more today than on any of the last 8 days of riding, so I’m actually happy we stopped, even if the town itself doesn’t really do much for me.

On the bright side: cheap pizza, Subway, burgers. To be honest, I like endurance adventures partly because I like to eat a lot too.

Can’t wait for the adventures on the Carretera Austral. We talked about it with Phil and we’re both genuinely excited for what’s coming. Mind-wise we’re in a very good place, and combining that with a scenic route ahead sounds like a great combo.

The start

First day on the Carretera Austral. Of course, we started the day hitting the Subway — just having it one more time. It was mediocre, as it always is. But you know exactly what you’re going to get, so maybe that isn’t too bad

We were expecting some sun from the beginning of the day, but what we actually got was rain for the first two or three hours. We started thinking that maybe “Carretera Austral sun” just means light rain, since it does rain a lot in this region — but no, it was proper rain.

We took our first ferry, which was only half an hour, but it already felt good to be closer to the fjords and actually getting into Carretera Austral. The road was really nice, and fewer and fewer cars were passing by; the traffic had slowed down. Although, what I noticed is that Chile really loves those 10–13 percent inclines for 30, 50, or 100 meters. That’s steep! Come on, just make it easier, a bit longer, five to eight percent — that’s all I’m asking for.

Honestly, in just one day today, we passed or met the same number of cyclists as we had in the first 100 days of the trip. So it’s probably going to be busy, it’s going to be fun, and we’re excited. Excited for what’s to come, excited to see everything, take some little detours, and enjoy — allegedly — the best cycling route in the world!

Next day started, you guessed it, with the ferry again. The ferry at 10 am meant we could actually chill in the morning — still cover distance while moving, but let the boat do the work and just enjoy the views. The fjords started opening up, and they’re pretty sick. Seeing snow on 500 m peaks right above the water is wild; it must be brutal here in winter and on truly bad weather days.

The setup was funny: it was a 2-ferry operation. The first one dropped us on a small peninsula, then we had to bike 10 km, and from there take a second ferry for about 30 minutes. In between we waited around 1.5 hours — good views, lots of other cyclists around, nothing to complain about.

Short cycling day, but one full of memories. It really feels like the “real” Patagonia starts now.

At some point we also jumped into the most mediocre, lukewarm hot springs of my life — literally right on the side of a gravel road. Still counts.

It’s still early season in Patagucci, so a lot of places are half-open or still closed — especially campsites. It even seems like in some stretches you’re supposed to camp only in paid campsites. But the general cyclist rule is: if it’s “closed” but the amenities are there, then it’s open for us. In simple terms: closed = free.

We also chatted with a French biker who’s 58 (his words). “Chatted” might be a generous term — he mostly talked at us about his trips and showed us photos of every random thing he’s done. Please, if I’m that self-centered when I’m 58, someone call me out immediately.

Small detours and more cycling

Back to the basics — we went for a “hike”. Hard to even call it a hike: 2.5 km with 616 m of gain, second half at 30%+ steepness. I’m happy I still have it in my legs. I went at my usual tempo and somehow snagged 9th all-time on the climb on Strava. Lol.

The 58-year-old French guy came with us too. I’ve been calling him Ludovic but his name is actually Emanuel. He did it 5 minutes slower than me, and honestly, if I’m that fit at 58, I can’t complain. I take back some of the negative stuff I wrote about him in the last days’ notes. He was calling me Rokas bombas because I was “so fast” xddd.

Overall, I did feel some weakness that day. The hike definitely took its toll, but I think there was something else too. Maybe just a bad headspace. Maybe a lack of calories. Funny thing is, cycling an extra 25 km afterward kind of fixed it. In total we rode almost 4 hours, and that still felt lighter than what we usually do.

Views all around were insane. I’ll probably get spoiled soon and stop appreciating them as much, but for now I’m still stoked.

At night I feel like a hot dog on a grill when I sleep — I keep rotating 90 degrees, over and over. I probably do a full circle 3–4 times per night.

Onwards (southwards)

Did one more hike. On these last two hikes it really feels like it’s about the destination, not the journey — you only start seeing the good stuff right at the end.

We had two completely different elevation predictions for the day: 1,700 m on MapOut and 1,000 m on Google Maps. I was sure Google was going to be right. Well… the day ended up being 1,440 m. That’s quite a bit of work for 100 km plus a 1 h 15 min hike. Most of the climbing came in one big go where we gained 700 m in one shot — 10–12% grade, hot, sweaty, and buggy. I felt like I was pedaling so hard that my lower back started hurting xd

It was the first time on this trip that it was properly buggy. Horsefly-type flies were biting through the shirt as I pedaled and pushed the bike, alternating. Full-on horror movie. There were like 15-20 flies around me the whole time, so at any moment I was half-moving, half flailing my arms like a lunatic for the 5 cars that passed during that stretch.

But after that… amazing views for hours. Snow-capped peaks for 50 km of riding. Doesn’t matter where you look — it’s all mesmerizing, and the further south we go, the better it gets. Extremely happy to be here and excited to see what’s coming next.

But oh boy, my quads are on fire. I’ll give them some time to chill — maybe a recovery day tomorrow.

Recovery day

Went for a “recovery day” which still ended up being almost 2.5 hours of riding. Since it was raining, we decided to actually pay for a campsite so we could put the tent under a roof and use a small hut to cook.

The hut had a wood-fire stove — last time I saw that was in my grandparents’ house built in the 1940s. Maybe it’s just nostalgia, but food made on that thing tastes insanely good.

On day 101 of our adventure we finally found pesto in SOUTH AMERICA — in a village of maybe 800–1,000 people. Chile’s mini-/supermarket selection slaps, other countries in South America should take notes. To celebrate, we went for pasta pesto with shrimp and onion. Chill, Italian readers — we cook the pasta the way we like it and there’s nothing you can do about it.

By the way, today we met the friendliest dog ever. It ran up to me, started jumping around, licking my legs, and later chased after me while I was on the bike. Just pure good energy.

Italians 11:48 p.m.

Maybe I got cursed by Italian bad luck. At the campsite we stayed at, three Italians showed up. Of course, being on a completely different time schedule than the rest of the country, they came back at 11:48 p.m. and woke me up.

It still blows my mind how people in their mid-30s can be that inconsiderate. The only thing I felt in that moment was hate and disgust toward them, zero empathy. Weak move. Rant over.

Second random thought: we meet quite a few motorcyclists and chat with them. It’s funny when they complain how much they had to “bike” to get to Patagonia — like 2,000 km in 5 days. Bro… you’re overweight, sitting all day, eating like a cyclist. Nice that you wave when you pass me, but we are not doing the same thing here. Chill.

Last random bit: I saw a women-only construction crew today. Way to go, Chile.

Apart from all these thoughts, it was a pretty spectacular day — hot springs in the morning, amazing views and weather throughout, I could be taking photos every 15 minutes so I’m only sharing a few. Then we jumped into the lake — first double swim day of the trip!!!

We’re camping with six (yes, SIX) other cyclists at the lake tonight — that has never happened before.

Cuando sufrimos, crecemos – Brazilian Felipe

So today I was reminded of a phrase that kind of sums up what all this travelling is about.

In the morning I just wanted to pump my tires, get ready for the day — we had a paved section ahead, so I wanted them nice and hard. While doing that, I noticed one of my spokes was detached. I knew straight away it was going to be a pain.

I took off the back wheel and started trying to figure out how to deal with it. I don’t have the right tool to remove the cassette, so I couldn’t just take the spoke out properly — I had to find a way to cut it off. I tried using my nail clippers, broke them, so now I don’t have nail clippers anymore either. There was an Irish couple nearby who tried to help, but we still couldn’t solve it.

