Rollin' on my rest days

A perk, in my opinion, of my job is that once per month I work 80 hours in 8 days at the observatory, and I earn 6 days of "descanso" (rest days). It's a double perk really, because (1) I value the hands-on, focused observing experience for my job, and (2) I'm learning how to utilize "free time" in a country/continent full of natural beauty to explore.

Ask yourself a question, wherever you are: what is fun to you?  For some 6 days each month, I'm going to be seeking my own answer to this question. (Admittedly, the purpose of rest days is to rest, because shifts can be long and tiring, at strange hours. Rest days prepare us to return to work rejuvenated. So, I'll take rest to mean: rest from work. After sleeping an adequate amount.)

I had a few clues of where and how to find my fun, and they involved my bike, mountains, and being outdoors.  For some time, the idea of bike-packing ("cicloturismo") has been developing in my mind, to the point that the only next step was to give it a try.  I had collected the basic equipment, asked some questions, found some online resources. Once adequately prepared, nature is the best teacher.  

My destination was Cajon de Maipo, a valley (Google translate says "Cajon" means something like drawer, crate, box) south of Santiago.  I have biked (a fair amount) within the Cajon de Maipo, and I have stayed overnight in cabins there a few times (the first time being in 2008 with the Middlebury abroad program), but I've never biked and stayed overnight on the same excursion. For its proximity, familiarity, and connectivity (in an emergency, one could return by bus or even taxi) I chose this as my first step in cicloturismo.

The repurposed Marin Muirwoods, equipped for a new adventure. Prone to tip over, crawl up hills, and fly down them.

The journey began Sunday morning, about 60 kilometers on my fully equipped, reliable Marin.  First, about the bike.  My dad and stepmom gave me this mountain bike for Christmas in high school, probably never imagining that it would inspire and accompany me on so many journeys.  First in Vermont during college, where I learned about "mountain" biking up and down actual mountains, then in Connecticut where I explored the trails in the local parks, and now in Chile.  The Marin Muirwoods was transformed a bit (a lot) at The Devils Gear Bike Shop before leaving for Chile, and now it's what one might call a "gravel grinder", a cross between a mountain bike and road bike -- handles everything.  Recently I found out that an avid "cicloturista" works at the local bike shop here, and he set me up with a rear rack and two awesome panniers.  Ready to begin adventuring.

As I left my apartment, I first noticed that the loaded bike is quite heavy, and it almost tipped out of my control just leaving the building.  First lesson of the excursion, which led me to the related lesson that everything moves rather slowly on a heavy bike, until those charged downhill segments.  But the goal was the journey, not so much any destination, so I took my time and enjoyed the 4ish hours into the Cajon (funny enough, I crossed with a few triathlon friends finishing a training ride, on their slick bikes).

Arrived, phew!

Day 2 I lightened my load, leaving behind the tent, panniers, etc at the campground. I followed one of the secondary roads within the valley, one that leads to a small ski area I didn't know about called Lagunillas.  22 km climbing, I arrived to the ski area with very little water, but knowing that the way back was downhill. Asking for some (potable) water at a (closed) restaurant, the owners who were repairing the place in the offseason generously gave me a glass of water and tauntingly told me that the view from the top of the lift line was incredible. Basically, if I still had any energy, it would be worth it to keep climbing.

The beginning of the climb along the road to Lagunillas. The view of the valley below got better with each turn.

I started riding along the dirt access road, and realized that no, I didn't have so much energy.  But it seemed like a proverb had been spoken to me: when someone gives you a glass of water and tells you that the view above is even better, continue the journey.  So I pushed my bike the rest of the way up.  They told me that continuing along the ridge, the view was even better, but enough was enough.  And certainly, the view I had earned was more than I had expected!

The view from atop Lagunillas. The proverbial ride to the peak. And from here, I could see across to the cordillera where I have experienced some of my favorite hikes, including Cerros Leonera and Pintor.

The ride up (from camp) was more than 3 hours, and the ride down... About 40 minutes. For 22 km. I didn't have to pedal for 22 km. It was glorious. And in that moment, I found an answer to what is fun to me.

Tuesday morning I started early, packed up camp, and headed back into the city. Rejoining the bustling city commute on bike with all my gear was something symbolic and refreshing.  As if I had escaped and returned all by my own (pedal) power, my way.  I suppose I also had the help of some gravity, considering the ride back took a little more than 3 hours (instead of almost 4 on the way out), thanks to the net downhill.

So I consider the trip a success.  I had mostly the right gear, without too much excess (and noting some room for changes/improvement), and I found some moments of pure "fun". I was correct to assume these moments would be found in the company of my bike, and some incredible scenery.  For the next trip(s), I plan to gradually work my way up in distance and duration, exploring more while maintaining the essence of the "journey over the destination," plus some "smiles and miles."

Just contemplating fun, and beauty, and stuff. On a ski bench in the summertime.