Pablo Neruda Crashed My Bike: Coyhaique to Puerto Montt

"Under the Volcanoes, beside the snow-capped mountains, among the huge lakes, the fragrant, the silent, the tangled Chilean forest..." Pablo Neruda

Puerto Montt glistens more than a little in the sunshine today and here we are, at the head of the Reloncavi Sound and the end of the Carretera Austral. We're relaxing in the warm summer weather for a couple of days, and why not? The bikes are undergoing intensive care, under the spanner of a 'Doctor Marcelo', and we are thus reduced to the status of pedestrians again. No bad thing. Puerto Montt is a good place to amble among fish markets and along sea fronts. Happily skipped by most visitors including other long distance cyclists, who might prefer seeing places to people, we rather like it. Then again, when you come from Middlesbrough you tend to have a high tolerance level for urban ugliness. Regardless, the city marks the end of a significant section for us. The 1240 KM of the Austral have been visually and physically intense. We completed them in a pleasing 17 days though this speed owes little to cycling competence. We were driven by the feeling that time alone in Chile's frontier region was reducing our bikes to scrap. The relief at entering 'civilization' with the basic elements still attached was palpable. By the end I'd stopped looking down at the bike for fear of spotting another breakage or noticing the disappearance of something or other. Eyes were glued ahead and the legs motored round as components flew off around us. Besides, there were plenty more interesting things to look at rather than bikes between the town of Coyhaique, the capital of Aisén, and here, the start of the 'Lake District'...

Day Forty Four. Coyhaique - Lago Las Torres. January 20th. 143 KM

The only time we listened to a weather forecast yet. It was wrong.

The extremely helpful and friendly Gunter and 'Arnie' (sorry mate, I've forgotten your name but all your information to date has been spot on so many thanks and I hope we bump into each other again soon), of previous "you will make it" fame, promised us 5 days of rare sunny weather the previous evening. We left in a downpour that continued for three hours. It didn't matter though as the road was smooth and the going fast. The only thing I suffered from was nostalgia for the Lake District as clouds and drizzle rolled down green valleys. Perhaps it was the parrillada the previous night (Richard Virenque hasn't pumped so much blood into his system before a day on the bike) or the body reveling in a return to porridge after two rest days - either way we reeled off 90 KM before lunch. Then again, we only had lunch at four in the afternoon... I'll teach these Ulster boys some Mediterranean hours yet! The rain abated but the road fell apart and started what would be a week long process of bike and rider erosion. We camped by splendid Lago Las Torres whose mill-pond stillness  was not only hypnotic but also the reason why I failed to catch any trout with a fly rod borrowed from the local fishing guide. That and the full moon, his poorly tied line, my cycling shoes clunking on the rocky shore... Oh no, you never lose the most important thing about fishing: the excuses.

Day Forty Five. Lago Las Torres - Puerto Puyuhuapi. January 21st. 100 KM

It was the day when nothing went wrong

Porridge and dried bananas. This is the future! Things went so well today that deeper thoughts than these were surplus to requirements. A village called Amengual, one of the many to have been founded during the building of this road under the Pinochet regime, proved more welcoming in morning sunshine than some of the guide books would lead you to believe. This proved to be the case with more of these 'tin villages' found on the route form here on northwards. It was breakfast here before a sharp pull up to Portezuelo Quelat. Boring cycling note: these hairpin 'ripio' climbs not only hurt but require more concentration than normal road hills. Looking around, swatting flies or adjusting caps to a more jaunty angle can move you off the worn line in the road, on to the loose sand and eventually off the bike as traction is lost. Trying to start again on these inclines is more amusing for the observer than the participant. However, as this was the day when 'nothing went wrong' we made it through the Reserve of Quelat, past hanging glaciers, through crowding foliage and out of the forest to the sea inlet at Puerto Puyuhuapi. The place is as charming as it's name. An early morning walk around the shore line the next day revealed no trace of WW II submarine shipyards which were suspected to exist in this German community. Nothing but a bloke collecting mussels in a wheelbarrow and a long view to an outrageous snow mountain miles away to the south across the sea. It was bathed in sun, but the day would prove to have it's moments of shadow... dun dun dur!!