At that point I just went out to the road and started stopping cars, asking if anyone had pliers. Well, I lied. Nobody really stopped, but it was like 5 cars in 25 minutes, people probably going to work. Until this dude from South Africa on a motorbike stopped and handed me his. Calling him a dude feels weird as he is in his 60s but he had “dude” energy. So yeah, I gave motorcyclists some shit yesterday, but this guy fully saved the day.

Later our Brazilian Felipe (not to mix with travel partner Phillip aka Felipe) showed up and helped too. Since I have a tubeless setup, we decided to just throw in a tube and ride like that. I originally thought I’d replace the spoke, but again — no special tool to take off the cassette, so it was impossible. The plan became: cut the spoke, put in the tube, put the tire back on, and see what happens.

I asked him if it was okay to ride with one spoke missing, and he just looked at me and said:

“Tranquilo, hombre, es solo un rayo”

Then he showed me his wheel — he’s missing two or three spokes and doesn’t care at all. He was super chill, like: we suffer a bit, we fix what we can, and we keep riding.

And then he said this line in Spanish:

“Cuando sufrimos, crecemos.”

When we suffer, we grow.

I’d spent two hours messing with the bike. Did I “suffer”? Not really. But did I learn a lot? Yes. And that’s kind of the whole point of these trips — self-discovery, learning as you go, problem-solving on the fly.

The rest of the day was semi-cloudy and rainy, nothing too dramatic. Still some nice views on the side, and we ended up with a great camping spot by the river with mist in the background.

Stats

Stats (7.5 days of cycling)

600 km | 31 h 08 m | 7,763 m gain

Daily Averages

80 km | 4 h 09 m | 1,035 m gain

First day leaving Chos Malal, I already knew it was going to be a boring one. We had around 4 hours of riding ahead and no services at the end of the day. So I kind of decided to lean into it — to actually sit with the boredom and see what it does to me. What do I do when I have all the time in the world and nowhere specific to be? I think I still need to learn how to be bored.

We ended up “camping” in an abandoned house where you can only get in through the window. The funny part? There was a Wi-Fi spot nearby, so the internet actually worked while we waited out the storm. At first the storm started, then stopped, and I felt like an idiot for stopping early… but then the clouds rolled back in and it all made sense again.

At some point the cops showed up. We thought we were in big trouble for breaking into an abandoned building — but in the end they just parked, used the Wi-Fi, and left. Guys just wanted to watch some instagram reels, can’t blame them.

Another random thing I noticed in Argentina: on the side of the road you constantly see these little red shrines for Gauchito Gil. He’s a kind of folk saint here — a gaucho/outlaw people believe protects them on the road. Drivers leave bottles, flags, or small offerings when they pass by, so some stretches of highway feel like a continuous line of red mini-altars.

The wind

The wind saga continues. We cycled to the town of Las Lajas — an easy 4-hour ride with just a bit of wind, nothing too bad. We decided to stay for the day since the forecast for the next destination looked brutal: –3°C at night, rain all day, and 60 km/h headwinds. No, thank you.

It actually felt great to just chill at a campsite for once. A couple of other cyclists showed up too, and we spent time hanging out and chatting. I’ve noticed that compared to hiking, cycling feels lonelier — when you hike, you naturally meet people and spend more time together. On a bike, everyone’s more spread out. So having those moments to connect makes it feel like the full experience — biking, camping, and real conversations. At some point I even ended up drinking wine out of a bowl because… why not.

Also, I got curious about the history of Las Malvinas (the Falkland Islands). You see Argentinian flags everywhere with the islands printed on them. Read up on it — quite the story.

Continuing on

After resting, we continued with another day on the bike. We started early because we knew the wind was going to pick up. We had 5.5 hours of cycling and 1,200 meters of gain ahead of us, so we were back in climbing territory. After the rest, it honestly felt like time was flying and cycling was suddenly easy again. I guess resting really is training.

That day I felt a bit in a flow state and really enjoyed it. I spent a good chunk of time daydreaming about my “ideal” bike setup for future trips — which probably just means more trips are coming. At the end of the day we arrived by a river, jumped in for a quick dip, and camped near these amazing “monkey puzzle” trees.

It’s funny — the day before we jumped in the river and it was close to 28°C. The next morning we woke up and everything we’d left outside was frozen, including our water filter. Hopefully, since it was inside the bag, it didn’t break, but we definitely need to be more careful with that going forward.

The day itself was interesting: a mix of gravel that felt like a construction site and some regular road. I felt really good on the bike, attacking the small climbs and just enjoying the riding again. We rolled into a town called Aluminé and honestly, there’s construction on both sides, but once Alumine gets its roads sorted, it will pop. It’s definitely going to be super popular. Invest in Alumine now, boys and girls — I’m telling you first.

At the end of the day, I even made a sign for Phil. He somehow didn’t see it, but in my opinion it was a pretty clear sign. What do you think?

Funny how even this far south in Argentina, the views remind me of Montana — rolling hills, open spaces. It’s like nature is the same all over the world, just copy-pasted into different places.

These past days I’ve really felt a big wave of love for cycling again. I loved the uphills, I loved the downhills, I just loved moving. I caught myself daydreaming about other future trips on the bike. Cycling is amazing. I love it.

You see, there’s been a lot of love for cycling lately.

We passed through San Martín, which is a super popular ski and summer tourist town — full of people from Buenos Aires and quite a few Americans too. Definitely not for our budget. So we camped about 6 km outside town at a campsite that’s technically “day use only”, but we still pitched the tent for the night.

Earlier, we’d swum in the lake in San Martín, and later I started feeling this insane itchiness all over my body. I tried to fall asleep for an hour and just couldn’t. In the end, I had to get up at 11 p.m., go down to the river, and wash off, hoping it would help. Thankfully, it did — but I still only fell asleep around midnight.

Ruta de Los Siete Lagos

We started the famous Ruta de los Siete Lagos, and I actually really enjoyed it. We began with a small climb in the morning, and then the traffic picked up — so many rental cars flying past, people literally coming from all over just to see the lakes. The lakes are beautiful, but honestly, a bit overhyped.

On the bike, though, it was pretty nice. You just stop every few kilometers without even checking the map, just following the signs to miradores and viewpoints. The weather turned on us again — rain, low clouds, barely any visibility — so half the time you couldn’t even see the lake. Classic “it’s about the destination, not the journey” tourism, which I’m very happy not to be doing.

In the end, when the sun finally came out, I caught myself thinking: when do we actually appreciate the sun? I really appreciated it this time. Just feeling that warmth on my face was all I needed in that moment. I’m glad that biking — and the previous hiking trips — taught me how to appreciate nature in these small, simple ways.

Chile

We finally entered Chile, which came with some solid climbing. Honestly, at just 1,300 meters of elevation I already felt so cold I had to pull a buff over my nose. I thought, alright, we’re entering the zone where I’m gonna be screwed. But in the end, it wasn’t that bad.

This section really reminded me of southern Colorado with all the dead trees. And the way we entered was pretty special — crossing from Argentina into Chile with national parks on both sides, just great views all around.

We eventually rolled into Entre Lagos and stopped at the supermarket. Great selection, way better prices than in Argentina, so I was extremely happy. We also tried the classic Chilean street food: the completo. It’s basically a hot dog with some tomato and palta (avocado). Honestly, it would be great… but the sausage sucks.

Around the lake

Starting the day, I thought it was gonna be a great one — we’d cycle past two volcanos. On paper it was supposed to be pretty flat; in reality, not so much. We still got a bit of elevation in on rolling terrain.

The day turned cloudy and then it just started raining… and kept raining for a few hours. It wasn’t a cold rain, but still — cycling in the rain for that long is never really fun. At some point, though, I caught myself thinking: honestly, this is nothing. I’m in Chile, on a bike trip I chose, loving the ride, loving the new country, excited about what’s ahead — and my “problem” is that I’m wet. Worst case? It keeps raining, the night is damp, my sleeping bag is a bit moist, I wake up, ride an extra hour or two, and then I’ll be in Puerto Montt, dry again. When you frame it like that, it’s really not that bad.

