Trans Americas 2009 - The Blog

The last post... home at last...

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 23:55:00 +0000

Once again the day dawned dark courtesy of the black-out curtains which Jim had finally realised was the secret to not waking up too early. As it was, we both woke around 7am anyway, and with some of the group going off to customs at 8am and potentially not returning before we left for the airport, we got up to have breakfast and say the first of many goodbyes. Once they'd gone I returned to my room to start work on the blog and to copy some pictures for Simon before returning to the lobby just before 10am to say goodbye to the first of the group to leave – Nick and Simon. As always it's emotional saying goodbye to people who have become good friends and this was no exception. Having enjoyed all 19 weeks of Nick's company and 11 of Simon's (since he joined us in Bogotá) seeing them ride off in a taxi left a lump in my throat. That was probably made worse by the knowledge that I would be next to leave the group just 4 hours later...

How to while away those hours, though? Well, first was to settle my hotel bill and then spend as much time chatting online to Tracy as I could, before finishing my packing and heading downstairs to look for a likely suspect with whom to eat lunch. Aaron was just checking out, and as usual he proved to be the perfect companion for such a task, as he suggested we eat in the Thai place we'd eaten in on Monday night. A 20-minute cab ride took us there, where we sat outside in the sunshine and enjoyed some really fresh calamari followed by, in my case, chicken with chillies and almonds with basil. It was turly delicious and a great way to pass the time. Once back at the hotel I only had a few minutes to grab my bag, then re-pack the stuff that was in the end compartment when it split as I tried to drag it along the corridor before being back in the lobby surrounded by my travelling friends and saying lots of goodbyes. I really am going to miss these people...

I shared a cab to the airport with Pieter, the German guide from the Patagonia trip, and once there had my bag security-wrapped to prevent it splitting more, then checked in and passed through security for one last stamp in my passport and went through to the departure lounge. All very easy. And so to while away the next 2.5 hours until my flight to Paris boards and I finally start the 18 hour journey home...

Long haul flights can be a real pain, but this one wasn't so bad. For a start, there was an empty seat next to me and I had an aisle seat with reasonable legroom and plenty of room in the overhead bin for both my helmet bag and my small rucksack/Camelbak. Then the inflight entertainment was “on demand” which meant I got to see Terminator Salvation and The Hangover, 2 films I'd probably not watch otherwise but which helped while away 3 of the 12 hours of the flight to Paris. If it hadn't been for the turbulence and the couple next to the window opening the blind at dawn (4am) then I might actually have got some sleep too... but I arrived in Paris in plenty of time and with a couple of hours to kill before my flight to Manchester where hopefully Tracy would be waiting for me... how strange it's going to be to see her again after all this time... can't wait!

I fell soundly asleep on the flight from Paris which helped the time pass quickly and no sooner had I landed and cleared my final passport control than I was in the baggage hall watching my bag with its bright green plastic security wrapping go round on the carousel. I double-checked my watch, not wanting to go into the arrivals lounge earlier than I knew Tracy would be there, and then cleared customs without even a 2nd glance from the bored-looking customs agent. And there in the hall was my gorgeous wife, looking very slim having lost 2 stone whilst I was away and with a wide grin on her face. A long hug and then we were off to the car, almost walking into the barriers as we feasted our eyes on each other... 5 months is a very long time to be away from someone you are still in love with...

Once in the car we chatted excitedly about things that had happened at home or on the trip, agreeing that there were some things we needed to spend some quality time discussing as we seek our next adventure... and so home, to a real fire, 2 lovely new cats (Titch and Marmy) and a take-away curry (I had been craving an Indian since my last one in Tuscon).

The adventure was finally over and I was home, safe and sound, the familiarity of being back as comforting as putting on an old pair of slippers. It was almost as if I hadn't been away... except... I now had a full bank of new memories and stories to share. Oh, and about 3,000 pictures to sift through...

Friday was spent visiting my girls and grandchildren, including being introduced to “The Beans” at long last – Isobel and Rebecca – and aren't they just gorgeous?

And so I'm home, this adventure is over and so I'm closing the blog. I've had the most amazing time as those of you who have read the blog will know. At this point I'm not sure what adventure lies ahead, as that's something Tracy and I need to discuss, but rest assured there will be one... after all, if life isn't one big adventure, what is it?

If you have enjoyed reading this blog, or even if you haven't, please use the “Comment” feature to leave a comment. All you need is a Google account and they're dead easy to get if you don't already have one.

If you're inspired by the story to undertake an adventure of your own, drop me an email (paul@justonemoremile.com) and tell me about it, I'd love to hear from you.

Finally, if you'd like to make a donation to a good cause related to this adventure, please donate to Gerald's Devon Air Ambulance fund. You can do so here

A day off in Buenos Aires...

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 23:29:00 +0000

The blackout curtain trick worked and I woke up at 9am to the sound of Jim still snoring. I quietly showered and went down to breakfast without disturbing him, and when he came down to breakfast about half an hour later looking refreshed he said what a good idea closing the curtains was...

With a full day in Buenos Aires and nothing much to do I arranged to go out sightseeing with Nick, Simon and Late Guy around lunchtime, giving me the remainder of the morning to chat to Tracy and to sort out my packing. Our focus for the sightseeing trip was La Recoleta cemetery, which sounds awfully morbid but wasn't really as the cemetery is more like a bizarre city of the dead than the usual mass of gravestones. Buried within the walled “city” are the most influential and important Argentinians from the late 1800s onwards, including several presidents, scientists, poets, celebrities and, its most famous internee, Maria Eva Duarte de Peron, otherwise known as Evita. And it really is a bizarre place, with individual mausoleums decorated with statues of angels mourning the dead, or pointing the way to heaven...

Outside one was an angel giving a “Gerald wave” which made us giggle...

We wandered round this strange place for a good hour or so, marvelling at the money some families must have spent on places to store their dead folk, here in this most exclusive part of Buenos Aires. Evita's mausoleum was not very elaborate, but attracted by far the most attention and was one of the very few with fresh flowers...

After her death in 1952 her body disappeared as the military dictatorship tried to suppress the people and made it illegal for anyone to possess images of her or her husband (Juan Peron, the former president). In 1971 it was finally revealed that her body had been buried under another name in Milan and she was exhumed and kept in Juan Peron's home in Spain before he finally returned to Argentina in 1973, and Evita's body was then returned to Argentina and finally laid to rest in La Recoleta. It is little wonder therefore that this is the mausoleum that attracts by far the most attention...

After touring the cemetery we went and ate a delicious lunch in a pavement café under a blisteringly hot sun. A cool tuna salad and some very cold beer was most welcome, as was the opportunity for some more people-watching. With today being a national holiday in Argentina, there were plenty of people out in their finery, from “ladies who do lunch” to lovers wandering hand-in-hand (making me homesick again) to families out for a stroll in the sun.

Once suitably recovered from the walking Nick and I wandered back to the hotel, a further hour-long walk through the city that first involved crossing the Avenida de 9 Julio, the world's widest road, which fortunately has plenty of pedestrian crossings...

Once back at the hotel I spent some more time online chatting to Tracy before it was time to re-assemble downstairs to meet Pertti's girlfriend who had flown in from Finland and then head out to dinner with a large portion of the group. Yet another Argentinian “all you can eat and a bottle of wine each” meat restaurant, this time with the largest grill I've ever seen. There were 2 serving grills, each of which must have been 8ft long, and then a huge grill that extended the full length of the restaurant where they were cooking up whole herds of cows, flocks of lamb and broods of chickens...

They also had a very large salad bar, so at least Max got to eat something too...

Once full to bursting point we settled the bill (about £13 each) and caught taxis back to the hotel with the intention of going to the nearby Irish Bar. Only that was closed due to the public holiday so we had to settle for a final beer in another bar before calling it a night around midnight.

And so that's almost it. Tomorrow I leave for my flight home, and should be back Thursday afternoon... the journey is almost over...

Saying Goodbye to El Monstro...

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 23:04:00 +0000

Yet another early morning as the sun streamed through the window waking Jim up then I woke to the sound of him in the bathroom. Today is the final “real” day of the trip before I fly home on Wednesday, as we complete the process of getting the bikes into the hands of the freight agents and say goodbye to them for 6-7 weeks. First step in this process is to complete a “power of attorney” form with a local solicitor handing over legal control of the bikes so the local agents can deal with customs etc. This involves listing any personal effects being sent back with the bike (such as motorcycle boots, although I'm bringing mine home in case I need them), then signing an official form, and putting our signatures and thumb-prints in an official book. With that done the next step is to ride the bikes round to the docks and put them into the bonded warehouse. This naturally involves riding as a group through downtown Buenos Aires, and the chaotic traffic. The first stage of this journey is to line up all the bikes outside the hotel ready for the off, and so I fired up my incredibly loud bike (which effectively has no exhaust as it's split) in the underground car park and riding it up the very steep ramp onto the street. Naturally I revved the engine lots making a deafening racket and scaring the passers-by as they waited for the Messerscmitt to emerge from under the hotel... Once lined up we created the usual stir as people stared when wandering past, or stopped to chat... I'm really going to miss our “minor celebrity status”...

When ready for the off we pulled out into the chaotic Buenos Aires traffic and riding in a very tight convoy managed to lose 14 bikes at the first set of traffic lights. They caught us up a little bit further up the road, and we stuck together closely until we arrived at the docks. The sound of my bike made this a little easier, as even the buses moved over when I blipped the throttle, the deafening racket causing the driver to think there was something much bigger than El Monstro coming through. Once at the docks we parked up whilst Kevin went to check with the warehousemen, who told us it would be 30mins to an hour before they had cleared a space in the warehouse for the bikes. With nothing to do we hung around chatting, well aware that the ride was now almost over and soon we'd be going our separate ways...

Finally we were given the all clear and rode the bikes the final few hundred yards into the warehouse. The local warehousemen gathered and took pictures on their phones as we arrived, many encouraging me to rev El Monstro so they could laugh at the noise. With the bikes all parked up we waited whilst Jeff unloaded Ozzy Andy's bike from the van (the parts swapped back with Chris's bike for the return journey, his bike being pushed into the warehouse) and put on a pallet. Then it was time to say farewell to El Monstro... an emotional moment for sure, as this battered bike starts its return journey to the UK having successfully carried me so very, very, far...

Leaving the bikes and catching a taxi back to the hotel really did feel like the trip was over. Just as it had felt that it was about to start when I dropped it off at James Cargo's depot in Manchester all those weeks ago. Back at the hotel I whiled away some time doing nothing before meeting up with Aaron, Nick, Pertti and Late Guy to go out for dinner. I'd found a Thai restaurant and vodka bar in town that looked good and when I told Richard & Karen and Max & Christine they decided to join us, first we went to a local café where we'd had lunch and where they served draught beer for a couple before getting taxis across town to the restaurant. Once there, Richard started selecting some very nice vodkas for us to try, Aaron discovered some of the best mojitos ever, Pertti selected some very nice white wine and we all ate some fantastic Thai food (and for once it was proper spicy!). Eating and drinking with these wonderful people has been great fun over the past 19 weeks, and I'm really going to miss them...

After a great meal and with some of our party having perhaps had a little too much alcohol (I was still taking it easy) we wandered round the corner to the Orleans café for a coffee and to people watch. This is one of those cafés where the working girls hang out to pick up clients, which made for an entertaining few minutes before we left for the hotel. Nick, Late Guy and I walked whilst the rest fell into taxis, the night still warm. On the way back Nick started chatting with the guys sifting through the rubbish at the roadsides, bundling the cardboard into bales they could then recycle for cash... guess you just can't stop him thinking about the best ways to make money from scrap!

And so to bed, but first I snuck past a snoring Jim and closed the blackout-curtains... perhaps now I'll get a full night's sleep!

The Last Supper (or Group Meal)...

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Sun, 06 Dec 2009 23:07:00 +0000

With the sun streaming through the open curtains from the wee small hours it was no surprise to hear Jim getting up and banging around as he got himself ready for the day ahead. When he'd gone to breakfast I got myself up and showered, unable to lie in any longer. After breakfast I went back to the room to sort out the blog for yesterday, whilst Jim went back to bed and slept. Around 11am I went downstairs and met up with Aaron, Nick, Pertti and Simon for our planned shopping trip, determined to at least try and find something suitable to take home. I failed, though, as it seems wrong to buy others souvenirs of places they've not been to, and I have sufficient memories (and stickers!) to not require additional tacky ornaments or ghastly t-shirts. After a cup of good coffee and a bottle of water in a café we wandered round town to Plaza San Martin where we planned to get a tour bus round the city to see the sights. Only the bus' audio system was broken and rather than take a trip round to see sights and not know what we were looking at, we gave up. Simon and Nick wandered off on a long walk, Pertti went shopping, Aaron had already returned to the hotel and I decided to do the same, my back starting to hurt from walking. I manage to find a large bag to pack my stuff in for the return journey and fully intended to practice packing when I got back to the room, but then decided to snooze instead. Which I did for most of the afternoon. Lazy or what!

At 6pm we had another meeting, to run through the process for freight (again) and then the group took over the meeting with Richard and Max presenting gifts on behalf of the group to a suitably embarrassed Kevin & Julia (a picture of them peering through the rusting hull of a boat signed by the entire group) and Jeff (a picture of him with the turtle in Nazca and a large wad of cash donated by the group)...

After a few more speeches, including a very moving one from Gerald we started to drift off, and I went to get showered and changed ready for the group meal. Coming down in my best shirt I was confronted by some of the group, all wearing their “Globebusters Trans Americas 2009” t-shirts. It seemed that as Kevin had failed to buy a new shirt and jeans he'd declared it a team t-shirt evening. With my oversized (xxl) t-shirt in the wash I was given another one, and this time it fitted me. So with just Al not wearing his t-shirt (his reasons: he doesn't wear t-shirts and thinks that old men shouldn't and besides, crew necks don't suit him) the entire group hung around waiting for our coach to turn up. Eventually it did and we were whisked away to the Carlos Gardel theatre for our meal and entertainment. The place was packed with tourists and we had a long table leading back from the stage in the middle of the room. No sooner were we seated than the water and wine was poured and we were asked to make our selection from the menu. Ordering empenadas to start, chicken for main and chocolate mousse for dessert I wasn't expecting much, as with somewhere in the region of 600 people to feed before the show started the kitchen was going to be very busy. But they surprised us all, the food of a very good standard and served with military efficiency. Whilst we ate they showed a film (with no sound) of the history of tango, which seemed to be more a musical style than just a dance as I'd assumed.

No sooner had we finished the meal than the show started. With a small band consisting of a pianist, a chello, 2 violins and 3 accordions playing from a raised bandstand above the stage, we were treated to the most amazing display of dancing I've ever seen. The speed with which the dancers moved their legs, kicking them in between each other's was staggering. One couple performed a routine that would not have been out of place in a circus or gymnastics display, the guy spinning the girl round his back and over his shoulders, whilst she adopted poses with legs and arms our straight creating elegant lines. And all the time they looked deeply into each other's eyes, the dance very sensual and almost erotic. Sometimes I wish I hadn't got two left feet and no sense of rhythm... With flash photography banned, I couldn't get any great pictures, but can't let the evening pass without posting a couple to try and capture a little of the mood...

The only downside to the show were the singers, who seemed to think they were the stars of the show but were really filling in whilst the dancers changed costumes. Singing what sounded like Spanish opera I thought they were terrible, but even they could not ruin what was a great evening's entertainment. As our last official group meal it had been excellent, and despite the red wine being on “free vend” I managed to prevent the waiter from constantly topping up my glass... another almost dry night? Well, I am preparing to come home!

The Ride, Ridden...

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 23:42:00 +0000

I was woken up by the sound of Nick talking loudly in the corridor about the “bus that hit me last night” a reference to the whisky no doubt... at first I cursed him for waking me up, but then I caught sight of my watch and the time... 7.15am... just 15 minutes to departure time! I was up and showered and outside packing the bike in record time, but still feeling the after-effects of the night before. One of these days I'll learn, but not on this trip... as today is the last riding day....

