The ride from Santiago to Montevideo has been intense; the quality and quantity of cycling and partying leaving me in a state of perpetual exhaustion. Indeed, this blog post has been delayed by a week after Buenos Aires sank her claws into me.

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On my final morning in Santiago, Masahito (the Japanese world walker) popped over to my hostel to say hi. It’s nice to run into people you have met on the road, but totally remarkable that we should meet again given that I have a bicycle and he has to walk the whole way.

For weeks, the Cordillera de los Andes had been popping in and out of view, rising up through the haze and looming ominously to the East.

I had looked forward to this ride for some time.  It would be the highest I had ever ridden my bike and the sinuous climb would be followed by an incredible descent through valleys and tremendous peaks.

During my stay in Santiago, there had been a landslide on the Argentine side of the pass and the road was closed to all traffic when I departed the city. I hoped that it would reopen by the time I arrived, but this closure was fortunate because it significantly reduced traffic on the road.

Once I left the highway, I rode through farmland and pinched a few peaches from an orchard to take up into the mountains.

The road rose slowly and I made camp beside a raging river. The river ensured I slept like a log and masked the sounds of the road traffic that had re-started in the morning. The pass was open again.

The gentle uphill continued all morning, and I propelled myself up in low gears, legs spinning. Eventually I came across an abandoned town that marked the start of the switchbacks that would vault me up into the sky.

Immediately, the horn honking, cheering, waving and vigorous thumbs up began. “Bravooo!” Each bit of encouragement made me grin madly and I doubled my efforts.

Traffic was stopped on the road and I cycled past a huge line of vehicles, all cheering me, taking photos and offering water.

There were some tunnels without a gravel side road which I had to sprint through, ending up puffed and a bit dizzy on the other side. I didn’t notice any signifcant effects of altitude as I rode to 3000+m but my heart beat a little harder and my head was a little lighter after particularly vigorous stretches.

At Portillo ski resort I stopped to refuel and meet the robust guard dog.

I climbed still further and passed large volumes of traffic waiting around at customs. I had been in two minds about taking the tunnel at ~3200m or climbing another road of switchbacks to gain a further 600m. In the afternoon, the weather set in with strong winds and rain which made the decision for me.

Traffic control towed a broken-down car behind their truck, and I loaded Felix into the back. We passed through the tunnel to Argentina and shortly after I put on warm clothing and rain gear as the weather deteriorated.

It was all downhill from here. Passport control was a frenzied experience – hundreds of cars irately honking horns and people yelling everywhere. A cycle touring couple from Argentina helped me navigate the chaos and I rode with them for a short time.

I stayed in an old railway station in Punta de los Incas and met an interesting Brazilian guy trying to climb Aconcagua solo (and who had completed parts of a Cairo to Capetown by motorbike).

I started later than intended to allow my roommates to have a sleep in. The day began with fog and clouds, but as I descended, the sun burned them away and the Andes unfolded above and below me.

A tail wind helped me to fly down the road to Uspallata, taking in views of tremendous valleys and hurtling through dark tunnels carved into the mountainside.

The downhill continued after Uspallata, but the change in direction meant that the wind was now coming front on. The cycling was harder, but the scenery remained majestic. Abandoned buildings, huge heights and rouge landscapes that looked like rhubarb crumble.

At 6pm and about 120km I stopped at a lake to recharge and decided to push on to Mendoza, with 65km to get there. After a short climb, the wind turned in my favour again and I hit speeds of 30-40km/h.

As the Andes dissolved down into the pampas, my odometer ticked over 5000km in South America.

I pulled up at a hostel at 9pm, 186km for the day, 360km from Santiago in 3 days. Inside I saw another touring bike and quickly found its owner. He was Brazilian and looked very familiar for some reason. I asked if he had made a bike touring video of Central America set to ‘Teenage Wasteland’ by The Who; he broke into a grin and shook my hand.

André had ridden from Alaska to Mendoza and was en route to Ushuaia – the inverse of my own journey. I watched his video dozens of times before I came to South America; it is not as cinematic as ‘The Thousand Year Journey’ or ‘A Nomad’s Life’ but I think it really captures the feel of cycle touring. Give it a look at https://vimeo.com/129225053.

I rested up in Mendoza, taking my time before I started into the Argentine Pampas. During my stay, there was a pre-season Boca v River match (the two biggest Argentinian teams). It was chaos in the streets, drunk people everywhere, flares and countless police. Groups of fans take over local buses and force them to leave their route and drive to the stadium. A police officer fired his shotgun into the air when a bus driver ran from his bus and tried to attack another fan with a chair.