We tried to duck into a few restaurants around the lake — it’s a pretty popular loop — just to warm up and chill for a bit, and that helped break up the day. In the end, the sun actually came out. It didn’t magically dry everything, but it made the last part of the ride feel a lot nicer.

And somewhere in between the rain, the clouds, and the volcano views, I came up with the most ambitious cycling plan for my future yet — so I’m pretty happy about that.

We finished the day camping by Lago Llanquihue, the same lake we’d been circling around all day. The sun finally came out in the evening, and it was honestly pretty amazing.

Otras cosas

1. We actually ended up ranking what matters most when cycling in South America. First and foremost: wind. If it’s really windy, you just know it’s going to be a shit day. Then comes rain — if it’s pouring non-stop, you basically can’t do much, cycling included. Only after that do we look at the road surface: is it full-on gravel, smooth asphalt, or that bumpy washboard gravel (a.k.a. tarka in Lithuanian) that just shakes your soul. And only then, only then, do we care about the elevation.

2. Overall, in the last 10 days, I feel like the bike really became a part of my life. I love moving that way. I love cycling. I can sit on a bike for hours. Until now, it still felt a bit like “just a trip”. But at this point, it feels different — like the bicycle is going to be a bigger and bigger part of my life moving forward. And I’m very excited about that.

Stats (8 out of 9 days of cycling)

Total

794 km | 41 h 33 m | 8,205 m gain

Daily Averages

99 km | 5 h 12 m | 1,026 m gain

Well, it has been a while

Welcome back, my dear… I don’t know, 12, 57, 114, 247 readers? I guess we’ll never know.

Today we’re covering the last two weeks of cycling through Argentina — starting with leaving Salta. Salta was an amazing place, but, as funny as it is, following Google’s bike directions eventually led us here.

Day 1 out of Salta: Avg temp: 33°C. Almost 6 hours on the bike — great scenery but crazy hot.

Drank 4 liters of water, an iced latte, 1x Pomelo (0.5L), 1x Pomelo-Orange (0.5L), 0.75L apple juice, and 0.5L Sprite. Basically, I was half human, half liquid by the end of the day.

Met the boys who are doing a circuit from Salta — it was amazing having a 30-minute conversation in Spanish. Super happy for the boyz getting out there and biking.

Later on, we arrived in the town of Cafayate — a proper wine town. So naturally, we went for a few tastings. We met a couple of older folks who were genuinely excited to see us and curious about the trip. At the end of the conversation, they said, “Que tengan la vida hermosa.” I felt like that’s just such a beautiful thing to say to someone — it sounded so genuine, so effortlessly heartfelt.

Wind

Wind, wind, wind. It’s become the main character of our days. We’ll have to start at 6 a.m. now just to dodge those 40+ km/h gusts. It’s nasty, it’s exhausting — I swear I spent the entire day thinking only about the wind and how it would mess with me. It’s like being in a race you already know you’re going to lose. I need mental tips for that.

Oh, and somewhere along the way, I saw this 7- or 8-year-old kid driving a scooter with an even younger kid sitting at the back. No helmets, of course. Argentina just keeps on delivering.

Because of the heat and the crazy winds that follow, I’m sick, and cycling has become tough. On top of that, it’s just boring right now — we’re deep in the Argentinian plains. The weather’s calm in the morning, but by 11 or 12 a.m., the wind picks up, and that’s it — we’re screwed.

Being sick just makes everything harder. I feel slower than usual, mentally foggy, and the days feel never-ending. Cycling feels boring, and I just can’t wait to move past this section as soon as possible. We’re on Route 40 now — it’s a pretty popular route for motorbikes — and honestly, I’m kind of jealous of the riders passing by. Though, I’ve noticed a lot of them are a bit on the heavier side, so maybe that’s part of why they choose motorbikes. Still, if I could switch to an e-bike or a motorbike right now, I’d do it in a heartbeat — no hesitation.

So, we decided to skip the next 500 kilometers of endless flatlands and head straight to Mendoza — a place where we can actually remember what joy feels like. The whole point of this trip is to enjoy it, and being sick while cycling through windy plains definitely doesn’t fit that definition. We’ve struggled enough, and I think it’s fair to say it was time to jump ahead a bit — to get back to the good part, to the kind of riding that makes us feel alive again.

Mendoza and post Mendoza

Honestly, I just want to brag a little. In Mendoza, we joined a Spanish walking tour — two full hours, all in Spanish — and I understood about 90% of it. I was so damn happy. Then, when we left Mendoza, we visited an olive oil bodega and a winery, both also fully in Spanish, and I still managed to follow almost everything. It feels like the language is finally clicking — like I’m learning more than I ever expected just by being here.

So, we finally left Mendoza after a few days of relaxing and getting our bikes fixed/cleanes. Juan (the bike mechanic) did a great job — he actually took the bikes completely apart, cleaned everything and rebuilt them from the ground up. Of course, it took him a day longer than he said, but that’s just the Argentinian lifestyle — and bike mechanics in general. Things take a little longer than you expect, but it is what it is.

Leaving, we went to an olive oil bodega and a winery, as mentioned prior. Super nice places, but I feel like those activities are more for when I’m 40, 50, 60. For now, I’m more into the active lifestyle. The vibe there was also different — filled with people from Buenos Aires, a totally different attitude compared to the small wineries we visited up north near Salta and Cafayate.

Finally, I feel healthy again, no more worrying about that, which makes me really excited for what’s ahead. And today, seeing the mountains again — that was such a good feeling. We’re staying tonight at a small finca, and they happen to be having a kid’s birthday party. So yeah, we’re basically crashing it. And honestly, it’s super fun.

The journey continuous

The next couple of days were just good, relatively simple biking — longer distances but about the same hours we’re used to. We got some nice views, rode along a river, and chatted with a few locals who shared their mate with us (it was our first mate experience) and told us about their lives. They seemed super chill. It’s honestly great to see that zest for life here in Argentina. Even though people are hit hard by inflation, they still find ways to enjoy life — a big contrast compared to the countries we passed through up north.

Had to fix the bike the day after, and the day instantly felt so much better — great views, more of that “in the moment” feeling.

The wind picked up in the last 5 km with gusts over 55 km/h, so we decided to stay in El Sosneado — a town with a population of 91 back in 2001 (yep, that’s the latest data on Wikipedia, nobody really cared to check after, I guess).

We stayed with a local family who offered us either a cabaña for 20,000 ARS (about €12) per person or a free camping spot outside. Clearly chose the tent.

Had ramen and beer for dinner — honestly, my best meals are always mood-driven, never in restaurants. Being in the middle of nowhere, eating ramen, and drinking a cold beer we got from a tiny despensa (shop) (maybe 5 square meters total) felt perfect :)))

P.S. when I say ramen I mean instant ramen, of course.

Next day was kind of split into two main parts — getting to the town of Malargüe, and then continuing afterward.

The first part was about 50k, pretty flat. The first hour felt windy, and I thought, oh no, if it stays like this for the next 6–7 hours, this is going to be rough. But it turned out fine — we did 50k in about 2.5 hours, a smooth and easy ride. Once in town, we grabbed some really good coffee — I went for an espresso tonic, which I was super happy about. Doesn’t happen that often out here.

We met this guy, Fuji, from Japan. He’s been traveling for about a year and a half, started in Alaska, and is now heading south like us. He has been biking for 8 years now. Super chill guy. It was just nice meeting someone going the same direction — we haven’t had that in a while.

After town, we picked up some stuff for burgers for dinner and continued for another 60k — slightly uphill at first, then the last 20k downhill.

