3/17/20 – 3/21/20 All day gravel. We didn’t feel like riding, but we didn’t feel like staying in Futaleufú. It was overpriced and the uncertainty was causing the Europeans in the hostels to smoke at an uncontrollable rate. Tried to thumb it as trucks passed, but no luck. Road was much better than expected though.
3/14_20 – 3/16/20 We awoke in El Bolsón on the fourteenth of March. It was cold and made me nervous for the coming weeks. Peaks, not too tall, yet covered in snow from an overnight storm. The sun crept over them, hit the grass, vaporizing the dew to shroud us in a cool damp haze.
3/4/20 – 3/13/20 After a day of stretching my knee on Lake Nahuel Huapi, it was a day’s ride to Bariloche, a Bavarian settlement and tourist mecca on the south side of the lake. We stayed with a man named Coco who had a cozy home overlooking the water. Beyond getting a Cortisone injection and
2/17/20 – 3/3/20 The winds were above fifty kilometers per hour the morning we left for Chos Malal. With my knee throbbing and Soph’s general lack of interest in having sand storms weather away her hard earned tan, we pulled off and stuck our thumbs out. We were quickly offered a ride by a gentleman