What I Learned While Cycling Through Patagonia

How pedaling into the unknown helped me trust what’s ahead in life.

There’s a certain silence in Patagonia that can crack you open. It’s not just the wide open spaces or, the wind-swept steppes or, the sharp peaks of the Andes rising behind turquoise lakes. It’s the way the land leaves you alone with your thoughts.

And out there, on a bicycle, every thought eventually rises to the surface.

When we started our Patagonia cycle tour, I had no idea what I was really doing. Yes, I had trained. Yes, I had my gear. I had read the blogs and marked the maps. But none of that prepared me for what I really had to do.

This wasn’t just a bike tour. It was the next chapter after a life I'd spent building something else entirely.

We had sold our farm and packed up our belongings and put them in storage. I let go of the pieces of a life I had known and loved for decades. Some days I felt brave. Others, I felt completely untethered. Gone was the routine and safe surroundings. The house and property we loved and cared for for thirty years.

Now, I was going to live out of a pannier and a tent in a different country.

Gone were the fresh towels, sheets and familiar routine.

Our first night was spent in an abandoned cabin on a beautiful glacial lake. Getting to the lake was interesting. There was a path. However it was during spring run off and we had to bike through snow, slush and freezing cold snow melt to get there.

Once set up with a roof over our head we set up our camp in the cabin. We had put down the drop sheet then our sleeping pads, bags, blanket, and even wore our down filled jackets to sleep in!

This is when I really felt out of my element. I am an experienced hiker, seasoned outdoorsman/person. We had routinely done back-country camping and hiking including up Mount Washington. But this was different. There was no calling a friend. No “we’ll be home in a couple of weeks”. This was it. This was the new way of life and there was no safety net.

The First Few Days

The first days were full of static in my mind.
“What the H - E double hockey sticks am I doing?”
“What if I’m not strong enough?”
“Who am I if I’m not who I used to be?”

There may have been some tears. But there was a kind of clarity that came with that discomfort. At the beginning of our trip I didn’t know where we were going. Sure, on the map I could see we were going from point A to point B. But what was the reason?

I pedalled and pushed against the relentless Patagonian head wind. Slept on the floor of the customs office, abandoned cabin, campsites and even an abandoned Police station.

Then there was a turning point about 2 weeks into our trip. Something shifted. Something lifted. I realized or accepted,

Or,

Dealt with the realization that I had to let go of the schedule. I couldn’t control things.

When you’re out there, beyond tired, hungry, and unsure of where the next meal or place to lay your head will be. You stop worrying. You stop trying to plan five steps ahead. You deal with the moment you’re in. Like the day we were riding along and had to ride our bikes through a herd of Hereford bulls.

The turning point for me, was The Abandoned Hotel outside of Puerto Natales. We pitched our tent inside the abandoned hotel to retreat from the wind. It was comfortable.

During the night I had to pee and made my way through the derelict doorways and leaves to find a quiet place outside to “do my business”. When I stepped outside the stars were spectacular. It was quiet and all I heard was the quiet content munching of sheep grazing. The hotel was surrounded by sheep.

And that, strangely enough, is where the peace started to grow. I felt safe. And I felt like I was going to be okay. I didn’t need the tour guide, the super insta-post, or the approval of anyone. I was doing this for me.

Letting Go of Control

Patagonia taught me to let go.
Of plans.
Of certainty.
Of needing to know what comes next.

Instead, I started to be comfortable with not knowing what was coming up. I embraced the daily routine. And ejoyed the scenery and the people I met along the way.

Some days it poured rain, and I learned to stay safe and find safe shelter. Other days, there was a tail wind and we flew across the landscape.

I tried to ask for help in a language I didn’t speak, or understand, very well.

I learned how little I really needed to be okay.

That kind of self-reliance is quiet, but powerful.

A New Kind of Strength

I’m in my 60s now. And what I found in Patagonia wasn’t the fountain of youth or some perfect epiphany. It was something better.

I discovered that I am still growing.

That there’s room inside me for new stories.
New experiences.
New kinds of courage.

What I feared most, not knowing what comes next, has become a kind of freedom. I don't need to have everything figured out. I just need to keep moving, keep trusting, keep choosing adventure and being safe about it.

What Comes Next

Now, as we prepare for our next tour, across Europe, I’m trying to not “plan away” the uncertainty. To leave things open ended to allow for the adventure to creep in.

Cycling through Patagonia didn’t just take me to a remote part of the world. It showed me that yes, I can do hard things. I’ve seen what happens when I ride through the difficult days. The steep slopes, the terrain, and the un-knowing of what happens next.

And for anyone wondering if it’s too late to change, to explore, to try something bold,
I can tell you from experience, the road is still open. You CAN do it.

And you’ll be stronger than you ever imagined.

Are you an everyday adventurer too? I'd love to hear where your journey is taking you. Leave a comment or share this post with someone who’s ready for their next ride. 🚴‍♀️