September 7, 2009
After Nightfall Again.
I cycled back out from Angastaca on the two kilometre-access road and turned right at the end, back onto RUTA 40 southbound and straightaway could see Las Fechas ahead of me: The Arrows to tramslate in English, looked like a wall of broken slabs stacked up in a slant at forty-five degrees to a height of over ten metres or thereabouts, rugget and pointed on top and a unique hue, yellowish-light-brown. The road went up a sharp incline enclosed either side to a summit with a veiw around over what was like a honey coloured glacier lurching along both sides of the road which looped up and down onwards. The road builders had their work cut-out carving a way through until the last run-down to a pale green willow enclosed river. Across the bridge Is back to more usual sandy scrubland with bare rocky hills to the side and distant snow-capped mountains peeking over the horizon ahead.
Like the evening before the road proved difficult cycling; loose with lots of slippy smooth stones and tortuous rolling up and over each sandy fold: the back wheel bogging down in deep sand built-up in between: the front wheel would go in a skid down slopes, the back wheel following in a kind of jack-knife where the heavy trailer pushing from behind was too much for the comparatively light bike in front. Worse was to happen when wind picked up mid morning with a certain chill. I already had my rainjacket on. Then took shelter for an eleven o'clock stop on the veranda of a shop in a village called Santa Rosa, little more than a scattering of brown adobe houses in the scrubland. I'd bought a two litre bottle of coke and relished refreshing slugs from it as the sand blew along the street and rained in on me.
Riding farther sudden gusts sucked sand up in thin twisters sidling along the road. In a moments calm a fox bounded across a little ahead. It was then when stopped I noticed my back tyre was soft and at once saw the culprit, a thorn protruding from the thread that when I plucked it out, the air came hissing out too, leaving the tyre totally flat. Downhearted I pushed the bike a little along and then into a space in the scrubland where I thought the bushes would be shelter, but there was no shelter as the wind came in in all directions.
I un-coupled the heavily loaded trailer in order to remove the rear wheel, not the handiest scenario. I levered the tyre off the rim round one side and removed the tube, putting a spare innertube in with valve in valve-hole and pumped enough air in so the tube would take shape and go inside the tyre easily, avoiding flaps of rubber getting stuck under the beading with the consequencial bang and blow-out later. Then I started easing the tyre back on the rim. I knew from experience the MAVIC MA2 on my bike can prove difficult getting the last bit of tyre on especially with the narrow 32 section tyre; usually with much stretching of the skin on the underside of thumbs I manage. This time no. The last bit was looking like an inverted square edge on the otherwise round tyre, stretched tight across the outside of the rim. No matter how hard I pressed with my thumbs I couldn't get that final bit shifted up onto the rim. All the time Is buffeted by wind and airborne grit and sand rained on my neck, meaning I was not getting the chance to give it my all and lift that crucial bit on. I was already forty-five minutes stopped and my hands were cold. The skin on the underside of my thumbs had hardened and blistered: they began cracking away at the sides with the continued hard rubbing against the stiff rubber beading, leaving them feeling tender raw with pus-fluid oozing out under the hard-cap of skin. I was thinking of using the tyre levers to lever it on but how do I avoid pinching the innertube. There's a way as I've seen mechanics in bikeshops resort to this. I worked away and saw another half hour pass. Is starting to feel really anxious knowing I could be there the rest of the day. Somehow, I thought it might of been a moments easing of the wind giving that few second to put my back into it, I got the tightly stretched bit of beading up the outside edge of the rim and held it so it couldn't slip back, then pushed farther until it went on: the final small bit slipped on easy enough as expected.
When I'd pumped the tyre up hard and put the wheel back on the bike then re-coupled the trailer, I took from my bag lunch, bread and bananas which I'd bought Saturday in Cachi. The bananas were well battered with all the jarring, black and gooey and the baguette rock hard, but it was better than going hungry and at lease I'd half a bottle of coke left which was still refreshing.
My watch showed half two when I started again. I'd been stopped over two hours. Not far onwards the wind settled and I began making progress: making up for time; while all the time afraid of another puncture. Then at the bottom of a short steep incline, as I changed gear a little too abruptly onto the biggest sprocket at the rear, the chain overshot, jamming down between the cassette and spokes. I felt a slight panic until I got down and managed to release the chain, then noticed the cassettes' lock-ring had worked itself loose and screwed all the way out. I didn't have the tool to screw it tight again so had to make do with screwing it as far as it would go using my fingers. It was still farely loose but would have to do. Another anxiety to add to the list.
By six o'clock I'd reached more populated country of small farms with much improved road, then shortly reached the tarmac. The sun was waining as I rode through the street of San Carlos ten kilometres farther with still twenty kilometres to my gold, Cafayate. Again it would be after nightfall when I arrive.
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