I just dug up this short story I wrote sometime in 2016/2017, based on the almost fatal experience at Rio Tordillo in Argentina. Here is the blog post we wrote at the time.
The cold was sieving into my toes and slowly spread through my feet. My hands were numb from clenching the rope and from the crisp water that was trying to swallow me and take me away, from here, from life. Everything was happening so fast, and yet, it felt like I was stuck in the moment, just like I was stuck in the currents of Río Tordillo.
We had spent three days cycling through swarms of horseflies into the heights of Argentina’s Andes. The anticipated hike-a-bike was lurking in a remote valley, on the other side of a river. Glacial rivers were extremely high and turbulent at this time of the year. Not even gauchos on their powerful horses were crossing them. Our only chance to cross Río Tordillo was by cable car. We had hoped that the car was going to be on our side, but luck wasn’t.
There we were; two stubborn individuals who refused to let thirty metres of water put an end to this section of our cycle tour. We quickly abandoned the idea of Dan monkey-style climbing along the cable to get to the car. Instead, we waited for the next morning in the hope that the current would be less violent so I could swim across.
I woke with a tight stomach. The water looked no different. My feet broke the surface. Ouch. There was no point in pondering any longer; I simply had to do it. A rope tied around my waist, connecting me to the overhanging cable, was gliding along as I waded through the murky floods. It was actually not too bad once I was in, and before I knew it I was almost halfway there.
Suddenly, I was wrenched back. At the mercy of the current, I dangled from the rope like a fish. It was strangling my waist, and I couldn’t loosen the knot. My feet were drifting, gravity had disappeared. Dan was standing at the shore. Horror in his eyes. I looked at him with despair. There was nothing he could do.
I wanted this to be the moment in which my love for him would fill me with the energy I needed to rescue myself. In reality, I had never felt this empty before. I imagined, soon Dan would have to watch me drown. What a story: “Naive cyclist drowns attempting impossible river crossing after a year on the road – which should have taught her to respect nature’s forces.” With every second I lost more energy, I knew that something had to happen now, or it would be too late.
To my surprise, my right foot planted itself on a rock, lifting my body into the air. It seemed like it only took seconds to reach Dan. I was shattered. I groaned, screamed, it was as if the pain was only now starting. It felt like the air surrounding me was spitting embers onto my naked skin, burning through my pores, through my flesh, into my bones. Río Tordillo had spared my life.
As part of our plan to find detours along the Austral, we found a nice piece of sendero action to try out. Unfortunately, after putting in some serious effort to arrive at the trailhead, we were informed that it is prohibited to pass through by bike. With a bit of smooth talking we managed to cut a deal wherein we would “carry” our bikes the whole trail. As it turns out, the first day we weren’t lying. Steep climbs and bush bashing were a recipe for slow progress. Unfortunately, due to the un-transited nature of the trail, we picked up a few spikes along the way and managed to use all but two of our patches. This left us 30km from any chance of meeting anyone, with two patches, on a trail covered in spikey death. 
Fatcycling 