Bikepacking in Patagonia

After a trip like this, there is hardly a question that is harder to answer. It was incredible, beautiful, impressive and exhausting!

The special thing about bike trips is that every day is actually already predefined. The route is clear and the activity is set: we are cycling. Basic needs like water, food, a safe place to sleep and warmth take on a completely different importance. And we experience the little things and encounters much more intensively.

Traveling by bike allows for slowing down and deep immersion, but at the same time lets us see a large part of the region under our own muscle power. The wildlife, nature and people of Patagonia are simply fascinating. But the real beauty of the trip is knowing every day when we wake up that Patagonia will amaze us again.

A large part of our planned route runs along the Carretera Austral, also called Route 7. It is the only "big main road" in the Chilean part of Northern Patagonia and ends in Villa O'Higgins.

Because the region is so remote and very sparsely populated, you have to plan pretty carefully where and when to stock up on food next time (not forgetting the siesta for small village stores). Fortunately, water is available almost everywhere due to the mountain rivers. Sometimes we ride stages of 200 kilometers where there is no infrastructure, but the most beautiful nature we can imagine.

In terms of scenery, the first section almost reminds me of our native foothills in the Alps: grazing cows, lush green mountainsides and a few snowcaps in the background. The asphalt road allows for relaxed progress. With plenty of distance, nice drivers always pass by, honking encouragingly and sometimes even shouting "Venga" (Let's go!) or "Suerte" (Good luck).

The animal world of Patagonia, and especially the relationship between man and animal, is for me one of the most beautiful impressions of the trip. My personal highlight: the herd of guanaco that accompanied us for a bit during the trip! These beautiful animals are the "llamas of Patagonia" and can be found everywhere here.

In the middle of the wilderness, barely a hundred kilometers from any major civilization, Marta lives with her husband, sons and grandchildren on a farm. She creates an oasis for travelers like us and promptly heats the stove for hot showers when we arrive at her home. "I want travelers to feel comfortable and just be able to switch off. We don't have reception here either. If I need something, I ask friends who drive by here every now and then if they can bring me something. But look around, I have almost everything I need in my backyard."

Marta invites us to breakfast and serves eggs from the chickens outside and cheese from the milk of the sheep in her garden. "A few years ago we used to ride the horses into town. We don't do that anymore." When asked if she chose her life here in solitude herself, she nods and says she would never want to trade it for life in the city. And she is not at all lonely. She has family, friends and her animals.

After one of the best showers of the trip, we set up our temporary home among the sheep, chickens and the other farm residents. A cat lies down next to us and watches over us. I stare at the green tent ceiling, and listen to the wind, which has become a constant companion by now. I am exhausted and happy.

The encounter with Marta is for me one of the most beautiful examples of the cohesion of the inhabitants of Patagonia. The mindfulness and respect for people and animals are truly inspiring.

In Patagonia, nature seems so huge and powerful that you feel tiny in comparison. That's why people here feel such a deep respect and awe for the forces of nature that govern everyday life.

Arriving at the end of the Carreterra Austral, we wait for a ferry to take us across the Rio Villa O'Higgins. This is the way we chose to reach the tiny border crossing to Argentina.

We meet up with a Chilean, three Italians, two Canadians, a German and a Bulgarian at the captain's home in Villa O'Higgins. The bearded man sips his mate tea through a straw and spreads out his huge map. Then he directs a skeptical glance at his old computer, which tells him the wind forecasts.

"Ok, tomorrow morning at 5 am we have a window of 3 hours where the wind is supposed to die down a bit." He explains to us in a serious tone what this crossing means, what the consequences of capsizing would be and why the currents and waves in the glacier water are so extreme.

We get up at 4 am and set off on our bikes to the harbor, only to see the captain's worried face: "It won't work, the waves back there are too big," he says, looking through binoculars. Disappointed, we ride back again.

We know that others here have already been waiting a week for the ferry to leave. This feeling of being so dependent on nature and really having no other option than to wait is new. But somehow also decelerating and exciting at the same time.

In the afternoon it happens, the wind calms down and we sail through the wild ice water over to no man's land. A few kilometers of riding, pushing and carrying and several river crossings later we finally reach the Argentine border. We learn that we are the first people to cross this border since the Corona pandemic began. What luck!

No one could have guessed how much civilization would scare us after the second crossing. But first, 40 kilometers on the worst road conditions for gravel bikes are ahead of us - but with the most beautiful view of the whole trip on the giant Fitz Roy.

The wind is at our back and blows us into the Parque Nacional Los Glaciares and to El Chalten, the hip and very touristy small Argentinean town. This is the place for many beautiful hikes, great climbs and the most people in one bunch we have seen in weeks.

Due to the strong rush in the city and wind speeds up to 120 km/h we do not stay here long and aim for the Perito Moreno glacier. The headwind is so strong that we even have to pedal when going downhill. Nevertheless, the ride is a pure pleasure, because it is on asphalt!

The sun slowly sets behind the mountain ranges, bathing the long road in golden light. A few condors circle majestically above us, hares cross the road and wild horses gallop across the endless fields. In the background, you can see ice floes floating on the lake.

We pitch our tent and enjoy the starry sky.  The next morning we get up early and manage to be among the first at the glacier. I will never forget the breathtaking view of the glacier and the force with which ice keeps breaking off.

As luck would have it, I ran into Reiner Taglinger, of all people, in Patagonia! I had interviewed him for Outdooractive a month earlier back home. He had just been mountaineering in Patagonia with two clients. If you missed his exciting interview in our Outdooractive FACES newsletter, feel free to read it again here!

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