Day 1 had finally arrived. Nick and I were giddy, ready to leave the comfort of our hostel in Pucon, Chile for the freedom of the open road. After spending a few hours moving fingers from point to point on a detailed map with our new friend and French biking guru, Greg, our smiles seemed to be glued at each ear. Greg had just finished biking our route but had decided to start in the south (we were starting in the north) and was generous enough to share his campsites, moments of triumph, and harder sections of the route to plan for. I remember thinking to myself that Greg either consciously downplayed the hard sections for the sake of our mental status or he was a top notch professional cyclist just “having fun” training for the Tour de France.
We were like two children then, wide-eyed and ready to face the challenges ahead, not aware of just how quickly they would come. We took Greg’s route advice with enthusiasm, even joking that we might have to push it farther than he did each day.
Our section for the day was 75km to the base of a volcano. “Should be easy” we agreed. Greg barely mentioned the incline and didn’t seem phased by the route.
The thing is, the road to “the base of a volcano” as Greg put it, ended up being exactly what it sounds like: a road straight up into the Andes. After biking for a few hours we reached the uphill section and immediately pushed our bodies to their limits. Halfway up my legs were screaming, my body leaking sweat. I was already licking the final crumbs of the sleeve of cookies I purchased as a treat that was supposed to last the next 4 days.
“I was already licking the final crumbs of the sleeve of cookies I purchased as a treat that was supposed to last the next 4 days.”
Pumping and churning tired legs for what seemed like days, we reached the promised land. The highway began to level revealing our first glimpse of Volcan Lanin, a snow capped, wise - looking mountain (the area's grandfather in my mind) standing alone among the extensive Chilean forest. The yelps of two re-energized bikers echoed through mountain side and bolting fists cracked the still alpine air.
We found a glorious place to camp by the side of a lake in the shadow of the volcano. However, the day took a toll on us. Too tired to speak, Nick made some symbolic gestures with his hands, and promptly retired to the tent. I stood there gazing at the reflection of the volcano on the deep blue lake and doted on day 1 -- “I guess this trip isn’t going to be as easy as I thought it was. And, Greg is definitely on the Tour de France.”