Mark and I landed in Albuquerque to be greeted by the warm, dry air and my parents outside of the aptly named Sunport. Noel had flown in on a different flight the day prior, and after a month traveling together, we missed her in the final days getting back to the US. Mark and I were tired from the hours of being on planes and in airports, but we were happy to see my family and start our reintroduction into our social and work lives. Right now we are back in Carbondale, and I am happy to have a few minutes to reflect on our return to the US and the end of our trip.
The end of the trip was inevitably anti-climatic. We decided to stop riding when the rain turned to sleet/snow, just a couple hundred kilometers from our original destination. There was no finish line, just a rainy Argentine tourist town where Mark and I found a bike shop to give our bike away. We packed up our belongings into our panniers and for our last week in South America we were no longer cyclists riding our bike south, but aimless travelers waiting for our plane to depart. I tried to contain my melancholy as the trip came to a close, but I could not help but shed a few tears. It was not a surprise for me to feel this way. Almost four years ago when I finished the CDT I fell into a similar state. There is no way to ease out of a trip like this. It is either happening or it is not. So waking up the first few mornings to realize that we no longer had a day on the bike ahead of us, I was saddened by the change.
Bad weather and my occasionally gloomy attitude aside, Noel, Mark and I did enjoy our last week together. We finally gave our bodies a long chance to rest and enjoyed cooking meals together in the small apartment we had rented. These relaxing days were, however, bookended by a logistically challenging travel schedule. Over a month before, we had booked our tickets out of Puerto Montt, Chile, where we figured it would be easy enough to finish. When we ended our trip, however, we were in Argentina on the wrong side of the Andes. The first bus we tried to take over the pass was turned around as the pass had closed for weather. Since the weather had not improved in the interim days, the next bus we tried to take also did not have anywhere to go (the pass was still closed). At this point, no one at the bus company nor the Argentinian department of transportation seemed to have an idea of when the pass would open, so we started brainstorming other ways to leave. All of the options felt out of our price range compared to the $30 bus ticket we had initially purchased, but since none of us had travel insurance, we could not take the gamble of waiting to see if the pass opened in time to make our flight. Changing our tickets to fly out of Argentina would have made sense, but the fare difference was too much for Mark and I, and regardless we would still be buying a flight from Bariloche to Buenos Aires.
Ultimately, we surmised that the most economical option that did not involve 3 days on a bus, was to fly from Bariloche to Buenos Aires, from there to Santiago, then from Santiago take a bus to Puerto Montt. The budget airline we booked with would not allow us to purchase our tickets from Bariloche to Buenos Aires to Santiago as one fare, so we had to live with the idea that if our first flight did not leave or was delayed, we would be losing the cost on the second ticket. Noel decided that the stress of travel was not worth it, and chose to change her flight to leave from Buenos Aires. We said a too quick goodbye at the Buenos Aires airport since Mark and I were indeed running late to our next flight, only at the airport realizing that we would have to go through a separate security for international flights. We made our connecting flight, and breathed a sigh of relief as the plane took off to Santiago, feeling like our ridiculous plan had worked.
One of the harder realities to deal with when we landed in Santiago, was just how soon we would be back here. Our flight out of Puerto Montt first changed planes in Santiago, but the airline would have charged a fee just to eliminate the first leg of our journey. Too, we had been informed that if we did not show up for that first flight that we would be considered no shows and not allowed on any of the subsequent flights. So we bought our bus tickets from Santiago to Puerto Montt, and were surprised how well we slept on the bus; the reclining seats were very comfortable and we were glad to have an overnight bus rather than pass the 13 hour bus ride fully conscious in the middle of the day.
When we got off the bus, it was another gray and rainy day in northern Patagonia. It was also Memorial day in Chile (almost everything, including the Chuck-e-Cheese was closed), so we did not see much of Puerto Montt. Regardless, Mark and I enjoyed an evening in a cozy hostel where we had the kitchen to ourselves.
When we finally got on our return ticket home in Puerto Montt, we were glad that we had made it. Two days prior, sitting in the rental in Bariloche, we were not sure we would be there. The rest of the flight was not any more stressful than any other 23 hour travel experience (although the overnight plane seats where not nearly as comfortable as the bus seats) and we mostly enjoyed ourselves, the novelty of flying not yet worn off on us.
So there it was, a day later and we were back to my parents’ house. Seven and a half months prior we had pedaled away, and to be back was a little surreal. Mostly, it felt easy to be back, but it also seemed like we had a lot to do, seeing all the people we had missed, organizing the pile of belongings we had left in Mark’s van, and making sure that we got the rest of our things in order. Even so, Mark and I enjoyed some relaxing time together, sitting in the warm air and spending time with friends and family.
There were very few material items that we missed on our trip, mostly we missed the social and mental comforts afforded in a more stationary life, but we had been looking forward to New Mexican food. There is an old diner in Albuquerque that serves up a huge array of kitschy western art, unlimited green chili, homemade tortillas, and Mark’s favorite food, breakfast burritos (which we had discovered do not exist outside of the US). My grandma treated us to the much talked about lunch spot, and the food lived up to our memories.
My sadness is fading as our time fills up with the realities of our charmed lives here. I have gotten to see some of my friends, enjoy the spring air (we had more or less been riding through fall for the entire trip), wear different clothes, work on my car, attend a WFR recert, and now Mark and I are moved into a new place in Carbondale we are looking forward to mountain biking and paddling.
I don’t think we have any more 7.5 month bike trips in our near future, but we are looking forward to a wide variety of smaller trips in the years to come.
Mark’s Strava: https://www.strava.com/athletes/markandnic
Google Photo Album: https://photos.app.goo.gl/8sK1ryrupSjneZ9BA
Thank you for following along, reading past the innumerable mechanical and grammatical errors that are difficult to edit on my phone, and for all the support! I look forward to keeping my blog going this summer!
-Nic