Since leaving Mendoza a few days ago, I’d been hearing a squeaking sound coming from my front wheel. I thought it might be because I lost a bolt from the thru-axle, so I stopped for half an hour to check it, but couldn’t fix it. Later at the campsite, I tried again and realized it might actually be the brake pads. I ended up watching a YouTube video on how to align them and did it myself — and it seems to be working! If it holds, that’s honestly the most I’ve ever done mechanically on a bike, so it feels like a real milestone for me.

We also met Johnny — he’s been cycling from the Arctic in Canada, heading south as part of a world tour. His plan is to do it over four years and cross most continents. It’s wild. For him, it’s clearly a lifestyle. For me, at least for now, it still feels like a trip — and I kind of prefer it that way.

That night pushed my patience to the limit. There are always animals around when you camp near villages — distant roosters that wake you, but usually it’s bearable. This time, though, there was a rooster that started crowing at 4 a.m., every five minutes, sounding like it was only 5–10 metres from our tent. I couldn’t fall asleep properly — dozing off, waking up, dozing off again. I was so annoyed I actually went out to try to find it and move it away, but couldn’t. I kept hearing it, over and over. I couldn’t believe how much it irritated me and how anxious it made me feel. Those tiny gaps between its crows were the only moments I managed to sleep.

Gravel

A different kind of day was waiting for us. We knew there was a big gravel section coming up — but 80 kilometers of bumpy road really tested my mental limits. I was just happy to get it over with and end the day in a small town to chill. My legs started hurting again after awhile. 

When I say town, it’s really just a place with maybe 100 people. But they had something rare — a hot shower for cyclists, a bathroom, and a place to pitch the tent. There was even a barbecue setup, which we didn’t use, but it still felt like a small luxury after a rough day.

It’s funny — every time we cook, some local animals always show up. Cats, dogs, you name it — all hoping to get a taste of whatever we’re making. And honestly, their behavior kind of decides who gets what. This time, even though the cat was super persistent, staring us down while we opened the tuna can, the dog got it all (by simply pushing the cat away). Bigger size wins, I guess. That’s just how nature works.

After rough rocky gravel section — we decided to do a recovery day. So we only cycled for about three and a half hours. Funny to call that a “recovery day,” but that’s just how things have shifted — you still put in the effort, just not too hard. I was happy with that pace.

Final day

Final day of the stretch almost broke me. I knew the whole day would be against the wind — but honestly, saying “hats off” to the Argentinian wind doesn’t even come close. It’s not the terrain, not the gravel or the paved road, not even the elevation gain. If I have to climb 1,000 or 1,500 meters, I can do it. I’ll take my time. But the wind — the wind just messes with your head.

Physically, you can still move, but mentally it’s draining. Every gust feels like it takes a bit of your energy with it. It’s not that you can’t pedal — it’s that you start questioning why you’re even doing it. Today it was so bad that on a 5% uphill, on a paved road, I had to jump off and push my bike. It just made more sense to walk half a kilometer than to fight it.

Those five hours felt like the longest five hours I’ve ever spent on a bike. I’m just glad it’s over.

Pretty sure I ripped a hundred snot rockets today because of the wind. If you don’t know what that is — look it up. Also known as “lung butter.”

Overall thoughts

1. I’d like to start my overall thoughts with the Argentinian siesta. The siesta can last anywhere from 1 to 5 p.m. — or sometimes even from 3 to 8 p.m. That’s literally four or five hours where everything is shut down. So if you’re unlucky, you’re unlucky — you just wait.

What’s even funnier is how late some cafés open — 5, 6, even 7 p.m. It’s crazy how much caffeine people here drink later in the day.

2. Argentinians love trucks. You see Peugeot, Fiat, and Volkswagen trucks everywhere. And seriously — when was the last time you saw a Fiat truck? But what’s even cooler is how many old American ones are still running — Fords and Chevrolets from the 1980s, for example. They keep them alive and use them daily.

Gas is around $1 per liter, so it’s not exactly cheap, but still — those trucks must burn through a ton of fuel.

3. Lastly, it feels strange being in the second part of the trip. In a way, you start counting the time and distances, realizing that the end is slowly approaching. But at the same time, the further I go, the more I enjoy it. Bike touring — or bikepacking — is definitely something that will stay in my life in one form or another.

This trip has given me a clear sense of what I like and what I don’t, and I feel like from here on, it’s only going to get better.

Stats

Stats (13 out of 16 days of cycling)

1,348 km | 65 h 46 m | 8,397 m gain

Daily Averages

104 km | 5 h 3 m | 646 m gain

Well, it’s been a while. I feel like time is flying way faster the more I get into the trip.

Leaving La Paz

Leaving La Paz felt weird. We knew the weather was going to be bad, but not this bad — 3 degrees, rain, and heavy traffic. The road was a double lane both ways, four lanes total, and it just felt chaotic. It was really hard to stay focused.

We started biking anyway, but after the first hour we realized it just wasn’t possible to continue in these conditions. The traffic was too heavy, the weather too cold, and the road too dangerous. No fun :/// So we hitched a ride.

The hitch itself turned out to be pretty fun — we sat in the back of a truck, but the driver kept asking if we had paperwork, checking if we were in Bolivia illegally. Apparently his brother had been detained for something similar, so he was clearly nervous. Still, he helped us out.

I just thought — there’s only one way out of La Paz. I don’t know if people actually cycle that road, but if they do, hats off to them. It just felt weird, you know? Even when I want to cycle and have the energy for it, something always seems to happen that stops me. In this case, it was just completely unsafe and absolutely no fun.

So what’s the point of doing it then? Just for the numbers? Probably not. That’s why we decided to skip those 200 kilometers of pure (doble via) highway and continue on roads that are (hopefully) a bit more peaceful.

During the hitch, I think I felt the coldest I’ve ever been on a trip. If not the coldest, then definitely in the top three. I’m not even sure what caused it — maybe the mix of wind, rain, altitude, and just sitting still in the back of the truck — but it hit hard.

Days until Uyuni (salt flats)

The day after, we continued for almost a full 120 kilometers — all of it against the wind. Same view the entire day, just endless straight road and headwind. Boring as hell.

Realistically, you could just hitch or take a bus through this kind of section and skip the dull part. But at the same time, the boring parts are part of the journey too. Skipping them feels wrong — kind of like skipping the dull stretches in life. You just have to learn how to sit with them, deal with them, and maybe even find something in them.

So today I listened to a podcast, didn’t eat enough, and almost bonked — lesson learned. On the bright side, I discovered a new Powerade flavor, Powerade Sour, and I’m honestly pretty happy about that.

The next day was pretty much the same — same road conditions, same endless straight line, barely any cars. What stood out was the weather: only 12°C (about 54°F), but with a UV index of 12. The sun was brutal. At 3,700 meters of elevation, that combo is wild.

We passed through a small town where people just seemed to sit around and wait all day. Nothing happening, no rush — just waiting. Their whole life felt like that: wait, wait, wait.

Salar de Uyuni and Lagunas route

Well, we finally made it to Uyuni, the salt flats.

The big question now was how to tackle both the salt flats and the Lagunas route together. Not exactly an easy decision. Water is scarce, the wind is constantly against you, food stops are maybe once every other day, and the terrain is rough. On top of that, you’re always in the sun — the UV index here sits somewhere between 12 and 14 every day — so it’s just constant exposure. Mentally, it already felt challenging.

If we went straight through, we’d eventually end up in northern Chile, basically desert. From there, we’d either have to find a way back into northern Argentina or skip it altogether. Neither option really fit with our priorities.