With waterproofs on as it had started to rain, a constant heavy drizzle, I got on my bike and left, not quite last as Pertti was still getting ready whilst all the others had gone. The first section of the ride was on quick but damp roads, gently winding over the hills before they were left behind and the road straightened out. Riding at a fast but comfortable pace I caught up the main group after just 65 miles, then stopped for a drink of water and some peanuts in lieu of the breakfast I'd missed. I then continued on my way, catching the group again after a further 30 miles or so, as they were riding at a conservative 60 mph. We arrived at the fuel stop with Julia's bike showing -4 miles on her range, which explained why they were riding so slowly. Filled up with fuel and coffee and with some snacks in my system I set off again, this time ahead of the group so I could set my own pace. With the open road ahead and my head clear, I settled into the ride, relishing this last opportunity to enjoy the delights of riding in this continent for the last time, even if it was raining and cold. The route-notes referred to a restaurant where we should stop for lunch and to re-group to allow is all to ride into Buenos Aires together, but said it was just after the town of Las Flores at 297 miles – only Las Flores was at less than 200 miles and the restaurant was nowhere to be seen. After riding around for a little while I saw Aaron heading back out of town and after a quick chat we decided to continue riding until we hit the mileage and see if we could locate the restaurant. It seemed the notes had confused the town's name, as on 297 miles we found the restaurant and pulled up outside. Just as we did so I noticed that the noisy bike I had heard which I assumed was Aaron's was actually mine, the exhaust having split just ahead of the silencer. Good job we only had 70 more miles to ride...

We went inside the restaurant and organised the staff, who were all well into their old-age, to lay tables for all 25 of us, and no sooner had they done so than the group started rolling in. Lunch took an eternity to arrive, my ravioli being the last despite me arriving first, and it wasn't worth the wait. When we'd all eaten and settled the bill we went back out into the rain and started the final leg of this incredible journey. Riding in one large group for the last time we rode the remaining 70 miles to Buenos Aires, the sound of my exhaust almost drowning out the tunes in my helmet. Riding near the back I had a great view of the group, riding in perfect staggered formation. The roads into Buenos Aires got wider and the traffic heavier as we passed through a number of toll booths and headed for the city centre. Soon we were riding along Avenida 9 De Julio, the world's widest road. This is an entire city-block wide and took us deep into the heart of the city, before we turned off and a couple of turns later were pulling into the underground car park of the hotel. Down the slippery ramp and into a parking space and then finally switching off the bike. The ride, all the way from Anchorage to Buenos Aires via the top and bottom of the world, finally over.

There was one last sting in the tail, though, as Aaron dropped his bike at the top of the ramp. Both he and the bike were undamaged, but there was a certain irony in his misfortune. We'd had Ed drop his just before the start and now we'd had a similar drop at the very end.

The car park was then filled with noisy congratulations, more man-hugs and handshakes, but this time no tears, just signs of relief on the faces of the group. We were also greeted by some of the Patagonia group, including Santa Phil (who'd brought my starter motor to Santiago) and Van Al (who we'd last seen in Chile before my off). A quick celebratory beer and then to the room for a warm shower and a rest before dinner. We'd arranged to go to a meat restaurant a few blocks from the hotel and the food was very good, although I couldn't eat my steak as I think I've had too much red meat lately. The evening was a little subdued, none of the noisy excesses of the night before, the group in a contemplative mood, reflecting on the fact that the ride was now over. With just the process of getting the bikes through customs and onto the boat home to sort before we all depart for our homes and return to our previous lives...

Which is probably a good time for me to reflect on this amazing journey...

Over the past 19 weeks I have covered a total of 22,304 miles (21,304 on my bike allowing for the speedo error and 1,000 on Nick's following my off) through 13 countries (USA – 7 states: Alaska, Montana, Wyoming, Utah, Colorado, Arizona and New Mexico, Canada – 3 provinces: Yukon, British Columbia and Alberta, Mexico, Guatamala, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama, Columbia, Equador, Peru, Chile and Argentina) and 5 time zones. As part of the longest Trans_Am expedition to date, I have been part of a group that has seen everyone who started reach the end - a first, as previous Trans Ams have had to send at least one person home due to injury. Despite a number of fairly serious “offs” (mine, Nigel's, Gerald's, Simon's, Nick's) and a large number of other falls (only Kevin didn't drop his bike the entire trip) we only had one broken bone – and that wasn't really broken, just cracked (my rib). We've had bikes broken and repaired, and ended the trip with just one bike sent home (Danielle's after she hurt her wrist in Mexico, the bike sent back in Panama) and one ended in the van (Chris' after his crash – but it was cannibalised to get Andy's back on the road). I was lucky enough to be able to ride every single mile despite a number of problems with the bike (the fuel pipe disconnecting in Honduras and the starting problem) and my off (which meant I rode Nick's bike for 3 days until mine could be repaired).

I have seen how varied the landscape of a single continent can change, from vast snow-capped mountain ranges, bright blue and green lakes, forests both tropical or temperate, huge cultivated lands, isolated and deserted plains, deserts, and the beautiful oceans (Arctic, Pacific, Atlantic and Southern). I have seen all sorts of wildlife, including alpaca, bears, condors, dolphins, eagles, foxes, guanacos, hares, iguanas, jackrabbits, king salmon, llamas, moose, ospreys, penguins, rheas, scorpions, turtles, vicunas and whales. I have seen the people of the Americas change as we travelled the length of their continent – from the stocky hardy folk of Alaska through the tiny delicate people of Central America and Peru to the tall elegant people of Columbia and Argentina. I have seen the stark difference in the way people who share this land-mass live, from the extravagant consumerism of North America to the desperate poverty of the Peruvian desert. I have ridden all sorts of roads, from smooth tarmac, hard-packed dirt, gravel, sand (oops!) and rocks, into canyons and over mountains, through valleys and by the ocean. I have enjoyed and endured all types of weather, from hot sunshine through tropical humidity, high winds, torrential rain and freezing snow.

And all this whilst enjoying the company of my fellow travellers, who once were strangers and are now friends.

And the best bit of all is I did this whole journey on a motorcycle. A remarkable motorcycle. My 2005 BMW R1150 GS Adventure, affectionately known since La Esperanza, Honduras, when it was named by a passer-by, as “El Monstro”. It looks a lot worse for wear following the off, but has got me here to Buenos Aires. When I finally get it home I'll spend some time restoring it to its pre-accident condition and perhaps one day we'll set off again on another adventure... but for now, I think it deserves a rest even more than I do...

So what was it all about? Well, one way to describe it is that it was simply a long bike ride so I could put these 2 stickers on my panniers...

Lazy starts and late nights...

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 23:12:00 +0000

With a very short day of just 240 miles on straight roads I was determined to have a lie in and a relaxing start. Unfortunately Jim had arranged for an early morning wake-up call for 6am, so that put paid to that idea, although I did snooze until 7am before finally getting up. I did pack very leisurely, though, ditching some of my older t-shirts as I lighten the load ready for the flight home. I then ate a very leisurely breakfast, which was quite hard as there was very little on offer from the buffet, just the usual ham and cheese or toast. By the time I was ready to go it was getting on for 10am, and most of the group had gone. Nigel was having trouble getting his bike to start, as it's developed a fault whereby the onboard computer thinks the engine is already running when it isn't. Jeff soon sorted it out by waggling the wires on the gearbox sensor, though. Just as I was getting ready to leave a cameraman and young woman holding a microphone appeared and spoke to Ozzy Andy, who doesn't speak a word of Spanish and passed them off to Chris, who was sat waiting for the van to leave (Danielle and he are back riding in the van after Julia lent him her bike to get to Ushuaia). Whilst he was being interviewed I left, revving the engine a little more than usual just for the camera....

Riding alone again I easily found my way out of town and back onto Ruta 3, the road still very straight as it cut through yet more mamba country. With a perfectly clear blue sky stretching from horizon to horizon all around, and some good tunes playing in my helmet, I was as happy as Larry (whoever he is!). With an empty road ahead I rode quickly, enjoying the freedom from the oppressive speed-camera obsessed traffic-congested UK. So quickly in fact that after just 160 miles I had to stop for fuel, having used up 23 litres in such a short distance. I put the poor fuel economy down to a strong wind as well as my heavy right wrist... When filled up I popped into the café where Gerald, Tony and Phil were busy tucking into double-egg and chips. Without further ado I ordered a plate and a bottle of water and within minutes was stuffing my face with culinary delight. It's amazing how such a simple meal can be so pleasurable when you've been eating in restaurants for 19 weeks...

Back on the road I continued my rapid pace and before long was heading towards the hills and the final hotel before Buenos Aires. I arrived much earlier than planned, around 1.30pm, having covered the full 240 miles in under 3.5 hours, including a stop for lunch. My room was ready so I unpacked and showered, then did the usual blogging before going outside for a wander when I heard the sound of other bikes arriving.

I joined Ed in the restaurant where he was enjoying a salad and a beer, and we chatted about his collection of classic motorcycles whilst enjoying a beer or two. I did manage to drag myself away to the room briefly to drop my laptop off before returning ready for the final “Gold Star” award ceremony which was to be held before dinner. If you recall, this was introduced by Nigel as a counter to the Prat Hat (which died a death in Futaleufu when it got burnt) and is awarded to any group member who does something “above and beyond”. Nigel as the instigator of the award was master of ceremonies, and having collected in the nominations in a secret ballot proceeded to read them out...

My favourite was the nomination that said the whole group deserved the award for all the little things we've all done for each other that has meant we are the first Trans AM trip to get everyone who started to Ushuaia (albeit with Danielle no longer riding). But as they say there can be only one winner, and (drum roll, please) the winner of the Trans Am 2009 Gold Star Award is....

… Chris – for without a second's consideration offering his bike up to be cannibalised so that Ozzy Andy could once again ride (he used Chris' rear swingarm and front wheel), Pertti could replace his knackered rear shock and Nigel could benefit from a fresh tyre when his was damaged. Whilst I think Chris would much rather his bike had been repaired following his crash, there is no doubt that his generosity helped other riders get to Ushuaia, and so he was a worthy winner.

With the ceremony complete we assembled for dinner, ordering a second bottle of wine to follow the one we'd drunk during the ceremony. The food was excellent, even if I did swap the steak I ordered for Aaron's stir-fried beef as he wasn't keen on it and I love stir-fry. There was also another bottle of wine at some stage, perhaps even 2 more, as I proceeded to continue the tradition that has developed on the trip of drinking way too much the night before a long ride. And with 370 miles into Buenos Aires and an early departure (7.30am) it didn't occur to me to break the tradition. After all, this was the last night before a ride as tomorrow is the last riding day... even the two very large whiskies we had as a nightcap couldn't take away the sense of occasion....

A beautiful day for a ride...

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 23:24:00 +0000

Back on the road again, with a relatively short 275 mile ride up Ruta 3 to Viedma. After the usual pre-departure routine of showering, packing, breakfasting and blogging were done I set off with Nick, him leading for a change. Unfortunately he missed the turning leading to the road out of town having misread the route notes and so I found myself on Ruta 3 alone. I pulled over and waited until Nick arrived, then tagged on behind and we rode together out into the barren and flat countryside once more. Under a very bright blue sky, dotted with fluffy white clouds (a sky that I always think of as a “Simpsons' sky” as it reminds me of the start of The Simpson) we rode at a steady, relaxed 70-75 mph. I'd recharged my MP3 player and set it to shuffle mode, so had a very eclectic mix of tunes to sing along to as we continued on our merry way. Initially the wind was strong and blustery – the tunes in my ears sometimes very apt, such as “The Wind Cried Mary” and “Blowin' in the Wind” - but then it settled down as we got further north. After 90-odd miles we stopped to refuel and grab a coffee, the pair of us in very relaxed and happy moods, just glad to be riding bikes on such a beautiful day, even if the road itself was uninspiring. After another couple of hours of cruising I noticed that the roadside markers, which count down the distance to Buenos Aires (the start of Ruta 3) in kilometres, were getting close to the 1,000Km to go point. That gave me an excuse to stop and get off the bike, quietly reflecting once again on just how far we've come and how little we have left to do...

I soon caught Nick up again, as he'd also stopped by the roadside for a quiet moment having noticed I was no longer in his mirrors. He asked me to lead the remaining 40 miles or so to the hotel, which I was happy to do. When we set off I noticed another headlight in my mirrors, Simon having caught us up and tagged on behind. Entering Viedma we stopped for fuel and then found the hotel by the river very easily, the route being pretty simple. Once unloaded we put the bikes in the garage round the back and then arranged to meet up again in half an hour or so to go and get some lunch, as it was now getting on for 2pm. We were joined by Aaron (who had arrived first despite setting off almost last as he was on a mission) and Pertti (also exercising the throttle a little) and decided to cross the river to the town of Carmen de Patagones which is often referred to as the “old town” despite both being founded by Francisco de Viedma y Narváez in 1779 (originally both were called Carmen de Patagones, Viedma being named as a separate town in 1879. Crossing the river was not as simple as walking across a bridge (which would have taken a while as the river is about 300m wide). It involves getting a little ferry that continually goes from the jetty opposite out hotel to one on the other side. Now this ferry is more like a canal boat than a ferry – as you can see in the picture below – the ferry is the boat coming in to dock...

Despite its small size the ferry is pretty efficient and got us across without incident. Once on the other side we went into the Tourist Information office to get a map and enquire about restaurants, only to be told the town was having a siesta. They weren't kidding either, as all the shops were closed and apart from some schoolchildren and a few teenagers there was hardly anyone about. We did find a hotel restaurant open eventually, and I had a pretty decent hamburger followed by a very good chocolate mousse (I was intending to eat only once and skip dinner later). When done we wandered back in the hot sunshine (it's getting warm again as we head North) to the ferry and our return trip across the Rio Negro (black river) to the hotel...

Back at the hotel I retired to the room for a mid-afternoon snooze, and slept soundly for a good hour before waking up and remembering the meeting we had scheduled for 7pm. Downstairs in the hotel bar the group assembled to hear Kevin explain the next few days as we arrive in Buenos Aires and start the process of getting the bikes cleared through customs and into the freight container that will then be shipped back to the UK, arriving some time late January or early February. With Kevin and the Globebusters team taking care of most things it all sounds relatively straightforward, and with any luck we'll actually get a day or so to explore Buenos Aires and to relax in the sun before returning to cold, wet, miserable England...

Once the meeting was over we set off for a walk round the town, grabbing a beer in a pavement bar and people-watching (the one thing that did strike me was the number of Cirtroen 2CVs with wide wheels, we must have seen at least 3). A short walk later found us in a pizza/pasta restaurant where several others from the group were finishing off their meals, Ozzy Andy raving about the “Lomo in Whisky and Langoustine Salsa” he'd just had. So I ordered that and it was truly delicious. So much for my one-meal a day plan. But at least my alcohol intake was low again, not quite a dry day (2 glasses of wine with dinner for those that are counting!). I'm trying to detox a little before the inevitable excesses of the first 2 nights in Buenos Aires...

Having a whale of a time...

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 23:40:00 +0000

With the excitement of the whale-watching trip ahead I still woke early despite a sore throat brought on by too many mojitos (I blame Aaron for introducing us to that particular drink, although it is very nice), although my early start was also due to Jim getting up very early once again. Aftera small breakfast with lots of fresh orange juice I went back to my room and updated the blog before heading down to the lobby at “Cowboy Time” (ten to ten) to meet the other intrepid whale-watchers. Our little party of Aaron, Nick, Phil, Simon, Late Guy and Pertti was joined by Julia, getting a very rare day off while Kevin continued to work on preparations for our arrival in BA and the freighting of the bikes home. She was bubbling with excitement, partly as a result of being let off the leash, but also at the prospect of seeing whales – she'd done the same trip in 2005 and not seen any... so, no pressure on me to deliver then!

Just before ten our guide, who introduced himself as “Popeye”, arrived and we all clambered into the back of our minibus for the journey from Puerto Madryn to Puerto Pyramid where our boat would be sailing from. The journey took just over an hour to cover the 100Km, and during that time we chatted and Popeye explained a little about the whales. Well, he gave us 2 interesting facts anyway. First, that you can tell the difference between fish and mammals (whales and dolphins being mammals not fish) by the way they move their tails – fish move side to side, mammals up and down. Second was that you can tell if a mammal has teeth (to bite you with!) by the number of blow-holes – one and it does, two and it doesn't. At least I think that's what he said...

We arrived at the port a little after 11am and so had an hour to kill before the boat was due to depart at noon, so we wandered off to grab a coffee. Being another self-organised tour it presented another opportunity to take the mickey out of Aaron for the penguin-mishap and so Simon presented him with a little pottery penguin...

