Southern Exposure

Friday, April 10

Since we only had about 200 miles to go today, we slept in a bit (our specialty), and then had breakfast at the restaurant next door where our hotel had an agreement to serve breakfast. It was the standard fare and we finished quickly. After we’d retrieved the bikes from the parking space, we packed up and headed to the grocery store.

We bought a few bottles of wine so that we wouldn’t show up at the Estancia empty handed. While I was waiting outside with the bikes, a local journalist spotted me standing around and came up to chat. He wanted to interview me for his radio show, and I was happy to do it. This was only the second time I’d ever given an interview, the first time being in Mexico. It’s just the strangest feeling but I doubt I will ever have the need to get used to it. I just tried to be nice and say nice things about the town and Argentina. When he saw our Obama “Hope” stickers, he inquired about my opinion of the old and new US administrations. I gave high marks to Obama, and told him how happy we were to have the Bush years finally behind us.

It didn’t take long before we were on our way out of town. We were eager to get to the Estancia and spend a few days off the bikes. I had a strange sensation in my gut when I realized that this was our second to last day of riding in South America. So many miles behind us and so few to go. The morning’s ride was not very exciting, passing mostly through wide open farmland. We were too focused on the destination to stop to take a single picture.

We made it onto Ruta 7 and crossed the final miles until we reached the YPF station that was our landmark. Fernando’s directions were excellent and even included a little map. We then rode through the small town, and found ourselves on a road so dry that dirt had turned to a dust so fine it was like sand. After so many miles and being so close to the end, there was no way we were taking another fall, and we proceeded cautiously for the few miles to the Estancia.

We reached the gate of the Estancia Calchaqui and let ourselves in. We rode the final mile to the main house in a state of wonder and excitement. We hadn’t really heard from Fernando about what to expect other than it was a family gathering for Easter. It’s hard to see your jaw drop when you’re wearing a helmet, but ours definitely did as we approached the house. It wasn’t a house, it was a group of several large houses set amidst a grove of oak trees. A group of 10 or so horses were saddled and tied up in the shade of the trees. We later learned the Estancia occupied over 11,000 acres (4500 hectares).

Fernando and Adela came out to greet us, and Inna and I were just in awe at our beautiful surroundings. We parked, and Fernando showed us to the guest house where we would be staying. Our room was on the lower floor and was spacious and nicely decorated. We took a moment to clean ourselves up, showering and changing clothes. Adela knocked on our door with a pitcher of water and introduced us to some of her nieces.

Once we were ready, we headed over to the main house to meet the family. The Estancia belonged to Adela’s parents. Adela was the oldest of her siblings. She had four younger brothers, all of whom were at the house with their families, so it was a huge gathering of about 30 family members. There were kids everywhere as Inna and I made our introductions.

We met Adeal’s parents Adelita and Vicente who were the heads of the Gutierrez family. Adela’s four brothers were: Vicente (Polaco) with his wife Patricia (Pato); Pablo; Sebastian (El Negro) with his wife Maria (Loly); Ignacio (Nacho) with his wife Agustina (Agos), plus all of their kids. And finally, Adela and Fernando’s daughter Adela (Pepa) with her husband Sebastian and their tow small kids Juanito and Adelita Jr. It was interesting to us, and I think quite traditional in the old Argentinean families that often kids have the same names as their parents, so the only way we could try to remember everyone is by their nick names.

Everyone was so warm and friendly to us, all we could do was smile, exchange hugs and kisses (a proper greeting in Argentina), and enjoy everyone’s company. Adela told us her brothers were all very competitive, and they seemed disappointed neither Inna nor I golfed as the golf tournament in the back yard was just beginning. Inna and I just enjoyed some late afternoon snacks and a drink as we chatted and watched the golfers play across the lawn.

We tried to play a gaucho coin tossing game, called The Frog, but we were pretty terrible at it and gave up soon. Dinner time arrived, and we sat down at the main dining table. It was a huge table even though the kids were eating separately in the other room. The family was just so jovial. They were so full of good humor that we probably spent half the dinner laughing. Inna and I are both from small families and it was a treat to watch the interaction of such a large happy family.

After dinner, we had another round of drinks, and then it was time for the annual ping pong tournament. Lots were drawn, and I was paired up with Adela while Inna was matched against Pablo. Inna was up first, and while she put up a valiant effort, she was no match for Pablo, the reigning champion, and was out in minutes. My turn came soon enough, and Adela gave me a good whipping. I think I might have made it to 4 points before Adela reached the game winning 11. Ouch! The matches continued, and it was down to Pablo and El Negro’s son, Sebastian (Sebis). It was a great match, but Sebis triumphed, his first tournament win and also the first time he’d beaten his father in the process. It was great fun to watch the three brothers parade the boy around on their shoulders in victory.

