In Cafayate we sat at a small table in a cozy courtyard, together with Tomas, drinking local wine and eating delicious Asado. Asado is the favorite dish of all Argentines, it is simply barbecue, and Tomas is an Argentine guy who we have been cycling with for a week in northern Argentina. It was not so much the situation itself that we wanted to describe, but more what we talked about while we filled our always hungry cycling bellies. We talked about Abra del Acay.
Since Chilecito we have been riding 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 ride, in larger or smaller chunks, because it is so extremely beautiful. Which we can now also testify to. 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. In comparison, the peak 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 it naked. That evening in Cafayate, with good wine and warm evenings, we believed him. And we decided to ride that way. That is, to cycle over a pass that is 180m higher than Mt Blanc.
The next day we packed our things and headed north again. First towards Cachi. The trip between Cafayate and Cachi is described in the guidebooks as fantastic, and we enjoyed the landscapes and the cycling to the fullest. On the other hand, the guidebooks didn't say much about what was to come the next few days. Which completely took us by surprise.
When we cycled out of Cachi, the landscape had completely changed character and we were now cycling up through a valley that was as beautiful as anything we had seen so far. The mountains around us were constantly changing appearance and colors. Either they were completely monochromatic, 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 through trees and cozy old houses, built of mud bricks.
It took us by surprise, and we almost drove along the gravel road, scraping our lower jaws in admiration.
The evening after Cachi, we arrived at a small mountain village, La Poma. Here we emptied the local kiosk of food before driving out to the outskirts of town and pitching our tent between some low bushes, so that we were sheltered 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 4 pm. And from there it was 45 km downhill to San Antonio de los Cobres. It should be possible to reach it just before dark.
The next morning we got up early so we could leave in good time. The sun soon rose 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 got steeper. And gradually the wind got stronger. Headwind of course. So the pace also got slower and slower.
When we had our lunch at 12, we had to face the fact that we wouldn't reach the pass by 4 pm. But that it would be closer to 6 pm. We discussed whether we should camp before then, and then cycle over the pass the next day. The sun sets at 7 pm, and it's light until a little after 8. That would mean a descent towards San Antonio in partial darkness. But we had lights with us, and there was almost no traffic, so we decided to continue.
For the next few hours we often checked the schedule, while enjoying the increasingly wild view the higher we climbed. And the schedule still held. But the weather became more and more intense. The cold grew, and we had to wear more clothes, even though we were working on the bikes. The wind also increased significantly, and when we occasionally took a short break, we became so cold in a single minute that we had to get up and pedal again. Late in the afternoon we were riding at over 4,000m altitude and the air gradually became noticeably thinner, so we had to constantly concentrate on taking deep breaths to keep from losing our breath. Our 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 of wind, only interrupted by constant gusts of about 20m/s, we sometimes had to get off the bike and pull.
And it was on one such occasion, around 5pm, at 4,650m altitude, where we stood still for a short moment to discuss whether the schedule was working and whether we were acting sensibly, that the cold overcame us so suddenly, and so strongly, that it was clear that we had to make an emergency camp. Quickly. Marie got so cold that her fingers wouldn't work 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 climbed 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 out again.
In the sleeping bags we now had not only ourselves, but also our camera, phones and iPads, also inside in the warmth. And we each had a bottle of water in the sleeping bag, so that we could have breakfast, without ice, in the morning. And in addition to all this equipment, we had all our clothes on. That is, merino undershirt, merino long-sleeved shirt, fleece, down jacket, shell jacket, long ski pants, long pants, and two pairs of socks, as well as a buff and a hat and hood. And then we also slept in a sheet bag. But as we have always said; on the coldest night, you have to have all your clothes on, otherwise you have too much. And it worked. We stayed warm. But we probably looked silly.
It was definitely not planned to spend the night at 4,650m above sea level. And it is not without danger, due to the possibility of altitude sickness. But we both felt fine in the evening, and did not show the slightest signs of altitude sickness. So we decided that it was okay to camp, rather than drive back down the mountain, which would have been more dangerous due to the increasing cold.
We didn't get much sleep that night. We lay in a blanket to keep the cold out, while we listened carefully to see if the tent could withstand the storm. In total, we lay in the tent for 15 hours, and only came out again when the sun was out behind the mountains, warming the tent. All the remaining water we had on the bikes was frozen solid. The storm hadn't abated in the slightest, so packing up the tent was an exercise in cooperation and coordination. But everything went well, and soon we had packed the bikes and were ready to ride on towards the pass.
We only needed about 5km and about 350 meters of elevation gain 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 knocked the bike out of Marie's hands several times 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 against the wind. We were constantly being sandblasted by gravel and pebbles from the road, so that it crunched between our teeth and hurt our faces when a handful of gravel hit our skin. We often had to stop and duck when we could see a completely gray-brown cloud coming 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, as expected at around 12:30. With a small tear of joy in the corner of our eyes, and sand in our mouths, we put the bikes in the shelter and ran, bent over, across a small open area, to a stone setting 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 slowly came to mind; “How are we going to get down to 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 coming up over the ridge was so strong that it would be even more difficult to get down the mountain than it was to get up.
And to illustrate the thoughts that were coming to us, 4 Argentinian guys on motorcycles came up the mountain road, the same way we had come a few minutes earlier. And even though our bikes were clearly in the shelter, a few meters down the road, and even though it was quite clear that a strong storm was raging over the top of the pass, the front motorcyclist rode out into the open area… and immediately flipped over on his side.
After a bit of commotion and shouting, we got it back up, and they got him back in place in the 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 photos taken, and then that Kenneth would pull the bikes across the open space and around to the windward side, where we could then pull them down the mountain. And it went well. But it felt really crazy to pull your bike downhill. The hope was that we wouldn't have to go that far down before the wind would have died down a bit, so we could cycle. And that turned out to be a correct assumption. So after the first hairpin bend, we could get on the bikes and pedal hard to get slowly down the mountain. It wasn't easy, and we were constantly being pushed around by the strong gusting winds. But with every meter we got down, it got easier.
Finally 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 progress very slowly. We had thought we could be there at 2pm if everything went really well. We made it just before the sun disappeared behind the mountain at 6pm. And we hurried to check into a cozy little hosteria, with a hot shower and hot food.
It was a fantastic adventure. And we are proud of our achievement, 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, nature really rules. We love traveling this way, with the bikes. They bring us closer to everything. To nature, to other people, to ourselves…