Mendoza – Perdriel – Malargüe – Bardas Blancas – Wild Camp No Man’s Land – Las Alamos – Colbún – Saltos de Lajas – Quilaco – Alto Bio Bio – Wild Camp 1 – Wild Camp 2 – Camp Backyard – Melipueco – Icalma – Pilo Lil – Wild camp Sausage – Wild camp Bamboo – Camping Libre Espejo – Wild camp – Bariloche
20 days | 1.142 kilometers | 13.840 meters elevation gain
Damn, I almost forgot to tell you the story about the time when my bike almost gave up on me. We’re still in the hot North of Argentina, Mendoza to be precise. A week ago I reached this city together with Thomas and Yan after battling weeks of immense heat in the desert. Ever since we arrived to the city we are enjoying all the goodies that the city (read: any city) has to offer: food, drinks, parties and socializing with other people. One day the three of us are walking towards a bike shop for Thomas’ bike (which always seems to have any sorts of problems) when I suddenly notice a crack in my frame. Upon better inspection a harsh truth reveals itself: the crack is around the pivot point in my frame and almost goes all the way from one end to the other. It’s like somebody just pounded me hard in the face: my bike is terminally ill and all kinds of thoughts rush through my head. If this is not fixable, I’ll have to buy a new bike and we, me and the Koga, won’t make it to Ushuaia together.
But Plan A is of course to try and find an aluminum welder that could possibly fix this. The next days it’s hard to focus on anything else but my Koga, his problem and finding a guy that can help me. Luckily I find that guy. And what a guy. The funny thing is, I’ve met this guy before! A few days ago when me and the boys were strolling around Mendoza’s principal park we ran into some cool BMX dudes doing tricks on little bikes. We were intrigued and had a nice conversation. Fast forward four days. I’ve been asking around for aluminum welders and one of the contacts I’ve been given is called Owen Bohn. I text him some photos and ask if he can help me. He responds positive. When I look closer to his profile picture on WhatsApp I suddenly recognize the guy and his little grey, aluminum bike: it’s the BMX guy!
I pay him a visit in his little workplace on the porch of his grandma’s house. He builds his own BMX bikes from aluminum and thus is not a stranger to the material and welding it together. He turns out not to only be a great welder, he is a great, pragmatic and smart guy that seems to be one step ahead of me every time we run into a problem that needs a solution. He spends two entire days with me. Two days! And he expects nothing in return from me. He tells me he is glad to help. Which, to me, is absolutely crazy. But of course in a good way. Another example of extreme altruism that still can be found on this side of the world. Something I can still learn so much from. Anyway, we spend two days stripping down my bike and putting new bearings in the pivot point.
We create a new shaft from steel in a lathe, put everything together after which Owen welds everything back together. An absolute tremendous job and after two full days my bike is fully functional again, with a new, nice, big scar. They say that every scar tells a story, right? Well, then my bike has a big fucking story to tell now. I reward Owen for the miracle he performed and I am ready for departure out of Mendoza
Finally we are ready to leave Mendoza. And with “we”, I mean me and my loyal friend Thomas (a.ka. Wasi). Yan has left Mendoza a bit earlier than us because he is on his way to meet his parents. It’s quite hard to leave Mendoza, the cozy hostel we’re staying at, and the people we met there. The final sum that we have to pay to the hostel, eleven nights and multiple BBQ-, empanada and pizza-nights, hurts like a bitch. We have a nice last lunch with the girls that we met and then finally, at 5PM, we roll out of town. It’s okay, the plan is to just leave the city, camp somewhere and then tomorrow try to find a ride towards the south. Why hitchhike? Because, just like Yan, I also have a deadline to meet my parents. I will meet them in Bariloche, but the distance and time don’t match and thus we will have to skip the most boring part by hitchhiking. And that most boring part would be south of Mendoza.
So we cycle out of town and the city is buzzing. There’s people picnicking and sipping mate in the grass of the many parks that Mendoza has to offer, lots of people on bikes and roller-blades on the bike paths. Laughter and chatting people fill the voids around us. Like a summer holiday evening. We feel the warmth of the setting sun on our faces and that same sun has wrapped the world around us in a golden glow. The only unrest I feel in my body is whenever I hit a bump in the road: will my new welds hold up? We decide to have a beer on the terrace on the outskirts of the city, because that’s what you do on a summer holiday evening, right?