Naturally, I was now keeping very quiet in case we didn't see any whales...

Just before noon we wandered back to where Popeye was checking on the boat situation and he re-appeared bearing bad news. The authorities had closed the port due to the conditions out in the ocean (it did look pretty choppy from the shore). But they were expecting the wind to change direction and things to calm down so we were advised to wait until 1pm and return then. I remained confident that we'd get out and see whales and re-assured the rest of our little group. As the weather was improving we decided to wait and passed the hour walking along the beach, or relaxing in the sunshine. I took a photo of the boat on the beach just in case that was as close as we got...

Just before 1pm we wandered back to where Popeye was checking on the boat situation again and once again he re-appeared bearing bad news. The port was still closed, but the weather was improving, and to come back at 2pm when they thought there was a chance the port would be re-opened. We could see the weather was improving as the ocean, which was filled with white-horses when we arrived, the waves breaking as far out as we could see, was now almost mill-pond calm. As we still had time to wait and do the boat-trip and still get back to the hotel before the time fort the group quiz, we agreed to wait and went in search of lunch. As I wasn't hungry I abstained, and was very glad I did as the meals the others got looked terrible. And so we waited another hour, passing the time any way we could.

Just before 2pm we wandered back to where Popeye was checking on the boat situation and this time he emerged with a big grin and thumbs-up... we would be going in 10 minutes! The relief was quickly replaced by child-like excitement as we put on our life-jackets, and Simon put on a rather attractive poncho (the rest of us brought our bike waterproofs)... he looked like one of Santa's helpers...

We boarded the boat and it was pushed back into the ocean, then the engines started and we left the trailer behind and headed out into open water. The excitement was reaching fever pitch, Julia sat next to me smiling broadly and repeating “we're going to see some whales” over and over again. What happened next will remain in my memory for ever as one of the most moving experiences I've ever had. First, we caught sight of a whale just off the starboard bow (the right side and where I was sat), then the captain switched the engines off and we glided closer. Just as we got within 30 feet of where we'd seen the whale, a huge mother and her calf surfaced, blowing spray from their blowholes just a few yards from our boat...

The mood on the boat changed in that instant, from child-like exuberance to quiet awe. Everyone on board was entranced by these wonderful creatures, who seemed completely unfazed by our presence. Rather than swim away, they decided to play a while, swimming close to the boat, surfacing and putting on a display for us. The mother kept moving the calf closer, encouraging her offspring to explore our boat, and whilst for the most part they avoided any actual contact, they did bump into us gently once or twice. It's impossible for me to describe quite how humbling an experience it was to watch this display of nature at its finest for over half an hour, so I'll once again let just a few of the countless pictures I took paint the scene (captions available by hovering over each image)...

The display was magical but it had to end at some stage and finally mother and calf submerged and swam off. As they did, the chatter in the boat returned as everyone tried to share their personal experiences with each other at once. Quite simply stunning...

We then set off into deeper water where we hoped to see some more whales, but as the season is coming to an end – the Souther Right Whales come to this area to breed and leave in early December – there were not many about. We did get sight of one more, a lone youngster heading back out into the deep ocean, travelling at a fair old pace, the tail emerging from the water as it dived deeper to gain speed, affording me my one chance to capture that iconic image... and I almost got it too...

Finally it was time to turn round and head towards the shore, stopping briefly to admire the shape of the rock that gives Puerto Pyramid its name and to see where the sea lions breed (which in turn attracts the whales, including Orcas). There was only one sea-lion there today, a huge great big fella fast asleep on a rock... remind you of anyone?

Back on shore we wandered back to where Popeye was waiting, our smiles revealing the success of the trip, and handed back the life-jackets. I don't recall much of the journey back to town as I fell asleep, as did the rest of the group, exhausted from being outside in the fresh air and sunshine and mentally drained by the whale-watching. Once back at the hotel I had just half an hour to load up yesterday's blog and have a quick chat with Tracy before heading down to the bar area for the “Globebusters Trans-Am 2009 Quiz”...

With teams allocated randomly (I was teamed up with Jim and Ed) the quiz comprised some 40 questions ranging from “what was the name of the town we stayed in after this picture?” to “what were the names of the people who didn't do the naked swim in the Arctic?”. Some, like “how many golf balls could the world's largest truck carry?” were clearly designed to identify those in the group with anally-retentive memories... I was pleasantly surprised by how many I could answer, as I was prevented from referring to my blog and my memory is terrible. And we didn't come last. Just. I think someone wasn't counting up correctly, but that's probably because I don't like losing... The girls team won, no surprise really as they had Lorraine and she is a mine of interesting facts about everywhere we go (we often refer to “Lorraining it” as opposed to “Googling”). With the quiz over we went out for dinner, a quiet affair as we were still tired from the boat trip. A plate of curried prawns (don't get excited, in these parts “curry” means very slightly flavoured with very mild curry powder) and a bottle of Aqua sin gas (water). See, a dry day. And a relatively early night too...

Tomorrow is the start of the final 3 days riding to Buenos Aires... it's all getting a little bit emotional...

Penguins and Welsh villages...

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 23:57:00 +0000

Wow... December already... and I've still managed to avoid seeing any Christmas trees or hearing any cheesy Christmas tunes...

With another good day's riding ahead, and the prospect of seeing penguins if we took a detour en-route, I was once again up early and keen to get moving. We'd agreed that as Aaron's previous penguin-watching trip had ended without seeing penguins, that I would lead a small group to the penguin colony at Punta Tombo and take responsibility for ensuring they saw penguins. The first part of the ride was similar to yesterday, battling a strong cross-wind on a long straight section of Ruta 3. We had one brief stop in the first 190 miles, for those with smaller fuel tanks to top up and so we could use the facilities, getting back on the road without so much as a cup of coffee. Riding in convoy with me leading were Aaron, Nick, Al, Pertti and sometimes Late Guy, although as usual he chose to ride his own pace, dropping back from the group. When we reached the turn-off onto the dirt road leading to Punta Tombo and the penguins, he was nowhere to be seen. As we were now on dirt, I told Aaron and Pertti to go ahead, as they both love the dirt and ride like demons possessed by... err.. more demons. The road was horrible, though, mostly loose gravel and with very little evidence of tracks that we could ride on. It was like the worst sections of Ruta 40 all over again, as the bikes wobbled one way then the other, the tyres skitting over the stones and struggling for grip. Coupled with the strong winds it made for a difficult and painful ride – for me because the bike bucking twisted my back, for Nick because the constant jarring sent waves of pain up his wrist which is still not right after his fall on the Dalton, and for Al because of his foot which is still sore from when he dropped his bike on it. What a lot of cripples we are...

After about 40 miles of the gravel we came to a junction with tarmac ahead and more dirt to the right, marking the entrance to Punta Tombo. The road ahead would be our way out and had until recently been gravel, the fact it was now tarmac cheering the 3 of us up no end. But we still had a further 22 Km (13 miles) to do before we arrived at the penguin colony, the road now thankfully showing clear tracks and allowing us to relax a little. Finally we arrived at the car park and entrance to the colony, parked up and paid the entrance fee and then walked along the gang-planks to see the penguins... of which there were THOUSANDS! All over the landscape, underneath bushes, in holes in the ground, waddling across the sand, or just laying flat out resting in the weak sunshine. Some with chicks, others with eggs, and none really bothered by the constant stream of tourists walking the pathways between their nests, poking cameras in their faces. And boy, were they cute...

We wandered round for well over an hour watching and photographing the penguins and their surroundings. Some images images were odder than the rest, like this one – remind you of the fairground game where you have to hit moles emerging from holes with a hammer?

Or this one, as it's not every day you see sheep and penguins together...

When we were done penguin watching we grabbed a coffee and some lunch in the cafeteria and then made to set off. As Al and I were running low on fuel he got Jeff to top him up (I had my extra 2ltrs on the bike) and then we were on our way, riding cautiously along the 22Km of dirt road before getting to the tarmac and making our way across to Ruta 3 again. I stopped and emptied my reserve fuel into my tank as it was clear I wouldn't make it to the next petrol station at Trelew. As it was I still didn't make it even with the extra 2 ltrs in the tank, running out just 4 miles from town. Jeff stopped and topped me up. I had managed just 309 miles on 32 litres of fuel.... hardly great when my normal range is well over 325 on just the 30 litres in the tank. When we'd filled up properly we decided to take another detour, this time to visit a Welsh settlement called Gaiman just west of Trelew. This strange little village is famous for keeping the Welsh traditions (tea, welsh cakes, black pudding, etc) of the early settlers who came to this area in 1865. But first, we got lost in Trelew and had to get a guy in a red pick-up to show us the way back to the main road, something that involved going up several gravel back-streets including one the wrong way (most were one-way). When we finally arrived, the Welsh tea houses we saw were closed, so we settled for a large ice-cream and sat in the sunshine, it now noticeably warmer than it had been all day.

By now it was getting late, already gone 5pm, so we set off once more into the wind, battling our way the remaining 45 miles to Puerto Madryn and our hotel on the ocean-front. Once checked in and showered we met up in the bar to discuss the arrangements for tomorrow, when we want to take a boat out to see whales. Following my success at getting us to see penguins I volunteered to arrange the tour and spoke to the agent on the phone. I booked a car to pick us up at 10am and then a 2hr boat journey in the bay, reassured by the agent that there were still whales in the area. With that sorted we went to a local restaurant for dinner. I ordered the steak, but when it came it was cold so I sent it back, the 2nd one was much better and cooked perfectly. As usual we had some nice wine to wash it down with, and then failed miserably to walk past the bar next door on our way to the hotel, a failure that resulted in yet another late night... good job we're not on the boat first thing in the morning...

Battling the wind on Ruta 3

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 23:25:00 +0000

Despite all the alcohol I woke up feeling fresh and looking forward to spending a long day in the saddle. It's been a long time since we last rode a long distance on tarmac roads, and I was keen to get going. After a quick breakfast I loaded up the bike and plugged in my MP3 player and set off just before the official departure time of 8am. Late Guy followed me out of the car park but then when I turned right at a roundabout to go out of town following the route notes, he went straight on. When I couldn't find any signs for places on the route I was taking, I questioned whether I'd made the wrong turn and so turned back to ride further out of town the way we'd come in, and the way Late Guy had gone. As I was riding back South, Late Guy was coming back towards me, obviously thinking he'd got it wrong too. When I stopped again I concluded I was right the first time and so rode back towards town and the roundabout, overtaking Late Guy who was still looking confused. On the way back into town I saw one sign pointing the way I went originally and I kept going until I eventually found another sign some miles out of town confirming I was on the right road. All that had wasted a good half hour, and with over 470 miles to ride I was looking at a very long day...

The ride wasn't the most inspiring of the trip, as the road (Ruta 3) was almost arrow-straight as it headed due North. It passed through miles and miles of barren moorland, dotted with the occasional ragged-looking sheep. The sky was simply huge, the flat landscape allowing it to touch the horizon all around creating the impression I was riding over the top of a high plateau even though I was almost at sea level. With heavy grey clouds to the South and white clouds hiding the sun to the North even the sky wasn't the most interesting to look at. At least the wind kept me busy, blowing constantly from West to East, forcing me to ride with the bike leaned over a good 10 degrees. It wasn't a gusting wind, but it was relentless, forcing me to lean my head into it as though trying to resist an angry giant's head-lock.

The only real respite from the wind came with the fuel stops, which were by necessity more frequent than normal, the strong wind and constant speed increasing my fuel consumption dramatically. At the second stop I met some of the others, including Aaron who was chatting to a guy from San Francisco who had ridden his Harley sportster all the way down and was heading to Ushuaia. At least he'd avoided the rough dirt roads we'd taken and sensibly stuck to the main highways. With over 150 miles still to go and no further fuel stops, Aaron said he was concerned about his fuel lasting, so I said I'd follow him in case he ran out. So I at least had someone to ride with for the last few hours, as we battled with the wind. When the road dropped down to the coast and ran along the side of a bay the wind picked up even more, blowing us across the road and necessitating us riding with the bikes pushed over into the wind. As each truck passed in the opposite direction we'd get a few seconds of calm before getting blasted again as we emerged from the side of the truck back into the wind. It was highly comical, watching Aaron get blown around before doing exactly the same myself. At one stage the road followed the shoreline and headed due East, the wind behind us, and it was only then that we were able to relax our necks, the giant releasing his head-lock for a short while...

Finally we arrived in Comodoro Riveradia and made our way to the hotel, parking the bikes in the underground car park before checking in. I had made excellent progress, sticking at a constant 80-ish despite the wind, and so arrived around 4pm, having covered almost 480 miles in just 8 hours, including stops. But I was tired, and so the evening was a fairly subdued affair, just a pizza from a restaurant around the corner from the hotel and an early night...

Goodbye Finn...

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 23:27:00 +0000

Despite having a lumpy cushion instead of a pillow and a bed that has obviously seen more action than I'd care to think about I slept well, and when I woke at 6am as usual I simply had a pee and went back to bed and slept for another hour. With no windows in the room, when the bathroom door was shut it was like the black hole of Calcutta, so much so that even when I'd got up and showered and left the room, Jim continued to sleep... With an hour to kill before breakfast started and almost 3 before departure, I wrote up the blog ready for when I had an Internet connection, and took my time packing the bike. Then I had a very leisurely breakfast and chatted to some of the guys, the conversation inevitably turning to going home – something I think we're all beginning to look forward to, some more than others. There have been comments made that it seems daft to ride up to Buenos Aires when we could have (in theory) shipped the bikes from Ushuaia and flown home, but I think that misses the point somewhat... this is a motorcycle expedition and starts and finishes in big cities convenient for the top-to-bottom section of the ride. There's also a lot to see between here and BA, including, hopefully, some penguins...

When the group was finally ready Kevin led us off in convoy to the ferry, so that we could all say goodbye to Finn when he took the left turn to Punto Arenas whilst we went right to the North. Gerald had a puncture but Jeff soon fixed it and he joined us in the queue for the ferry in plenty of time to board. Unlike our first crossing, the upper decks from where we'd watched the dolphins was cordoned off, so we initially just stood on the open deck chatting. When the ferry got into the middle of the Straits, the swell was terrific, causing it to rock from side to side noticeably. The lorries were swaying on their suspension and we were initially concerned that the bikes would rock off their side-stands. Chris was so concerned about Late Guy's bike that he spent the entire crossing pushing against it!

When we disembarked we only had a short ride to the T-junction where we'd lose Finn, and so with handshakes all round we bid him farewell. When he first joined our group I questioned whether he could get a real sense of what our trip has been about by spending such a short time with us, but I think he has. For a start he's spent a lot of time getting to hear our stories as well as riding with us to experience what the riding days are like. Then he's joined us for dinner and drinks, sharing our “down-time” too. And he got to ride with us to Ushuaia, and whilst I don't think he came close to experiencing the emotions we did, he certainly witnessed it, as his photos show. I still stand by my opinion that it's impossible to get a full understanding of what this trip is like without doing it, but I do think he's got sufficient insight to write a decent article or two... if you can get a copy of the Irish Sunday World, then read his Bike Torque column and judge for yourself (you can find the latest article online at the Sunday World website.

Having waved him off we set off once more, the group quickly fragmenting along the usual lines as the faster riders sped off into the distance whilst the slower ones were still getting themselves ready to depart. The ride to the destination town of Rio Gallegos was short – just a further 50 or so miles, and so we arrived early and then had most of the afternoon to while away. I did the usual things, glad of a decent Internet connection so I could chat to Tracy and post the blog, then went for a wander round town to get some painkillers and water for the long ride tomorrow. The town was a complete contrast to most places we've stayed at, being very run-down and with litter blowing across the dirty streets. The hotel was decidedly out of place but I never did discover what would warrant a decent hotel in a shit-hole town like this. The only other interesting place I found was the “British Club” a restaurant/club on the main street, more of which later...