I was typically hungover when I left Mendoza, and opted for a short day. My map showed a campsite in Rivadavia, about 60-70km, so I headed for it.

It was a pleasant surprise to find that the campsite (and whole park grounds) had been taken over by a three day festival for the town. Other campers invited me over for asado and drinks, I watched live music, hours of choreographed dancing, the crowning of this year’s beauty queen (tears galore) and watched as middle aged women stormed the stage with flowers or to try and hug one musician (who I can only assume is some sort of Latin Neil Diamond).

I tried to help one guy sell his motorbike, but he and his friends quickly found a better game; asking groups of girls if they wanted photos with the tall Australian. We had more success with the second business endeavour.

From here I cycled about 1100km in 9 days. The hot, flat days in the pampas merged together as I rode past field after field of collective farms.

I camped in municipal parks (one time with a pool, one time with free dinner from the caretaker), a local football club, behind petrol stations and was invited into the home of new friends.

Despite the plain scenery, there was an abundance of wildlife.

In General Levalle I had my first TV interview of the trip, my Spanish was probably compromised after a 136km ride in the sun.

In Rufino, I listened to the sounds of young people in the park on a Saturday night, improvising percussion and rapping for hours.

Behind a petrol station near Vedia, I took a hobo shower in a sink while a toad splashed happily near my feet. I thought I might have caught heatstroke when I saw faint lights waving above my tent, but it turned out to just be fireflies.

On the way to Chacabuco, I watched a huge storm blow across the Pampas. Sideways rain, huge wind and cobwebs of lightning broke across the sky. A motorcyclist crashed at traffic lights and I got him and his bike to the side of the road before the police arrived to take over. The storm cleared and I was left with a magnificent rainbow.

On my final night in the Pampas, I planned to camp at another petrol station roughly 100km from Buenos Aires. I got to chatting with one of the staff and he invited me to stay with him and his girlfriend.

Lucas and Jime fed me home cooked pasta, shared beers and shared stories. They have been building an incredible adventure truck and are shortly heading out on their own South American adventure (with Arroyito the pup).

The route to BA was dull highway all day. After more than 100km of this, traffic control decided to rescue me 1km before my exit.

I stayed in Buenos Aires for about one week, my big list of chores left untouched as I was tangled up in a never ending series of parties. Although my dance floor prowess was enough to draw comments from strangers each morning, I did not reach the levels of debauchery of some of the younger lads I met.

There was one guy who woke up in a park, another passed out in the street (with other hostel guests helping him into the recovery position) and one unlucky chap who was punched in the head by a drug dealer (OK though). There was also a young Aussie girl who said she had written off 7 cars in Australia while using her phone.

On my final evening, Damian took me out for dinner in San Telmo. We had met in Casablanca, Chile and he had told me to visit when I made it to BA. While we were driving, conversation turned to the usual ‘which country of South America has the most beautiful women?’

This happened to be unfortunate timing for him because at that exact moment we drove past a 60-ish, overweight woman who was completed naked and dancing in the street.

On my ferry to Colonia, Uruguay there was a significant problem with the engine. They tried twice to bring the ferry up to speed, but each time the whole vessel began to vibrate wildly and there was a huge noise.

They left it in low gear and we inched along to our destination. Colonia is one of those towns that would have been beautiful at one time, but now has the awful reek of tourism. I cycled around the nice old buildings, and avoided the shops selling traditional products and ‘artesanías’.

A storm blew through in the early hours and chilled the air. The day was overcast, cool and perfect for riding. The ride out of town was lined by palms for some distance and I picked up some local cheeses on the side of the road.

I ran into Sam from the UK on the road and we decided to ride together. Late in the day, we took a 15km detour off the highway down to the little town of Kiyu.

First order of business was a swim at the beach before setting up our tents adjacent. Sunset beers were followed by a stroll to a nearby shack of fisherman and we purchased maybe 1.5kg of fish for $6 Australian dollars. We cooked this on an open fire with eggplant.

The heat was back for the ride to Montevideo, but the riding was largely on a road with a shoulder. My first night here was spent in the beautiful hostel terrace, listening to live music under a big tree.

The list of chores that was ignored in Buenos Aires is now underway. Felix is in the shop for beauty treatment and all my belongings are to be cleaned or repaired.

From here I will have a few weeks of coastal riding all the way up into Brazil. The heat is oppressive, but the Atlantic ocean beckons.