Goin´to Patagonia

Well folks, here is the scoop. If you want to go from central Argentina to Patagonia, there are two ways. For all you hustlers, just book a flight or cruise into Puerto Natales. For all you bike racers, your callussed bums will be just right for the 80 hours in buses of variable condition, 15 hours in ferries (again, variable condition), some good old fashioned hitch hiking... oh, and go ahead, set a day or two aside for ¨sorry, no ferry today, bad weather. Maybe tomorrow.¨ Our route, in a nutshell, rolled something like this: Mendoza to Santiago, south along the Chilean coast, ferry to Isla Chiloe, bus further south, ferry back to mainland Chile, border crossing, overnight bus, day bus, et cetera, repeat.

Eventually we arrived in Puerto Natales, which really has nothing going for it except being the springboard into Torres Del Painne National Park, Chile´s (and maybe South Americas) flagship park. Against all of our will, we boarded another bus to the park, where we set out on (my first) a multi day backpacking trip. Our 4 day hike really was not that impressive. Just 3 granite spires rising thousands of feet above an emerald green glacial lake on the first day some deer, vicuñas, glacial avalanches and wild rivers on the 2nd day, more mountains rising 10,000 feet above the valley on the 3rd day, and huge glaciers calving blue, green, and white icebergs into a wind ripped lake on the last... things like that. Mix that with a heavy pack, limited amounts of clean clothes, and two smelly souls in a tiny tent and you get love (or murder). Actually, my biggest gripe was the sun setting at 10:45 and rising at 5 am, which really cut into my required 10 hours per night agenda.

Seriously, the park is amazing, I would venture to say the highlight of the trip so far and most likely the most stunning scenery I have ever seen. Chile has the whole park ¨thing¨dialed. There are refugios every 8 miles, so with reservations and a little bit of cash, one can simply carry a day pack a few hours, then have dinner, wine, hot showers and comfy beds waiting for them. Let the record show we had neither cash nor reservations.

A few days later we found ourselves in El Calafate, home to Glacier Perito Moreno, another gigantic glacier. The glacier thrusts forward about 7 feet per day, producing some pretty spectacular calving. Like everything in Patagonia, no picture will ever capture the size of this glacier. It is a few miles wide, dozens of miles long, and about 200 feet tall. To help you out with scale, the small speck in this picture is a boat that easily holds 70 passengers.

The last destination of our Patagonia adventure took us to the north end of Glacier National Park to hike amongst the Fitz Roy range, just outside of strange Chalten. Those interested in foreign real estate investment, buy here now before the 300 miles of ¨highway¨into town is paved. Oh, the hiking, biking, climbing and view is also okay.

So now we are heading north along route 40, the (gravel) road Che Guevara´s motorcyle puttered up some 55 years ago. Unlike Che, we´ll travel by.... you know what, I can´t see that horrible 3 letter word again. In a few short days we´ll be toasting the Gentry's first foray to South America in Bariloche.

Freedom is a Suzuki Fun

Buses can get a little tiresome. While in Northern Argentina, Brig and I decided that car travel was our ticket to freedom. Buying a car in Argentina couldn´t really be that complicated, right? After a few afternoon beers in the plaza, the idea became more than just a passing thought, we deemed it absolutely neccesary to own a car. We spent an hilarious afternoon being decieved by Argentinian used car salesmen. The idea fizzled almost as quickly as it had materialized. We would have to settle for a 3 day rental.

North of San Juan in the wine region of Mendoza was our road trip destination. The cheapest, most gas efficient car we could find was a little, 2 door Suzuki Fun. She will hereafter be referred to as lil´ fun. We stuffed our bags into lil` fun and waved goodbye to the jolly owner of Classic Car Rental as we stalled out at the first light. Driving in a city in Argentina can be terrifying and as Brig gripped the wheel and I gripped the map, we plotted the quickest way out of San Juan. Soon we were flying along the vineyard lined country roads, windows down, listening to Spanish renditions of bad American songs on the radio. There were 2 bars of gasoline in the tank (whatever that means) and we were free and happy. Turns out that 2 bars of gasoline means the tank is almost empty and lil' fun sputtered to a stop in the first town we came to. The fact that this town didn't have a gas station was only a small dilemna. We asked around at locals homes until we found someone willing to sell us 5 liters at a 250% markup. Well, lesson learned, right? The more bars, the better.

