Golden sunlight filtered through the morning fog as 166 racers gathered at the foot of the Andes in the small Chilean town of Coyhaique. This is Across Andes – a 1,000 km (595 mile) self-supported gravel race that weaves through Chile’s diverse landscapes. The 2024 route spotlighted the fjords, rainforests and dry high altitude grasslands of Northern Patagonia. A small group of locals and supporters sat in the town plaza, periodically refilling their Yerba Mate gourds from thermoses of water while they waited to see us off. I had traveled to Patagonia from my home in Seattle, initially drawn by pretty pictures of the route from Instagram. But heading into an unfamiliar mountain range on the longest race I have done yet offered another, more tantalizing opportunity: A fresh opportunity to demonstrate the person I believe myself to be. I didn’t know what challenges I would face over the next 595 miles, but I resolved to meet them with determination, curiosity, and an interest in learning more about the Patagonian wilds and the people who live there.
Despite being in a foreign country, the feeling of calm on the start line was familiar. After months of preparation, there was nothing to do now except ride! Most of my kit was also familiar to me. The Otso Waheela C had already carried me thousands of miles in 2024, from cyclocross races, to forest roads and bike packing events. I dialed in the build for 595 miles in the Andes with a 10-50 tooth mountain bike cassette in the rear and a HiFi Cycling dynamo wheel for long nights in the mountains. A custom LOAM Equipment dry bag under the aero bars held layers and layers of clothes I could recombine to face the huge variety of weather that the Patagonian spring can dream up. Other than that I packed light, carrying just an emergency bivvy and counting on a modest cabana we would pass at mile 261 and 431 of the course for rest.
The first 100 miles of the course presented the clearest physical challenges, but with fresh legs and stunning scenery it was easy to tackle them with a smile. These are the kind of challenges you can see on a course map and prepare for: a jagged sawtooth climb that began as soon as we left the town of Coyhaique, climbing a total of 9,200 feet to the Argentine border, with few opportunities to resupply or filter water. The highest point of the route was at mile 100, before plummeting down through Checkpoint 1 at mile 115.
Other challenges stemmed from the unique geography and climate of Patagonia. Coyhaique is nestled in a valley with fairly temperate weather. Giant rock faces buffer the valley from Pacific rain storms from the west and the winds of the dry Argentine grasslands, known as the Pampas, to the east. As we climbed out of the quaint little valley drenched in fragrant purple lupine flowers, sheep farms and forests of wizened pine and Araucaria trees gave way to giant swooping hillsides covered in dry golden grass and the occasional llama.
In the valleys, farm houses and trees provided a reference point for the tremendous scale of the mountains around us, but in the open Pampas it was nearly impossible to guess how long the slope in front of me lasted. I reached the high point of the route around 3pm, but I only had a few moments to revel in surmounting my first challenge. As I turned the corner and a blast of wind hit me in the face – what looked like a rip-roaring descent turned out to require carefully navigating gusts of winds over 30 mph that alternately pushed me against the cliffs to the side of the road or hit me so hard in the face that my cheeks blew open like a windsock. The pampas landscape clearly showed the power of the wind. In the valley below me, I could see huge piles of dirt blown up against rock chimneys and buttes that had been scoured bare by the wind. Falcons played in the gusts high above but no other life was present except a few little dots of cyclists far in the valley below.
I caught up with a few other racers in this section. It was incredibly tempting to stick together to battle the wind a little bit more efficiently. As with many ultra endurance events, the Across Andes definition of ‘self supported’ disallowed any drafting. The first checkpoint was at Estancia Ñireguao, a historic farm nestled out of the wind. The Pastoral scene was in stark contrast to the cliffs of the pampas. A few young kids cuddled with puppies in the green yard, their mothers watched them two little stands selling sandwiches and snacks. A few cyclists lay resting in the grass or leaned up against the weather barn with huge sandwiches. I only realized once a gaggle of photographers ran up to me that I was the first woman to pass through the checkpoint! Loading up on food, I was very happy to acquire four sandwiches filled with caramelized onions, mayonnaise, and any other vegetarian toppings that were available to break up the monotony of gels and gummies. I strapped three sandwiches to the top of my aero bars and headed out to face the wind again.
