We came in along the coast, the Beagle Channel to our left and the Martial Mountains and Ushuaia itself in front of us. Pavement turned to hardpack dirt to doubletrack, onto a rocky beach and then into the hillside when the beach disappeared. Some cyclists mapped out this killer route into the city last year, avoiding the busy main highway, so thanks to Skyler and Panthea, Cass, and Kurt. Thanks too to all the people who hosted me or any of us cyclists along the way, giving us shelter and warmth and food with no expectation of anything in return, just helping out someone else. Spend nearly two years on the road and turns out there’s a lot of gratitude accumulated. So thanks to you all. Paul and I reached Ushuaia yesterday, we’ll be here for a day raising a glass with some other cyclists and then catching buses and planes to make our ways back home, with one last stopover in Peru first. Photos and a few more words to come, but for now we’re kicking back with our feet up. Here’s to whatever comes next! Be seeing you all back home again soon. -Sam.
Prudhoe Bay, Alaska to Ushuaia, Argentina, 8 July 2013 – 16 May 2015.
Photo by Paul.
Photos, from two and a half months ago, on a different continent, the other hemisphere. Photos from winter while now in Maryland it’s summertime, but morning dew is still a thing. This photoset uploaded from home, where it’s nice to be back working farmers market routines, back to a different kind of relentless activity. Right now is the intermission before life back in California. But that’s now, and this is back then.
Photos. We leave the Carretera Austral via Paso Roballos, heading back to Argentina from Chile. See the fringe of snow on the mountaintops? We stay huddled in our sleeping bags all night long, and nights were long. It’s either Autumn or Winter, whichever, doesn’t matter, either way it’s late enough so far south that the dusk-time light stretches on and on, propelled by a sun that can’t quite hit the peak of the sky anymore. The dirt road over the pass deposits us onto Argentinean pampa, see the shrub bush by the roadside. Take the dirt until it ends and intersects Ruta 40. Follow paved highway lines into the sunset. Continue reading
Patagonia, April/May 2015.
Autumn time, the trees are those colors reminiscent of home in fall, or months and a year ago in Colorado. Walking, leaves scrunch underfoot, each step pushing down into the dirt tattered pieces of that carpet. The sun crests low in the sky each day. Breakfast generally happens once it’s light enough out that surely the sun must be up, but we’ll sit outside by the stove warming coffee and it’ll still be an hour before sunlight actually reaches and warms us. Paul pronounced a few weeks ago, “There’ll be a time when the sun comes out but it’s not actually warm.” We’re not there yet, but we’re getting close.