As we crested a hill a broad, brown valley stretched before us in the morning light, marking Patagonia’s northern boundary and the gateway to Argentina’s wine country. The river below symbolized a cultural shift, from the rugged gauchos of the southern frontier to the country’s fertile agricultural heartland. There was still plenty of wild country ahead, including a massive lava field and high deserts in the shadow of volcanos. But eventually we rolled into the more developed lowlands of Mendoza - draped with autumn-toned grapevines, nurtured by glacial meltwater flowing down from the highest mountain in the Western Hemisphere.

As we pedaled toward the northern limit of Patagonia, the vast landscape continued to surprise and challenge us. Argentina’s celebrated Route 40 led us across treeless, windswept mesas and picturesque canyons where we pitched our tent far from the few, frontier towns. Along the way we shared the road with herds of goats being driven to new pastures for the winter. And in one small village we experienced a scene right out of Alfred Hitchcock’s movie The Birds. With a little help from some kind locals, we managed to keep moving forward - no matter how fiercely the winds blew.

After cycling the Carretera Austral, we chose to cross the Andes quickly, trading Chile’s rainforests for Argentina’s arid foothills. The Pan-American Highway took us along the edge of one of Chile’s largest lakes, with towering volcanos in the distance. The volcanos’ destructive power was evident as we cycled over a mountain pass lined with ghostly dead trees. We then traveled along the Seven Lakes Route, part of Route 40 - one of most fabled and scenic roads in Argentina.

Our cycling journey on the Carretera Austral ended where most people begin, in northern Patagonia. Riding among the glacier-topped mountains and tranquil river valleys, we were reminded of the landscape’s darker side - natural disasters that recently wreaked havoc on isolated towns. We enjoyed cozy cabins that offered refuge between rainforest camps within pristine national parks. While ferries helped us continue our journey whenever the road ended at the edge of a deep river or fjord. And along the way we crossed paths with other cyclists from around the world, gaining inspiration from their stories and dreams of future adventures.

As a steady downpour soaked us and our gear, we quickly learned a truth about the Carretera Austral - the western side of the southern Andes is all about rain. We rode through landscapes reflecting the abundance of water with shimmering lakes, rushing rivers, rainforest-covered hills, and thickets of moss, fuchsia flowers, and ferns. The terrain also was more demanding, as we cycled over three of the highest passes along the Carretera Austral. Along the way it was the many small pleasures, like a crackling fire, a pile of fresh, ripe cherries or a roadside meet-up with friends that created fond, lasting memories.

As we cycled northward through Patagonia, there was one road we knew we must ride - the alluring Carretera Austral (‘Southern Highway’ in English). Although the road was ‘completed’ in 2003, much of it remains unpaved, linking tiny villages that still feel rustic and remote. We entered the Carretera Austral from Tortél, a picturesque village on stilts by the sea. Along the way we were surrounded by Andean peaks swathed in snow and ice, which wrung moisture out of the clouds that nourished the temperate rainforests growing thick on the mountain slopes.

As we sailed across the Strait of Magellan, we left Tierra del Fuego behind. But we still had a lot of Patagonia ahead of us. After a quiet Christmas in the City of Red Roofs, we cycled back onto the Patagonian pampas - encountering some of the hemisphere’s biggest birds, and fields bursting with the pinks, yellows and purples of flowers in bloom. Then three days on stormy seas among the fjords of southern Chile brought us to a tiny town in a steep-sided cove, with no regular streets or sidewalks. Instead there were five miles of boardwalks, and the main part of town lay at the top of 20 flights of wooden stairs.

As we cycled further north in Tierra del Fuego, we were enveloped by the treeless expanse of the pampas. Fields of grass that stretched to the horizon fed herds of sheep and smaller bands of guanacos. But the serenity of the vistas stood in sharp contrast to the weather, which buffeted us with strong winds that made bike handling a challenge and slowed our progress to a crawl. After a couple of tough days, we made it to the border and crossed into Chile. There, our hopes for a rest day were dashed by a terrible weather forecast - forcing an overnight cycling marathon to outrun the storm. Our reward, at the end, was a rendezvous with royalty at the King Penguin Nature Reserve.

The Pan-American Highway ends in the south where it reaches the ocean in the city of Ushuaia. But even though Ushuaia is known as The End of the World, it served as a beginning for us. From there, we resumed our Alaska-to-Patagonia bicycle journey, heading back north towards Colombia. After a visit with some penguins, we were back on our bicycles, cycling over the snowy, southern Andes and across the Patagonian steppe. Blown by the wind and drenched by rain, we found shelter where we could - among stunted, gnarly trees and even in the basement of a bakery - eventually arriving in the industrial center of Tierra del Fuego.