As the bumpy road wound further into the mountains and out of the wind, the Pampas gave way to scrubby pines and more lupine. Descending a rough stretch of road my bungee snapped through one of my precious sandwiches and sprayed caramelized onions and mayonnaise all over my bike and I, leaving onions caked on my frame for the rest of the race. At mile 145, I turned on to the Carretera Austral – the partially paved road that provides the only connection to the little villages in northern Patagonia. I was making good time on the paved road, but as I refilled water in the home of an incredibly welcoming family in Villa Amengual around 10pm a woman shared ‘There is nothing between here and Puyuhuapi (55 miles ahead) but mountains and rain’. There were still 80 miles between me and the cabana where I planned to get a few hours of sleep, and my mind obsessively questioned whether I had been overly ambitious in planning to ride 260 miles through the Andes before resting.
A group of three cyclists coalesced as we headed into Parque Nacional Queulat. We updated each other on our slow approach to Cuesta Queulat in a broken mix of Spanish, English, and Portuguese. The steep switchbacks of Cuesta Queulat climbed 1500 ft in just 4 miles, a clear landmark even in the pitch dark. My company fell away as we started climbing up the switchbacks. In the dark forest, anything behind you disappears immediately around the next hairpin turn. On the other side of the climb, the temperatures dropped quickly as I descended towards the Pacific fjords.
I finally made it into the gas station at La Junta, the little town where I had found a place to rest, around 4 am, in sixth place. Four of the men in front of me had recently arrived at the gas station and were groggily fiddling with their rain gear and stuffing food into their bags with numb hands. Almost as soon as I stopped I started shaking uncontrollably – hypothermia was a real possibility and It was a huge relief to have a place inside to sleep! I dragged my muddy body under the covers with two gas station sandwiches and looked at the GPS leaderboard for the first time – Cynthia Carson, the second place woman, was 80 miles behind me. She is incredibly strong, and thrives with minimal sleep, so I knew I would lose my lead if I slept for more than two hours. I set an alarm and dozed off with a half eaten sandwich in my hand.
When I woke up there was a weak grey light filter in the windows and the dogs barking outside were almost drowned out by morning birdsong. I chugged two cokes and choked down some gas station muffins still huddled in the covers. Breakfast of champions! I yanked on layers of dirty wet spandex and started my day. It rains 11 to 13 FEET a year in the fjords of Patagonia. When I looked this up from my couch it was described as ‘lush’, but 300 miles into the ride it was honestly quite dreary. The 80 mile out and back to check point two looked flat when you viewed the elevation for the full course, but it was actually a series of jagged little climbs. Road construction and the constant rain made some sections muddy and slow going. I did my best to focus on the things around me and find some beauty or at least distraction in them – the giant nalca leaves up to 6 feet across that hemmed in the road, the mystique of peaks peaking out behind the clouds, and two tiny little ‘pudu’ deer that ran across the road. On the way back, I past Cynthia – she was now just 30 miles behind me.
The route passed through La Junta again before climbing up 4,300 feet to Checkpoint 3. During the steep ascent, rain slowed just enough for puddles to coalesce into mud and splatter all over me. As I was climbing, my bike computer froze and I was stuck staring at a screen showing me tantalizingly close to the top of one of the route’s 127 climbs. As I ascended the rainforest began to fall away, and the course ran through drier mountain farms. Tiny little homesteads and slap shod barns peeked out behind giant boulders. Vertical rock cliffs framed the rocky fields. And finally, the rain stopped!
Checkpoint 3 was in the gym of the tiny town Lago Verde. In the center a group of cyclists huddled around the most amazing portable heater that blasted hot air, drying even the soggiest of socks. Local abuelas had set up a line of tables and were selling huge plates of pasta, vegetarian burgers, and stacks and stacks of homemade cookies and cakes. After a meal and a huddle around the wonderful heater, I headed back down the mountain. The clouds had lifted and my Waheela navigated the potholes and ruts smoothly, allowing me to take in the beauty of the setting sun glancing off alpine lakes and cliffs during my descent.