Back at the hotel we had yet another of our regular meetings, this time to run through the final few days as we head towards Buenos Aires and the requirements for photocopies of our bike permits and every page of our passports (whether used or not). When the meeting concluded Julia mentioned that if anyone was looking for a good restaurant then the British Club just around the corner was worth a try, and it had “beef curry” on the menu. As it didn't open until 8.30pm (it was now 6.15pm) I went to my room for a snooze before joining the group to go and sample the club's delights. First disappointment was the menu, which included “Lomo al Curry” sausages, but no beef curry (lomo is beef). Second disappointment was that they had run out of langoustines so the “hot stir-fried prawns” were also off... I ordered the sausage anyway and that's when I had my third disappointment as there was only one “lomo al curry” one and 2 chicken ones... the fourth disappointment was the sausages themselves, which were poor and didn't taste of curry... I won't list all my other disappointments, but suffice to say my main course of thai-style mixed seafood wasn't thai-style and the seafood element wasn't that good... dessert, a chocolate mousse with brandy tasted more like Angel Delight and hadn't the slightest hint of alcohol. Good job I'd chosen the wine, which was an excellent 3 bottles of Latitdue 33 Malbec between 4 of us at our end of the table.

But the poor meal was more than made up for when we heard that there was someone in the bar that wanted to chat to us. It was an old gent, Colin Jameson (71) who was the grandson of the chap who started the settlement of British (mostly Scottish) families in the area in 1870. His story was fascinating, as he recounted how his grandfather, who had been a sailor shipping prisoners to Australia had landed at Rio Gallegos when it was just a river (no port) and decided it would be a great place to settle. He returned to the UK and got together between 30 and 40 families and then brought them to Argentina aboard his ship. However, he miscalculated and landed some 100 Km north, running deep into the river mouth on the high tide before getting stuck on the mudbanks when the tide retreated. The families went ashore, but realising it wasn't Rio Gallegos said they wanted to leave, but his grandfather then waded out to the ship and put two holes in it with an axe... stranded the families settled and created huge farms many of which are still worked by their descendants today. Colin then went on to explain that the British Club had been founded in 1911 as a social club for all the British immigrants in the area and currently has around 180 members. We listened intently as he told us about how he dealt with any tension that might have arisen in 1982 during the Falklands conflict, when he signed a letter stating that no member of the club would interfere – and then got the governor of the province to sign stating that no action would be taken against the club's members. This neat move meant that the club could carry on as normal and it didn't so much as get a window broken. Time was getting on and we'd drunk our whiskies so we made to leave, and then Colin produced an old dusty visitor's book and asked Kevin to sign... alongside all the dignitaries, politicians, celebrities and other worthy folk dating back to 1951 (this being the 2nd volume, the 1st dates back to the club's founding in 1911). When Kevin had scrawled in the book, we said our goodbyes and went back to the hotel for the inevitable nightcap. A couple of very large whiskies to help me sleep (not that I need help!) and then off to bed... at 2am with a 6.30am get-up and an 8am departure ahead of a 470+mile riding day... very sensible!

The adventure continues...

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 23:47:00 +0000

After 2 days of rest and reflection, the group is itchy to get moving again and I'm no exception. Up bright and early at 6am sorting through my packing trying to get everything back into the 2 pannier bags. I've noticed that every time we have a couple of days rest and I can sort out my washing that I struggle to get all my stuff repacked. Perhaps it's the addition of the nifty Globebusters Trans Am 2009 tee-shirt...

With the group's departure time set for 10am, I ate a leisurely breakfast but was still ready to roll just after 9am. I hate hanging around when there's riding to be done, and even knowing that our destination, the same hotel in Cerro Sombrero we stayed in just 5 nights ago, has absolutely nothing going for it, I hit the road just after 9.20am. The weather was overcast but slightly warmer than the day before, so wrapped up in all my cold-weather gear but without waterproofs I rode out of town on the same road we'd come in on. This time I was riding alone rather than in a big convoy, and quickly settled into a relaxed pace, enjoying the twisting road as it headed up into the mountains towards the Garibaldi Pass. It started to spit with rain and the cold air blowing through my jacket and trousers was a little too much, so I pulled over and put on my waterproofs, taking the opportunity to snap a picture as the mountains ahead looked like they might be hiding even worse weather...

With traffic very light the ride up into the mountains was easy and the threatened bad weather never materialised, just a few spots of rain which failed to dampen either me or my spirits. I was back on the road again, heading North for the first time in 4 months, and starting the last leg of the journey that will take me to Buenos Aires and the flight home. Concentrating on the riding and the scenery my mind was empty – the last 2 days having afforded me ample time to reflect on the journey so far. And what scenery it was. On the way in I'd been so focused on the last few miles, and so busy reflecting on what I'd done that I only noticed the half of it. As I crested the hill at the top of the Garibaldi Pass, the view across the lake to the distant hills was stunning, even in the overcast light of the day. Naturally I had to stop for one more “bike, lake, mountains” photos...

The road then wound its way down the mountains and back towards the flat-land that covers most of Tierra del Fuego, this little island at the end of the world. I rode past the Hosteria Kaiken, the hotel we'd stayed at for our last night before the ride to Ushuaia, and along the side of the beautiful lake on which it sits. I rode across deserted moorland, leaning the bike into the heavy crosswind that threatened to blow me straight into the path of any oncoming traffic – of which there was thankfully precious little. I rode with the South Atlantic Ocean just metres away on my right, the water bright green and topped with bubbling white surf as the waves broke at the end of their long journey to shore. I rode for almost 3 hours with only a couple of little roadside stops until I arrived once more at the border that separates the Argentinian side of the island from the Chilean, a border we have to cross in order to get to the ferry to the mainland before crossing back into Argentina. Before joining the queues of coaches and lorries crossing, I filled up with fuel and grabbed a coffee, being joined by Jim and Mac. I've shared a room with Jim for the whole trip, but this was our first coffee on the road together. As others arrived I went and started the border formalities, getting myself stamped out of the country and then handing in the bike permit. Then I rode the short dirt road between the borders, arriving back at the Chilean side and getting yet another entry stamp for me in my passport and handing in a completed temporary vehicle import permit for it to be signed and stamped. This stage caused some problems, as it would appear that when I cross the border from Northern Chile into Argentina and handed in the permit, it wasn't entered into the computer. I soon resolved the issue, explaining that I'd always handed the forms in and that I'd been in and out of Chile since then, then showing all the entry and exit stamps in my passport. They seemed happy enough with this explanation and signed and stamped the permit and then I had to go to the agricultural inspection guy to hand in another form and get the SAG woman outside to inspect the bike to check I wasn't smuggling any fruit or meat into the country. When she was satisfied I wasn't, I was on my way, back into Chile and onto the dirt road that covers the final 70-mile section to Cerro Sombrero.

This is the last dirt road of the main route, and I was determined to try and enjoy it. Over the past few weeks since my fall I've started to hate riding on the dirt, the loose gravel sections the cause of a fair amount of pain. But I used to love them, and have very fond memories of the Dalton Highway, the 17-mile dirt road ride the day after the heavy drinking at Beaver Creek, the Moki Dugway and Valley of the Gods, etc. Knowing that this road was in good condition on the way down helped, but I was wary of how quickly these roads can change as a result of bad weather or roadworks. Picking a line on the hard-packed mud and avoiding the light sprinkling of loose gravel at the roadsides I upped my pace, riding at a comfortable 55-60 mph, sat down as the road was flat enough and almost devoid of potholes. The road had more traffic on it than on the way down, and I had to overtake a few lorries and a 4x4, the lorries going slowly and the 4x4 a little faster. This continued for a fair distance until I encountered the stretch of loose gravel I remembered from the way up, which covered about 2 miles and slowed my pace down to around 30mph, the waggling of the handlebars causing pain in my shoulder and causing me to worry it might develop into a full-on tank-slapper, where they go one way then the other uncontrollably. Fortunately it didn't, but my reduced pace meant that the 4x4 caught me back up and passed me. When we got clear of the loose gravel I was able to up my pace again, catching the 4x4 back up and re-passing it again. The additional challenge of overtaking made the journey fly by, and I really started to enjoy myself. At one point I passed a large lorry that had toppled into the ditch at the side of the road, with another lorry parked alongside it offering assistance. Seems even the lorry drivers can get target fixation and ride into ditches...

As I got further North the terrain either side of the road opened out and there were guanacos grazing by the roadside. These deer-like animals get spooked by the approaching bike and take off, sometimes straight into the fields, othertimes straight across the road and present a real hazard. Spotting them is not always easy, as they're pretty well camouflaged.

But I was on my game and didn't have any problems, making good time and arriving at the hotel around 4pm. There was no-one at the check-in desk, but the room list and keys were there, so I grabbed the key to my room (the same one I'd been in 5 nights ago) and made my way there. Looking in the room I saw some coats on my bed, so returned to reception and found the woman who I asked about the coats. She came back to the room with me and then started to wake the small child than had been sleeping under the coats, who then proceeded to scream the house down. Needless to say that once word of me waking a small child in my bedroom got to the group there was a fair amount of mickey-taking, Aaron keen to try and get his own back for all the penguin jibes...

Also staying in the hotel is a group of mostly German bikers on one of the Moto Aventura trips run in conjunction with Edelweiss. Moto Aventura were the folk that sorted out our tyres in Osorno, and it was good to see them again. Dinner was a set meal again, this time salmon which I struggled to eat (I'm not a great fan of salmon). As today is Finn's last day with us before he heads for home, we toasted his contribution with a decent bottle of red. And so to bed around 10.30pm, hoping that I can lie-in in the morning as we have another late departure (10am) as we head across the ferry and back into Argentina – our last border crossing...

Oooh look... Penguins!

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 23:11:00 +0000

I woke to the sound of my alarm clock beeping at 6.30am to get me up for the skinny-dip in the southernmost ocean. Having got up and cleaned my teeth, I thought about it for a while and decided that it would be nice to leave a loose-end, something on the trip that hadn't been done, and went back to bed. The fact that I was still very tired may also have had something to do with my decision as well...

Unsurprisingly I slept late, waking around 9.00am just in time for breakfast. With a slight sense of deja-vu I went downstairs and ate breakfast, the small group of intrepid naked swimmers returning as I was finishing, looking very cold but chattering excitedly. Whilst it would have been nice to complete the set (North, East, West and South) I still like the idea of having left something on the trip undone – who knows, I may yet pass this way again and can then tick that box...

With breakfast done and the blog updated I attempted to go back to sleep, the after-effects of the last two nights taking their toll. I say attempted because no sooner had I got into the room than the cleaner knocked on the door. So I went out for a walk instead, attending to some other little jobs. These included getting a stamp in my passport from the tourist information office – which may seem a little odd, but Ushuaia is the southernmost city in the world, and the stamp is pretty cool and made a nice addition to all the others I've collected so far. After replenishing my diminishing stocks of Argentine pesos I went and got my hair cut – deciding that I'd do it now rather than in Buenos Aires as I originally intended on the basis that it'll have 2 weeks to grow back a little before I get home and Tracy freaks out at how short it is. Well, have you every tried explaining to a hairdresser that only speaks Spanish to just trim it a little and leave it as long as he can? Hairdressers the world over seem to think that all men want a fair scalping, and this guy was no exception. Simon, who went to the same place an hour later, also got scalped. But it's done now, so no point worrying about it...

With my jobs done it was back to the hotel to catch up with Tracy briefly before the pre-arranged meeting at 1pm. Usually we have meetings in the early evening, but this was brought forward as there was a group of us leaving at 3pm for a 6-hour boat trip to see penguins. The meeting had a special purpose too, this being Mac's 60th birthday. Those of you who have seen “The Ride” DVD or caught it on National Geographic (the story of the initial 2005 Trans-Am trip) will know Mac for his famous quotes like “It's a once-in-a-lifetime trip” (this is his 2nd) and at the end his favourite expression “loada b*ll*cks”. He's a really quiet, unassuming and extremely generous chap, and rides a bike just like mine that has clocked up a massive mileage and still looks good (unlike mine, which is now pretty battered). So, with him sat looking decidedly uncomfortable centre-stage in the mezzanine section of the hotel's restaurant we proceeded to give him the traditional Globebusters birthday celebration. Only first, he was presented with a large cake, decorated with “Loada B*ll*cks, Happy Birthday Mac”...

Jim, the other half of the Kippers, then gave a lovely speech and presented Mac with his birthday hat – not the normal mickey-taking hat, but a very nice leather hat that he'd chosen especially and which suited Mac perfectly. Next up were the presents from the group, and as is traditional they were chosen to match the country in which the birthday was celebrated. They included a poncho, a gaucho “boleadora” or “bola” which consists of some balls on a string used for hunting, a mug (in place of the usual shot-glass as Mac likes his tea!), a tee-shirt with “Ushuaia End of the World” emblazoned on it and finally a tee-shirt with the “Llama Sutra” and pictures of Llamas in various erm.. positions... He looked the part in his hat and poncho, though...

With the celebrations I had a hamburguesa for lunch and then joined the assembling group for the boat trip to see the penguins. Arranged by Aaron, this was to be a 6-hour cruise along the Beagle channel to a large penguin colony where we'd get to disembark onto the island and “Dance with Penguins”. To say we were excited would be something of an understatement. Gathering in the hotel lobby were the 10 explorers – Gerald, Phil, Late Guy, Nick, Finn, Pertti, Simon, Jeff, Aaron and me. At the designated time we wandered across the road to the port and the ticket office, handed in our booking slip and paid the 140-pesos (the trip should have been 200 but we thought we'd got a group discount), then went through passenger control and boarded the large catamaran that was waiting for us. Unlike our last boat trip this one wasn't full, so we spread out over 2 tables and I managed to get a window seat and settled down to snooze before we set sail. Then there was a voice over the tannoy stating that if any passengers were booked on the longer trip they should report to the back of the deck as this boat wasn't going to Penguin island, and that the catamaran pulling out of dock to our left was the penguin boat... it seems there had been a cock-up at the ticket office, and the guy had issued us with tickets for a 3-hr trip to see the sea lions and lighthouse instead... Needless to say that it was too late to get off and that Aaron took the full force of remorseless mickey-taking for the entire trip for arranging a penguin trip that didn't include seeing any penguins...

We did get to see some sea-lions though (or “brown penguins sleeping” as we called them)...

and a large colony of Cormorants, to which the cry of “Oh look, poenguins” was met by the two stewardesses gently pointing out they weren't as if talking to the mentally handicapped and then proceeding to explain the difference, whilst we all tried not to laugh...

The boat then went to the island with the lighthouse, a very uninspiring red and white tower with a light on top and no penguins. I fell asleep for most of the journey, the sound of banter as Aaron continued to pay for his “mistake” ringing in my ears... When we got back ashore I went to the gift shop and bought a little penguin pin for his jacket, presenting it to him with “this is what they look like”... fortunately he took it all in good humour, but I don't think that's the last he's heard of it, especially as when walking to the restaurant that evening for dinner, the group waddled along like penguins...

And I stuck to my “dry day” promise, with just one beer to accompany my French Onion soup and Pizza, before turning in at a very reasonable 10.30pm... and tomorrow we start the long ride North... and the adventure continues...

Busy doing nothing...

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 23:06:00 +0000

Unsurprisingly I slept late, waking around 9.30am just in time for breakfast. With only a slight hangover I was feeling good, especially with a whole day ahead with nothing much to do. The first task of the day was to get the blog updated, and to steal copies of Finn's photos as they captured the day from a position slightly outside the group as he was able to stand back and watch what was unfolding, whereas I was in the thick of things. With the blog posted I went out for a wander round town in search of a sticker for the bike and a new beard trimmer as the one I bought in Prince George has stopped charging. Walking round Ushuaia in the sunshine was a very pleasant way to while away an hour or two, and to get some fresh air to ensure the hangover couldn't take hold. I bumped into Nick and Aaron eating lunch and joined them for a drink, then we found a chocolate shop where we bought and ate too much chocolate over a coffee. I found a beard trimmer and some good stickers too, and with all my jobs for the day done and a strong determination not to over-do things I went back to my room for a nap.

When I woke again it was almost time to meet up with the others for some pre-dinner drinks, so I took a quick shower and did exactly that. Just one beer in the hotel before we walked up the road to check out the crab restaurants, as king crab is a real delicacy here. We chose one that looked OK and then went for another pre-dinner drink in the bar we'd had lunch in, Aaron stumping up for a round of caipirinhas, a sort of lemony sweet drink made with way too much bacardi. Suitably tipsy we walked back to the restaurant and enjoyed a fantastic meal – calamari to start with followed by the most delicious crab I've ever tasted, prepared in a slight tomato sauce with all the hard work of extracting the meat from the shell already done. Accompanied by a very good bottle of Chardonnay it was all very good indeed. After dinner we returned to the bar for another of those silly drinks and dessert, a combination of chocolate and lemon that didn't quite work. Then the group dispersed, with only Finn and Late Guy joining me in the Irish bar for some beer and talking rubbish until very late. With a nightcap of Irish whiskey before we left at closing time it had turned into quite a night... Tomorrow will have to be a dry day or I'm going to have some serious issues...