It takes some time knocking doors and talking to people outside their big gates. We hear lots of “no, sorry” in this area filled with big vineyards. Hmm strange, where is Argentina’s hospitality suddenly? But then, the sixth door we knock, we find a family that’s willing to let us pitch our tents in their garden. The family is like a care-taker of a big viña: a wine yard. The viña they take care of is part of a big wine producer called Norton. We pitch our tents in the grass next to the many grape trees. They let us take a shower, roll out an electric extension cord for us to charge our phones in the tent and we drink mate with them in their small kitchen: there is Argentina again! Gotta love it.






We sleep until 11:00 that next day, we’re still recuperating from, let’s call it, our fun days in Mendoza. The family has to leave early but leaves us with some scissors for us to cut and take as many bunches of grapes as we want. Another family that leaves us all alone on their property, more examples of trust in us, trust in their fellow men. We cycle towards the Ruta 40 and start hitchhiking at a gas station. Without much luck. Without results, an hour later, we station ourselves next to the road.
Never ever did I hitchhike this relaxed, we put out my camping chair, blast some music over my little speaker and have grapes for snacks. After an hour a couple stops to take us with them, but they only take us 40 kilometer down the road. However it’s a great boost to the morale! They drop us off at another petrol station. Next, we station Wasi on the side of the road with his thumb in the air and my job is to walk between the cars at the gas station and talk to the people in their pick ups to ask if they possibly want to take us. I have a lot of nice talks and encouraging smiles and waves but no ride.
We decide to cycle a bit down the road again to go stand on the side of the road. We are lucky because not much later the police puts up a roadblock right next to us. Which means cars have to slow down. Which makes them see our beautiful, innocent smiles even better, increasing our chance to be picked up. Soon later an empty minibus stops. Inside is German, 28 years old, taking the bus all the way to Malargüe, 300 kilometers down south. And the best of all? He will take us! The bikes can stand up straight in the aisle of the bus. Soon later it’s dark and we ride through the night, talking to German. Around 23:30 we are dropped of at the camping municipal in Malargüe where we pitch the tent for the night.
It’s February 14th, happy Valentines Day! Today no roses, no letters and no gifts, instead we will spend time with our beloved bikes. I sleep until 11:00 again, I’m not feeling 100% fit, my troath hurts, I have a running nose and feel a bit weak. But nothing too bad, let’s cycle!
It’s hot and the road goes up, but luckily the landscapes are less boring and monotonous than they used to be. We cycle up and over a beautiful cliff and the cars wave and honk at us. The descent that follows is incredibly gradual and long, which means that the next 20 kilometer we can keep our legs still, lean on our steer and only have to enjoy the views. In the next town, Bardas Blancas, we find some groceries and a small camping for the night.
In the morning we run into Lara and Bruno again, cicloviajeros that basically use their bikes to get to their next climbing spot. Our nice talk is brutally disrupted by annoying hornets that sting me multiple times. We have to get out of here, because it’s driving me crazy! A last hug and we hit the road.
With swollen hands from the bites we take the road to Las Loicas. It’s scenic: a large river rolls down and beautiful reef rocks stand out against the blue sky. It’s extremely hot again so at the border town we take a siesta and stamp our passports at the Argentinian border. We tell them, that we won’t make it to the Chilean border post today, since it’s 60 kilometers on the other side of the Andean mountain pass Paso Pehuenche at 2.550m altitude. After talking with their boss we get the green light to spend the night in no-mans-land and arrive at the Chilean border post tomorrow.
Today we’ll do the first 20 out of the 40 kilometer climb which is way more pleasant in the weaker evening sun. With milder temperatures we get to enjoy the surrounding beauty even more. We spot a beautiful wild camping spot near the river. It’s difficult to get there, so we hide and leave the bicycles behind and walk the last part down to the river with only our bags. We bathe in the ice cold river and set up the tents. We discover that we don’t have much gas left to cook with so every minute our pasta is still cooking is accompanied by loud cheers. We watch an incredible starry night and milky way unfold above us. Damn, we almost forgot how cool it is to camp in the wild. Tonight we sleep only with the sound of a rushing river next to us.














