Ruta 40 and First Wild Camp

Ruta 40, the Legendary highway of Argentina. It parallels the Andes from the top of the nation to the bottom. Seeing a couple glimpses of this highway on earlier trips is what sparked the interest in this 4-month journey. 

We are slowly learning that our GPS, although quite amazing, cannot be completely trusted. It claims to have arrived loaded with campsite locations. Therefore, once again, we hunt around for campsites. We investigate two municipal campsites. It being Saturday night, suddenly we realized our aforementioned puzzlement of empty campsites becomes campsites absolutely full with buses of teenagers and cars with bike racks. Pitched tents are everywhere.  After the booming music and motorbike hell of the previous night we are not interested in getting near this scene.  As the sun sinks we go for broke, selecting a campground called Rio Amarillo Camping Naturaleza (Yellow River Wild Camp) and go for it.

As we pick our way through the city of Chilecito we rise with the terrain until we arrive at a rotunda with signs marked with the campground name pointing the direction up into a beautiful valley.  At the rotunda is a small food stand advertising empanadas for sale.

We are addicted to empanadas, so, we park the truck and approach the stand. There is a tower of speakers near the stand omitting music at an absolutely ear-piercing, distorted volume. We order our empanadas and as we wait for them to be cooked, we walk across the street to a park dedicated to the miners who once worked this valley. 

The people picnicking in the park have music on, too. Since the empanada stand music is so loud they turn their music up so they can hear it.  A car full of drunks comes down from the hills to buy more beer at the empanada stand. Their music is louder than the empanada stand and the picknickers combined.  We collect and pay 100 pesos ($1) for our for empanadas and head for the hills.

As we rise through the switchback hills we see a few campgrounds full of people but not the one advertised. Yellow ribbons hang from the trees, so we assume they must lead the way to the campground. 

Deep in the hills, we finally realized we’ve passed the mysterious campground with no sign of it. It’s getting dark so we find a site just off the road next to a gurgling spring and set up camp for the night. We sleep a quiet peaceful night listening to the spring and nearby Rio Amarillo.  

We wake early and visit the river. As we’re having coffee a couple police motorcyclists come by and warns us of oncoming bicyclists. OK.  As we break camp bicycles start coming. As we pull onto the road the bicyclists become a torrent. 

It’s a major cross country bike race.  The yellow ribbons.  Duh.  We park the truck for about an hour and watch hundreds squeeze by us. It’s a single lane mountain road and it’s a race. We don’t want to be the assholes to make news by taking out a pack of cyclists. 

After picking up some wines, food and a beautifully cooked grilled chicken from a street vendor who lovingly spoons chimichurri onto the bird,  we hit the road, Ruta 40, and drive into the Andes.    

 The cactus on the section of the highway are thick, and they are all full of intense, beautiful blooms.  

We head south. Moving through towering canyons and valleys of multi-colored rock filled with blooming cactus; landscapes of astonishing beauty. 

We like the wild camping.