At the Bottom of the World...

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 23:10:00 +0000

Like a child on Christmas morning I woke early excited about the day ahead and finally reaching the “end of the road”. With the group riding together and departing at 9am I had plenty of time to get my things in order, update the blog, pack the bike and chat to my fellow riders. The mood was one of calm excitement, of a sense of a job almost done with just the final easy task to complete. That easy task was a short 70-mile ride from the hotel to the town of Ushuaia and then into the Tierra del Fuego national park and a short dirt-road ride to the very end of the road at Bahia Lapataia – the most southerly road in the world.

As usual the group was ready to go well before the 9am kick-off, even Late Guy, who Kevin had asked to ride in 2nd position in the group so he wouldn't be last for once. Pulling out of the hotel and up the short gravel drive to the main road the group dropped into its usual formation and I assumed a position pretty close to the back so I could get a great view of the group ahead. The road from the hotel to Ushuaia was a gem – smooth tarmac heading first along the valley and then up into the mountains, skirting round them along the Garibaldi Pass before descending into town. On the run up into the mountains we crossed paths with the Patagonia group who were leaving Ushuaia and heading back North. First to pass was Hamish, going like the clappers and hardly acknowledging the 20 bikes heading in the opposite direction. Next up was Matt, the Globebusters tour leader with a couple of riders on Africa Twins in tow. We pulled over to the roadside where they joined us and we chatted for a while before it was time for us to get on – the rest of the Patagonia group were some distance behind, and we waved as we passed them on the mountain road. I saw Santa Phil, and even through the visor on his Arai helmet I could see his huge grin. It would have been nice to stop and thank him personally for fetching out my new starter motor, but there simply wasn't the time. Finn (our Irish journalist and deputy editor of the Sunday World) rode ahead to get some photos of the group, for which I'm very grateful...

With a backdrop of black mountains with their bright white snow-caps and a large blue lake the gentle ride gave me plenty of time to reflect on just how far we've come. Over 21,000 miles and 13 countries in just 18 weeks... Images from the trip kept popping into my mind as I rode – from the dust of the Dalton Highway in Alaska, the bears in Canada, the glacier in Stewart, the dry heat of the US and camping in Valley of the Gods, the poverty of Mexico, the challenging riding in Copper Canyon, the colours and vibrancy of Guatamala and central America, the breakdown in Honduras, the tropical rainforests in Nicaragua and Costa Rica, the border chaos in Costa Rica, the banana bridge crossing into Panama, the crazy fast-as-you-like riding in Columbia, crossing the equator in Ecuador, the abject poverty in the desert of northern Peru, the beauty of Machu Picchu, the long straight roads in northern Chile, the rocky madness of Canyon del Pato, the fall on Paso de San Francisco and having to ride Nick's bike, the pain of Ruta 40 and the gravelled roadworks that almost broke me, the joy of finding tarmac, the wilderness of Carretera Austral, the endless dirt riding on Ruta 40 and finally this...

Arriving in Ushuaia we came through the industrial part of town, past the port where the huge cruise liners bring their cargo of tourists on their way to and from Antarctica, passed the main part of town and out the other side, still heading South... and onto the dirt road that leads into the National Park. Once through the park entrance we were once again in a different world, riding along a narrow single-lane mud road through a forest. Riding in single file and trying to pick a line through the pot-holes that reduced the amount of punishment my long-suffering bike received we made our way slowly to our destination. We had to overtake the occasional coach, ferrying the tourist sheep to the end of the world for a picture they'll savour not half as much as us, for we've got here under our own steam, having started a long, long, way away. Then we entered a clearing, a place for the coaches to turn round, and there it was... the end of the road...

We parked up in formation, parting the sheep, sorry, tourists, and dismounted, helmets off and tears flowing, bear-hugs all round. I ignored the pain from my cracked rib and threw myself into the open arms of my fellow riders, no sense in coming over all British at a time like this. The sense of achievement and of relief was mixed with a sense of sadness that the journey was nearly over and that from here we'd be heading home, albeit with a 2,500mile ride to Buenos Aires first. But to see the smiles on the faces of the people I've spent the last 5 months with, to share their moment of joy, and to share mine with them, was very, very special.

We parted the tourists so we could get our photos, then Jeff produced a box of bottles of champagne and some plastic cups and we toasted our success in fine style, as the rain started to fall. More hugs, more tears, more smiles... Some of us had the little stones we'd picked up on the beach at Prudhoe Bay, and we had a little stone-throwing ceremony as we launched them into the ocean, a little gesture to mark the journey and confuse generations of future geologists (“How did this Arctic rock get all the way down here to the Antarctic?”). We were constantly asked by the tourists where we'd come from and once again found ourselves basking in the glory of our “minor celebrity status” as they stared open-mouthed when told we'd just finished riding from the top of the world to the bottom...

Finally it was time to tear ourselves away from this spot that we'd spent so long and so much effort trying to reach. With a café just outside the national park our destination, I set off first, happy to be riding on my own again after the slow group ride in. Revelling in the joy of riding without pressure I blasted along the dirt road, confidence in my riding slowly returning after the fall, splashing through the puddles in the potholes and scattering loose gravel on the corners. Once in the café I had a nice salad and Sprite and sat and chatted some more whilst the rain poured down outside.

Finally we left and rode back in the rain to town, Al and I riding with Aaron who's GPS has the right maps and so could find the hotel. On the outskirts of town I ran out of petrol. I'd ridden all the way to the end of the world, and then ran out of gas. How appropriate! Luckily I still had my 2ltr petrol can on my pannier, so used that to get going again, whilst Aaron and Al re-appeared wondering where I'd gone. We stopped to fill up properly and then found the hotel, parking up and then heading off to our rooms to get changed and catch up with loved ones back home and share our news.

With a group meal planned for the evening we met up in the hotel bar and had a celebratory beer, followed by a congratulatory beer, followed by... well, you get the idea. The restaurant was a short walk away and served up a great steak and some half decent red wine. Over dinner we had a number of toasts, the whole restaurant joining our celebrations whether they wanted to or not... and then we retired to the obligatory Irish bar for some more beer and perhaps a whisky or two... until the bar closed and we couldn't find another one open, not even the hotel bar... which is perhaps a good thing...

Almost there...

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 23:23:00 +0000

Another night where my sleep was interrupted by pain in my back as a result of the overly soft bed and single pillow, meaning I was lying too flat. Having got up to take a painkiller I was wide awake and with lying down too painful took a shower and went into the common area of the hotel so as not to disturb Jim – it was only 5.30am and with breakfast not until 8am I reasoned he could usefully use the sleep he seemed to be enjoying. With no Internet access again I couldn't upload the blog, but I could at least write it and so that's how I whiled away most of the time until the rest of the group were up and making a racket in their usual fashion, clunking about the hotel in their bike boots. I changed into my bike gear and loaded the bike, then went and joined the early birds in the hotel's eating area ready for breakfast. This consisted of some very nice scrambled eggs and fresh buns with butter and jam, accompanied by the inevitable Chilean coffee – Nescafé sachets made up with hot water and warm milk. As a tea drinker it's perfectly acceptable, but those who habitually drink coffee tend to start the morning complaining...

This morning the group formed up for the official 9am start with only Ed & Lorraine and Pertti setting off before Kevin & Julia – unusual in that it meant that when they set off they were immediately followed by a large gaggle of bikes including me. As the road turned quickly from tarmac to dirt it meant that the convoy was riding in each other's dust, but we quickly spread out to increase visibility, the line riding in single file in the clear track between the sprinkling of loose gravel. Sticking to a reasonable speed of around 45mph, we rode along, with ample time to think about the day's ride – some 200 miles to a hotel just shy of Ushuaia and our last night before reaching the southernmost point of the trip. With a featureless and largely uninhabited landscape either side of the road, the ride was pretty dull, with only the odd truck to overtake to break up the monotony. Just before the Chilean border the road changed where it had been recently re-graded, becoming hard-packed mud. Fortunately the graders had almost finished, but some earlier in the group had been directed to the side as the surface was being compacted, including Nigel, who was standing by his bike some way from the road. Assuming he had a puncture and was waiting for the van, the group in front of me waved at him and rode past. I gave him the “thumbs-up” sign to check all was ok, but got a strange gesture back in return as he pointed back the way we'd come. Confused, I stopped to check what was going on, as did Simon behind me. It seems that he'd been directed down a softer path by the workmen and when the path ran out didn't have the strength in his injured shoulder (the result of his crash some time ago) to get the bike up and onto the road. Simon pushed as I walked the bike using its engine and clutch up the small mound of soft earth at the roadside and back onto the road proper, and then we all set off again.

The border crossing was as simple as they get, the Chilean exit formalities completed quickly before a short ride to the Argentine border where we got ourselves stamped in and then a new bike permit printed. Leaving the border most of the group stopped for coffee but I kept going, keen to get the day's riding done whilst I was still feeling fresh. Now back on tarmac I could relax more, although the dirt road had been in really good condition so hadn't posed any problems. The next point of interest was the town of Rio Grande, famous for being where the Argentine air force launched its support for the invasion of the Falklands in February 1982. Here there were statues and signs proclaiming that the Malvinas belong to Argentina, and a large memorial to the 649 Argentine soldiers who were killed during the conflict. A large white wall on the ocean-front with plaques listing the names of the dead, and their regimental coats of arms, it made a sombre spot to reflect on the follies of man, fighting over a patch of land in the middle of an ocean of no strategic or mineral wealth. There was no mention of the 255 British personnel killed during the conflict, or the 3 civilians that also lost their lives...

Leaving Rio Grande and heading back out into the open countryside I was once again alone, enjoying the ride as it headed across the flat pampas towards the distant hills. I stopped only once, briefly, to take a picture of the road some 20 miles from the hotel, once again totally absorbed in the joy of riding. I was trying to capture Ed & Lorraine who I'd seen on the road ahead of me, but at this scale it's impossible to see them, their bike becoming just a speck on the road, such is the grand scale of things...

I arrived at the hotel early, around 1.30pm, and with my room not yet ready went to the restaurant for some lunch, where I joined Pertti, Aaron and Finn, the 3 having arrived some time before me. I had an excellent plate of tagliatelle and a beer, and was then shown to my room in a cabin by the lakeside. Yet another perfect spot in which to unwind and look forward to the days ahead. After a quick hot bath I grabbed the laptop and headed back to the main building, where I joined the others in establishing an “Internet café” with great views out over the lake and mountains...

With the blog up to date, the photos finally loaded, Tracy online, great music playing in the background and a cold beer at hand it was a great way to while away the afternoon and early evening... At 7pm we had our last meeting before Ushuaia, Kevin briefing us on plans for tomorrow when we will ride as a group the remaining 70 miles to the end of the world... It's all getting quite emotional...

Dinner that evening was a collective affair, the hotel full and the restaurant unable to accommodate us individually. Just before the start of the meal, Richard, the current “Gold Star” holder announced that he'd had one nomination, which he then read out. It was from Chris nominating Julia for giving up what could be her last chance to ride the entire Trans AM so he could ride her bike. She missed 6 weeks back in 2005 when she broke her wrist in Costa Rica, and the business means both she and Kevin are unlikely to guide the trip together again. The entire group thought this was an excellent use of the award, quite rightly so.

Dinner then came and the food was excellent, the wine initially less so (we chose a better bottle for our 2nd). Naturally conversations over dinner and in the bar afterwards were reflective, looking back on the trip and what it has meant to us... I suspect that's likely to be the case for a good while, as there's been quite a lot to reflect on... but first we need to complete the journey from the top of the world to the bottom... and that's a job for tomorrow...

Onto the Island of Fire... and the last leg of the journey to the end of the world...

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 23:40:00 +0000

After a good night's sleep I woke early as usual, showered and dressed and grabbed the laptop and headed for the crackling log fire I could hear in the sitting room. There I found Nick, once again having left the comfort of his room to sleep somewhere in the house where he could find silence, this time Simon's snoring the reason. He quickly packed away his makeshift bed, returning the cushions to their rightful places on the chairs and I gratefully took one closest to the fire and settled down to write, the upright position of the chair much more comfortable for my back than the flat horizontal bed I'd left just minutes before. When the blogging was done (still a poor Internet connection, hence it was uploaded minus photos to start with) I resumed my reading whilst the rest of the group woke up and sauntered into the sitting room, getting as close to the heat of the fire as possible. Those camping came in looking decidedly cold, their being a sprinkling of frost outside under a very clear pale blue sky. Oh how I wish I'd been able to join them under canvas... (ok, that bit's not true).

Breakfast was soon polished off and then the bike loaded, and I took the opportunity of a slightly later start (10am being the official get-go) to fix my intercom speakers to my new crash helmet, using some sticky velcro supplied by Richard & Karen (who seem to have room on their bike for all manner of useful things). That meant that I could at least have some music on the ride to the ferry, which promised to be all tarmac and relatively easy going. And so it was that I pulled out of the car park of the hotel around 9.40am to the strains of the Stereophonics. They always remind me of “The Long Way Round” (for which they sang the theme tune), which was the start of all this motorcycle travel nonsense for me way back in Winter 2004, and that seemed appropriate for a day when we'd cross the Magellen Straitss onto Tierra Del Fuego, having reached the southernmost point on the Americas land-mass...

The ride was as easy as billed, the road largely straight and well surfaced, passing first across sparse plain-land dotted with bedraggled-looking sheep and the odd rhea. I mentioned these emu-like birds in a previous post but hadn't managed to get a photo of one, so when I saw one between the fence and the roadside I thought it too good an opportunity to miss. He had other ideas, though, and as I stopped he wandered off in the direction I'd come. No problem, I thought, whipping a quick u-turn to follow him. Which then turned into a race, the rhea running along the side of the fence with a look of abject terror on his beak (if that's at all possible). I accelerated to get past, then slowed ready to stop and get out the camera, and he turned round and ran off in the opposite direction. Another quick u-turn from me and the race was on again, only for the whole sequence to be repeated once more. Feeling like a character in a silent movie farce, I gave up and continued on my way, the smug-looking rhea laughing at my failure in my mirror. Further up the road I saw another rhea, peering through the fence and he didn't seem spooked as I approached, so I quickly stopped and reached for my camera, only for him to turn round and leg it off into the field. So I don't have any photos of them. I'm sure you can find them on the Interweb if you're that inclined...

Whilst this last failure was unfolding, a gaggle of bikes came past, Aaron leading Nigel, Andy and Richard & Karen, and so I tagged on the back as the group sped across the plain. With a very stong sidewind it was amusing to watch the nicely staggered group get blown out of shape as first one bike then the others got caught in a sudden strong gust. I was no exception, getting blown across the lane frequently and having to lean over to the right and force my head into the wind in order to keep going relatively straight. Thankfully respite was at hand around 115 miles in as we pulled into a café for a warming hot chocolate and to rest aching neck muscles. With a “Bike Parking Only” sign outside we were made most welcome, the hot chocolate was very nice (and warm) but with the promise of a café at the ferry port I decided to wait for lunch until we got there, as we'd be hanging around whilst the rest of the group caught up so we could all cross together. A few others arrived just as I was finishing my drink, and with the café now crowded with weebles (remember those round fat kid's toys that wobbled but didn't fall down? That's what we looked like in all our bike gear!), I made my escape and rode back onto the empty road. I like riding alone on stretches like this, where the riding isn't too taxing and there's plenty of time for reflection. With so much of the journey done, there's plenty to reflect on, though I'm not sure I've reached any conclusions yet.

As the road reached the south coast it turned East, the South Pacific stretching off to my right, and it really did feel like I'd reached the end of the world. There was nothing for miles around, the land wind-blown and a dull shade of beige, devoid of trees or signs of life of any sort. Then I came across a group of derelict buildings – an estancia which the sign proclaimed was founded in 1876 – complete with the rusting hulls of 2 ships grounded and being battered by the surf. Nick was parked up and filming the scene, but I sensed he wanted to ride alone too, so I parked up a bit further along and explored the site without disturbing him.

