I spent last week at a friend’s house in Maitencillo, one of the northern most towns on the litoral central. I am finally starting to understand which town is where, a feat better managed by mortals with far better geographical memory than I have. In order for me to understand how one thing is connected to the next, there is only one way for me to do it: by bike.
Which is why (along with testing out the kit) I wasn’t too alarmed when the offer of a bike rack turned into bikerack pieces on the ground near C’s car, and me returning home only to leave the next morning by bus. I took the bus to Viña del Mar, and from there headed out to the ocean, turning right and pedalling until I reached Maitencillo, some 60ish km away, most of it slightly uphill, but none of it terribly steep. It was a slog though, between the weight of the panniers, my own winter weight (argh! summer now) and the fact that I haven’t done any long-distance cycling in a while. But I kept my pulse below my own lactic acid threshold (blablabla to all of you who don’t care), which in my case is around 167, and stopped to graze a little on the way, and all was well.
I’m feeling physically more confident about the trip in NZ, though I’ve just looked at my planned route, and it will require me to ride more than 50 miles every day. This is tomfoolery, but I am nothing if not tomfoolish, so more on that as “plans” develop.
Maitencillo was lovely, waves crashing and barnacle-covered shells washed up on the beach, their occupants breathing in fresh ocean breezes. There were a surprisingly large number of aguas muertas (jellyfish) washed up as well, including one that looked very much like a liver. (insert joke about washing-up medical waste here).
And there were these glasses. These not-retro but actually old glasses that were made probably in the 50s out of old pisco bottles. G explained how they do it, with a string and some fuel and a bucket of cold water, which explains why the rim of the glass was a bit sharp (it had been filed, but it’s not like a regular glass).
I loved the blue one so much that I think that if I’d been leaving any way but on a bike and with my panniers, they’d have searched my luggage to make sure I didn’t have it with me. Though the way back was mostly slightly downhill (and a full 75 minutes shorter, yay gravity). But I wouldn’t have wanted to balance and egg on a spoon or worry about a stolen glass the whole way.
Onword and eastward. My legs hate me already.
I love those glasses–too cool–you should have thrown the panniers (whatever those are???) overboard and taken the glasses–always the booza paraphenelia Eileen, always!
Yes, bringing my bike–I figure I might as well send the one I have because buying a bike would be the last on the list of things to buy there (right under beds, sofa, table/chairs, dryer, stove, dishes, etc.) I am a terrible rider though, I've written about it before, how my hubs rides with both kids (one in a seat, the other in a backpack) and I still can't keep up and I'm still the one most likely to tip over–it is so sad–you'll have to be very patient.
hopefully april, maybe may
Good luck in NZ–maybe you'll leave those winter kilos behind.
Old scool Pisco Control glasses! Those are really cool.
BTW, I've never heard of aguas muertas, in my neck of the woods we call them aguas vivas and my aunt told me that in some places they call them aguas malas.
Sharon! I'm sure you're right. Aguas VIVAS, not muertas. I do that sometimes. I went to a place for lunch on de la ollería today, and all I could think was "something about a pot." I'm like that with meaning.
If you ever see any old skool pisco control glasses, please let me know. I totally want some! (though they might not survive long in the house of the breaking dishes).
Many years ago I did a cycling trip on the South Island of New Zealand. I slogged my way up to Murchenson in the Southern Alps thinking I would have a nice long downhill to the coast and then up to Westport. Unfortunately, I encountered such a strong headwind that if I would have stopped pedaling, I would have fallen over. A few pints of Miner’s Dark Ale made it all worthwhile.