After a nice, fresh night the sun burns us out of our tents as soon as it peeks over the mountain tops. After a breakfast we drag the bags back to our bikes for the last 21 kilometers of the climb up and over Paso Pehuenche. It’s incredibly beautiful here, barren mountains in shades of brown and grey with here and there patches of white snow against an azul blue sky. After another siesta at the top we start descending. At least that’s what we thought. Unluckily the road keeps going up and down, up and down, and is accompanied by a furious headwind. It’s a tough day, but we make it to the Chilean side of the border exactly 24 hours later than when we got our exit stamps at the Argentinian side. It’s the second time I cross into Chile together with Wasi. After the formalities we can finally rest our legs a bit and whoosh down a beautiful descent next to incredibly dark blue lakes and into a beautiful valley. At the end of the day we shoot into a smaller road, over a bridge leading up to a little village that’s on the other side of the river. When we spot a family drinking mate under a big nut tree, we ask them if there’s any tienda in town to get some food. The oldest of them all immediately invites us to drink mate with them. Five minutes later we sit in comfortable chairs, chewing freshly made sopaipillas and drinking coffee. We get to know the family, mom and dad and their two sons, of which one recently got married to his Brazilian wife and the other younger one is celebrating his birthday today. The seven of us talk about religion and cultural differences. The family feeds us, lets us take a shower and lets us sleep in the guest room.
When we leave the next morning the youngest son overloads us with gifts. We get a small wooden guitar that he carved out of wood, a flute, a comic book and a cow horn. And to think that it’s his birthday and he’s giving us presents, unbelievable. We leave the family and for the next hour we cannot speak, our hearts feel like they’re on fire and we have a lump in our throat.
All day long we battle against a furious headwind. Luckily the surroundings are nice, lots of green around us, blue rivers and beautiful tall trees. It’s only toward the end of the day that our motors start running more smoothly and the wind starts to lay down a bit. We buy cooking gas for our stoves, fill up on water and do groceries: we’re completely independent again.
It is already getting quite late, but it’s one of those days we’re you’re really not worried about finding a camping spot for the night, because you just have this feeling that it’s going to be alright.
We drive into the sunset with great enthusiasm and no idea where we’re going to sleep tonight. We cycle into a small neighborhood and ask around for spots to pass the night when suddenly we almost bump into an old guy on a funny looking, small, slow and electrical three-wheeler. He looks happy. I greet him. We stop for a small chat. I tell him that we’re looking for a camp spot. “I have something for you, meet me in the main square of Colbún in half an hour“, vroom, and he’s gone. Central square? Colbún? We look at each other and at the map and see that that’s another 8 kilometer further south. But somehow I have an immense good feeling about this guy so we decide to go for it. Nothing can ruin this evening anyway, but we don’t know why. We drive on a beautiful small country road, with the sun setting towards Colbún. On the way we cycle past an old man, he is standing on the side of the road with his equally old pickup. We ask if everything is okay and if help is needed. He says everything is okay but whistles us back seconds later. We turn the bikes and then see him coming towards us with a huge watermelon as his gift to us. Wow! Another wonderful example of: who does good, meets good.
We continue our way with a whopper of a watermelon under our lashing straps. After 86 kilometer of cycling we arrive at the square of Colbún in the dark. We drink a beer whilst waiting for the old man. After half an hour we don’t know whether the good man has sold us a trick or is still going to show up. We give him another 10 minutes before we’ll start thinking about Plan-B‘s.
Then finally he arrives. “Did you guys eat already?” “No“. “Okay, follow me“. We start chasing the old man, still with a big grin on his face, in his silly electrical cart. He turns out to be the local milk farmer and he just finished doing a delivery when we met him. His name is Louis and he will take us back to his farm.