When I was done, Nick had just left, so I rode on, riding a little distance behind and maintaining a similar pace. It was only a short ride to the ferry port and as the first two on the road, we arrived first and pulled up outside the cafeteria. With the promise of a hot coffee and something to eat we eagerly went inside, only to discover it was no longer a café... but it still had the usual mass of stickers in the window, the travellers' calling card... see if you can spot the Globebusters one...

and so we waited for the rest of the group to arrive without a warming drink, watching the ferries come and go. There were 2 boats which constantly sailed from here to Tierra del Fuego, taking all sorts of vehicles (mostly trucks and buses) across to the island the other side of the Magellan Straits. What it must have been like before the Panama Canal, when all round-the-world boat traffic passed through this narrow stretch of water joining the Pacific and Atlantic is hard to imagine, given how quiet and deserted it now is. Eventually most of the group arrived, and then Jeff turned up in the van, so he and Finn (the Irish reporter) went ahead on one ferry to get photos of us disembarking whilst we waited for the next one. As it takes just 20 minutes to cross we didn't have to wait too long, and soon our ferry was dropping its bow door onto the concrete runway and unloading its cargo of vehicles. Unlike ferries that cross the channel, these do not dock as such, merely coming close to shore and then using their engines to try and remain in position with the door resting on the sloping concrete apron of the dock. With such strong currents in the straits this means that the boat is constantly moving sideways, first down-stream and then back up-stream, the ramp over which the vehicles go to get on-board moving with it. Riding on required a technique of ensuring sufficient gap in front, then riding slowly down the concrete before accelerating onto the ferry's metal ramp then slowing again as we manoeuvred the bikes into position. No problem in reality, but another example of how the thought of doing something that looks tricky on a bike can have a rider worrying about nothing. When parked up, I managed to get a quick photo of the bikes before they were surrounded by trucks and obscured from view, and then we “cast off” (only we didn't, of course, because we'd never “cast on”).

No sooner had we set sail than the ferry was surrounded by dolphins frolicking in the wake. They were quite beautiful and kept us all entranced for the short crossing, as cameras clicked constantly. Most of the pictures turned out to be of empty expanses of water, but unlike the rheas, they seemed quite happy to be snapped...

Once on the other side we disembarked, riding onto the “land of fire” and the final stretch of our journey to the end of the world...

Punching the air with excitement we rode as a group the 20 or so miles to Cerro Sombrero, battling a vicious side-wind all the way. Overtaking slow-moving lorries was a particular challenge, the still air at their side sucking us closer and then the strong wind as we passed by the front blowing us further towards the ditch on the far side. When we finally arrived at the little two-horse oil town we filled up with fuel and rode to the hotel, a place which clearly doesn't rank with the best we've stayed at. With basic rooms (thankfully with a hot shower), no Internet or bar, and no bars in town it was always going to be a quiet night. Dinner was a choice of “the set menu” or going hungry, so I opted for the former and headed to the dining room with the others. Not expecting much I was very pleasantly surprised at the starter of salmon pate in avocado, which was followed by a really good steak and veg and finally a chocolate ice-cream dessert. Naturally washed down with a good glass or two of vino-tinto. But then what? It was still only 8pm when we'd finished eating, but an early night beckoned, a final night-cap beer finishing the day off perfectly...

Taking it easy...

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 23:53:00 +0000

Despite having pinched Jim's pillow (as he was somewhere else) I woke at 3am in some discomfort, a sharp pain between my shoulder blades and all down the left side of my back. In the pitch black I searched for the light switch, only to discover that there was no electricity, the generators being switched off at midnight and back on again in the morning. I resorted to using my laptop as a torch as I fumbled about trying to find some painkillers which thankfully I did. After half an hour of sitting on the edge of the bed clutching a pillow to my chest and forcing myself to take deep breaths the pain eased a little and I could lay back down again. Seems beds that are too hard or too soft aggravate the problem. How Tracy copes with constant back pain is beyond me, at least mine only hurts for a short time and is (hopefully!) temporary, the result of my cracked rib.

I woke again around 6am, and despite this being a very relaxed day, got up and showered, joining the other early riser (Ozzy Andy) by the log fire whilst the rest of the house (and tents, Jeff, Finn and Late Guy all camping) slept. I used the opportunity to do my usual early morning blog-writing, but with a very poor Internet connection couldn't post it. The plan for the day was to ride into Torres del Paine National Park, an area of outstanding beauty, with lakes and mountains and wildlife in abundance. My problem was that the ride consisted of around 150 miles of dirt – most likely high quality dirt but dirt nonetheless. Having had such pain in the night I decided that I'd forgo the park and use the day to rest up and try and fix the video camera on my bike which had recently stopped working. So after a good breakfast I settled into one of the chairs by the fire and started reading a book – the first I've picked up since Alaska – one called “Harley to Mali” by Ian Mutch of the Motorcycle Action Group (a protest organisation in the UK) about his experiences on the Globebusters Africa trip in April 2009. It's not a great book, but it does feature Hamish, who is currently on the Patagonia trip just a couple of days ahead of us and who should have been doing the full Trans Am. He's quite a character and knowing him a little makes the book more interesting. So whilst I settled down to a morning's reading, the rest of the group got themselves all wrapped up and rode out into the crisp clear morning to go to the park. Well, most of them did. Al was one of the first to leave but had only been gone half an hour or so when he returned, face ashen complaining that he'd been sick at the roadside. He came back in and went straight to his room, and that was the last I saw of him all day. Late Guy lived up to his name by appearing when everyone else had gone, complaining that he was concerned about dropping his bike and not being able to pick it up again if he was on his own – the result of his last fall on Ruta 40 when he hurt his shoulder and ribs (a trip to the hospital confirming nothing was broken). Jeff and I encouraged him to strip the excess weight off his bike and finally he did so, removing his panniers and 5ltr fuel can and assorted chains and other crap and turning his bike back into something more like a motorcycle and less like Steptoe's cart. When he'd gone I set about trying to fix the camera, removing the fuel tank to check for a wiring problem. Everything seemed in order so the problem must be with the camera itself, which means that I have footage of the ride from the top of the world down to the point of my accident, then some slanted footage in Argentina (the camera being gaffa-taped back on but not horizontally) and then nothing any further. I did manage to re-mount my sat nav though, using several cable ties to fix it to the broken bracket, so the day wasn't a complete waste. When I was finished it was getting on for lunch-time, so I put my bike gear on and headed back to the café by the border, where I'd heard they also had stickers. Desperate for a Chilean flag to complete the set, I was disappointed to discover they only had some with pictures of the national park I wasn't going to see... Inside the café were Tony and Late Guy, Tony having got to the start of the dirt road and seen the graders at work and with a sore shoulder opting to do the same as me and rest, and Late Guy who'd stopped for a coffee whilst still trying to decide what to do. We had a coffee together and I grabbed an empenada (like a cornish pasty and very tasty) for lunch, then I bid them farewell and rode past the hotel to the Peurto Natales, the next town. Just before I arrived I past Jim and Mac coming the other way, heading towards the hotel. Sat by the side of a blue lake that was a mass of white horses in the strong wind, Peurto Natales reminded me of Fleetwood out of season, only smaller and with more run-down housing (those of you who know Fleetwood may find that picture hard to come by!). I rode along the lakeside and when the road entered the port proper headed inland towards the centre looking for a sticker-shop. Just a couple of blocks up was a touristy tack-shop, so I parked outside and went in, where I found just what I was looking for. With my quest complete, I rode back out of town, filling up with fuel ready for the morning and back to the hotel. Back at the hotel I discovered the reason for Jim's non-appearance yesterday, as he and Mac had continued on Ruta 40 past the turn-off for the border, riding a further 100 miles on dirt before stopping in the town of Bella Vista for the night. Seems even with GPS and route notes they prefer to go their own way, and just accept whatever adventure they find... This morning they'd ridden back the 100 miles of dirt before crossing the border near Peurto Natalaes and heading north to meet us.

I spent the rest of the afternoon reclining in the chair beside the fire reading and chatting to the group as they returned in small groups. All of them seemed to have enjoyed the park and raved about its beauty. Max & Christine and Richard & Karen had been travelling together and witnessed the birth of a guanaco, and had pictures to prove it. Quite the David Attenboroughs! Finn and Pertti had naturally gone looking for more challenging trails to ride and had found a couple of narrow bridges to cross, their photos showing they did so several times... But despite all these tales of great days in the park I know I made the right choice, the ache in my back feeling better and I was feeling rested. With just a few days to go now until we reach Ushuaia, I'm determined to stay as fit as I can so I enjoy it. Besides, the hotel in it's mountain setting was not a bad place to spend the day...

That evening we all ate in the hotel, a lighter meal than yesterday with chicken in white wine sauce and rice, washed down with a nice bottle of Chardonnay. After dinner the group spilt into smaller groups, some playing cards by the fire, whilst others like me preferred to sit and chat before turning in. It seems that the closer we get to our goal the quieter the group is in the evenings, everyone conserving their energies, the conversations focused on reflection, the tones subdued... or perhaps they're just saving themselves for a really big party in Ushuaia...

End of Ruta 40 and back into Chile...

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 23:51:00 +0000

I think my body must be getting acclimatised to all this alcohol because once again I slept reasonably well, and woke without a hangover. Over breakfast I was congratulated my the rest of the group who had not been around when the news of my new granddaughters arrived, my fellow riders genuinely pleased for me. I then ran through my usual morning ritual, packing the bike and collecting together my things from the room, then putting on my bike gear. As the sun was shining I didn't put my electric jacket on, sticking to just a long-sleeved tee-shirt and my warm jacket underneath my bike jacket. At first this was fine, as I rode out of town alone, but as the road started to climb the hills and run across a flat plateau, the wind started blowing strongly and the temperature began to drop. I stopped and put on my outer windproof jacket to keep the worst of the wind off, and continued on my way, leaning into the wind as I went, riding the bike at an angle despite being on a perfectly straight road. After 60 miles of tarmac the route notes called for a right turn onto a dirt road (the last stretch of Ruta 40) but as my speedo is optimistic I was expecting the turn to be around 65-70 miles. At 61 miles there was as right turn, which looked like it ran into a farm, so I pressed on looking for the turn I was expecting. At 70 miles I realised the turn I'd seen must have been the right one, so did a quick u-turn and headed back. Going back the wind was stronger than ever and I struggled to keep the bike pointing down the road, getting blown from one side of the road to the other. Just before the turn was a sign that could only be seen when travelling in this direction, showing the dirt road I'd thought was a farm track was in fact Ruta 40...

The road was in excellent condition, hard packed mud with little gravel and as I was now heading into the wind, the going was easier than it had been on the tarmac. I made good progress keeping to my steady dirt-riding mantra of cruising at around 45mph keeping a very close eye out for changing road conditions. At one point I saw a large bird at the roadside, that looked like an emu. It was a rea, a native Patagonian bird guarding her brood of chicks, and she ran aggressively along the roadside as I slowed for a better look... with discretion the better part of valour, I didn't stop to take a picture and continued on my way leaving her to return back to her chicks without having had to peck at a voyeuristic motorcyclist. Further down the road a herd of guanacos ran from the scrub to my right and followed along the roadside before turning back, causing me to back off and prepare to take evasive action. But these distractions were nothing in comparison to watching the road surface as I strained to see whether it was changing, the bright flat light preventing shadows from forming and causing me to squint badly. My efforts paid off, though, as on one straight stretch I noticed what looked like a change and slowed rapidly, dropping down to 2nd gear before reaching what turned out to be a very long stretch of my least-favourite surface, loose gravel with no discernible tracks. Once again I found myself riding on marbles, the bike sliding from both front and rear the wind contributing to the impossibility of keeping it going in a direction of my choice. Several times I held my breath as the bike hit a deeper patch, digging in a little despite my delicate increase in throttle lightening the load on the front wheel. And as before, the handlebars were waggled this way and that by the gravel, sending waves of pain up to my left shoulder and then down my back. I rode on slowly, cursing the surface and using every expletive I know (and that's far too many for a nice guy like me!) for what seemed like an hour but was probably much less. I was caught and passed by Richard & Karen and Simon, both cruising along as if the surface was billiard-table smooth, but their weaving bucking bikes giving the game away. No sooner had they come past than the surface improved, with noticeable tracks of hard-packed mud easily wide enough for my bike's wheels and I could start to relax again and increase my speed. Now I was catching Richard & Karen, Simon, Nick and Al, the 5 bikes spread over 3 tracks and all kicking up small rooster-tails of dust which was immediately blown horizontal by the wind. Shortly after we formed a tight group we reached the end of the dirt, a t-junction where we met the tarmac again and a petrol station/café. We stopped and had a coffee and chocolate biscuit, whilst watching more bikes come down the dirt and pull up outside. When the van appeared it was time for me to leave, wanting to ensure I stayed sufficiently in front of Jeff so he wouldn't be pushing me along the dirt again. The tarmac lasted just 27 more miles before I took the right turn down another dirt road to the border. Again in excellent condition, the road led to the Argentinian customs post where 2 large coaches were already parked up. Inside the little office were 3 tour guides with huge stacks of passports that needed processing whilst their lazy owners sat in the air-conditioned splendour of their coach oblivious to the biting cold wind outside. I queued up patiently and was joined by several others of the group as we waited to get out exit stamps in our passports and hand in the bike permits. Eventually one of the coaches had been processed and I managed to get the all important stamp then I was on my bike and racing across the dirt to the Chilean customs a mile or two away, keen to get there before the coach caught me up and disgorged its contents into the customs hall. On arrival I was given the usual forms to fill in, then got myself stamped in and queued up for my bike permit, just as the coach arrived. This time the tourists could not avoid the inevitable and had to lug their huge suitcases into the hall for inspection and queue up like the rest of us for their passports to be checked and stamped. This part of the world is a haven for walkers and back-packers and most of the tourists from the coaches were dressed ready to spend some time in the mountains, but they were still carrying huge plastic cases that could easily fit the contents of several of our bikes' panniers and then some. And they all seemed miserable, lacking the energy and enthusiasm of my fellow riders, faces glowing from the cold wind, eyes bright from constantly trying to take in the beauty of the scenery were were part of, riding exposed as opposed to cosseted inside a metal tube sat in an armchair sleeping the world by...

Once clear of customs there was a short ride down a concrete road to the hotel, a lovely building set in fields and opposite a large hill over which huge condors flew. As I parked up outside, Kevin came out to tell me there was a puma in the area that had recently killed a couple of sheep. As I unpacked and changed the hosts began the process of preparing dinner, a group meal of parilla'd lamb, and no less than 3 lambs were being cooked for us. Whilst we whiled away the time before dinner sat in front of a log fire, or playing rubbish table-tennis in the games room (something I would regret later as I think it made my back worse), or reading books from the “van-library” (a collection of books brought out by the group and placed in the van for others to read, and which was being left at the hotel as we clear out things from the van before the end of the trip), we waited for news from the kippers. Once again Jim and Mac had taken a different route, sticking to the tarmac rather than riding the last section of dirt on Ruta 40, a round-trip which would have added about 30 miles to their journey. They had passed us at the petrol station/café, but had not been seen at the border. The most likely explanation was that they had followed their GPS and gone further south to the next border, one that Kevin knew existed but had no experience of. With no mobile phone signal we didn't know if they'd tried to contact us or not, but they didn't appear all evening, meaning that I had a room to myself once more (and more importantly could pinch Jim's pillow so I could try and get more comfortable).

When dinner was ready we headed out to the wooden cooking area, where we sat on big bench tables and drank a complimentary pisco sour (I had a sip for the toast – to my granddaughters – and then passed it to Julia, the taste reminding me too much of bad experiences). With a plate full of salad and a glass of red wine all was set for a good evening, then they brought round the first plate of lamb. Here they don't bother with carving it into small and neat bits of meat, preferring simply to hack great chunks off and let the diners select a piece they fancy. My first selection was a hunk of ribs loaded with succulent meat, simply delicious...

My second piece was half a leg, all meat and equally delicious. I couldn't manage a 3rd... after dessert we headed back to the warmth of the log fire, where the group sat chatting, reading or playing jenga... a lovely end to another great day...

