Waterfall - Las Claritas - 120 km
Mercifully, the cloudy weather gave relief from the heat as the path continued over
more hills. Arriving at the end of the National Park, the grasslands ended abruptly.
The way climbed up to the high point through thick and dense forest. Reaching the
forest line, the weather came in and it started raining, which lasted for the rest of
the day.
I cycled like a person possessed. I pulled my cap low, and climbed higher and
higher up and over the ridge. While the rain bucketed down, people in passing cars
cheered me on, most likely thinking me quite mad. Once over the high point, the
road descended to the small mining community of Las Claritas. Frozen, and teeth
chattering, I sped downhill and was happy to reach level ground, and even a slight
incline where one could start pedalling to warm up.
I only saw Ernest once at around the 30-kilometre mark, and once in Las Claritas, I
located a guesthouse which turned out a disappointment. The room was pricey, the
shower was cold, and the water ran out. Virtually nothing worked. At least the
power didn’t go off, and one could close the door to ward off the midges. By then, I
was covered in bumps - from my scalp to my toes. Amazingly, I discovered
antihistamine tablets in one of my panniers, which took the edge off the itching.
Places like Las Claritas were novel villages to overnight. The community resembled
something from a Wild West movie. The main thoroughfare was a muddy, potholed
street, where old cars bounced along, spewing black fumes, and where barbers did
business under rickety, corrugated shelters. The entire road was a tad of a
shantytown where each man and his dog had a leaking shop, selling anything from
toilet paper to sweets.
Ernest, again, had bike problems, highly likely due to his overloaded bicycle, and
needed to do maintenance. We, consequently, had to stay yet one more day.