AT

The start of a solo journey on bicycle from Argentina to Alaska along the pan-american highway

Arrival at Ushuaia, also known as Finisterre, was not the expected frontier into the wild I had somewhat hoped it would be. The remnant of what used was purported to be a unique outpost against the duress of civilization and unforgiving nature is today no more than a template of globalization cast the farthest south it could reach.

I came to Ushuaia in order to begin a long journey from here up until Fairbanks, Alaska-- alone, cycling and with no real time limit. My budget is modest as is my regard to common sense, I will do my best to follow the road north until I strike off country by country, living day by day, adding up the kilometers and experiences. I wanted to start at Ushuaia because it was the the furthest south one could travel over paved road. But in addition to that, I was attracted by the romance of starting an adventure in the footsteps of giants such as Magellan, Darwin and the numerous explorers who had tested their strength against the shores of the unknown.

The capital of the “Great Island” of the Tierra de Fuego, Ushuaia, has a turbid history of loss and misadventure that once focused on the changes brought by western influence. From the Yamana indians’ decimation, to the construction of a brutal penal colony, a large number of shipwrecks and the contentious Falkland war nearby, Magellan’s nomination of the region as “the Land of Fire” was apt.

Today, the breathless beauty of the region is shadowed by enroaching global warming, duly noted by residents. But the beauty yet remains, embodied in the boisterous crowding of the snow capped Andes’ cordillera mountains, welcoming the traveler’s arrival into the cold Summer. Or the calm blue glacial waters of the Beagle channel, meshed between the arm of Navarino island and the city.

In preparation for the challenges I’ll face as I cycle to nearby Tolhuin tomorrow, I went up Martial Mountain, a mere 9km west from the city. Fully loaded with gear and pack, I struggled against the incline of the mountain to reach the top in search of the Martian Glacier. Reaching the top, I was informed that it would be impossible to take the bicycle to the glacier, and reluctantly left behind my bike as I rode up the mountain face on chairlift. I was determined to look past the city in search for what sights I could access without paying a load of money. Unfortunately this meant that I could not see penguins, kayak down the Beagle Channel or go on a yacht and drink until reaching Alaska, like many do.

But once I reached lush forest of warped pines and gurgling rivers, I forgot all about that. It was a strenuous climb upwards, steeper and steeper until I reached loose shale rock, dark clay and rich moss. That was the easy part, next came the bit where I soaked my feet in freezing snow until I would have to use climbing gear to reach the full 1000+ meters. The effort was worth it, though— I was surrounded by silence disturbed only by the sounds of distant rumbling ice melt and an awesome view of the end of the earth.

The base cafe served hot drinks over the soundtrack of Cypress Hill’s Insane in the Membrane— the perfect tune to set the mood as I prepared to careen down the winding mountain roads like a madman.