In the next three days, lil' fun took us down multiple gravel roads, past gorgeous painted hills, rolling rivers and windswept valleys and dropped us in lovely campsites each night. We visited the Valle de la Luna, a desolate Mars-like park loaded with red rock formations and dinosaur remains. We fought the 50 mph winds in the little town of Rodeo known for the best windsurfing in the world. We spent a starry night in Barreal under the enormous shadow of 22, 840 ft Mt. Aconcagua, the tallest peak in the world outside of Asia. Lil' fun worked hard for us but the roughness of the road finally took its toll and left her with a flat tire.

All in all, freedom was great and we shed a tear as we left lil' fun with her owner. I would like to think she shed a tear too.

Dont Cry For Me (while Im in) Argentina

By crossing the border into Argentina we just unexpectedly fell into the lap of luxury, relatively speaking. Sometimes you dont know how hard things have been, what trials you have endured, how incredibly strong-willed you are, until everything becomes easier. I dont mean to toot my own horn, but travelling in Bolivia was pretty hard-core.

After leaving the salt flats in Uyuni, we hopped on a 5am bus to Tupiza, a small old west town near the southern border of Bolivia. The kidney wrenching 8 hour bus ride bumped through a dry creek bed and up rocky hairpin turns as I tried to massage out my side stitches while protecting my head from bouncing on the roof. History buffs might remember Tupiza as the location of the ultimate demise of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid. I remember it as a lovely and quaint town surrounded by tall red canyons and fin-like rock formations. I also remember it as the first time I have hired (aka trusted) an eleven year old guide to take me on an all day horse back ride. Of course I didnt know he would be eleven until I was timidly mounting my scrawny 20 year old horse and I heard a squeeky voice coming from a boy as tall as my waist.

"I am Miguel, youre guide, vamos!" said the boy. I glanced at Brig, who seemed equally perplexed and then I asked politely if our boy-guide shouldnt be at school. "Night school" he said. "Vamos!" So we headed out through the canyons past wild bulls, wild dogs and the occassional goat. The scenery was breathtaking and I couldnt help imagining I was gloriously robbing banks across Bolivia, just me and my horse (and my eleven year old son Miguel.)

As I mentioned earlier, Argentina has been a pleasant surprise. Most importantly, the busses are lovely and clean, and the roads are..... drumroll please..... paved! If you are a carnivore, you will understand my excitement when the steak I ordered came out thick and flavorful and literally curved around my plate. This plus a bottle of wine for $5, who needs vegetables?

The cities of Salta and Cordoba were bustling but beautiful and the nightlife doesnt get started until about 1am here. I will let you know if we are ever up late enough to partake. South of Cordoba in the Central Sierras we visited two small mountain villages famous for their German heritage. Hiking and camping, goulash, chocolates and beer were on the itinerary. The first night at the biodynamic farm where we camped, we were invited to partake in the mate-drinking ritual with some local Argentinians. The next night we shared the small outdoor kitchen with 8 teachers and 75 junior high school kids. That, my friends, was a lesson in patience.

Happy Thanksgiving to all! Today we are thankful for friends, family and this unique opportunity to travel. We realize more and more how fortunate we are compared to the rest of the world.

Salar de Uyuni and Death Road

No photoshop here... Just one huge salt flat (biggest in the world, actually) which allows tourons to stand in the salt and dream up ¨look at me in my girlfriends hand¨ pictures. For those that have never heard of it, the Salar, as locals call it, is a few hundred miles long and up to 60 feet deep. Everything here is made of salt.... Salt churches, salt hotels, salt tables, chairs, you name it. In the dry season the flat is solid white until the horizon, but in the wet season water fills the flat to a few feet, creating a perfect mirror image.... And a tricky situaton for said tourons in jeeps.

We spent 3 days driving along the flats and the rest of southern Bolivia. Eight of us crammed into one jeep made for some long miles, but the scenery was pretty spectacular and well worth the discomfort. Where else can you see flamingoes at 13,000 ft above sea level, bright green lagoons so rich with minerals they don´t freeze until -10 farenheit, or cactus islands surrounded by hundreds of miles of white nothingness?

Further along we spied a mummy, lovely hot springs, and a few amazing rock formations.















