October 17, 2016
Mon 17th Oct: Lago Villarino to km2081
I wheel the bike out of the wood and set off across the lakeside field where, the sheep are this morning, instead of out grazing the roadside. Merino sheep, most have twin or even triplet lambs. They're used to people seemingly, cause they just stand in the track and stare as I cycle right by them. They share the lakeside with many pairs of Bandurrias, those big ibis birds that make a duck-like quack quack as they stomp over the grass.
There's no sign of rain. Small banks of white misty cloud caress the mountain beyond the lake, but there's a lot of clear blue sky and subdued sunshine.
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On the road, rust coloured-white headed cows, like the sheep, pause from chewing to stand and stare as I pass. They too graze the roadside. Most have two calves. Must be the richness of the pasture along the roadside and in amongst the shrubbery and woodland that leads to such high fertility. The small calves though run and run when they see me coming.
Although sunny now, it's cold. I keep my windproof jacket and gloves on. The road a roller-coaster. Climb a little, then descend and up again.
I put the chain a lot on the big outer chain-ring as a northwest wind starts blowing me along with even colder air through a corridor of woodland.
I pass numerous lakes visible through the trees, such as Lago Pico Trafal. Then Lago Willis y Bailey. Then by lunchtime, I reach Lago Espejo, where I turn down to the lake.
In among the trees by the lakeshore, there's a tent and two touring bikes leant against a felled tree. The owners, a young couple are sat out by the water's edge. I make myself comfortable for lunch by the edge of the trees.
A car pulls to a halt in the trees behind me. A man gets out and a woman is getting out as he strides on ahead down the shore with a point and shot camera, or it might've been a phone, reaching out at arm's length to meet the view, the lake with snow-capped mountains beyond. His attention trained on the back of the camera as his feet crunch until pausing a few metres short of the water's edge. Click. By now his partner has caught up with him. They chatter as she poses for a picture. No sooner than that is taken than he hands the camera to her and runs excitedly to the water's edge, crouches down and puts his hand in the water while looking to the camera. Click. They both then run quickly back to the car, get in, slam the doors and drive off.
Shortly after another car arrives, the occupants doing the same, rushing down the shore to quickly take photos, before rushing off again. Never having once paused to look at their surroundings.
Javier was saying he never takes car drivers' advice on places to visit seriously. So different is their perspective....
I reach Villa Angostura approaching five o'clock, but as it doesn't start getting dark until half eight, I've still lots of time. Bariloche is another eighty kilometres, and I'd like to ride far enough this evening so as to reach town by midday tomorrow.
Angostura is a small town, similar to San Martin in its wood cabin style. There's an older part of town dating from the 1930s. And lots and lots of tourists both domestic and from overseas. The way on for a good ten kilometres has many fairly posh wood cabin houses set in garden grounds. And just about every lakeside spot a campsite or tourist facility.
The traffic is a bit hectic. That terrible car driver entitlement complex. I won't cycle on the vehicle wide gravel shoulder. Why should I?
My bike is the guts of a metre wide and, the road, the lane on my side is roughly three and a half metres from road edge to central white line. A car is two metres, a big vehicle such as a van, two and a half...That doesn't leave much space when these big Renault Traffic mini-bus vans pass me with oncoming traffic on the other side. The mini-buses or excursion tour-buses have been out early this morning and have ferried tourist around all day. But now the driver just wants to get home to Bariloche as quick as humanly possible, cause it's early up in the morning and the same routine again tomorrow. On bends, they cut a straight line as not to ease off the pedal... It doesn't matter that I'm entering the same bend, they brush tight pass my left side pannier, then are out over the middle white line 20-30 metres on in the apex of the bend.
The traffic dwindles to an occasional passing car after a certain point. But now that, I want to find a place to camp, every level clearing in the woodland or on the lakeshore has a wood cabin. Though I press on with the knowledge that always something turns up.
It isn't too late then when I come to a track down to the lakeshore with a few grassy level places in among shrubbery. It's almost made for camping.
It's now late as I write, as the rain drums on the tent material. It's probably going to rain all night.
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