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The Longest Day

By Chris Thompson - 2009-06-14

Mike and I had been riding hard for four days. 465 kilometers lay behind us, and there were 250 kilometers between us and Santiago. It was near the end of the big push. The team had split up into ones and twos, traveling light and and fast to make good time from Temuco to Santiago. The night before, we had found a beautiful golden field to sleep in.

That night, we had a roaring bonfire, and rumbling earthquakes before we hit the sack for the night. Right before we fell asleep, Mike and I made a vow. " Tomorrow, we are going to crush it! See you bright and early".

We were almost on the road before the dawn was. After the pre-breakfast power hour, we pulled into a handy rest-stop. Oatmeal; coffee; and some giant, juicy, free apples from the station workers were our morning fuel. After chatting with some truckers, we pushed off. Three hours of fast cruising, and a few miles on miraculous and super-rare bike lane, we were dead tired. We pulled into a roadside grub shack for lunch.

We filled up on a hearty trucker lunch of pot roast, rice, salad, bread, and a liter of Fanta, all for about three bucks. It was great biker food, but probably not so great for the truckers. "Do they eat like this everyday?", we wondered.

Outside, we met some interested traveling fish salesmen (really!) who gifted us with an armful of apples and an American flag (?!) for Mike. Fueled on apples and patriotism, we continued to roar northwards for the next few hours. We passed more of the ubiquitous vineyards, farms, and increasingly urban cities.

An hour or so before sunset, we pulled over to give our poor legs a break, and have a sit down with the map. It was time to plan-out where to look for groceries and camp sites! Our plan was to go light and fast, and stealth camp our way northwards. This close to Santiago, it was getting tougher and tougher to find good camping spots. It was also important to only carry the food for the next meal. We picked a likely fuel point, and gambled we could push close to Rancagua and find some camping.

As the sun was setting, we razed a local market we happened to pass. Luckily the chain link fences following the highway couldn’t keep us away from our food. Soon we were out of town, and on the hunt, for a spot for the tents. In the soft dusk, we found a site between a cow-field and a wide, dry, rocky river. Six hours and thirty minutes of riding, and 145 kilometers, we were eating dinner, listening to the semi-trucks roar by, and watching the sun set on the Andes. It wasn’t quite like the idyllic south, but man we were moving!