The Carretera Austral is a 1247-kilometer-long road in Chilean Patagonia that takes a cyclist through stunning scenery of snow- and glacier-covered mountains, roaring rivers, exotic vegetation, and a culture markedly different from the rest of Chile. It may have been the best bicycle trip I have ever taken.

The Carretera Austral is now described in extensive depth by Bradt’s Chile: The Carretera Austral , an extremely well-written guide on the region that encompasses the tourist amenities and wealth of sightseeing as well as the fascinating history of the communities along the road. It treats touring cyclists (and hitchhikers too) on an equal level to motor-vehicle overlanders. So, I will not duplicate the effort here of listing every one of my stops along the way, all the hotels and restaurants, etc. Instead, I will present here some aspects of the Carretera Austral that I was unprepared for and discovered along the way, illustrated with just some of the incredible panoramic views I enjoyed.

Not quite a straightforward north–south route

I was under the initial impression that the Carretera Austral would bring me from the temperate climes of central Chile steadily towards the chill of the southern end of the continent, as well as from more densely populated regions towards less and less sign of civilization.

In fact, things do not change so smoothly and in such a single direction. In terms of human habitation, the northern half of the Carretera Austral may seem a bit isolated, but then one hits the big urban conglomeration of Puerto Aysén and Coyhaique with its tens of thousands of inhabitants, big supermarkets, high-speed internet, and heavy traffic. This sudden return to civilization repeats, albeit to a much lesser degree, in Cochrane. One of the most interesting things about cycling the Carretera Austral is that a traveler can get a good sense of why this is the case, why the landscape allowed settlers to easily pass to the central Carretera Austral by sea from Chiloé or across the mountains from Argentina already in the late 19th/early 20th century, but the wild subtropical rainforest further north in Puyuhuapi meant that the first hardy pioneers arrived there only later in 1933.

The weather also varied wildly in unexpected ways. Futaleufú where I started Chilean Patagonia was some hot and oppressive pedaling. Then, a bit further south I hit a rainy, overcast climate in Puyuhuapi and the Río Ibáñez valley which meant numb fingers on the bike and shivering nights in the tent. Yet, as I was pedaling towards Villa O’Higgins along the very last 100 km of the Carretera Austral, temperatures had soared to 35°C — which also brought a plague of tábanos, Patagonia’s biting horseflies.

Incidentally, crossing from the end of the Carretera Austral at Villa O’Higgins to Argentinian Patagonia only continued this trend. Though Argentina’s El Chaltén and El Calafate are even further south than anything on the Carretera Austral and only a stone’s throw from Tierra del Fuego, they are big towns with tens of thousands of people and even traffic jams, all because the flat, dry steppe of Argentinian Patagonia allowed building roads and ushering in settlement at an earlier date than in Chilean Patagonia. The Argentinian towns are also crowded with conventional backpackers and big tour buses, while the Carretera Austral remains a niche destination mainly for those with their own transportation or willing to hitchhike.

The hardest part

The Carretera Austral was overall an exhilarating experience and I will treasure fond memories of it for life. It occasionally brings challenges to endure, however: bumpy gravel once the paved road runs out, rain and wind, and not always a hot meal and a bed when you want it.

There is one stretch of the Carretera Austral that hit me with all that at once. This was the two full days between Villa Cerro Castillo and Puerto Río Tranquilo. Leaving Villa Cerro Castillo, the road turns northwest, which in this part of the world means a headwind, and indeed a particularly brutal one. This is the first time that the wind is ever a factor in Chilean Patagonia, and it slaps you around so forcefully that I and other cyclists struggled to stay upright on the bike.

Once one turns a corner and finally gets out of that wind, the paved surface ends and from here the Carretera Austral is all gravel all the way to the end. It is initially poor-quality gravel at that, with a washboard texture from rampant heavy-goods-vehicle traffic and coarse stones.

Then the rain starts. The Río Ibáñez and Río Murta valleys are said to be among Patagonia’s rainiest, and there is a good chance that a cyclist will be going this way with soaking-wet clothing on a road that has turned muddy and makes the bike filthy.