Inna and I were pretty tired by the end and ready for bed. It had been such a great day and the warm welcome we’d been given left us in high spirits. Sleep came easily in our nice beds.

Thursday, April 9

We’d been in touch with our friend Fernando and his wife Adela, whom we had met at the thermal spa in Puyuhuapi. They had offered us hospitality at their home near Buenos Aires when we passed through, but as it was Easter weekend, they extended their invitation to us to come visit their family Estancia in the country, so that was where we were headed. If we had calculated correctly, we should arrive Friday afternoon.

With the bikes securely locked up, we slept well and got up at a decent hour. It only took us a short time to get packed and we were back on the road north. The scenery continued to be a fairly dull procession of wide open space with little to distinguish each mile from the next. We were used to it by now, and grateful that we were far enough inland to be spared strong winds.

We stopped at our favorite gas station, the YPF Full, and had a coffee to wake us up. A few miles further north, we crossed a magic climate line and the scenery abruptly changed. Gone were the sparse, low bushes and small trees and grasses had appeared. In comparison to other places we had been, it was still pretty dull scenery, but unlike the last thousand miles, it was a cornucopia of variety for the eyes. Finally, something to look at! Even though the scenery was generally not terribly beautiful, it lifted our spirits as it was the first real sign of progress in days.

We soon entered a landscape of tall, green grasses growing alongside the road accented by yellow wildflowers. It was so inviting I just wanted to pull over, lie down in the grass and take a nap in the sun. The scrub bushes that covered the landscape reminded me of parts of Texas. Despite the change, this landscape eventually took on its own form of monotony, but with gentle hills progress was easier to measure.

Our goal for the day had been the town of Santa Rosa and we arrived in town around 4 pm. It seemed like a nice enough town but nothing about it really stood out as remarkable. Since it was so early in the day, after getting gas, we decided to push on for another hundred miles, as any time we made riding today we would gain relaxing at the Estancia tomorrow. On the way out of town we stopped to pick up yet more oil for our thirsty bikes.

The new goal was General Pico, and the intervening miles went by quickly enough. It was late afternoon, so the setting sun gave off a warm golden light and the golden grasses shined brightly. General Pico was a standard grid around a plaza town, but it was strangely difficult to find a hotel. Normally in the center of town near the plaza there were several hotels, but other than one hotel we passed on the outskirts, we drove around fruitlessly searching. We asked a guy at the gas station whose directions ended up leading us nowhere. About to give up and go back to the outskirts hotel, Inna asked a random guy on the street who pointed us to a hotel a few blocks away.

The hotel was very nice, and the same price as the other. There was no parking, but a block away there was a secure garage would could pay extra to park in. It had been a surprisingly easy day for one that covered 415 miles, but we were quite happy to be off the bikes and in a hotel. We cleaned out, and headed out onto the town.

The downtown was a vibrant commercial center with lots of stores and people on the sidewalks. We picked a pub style restaurant to eat in, mainly because it had floor to ceiling open windows overlooking the street. The food was not great but not terrible and we didn’t linger for long. The nice fluffy beds in our hotel room were calling our name and we were happy to answer the call.

Wednesday, April 8

We didn’t sleep well last night worrying about the bikes parked outside which, even though we received permission, for the sake of morning convenience we decided not to park in the hostel’s kitchen. It was an early morning for us, but getting up was easy, as my excitement for the penguins was growing stronger every minute. After a quick breakfast we loaded Jackie’s and our things into the car, leaving some bags at the hostel, and headed out. It took a bit longer than anticipated to get out of town. Jackie was changing hostels, so we dropped her things there first and then began the quest of looking for an ATM, as we were completely out of money.

After that anxiety was over, we were finally ready to hit the road. As we were going out of town, the car started making unpleasantly loud noises. It took a few moments to figure out that it was the wind seeping through the windows and doors. The small Golf-looking VW we rented seemed nice on the outside, but it turned out to be a real piece of junk on the inside. The brakes were squeaking; the fan was so dusty it felt like a backwards vacuum cleaner blowing the dust in our faces (so dirty we were unable to use it); the sound of the breaking wind prevented us from being able to hear the radio. But despite all that it was an easy 2-hour ride to the penguineria.