We realized we were deciding between 10–12 days of cycling through the area or 2–3 days of touring it more comfortably. Since northern Argentina is a priority, we chose the path of least resistance:

Take the Lagunas route as a short tour, enjoy it without stressing about resources. Return to Uyuni. Then continue into Argentina, keeping our original plan intact.

I liked the tour because, for a while, we were just surrounded by people. When you’re on a bike, you don’t actually meet as many people as you’d think. We’ve maybe met around 15 cyclists doing similar trips — and only a few going in our direction.

So being on a tour was refreshing. It was nice to connect, to share something with others again. You really appreciate how quickly you can get to know people when you’re together 24/7 for a few days.

To Argentina

Back on the saddle after a 3-day tour. Had to squeeze in a 90km ride before my interview (fingers crossed). A homeless guy actually came up to me during the interview — pretty funny moment in hindsight.

It’s wild how riding 90 km before 11 a.m. feels normal now. The road was crazy quiet — maybe 15 cars in 3.5 hours.

It felt good to climb again. These are our last days around 4,000 meters. I remember how surreal it felt the first time we camped at 3,700m, and now it’s just another regular day. I’m not saying things are getting easy, but at least not having to worry about elevation all the time feels like a small relief.

We left Bolivia just a day before the presidential elections, making sure we could cross the border into Argentina without any trouble.

Finally entering a country that feels lighter — more joy, more abundance. It’ll be interesting to see how that shift affects the rest of the trip.

Argentina

First day in Argentina was pretty chill — smooth roads, good conditions, easy cycling. In a small town where we stopped for lunch, we met a woman who’d been living in Canada for 20 years. Now she’s back in Argentina, traveling around on her bike, staying with locals, and sharing her story.

For her, it’s not really a trip — it’s a lifestyle she’s chosen. So it’s different; we can’t really compare it to what we’re doing. Still, it felt like she really needed our attention. She mostly talked to us to tell her story, not to hear ours. And it made me think — if you need that much of other people’s focus and validation, does it still serve the purpose of being a nomad?

On the same day, we made it to a small town called Tres Cruces, sitting at 3,700 meters. There was a guy making pizzas — population maybe 200. He and his family had moved there from Buenos Aires.

The thing is, he has a 5-year-old kid — full of energy, running around all the time — but he’s basically the only white kid within a 150 km radius. It just made me wonder what his future will look like. Who will his friends be as he grows up? I’m really curious to see the kind of person he’ll turn into living out there.

The next day was supposed to be an easy one — the goal was to hit 150 km, and since it looked slightly downhill, I thought it would be chill. Reality check: not quite.

The first 50 km were smooth, but after that, we got slammed by the worst wind ever — 40, 50, maybe even 60 km/h gusts. The way it works in the valley, the hot air rises along the river, so if you’re descending, you’re always getting hit straight in the face.

The wind just drains you — not only physically, but mentally. It’s hard to stay focused and not get pissed off. It’s a different kind of exhaustion, when you feel like you’re moving fine, but the energy you’re burning just doesn’t match the progress you’re making.

Although at the end of the day, we actually found this old train deck to camp in. Funny thing — the train hasn’t been used since 1994. The guy who used to work on the railway even came over to chat with us. That ended up being our camping spot for the night — definitely one of the most unusual places I’ve ever slept in.

Finally, we actually started descending, all the way down to 1,300 meters. And then I realized — I really love the green. Just seeing the trees and all the greenery around, it feels like spring, and that’s really exciting.

This stretch might be one of my top five favorite cycling spots so far. Narrow roads winding through small hills, green all around, going up and down — it just feels so natural.

Other stuff

Other thoughts, random ideas that popped into my head throughout the cycling. Nothing too structured, just things that came to mind while riding, observing, or waiting for the next hill.

1. Bolivians count in a funny way. If you pay 26 and give 100, they don’t give you 74 back. Instead, they’ll give you 4 and say “30,” then 10 more and say “40,” and so on. It’s a bit confusing at first, but after a while, you kind of get used to it.

2. Compared to Peru — and maybe Ecuador — Bolivia’s dogs were surprisingly chill. I actually respect them for that. Not a lot of incidents, nothing aggressive. Same thing once we started in Argentina. The dogs there also seem way more relaxed. Happy dogs. Good on them.

3. So here’s how we’ve been ranking the foods we eat: based on the health warnings. In Bolivia and Argentina, a lot of products actually come with stickers saying things like high in sugar, high in calories, high in fats, high in saturated fats, and high in sodium — basically warning signs for your diet.

At first, we thought 4 was the maximum. So hitting 4 out of 4 felt like an epiphany — the perfect balance of calories, sugar, and price. Then we realized there’s actually 5 out of 5. We haven’t tried it yet, but we definitely plan to give it a shot.

4. Oh, and by the way — in Bolivia and Argentina, they make juices with soy. So you can get orange juice with soy milk, or apple juice with soy milk. And honestly? It slaps.

5. And yeah — we survived Bolivia without food poisoning. Honestly, we thought it could happen. People in the Cycling South America WhatsApp group were saying they do shots of 96% alcohol after eating questionable meals. Definitely didn’t feel like trying that ourselves.

6. In Argentina, you can still see some German influence.

7. En cuanto a mi español, sigue mejorando. El tiempo dirá, pero por ahora ya he terminado El Patrón del Mal (74 episodios de más de 40 minutos cada uno)!!!!

Stats (9 out of 12 days of cycling)

1005 km | 44 h 57 m | 5,143 m gain

Daily Averages

112 km | 5 h 0 m | 571 m gain

Leaving Arequipa

So, it’s been a while. More than a week. Well. we left Arequipa, Peru after staying with Felipe’s aunt for a few days, and we were welcomed by a 5-hour climb uphill — most of it uphill — reaching over 4,200 meters of elevation. Although no shade was provided during the climb, it was pretty gradual. And to be honest, out of 5.5 hours recycled that day — 5 hours being uphill — I kind of liked it.

Our hard work didn’t go unnoticed, and we actually managed to find a campspot with amazing sunset views of Mount Misti.

The next day surprised us, even though it was relatively flat. It was all exposed, bumpy gravel roads at about 4,000 meters. Our goal was to cover the first 50 kilometers and reach the only shed in basically the desert, because allegedly that place had food and we could get something to eat. The 50 kilometers took us almost 4 hours.

We managed to get there and have lunch just in time before the rain started — and it lasted for the next two hours. So we just sat inside, chatting with the owners. They kept insisting that we stay, but our minds were set on moving forward.

You know, we did 50 kilometers and still had 50 more of the bumpy road. So we just kept insisting on continuing — and we did. In the end, we ended up camping at 4,600 meters, around 15,000 feet of elevation gain. But at the same time, it felt so surreal, because it was all flat. You could see some small mountains in the back, but there was no way you would have guessed this was 4,600 meters.

In these first couple of days, we were treated to some great scenery and glimpses of wild animals, including chinchillas, alpacas, vicuñas.

Following days

The next few days were interesting. First of all, we did, again, 100 kilometers, which doesn’t happen too often. But we were over 4,000 meters, so just that alone felt like we were getting into pretty good shape, especially since we did it in a reasonable time. However, just like in that area after Arequipa — reaching the Puno and Juliaca area in Peru — we noticed that the food kept getting worse and worse and worse.

So that begs the question we started discussing. Imagine you live in a small town in Peru. You have a restaurant that only does chicken, but your chicken sucks. How is that even possible? You literally dedicate your life to one thing. The locals come to your place, and the only thing you have to do is cook chicken. And I’d say every fourth or fifth time, what we get is chicken that’s raw. So we eat around it and leave the raw parts untouched. It’s kind of funny, but at the same time, we’re hungry, so we have to eat something.

Food dillema

Another point we started discussing: imagine you run a place, and two tourists — me and Phil — show up to eat. You ask how the food is, and we think it sucks, but we’re being nice. So we say it’s okay. And just like that, you walk away thinking your food is fine, and you keep cooking the same way. Meanwhile, in reality… it sucks.