Adding to this discomfort, there are no services or accommodation for those two days between Villa Cerro Castillo and about 25 km north of Puerto Río Tranquilo, supposedly because of an active volcano located nearby that discourages people from settling here. The only shelter from the rain are a few ramshackle wooden huts that can be found on the iOverlander app. You might huddle under one of these shelters for a while to get warm, but they are strewn with rubbish inside and might pose a hantavirus risk. So, you will have to camp outside them for the night, and that probably means packing a soaking wet tent in the morning.

My spirits were low on the morning that I was finally nearing Puerto Río Tranquilo. However, I was overjoyed to pass La Casona, the first food and accommodation available after the long gap. A room and a delectably hot shower here was a steal at 8,000 Chilean pesos (around 10€); comparable establishments on the Carretera Austral charge double. The food was excellent as well, and as I ate I could gaze out the window, spot other cyclists passing by, and laugh at the sudden look of elation that appeared on their faces as they too realized they had reached civilization at last.

The camaraderie

During the December–February high season, the Carretera Austral is crowded with other cyclists. While you won’t necessarily pass many of them on the road because people tend to set out during the day at staggered times, in the evenings the campgrounds are full of fellow travelers on bikes.

For the first half of the Carretera Austral, the huge amount of cyclists did not necessarily mean lots of socializing. On this portion, so many of the cyclists are pairs or larger groups of Chileans. These locals do not necessarily identify as “touring cyclists”, because they are only doing this one summer adventure, and they might not be interested in interacting with other travelers.

Most of these casual cyclists disappeared after Coyhaique, apparently unwilling to venture into the wilder southern half of the Carretera Austral where the road becomes unpaved. The slightly reduced numbers of cyclists on the southern half meant that those hardy souls still on the road (a tribe now dominated by Europeans or North Americans passionate about bicycle touring) felt a tighter bond. It was from Coyhaique south that I personally became acquainted with a circle of other cyclists that I saw from one day to another, occasionally rode with, and we shared laughter and camaraderie.

The expense

While costs can be minimized by traveling with a tent and a stove, the Carretera Austral is not a particularly cheap destination. Wild camping is occasionally possible, and some spots with amazing views can be found on the iOverlander app. However, cyclists who arrive near a town in the evening are likely to be forced to pay for accommodation in the form of at least a campground (in the 2018/2019 season, the price to camp was almost always 5,000 Chilean pesos, about 7€). This is because Chilean landowners zealously fence off their land, and so unlike in Europe or Central Asia a cyclist cannot always simply pull off the road, camp for free, and then pass through the nearby town for breakfast and shopping in the morning.

Staple foods also become increasingly costly. By the time one reaches the Caleta Tortel–Puerto Yungay–Villa O’Higgins region, all the goods in the shops are brought by ship from Punta Arenas (and in the case of Villa O’Higgins, 100 km further by truck over the rough road). Chile’s southernmost city of Punta Arenas is already known as expensive, and naturally things get even more expensive when they are hauled here.

I found myself spending roughly 20–30€/day. The low end of that spectrum came on days when I was camping and mainly cooking for myself, but when I arrived in a good-sized town it felt good to splurge on a restaurant meal, as well as to explore the fine craft beers of this region with a microbrewery in nearly every town.

A wealth of further possibilities

Take my advice: everyone should do the Carretera Austral at least once. The traditional route starting from Chaiten or Futaleufú is accessible to almost any cyclist with decently thick tires and camping gear.

Yet once you have been down the road according to the most traditional itinerary, you might well be dreaming of coming back to the region again. I know I am. The Carretera Austral offers several alternative entry and exit points. Why not arrive on the Carretera Austral via the ferry from Chiloé to Puerto Aysén? Or you could leave the Carretera Austral on the infrequent Caleta Tortel–Puerto Natales ferry that passes through the southernmost fjords and stops at Chile’s most isolated settlement Puerto Edén. When setting out from Coyhaique another time round, a cyclist could take the unpaved road through the Río Simpson valley instead of the paved road, and similarly there is an alternative road coming towards Cochrane from the north.

The magic of the Carretera Austral is that it is not just one of the world’s great road trips, it is a whole world in itself where a cyclist can plan several of the world’s greatest road trips time after time.