THE WORLD´S MOST DANGEROUS ROAD

First off, I would like to thank everyone for the enormous amount of love and support. The cards, flowers, and gifts were overwhelming and no doubt played a major role in my speedy recovery.

Two days post illness mer and I joined a group of gringos to ride bikes down the most dangerous road in the world. The road starts around 16,000 feet above sea level and drops 15,000 feet to sleepy Coroico. A few bushes are all that protect you from falling thousands of feet to your death.... Of more concern are the throngs of tourist on poorly maintained bikes all racing to get to the bottom. Needless to say, there were lots of macho guys slapping the gravel at 30 mph.

After a few hours we arrived in Coroico, which was bustling with La Pazites (La Pazians?, La Pazers?). So bustling in fact, there was not one single hotel room to be had-luckily a nice local was willing to let us sleep on the concrete foundation of his future home. Yummy.

I would love to add a few pics for your enjoyment, but the 20 computers in this cafe all going through one phone port is a bit frustrating.

Adios Peru, Hello Bolivia

And the score is.... La Paz water district with 2 points, Brig´s stomach with 0 points. La Paz water district took a quick lead yesterday morning by omitting to boil Brig´s coffee water for 3 whole minutes. After a house call from a Bolivian Dr. Roy Patty Jose Salazar (the more names, the more qualified?), it looks like Brig´s stomach might triumph. Lets give it seven days and 2 pills every 8 hours to determine the final outcome.

Crossing the border into Bolivia was a cinch. We had about 6 bicycle pedaling rickshaw drivers fighting over our business to take us to the frontera. Too bad the man we hired ended up having us pedal for half of the time. Copacabana, a small town on Lake Titticacca, awaited us with delicious food, drinks, views and expat hippies who found the sun and the slow pace of life too enticing to ever leave.

After a day of hiking from Copacabana to the little town of Yampupata, we hired an indigenous woman (and her two children) to paddle us across to the beautiful island of Isla Del Sol. (Don´t worry we all took turns with the paddle). The next day was a bus ride to La Paz. The only unusual part of this trip was when we pulled up to the shores of the lake and the bus stopped. The driver announced that we should all get off the bus, buy a ferry ticket, and meet him and the bus at the plaza on the other side of the lake. We laughed as the bus was precariously ferried accross. Hey, I guess its cheaper than building a bridge! La Paz is gorgeous, with adobe houses clinging to the cliff sides and plunging down into the valley and city center. I better get back to my patient, but I will keep you up to date on the score as the game unfolds.

PERU & Patita con Mani

We arrived in Lima, Peru on Wednesday and reality (or my lack there of) finally began to set in. Our Spanish is pretty bad and our Quechua (the indigenous language) is nonexistent. It is easy enough to get around, but reading el menu ($1-$2 set lunch menu) can be a challenge. I usually just ask the waitress what her favorite is. A few days ago, her favorite was the patita con mani. She assured me it was muy rico. Sounds great. Turns out it was a clear something that resembled chewy squid with cartilage but perhaps less appetizing. When I asked a local later they giggled as they told me it was cow foot.

From Lima we took an overnight bus to Arequipa. The bus was great and included nonstop entertainment, including a game of BINGO where the Peruvian winner was asked to give a short speech. He spoke for about 10 minutes and thanked everyone (especially the bus company) for giving him this wonderful opportunity. It was almost like the Oscars.

The highlight so far was our trip to Colca Canyon, the 2nd deepest in the world at about 3500 meters. We hired a guide to take us on a 3 day trek through the canyon. The trip included several bumpy bus rides (sometimes standing for two hours), steep hiking, and swimming at a gorgeous oasis. The first day was a holiday for the indigenous people of the Andes. They packed into our bus in their colorfully embroidered dresses and hats headed from the farm to the town to dance in the streets. When we arrived in Cobanaconde, we hiked down the gorgeous canyon towards the handful of villages below. The steep 3-4 hour hike is the only way the locals can access their homes and the village above. Mules and llamas help to make the job a little easier. That night we stayed in cozy cabins, complete with a soccer field perched in the canyon walls. Day two and three involved more hiking, swimming in hot springs and views of the Andean condor (the heaviest flying bird).

A few more days in Arequipa and then its off to Bolivia.