So here’s the question: would you tell the honest truth if it’s a tiny town of 500 or 1,000 people, so they could actually improve, start making better food, maybe even grow their business? Or do you just stay quiet, leave it as it is, and spare their feelings, even if it means the food never gets better?

Phil thinks it’s better to stay quiet. I believe it’s better to say something, but to be honest, I haven’t had the guts to tell a local mama or grandpa that their food sucks and that they should improve. That’s what they’ve been living for their whole life, and I guess it’s part of their identity now.

Another food-related topic: in Peru, they actually eat the same meals for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I guess that’s just a sign of poverty. You can have the same soup for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, or they’ll simply serve you rice and meat for breakfast — which maybe would be considered a proper lunch anywhere else.

Random

Another completely funny part: in Peru, near Lake Titicaca, we went through a small town called Huancané and found a house where Phil’s great-grandparents were born or lived. So, here’s a picture of that.

Crossing the border

Crossing the border into Bolivia was pretty hectic. First, we had to go to a small town on the Peru side and get a stamp showing we were leaving Peru. After that, we had to enter Bolivia the same day. But the actual border control wasn’t at the border — we ended up cycling for more than 1.5 hour to reach Bolivia. Once there, we had to find a small immigration building in the first town and get a stamp. In reality, there’s no real border control — you just pass the border, and it’s on you to make sure you get a stamp and legally enter or leave the country. So yeah, no real checkup in between.

One proud moment — I’m very proud of myself as a proper EU citizen, holding a Lithuanian passport. I entered Bolivia without any hassle. Phil, on the other hand, with his American passport, had to pay $160 for a visa. So, hell yeah, Europe! 🇱🇹

First impressions in Bolivia

As we entered Bolivia, we actually saw fewer people than on the Peru side. But within a day of cycling, we started getting amazing, stunning views of the mountains in the background. Little did we know, sooner or later, we were going to get really close to them.

Another interesting fact: the USD is pegged to the Bolivian Boliviano, also known as BOB. So even though the official rate shows 1 US dollar close to 7, the real rate on the street is closer to 1 dollar to 11 or 12 Bolivianos. That caught us off guard a bit, but I’m glad Phil did his research and we brought USD. As people say, cash is king!

As we were only one day away from La Paz, one of the capitals of Bolivia (the other being Sucre), we decided to wash our bikes — and this time, it actually went a little differently than usual.

Public transport in El Alto, another city close to La Paz, is spectacular. The city is actually built almost like a ski resort, and you use cable cars. Traveling into the city that way is amazing.

Huyana Potosí

We saw one of the tours for Huayna La Potosí, a peak over 6,000 meters. It’s considered an easy peak in technical terms, but still challenging since it’s above 6,000 meters. So after chilling in La Paz for two days, we decided to do a two-day tour.

We started at a base camp of 4,800 meters and climbed to the high camp. The first part of the climb took only an hour and a half, and we reached the high camp around 3 p.m. We chilled a little — there was no electricity, so we basically stayed until 6 p.m. We had dinner and drank a lot of coca tea to help with any potential headaches.

Then came 5 hours of rest. To be honest, I wouldn’t call it real rest. Mixed with anxiety, excitement, all the emotions, and the elevation, I barely slept for an hour. During those 5 hours, I had to wake up twice to pee. I felt like nobody was really sleeping. But we were ready to tackle the peak the next morning. I guess that’s the price of something really cool — you just have to dig deep and find the energy to do it.

So basically, we were moving in pairs — two people with one guide. Our guide, Max, was amazing. He kept a slow and steady pace, with stops every half hour for a few minutes. He told us when to drink water, when to eat chocolate, all for optimal performance — and it actually worked. Even though we left as the last ones out of 12 people in our group, we ended up passing everyone, and we even overtook other tour groups as well — maybe an additional 15, 20, 30 people. I’m not fully sure.

I wasn’t in the best mental state climbing up. Physically, I could handle it — that wasn’t the issue. It was hard, but we were taking it slowly, basically doing zone 2 training. My heart rate stayed around 120, with the average being about 123.

But knowing that elevation can mess you up at any moment, and that someone had died on this mountain just three days ago, made it hard to fully focus on the moment and appreciate it. My mind was always thinking about getting up as fast as possible, then back down from the high camp to base camp, and only then could I relax. It was tough to stay present, but I guess that’s natural when doing a peak like this for the first time.

Conclusion? I’m not fully sure. Have I enjoyed the climbing? Yes, absolutely. Would I do it again at 6,000 meters? I think the risk at that elevation is just too high. I’d probably give mountaineering another go on more difficult routes, but at lower elevations in the future.

Weekly stats

Weekly Stats (7 days of cycling)

545 km | 33 h | 5,555 m gain

Daily Averages

78 km | 4 h 43 m | 794 m gain

Extra

1. So here’s my hot take. In South America — the countries we’ve been so far, Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, and Bolivia — every white person seems to get called “gringo,” or “choco” here in Bolivia. So the question is: is it just a commonly accepted way to refer to white people, or are they deep down a little bit racist? Who knows. I feel like there’s no one specific answer.

At the same time, getting called “gringo” seven times in a row by the same old lady? Yeah, it pisses me off. But I also get it — she comes from a different socio-economic background, so maybe for her this is completely normal. Just some food for thought.

2. Additionally, when I got my harness for climbing Huayna Potosí, I didn’t check it first — and then I realized it was too small. So basically, I had to exchange it just five hours before summiting. But in the end, someone gave me a really nice compliment: my legs are big, so I’m clearly not skipping leg day. Maybe biking for almost two months has its perks, which I’m happy about. Not to mention the endurance — we were the first ones to climb up the mountain.

3. Y lo último que quería decir es que todas las señoras mayores que conocimos en este viaje —trabajando en tiendas, restaurantes o alojamientos— nos decían que Dios las bendiga. Hay mucha gente que cree en Dios, y creo que tuvimos mucha suerte de ser bendecidos tantas veces por diferentes personas.

Peru Great Divide (PGD)

Continuing on the PGD, the next day we finally had our first beautiful one. And by beautiful, I mean we actually managed to climb the whole thing without pushing the bikes. It wasn’t too bad — about 700 meters of climbing — but the pass topped out at 4,800 meters. It felt amazing to actually ride it all the way instead of pushing the bike uphill.

The day after, we decided to rest in the town of Chicla. Calling it a “town” might be an overstatement. Google Maps showed four restaurants, but in reality there was just one: Juanita’s place. Lunch, snacks, next day’s breakfast, and even a takeaway lunch all came from there. Food options were basically the same every time — menu del día (chicken, rice, maybe some veggies if you’re lucky) and a questionable soup.

We decided to skip the next 20 kilometers. It was too steep, and with our non-mountain bikes we would’ve just ended up pushing for 2–3 hours. So we hitched a ride with a local driver and wound up in the small mining town of Yuracmayo, sitting at 4,200 meters.

The interesting thing about my sleeping rhythm is that I still haven’t figured it out on this sleeping pad. On the PCT and CDT it usually took me about two months to settle in, and it feels the same now. I start on my back, then roll 90 degrees to my right side, then stomach, then left side, then back again. And I just keep repeating that cycle dozens of times every night.

What followed after was pretty brutal. We camped at 4,200m, then climbed up to 4,900m. From there it was a descent to 4,100m, then straight back up to 4,700m, and finally back down again to 4,200m. Honestly, that day was no fun, with 2–3 hours of bike pushing. I felt like I was either grinding away in the lowest gear, pushing my bike, or just sitting still on the downhills without pedaling at all.