At the farm we meet dueña Albina, as he calls his wife, and we get soup and bread with homemade cheese. Luis quickly draws the map of Chile to show us our route and later surprises us with the announcement that we don’t have to put up our tent tonight, since we may sleep in the guest room. On one condition: that we help him go milk the cows tomorrow morning. Ha! What a guy!
We help Luis with some chores, take a shower and then crawl into a new Chilean bed. Two nights in a row! Would it exist after all? A country even more hospitable than Argentina? How lucky are we?







Luis knocks on our door, we wake up, put on our clothes and go outside with him. We walk onto the meadow in a lovely morning sun. We milk the cows with Luis’ brothers-in-law. They have 11 cows that together produce 55 liters of milk every day. Amazing. The milking is actually harder than you would think, it requires quite some strength and the right technique to squeeze something out. Not without reason that the guys here doing this every day have hands like coal miners. After a hearty and delicious breakfast, with fresh and home-produced milk, eggs and cheese we hit the road again.
We cycle 35 kilometers to Linares where we meet the busy north-to-south highway “5” that we decided to not cycle but hitchhike. To save time and reach Bariloche in time to meet my parents. We find 3 different rides that take us 150km south. We abandon the last hitchhiking session of the day after standing next to the road for more than an hour and the forthcoming lack of motivation. We look at the map and see that there’s some kind of waterfall 6 km further down the road. The waterfall is quite cool actually and the best way to describe it is like an Iguazú-light. Unfortunately, after a nice dip in the water at the top of the waterfall, we are chased away and are being told that we are not allowed to camp here.
For the remainder of today’s story, please bear in mind that at this point the boys have drunken half a liter of the cheapest red wine that they could find, which made them a little bit more balsy than they would normally be.
After being chased away from the waterfall we did remember that we saw a super nice piece of grass directly on the other side of the river. And now we are on a mission to find that piece of grass. Unlucky for our mission is that everything here is privately owned and we think our little piece of grass is located on the premises of a hotel. We try anyway. When we reach the entrance the guard asks us in which cabin we are staying. “Uhhh, quatro?” I hear myself saying. To our disbelief he replies “al lado de recepcion?” and the only remaining thing for us to say is “Si!” and we’re in. Adrenaline is rushing through our bodies now. We continue cycling and try to avoid the houses, receptions and people. We never find the piece of grass but we do find another amazing waterfall and a piece of forest that will do as a camping spot for tonight.
The next morning we are spotted by people working for the hotel and we are kindly requested to pack up and leave. It was bound to happen. It disturbes our morning ritual. With sleeping heads we cycle out of the premises of the hotel towards the first supermarket that we see to have some breakfast.
We cycle along the big highway “5” towards Los Angeles where we can get off of this big road into a smaller one towards Alto Biobio. We try mote con huesillos, that we’ve seen advertised on signs ever since we’ve cycled into Chile. It’s quite tasty: wheat berries and a peach in a sweet beverage. After that it’s only a little way left to Quilaco, where we find another perfect camp spot: an open spot in a forest next to a meandering little river.













I wake up with a dog in my outer tent. Nice. It’s our friend of last night. Wasi is still asleep which gives me time to go for a little stroll through the forest. I’m thinking about my return back home. What will that be like? Quite scary actually to think about it and for sure a completely new adventure. I am pretty sure that I do not want to go back to a 9-to-5 job, that I want to live economically and therefore do not have to earn a lot of money to maintain that life and can therefore do that in a way that suits me by doing something that gives me energy. What that will be? I have no idea, I have multiple ideas and I want to take a moment to organize and evaluate things calmly and thoughtfully when I’m back. Anyway, it will be very difficult to find a place back into the restless Dutch society. Do I even want that? I don’t think so, I have to find a balance somewhere between living my own life and then trying to fit that into the Netherlands. And if that doesn’t work? Then I might have to move. And of course I will continue cycling and will continue exploring and adventuring. But I feel that I first need to find a way to make money to sustain that. I’m quite nervous about coming back and figuring this all out. Nothing is certain about what will happen next. But I’m also looking forward to it. It feels like I’ve been given the opportunity to start all over on a blank canvas.