During the ride we learned a bit more about Jackie and her travels. She had an inspirational story. In her 60’s, a retired software engineer, a mom and a grandma, 11 months ago she decided to come to Buenos Aires to live there for a few months in order to escape the heat of Texas’ summer. After meeting a few backpackers in BA she realized that what she really wanted to do was backpack through South America and then the rest of the world. So she started out on her journey, shedding a few bags and pounds along the way, able to live on her monthly social security checks, and going to some remote places that the rest of her friends or women of her age, or any age, would not dare travel. Like us, this was the last leg of her South American trip. She was returning home to the US for a few weeks before starting her European adventure. Jackie was fascinated by our bike travels and was keen on doing her Europe tour on a big scooter. However it works out for her, we wish her the best of luck. Yet again, we’ve met a greatly inspirational person who, once she experienced the joys and tribulations of adventure travel, could not look back or see herself being attached to one place.

There is so much to see and experience outside of our homes and comforts zones; traveling is very infectious, and it is one of the most rewarding and worthwhile experiences in life. We’ve learned that the good way, and now we just need to figure out how we can continue traveling for the rest of our lives. 🙂

The last 22 miles to the penguineria were on a dirt road. It looked and felt like an awful road to be on a bike. I was happy it was a rental car that was taking the beating, and not our bikes. We arrived there around 10 am and were pleased to see that it was early enough not to be flooded with tourists.

It didn’t take long for the penguins to start appearing everywhere. There were thousands of the Magellanic penguins scattered around a huge area along the shore and into the mainland. A lot of them were lounging in the nesting holes, some by themselves, some in couples, some running around checking on everyone else’s business, others having large group get togethers. Feathers were flying everywhere as it was the time of year when the young shed their coats.

I was beyond ecstatic to finally see, or more like walk among the penguins. As far as the eye could see, there were these cute and funny looking creatures who shuffled their feet and flapped their wings in the most adorable way. They were almost toy looking, you just wanted to pick one up, hug it, and cuddle with it. I could not stop taking pictures. I must have deleted a 100 photos later in order to narrow down the selection. In addition to penguins, guanacos and other little animals were also partaking in the action.

The trail led to a vista point overlooking the ocean shore, where a group of penguins was entertaining themselves going in and out of water. One of the cormorant birds looked eager to join in the fun and blended in nicely with the rest of the black-and-white-coated crowd.

After a couple of hours it was time to head back to town, as we were planning on riding that afternoon to the town of San Antonio Oeste in order to make up some miles north.

We drove back to Madryn, said our farewells to Jackie, returned the car, packed the bikes and were on our way north. The ride of about 165 miles was easy and uneventful, except for the gorgeous colors of the sunset and the incredibly full moon that was accompanying us throughout the evening.

We rolled into town in the dark and stopped at the first hotel on the main road, which was a surprisingly good fit with secure parking and wi-fi. We had no energy to look for a restaurant and settled for another grocery store sandwich dinner.

Tuesday, April 7

After the last two days of stress and worry we decided that a sleep in was in order and didn’t get out of bed before 10 am. Looking out the window, we were greeted by bright sunshine, clear blue skies and pretty green trees lining the main street of the town. After a quick breakfast of a cup of coffee and a toast we headed to Parque El Desafio (“The Challenge Park”), leaving our bikes and bags at the hostel. I have to mention that we were not charged for the ruined curtain by the hostel owners, for which we were very grateful, and took it as a sign of a good day to come.

The park was just down the road from the hosteria, and it was an incredibly whimsical place, nothing like I had ever seen or been to before. It covered a large territory, and every square inch of it was filled with art pieces made of all kinds of recycled objects and reincarnated rubbish: bottles, tin cans, plastic bags, remains of automobiles.

Joaquin Alonso, the artist, now 80 years old, originally began this park as a playground for his kids, and 30 years later it grew into a vast eccentric outdoor gallery, where a mini Taj Mahal stands under a rainbow canopy made from flower-shaped plastic, a mythical cat walks among friendly African inhabitants talking on his cell phone, a green-bottle tower reaches for the skies, and satirical commentary mixed with words of wisdom accompany every piece of art. Being there was like walking through a surreal forest. It was hard to believe that all of it was a work of one man.

The park is called “The Challenge Park” because when Alonso decided on the idea, nobody took him seriously or believed that he could pull it together, which probably motivated him even more to keep going. The park is a testament to his unsurpassable creativity and perseverance; he is even referred to as the Argentinean Salvador Dali by locals. What an incredible legacy to leave behind for others to enjoy and admire for generations to come!

