ARGENTINA: EL CHALTEN — EL CALAFATE
I’d been promised that I was going to be blown out of El Chalten all the way to the first junction eighty or ninety kilometres away with barely a pedal stroke. It would take me maybe three hours to reach the ‘pink house’, a derelict hotel complex that provides cyclists and other bypassers with a sheltered place to sleep in Argentina’s windswept Patagonian pampas.
With this in mind, I don’t end up leaving El Chalten until around 4.30 in the afternoon, neglecting to note that the days was calm and still. It wasn’t until I am actually on the road that I realise that I am pedalling into a faint but definite head wind. How has this happened?