I leapfrogged with Rama from Australia on the way down, and we shared happy remarks about the amazing scenery. With a positive outlook and just a few rays of sunshine, the next 200 miles, which were largely paved, seemed easily surmountable! We went through La Junta for a third and final time. I dashed into the same room just as it started to pour and slept fitfully for an hour, and then checked the gps tracker. I was relieved to see that Cynthia had stopped to nap at Checkpoint 3. I slept deeply for another hour before heading into the dark early morning drizzle, maintaining just a 20 mile lead over Cynthia.
After buying a half dozen more candy bars at the COPEC gas station and leaving the incessantly barking dogs of La Junta behind, I was alone with nothing but my thoughts. Finally, my computer restarted – then flashed a message that my third and final spare derailleur battery was low, and I had no charger for it. My mind was spinning trying to think of how to carefully mete out the remaining charge for the next 150 miles. The climbs were rolling and the roads smooth as the route wound around the Puyuhuapi fjord, so it was easy to avoid shifting and soak in the views that I had passed in the dark on my way there. When I reached the stacked switchbacks of the Cuesta Queulat I stood out of the saddle and forced the pedals around for as long as possible before shifting down again, obsessing over every click. Then my Garmin died again, and refused to respond to charging or any combination of buttons.
I was able to use my back up navigation on my watch for a while – but that died before the finish as well and I hadn’t brought the specialized cord I needed to charge it. With no way to anticipate the next climb or check the other racers’ positions, it was truly an unsupported race. I powered on as there were no turns until we were back in Coyhaique, almost 150 miles away and long stretches of the Carretera Austral don’t intersect with so much as a jeep track.
I tried to focus on the fields of wildflowers that filled the wide valley left by Rio Mañihuales but my sleep deprived mind cycled between obsessing over the slow failure of all of my electronic devices and trying to guess how much further I had to go. I didn’t see any of the Across Andes media cars or another cyclist for almost 100 miles. Suddenly, Leo from Brazil turned the corner in a tiny little Fiat Uno that had miraculously made it over the Andes. He jumped out of the car to cheer me on. I tried to explain all the troubles I was having but (probably for the best) my complaints got lost in translation. He responded with even louder cheers, pulling out his camera and narrating how fast I was going even as he easily jogged alongside my bike. Leo’s energy carried me through to the next resupply. I filled my pockets with candy bars and pulled out my phone to check the distance remaining.
I had just 80 miles till the finish, and only had to remember two turns after getting back into Coyhaique. There was just one 3,000 ft climb remaining, which topped off ten miles from the finish. I was trying to keep track of the distance by the landscape, but each time I thought I had reached the top there seemed to be one more little kicker. The racer who had been in seventh place passed me on the umpteenth false summit. I managed to hold back tears from my sore knees and strained mental limits until he was over the crest of the next hill.
The descent into town was hardly the relief I was waiting for. The busy gravel road was wide enough for four lanes of traffic, with alternating stretches of painful washboards and deep gravel. Six miles from the finish I finally hit pavement and I started crying again, this time from joy. I could see the Rio Simpson valley and the outskirts of Coyhaique spread out below. Coasting in to town, gingerly trying to balance myself on the bike to avoid saddle sores and tender joints, I managed to miss one of the two turns I had to remember. The racer who had been in eighth place passed me and I realized my mistake, and was able to follow him to the finish.
A small group gathered and cheered me in – my now fiancé with a huge bouquet of white roses and champagne, the race organizers Paulina and Mariano, and few other racers unsure of what to do with themselves now that they had finally gotten off their bikes. All of the struggles from the last 595 miles seemed to melt away and I was filled with gratitude for my body, the 2 days, 13 hours and 34 minutes spent in such an awe inspiring landscape, and of course for my final derailleur battery hanging on almost to the end of the race!
