After enjoying the hospitality of the Bomberos in Tome and much fresh ceviche, it was time to return to the road and recommence the battle with my troubled tyres.

Shortly out of town, the rear tyre bulged again and I halted to wrap with tape and try to keep the tube inside the sidewall. A few kilometres later there was a leak, and I pulled over again to replace tube and do a better wrap.

This repair held, but was only a temporary solution. At Coelemu there was only one tyre of the correct diameter, but too thin for the load of the touring bike. At Quirihue there were none. I rolled out of town and passed out in a pine plantation for the night.

In the morning, I applied more maintenance and set out for Caquenes. There I found a promising looking bike shop and read ‘For the term of his Natural life’ while waiting for their siesta to end. The plight of Rufus Dawes made my wheel issues seem trifling.

With great fortune and was able to buy a new tyre, tube and rubber cement.

Just out of town, the rear tyre bulged wildly and I endeavoured to replace it with the new tyre. The first tube in the new tyre exploded and I realised that it was too narrow to support the weight on the rear wheel. Switched back to the damaged tyre and wrapped again.

Now I had no more tape, zip ties, hose clamps or spare tubes. Once this wrap failed, this tyre would have to be abandoned.

I pressed onwards as the bulge in the rear tyre reasserted itself with each revolution.

At 75km, I passed over a bridge just as the tube emitted a sad hiss and limply succumbed. I walked the bike down under the bridge and made camp on the sandy banks.

I patched the deflated tube in the evening and hoped that in the morning I could put the new (skinny) tyre on the front and move the other (wider) tyre on the rear.

Morning came and I began to switch the tyres, aware that if they couldn’t handle bike weight or if the tube exploded, I would be hitching.

I cautiously added air, then mounted each wheel and added panniers to the bike. I walked the bike back to the road, sat down and began pedalling. The tyres held.

Further down the road, I stopped at a road stall for water and they gave me a free coffee. Further again, I saw signs for local wine and stopped to indulge.

They gave me liberal samples of the vino tinto and tinto dulce, but the 5 litre bottles were a bit much, so we negotiated a pint.

Soon the Andes came into view, rising abruptly above the vineyards.

When I got back on the highway, I stopped at the Carabineros for water and also received a plate of cold melon. That night’s camp ground boasted both a pen of puppies and free range tarantulas. The tyres had lasted 111km and the stress had passed.

The next day I pulled off the highway at Curico and bought spare tubes, enabling me to feel pretty confident about the wheels again.

Later in Chimbarango, I was slowly rolling through town, when I faded bicycle sign caught my eye and demanded that I explore further.

The shop was a wonderland of vintage road bike parts in glass cases. Faded cycling posters lined the walls along with certificates and old photos of local cycling teams. Two Italian road bikes stood proud (and shiny) along one wall.

Miguel “Maravilla” Martinez is something of a local legend and over drinks and cake, he told me with great enthusiasm about his life. His certificates and medals from the Carabineros, a letter of thanks from Pinochet, a pamphlet from his 1968 bid for local office, newspaper clippings of his marathon runner grandson.

It wasn’t clear whether the bike store was still in operation or was perhaps part museum of his life. Before I left, he pressed his business card into my hand and to call him if I had troubles, because around here he is “como el rey”.

Later that night I camped in the Carabinero compound in El Tambo.

They gave me a bag of stone fruit in the morning, and I set off to join ruta de fruta.

At San Pedro, I was out of cash and the credit card machines were out of order. The store owner took pity on me and gave me a bag of bread and pate on the house. The bomberos filled my water bottles.

It was hot riding, but in the afternoon, the road ran alongside the ocean and a fresh breeze kept me cool.

I camped at El Tabo, and had a rest day on the beach the following day.

It only took one more day on the bike to reach Valparaiso, but there the days blended into eachother as I took a break from the bike.

Drinking and barbecuing in the cobble stone alleyways. Fruit markets in the street. Bike paths to Vina del Mar. Seals basking in the port. Traditional Chilean music and dancing. 4am music in the street with locals.

Oh and there is some street artwork.

When I managed to extricate myself from Valparaiso (it really is a neato city), it was back on the highway towards Santiago.

I stopped for lunch in a plaza in Casablanca; a nice guy from Argentina and his Dad handed me a drink and invited me to stay with them when I arrive in Buenos Aires. Later, I encountered my first tunnel of the trip, a truck driver beeped his horn and gave me a lift through

At Curacavi, I stopped and chatted with the Carabineros, who insisted I take a photo with one of their officers. They couldn’t recommend a place to camp, so I pushed on.

After a couple of hours of unsuccessful searching for a secluded place to camp, I came across Campus San Jose. The students were on vacation and Salvador and family welcomed me into the lush grounds. I had a dormitory to myself and even had a swim in the pool!

It was only 40km to Santiago the next day, but the flat tyre I found that morning was an indicator of things to come. In the relentless heat, I had to repair four flat tyres on the way to Santiago.

I hitchhiked through a second tunnel and took a bike path all the way through Santiago.

Here again, I took some time off the bike to explore and receover. The bicycle was cleaned, new tyres installed (finally!), new chain and new bar tape. I explored the town, celebrated my birthday and caught up on life.

A big thank you to the Ruiz family for stuffing me with food, Diego and Marcelo for showing me around and to Alex for the ride up Cerro San Cristobal.

Less thanks to the person that stole my jacket one night!

Now, time to ride over the Andes.