In Cafayate we sat at a small table in a cozy courtyard, together with Tomas and drank local wine and ate delicious Asado. Asado is the life right of all Argentines, it's basically barbecue, and Tomas is an Argentinian guy who we've been cycling with for a week, in the north of Argentina. It wasn't so much the situation itself that we wanted to describe, but more what we talked about while filling our ever-hungry cycling stomachs. We talked about Abra del Acay.
Since Chilecito, we have driven along Argentina's pride: Route 40, which is a road that stretches, almost, from north to south in this huge country. It is a road that many tourists drive along, in larger or smaller chunks, because it is so extremely beautiful. Which we can now also witness. And on Route 40 there is a pass, Abra del Acay, which is legendary among cyclists in particular. The pass is 4,995m above sea level. For comparison, the top of mt Blanc, Europe's highest mountain, is 4,810m above sea level. Tomas stubbornly claimed that the cyclists who ride over Abra del Acay do so naked. That night in Cafayate, with good wine and warm evenings, we believed him. And we decided to drive that way. In other words, cycling over a pass which is 180m higher than mt Blanc.
The next day we packed our things and headed north again. First against Cachi. The ride between Cafayate and Cachi is described in the guide books as fantastic and we thoroughly enjoyed the scenery and the cycling. On the other hand, the guide books did not say much about what was to come in the next few days. Which completely caught us off guard.
When we cycled out of Cachi, the landscape had completely changed character and we now cycled up through a valley as beautiful as anything we had seen so far. The mountains around us were constantly changing appearance and colors. They were either completely uniform in color, or completely speckled in all possible, or almost impossible, colors. Never before have we seen green mountains, pink mountains, burgundy, purple, blue mountains. It was completely surreal and breathtaking. Or should we say breathtaking ( sorry – bad humor ). And at the bottom of the field of vision, all the time, a lush green valley, where a glistening river wound its way through trees and cozy old mud-brick houses.
It got so much behind us, and we almost drove and scraped our lower jaw along the dirt road, in admiration.
The evening after Cachi, we arrived at a small mountain village, La Poma. Here we emptied the local kiosk of food products, before we drove out to the outskirts of the city and pitched the tent between some low bushes, so that we were protected from the wind. It was a lovely night where we slept soundly and looked forward to crossing the pass the next day. We knew it would be a long day, but figured that if everything went really well, we could be up on the pass around 4pm. And from there it was 45km downhill to San Antonio de los Cobres. It should just be reachable before dark.
The next morning we got up early so that we could leave in good time. The sun soon came up over the ridge, and as usual we were soon in shorts and T-shirts in the heat. However, we could feel the wind getting a little colder as we worked our way up through the beautiful valley. Gradually the road became steeper. And gradually the wind increased in strength. Headwind of course. So the pace also got slower and slower.
When we ate our lunch at 12 o'clock we had to face the fact that we would not reach the pass at 4 p.m. But that it would be closer to 6 p.m. We discussed whether we should camp before that time, and then cycle over the pass the next day. The sun sets at seven o'clock, and there is light until a little after eight. That would mean a descent towards San Antonio in partial darkness. But we had lights and there was virtually no traffic, so we decided to continue.
For the next few hours we often checked what the schedule looked like, while enjoying the ever wilder view the higher we went. And the schedule still held. But the weather became more and more intense. It got colder and we had to wear more clothes even though we were working on the bikes. The wind also picked up to a great extent, and when we occasionally took a little rest, within a single minute we were so chilled that we had to get up and pedal again. At the end of the afternoon, we were driving at an altitude of over 4,000m and the air gradually became noticeably thinner, so we had to constantly concentrate on deep breathing in order not to lose our breath. The legs also felt noticeably heavier in the thin air.
The road changed character to become somewhat steeper and combined with the now very strong and unpredictable gusts, only interrupted by constant winds of approx. 20m/s, we sometimes had to get off the bike and pull.
And it was on such an occasion, around 5 pm, at an altitude of 4,650m, where we stood still for a short moment to discuss whether the schedule held and whether we acted sensibly, that the cold overpowered us so suddenly, and so strongly, that it it was clear that we had to make emergency camping. Quickly. Marie got so cold that her fingers didn't want to shine anymore, and there was only one thing to do.
We spotted a small hole, 5m down the slope, where the tent could be, fairly sheltered from the wind. We quickly set up the tent, and while Marie crawled into the sleeping bag with all her clothes on, and arranged air mattresses etc. inside the tent, Kenneth secured the tent against the storm with boulders. We cooked ourselves some soup and ate some bread inside the tent, sheltered from the now raging wind. And slowly we thawed again.