And the day felt really tough. I kept telling myself that our goal was to reach Huancavelica, kind of a town that sits about two-thirds into the PGD. I thought, I survived today. Yes, I had to push the bike, but tomorrow should be a little easier—only 800m of climbing in total.

But honestly, just staying above 4,000m for days in a row really hit us. It especially hit Felipe—he was feeling sick, barely eating more than soup, low on energy, moving slow. At that point, we remembered the “constitution” of our trip: it’s not about taking the hardest route. And the PGD might be one of the hardest routes out there. For us, it’s about enjoying the journey, having fun, focusing on the joy. If there’s an easier path or a different way forward, we should take it.

And to be fair, gravel bikes in the Andes really don’t make sense. These mountains demand proper mountain bikes. Our lowest gear just isn’t anywhere close to what this terrain requires.

Post PGD

So we decided to drop lower toward the coast and either pick another route or just skip ahead. And yes, going down from the mountains felt easier in theory—but in reality, not so much. Sure, the average speed jumped over 20 km/h (which has only happened two or three times on this whole trip), and we even managed to cover 100 km in a day. But the 30-40 km/h wind was always blowing straight in our faces.

That’s just one of those funny things in life: no matter which day you choose to ride, there’s always something. You never get the perfect day. The only real choice is whether you complain about it, or focus on the little things around you that make the day manageable—and maybe even enjoyable.

The coast

Coming down from the quiet madness of the mountains, the Peruvian coast hit hard. Honestly, it sucks. It’s just endless sand, poverty everywhere, and constant honking and noise. After the tranquility up high, it all felt overwhelming.

Tuk tuk taxi Peru

There were so many taxis that we actually started asking ourselves—why are there so many? Is this really a reasonable way to make a living? Sure, they can earn something, but it can’t be much. At the end of the day, do you really want to sit in your car all day, honking, waiting for people, and picking them up along the way?

But then, playing devil’s advocate, we thought—alright, in the Western world most of us sit in an office 11 months a year just to take 4–6 weeks of holiday. Here, these guys are basically chilling all year. They don’t need to “escape” for vacation, because their whole rhythm is slower. Yeah, they honk, but maybe that’s part of their fun. They drive around, pick people up, talk, move from place to place. They make less, but maybe they’re not stressed in the same way.

So it got us thinking—maybe that’s why they’re so chill. Or maybe not. I guess we’ll never really know.

Ica and tourists (and us)

So, we finally reached Ica, and we decided to do what all the other tourists do—see what’s happening. The main attraction? The desert of Huacachina. Well, “desert” is maybe pushing it a bit—it’s really just this little oasis surrounded by massive sand dunes. And yeah, it looks amazing.

When we got there, it was tiny and packed with people. Tourists from everywhere, people selling dune buggy rides, sandboarding, skiing down the dunes… basically all the usual tourist chaos. We just started talking and were like, yeah, this is fun, this is what people do. But then, you know, Felipe and I just don’t get the whole “travel by hopping from one tourist spot to another” thing. We don’t really travel like that—we don’t just stay with other travelers and go through the official “must-see” route.

And, yeah, I’ve done a lot of backpacking before, so I get it—sometimes this is just how it works. You have to hit the popular spots to get by. But if we told people we’re just cycling around the desert, most of them wouldn’t even understand. There’s this huge gap between what we like and what other people like.

At the end of the day, though, I guess there’s no right or wrong way. Everyone picks their own way to travel, and that’s fine.

Qué más

Pues, desde Ica no había muchas opciones de ruta. Solo hay una carretera por la costa que todos los autobuses toman, ya sea hacia Lima o desde Lima. También podríamos haber regresado a las montañas, pero como nosotros no podíamos volver por la ruta difícil, decidimos tomar un autobús hasta Arequipa, donde vive la madrina de mi amigo Felipe.

Pues, por este lado me parece que este viaje es de los más difíciles que he hecho, y lo digo por una razón: no puedes planear mucho para las semanas que vienen. Todo cambia más o menos cada día, cada tres días. Solo puedes ver lo que va a pasar en los últimos días o quizás en la próxima semana.

Estábamos pensando en recorrer todo el Perú por la Great Divide, pero solo hicimos como medio día y ahora cambiamos de plan. No pudimos estar demasiado concentrados en el plan que teníamos al principio, solo puedes enfocarte en el presente y, como mucho, pensar un poco dónde te gustaría estar en unos días o tal vez en algunas semanas, pero no más que eso.

Pues, lo bueno de todo esto es que te estás enfocando más en el presente, no en el futuro, y quizá eso es algo que me gustaría aprender más en mi vida. Ahora estamos descansando en Arequipa y después seguimos adelante.

Weekly Stats (5 days of cycling)

395 km | 20 h 59 m | 3,567 m gain

Daily Averages

79 km | 4 h 12 m | 713 m gain

The bus marathon to get to Peru from Ecuador

So yeah, the buses were outrageous. First up: 14 hours overnight, 9 p.m. to 11 a.m. No AC. They turned it on for, like, half an hour total. The rest of the time? Just sweating it out.

We rolled into Chiclayo, Peru at 11 a.m., killed six hours in town before the next ride. Had one meal, sat around the bus station, nothing special.

Then came round two: another 7 hours to Chimbote. We got dropped off at midnight, still had to ride 5 km on the highway just to find a place to crash. The next morning we hung around the mall—couldn’t actually go inside because of the bikes—just killing time. Then came the final round: another 7-hour bus to Huaraz. At least I started watching El Patrón del Mal on Netflix—gotta make those hours count somehow.

All in all? 28 hours on buses. 28.

When we finally arrived in Huaraz (start of the Peru Great Divide), I immediately understood why people stay here for weeks or even months. The mountains around the city are insane—peaks shooting up 5,000–6,000 meters, just right there in front of you. Some travelers spend a whole month climbing and exploring them. Honestly, I get it. It’s definitely a place I’d like to come back to.

Peru Great Divide (PGD)

Alright, let’s get to the fun stuff. To be honest, I didn’t know much about cycling in South America before this trip. The only thing I really knew was that the Peru Great Divide is supposed to be incredible. But oh boy—what I didn’t know was just how brutal it would be, and how much of an ass-kicking this ride was about to deliver.

We started slow—just getting out of Huaraz on the first day with a short 2.5 hour ride. The real work began the next day, climbing higher and higher. It felt strange to be pedaling hard above 4,000 meters, where every push on the pedals hits different.

At the same time, the road was still in pretty good shape—because the first 70–80 kilometers were paved. So honestly, it didn’t feel that bad. But then we hit the gravel section. That’s when things changed. The first 30 kilometers, with all the ups and downs, took us more than three hours.

We eventually rolled into the small town of Corpanqui. Apparently, the town was celebrating the Aniversario de Colegio, so there was a small party going on. We got gladly pulled into it—offered beers by old señoritas and even invited to dance and join the locals. Totally unexpected, but it gave the whole stop a great vibe. We camped in the football field that night.

Carpe Diem

The next day really hammered home why the Peru Great Divide is so tough. The first 17 kilometers took me 1 hour and 40 minutes. Back in Lithuania, I could’ve done 40 km in 1 hour and 30–40 minutes. That’s when reality hit: the next month is going to be brutally hard. Devastating, even.

So yeah, I had a choice. Either worry about the future and suffer mentally, or figure out how to make this ride as enjoyable as possible. 

So I started playing this little game. With my Wahoo bike computer, I can see how far I’ve gone, the current elevation, and how much climbing I’ve done so far.

At one point, I was at 17 kilometers and 200 meters in distance, with 465 meters of elevation gain. That’s when I started asking myself: what’s going to happen first? Will I hit 18 kilometers, or will I hit 500 meters of climbing? In that sense, I managed to chop the big climb into smaller, manageable chunks. Instead of thinking, “I have to climb for 3–4 hours,” I could tell myself: okay, just make it to kilometer 18… then 19… then 20. Or hit 500 meters of elevation… then 550… then 600.