I only had one complaint for the artist. The welcome board that had the word “welcome” written in different languages had one in Russian, but the translation and the writing was not even close to the Russian language. That made me wonder how correct the other translations were.

After the park visit I was set on having afternoon tea at one of the casas de te in town. Gaiman was founded at the end of the 19th century by settlers from Wales, and today most locals still have cottage gardens and serve high-tea at 2 pm at the numerous tea houses. It was just a bit after 12 noon and I was concerned all tea houses would be closed, but the hostel owner recommended one casa that was apparently open all day. When we got there, the sign said “open”, but he door was locked. I knocked, no one answered. I was not going to give up my cup of tea, so we stood there for a few minutes, ringing the door bell until the owner women let us in. Although Matt did not share my high tea obsession, and even compared it to the excitement of going to a Coca Cola museum, he did seem a bit more pleased when a mountain of cakes of all varieties showed up in front of us.

With our bellies filled to the max with cakes and tea we headed back to the hosteria, packed the bikes and were on our way to the town of Puerto Madryn. We heard it was a nice place to spend an afternoon and it served as a base for trips to Peninsula Valdez, an ecological reserve we planned on visiting the next day in hopes of seeing some whales and/or penguins.

It was a short and easy ride through the familiar and unexceptional pampa scenery. Taking the exit for Puerto Madryn off Ruta 3 afforded sweeping views of the city, set along the beautiful expanse of Golfo Nuevo, complete with stately high rises and refreshingly white and neat buildings.

We checked out a few places and settled on a decent hostel with a kitchen. After doing some bike maintenance, cleaning and adjusting the chains, we headed to the store to get ingredients for tonight’s home cooked meal.

In the meantime, we also found out from the hostel manager that there were currently no whales or penguins on the Valdez Peninsula, and in general most tourists with high expectations of seeing wild life on the Peninsula came back disappointed. Our Galapagos trip was as good as it gets for wild life watching, but still, I had not satisfied my desire to see the penguins. By this time I pretty much gave up on seeing the penguins, as we were told in March in April they migrate elsewhere from the east coast of Argentina. It was good news for us though – if we wanted to see the penguins we could go back south to Punta Tombo, the largest colony of Maggelanic penguins on the continent, 500,000 in high season! At the moment there were about 300,000 penguins there beginning to vacate their nesting sites, and now I was determined to see them whatever it took.

We did not want to ride our bikes to Punto Tombo for two reasons: one – we had very little tire left and were concerned about not having enough to last us to Buenos Aires, and two – we had been on this road before, it was extremely boring, windy, and not very pleasant on the bike. The hostel manager said she would arrange the transportation for us. It turned out to be cheaper to rent a car instead of joining a tour. At dinner we were approached by an American woman Jackie who had been backpacking through South America for 11 months, and she asked if she could share a ride with us. We could use some company and why would we ever say no to budget savings?

The owner of the car rental place showed up after dinner and delivered the car right to the hostel door. We took care of the reservation and retired to our room, dreaming about our visit to the penguins tomorrow. That night Matt got up a couple of times to check on the bikes which we parked on the street outside of the hostel. We were worried mainly about the heavy winds knocking them over.

Monday, March 6

We had an unpleasantly hot night in our stuffy and windowless room aggravated by a feeling of anxiety for things to be resolved today. We were not sure if we would have to stay another night in Rivadavia, but we were absolutely sure it would not be in this hotel. We packed our bags and tried calling a few hotels in town during breakfast. All of them were either more expensive or had no parking or wi-fi. We finally abandoned the idea and decided that no matter what, we want to get out of this town even if it meant riding in the dark.

We were planning to leave our bags in the hostel and run errands on my bike. Our two orders of business were dealing with the owner of the car that I dented yesterday at the gas station and fixing Matt’s chain. Just when we were ready to head out the door the owner of the car showed up in the lobby. We were not sure how we were to meet with him today, as he was flying in from Buenos Aires this morning, but he made it easy for us. He was a pleasant and civilized business man in his 50’s, and pronounced the onerous sentence I was dreading to hear. The repairs of the tiny dent on his brand spanking new metallic silver Jeep would cost me $500. That is about what I figured it would cost in the US, but I was so hoping it would be less in Argentina. I once again felt very angry at myself for being so incautious and sloppy with my parking last night, knowing perfectly well how devilishly strong the winds are here. Now was the time to pay for my mistake and I had no choice but eat up the price.