Back to our camping spot next to the river. After a coffee we pack and are shocked by the time, it is already noon! All day long there are thick gray clouds hanging in the sky, the air is saturated with moisture. I’m sweating like crazy. We drive along a beautiful river, but everything is less beautiful in this gray weather. We arrive in a town with the mystical name of Alto Biobio where we immediately encounter a large cultural indigenous festival. We wheel the bikes straight into the party tent and are immediately the center of attention, which we otherwise also would have been, so it doesn’t matter. Not much later we are standing outside doing a video interview for the local municipality. But we’ve agreed to this video interview on one condition: that they would find us a place to pitch our tents for the night. Which they do. So that night we sleep on a grass pitch next to the local police station.
My mom, dad and my brother are on the train to Schiphol and will be on the plane to Argentina in a few hours. What a strange feeling. I try to call them but it doesn’t work. I’ll see them in 12 days. We pack and leave super late again. This is mainly because we want to have Wasi’s wheel fixed at the local scrap dealer, but they unexpectedly take the entire wheel mechanism apart and in no time the balls of the bearing are flying at us from all directions and land onto the dusty ground. What the hell are they doing?
With greasy fingers we scratch our heads. Luckily we find all the balls back and with the help of a nice guy, that is helping us during his lunch break, we get the mechanism running again.
After that hickup we embark on the Monkey Puzzle trail, another bikepacking.com route that we’ve found. Four days on gravel, sand and old lava flows. It takes time to get used to the gravel again, but it’s also quite fun. The pounding over loose stones, the washboards and the dust. The bikes are holding up quite well. At the end of the day we find a mixture of sweat and dust stuck to our sweat-soaked legs. Time for a fresh bath in a stream next to the road near our camping spot.
Did my parents already arrive in Buenos Aires?
Meanwhile, we are deep in the land of the Mapuche, the only pre-colonial people who did not submit to the Spanish conquistadors, simply because the Spaniards couldn’t defeat them. Strong people, these Mapuche. Remember that festival we stumbled upon? Well, it’s funny because we heard that the festival was not held in the weekend because otherwise there would be too much drinking and thus fighting among the people. I start to get the feeling that these Mapuche are like South American vikings or something. And here we are, cycling through their mountains.
We manage to dry our tents and clothes from last night’s rain, before we continue on gravel. It turns out it’s going to be a super tough day today. The first 15 kilometers are still okay. I mean, this is still a road. Then after we have to cross a pedestrian bridge the misery begins. The path afterward goes up at a thousand percent gradient and is meant for horses or donkeys. Not for people. And certainly not for people with heavily loaded bikes. Although we jokingly refer to our bikes as “our aluminum horses,” this path is definitely not suitable for us. We have to take all our bags off and carry them up in two trips. The first beating.
After that, we can bike a bit, but the gradient and terrain are deadly. As if that wasn’t enough, we have to go up another horse path afterwards. Komoot shows sections of 20%. We walk the 2.4km up, or well, walk? We push, pull, and drag that 50kg aluminum horse up. The second beating. We are exhausted when we finally reach the top. Everything is covered in dust and sweat. We descend with the same gradients and nearly crash several times. After 34 kilometers, we’ve had enough, our bodies are completely worn out, it’s late, and we see a nice camping spot next to another river. The evening, however, is quite beautiful: we shower in the ice-cold river, make a campfire, cook on the fire, and listen to beautiful music.











I sleep until 10:30. That’s what happens when you let your body take the rest it needs after the beating we took yesterday. We decide to leave the bikepacking.com route for what it is (I mean, come on, what was that yesterday?) and continue on more rideable gravel towards Lonquimay. Although it’s up and down all day, without a single flat meter, with many steep gradients, it’s still much more enjoyable. After 50 km, we arrive in Lonquimay and our legs feel once again like they’ve been tortured. We get ourselves ice cream, do some shopping, and make use of the WiFi in town. Then we ride another 6 km to a camp spot that we can’t seem to find and eventually knock on the door of an older couple who, after some consideration and some frowns, still lets us camp on their lawn in front of their beautiful house overlooking the valley.