Day Forty Six. Puerto Puyuhuapi - Villa Vanguardia. January 22nd. 89 KM

Right. This was the day when everything went wrong

Any Wolves fan knows all too well that promising starts precede staggering collapses and end in bewildered head shaking. Today was a Wolverhampton Wanderers season in a day, with the happy exception that by the end of it some upwards progression had, somehow, been made. Early morning cycling alongside Lago Risopatron was a sensory overload. George Emerson would have been inspired to climb his tree and start yelling his creed "Love! Beauty! Porridge!". In this version however it wasn't Lucy Honeychurch who came round the corner to complete the scene but rather the Montgomery boys to wreck it. The rear rack itself, as opposed to the less important brackets, had cracked on Col's bike. Al's, showing admirable brotherly solidarity, had decided to snap as well. Being somewhat fundamental elements of the operation it was a solemn and slow party that slouched into the village of La Junta, not least as we were now carrying what we could on our backs and the temperature had risen into the mid thirties. I tell you though, these Monty's are more resourceful than Royal Dutch Shell's 'available oil' accounts - and happily a lot more reliable! After an afternoon with the good people of La Junta we had more racks ordered under warranty on the way to a bike shop in Puerto Montt and the current ones welded, stapled and hammered back into some sort of shape. The latter task was completed by the town mechanic. I marveled at his handiwork as he gave me them back and thanked him profusely. "They won't last" he said. This man must be a Wolves fan too!

As I picked myself a little bloodily out of a ditch about an hour later I reflected that 'eventism' would lead to more than one paragraph for today's blog. Here it is, my anatomy of a bike crash. Mam, you need not worry - look, both my hands are still working to type this rubbish. Anyway, when you and our Dad tried to find this website you actually wrote 'dot' rather than '.' so the chances of you ever reading this are slim and my sisters will edit it out... Euphoric at the unlikely resurrection of our equipment I bowled along the valley of the Rio Frio. ExxonMobil, who don't tend to deal in euphoria, will tell you that accidents are not actually accidental but the inevitable result of a number of factors that could have been avoided. The bores! Excess speed down a hill, the presence of a truck stirring up a cloud of dust and my lack of sunglasses or goggles form the basis of this triangle at whose pinnacle sits my painful prang. I managed to prize my eyes apart just enough to realize I had gone off line a touch and was heading straight off in the gravel as the road turned to the left. Steering and braking in this stuff is like steering and braking on ice or in snow - in other words, you shouldn't do it. Given I was heading into a rocky wall though I'd left myself little choice. The front half of the bike and D Middlemiss turned left. Pablo Neruda, Joseph Conrad, the rest of my hefty mobile library and the back half of my bike kept straight on. I should have got the audio books on my ipod.We were now still aiming at the wall but all going sideways. One final attempt to turn things around got us all going in the same direction again but, strangely, this direction now seemed to be underground. It was time to get off. Stu Eynon - we were wrong to slag off Charlotte Bronte in English Lit after all! We never believed Rochester could have time to get out a speech while falling off a horse but I remember saying quite a lot as I sailed over the bars and towards my ditch. It wasn't as printable as "What the deuce is to do now!" though. The Monty's turned up at my bike at about the same time as I made it back to find it pointing the wrong way in every sense. Nothing serious was broken and, spookily, that which was had been ordered by Colin the day before "just in case". He is a witch.

Unsurprisingly the day ended by us stumbling on a man who made cheese in his little hut in the middle of nowhere who showed us round and gave us some samples. When the photos become available you'll see this is not the figment of delayed concussion.

Day Forty Seven. Villa Vanguardia - Chaitén. January 23rd. 110 KM

Chaitén 'in four days' and a very strange fish stew.

Al's otherwise tremendous first aid has bandaged my elbows up so tight I've had to stop waving at other road users as it looks like I'm giving them a fascist salute. Other than that things are going rather well. We find a house in Villa Santa Lucia that serves us homemade jam and cheese. This sticky brunch and the impossibility of getting it all past the beards means we spend the rest of the day being pursued by hordes of enormous flies with orange heads. There is a steep climb and descent to large Lago Yelcho - we take a break to bathe in the river that flows out but in the end only Col has the 'huevos' to take the plunge and he's back out 5 second later. It was a bit chilly. The day however is ferociously hot and we are forced to do battle with the lowest form of all road surfaces: freshly laid ripio is sand covered with tennis ball size stones. It is nearly impossible to pedal across this moonscape even on the flat. For 10KM of this lunacy we only keep going at all because stopping invited a swarm of biting flies. Al demonstrates the virtue of a high elbow in one's cover drive as he racks up a huge kill-count of these rascals. It all ends wheeling along in tranquility though to the first sight for weeks of the sea actually looking like the sea at Chaitén. The sun sets across the bay and we eat a fish stew called 'Curanto' that is still giving me trouble now. Pinning down what the problem ingredient was is impossible as the feast includes not only most things that swim, but plenty of what walks too. A ferry leaves from here to Puerto Montt but to complete the full length of the Austral you can continue up through the virgin temperate rainforests of Parque Pumalin. Which, amazed that we made it here in only four days from Coyhaique, is where we went...