I walked with him to the cash machine, retrieved the money, he thanked and hugged me saying he was sorry, but such was life, and our first order of today’s business was resolved. I went back to the hotel and sobbed to Matt about how we could have spent this money on some great adventure or a 5-star hotel stay, and instead I just gave it to a stranger because I made a stupid mistake. He consoled and reminded me that while our expenses for yesterday were huge and unexpected, things could have turned out much worse, and as long as we were both okay, that’s all that mattered. True that.

We were ready to head out to the moto store when Guillermo showed up in the lobby. It turned out he was also a rider and was planning on taking a road trip to Ushuaia next week. He wanted to assist Matt with the fixing of the chain. I was stunned. In the wake of yesterday’s distress I shed a few tears last night while taking a shower. Some of these tears were in disbelief of the kindness and generosity of complete strangers towards us. Guillermo and his brother Hernan spent their whole evening helping us deal with our problems: find a tow truck, transport the bike into town, deal with the security guard at the gas station, and find a hotel. And now Guillermo was going to spend another afternoon helping us fix the chain. How can we possibly repay them for their time and kindness?

While Matt and Guillermo dealt with the chain I spent a few hours working on the blog in the hostel cafeteria. Guillermo went to a moto shop and bought a replacement master link. He and Matt tried to put it on themselves, but it just wasn’t happening and Matt pushed the bike a few blocks to the shop. They came back much faster than I anticipated and we decided to grab a quick lunch with Guillermo before heading out of town. After lunch at the marina we followed him to at least four stores where we hoped to buy oil. All of them were closed for a four hour lunch break, 11:30 am – 3:30 pm. What kind of working hours are these?

We were in a hurry to head out of town as we had over 350 km to cover that afternoon, and it was already 3 pm. We thanked Guillermo profusely for his time and assistance. I think as a fellow rider he more than anyone could put himself in our shoes, and knew that on the road motorcyclists depend on the aid of others in unexpected road situations like ours ; if nothing else it was good karma to help a rider in need. The only thing we could do for him was give him our plastic gas can, which we did not have any more need for and he could use it for his journey south.

I can’t say it enough – THANK YOU to Guillermo and Germán for their time, help and for coming to our rescue!

Our destination that afternoon was a small Welsh settlement of Gaiman. As in the previous days, the road was extremely boring, straight and cold, passing through endless barren pampa. We stopped for a quick fill up on gas and a cup of coffee at our favourite, and the ever well serviced YPF gas station, the only island of civilization in the 350 km radius on this stretch of Ruta 3.

The second part of the ride held for us much colder temperatures and intensely heavy rain. It was dark and our dark shields were fogging up on the inside making it almost impossible to see the road at times. The night riding and dark shields don’t mix well. Once in a while you need to raise the visor up to check on the road. The first time that happens, you are doomed, as the rain drops get inside and cover the inside of the shield, and there is no way to wipe it off completely dry. You close the shield, trying to escape the sharp raindrops penetrating your face leaving a tiny opening for the air to come through as an anti-fog precaution. But soon the visibility, or the lack of it, becomes intolerable and you start the process all over the again.

It was a miserable and dangerous ride, but we finally reached the town of Gaiman around 9 pm. As we were riding into town something seemed strangely off. It took a few seconds to figured it out – there were no lights anywhere, not on the streets, not in the windows of homes. We asked a lady on the street what was going on and found out that electricity went out just five minutes ago in the whole town. Groovy! That was just what we needed to help end our day on a “bright” note.

We contemplated going back to a larger town of Trelew, 15 km back east, but decided to see if we can find a hotel hoping the lights would come back on soon. We spotted a suitable hosteria shortly. The price was right and we were eager to get off the bikes and into warm indoors, and into a hot shower. We used our LED lights, which had saved the day a few times before on this trip, to unpack and settle into our room. The owners, a friendly couple, gave us a candle for the room, which they put on the bed table next to the window. I tucked in the curtains away from the candle and got ready to hit the shower.

As I made a last sweep of the room before heading into the shower, wearing just my bra and underwear, I noticed how much brighter the room looked. Before I could tell Matt that I thought the lights came back on, we realized one of the curtains caught on fire. (Matt later admitted that he moved the curtains while looking out the window just seconds before). Matt grabbed the curtain trying to put down the flames by pressing it against the wall, and I ran into the bathroom to fill up a glass with water. When I returned to the room, I was terrified to see that the fire doubled up in size – now half the curtain was burning up in flames and the smell in the room was horrifying. I could tell there was no way to stop the fire and soon it would spread to bed linens and the other curtain. I snatched the curtain out of Matt’s hands and pulled on it with all my strength, breaking the wooden bar it was hanging on, jumped with it into the bathroom and placed it under the running shower water, which put the fire down instantly. The owner hearing me scream and smelling the fire ran into our room and busted me half naked with a burnt curtain in my hand.