The man of the house told us that we would have to leave early, so we set an alarm. However, since everything is still soaked from the morning dew and we still see no movement in the house, we let the gear dry first in the morning sun. Then we thank the man and start cycling. Wasi has a flat but luckily there’s a small cafeteria where we can patch his tire. The owner of the place sticks her head outside the door and tells us if we need anything and that we can come in without a problem. The two women are super sweet, we have the most amazing (and expensive) sandwich we’ve ever had and they even surprise us with a piece of cake from the house.
After that we pick up the Monkey Puzzle trail again and soon we find ourselves on gravel again. At the top of a brutal climb the first Araucanía (or in English: Monkey Puzzle) trees appear, they are big, stunning and more than thousand years old. We take a sandy path where everything becomes even more beautiful. The road winds beautifully through a lovely valley with beautiful forests and babbling brooks. The descent becomes even more stunning, with a post-apocalyptic atmosphere of dead white trees everywhere creating a magnificent spectacle. We descend to Melipueco where we have a beer because it was another tough day. The tough days are piling up and we start feeling it in our legs. Unfortunately, tomorrow another pass awaits us. We inquire with the municipality, police, and fire department but are not allowed to set up our tent at any of their premises. Luckily, we find a spot just outside town where we can bath in the river and set up our tents for another calm night.
While packing up the tent, the lactic acid already slaps me in the face. Damn. But we have to keep going, my mom and dad are waiting for me in Bariloche in 8 days and I wouldn’t want to miss a second of it.
The gravel road back towards the border with Argentina is awful: trenches, coarse stones, holes, washboards. And all of this on relentless gradients that brings us 1000 meters higher to Villa Icalma.
I can taste the dust, left in the air by the speeding cars, in my mouth. My face slowly becomes a mud mask: a mixture of sunscreen, sweat, and dust. Since there’s a lot of lakes and campings around and since it’s Sunday, the cars are filled with kayaks and mountain bikes and the people are waving enthusiastically at us. It lifts our spirits. We manage to make it to the top, after which the road seemingly gets worse, because we’re going downhill and thus faster. The original plan was to cross the border today, but after this ordeal we decide to camp one last night in Chile in the village just before the border. We find a super nice park by the lake. It has big signs of “Camping Prohibido” but since there’s other campers as well we take a chance.
The next day it’s only four kilometers uphill left to the border. After which we enter Argentina in an area which seems so much more fancier than we’re used of Argentina. The area around Villa Pehuenia is full of resorts, fancy parks and recreational complexes. We need to get groceries but every supermarket we pass just looks way above our budget. We drive onward. The last chance of getting food is at a supermarket that is closed. When we ask around the people tell us that we have to go back 5 kilometer to get food because for the next 60 kilometers there will be nothing. The 10 kilometers back and forth is a blow to the morale, but Wasi reassures me that there is probably a higher reason for all of this. Little did I know he is going to be absolutely right. Because when we cycle back and do the groceries I see a little shop where I can top up my SIM card and get some internet. Soon after I see that my sister has been trying to call me. I call back. After some chit-chat she suddenly tells me that she has to show me something, moves out of the screen and comes back with a sonogram.
What the hell!? I’m going to be an uncle! I don’t know how to react, I’m overwhelmed with joy. Genuine joy. Marleen and Rob truly deserve it. And I’m going to be an uncle. Jeez, I never really thought about the fact that one day I could become an uncle. But, dammit, I’m going to be the best uncle there is.
Overwhelmed by emotions, we get back on the bikes, trying to let it all sink in a bit. We ride the 60 kilometers to Aluminé and it’s a bit of a disappointment because we thought we’d finally be done with the gravel, but they’re working on the road here and thus we still have 40 kilometers of washboards, loose stones and sand to slog through. In Aluminé, we clean the bikes, oil the chains, and do some shopping. Along the river that crosses the city and bears the same name we find a nice spot for the tents. That night we buy a carton of wine and we raise our cups to Marleen, Rob, the little creature growing in my sisters belly, my parents becoming grandparents for the first time and to me becoming an uncle.

















