Saturday 13th March, 1971

The next day, the weather is perfect. The metal roads are good all the way into the foothills of the Andes. I see lots of greenery and trees, many with a yellow-orange bark. I pass log cabins and beautiful scenery.

The mountains here go up to 6,000 feet. The roads start to get rough and narrow, and I get a few punctures—always in the rear, never the front.

I’m starting to see the occasional tourist now; it goes with the scenery here. I’m heading past Lake Futalaufquen in the Los Alerces National Park.

I leave the park and travel rough roads to Esquel and El Bolson. When I stop on the roadside at a very scenic viewpoint of lake and mountains, some extremely large flies buzz around me.

A German couple pulls up and warns me, “Zey are horse flies, and if zey bite you, you can die.”

Thanks. I ride on, and join some other tourists I had seen on the road in an open campground near San Carlos de Bariloche.

The cost of fixing punctures and buying a road map, beer, and food totals 1,200 pesos ($3).