My Harvest Moon

The Harvest Moon is the full moon nearest to the autumnal equinox, which occurs (in the northern hemisphere) on or about September 23rd. In times past the incredible luminosity of these autumn moons was said to help farmers working to bring in their crops. They could continue being productive by moonlight even after the sun had set. Hence the name Harvest Moon.

Each night that we camped on our way down to Texas, the moon gradually became bigger and brighter. You may not have noticed from the safety of your dark rooms, but the moon was so bright, even as a sliver, that not once did I need a flashlight in the middle of the night. The nighttime harvesting I did was minimal, but I definitely feel closer to our farming ancestors and Neil Young after sharing this phenomenon.

Durango, Colorado was our last official road trip excursion. Our fabulous host Kricket, toured us around a very vibrant and scenic town. As a bonus, Mesa Verde National Park is only 45 miles from Durango. I wanted to share with Brig the magical memories from my childhood of climbing ladders and squeezing through narrow rock walls to reach the Anasazi ruins. Lucky for us we hit the park on the one free day of the year and enjoyed a tour of Cliff Palace. If you have never been, go!

Two more days of interstate driving and we arrived in Dallas, Texas. The temps rose to 95 degrees, the traffic became bumper to bumper, the southern hospitality oozed out of every corner, and I felt like I was home. Today will be spent in a bar watching the TEXAS VS. OU game and tomorrow will land us in Austin, my real home. GO LONGHORNS!

To Crested Butte

Well, we got into Crested Butte and went straight to the bar. I guess we missed "real" beer more than we thought. We sampled the local brew and, well..... Mer put it best "tastes like someone's homebrew." Crested Butte reminds me of Big Sky in many ways. Ten guys to every girl (on a good night) and one of those guys is a crusty old man who is too drunk to speak. Every bar in every mountain town has this guy. I was lucky to have him sit next to me and tell me where I could find everything. You want scenery he said, go here. Aspens? Go here. "Unicorns" I said. He's still stumped.

Once again we bounced the Legacy up the dirt road, bottoming out here and there, before reaching a "campsite" 10 miles off the nearest paved road. The approaching cold front and 10,000 foot elevation meant I would freeze in my bag while Mer stayed toasty in hers.

Eleven hours after crawling onto our bags we emerged from our tent. Frost was everywhere and our 5 gallon water jug was virtually frozen solid. Coffee. Pastries. Then we hit the trails.

The riding in CB is hard.

Big climbs.

Bring big views.

We missed the wildflower season, I can only imagine these huge alpine meadows filled with them, but we did catch the Aspens in full neon green and yellow.

Off to Durango (via Ouray) to see old Dallas friend Kricket.

Slick Rock Rocks

Moab is the mountain biking mecca, and the 4 wheel drive mecca, and base jumping and dirt biking and hiking and on an on. To understand the town, you must imagine all of these sports and all of the enthusiasts stereotypical personalities plopped together in the desert. It makes for a fun and slightly bizarre place. I learned a few things while I was there.

1. Slick rock isn't really slick. You can ride your bike up and down the steepest rock without ever slipping. I was an incredible rider for those three glorious days.

2. 3.2% beer will never give you a buzz. It doesn't matter how many you have or how empty your stomach is. Stick to the margaritas.

3. Watching good ol' boys in jacked up jeeps going through high water crossings is incredibly entertaining. (See video) Walking your bike across the same crossing to reach the trail is incredibly dangerous. (But rocky, technical Amassa Back trail with views of red cliff formations and the Colorado River below makes it all worth it)




4. You never know when your going to run into your college roomate. Strolling into Poison Spider bike shop to catch a shuttle, Brig was suprised to see Jim Mundell, his freshman roomate working as a bike mechanic. They had lost touch for 5 years but now of course they are B.F.F.

5. The desert is hot and dry except when we visit and it becomes cold and wet. Go figure.

Off to Crested Butte, I hear the lows are 28 degrees. Brrrrr.

Grand Canyon et al

TO SPARKS-

The times we shared were short lived, but the memories will last a lifetime. For those that never met him, you have missed a kind, caring, and adventurous little dude. Your company will be missed, we can only hope you were rescued by another traveler, someone to set you back on your path. We like to think. RIP Sparks. PS- Mer wants me to apologize for leaving you on the side of “the loneliest road.” PSS- Did I leave my shoes with you? If so, I’ll come back and get ya.