Visibly glad and relieved we did not burn the place down he said it was alright, and in a matter of minutes we had a new wooden bar and new curtains hanging on the windows. We were not trusted with another candle however. I was finally able to take my shower, and as the incident was playing back in my mind a huge grin of relief was planted firmly on my face. I was extremely happy with the outcome of the situation and my reaction to it. I could not even try to imagine what a disaster we might have caused otherwise.

Soon after we retired to bed for reading the lights came back on. I wrote the blog post till late in the night, and Matt fell asleep shortly. My wish for tomorrow was that we don’t get charged for the ruined curtains. We really can not afford to take another blow to the budget. And please, can we just have a normal day tomorrow, a day without our ludicrous mishaps?

Sunday, April 5

The wind continued to roar throughout the night, prompting me to get up in the middle of the night several times to see if the bikes had been blown over yet. When the weather is bad or I don’t feel the bikes are secure enough I never sleep well and always end up getting up in the middle of the night to look out the window. The morning finally arrived and the bikes survived the wind. After a quick breakfast of our store bought yogurts we were on the road.

The scenery was still the same wide open pampas as the day before, and honestly this many days into it I hardly noticed it anymore. It was just endless boring on loop. As we made progress north, we finally came to feel the infamous Patagonia winds. We’d been very lucky up until today, but the wind had finally arrived in full force. Fortunately, it was a steady wind, so we could just lean into it and move down the road. I think we were luckier to experience it going north than going south, as we could pass trucks on the windward side, rather than going into a wind shadow of a truck and getting blasted once past.

We stopped for a break from the wind and a snack at our new favorite gas station, YPF Full. We had coffee and sconitos. Neither of us was really excited to get back to the grind, but we set off. We had a nice comic moment at the side of the road as we tried to adjust our radios. Both of us had a glove blow off the bike and it took us 5 minutes to figure out how to park without having the bike immediately blown over.

The farther north we rode, the worse the wind became. It was fierce and tried to rip the helmets off our heads. Our necks and forearms were sore quickly and it was a battle against the wind. For once I didn’t mind there was little scenery to look at because I was entirely focused on not getting blown off the road. We took another break at a gas station, and then went back to the wind. We drove past another gas station, but as we had enough gas to reach our destination of Comodoro Rivadavia, we skipped it and kept going. After another 10 miles in the wind I regretted not stopping just to give the muscles in my neck a break. We had heard the wind was bad from so many people and they were all correct. It was miserable riding.

30 km south of Comodoro, our destination for the night, the road drew close to the coast and the wind was the worst yet. It was a strange site to look out over the Atlantic ocean. The swell barely reached the shore as the wind flattened the waves and almost seemed to blow them backwards. As I struggled not to get blown out to sea myself, I heard a huge CLUNK and the motor died. I didn’t really know what to think as I drifted over to the side of the road with the clutch pulled in. I restarted the motor when Inna shouted over the radio that my chain was broken.

My heart sank a bit as this was the one thing I was not prepared to fix. I had tools for all sorts of other situations, but the hole in my inventory was a chain tool. The clip type master link had snapped in half. Poor Inna pulled over to the side of the road and was immediately blown over by a passing truck. I managed to park my bike so the wind pushed it onto the sidestand and then walked over to help her lift and park her bike.

It was 6 pm and we were an hour away from sunset. I wasn’t willing to leave her here alone by the side of the road, so she would have to ride on to town and send back a truck for my bike. As we were talking, a pickup truck pulled over to see if we needed help. I told him our chain was broken and couldn’t be fixed here. I asked him if he could ride with Inna to town and help her arrange a pickup for me and my bike at a gas station since Inna’s Spanish isn’t so good. The man was very nice and agreed to help us out. Inna rode off following him into the distance and I was on my own.

It was a strange feeling to be sitting alone on the side of the road with an immobilized bike. I was confident Inna could get something worked out as we were only 30 km from a big city, but I felt bad that she would have to make it happen on her own. I knew it would be at least an hour before anyone would be coming, so I settled in for the waiting.