Another blow to the morale in the morning when we come to the conclusion that we still have to cycle a whole day over awful gravel roads. But this time it will really be the last day. We cycle through a stunning valley but we have no time to look around since we’re only focusing on dodging washboards, big rocks and loose sand. Wasi doesn’t feel good so we have to take it easy. After 56 kilometers we find a super cute, small village that bears the name of Pilo Lil where, after asking around, we decide to just pitch the tents on the nice-looking grass in the middle of the central little plaza.
I wake up because someone is digging a hole one meter away from my tent. Ever since the clock hit 7 am it has been feeling like the whole village is saying “Buenos días” to each other and gathering right next to our tents. When I unzip my tent, I see a man with a shovel and a woman painting the white little poles next to me. Oh hello, good morning. It seems like the village has some sort of community going on and today they’re renovating the little plaza. The little plaza that has two little tents pitched right in the middle of it. But the people are cool, they tell us not to worry and to have breakfast and pack up whenever we want.
It does mean that eventually we’re on the road early. And finally: we reach asphalt! We do some last shopping in Junin de Los Andes and find a very idyllic camping spot along a river. Our obligatory shower turns into a swim, we set up the tents in the light, and cook in the light (normally it’s already dark when we start to cook). We opt for making a campfire, sharpen sticks, skewer sausages, and roast them over the fire. Brilliant. I used to do this often with Jacko in North America, and it’s still a fun way to make your dinner.
February 29th. This year’s Leap Day starts wonderfully with coffee and breakfast over a campfire, a splash in the river and taking it easy.
When we cycle towards San Martin de Los Andes we are struck with terribly busy roads and terrible people. People keep angrily honking at us! Why? Because we use the same road as they do? There’s no shoulder so we try to stay as much on the side of the road as possible. A big bus cuts us off and nearly collides with us. Even the police honks at us. What the hell is happening here? To top it all off, a car (with an older couple inside!) cuts us off, laughing and purposely driving us into the shoulder! We are furious. The rest of the way we try to find that car to rip the door open and give them a piece of our mind, but unfortunately, we don’t see them anymore. Completely outraged, we reach San Martin de Los Andes. There, we recover from the shock and inhumanity and make lunch. My best friend Pim calls me to say that he’ll come and visit me which makes me happy again.
Back on the bike and with the evening sun shining its golden glow we climb up along the shores of a beautiful lake. Tonight’s campsite is unexpectedly gorgeous as we get off of the Ruta 40, have to bushwhack ourselves through some vegetation and suddenly find a pristine open field in the middle of a bamboo forest with a small cobbling creek meandering through. The nights start to get really cold now.
A lovely day follows. The Ruta 40 changes from a busy commuting road into a touristy scenic road along lakes and waterfalls. They call it the Ruta de Los Siete Lagos. We end the day on a so-called camping libre at the south side of Lago Espejo: a place where you can pitch your tent for free but without facilities. It turns out that every night these places turn into lovely free states made up of tents. We meet a group of nice French people to share the camp fire with and many other camp fires appear around us as well. We go to bed with the smell of smoke in our clothes and with the sound of talking and laughing voices and crackling campfires around us.







A bad day. We were looking forward to leave early, cycle the 12 kilometer to the village of Villa La Angostura and find WiFi to watch the Strade Bianchi cycle race on our phones. But Wasi’s rear wheel seems to disagree with that plan. Two blowouts and another worn out tire throws a spanner in the works. The last kilometer we have to walk into town. The Strade just finished. Wasi boosts the morale by buying us delicious donuts. We find a new rear tire for him in one of the bike shops in town and can continue our way. We end the day at yet another super beautiful wild camping spot by one of the many lakes in this area and make a delicious meal on the campfire. Tonight marks the last evening camping together with Wasi. We will reach Bariloche tomorrow, where I will spend time with my parents and Wasi will continue hitting the road after one or two days.
The day where I will see my parents has finally arrived. It’s been 20 days of cycling everyday, through the dust, in the heat and into the wind. A big effort to arrive on time to see them, but I wouldn’t have done it any other way.
