Plans, And The Lack Thereof

The paved road toward the beach winds along the river toward its union with the Pacific.  From there we would turn north along dirt roads which follows the coast until we found our own little piece of beach to camp and watch the sunset over the water.  At least that was the plan.

It turns out that everyone -- everyone -- goes to the coast after New Year's Day.  The winding road was a nightmare of traffic with little room for both bike and car.  Fortunately, most of the traffic was westbound and Chileans don't seem to mind driving down the middle of the road.  We stopped for empanadas and what has become our ritual beer-at-lunch in Los Molenas, a small town where the road turns from west to north and from paved to dirt.  Facing west with a view of the water, we watched the steady stream of car traffic turn up the steep dirt road that followed the coast.

"We should wait for a break in traffic," I said.  And we ordered another round of empanadas and beer.

The traffic kept coming as if all of inland Chile was piling onto the beach outside of Valdivia.  With resignation I said, "I suppose we should head out," just as another round of beers arrived.  I looked quizzically at the waiter, but he didn't look up.  Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I sat back down and resumed my study of the horizon.

It was getting late in the afternoon and the traffic had not let up in the slightest.  If anything it was getting more rowdy if the stereos and shouting from the passing cars was any indication.  We looked at the steep, dusty climb out of town.

"We're not camping on the beach tonight, are we?"

"Doesn't seem like it," said Tony as another mystery round of food and beer arrived.

I found out later that Tony was signaling the waiter when I wasn't looking.  10,000 Chilean pesos later (about US $20 at the time), we had transitioned from lunch to dinner but hadn't moved.  As the sun started to set, we realized that we did, at some point, need to get up and find a campsite.  Riding into town, we'd spotted an outcropping two km back.  It seemed like there might be enough room to set up a guerrilla campsite out of view of the road.

While the steady flow of traffic to the beach never slowed, we lucked into a campsite 500 feet up a cliff from the mouth of the river with a spectacular view of the ocean.  And no neighbors with car stereos.  Sometimes it pays to not follow the plan.