Speaking of shoes, just a few miles down the same road, we came to this. Not sure how things like this happen, I guess it just snowballs after someone tossed there (boy)friends smelly shoes.


We camped that night high above Cedar City, outside Brianhead for you MTB’ers, just off some dirt road. Refusing to pay for lodging for two weeks travel can sometimes be tough… and the cold temps and high winds almost cracked us. But we headed out early and made the short push to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. My first time here, and it lives up to the hype. We drove a long, slow 15 miles on another dirt road, battering the poor Legacy, but eventually arrived at our site for the night, a lovely little camp just on the Canyon Rim.

This morning we toured the canyon a bit more before loading up and scootin’ to Moab for some slick rock adventures.

Cheers, Brig

Downieville to Truckee

I can’t say that the joy of retirement has completely sunk in yet, but it’s the little things that make you realize that your life just might be changing for the better. We chose the scenic route from Ali’s farm to Downieville. Hwy 89 led us leisurely through the Shasta-Trinity National Forest and brought us to Lassen Volcanic National Park around dusk. The park was empty on this Sunday night and we took our time weaving past the glacial rock, bubbling caldrons and a wee black bear.

With no real schedule and darkness arriving we decided to hit a gravel road and pitch our tent. We enjoyed a quick meal of grilled farm fresh veggies on the Coleman and busted out the plastic wine glasses and Grocery Outlet $2.99 wine bottle. (Oh yeah, and the harmonica) Ahh, the great out of doors. When suddenly there came a deafening loud crash of trees and brush in the woods only 20 feet from our camp chairs. Brig yelled fiercely at what had to be a gigantic bear. I threw my wine, dropped my harmonica and was in the car with the doors locked before you could say bear. The noise stopped, I poked my head out of the car door and Brig tried to convince me through nervous laughs that it was just an owl. Yeah right. I carved out a small hole in the stuffed backseat and spent the night in the Subaru.

Tuesday morning landed us in Downieville, population 370. It's a beautiful town in podunk California on your typical pristine river, surrounded by the mandatory huge mountains. We found a bearless campsite perched on a cliff and spent the day riding the twisty, steep singletrack for which they are famous. The next morning we blew that joint to drive a whopping 90 miles to Truckee. A longer bike ride near the Boreal ski area took us past amazing views of Castle Peak and down rocky, technical and really fun singletrack.

Wednesday afternoon and we are on the “Loneliest Road in America” headed down to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. Colorado City here we come. Under the Banner of Heaven anyone?

Ali's Farm

We’re off like a herd of turtles.

Day one of our journey covered a staggering 170 miles from Bend to Ali’s beautiful family farm outside of Medford. The farm has been in the family for just under 100 years, and strolling around the property is a step back to how things used to be. Llamas, horses, pigs, and kittens all roaming about on the 100 acres. We had a fantastic dinner courtesy of Ali and her mom from the garden followed by wine from the neighborhood.

Thankfully, unlike every other farm (and many busses we will be on in the near future) this one lacks roosters and chickens, so sleeping in was not a problem.

After another quick tour of the farm we headed to the winery to sample a few glasses and eat some home grown fruits. After our third scrumptious meal in 12 hours, we figured we should hit the road, so we did just that. Right now we’re on I-5 headed to Downieville, California (pop 325) to ride some fantastic singletrack.

The begining is near....

Well folks, I think it might happen.. Our trip around the world is set to start next week, with (drumroll please) a drive to Ali's farm in Medford. Then farther south and farther south still.

By no means do we have this whole trip planned, how could we? But for the curious, here are the basics. Two people, two backpacks, four continents, $100 (each, more or less) and exactly 43,262 miles.

From Texas we will fly into Guatemala for a few weeks, then on to South America. Thanksgiving dinner will be Chicharron in Bolivia, while Christmas and summer solstice will be in Chile. We'll goof off for a few more months before heading to Africa.

We hope to keep an updated blog, although depending on 'net connections and the thousand other things beyond our control, well it could be a while between posts. But be patient, from time to time we should have some great stories and pictures. And between posts, feel free to share with us some of your travel stories, must sees, and don't do's. And if you get jeoulous, buy a ticket and meet us for a drink.

Well, that's it for now.