Breaking it down like this made the impossible feel just a bit possible. My head finally had a map. So, with my little game, the whole Carpe Diem strategy morphed into more of a Carpe Momentum approach, just focus on the next step, the next 5–10 minutes.

And let me remind you—most of this is happening at nearly 4,000 meters or higher. At the same time, we’re usually not talking about smooth gravel like you see in cycling magazines. Nope. It’s rocks, dirt, sand, and a chaotic mix of all of it. Sometimes it’s nice, though.

Overall, I found myself 10 to 20 times a day trying to shift to a lower gear on uphill sections—only to realize I was already on the lowest gear. As always, very, very humbling.

Big day (100km, 3000m gain, 8+ hours)

The next day we were trying to reach the city of Oyón, which meant 100 km with 3,000 meters of elevation gain. We knew it was possible, but at the same time we thought about stopping earlier. That would have meant camping somewhere around 4,300 meters.

In the morning, we didn’t think we were going to push it, but after the first successful 3 hour stretch at the beginning, we decided: alright, let’s do it.

It meant that for the first seven hours we were basically just climbing, with the exception of 15 minutes. You guessed it—I was playing the same game for up to seven hours. I was playing the same game—guessing whether I’d reach 2,200 meters of elevation first, or 55 kilometers, or 56 kilometers before hitting 2,250 meters, and so on.

For 6.5 to 7 hours, we were climbing—so basically 6.5 to 7 hours uphill with a 30-kilo bike. For my Lithuanian readers out there: imagine riding up Narbuto Hill for seven hours straight. Uphill. Seven hours.

That day, I really had to dig deep and think about why I’m doing this. By the end of the day, I realized that, to an extent, I’m very privileged to have the chance to be humbled in this way—to push myself to the limits, and do it just for fun when I step back and think about it.

It really made me feel that all of this—the struggles, the mental hardships—just kind of strengthens me. 

At the same time, I knew this climb was actually on good pavement, which made it easier. But I also knew what was coming later was just going to kick my ass even more.

Mental games and self doubt

The next day we started a long, gravelly section, and that’s when I realized I had made a huge mistake choosing my bike. I couldn’t have known beforehand, but basically my lowest gear isn’t low enough to handle 7, 8, 9 percent uphill climbs on gravel at close to 4,000 meters.

So for four hours, whenever I could still cycle, I was just thinking—self-doubting, self-blaming myself for not researching better. Even though I know I couldn’t have known everything at the start, it still felt like a huge mistake. And it also meant there was going to be a lot of bike pushing in the coming days.

Naturally, I couldn’t have known everything, and that’s understandable. We’re riding across so many different terrains, so having one bike that could cover it all is basically impossible.

But I can say for sure: having a bigger cassette in the back would have helped a lot. Now, even in the lowest gear, I have to work my ass off. Well… not my ass, technically—my legs—but I swear my ass feels involved too.

I started thinking in my head about how my bike compares to everyone else’s—which, to be honest, we haven’t seen many of yet on the PGD. The best way to put it? It’s like I’m riding an Audi A4 sedan. Sure, you can get from point A to B, but if you want a good experience on all terrains, you really need a proper SUV.

My bike will get me there, eventually, but it’s just going to make everything so much tougher.

Push, push, push

All my doubts became reality. We were tackling part of one of the biggest climbs—roughly 2,000 meters of ascent over 25 kilometers. On paper, that’s 8–9 percent incline, but it’s 25 kilometers of it.

We managed to make it through the first third or quarter, and then we just camped in a small town near the bullring—which actually turned out to be quite fun.

The next morning, there was basically no biking. 17 kilometers took us 4 hours of just pushing our bikes. Maybe 10 percent of it was actually riding.

And you know when I said Carpe Diem… or Carpe Momentum? It was so hard, so steep, that at some points I was literally counting every step I took while pushing my bike before I could rest. At first, I was thinking, I’m listening to music, I’ll just push the bike for one song—about 3-4 minutes—then rest. But soon that changed. I couldn’t make it more than 50 or 100 steps at a time. That became my new “unit” for surviving the climb.

Then I actually remembered Andrew Glaze. I’m not a huge fan—he’s a runner, kind of an Instagram “run-fluencer,” I don’t know. But he had this one phrase that stuck with me during that four-hour bike push: smile, or you’re doing it wrong.

And in a way, I felt it. If I wasn’t enjoying this—even a little—I was doing it wrong. So I started laughing at myself. Here I am, flying to South America to cycle across the country, buying all the gear… and suddenly I’m just pushing the bike. Honestly, if I were walking, I could’ve just taken a backpack instead!!!

Additionally, as I was building my Spanish song playlist, I added this song, Bonito, and it has a line: La vida es un chiste con triste final. I’d heard it many times before, but this time it hit me—life is a joke with a sad ending. That’s how I felt. Everything we’re doing—it’s just a joke. And laughing at the situation I put myself in? That’s what helps me get through it.

I believe self-irony helps a lot in situations like that. Before the trip, I was thinking, Oh yeah, maybe I’ll cycle 6–7 hours and do 100 km.

Now, on the PGD, it seems like if you want to do 100 km in a day, you’re moving 10–12 km/h at best. That means it might take you 10 hours. Reality hits—and honestly, it’s just funny to laugh at yourself.

Overall, throughout the first week on the PGD, I’ve noticed that I keep thinking a lot about the future—what kind of trips I want to do, whether I’m more into biking, hiking, running, or all sorts of different adventures.

But in reality, what I noticed is that the main reason I’m thinking about the future is because the present is so damn hard.

Altitude and the cold

Now I want to talk about altitude and the cold. Basically, every day we’re climbing… in just five or six days, we’ve crossed four passes over 4,800–4,900 meters. So yeah, it’s cold.

And the altitude kicks in at the same time, which means we have to sleep at those high elevations too. Not exactly comfortable, but part of the experience.

I felt the altitude kicking in for two nights. The first night was at around 3,900 meters of elevation. I felt like I was waking up every hour, to some extent gasping for air, and I actually wanted to pee more than I’m used to.

The second night was in the town called Yantac, which was situated at 4,600 meters, so we couldn’t push on. I had a lot of electrolytes and water, stayed hydrated, and ate well—or at least, to my understanding. But I still kept waking up every 45 to 60 minutes, and I actually went to pee three times during the night.

I figured out later that the breathing pattern is pretty common at higher altitudes—over 4,000 meters. It’s called Cheyne-Stokes respiration. Basically, when your brain senses low oxygen, it alternates between periods of fast, deep breathing and periods of slower, shallow breathing or even brief pauses. That’s why it feels like you’re waking up gasping for air.

And the frequent urination? That’s because your kidneys aren’t retaining water as much. At high elevations, your body produces less ADH (antidiuretic hormone), which normally signals your kidneys to conserve water. With less ADH, your kidneys flush out more fluid, so you pee more during the night.

Food

Overall, on the PGD, as Felipe said, we’re on the see-food diet: you see food, you eat food. There’s very little food and even less choice, so basically, you eat whatever you get—and you’re happy with it.

Stats

Fourth Week Cycling in South America

470 km | 38.3 h | 11,230 m gain

Daily Averages

67.1 km | 5h 29m | 1,604 m gain

P.S. that includes a total of 5 hours pushing the bike

Español

Pues, estoy un poco triste y no puedo hacer mucho en español, pero lo que sí puedo decir es que estoy leyendo un libro que se llama El Alquimista, que fue recomendación de mi amigo MJ, a.k.a. Darius Jonka. También estoy viendo El Patrón del Mal en Netflix, un episodio cada día.

Me parece que, con la música que estoy escuchando, quizás pueda mejorar un poco mi nivel de español.