8 Feb 2020
Another lazy start. Two local guys offered me some mate tea this morning, which I gratefully accepted. Then I just couldn’t pull myself from the view. I sat by the lake shore for ages, just gazing at the mountains. Eventually I pulled myself away, and packed up. I left the campsite around midday. I had to ride up a steep slope to get to the road, and thought at one point I was going to come off the bike. The road was bizarre, a mix of nice flat bits, interspersed with sections of loose gravel, rocky bits, stretches of washboard.
Scenery was lakes, mountains, pine trees. Scotland on steroids, with dirt roads. I checked out a couple of the paid campsites, just out of interest. None of them had a patch on the free one I had stayed in.
The weather was nice, some clouds around, but I had sunshine most of the way through the park. Shortly after leaving the park, I spotted a Himalayan beside the road. I stopped, and was even more surprised when the owner turned out to be a fellow Brit. What are the chances of that, on an obscure dirt road in Argentina?
Jack (Britonabike) was on his way to El Bolsón, so we rode together to Epuyen, from where I was then heading to Lago Puelo, on the recommendation of a couple I had met in the campsite on Lago Futalaufquen. It was a nice ride. Shortly before Epuyen, we rejoined Ruta 40, and tarmac. We on the edge of Epuyen at a restaurant, where a group of bikers on street bikes were sitting outside eating. For the first time on the trip, bikers completely ignored me. Jack had some accomodation booked at El Bolson, so wanted to carry on immediately. I needed petrol. After saying goodbye to Jack, I headed into the village to find a gas station. It took me a while to find it, and turned out to be back near where I had said goodbye to Jack. I called Jackie, grabbed a coffee, and then set out to Lago Puelo. 
Not all recommendations work out. Lago Puelo was a tourist trap. There was a lot of traffic, and lots of people wandering around eating ice cream. iOverlander recommended a campsite near the lake. It cost 450 pesos, very expensive imo. It’s a bit like like Butlins; you have to wear a wristband. Just outside the campsite, about 500 cars were parked, so I knew it wasn’t going to be a nice little remote camp. At least it had a sign saying no music after midnight. The campsite was huge, so I rode around a while looking for a quiet spot. The vast majority of people seemed to be camping nearer the entrance, where there were picnic tables and barbecue pits dotted around under the trees. It was quieter towards the lake. I found a secluded spot under some trees, with an electrical hookup. An Argentinian guy and his Columbian girlfriend were my neighbours, and invited me for a coffee. After a chat and excellent coffee, I set up my tent. I was 50 metres from the lake shore, but couldn’t see it due to a line of tall trees. Just as well, because when I took a walk, I discovered that, although the beach was very beautiful, it was jam-packed with people. I should have learned my lesson by now. Avoid public campsites in Argentina on the weekends. I went for a shower, and on the way back met two bikers from Rosario, Jesus and Joaquin. They invited me to come back later for homemade pizza, cooked over a campfire.
I got the drone out, and flew it above the trees to get a bit of footage of the lake. Then I took a walk down to the shore, on a path through a gate with a sign saying the gate shut at sunset. Back at the tent, I picked up the litre of cheap wine I had bought on the way here, and joined Jesus and Joaquin for pizza. The food was excellent, and they were great company. We chatted about our respective journeys, swapping funny stories from the road. I told them about the incident with the Malvinas veteran at San Antionio de los Cobres, which they found really amusing, though then apologised for the guys behaviour. I said it was the only time I’d had any hassle for being English, but that I also sometimes told people I was South African. We drank my wine and several beers, talking in a mixture of bad English I my even worse Spanish. I told them that one of the phrases that I kept remembering was “Yo bebe leche”, which means “I drink milk”. They thought this was hilarious, and suggested I kept it to myself. They told me they did two long trips every year, and also did camping trips with their wives regularly. They invited me to come and stay with them if I passed Rosarion on the way back to Buenos Aires, but it was unlikely I’d be going that way. I told them I was heading to Lago Roca, and they told me that the road was really bad. They’d been down it a bit before deciding it would wreck their bikes. I would see tomorrow.
Back at my tent, some of the typical Saturday night Argentine camping fraternity also turned up, one lot in a truck blasting the dreadful Argentinian disco/salsa music that seems so popular. Unfortunately, for this subsection of the camping fraternity, playing really crap music really loud all night is how you enjoy the countryside. They were still at it at 1am. So much for the sign saying no music after midnight. Eventually, I fell asleep to the strains of Ricky Martin singing La Vida Loca.
Another fairly short day or riding: 130km