After packing up and saying goodbye to yet another brilliant wild camping spot we hit the road and soon meet another American cycling tourist, Kent, with whom we share the road with for the rest of the day. During lunch my parents text me that they’ve arrived and they’ll wait for me in the apartment they’ve booked for us. Now I really just want to get there as fast as possible. But Kent is cycling a bit slower than us so I’ll have to keep my calm, which is very hard.
When we reach Bariloche we say goodbye to Kent and we start racing towards my parents. The last time I saw them was in Costa Rica, almost exactly one year ago. There they are. On the side of the road, waving and shouting to us already from a far distance and both filming with their phones, not wanting to miss a second of anything. My mother gets the first big hug and then my dad. We drink a beer in the garden and catch up. Like last time, there’s too much to catch up on, the adrenaline is too high. But it’s so incredibly good to see them.
Luck is on our side because there’s a fourth bed in the apartment so that Wasi can stay. He is quickly adopted into the family.








The next two days we spend strolling through town, making a couple small hikes, drinking coffee and playing card games at night. It’s lovely to have both my parents and Wasi here. But not for long because after two days it’s time for Wasi to hit the road again. He has a plane ticket booked from the south of Chile and has a schedule to get there in time. We drink one more coffee together in town, give each other a big, big hug and then we wave him goodbye. It’s been such a good time together. We’ve been sharing the road since La Paz, Bolivia. Three months. We crossed two times into Chile and Argentina together and cycled roughly 3.800 kilometers side by side. I made a friend for life and I hope he will enjoy and successfully finish his trip.
Then it’s just me and my parents and we make room for some good, deeper conversations. I try to stress to them that this trip has changed my way of thinking and that I might start living a more unconventional life after this. And since they are very conventional people, from conventional families with a very conventional upbringing, this is quite hard to grasp for them. “Aren’t you going to make use of that master diploma then?”, “You are not going to live far away, are you?” and “don’t you want a girlfriend then?” are all very understandable questions, but everything is just a bit hard to explain.
But I’m so fucking grateful for them traveling to the other side of the world twice to see me. To a country where they would otherwise never have rested their index finger in the travel brochure, only to visit me.
It makes me feel supported, I know that they are proud of me and that they cherish me. And they always have, ever since I was young they were on the sidelines of the football and in the front rows of my graduation ceremonies. My parents are the best.
The rest of our time in Bariloche flies over. We make some beautiful hikes to the miradors of Llao Llao and Lago Gutiérrez, visit some beer breweries and eat great pizza. They give me new shoes (they couldn’t stand the holes in my shoes) and a haircut.
And then, after six amazing days together, it’s time to say goodbye again. I wave them goodbye and they wave back through the window of the taxi. The black hole hits me hard again. I walk over to the beach to just sit there for half an hour, staring into space and letting the emotions wash over me.
I walk back to the apartment, pack my bike and cycle into the city. My plan was to stay another day and do some writing for this blog, but I forgot it is Sunday and that everything’s closed. So I decide to just go cycling anyway.
It’s quite hard to get into the mood on the bike, a figuratively grey cloud hangs over me. Goodbye’s like this always way heavy, so I know that I just need time to get back into a more positive atmosphere. I do feel happy that I’m back on the bike. I’m getting really south now, a few more months and I will reach Ushuaia, the finish line of this dream I once had.
Next up: Rainy Days on The Carretera Austral!












Prachtig hoofdstuk weer van jouw droomreis. Weer in één stuk uitgelezen.
Maar het laatste hoofdstuk komt er ook aan , spannend maar ook lastig , wat hierna ??
Laat het ook nu gewoon maar gebeuren , komt ook weer goed , Marijn
Op naar Ushuaia en geniet van de laatste kilometers in het mooie Argentinië XXX
Shoutout to the BMX guy, The watermelon, becoming uncle, and the best parents in the world!
Cheers Phlippie ga zo door!
Oja: anti-shout out naar bikepacking.com routes.
Geweldig weer om te lezen…..wel spannend zo met het einde in zicht. Laat het maar allemaal gebeuren want jij komt altijd weer op die pootjes van jou terecht.