Day Forty Eight. Chaitén - Caleta Gonzalo. January 24th. 61KM

Environmentally sensitive camping = cold showers

Parque Pumalin is really incredible, and not just in it's jungle scenery. It is the world's largest privately owned Natural Park, a 'deep ecologist' called Douglas Tompkins, the founder of North Face, having bought it all up to protect it from exploitation in the 90's. 0 out of 10 to the Chilean state for selling off their own country to whoever rocks up with a brown paper bag large enough but full marks to Mr Tompkins who, unlike the hoons of Endesa and Co. further south, is protecting it rather than attempting to flood it all. Further thoughts on all this chaos not for discussion here. Anyway, the result is a fitting end to the Austral for us, dense Alerce forests cut by fjords and rivers are overlooked by snow-capped fells. After a shuddering descent we camp at a place called Caleta Gonzalo and wait for the morning ferry. Another day of oppressive heat and the passed-up prospect of a cold shower in the dark means that the funk in our tent is thicker than a misjudged porridge.

Day Forty Nine. Caleta Gonzalo - Baños Termas Hornopiren. January 25th. 10KM

Bish bash we were taking a bath

Tompkins might have become disillusioned with the world of marketing but he hasn't lost his knack. We are happy to give in to consumer culture in his twee cafe cabin while waiting for the ferry and it is organic muesli with organic honey and organic fruits for breakfast. I couldn't find the Guardian Media section to complete the picture though. A 6 hour ferry crossing through the mist to Hornopiren reveals a tiny town with TWO Methodist churches. Where was the coal mine?! Dad, they need to get you out of retirement to heal this clearly divided congregation - and then sell off the surplus building for a loft conversion job. This 5 minute tour of Hornopiren and District Circuit precedes a thwarted attempt to make ground to Puerto Montt. A combination of factors lead to this short day of which I think we can say the most compelling was Al being run down by a car. It is hard to relate exactly what happened though as it was Al and not one of the two twits who got bumped you might find it easier to believe that our idiotic motorist was in the wrong and not the law abiding and on-the-correct-side-of-the-road at the time cyclist. Al is so considerate he even shouted "Car!" seconds before it ran into the back of him. I'm looking forward to see if the pattern repeats itself in the future: "Dog!" - bite - "Hole!" - thud etc etc. Happily, despite my best efforts at first aid, little harm was done to man, though machine was a bit of a wreck. Our moronic motorists got out and, surprisingly, rather than checking on the condition of the poor sod they'd just walloped suggested we should take more care. I suggested they might have been going a little fast. I was informed you could do 100 KM on this road. We all looked at the farm track we were on and the blind corner for a few seconds. Then there was a scene. Laureano Turienzo, the full breadth of the Toledo vocabulary you taught me got an airing - many thanks! Colin chipped in and for once translation was not required. They left in an attempted hurry but stalled the car and at least we got to laugh at them before settling down to an hour and a half of bike reconstruction. The silver lining to this cloud was that the crash had taken place just outside some thermal baths - no further excuse was needed for an early camp and a long twilight soak in the Patagonian forest.

Day Fifty. Hornopiren - Puerto Montt. January 26th. 97 KM

Puerto Montt goes to the seaside and ZZ top rock up on bicycles

Leaving the baths behind we enjoy the day to Puerto Montt incident free. A Brazilian cycling couple heading south are good company for a quick chat. They look a little worried and I realize with our bandaged arms, shaggy beards and bikes held together by wire again we are not a good advert for the road ahead. We're in good spirits though as we take a final ferry and reach... could it be... too good to be true... tarmac. We should have gone faster from here but now we're free wheeling past the population of Puerto Montt as it takes to the beach on this sunny Saturday. There are many pressing tasks to complete in town but they can wait for the most demanding of all - a cold beer and a long snooze. Now for a haircut. The ZZ Top look is provoking fear in the eyes of the locals rather than the hoped for glances of admiration and something clearly needs to be done. And so in half an hour or so I will exercise the delicious power that is ordering Colin's haircut for him. What will he leave with ladies and gentlemen? Given he a speak a little a Spanish and a no understand a mucho my money would be on a mullet, no?

I watch a TV for the first time in weeks and WHAT IS THIS I SEE?? Chilean TV reports that Kevin Keegan,the manager of Newcastle United is trying to buy David Beckham. Errrmmm????? Am I just coming round from a barmy dream? Is it actually the early 90s again? Is John Major still in charge? What am I doing in Puerto Montt's public library in Chile?? I need to be in The Boro revising for my A Levels. Yikes!! Taxi!! The Airport please - I've got to dash!!

D Middlemiss