Glaciers and Grandkids... part II

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 23:47:00 +0000

Despite the large volume of beer consumed, I still woke at 6am, desperate for news from home. After a very quick (and quiet, I didn't want to wake Jim, who for once was sleeping in) shower, I grabbed my laptop and headed for the quiet area by the hotel reception where I could call home. I was surprised to find it quiet this morning, the hordes of French grannies that perpetually congregate in this area chattering loudly and disturbing the whole hotel absent. Settled in I called Tracy on skype and was told there was no news... Laura was still in the hospital on the labour ward but so far not a lot had happened and it was going to be several hours yet before the beans would make an appearance. So I went about the days activities with Laura at the forefront of my mind... Breakfast was first on the agenda and without the hordes of wrestling grannies attacking the buffet in a feeding frenzy last seen when the pyranhas discovered flesh for the first time, there was actually something to eat. A bowl of cereal to be precise, flushed down with fresh orange juice. I was surprised I wasn't more hungry, having skipped dinner last night, but my appetite remains dulled. Whilst I was finishing off my second bowl (ok, maybe my appetite hasn't really been dulled!), the coach appeared and we were off on our excursion. Out little party comprised Jeff, Aaron, Nick, Pertti, Simon, Ed, Late Guy (who had disappeared just before the coach arrived and so lived up to his name...) and me, the 8 of us joining a full coach on the trip to the port. The trip took us via several other hotels and then out of town the way we'd ridden the day before, and I'd love to describe the journey in great detail but I missed it as I fell asleep, waking only when the coach stopped at the other end. Here we disembarked and then paid yet another fee to enter the national park (another 60 pesos, around £12) and then went to find our boat. Moored up and already nearly full, the Neuvo Leon is a large catamaran, with seating for 70 or so on the lower deck and a similar number on the upper deck. As it was already packed, we found a couple of rows of seats in the middle and settled in.

It didn't take long before I was asleep again as we pulled out of the port and the annoying tour guide spoke gibberish in 3 different languages over the loud PA system. As she prattled on and I snoozed, we made our way along Lago Argentina to where there was a collection of icebergs that had become grounded at the head of one of the valleys. I don't think I've ever seen ice so blue in my life, the pictures for once capturing the colours accurately. And before you start thinking that this is one of those ice sculptures you see on posh hotels, it's not. It's shaped entirely by natural forces, mostly the wind, and there was a group of weird-shaped icebergs lined up along the shore, this one being my favourite as it reminded me of Stingray...

Nick, Ed and I had managed to get right to the prow of the boat, into the narrow bit stuck out front from where we got an excellent view of the icebergs up close. But this was a boat full of French geriatrics, and one old bat in particular took exception to us having the best view and sharpened her elbows before trying to push us overboard. I've never seen anyone quite so rude as she shoved and pushed in her attempt to squeeze into a space barely big enough for the 3 of us already occupying it. It was akin to the Christmas sales at woolies when I was little, only this time I'm bigger and with sore ribs. I think I may even have pushed back this time. Bloody tourists!

We stayed here for some time, whilst all the tourists on the boat filled their memory cards with photos of ice, before setting sail (if that's the correct term for a diesel-powered catamaran moving across a lake) once more. I went back inside and fell asleep. Our next stop was supposed to be the Upsalla glacier, but we couldn't get close to it as the icebergs created as it collapsed blocked the entire channel, another collection of weird shapes floating across the entire width of the channel. At least this time the ignorant French cow was nowhere to be seen (I think Ed may have thrown her overboard!), and I got a nice picture of me to prove I had been here...

If I look a little cold, that's because it was freezing. Unlike yesterday which had been clear and sunny, today it was overcast and snowing. As in a blizzard. So I didn't stay outside for too long, and went back into the warmth of the cabin and fell asleep. Whilst the boat stayed close to the icebergs until the captain felt the passengers had had enough and we chuggged back up the lake to the final view-point, at the head of the Porito Moreno glacier, the one we'd seen in the sunshine yesterday. From the water it's just as impressive, towering above the boat like a badly artexed wall, all rough pinnacles and sharp edges. The bright blue of the ice contrasted with the jade coloured lake and the dull grey sky, and I stood and stared at it for a long time, waiting in vain for it to collapse into the lake...

When the boat finally pulled away from the glacier, I went back inside and fell asleep, waking just as we pulled into port. Then we boarded the coach back to town, and I fell asleep on the way back. Well, it is a rest-day...

Back at the hotel I quickly switched on the laptop and checked in with Tracy. And the news was excellent, as Laura had given birth to... well, twins. I had been keen not to know their sex (they're identical twins so obviously the same sex) and so far had managed to avoid finding out, and Tracy wasn't going to tell me now. She gave me a number to call Laura on and so I did, speaking to her in her hospital bed... and... she told me I had 2 new grand-daughters! Which is just perfect as Isobel Nicole and Rebecca Louise bring my grandkid count to a nice round 4 girls and 4 boys...

And so with such good news to celebrate I went out with Finn and Nick, back to the bar we'd got stuck in yesterday, where we had a few celebratory beers and one very special whisky (the 370-peso Macallan 18-year old oak aged special edition) bought for me by these generous gentlemen. I think my camera may also have been drinking judging by how blurred this photo is...

This time we managed to leave the bar to eat, a delicious steak washed down with a very good bottle of Merlot, but then we made a wrong turning when leaving the restaurant and ended up back in the bar again for a last beer (and a mojito chaser). Oh dear, another night with way too much to drink... better book myself into the Priory for when I get home...

Glaciers and Grandkids... part I

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 22:06:00 +0000

A rest day, and boy, do I think I need it. First job of the day was to find out what's going on back home, as Laura has posted a comment on Facebook that her waters have broken and she's been taken to the hospital... could today be the day I get to find out what the beans (her nickname for the twins she's carrying) are? Well, perhaps, but she's not really progressing with the labour, so we'll just have to wait and see...

The main activity we have planned for the day is a short ride to see the Porito Moreno Glacier, which is at the head of Lago Argentina some 50 miles from El Calafate. After riding into town to book our boat tickets for tomorrow's glacier trip, Aaron, Nick, Al and I set off out of town to the viewpoint. Fortunately the road has been paved in the last couple of years, so the ride is simple if a little windy. Having paid the national park entrance fee we continue to ride along the lakeshore on a winding concrete road for several miles before we get our first glimpse of the glacier. And it's huge. Roughly 3 miles wide and 19 miles in length it covers some 97 square miles as it cascades down from the Andes into the lake. The icefield is the 3rd largest reserve of fresh water in the world. Like I said, huge... and at this stage, we were still a few miles away...

The road eventually terminated at a car park, from where we caught a minibus the remaining few kilometers up the hillside to the viewing area. This is a huge are that has been laid with metal walkways and overlooks, so we joined the throng of people steadily climbing down the steps to the terraces, and then joined in the mad shutter-pressing as everyone tried for that one perfect shot. From here it was possible to see the icefield extending all the way up into the mountains, and the North and South faces of the glacier where it meets the lake, the great walls of ice an average of over 70 metres high. The colours were beautiful, the bright white of the icefield contrasting with the shocking blues of the ice near the edge, where the ice is so compact that it reflects only the blue end of the spectrum.

We stood and stared for ages, looking at the different shapes formed as the ice breaks away, marvelling at how some of the structures were still vertical and hadn't collapsed under their weight. We listened intently as the ice cracked and groaned, the distant sounds of ice falling just out of view teasing us as we willed some of the larger pieces to fall so we could get a great action photo. Needless to say we did see some large pieces carve themselves off, but only after I'd put the camera away... It's hard to convey the sheer size of this huge mass of ice, but if you look at this next picture you can hopefully see a boat just above the trees in the bottom right-hand corner... that's one of the large catamarans that take tourists on the glacier tour we're doing tomorrow. They carry over 150 people... and it's dwarfed by the ice...

When we had finally had enough of glacier-watching, we climbed back up the multitude of steps (funny how there always seem more on the way up than on the way down) and caught the bus back to the bikes before retracing our ride back to town. We filled up on the edge of town ready for when we leave on Saturday, then grabbed some lunch from a pizza-café before going back to the hotel to change. As we had a couple of hours to kill before the meeting at 6pm, I checked in with home (no further news) and then fell asleep. Well, it is a rest-day after all...

After the meeting, which basically covered the next few days as we head back into Chile and on to Tierra del Fuego, the island at the southern tip of the americas, I briefly checked in with home again. No news, and unlikely to be any until morning. Without the excuse of babies' heads to wet, I wandered to the bar with Finn, Nick and Al, and discovered they served draught beer. Finn, being Irish, also noted they had the special Jameson whiskey so he bought us a taste. Several others joined us in the bar, but I didn't move from my bar stool for several hours, enjoying the delightful draught beer and chatting to Finn. When the others left for dinner, we reasoned we were still in the mood for a drink, so stayed put and continued. Finn went in search of an ATM to replenish his diminishing stocks only to discover he'd lost his card, and as mine was in the hotel, and we no longer had sufficient funds for food, we did the only sensible thing and had another beer (we still had enough for that). And so when skint, we staggered back to the hotel... only then remembering we have an early start and I need to be up even earlier to find out how Laura is getting along... when will I learn?

Riding Ruta 40... part II

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 23:36:00 +0000

Despite sharing a bunk room with the group's snorers (they seemed to think that putting us all together was a good idea), I slept reasonably well. I still woke early, though, getting up at 6am and showering before quietly making my way to the sitting room to write up the blog whilst the rest of the group slept. With breakfast not starting until 8am and a designated departure time of 9.30am, I had plenty of time to reflect on the previous day's ride and to prepare myself for more of the same...

The day dawned bright and sunny, with clear blue skies and high clouds (which Chris, master of “we're doomed” proclaimed was a sign of very high winds) but spirits were slightly subdued over breakfast, the prospect of more gravel roads and high winds playing on the rider's minds. Breakfast was excellent, with fresh scrambled eggs the colour of the sun made with the freshest eggs imaginable (when we get out smallholding, I'll eat like this every day!). When done and all packed up, the riders started making their getaways, everyone keen to get the day's riding underway. I left mid-pack as usual, riding along the track out of the estancia and onto the dirt road around 8.30am. Initially conditions were good, with clear tracks of hard-packed mud in the middle of the sea of gravel, and as long as I stayed in the track I could make steady progress, keeping my speed up to around 40-45mph to enable me to combat the worst effects of the wind. This wasn't as strong as Chris' gloomy prediction, being no worse than the day before and for the most part at a constant strength, necessitating riding at an angle but not blowing me into the gravel as I'd feared. And so it went on for mile after mile, just me alone with an empty track in front and behind me (the riders ahead were travelling slightly quicker, those behind slightly slower, so over time we got widely dispersed).

I would have been happy for it to remain like that for the entire 200 miles, but it wasn't to be, as I encountered a stretch of the conditions I heated the most – loose gravel the entire width of the road with no discernible tracks. This was really like riding on marbles on a polished floor, the bike skittering one way then the other, both front and back wheels independently sliding around as they struggled to find grip. With the wind blowing it was impossible to steer a straight course, and in my weakened state all I could do was maintain a constant throttle and try and correct the worst of the slides. Every jolt as the bike skittered sideways caused me pain in my lower back, very much like having a dwarf riding pillion playing xylophone on my back with a 3lb ball-pein hammer. Very, very, painful...

Whilst riding in this mess I was forced to stop regularly to try and get my breath back and to paddle the bike away from the deeper gravel (in places it was about 6 inches deep). Doing so slowed my progress significantly, and I was soon passed by Kevin with Julia riding pillion – he stopped briefly to exchange words (like “it's a bit loose, isn't it!”) before ploughing on. Then Richard & Karen came by, then Chris and finally Al, all bucking and weaving and struggling to find a decent line. I continued, trying to use the lines set by Chris & Al (Kevin and Richard were travelling quicker so they disappeared). After about 20 miles of this torture the road eased again and tracks became clearer, so our speeds increased and I caught back up to Chris & Al just as we reached the T-junction marked on the route notes at 135 miles that signified a fuel and coffee stop. And miracle of miracles, the start of a stretch of tarmac! But before we could delight in the smooth running we had to fill up, taking a rocky road to the petrol station where I gladly crawled off my bike and stood trying to stretch my back and ease the aches and pains away. A coffee helped, but not as much as leaving and getting onto the tarmac... this was all new, billiard-table smooth and wound it's way for mile after glorious mile through countryside I could now see (as opposed to before, when all I could see was out of the corner of my eye as I stared at the narrow track straight ahead). It was barren countryside, devoid of animals except for the occasional guanaco (a small Llama-type animal). Wilderness indeed... but with such a great surface I was happy to sit and ride briskly, feeling the wind push me upright and help to stretch me back into shape. Hacking along I forgot to stop for photos, except for once when I rounded a corner and was confronted by a massive green lake and a sign that pointed to a place to pull over and take a photo (seems I needed the hint!)...

As I continued on my merry way I caught sight of a couple of bikes in the distance and determined to catch them up, revelling in being able to ride quickly once again. I soon caught and passed them – Finn following Pertti who was nursing a failing rear shock – and then arrived at the destination town of El Calafate. Just before finding the hostel I saw Mac, Jim and Danielle outside a café, their own journeys to this rendezvous point seemingly successful. Once checked in and unpacked, and the bike moved to the car park I went online to update the blog, at last having a decent enough Internet connection to upload the pictures and check my email, and then had a lovely chat with Tracy. Having not spoken to her for 4 long and hard days it was lovely to hear her voice and see her smiling face on Skype (though the connection was rubbish) and we discussed plans for Christmas... which still seems an age away – unlike at home the shops here are not festooned with Christmas decorations yet...

When finished, I dropped my laundry off at reception and went for a walk round town. It's another strange place, being in the middle of nowhere yet packed with tourists on coach trips. Close by are a large number of glaciers and they flock here in their thousands, mostly old folk crowding in the hotel lobby and chatting loudly (something that would be a source of great annoyance later, as our room is the closest to reception). The town is full of outdoor shops, but the quality is poor, so I may yet resist the temptation to spend lots of money on new clothes I've no room for. I did succumb to a new t-shirt though, as I wanted one with a Ruta 40 roadsign on... after all the road has done to me over the past couple of days, I think I deserve it...

Later I went out for dinner with Finn, Simon, Aaron and Nick, making the mistake of choosing a busy restaurant on the main street. Fancying a change from meat I ordered the calamari followed by spaghetti bolognese and neither was particularly good. I'd fancied a few beers to celebrate getting here, but as we'd not gone out until 8pm I was too tired to bother, so made do with a couple before heading back to the hotel and my bed...

Riding Ruta 40... part I

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 23:44:00 +0000

At last I had a pretty good night's sleep, the couple arguing and slamming doors that had Nick shouting in the corridor not disturbing me, as once asleep I slept soundly. I was still awake early, and showered and packed well before breakfast was ready at 8am. Now the mornings are lighter again as we head further south, my body-clock has returned to normal and 6am seems to be my natural waking-up point. And today was lighter and brighter than normal, the grey clouds of yesterday no longer with us, leaving a bright blue sky and a few fluffy white clouds... perfect! Breakfast was as basic as the hotel had been, just a milky coffee and toast with cherry jam (a local delicacy as there are cherry trees everywhere), but it was all I wanted, the thought of the day's ride dulling my appetite. Once done I set off around 8.30am, riding out of town and getting stopped at the police checkpoint at the edge of town. The policeman was polite and smiling, as they always are, and just wanted to check my passport and note down the registration number of my bike. The last bit required a bit of cleaning, as the back of the bike was caked in thick mud from yesterday, the plate and my rear lights completely obscured. Once clear of the checkpoint I was on smooth tarmac riding briskly along the lakeside, watching the white horses dance to chore on the deep blue water, and breathing deeply the fresh clean air. Moments like these are savoured and placed deep in my memory banks for when the going gets tough (as I knew it would later), so here's one I captured on my camera for you to share...