I took a few pictures of the ocean, and then just kind of stood near the bike watching the sunset. The wind was still strong so I didn’t even take my helmet off so my head would stay warm. It was probably one of the lonelier sunsets of my life. I dug out my LED headlamp from my tank bag as it was getting dark. The traffic became infrequent and no one paid me much attention as they drove by. The time passed and after an hour, I put the LED light in blinker mode every time a car drove by from the north.

After an hour and a half, the pickup returned. His name was Hernan and this time he had his brother Guillermo with him. They filled me in. It was Sunday night, so it had been very difficult to find a truck, but he’d called a friend from work who was on his way. Inna was waiting back at the YPF in town. I was relieved to hear this, especially that Inna was ok. They invited me into the truck and we chatted until the truck arrived.

The truck was large and had its own crane attached. We put straps around the bike and lifted it up into the bed. With the bike loaded and secured, we headed into town. We arrived at the YPF station, and Inna was there waiting with more bad news. After having been parked for an hour, a gust of wind had blown her bike over into a brand new Jeep, leaving a nice gash and dent. This was really not our day. After much discussion, we arranged to lock my bike up at the gas station overnight. The owner of the Jeep was in Buenos Aires and we arranged over the phone to meet the next day when he returned.

The two brothers who had been so patient and kind to us, sacrificing their entire Sunday evening, took us to the nearest hotel. It was overpriced, but it was after 11 and we were exhausted. We quickly settled into the room, which was like an oven. There were no controls for the heater and the staff said it couldn’t be changed. The night was long and sweaty, an appropriate end to one of the worst days of the trip.

Saturday, April 4

I would say we slept in, but we rarely manage to get up before 8 regardless of how early the alarm goes off. We just didn’t feel guilty about it today because it’s too cold out to be on the road early. We ate our breakfast and then headed to the gas station to fill up. After we pulled up to the pump, we looked around but no one was there. We honked, nothing. Finally an attendant made an appearance and told us the power was out. Only at the gas station. Weak. Fortunately we had plenty of gas to make it across the border to Argentina.

There’s something about 2nd days of the trip and my ignition, because once again in the cold it had frozen or gotten stuck and I couldn’t turn the key. This was maddening and we poked and prodded it with increasing vigor. It finally popped out and started working again. The strangest aspect of it was that it wasn’t frozen overnight. I’d ridden the bike to the gas station and it hadn’t been a problem first thing.

We were quite pleased to discover the last of the dirt roads were behind us and it was paved all the way to the ferry crossing. We arrived and parked in line. The ferry went every half an hour, so while we waited for the next boat, Inna went up to the cafe to check out the cat colony. [INNA: There must have been over 20 cats scattered around the yard, some cute and clean, and some were missing an eye and didn’t seem to care about their hygiene, a rarity for cats. At one moment they all got off their spots and ran to the door. I first thought I scared them with my photo snooping around, but it turned out the owner brought out some food, so they were buzzing around the entrance picking up what seemed like crumbs of food.]

Our time came and we pulled the bikes onto the ferry. As we were lifting Inna’s bike on the centerstand, my bike fell over and crashed into the side of the boat. I have to admit being infuriated by this as we’d just spent all that time and money getting the luggage rewelded and straightened, only for something stupid like this to happen. Since the bikes were on the stands, I vented my anger by spending the crossing lubing the chains. Inna says she saw those cool mostly white with black dolphins swimming alongside the ferry.

Once we were off the ferry, I was doing some packing and noticed the pannier I used mainly for tools was flooded. The carb cleaner I’d been carrying had decided it had had enough and leaked its entire contents. We spent the next half an hour on the side of the road cleaning out that pannier and all of the tools. While we were doing this, three Chilean riders rode up to the ferry on identical 1200 series BMWs, wearing identical BMW gear and even identical helmets. They didn’t wave or acknowledge us in any way. It’s hard for me to relate to riders who just walk into a dealer and buy a complete setup of a brand like that, let alone to be a clone of your friend. Maybe they were starting an adventure rider poser gang.

The rest of the ride to Piedra Buena that day left little to talk about. The border crossing went the same as the previous one. After that, it was an endless mostly flat, wide plain of Patagonian ankle high shrubs. It just goes on and on and on and on for hundreds of miles. It’s hard to feel any progress being made, and it’s hard to be motivated to stop and take a picture of what seems like nothing.

Once we were in town, we scouted a few hotels before settling on the only one with any WiFi. It was still light out, so I took the opportunity to clear the awfully dirty air filters. This was long overdue and I felt guilty about not doing it sooner. A truck driver parked across the streeted noticed me cleaning and offered the use of his air hose to blast out some of the dirt and dust. This worked well and was another experience in the kindness and goodwill of strangers.

