December 4, 2010
The road to Colonia.
Strong wind woke me in the night but it had calmed by morning and it was a fresh cloudy day when I rode away from Fray Bentos. I would follow route 4 to the town of Mercedes, where I'd turn South West on route 21, taking me back to the Uruguay river and the shortest way to Colonia de Sacramento and the ferry to Buenos Aires.
On reaching Mercedes, I did not know whether it was necessary to cycle through town to get to route 21 or could I bypass the town, but as it was ten, I needed a break and food. I cycle round the plaza and along a street seeing many shops selling all types of things but no food shops. I see a signpost with a few locations on it, one of which is Palmira, a town on my planned route so follow it, and just a block ahead on the corner spot a bakery. What a discovery. There were such a selection of delicious things on offer. I settle for a pallet of egg sandwiches, a slice of spinach quiche and a slice of apple tart which I later discover to be a custard tart with only apple slices as decoration on top , but was delicious all the same. And just as I was paying, a girl comes out with a tray of large croissants made into sandwiches with salami and cheese filling. I was tempted to buy one, but think no, as I'd already enough for all day.
With a full carrier-bag slung on the handlebar, I push the bike back to the plaza to sit down and eat. It was then I spot a comical looking Che Guevara image painted on a wall. No disrespect to the artist but it is a poor likeness and actually looks like a person in a Che lookalike contest.
The first part of route 21 was narrow with high hedgerows on either side, but it only lasted for a kilometre before opening up with a wide margin on either side and a view of rolling fields of wheat being cut by combine harvesters and stubble fields with round bales.
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The day grew duller and soon the rain would be on. I bethought the folly of having so many nice things for lunch and no where to shelter as there weren't any bus-shelters. It soon began to rain lightly and I put my camera away in the bag. As it had already gone one o clock, I wanted to stop, but I ride on in the hope of somewhere to shelter. Until, I pass over a big concrete bridge and yes underneath bridges are the other shelter possibility on rainy days. What luck, as I just had the bike run down the bank and under the bridge as it started to rain heavily. Spouts of water poured down through gutter holes off the road above as I ate and I remained there, dry, reading my book until the rain stopped at three. The sun soon came out and the remaining 45km to Palmira were warm and thirsty.
There was a sign on the way into Palmira with the usual icons, restaurant, camping, etc, with an arrow pointing right. The turnoff on the right was a kilometre to the beach where people sunbathed and there was a sign stating clearly, No Camping. And up from the beach were great big riverfront houses, everywhere around in plots not already builded on were developer's signs for luxury housing. In short, there wasn't a camping site or the possibility of wild-camping.
It being a Saturday evening, there was mush activity in town, after I'd gone back to the main-road and into the centre. The main thoroughfare was on the riverfront with a promenade and beach. There were scooters and scooters and more scooters always with two people riding thereon. Groups of people sat on benches along the promenade drinking mate looking on at me in amazement as I past. There was no info centre open, so what to do?
I cycle a little way along the waterfront to a marina where there was a green area with picnic tables and fogones, which are structures in picnic areas builded for barbecuing meat. There was a No Camping, sign but I was going to ignore that as there were plenty of ample big tree trunks to hide behind. But then I think ah, there's got to be a better place than this. I ask a lady at the nearby yacht club, she points across the marina to where there were more trees, picnic tables and fogones, saying, there camping is aloud.
Later, across the marina, when I had the tent up and sat writing my diary, a Uruguay backpacker came along and asked could he put his tent beside mine. He had the tent up quickly and I saw no more of him. And although in a park in a city centre on a Saturday night, I didn't see or hear anyone until I awoke the next day.
Today's ride: 130 km (81 miles)
Total: 6,993 km (4,343 miles)
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