The tarmac rode continued for a good 80 miles, fast and flowing and enabling me to relax and settle into the rhythm of riding once more. The prospect of 200 miles of dirt road did not appeal, more out of concern for my back than my riding, as I kept reminding myself that it hadn't been the dirt that had seen me fall, having ridden all the way up the Dalton Highway in Alaska, into and out of Copper Canyon, Canyon del Pato and numerous other dirt roads without incident. It was the hidden deep sand of the Paso de San Francisco that had been my downfall, and now I was aware of the hazard I would be better placed to avoid it next time. Even so, once the dirt started I tensed up a little, the surface my least favourite with loose gravel covering the entire width of the road and making staying on a chosen line both difficult and painful. With a strong side-wind to content with as well, pushing the bike to the left as it gusted, it was going to be a long and hard day's ride. Fortunately the gravel soon started to show signs of other traffic, narrow tracks appearing and providing some respite from the “riding on marbles” feeling of the gravel. In these tracks the gravel is pushed aside leaving a harder but rough surface on which at least it is possible to steer a little. Trying to keep the bike in a chosen track became the order of the day, battling the side-wind and focusing hard on the distance in case an oncoming vehicle was also using the same track. When I did encounter an oncoming vehicle they were all very good and took to the looser stuff, leaving me in my rut and therefore upright. And so the day went on, with hour after hour of staring along a single track into the distance, trying to maintain a steady course and steady speed (around 40 mph), just ticking away the miles...

There was one stop en-route, for a coffee and some biscuits and to top-up with fuel. The café was tiny and manned by just one chap who was serving coffee and his daughter making sandwiches. As he was also the only person to man the fuel pumps, and a large group of bikes had just shown up with riders all thirsty and hungry (that's us, not another group), it took some considerable time before I was fuelled and back on the road again...

Back on the road the torture, sorry, enjoyable ride, continued. Along the side of the track was a pristine new road, shiny tarmac tempting me to ignore the signs and ride along it. If it wasn't for the fact that every few hundred yards there was a huge pile of dirt placed across the road I might have done so. Then that ended and there was just the dirt again, crossing the plain in a long straight line, with the occasional patches of sand or loose gravel ensuring I stayed alert. When it finally ended and I emerged onto smooth flat tarmac again, which I wasn't expecting, I was delighted. This new stretch of road had been completed since the last Trans Am in 2007, and lasted for almost 50 miles, affording me the luxury of sitting down and relaxing for nearly an hour. Bliss...

It ended, though, some 20 miles before the estancia where we're staying, the road returning to loose gravel again and this time without too many tracks to follow. With the going slow once more, I relaxed and just kept plodding along, and was eventually rewarded with the sign pointing down the narrow farm track leading to the estancia. And then I had arrived, parked up outside the farm buildings in the middle of nowhere, a traditional Argentinian guacho place with sheep, horses, pink flamingoes, ducks, geese and dogs... what a great place to spend the night... I had the option to camp, which I would have loved to have done, but need a soft bed in order to get any sleep, so had to decline...

For dinner this evening we're having a group meal of traditional Argentine parilla or barbecue, and so whilst we were standing around chatting and Richard was fixing the screen on his bike (the bracket had broken with all the vibration), the gaucho and his good lady carried the lamb carcass to the parilla...

The lamb is then hung on a traditional metal cross and placed in a large fireplace in front of burning logs for a couple of hours before it is ready. Whilst it was cooking the gaucho (who had the blackest moustache I've ever seen) also prepared a couple of chickens and around 4 Lbs of chorizo and other sausage... looks like another meat fest for us tonight!

Leaving the gaucho to cook, I went and found the rest of the group in the sitting room of the main building, and joined in a couple of games of cards over a beer or two. Then the whole group assembled around a big table to enjoy the food, which was truly delicious, the lamb especially tender and flavoursome. With a nice glass of Argentinian Malbec to accompany the meat – and the veg and salad, as I was trying to be healthy – it was probably the best group meal since the barbecue in Alaska, and that was a very long time ago...

Once suitably stuffed we all retired back to the sitting room for a couple more games of cards before I bid them goodnight and headed for my bed early, with another long day on Ruta40 tomorrow, I need all the rest I can get...

A short ride back into Argentina...

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 23:34:00 +0000

It rained all night, a fact I can state with some authority as due to the very hard bed in the attic I was awake at 11, 12, 2 and 4 before finally giving in and getting up at 6.30am. Whilst waiting for the rest of the house to stir, I wrote up the blog for yesterday sat in the apartment's common area, with a magnificent view of the lake from the French windows. I watched as the mist from the lake rose to form low cloud which completely obscured the mountains on the far shoreline, even their bright white snowcaps hidden. When the others were awake we went to breakfast, where the topic of conversation was centred around the rain and what it would have done to the steep muddy track we rode down to get to the hotel, and that we now had to negotiate in reverse. Breakfast itself was good, with cereal and cold milk to accompany the yoghurt and bread and jam. Once done, I put on the rest of my bike gear, including full waterproofs as it was still drizzling and headed up to my bike ready to join the queue facing the muddy hill. Gerald was first to go, riding with great confidence and disappearing from view, then a couple more braved it before my turn came. In the end it was pretty straightforward, just a matter of keeping the revs up and using the clutch to control the speed as I'd been taught at the off-road school in Wales. Just goes to show what good training can do, turning average road riders like me into riders capable of tackling whatever this trip throws at us (apart from deep sand, hidden in holes, of course!). We all got out safely, although Late Guy repeated his antics from the way in by dropping his bike on the road at the top, having got all the way out without trouble. He really does need to work on removing some of the weight from his bike and his slow-speed control!

Once back on the dirt road the conditions were good to start with, the road slick from the rain but not too slick that my knobbly tyres couldn't find grip. Initially the road was narrow and hugged the lakeside, with bushes and trees at the side forming a hedge and once again giving the illusion of riding down a country road in the UK on a wet Autumn day. When the road started to climb up into the hills I rode into dense cloud/fog, with visibility reduced to around 50 feet, constantly wiping my visor and straining to see into the murk. With the road being little more than a single lane and very narrow when it turned sharply to follow the contours of the hill, I was keen to get as early warning as possible about any oncoming traffic, as changing lines to get out of the way on such a slippery surface would not be easy. Some of the bends had surfaces that made just getting round them a challenge, being covered in either a layer of 2-3 inches of sand or in some cases rugged and occasionally loose rocks. The latter were particularly difficult for me, as the rocky surface jarred the handlebars sending shock-waves up my arms and across my back. I had no problem with the riding, though, my training and the experience gained on the trip giving me the confidence to place the bike where I wanted to, picking the easiest and least painful line through the various hazards. Through the fog I caught occasional glimpses of the lake and mountains below, and what must have, on a clear day, been some of the most beautiful vistas of the trip, the bright blue lake surrounded by broody black mountains with a frosted topping of fluorescent white snow. Yet more “sight-bites” to add to the memory bank, as stopping to take pictures was impossible due to the state of the road.

Eventually the road descended into the valley at the head of the lake, before crossing a bridge and working its way South. I stopped on the bridge for a rest, and was soon joined by a few others, including Tony, Phil and Gerald, who I'd passed earlier on when they stopped to re-group. Riding together in matching BMW helmets, rain gear and smiles they epitomised the camaraderie that has developed among the group...

The next stretch was easier and faster, the hard packed mud clearly marked with good tracks to follow and the fog easing. What little I can see of the landscape looks like the Lake District, the hills green and rocky, and it reminds me of walking there in the rain in the Autumn, another happy memory coming flooding back as I ride along... only to remember that this isn't the Lakes, this is Chilean Patagonia in the Spring, and I've ridden here on my bike... how cool!

Soon I start the descent from the hills towards the town of Chile Chico and round a bend to be confronted by the greenest lake I think I've ever seen. Quite, quite, remarkable. Unfortunately the camera fails to capture the brightness of the lake, the poor light confusing it, but take it from me it was the colour of jade...

By the time we get to Chile Chico my fuel light has been on for some time and as I ride through town I'm scanning for a petrol station, keen to use up some more of the Chilean Pesos I got from the ATM. No joy, and I arrive at the border exit with the light still on. Inside the portakabin I get my passport stamped with the exit stamp ( I have quite a few of those now!) and hand in the bike permit, then start the ride the 3-4 miles to the Argentine border. Whilst in no-man's land a dog appears barking and running along by the side as I negotiate a diversion over some rough ground, then disappears only to reappear on my left and trying to get under the front wheel. I shout loudly and honk the horn, and finally he gets the message and gives up (only to try the same trick with others as they cross the border). The Argentine border post is the most immaculate of the whole trip, a new building with heating (lovely!) and a low counter with computer terminals and hidden wiring. The customs people are also very efficient, keying in my details and stamping the passport quickly then directing me to the aduana point for my bike permit which is equally quickly filled in and printed off for me to sign. In total it probably took no more than 10 minutes to enter Argentina, a stark contrast to the border crossings in Central America...

It's only a short distance from the border to the town of Los Antiguous where we're staying, and I soon find a petrol station and fill up before finding the hotel. The group is split into 2 hotels for the first time, and ours is pretty basic with no Internet, but I have a room to myself for once, which at least allows me to spread my stuff out on the spare bed to dry. I take a hot shower and then set off to wander round town, joining Pertti and Aaron in a fast-food joint for some empenadas for lunch, before finding a bank with an ATM to replenish my stock of Argentine pesos. A short walk further through town and we find a café with wi-fi, so I eagerly enter and start trying to upload the blog and check my email. The connection is so poor that all I manage to do is upload the text, my email and attempts to upload pictures both failing repeatedly. At least with the blog posted folk back home will know I'm still ok, even if I'm unable to contact them directly. When we finally give up on the Internet we wander round the rest of this small town, walking up to a vantage point on the hill where there is a weird statue of an Indian-looking chap in a Jesus pose... odd...

With the sights of the town exhausted, I strolled back to the hotel and snoozed for an hour or so, before heading back out for some pre-dinner drinks in the café we'd been in earlier. Nothing hectic, just a couple of glasses of beer and then we ate, a fantastic steak with Roquefort cheese sauce and sautéed potatoes with rosemary and garlic. The steak was huge, but I managed to finish it off without a problem. Aaron was driniking mojitos again and insisting on buying rounds, so I had a couple, purely for medicinal purposes as by now my back was playing up again. Then we staggered back to the hotel around 11pm to try and get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow is a long day – around 240 miles of which around 200 are dirt on the infamous Ruta 40. News from the Patagonia tour that's a day ahead of us is not good – one guy has badly sprained his ankle and is in the van, another has trashed his F800GS in a hole on Ruta 40 and so is also in the van... looks like tomorrow could be a real challenge...

Starting to enjoy the dirt once more...

noreply@blogger.com (Paul) — Sun, 15 Nov 2009 23:15:00 +0000

Whether the fact that I slept really badly was because of concern over my snoring keeping the rest of the wooden house awake, or more to do with being uncomfortable even with a double bed all to myself I don't know, but the bottom-line is I hardly slept at all. Chris even remarked that he'd not heard me snoring... But I was still in a relatively good mood, the early morning sunshine making feeble efforts to help keep my spirits up, and the excellent continental breakfast finishing the job. With cereal, fresh orange juice, a muffin, coffee and a strawberry yoghurt inside me I was well set for the day ahead, a day which promised a whole 60 miles of tarmac followed by over 110 miles of dirt. Setting off early with Al to go and get some cash from the ATM in town and fill up with fuel, we then rode out of town together heading South on routa 7. Only we weren't as we soon ended up in the car park of the aerodrome, having taken the wrong turn at a roundabout. We retraced our steps and found the right road, which also headed South but higher up the valley. Soon I was really enjoying the ride, being on smooth tarmac being much more pleasurable than bouncing around on the dirt, and I caught and passed Aaron who was riding slowly to enjoy the view, then Max & Christine, the latter looking decidedly ill and then proceeding to throw-up at the roadside, the effects of last night's salmon and wine clearly disagreeing with her. By now I was alone, riding along and enjoying the scenery, great big snow-topped mountains and lush green fields. Unlike yesterday, when the scenery was partially obscured by the constant drizzle, now it was brightly lit by a clear blue sky, and so I stopped to take some pictures...

Eventually, though, the tarmac had to end. But first it descended in a beautiful series of switchbacks down to the small town of Cerro Castillo, giving me ample chance to relax even more. On entering the town I could see the road stop and the dirt start, so pulled over to take a breather, drink some water and re-attach the video camera as the gaffa-tape that was now holding it in place had come loose. I was fully expecting the others to catch me at this point, but there was no sign of them. Reasoning that they must also have stopped to take photos, I continued on my way, standing up as soon as I crossed the threshold from tarmac to gravel. But the road was in truly excellent condition, hard packed dirt with a light coating of gravel and clearly marked tracks that offered easy riding and plenty of grip for the front and rear wheels. I started to enjoy myself once more, probably for the first time on the dirt since my fall. Still taking it really steady, no more than 35mph initially, I made steady progress as the road climbed up the hillside, with spectacular views across the valley to the mountains in the distance... beautiful...

Despite stopping and riding slowly, I was still alone, and started to wonder if I'd made another wrong turn somewhere. Retracing the route in my mind I was convinced I was on the right road, so continued on my merry way, happy thoughts popping into my head whilst I concentrated on following the narrow track between the loose gravel that provided the safest route. Rounding one corner I was presented with a weird sight – lots of dead trees in a large lake. I'd seen something similar a couple of days ago, but hadn't been able to stop to take pictures, so once again I pulled over and got my camera out.

Whilst I was snapping away, Pertti arrived in a hail of stones, sliding his bike 1200GS Adventure around like it was a motocross bike. He skidded to a stop next to my bike and got off, a big grin across his face. He was clearly grooving... I left him taking pictures and continued on my way, slow and steady and determined not to aggravate my back by allowing the bike to get out of shape. A further 20 miles or so down the road Pertti caught and passed me, sat down at roughly 60 mph whilst I was stood up and cruising at 40-ish. I guess that's the benefit of living in Finland, where there are ample roads just like this to hoon about on, learning how to control a bike properly. But I wasn't complaining, as my pace was relaxed and the stunning surroundings provided plenty to admire. After 135 miles (75 of the dirt) I entered the small town of Puerto Tranquilo, marked on the route notes as a suitable place to stop, so pulled over outside a café where Pertti had also stopped. We were soon joined by Aaron and Nigel, and tucked in to some lovely coffee and chocolate biscuits (Nigel and Aaron both enjoying a chicken sandwich). Some more of the group arrived and went in the café next door, so we said hello and then off we went again. By now I was completely relaxed and enjoying the ride, the dirt no longer freaking me out as it had done, and I found my pace picking up a little... but only a little as I kept my enthusiasm in check for once, the painful memory of what can go wrong all too vivid still. After one final stop to take a photo, the road ran along the side of the lake to the town of Puerto Guadal and our destination for the day...

The road down to the hotel was a steep, muddy and narrow track ,but I got down safely as did the rest of the group, although Late Guy was so excited at getting down without dropping his bike that he proceeded to drop it at the bottom, wrenching off a pannier and banging his ankle in the process. The hotel is simply beautiful, by the side of a large lake surrounded by mountains, the accommodation chalet-style apartments. I'm in one shared with 4 others, who are each in twin rooms – Tony and Phil, Simon and Chris – and I have the single attic room all to myself. Seems they've put all the snorers in attic rooms to try and help the others sleep!

No sooner had I arrived than the receptionist had lit a real fire in the wood-burning stove, and I was underneath a hot shower, warming away any remaining aches and pains. Without the Internet I was reduced to writing up the blog and selecting the photos before saving my work and heading out to chat to the others and take the odd photo or two.

Whilst I was relaxing and chatting, decisions were being made as to what to do with the broken bikes in the van. With the parts for Ozzy Andy's bike still in Miami and now not likely to arrive in time (seems there was a cock-up with the wheel, a rear being sent to the dealer instead of the front that was needed), and Chris' bike refusing to start, it was decided to turn Chris' bike into a doner. Jeff started work stripping off the front wheel and swinging arm, then fixing them to Andy's bike. In around 3 hours he had the job done and there was now one working bike between the 2 riders. How they would split the available bike between them was the subject of much speculation, but in the end Julia stepped in and volunteered her bike for Chris to use to get to the end. It was an act of pure generosity that drew a lot of admiration from the group, as this is likely to be the last TransAm that Kevin and Julia both guide, their business demands such that them both spending 5 months on the road is becoming impossible. So she will now complete the journey as they did their record-breaking one, riding pillion behind Kevin. Let's hope we don't have any more mishaps and the rest of the group can all ride into Ushuaia behind them...

That evening was a group meal, served in the hotel's dining room, and was very good. Once again I restricted my drinking to a couple of beers and a glass of wine, despite tomorrow being a very short day of just 85 miles as we cross the border back into Argentina. More dirt roads, but if they're anything like those today, I won't be complaining...