From Alcantara, we began our long and fated trek eastward. A little bit of geography: Santiago is located in Chile's central valley, at an elevation of 520 m. The Andes Mountains rise up directly to the east, reaching altitudes of 4000 m or higher. Our goal was to reach a park about halfway up the mountain to look around and enjoy the sights. As it turns out, we grossly underestimated both the horizontal and the vertical distances we would have to travel to get there, but as you'll soon find out, it didn't matter.
The first leg of the trip was a relatively easy ride through the eastern half of Santiago, along Avenida Apoquindo and Avenida Las Condes. The sun was low, the air was crisp, and life felt good. Naturally, things changed once we got to the edge of the city. In retrospect, I suppose it was somewhat silly of me to expect mountain biking to be no harder than urban biking, but what did I know at the time? I'm a city dweller at heart.
Reality soon hit me as I struggled to figure out gear ratios and tackle 35+ degree hills while avoiding speeding cars that came out of nowhere. We pushed on, of course. Some hills were doable; others, unfortunately and embarassingly, required walking. By far the best parts of the afternoon were the lunches. Yes, lunchES. We had thrown together three monster ham/turkey/salami wraps the night before, and they were the only things that kept us going forward. We actually ended up getting pretty far on our bikes--almost thirty kilometers, in fact.
Then my bike broke. I have no idea how it happened. I was pedaling up a particularly nefarious hill when suddenly I heard a crack, and subsequently, the grating noise of metal against metal. Apparently, a centimeter-thick piece of solid steel had just snapped in half, leaving the rear gear train dangling on the chain like a demented pendulum. Our repair kit was, of course, useless, but since it was still early, we decided to lock up the bikes and hike up the mountain on foot while searching for a phone to call Peter.
It was our lucky day... Sort of. The first car that pulled over for us was a pick-up truck with five happy-go-lucky (read: high on pot) college students on a day snowboarding trip. They offered to put our bikes in the cargo bed and drive us up to the ski resort, then back down to the city when they were done. Not wanting to pass up such a surreal experience, we accepted the offer, though they told us that we'd have to sit in the bed along with the bikes during the entire drive. A word of advice to anybody who decides to hitchhike on a truck full of faded college students: Hold on to something. Tightly.
Fortunately, we survived the cold, curvy drive up the mountain and arrived at the ski resort, where the guys wasted no time asking around for used lift tickets so that they wouldn't have to buy their own. They managed to get their hands on two, and after making sure that Joey and I were safe and sound in the lodge, went to carve the mountain up. In the lodge, we ate our last lunch, drank hot chocolate, and ordered some heavenly crepes (raspberry for me, Nutella for Joey). At 5:30 pm, as the sun started setting and the lifts stopped operating, we met back up with them at the truck, where they informed us that they had been caught using used tickets. It didn't seem to affect their spirits at all though. We hopped back in the truck and started down the mountain.
Was our adventure finished? Of course not. A quarter of the way down the mountain, the guys decided that they had to stop the truck in the middle of the road, take photos of the sunset, and blaze up some more. They also offered us hits and asked us if we wanted to party with them that night. Tempted though I was, I had to turn down both invitations. (Please note the sarcasm.) After some lounging around, we started driving again, this time even more cautiously than I had hoped for. Either the driver felt obligated to make us feel safe, or pot really did heighten his judgment like he claimed. In any case, we soon arrived at the edge of the city, where they dropped us off and gave us their email addresses for photos. I almost felt sad saying goodbye.
Since the rest of the trip was downhill, it didn't matter that my bike was broken. We coasted down the main avenue all the way to Alcantara, where we dropped the bikes off, picked up Joey's passport, and took public transport all the way back home. Then I promptly knocked out.
Google Map view of Santiago, our bike route, and the Andes. Note that we got well past the halfway mark between the city and the snow.-----
Now that I think about it, experiences like the aforementioned are what make studying abroad worth the money and effort. When else will I ever have the opportunity to bike up a kilometer of snow-capped mountains, only to find myself at the mercy of a bunch of local college students who find my nationality and ethnicity reasons enough to ask questions and crack jokes nonstop? Five years from now, I doubt I'll remember what I learn in class here, but I will never forget the hilarity of almost falling off the back of a speeding truck or the absurdity of starting the day on bike in the middle of Santiago and ending it in a lodge on top of the Andes. I can only hope for comparable adventures during the two weeks I have left.
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