Flying Through Far-Flungery

Three weeks on the road and I´m on the Pacific coast at Puerto Natales. The last three days cycling across the scrub desert from Chelten, thru El Calafate and across the border. Odd sight this morning - a Hereford bull standing in a minefield beside the road. I was pushing the bike at the time when the bull began to walk. The thought of that bull and the lush grass of the minefield stayed with me for awhile. Stopped at a roadside waterhole three days ago. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid stopped here after a bank robbery. I went into the bathroom to fill my waterbottles, glanced in the mirror and Butch Cassidy, bearded, sunburnt and dusy stared back - and grinned. The emptiness of the first two weeks has changed, now it´s filling with the wilds of Patagonia as the bike and I become part of the everchanging landscape. El Calafate and Chelten were like an adventure clothing convention In Beverly Hills. Mainstreet packed with tourists dressed in latest line in Goretex shouldering monster packs. They are bused in by coaches that are like cruise ships - videos, meals on trays and fully reclining seats - and then harvested by tour operators. Great comraderie amonst fellow cyclists. There is a Jack Kerorac (spelling?) love for the open road, cheap red wine and good stories. We get to experience what others may only see.