In the sleeping bags we now not only had ourselves, but also our camera, phones and iPads, also lying inside the warmth. And we each had a bottle of water in the sleeping bag, so we could have breakfast, without ice, tomorrow morning. And besides all this equipment, we had all our clothes on. That means merino undershirt, merino long-sleeved shirt, fleece, down jacket, shell jacket, long ski pants, long pants, and two pairs of socks, as well as buff and hat and hood. And then we also lay in sheets. But as we have always said; on the coldest night, you have to wear all your clothes, otherwise you carry too much. And it fit. We kept warm. But we probably looked silly.
It was definitely not planned to spend the night at 4,650m. And it is not harmless either, due to the possibility of altitude sickness. But we both felt fine in the evening, and didn't show the slightest sign of altitude sickness. So we decided it was ok to camp, rather than driving down the mountain again, which would have been more dangerous due to the increasing cold.
We didn't sleep much that night. We lay in spoons to keep the cold away while we listened intently to see if the tent could withstand the storm. All in all, we were in the tent for 15 hours, and only came out again when the sun was behind the mountains and warmed the tent. All the remaining water we had on the bikes was frozen solid. The storm had not abated in the slightest, so unpacking the tent was an exercise in cooperation and coordination. But everything went well and soon we had packed the bikes and were ready to drive on towards the pass.
We only needed about 5km and about 350 meters of altitude and we estimated it would take us two hours. And then we calculated three hours to drive the 45km down the other side.
But the last stretch towards the pass was really tough. The wind was relentless. It was constantly between 20 and 25 m/s. And there were often gusts of wind, which several times knocked the bike out of Marie's hands when we were walking. Because yes – we had to walk a good part of the way to the pass. In the last hairpin bends we could cycle one way, but when we came to a bend and the road changed direction, we had to push the bikes up into the wind. We were constantly sandblasted by gravel and pebbles from the road, so that it crunched between the teeth and hurt the face when a handful of gravel hit the skin. Often we had to stop and duck when we could see a completely grey-brown cloud rushing towards us. We still had all our clothes on, but only allowed ourselves very short breaks so as not to freeze.
And so we arrived at the pass at 4,995m above sea level, as expected at around 12.30pm. With a small tear of joy in the corner of our eye, and sand in our mouth, we put the bikes in shelter and ran bent forward across a small open area, to a rock formation that created shelter, where we could take pictures of the sign with the enchanting text: "Abra del Acay 4,995m”.
And here we sat. Relieved and happy and proud. And we hugged.
And the thought presented itself slowly; “How are we even going to get down on the other side?” Because when you have a headwind up the mountain, it means one obvious thing - that the wind is coming from the other side of the mountain. And so we sat now, almost trapped by the wind, and had to admit that the wind that came up over the mountain ridge was so strong that it would be even more difficult to come down the mountain than it was to come up.
And just to illustrate the thoughts that came to us, 4 Argentinian guys on motorbikes came up the mountain road, the same way we had come a few minutes before. And even though our bikes were clearly sheltered, a few meters down the road, and even though it was pretty clear that a strong storm was raging over the top of the pass, the front motorcyclist went out into the open…and promptly flipped over since.
After a bit of commotion and shouting, we got it up again, and they got him back into place in shelter.
We discussed what to do and we had to make a quick decision because we couldn't stay in the cold here in the pass much longer.
The decision was, first of all, to get a few good pictures taken, and then that Kenneth should drag the bikes across the open space and over to the windward side, where we could then drag them down the mountain. And it went well. But it felt really crazy to drag his bike downhill. The hope was that we would not have to go down that far before the wind would have died down a bit so that we could cycle. And it turned out to be a correct assumption. So after the first hairpin turn, we could get on the bikes and pedal hard to slowly descend the mountain. It was not easy, and we were constantly being pushed around by the strong gusts. But with every meter we descended, it got easier.
In the end we ended up in a fairly flat section, about 20km down towards San Antonio de los Cobres. But the headwind here was so strong that we only made very slow progress. We had thought that we could be there by 2 pm if everything went really well. We reached it just before the sun disappeared behind the mountain at 6 pm. And we hurried to check in at a cozy little hosteria, with a hot bath and hot food.
It was a fantastic adventure. And we are proud of our achievements and of the right decisions we made. We feel so lucky to be here, to do what we do. It is so beautiful here. And harsh at the same time. Here it really is nature that decides. We love to travel this way, with the bikes. They bring us closer to everything. On nature, on other people, on ourselves...