By EZIO PIAGGI Special to the Palisadian-Post Though I’ve traveled to every continent except Antarctica and had been to South America three times before, none of my previous visits could compare with my mountain biking adventure across the Andes in February. Along with my cousin, Dani, who lives in Mar del Plata, a city south of Buenos Aires, I biked about 60 miles in two days. And though I have climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro, trekked in the Himalayas and snorkeled in the Great Barrier Reef, the landscapes in Lanin National Park were as breathtaking as any I’ve ever seen. Our trip began in the sleepy Patagonian resort town of San Mart’n in Argentina’s preAndean mountains, not far from Bariloche. San Mart’n sits on the eastern shore of Lake Lacar, compressed between steep-sided slopes covered in native cypress and forestry pine. Whereas Bariloche caters to the young party crowd, San Mart’n has deliberately created a more sedate type of small-town tourism, pitching for families rather than students. Both sides of the Argentinean-Chilean border are filled with lakes of all sizes, most in pristine condition. We set out to camp at the western end of Lake Curruhue, which is accessible only by a single-lane dirt road and four-wheel-drive vehicles. The first day was absolutely beautiful with not a cloud in the sky. I had envisioned biking up some sun-parched side of an Andean mountain with no cover from the blistering sun. Instead, the beautiful flora, including the Amankay that had lined the road to our campsite, continued and we found ourselves in the shade of tall trees as we rode around the perimeter of a second lake called Epulafquen. The Andes are a significant part of the Pacific Rim of Fire, and not only is the area full of lakes (all stocked with trout), it also has a number of volcanoes. The tallest in the area is Mt. Lanin, which rises 12,388 feet. We got to enjoy the view of its magnificent snow-capped peak for the first hour or so of our journey. The second volcano along our path was Huanquihue, and we had the pleasure of riding through one of its dried-up lava fields. We brought a tent along with our sleeping bags, food and water and a couple of changes of clothes. Then we started some serious climbing. Despite this, we almost never left the shade and, more importantly, our enthusiasm never waned. Being the far more experienced long-distance biker, Dani suggested we eat every two hours and we did. We finally reached a wooden arch with a sign immediately on the other side that welcomed us to Chile. I thought the next 20 kilometers would be an easy downhill ride, but actually the road was strewn with rocks and tree branches and it was steep enough that we had to walk our bicycles down at one point. While doing so I suffered my first fall, though I was more embarrassed than hurt. Upon arriving at the Chilean passport control we were treated with the utmost courtesy and we were allowed to keep the food we had not consumed. We were now getting more ambitious in our journey and were anxious to make the town of Liqui’e, another 20 kilometers farther down the mountainside. We traversed a relatively flat road in a valley that seemed to be a Swiss pastoral canton, dotted with small farms and a few people. We finally arrived in Liqui’e around dusk. Adrenaline and euphoria could only get me so far, so Dani thought that instead of using the tent he had so arduously carried on his bike we should try to find accommodations. Liqui’e is a one-road little town and we soon came upon a hotel (actually a series of cabins) that was well maintained with a bed of roses on the bank of a flowing stream. We also enjoyed a geothermally heated pool about 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Neither Dani nor I could express in any of the four languages we know between us how our bodies felt upon being immersed in that soothing, warm water. The last adventure of the day occurred after dinner when the lights suddenly went out, so we had to make our way back to the cabin by candlelight (ours was farthest from the dining room) since the hotel had no flashlights and neither did we. It had begun to rain while we were dining and, with no umbrella, it was no easy task for Dani to keep the one candle we were given from going out. The second day of our journey did not start off well, since the rain was still falling. We waited until 11 a.m. for the rain to subside, but the weather did not cooperate, so we donned water-proof ponchos and headed west. Soon after we changed roads to head in a more southerly direction, we came upon a construction crew building a bridge over a large stream. We crossed the bridge and proceeded pedaling uphill for several kilometers’by far the toughest climb of the trip. Both sides of the road were lined with blackberry bushes. The blackberries were ripe and glistened, having just been washed by the rain. When Dani started pressuring me to reach Puerto Fuy by 5:30 to catch a boat across Lake Pirehueico, I had to increase my blackberry-picking efficiency from one to four at a time. We had our major afternoon meal along Lake Neltume, a small lake with a few houses lining its shore. After riding a few more kilometers, we headed east towards the town of Neltume, where we began another stiff uphill that, by the end, had me leaning heavily on the handlebars. Near the top of that particular climb there was a series of waterfalls Dani wanted to see. At the head of the trail to the falls was a refreshment stand where we replenished ourselves with water and energy bars. After a short walk, we overlooked Saltos de Huilo Falls, some 130 feet tall, nestled amidst an alcove formed by volcanic activity. The sight was enough to convince me I should visit the highest waterfall in the world, Angel Falls in Venezuela, which has a drop of 3,212 feet. Alongside the falls was a lava rock wall covered with lush green moss that only enhanced the area’s beauty. On the way back out we met some young people and I told the group I had come all the way from Los Angeles on my bicycle. We all enjoyed a good-natured laugh when one of the young men actually believed me. As we approached Puerto Fuy, after another long and difficult uphill, I told Dani to ride ahead and try to make the boat and I would catch up to him. As it turned out, the boat was a new ferry that could hold 18 cars and two small buses. With only our bikes, we immediately got to the front of the line, ahead of some of the cars that had passed us on the road. In a moment of weakness compounded by bad weather, the fact that we were wet and cold, and the realization that we would have to camp, we succumbed to temptation and opted to take the bus back to San Mart’n. We had a late dinner there, left our bicycles in the depository at the bus station and hitched a cab to Dani’s mountain caba’a to end our trip. Inspired by my cousin’s undying enthusiasm and encouraged by February’s experience, I plan to return to San Mart’n the same time next year for another mountain biking adventure’hopefully this time all the way to the Pacific coast. That will only whet my appetite for March, when I’m going kayaking in the Sea of Cortez. (Editor’s note: The above story was submitted for our 2004 Travel Tab contest. The author and his wife, Candida, have lived in Pacific Palisades for 28 years. Their three daughters, Alessia (31), Allegra (27) and Adria (23), all graduated from Palisades High.)
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