We headed to the supermarket for dinner. We stocked up on yogurt and cereal for breakfast, and decided to save money and make sandwiches again for dinner. The lines in the grocery store moved glacially, and by the time we were back at the hotel it felt late. We quickly ate while watching the only crummy programming we could find in English and were soon happily in bed.

Friday, April 3

We left Ushuaia with almost a weightless feeling. It was a dark, gray morning with a damp chill in the air, but for the first time in a long time, we were going north instead of south. The race against winter south was over, but it felt like we’d almost tied mother nature. The mountain tops that had been lightly dusted when we rode in were now solidly blanketed in white snow.

On our way out of town, we had tried to catch a picture with Ross and his car, Jerry. Ross actually thought we meant it when we said we were leaving early, missing the key word trying in trying to leave early, which we rarely succeed at. By the time we’d reached his hostel at 10 he’d thought we already left and had gone out for breakfast. Jerry was still there and we took a picture with it.

The ride out of Ushuaia would be the best ride for days to come. The forest of greens, oranges, and reds climbed the sides of the mountains before ending at the solid white snow line. Ushuaia bid us farewell by treating us to a light snow storm to ride out in as we climbed through the mountain pass. It was very light and not dangerous, but it was our first riding in snow on the trip and an appropriate farewell to riding south.

As we descended out of the low mountains to the coastal plain, the charming light snow turned into a miserable rain. Rain and upper 30s or low 40s with a steady crosswind mixed in for good measure is not my idea of fun. I’d been expecting it to be cold and I was wearing everything I had for cold weather. Thermals on top and bottom, quilted jacket liner, two shirts, jeans, two pairs of socks, glove liners, and our windproof bank robber style masks. Even wearing all of this and the heated grips on high, it was a cold ride. My boots are no longer waterproof and slowly allow moisture to creep in.

By the time we reached Rio Grande, we were deeply chilled and not very happy. We rode through the entire town and didn’t see a single restaurant. It’s not a very attractive little town and our mood didn’t add any charm to it. After searching side streets, we finally found a burger joint type of place and we went in for coffee. Of course they didn’t serve coffee. Fortunately they had hot water and we were able to make some tea to drink while we ate some burgers. We tried to dry off a little by the gas stove but its heat was feeble. It was better than nothing though and we set off north slightly warmer.

We reached the border, and nothing had changed since we last went through. The line on the Argentinean side moved agonizingly slowly, while we were in and out of the Chilean border post in 10 minutes. The Argentinean border agents should take lessons from the Chilean agents.

The downside of being in Chile was the end of the pavement. The road north was in bad shape from the rain, with all of the million potholes filled in with water, making it impossible to judge the depth. Occasionally the hard packed mud unexpectedly gave way to slippery, soft mud and the bikes would get our adrenaline pumping by sliding around a bit. Otherwise it was a jarring, tough ride. With more potholes than flat surface, it was an endless series of jolts, with occasional big ones hiding as surprises beneath the muddy waters. The poor bikes took a beating.

We finally arrived in Cerro Sombrero in the early evening. The last mile into town was paved, which gave us great pleasure. The first hotel we came across and possibly the only hotel in town was suitable, and we eagerly unloaded the bikes. Inna had made us some sandwiches before we left in the morning, so without taking off our riding gear we walked in the cold to the grocery store to stock up on breakfast supplies. It felt wonderful when we returned to shed the heavy wet gear. We ate our sandwiches, took hot showers, and went to bed listening to the howl of the wind outside.

Sunday, March 29 – Slacker Day # 1

After 140 days, 16,895 miles and 13 countries we had finally reached the end of the world, or to be correct, the southernmost city in the world accessible by road. It’s hard to believe that only 750 miles separate us from Antarctica.

After reaching Ushuaia there was nothing more we wanted to do but sleep, rest, eat and be off the motorcycles for a few days. And we did exactly that.

On Sunday we only slept in until 10 am (yes only!), in order to make the hostel’s breakfast before 10:30, which the lady owner the night before said was “super”. Well, “super” surely means something more than the predictable bread, jam and coffee we thought, dragging ourselves out of bed in hopes of may be finding a fried egg and a piece of cheese on our plates for a change. Wouldn’t that be super?! No such luck. Bread, jam and a super addition of dulce de leche (caramel milk creme popular in Chile and Argentina) was all we were served, and hurried back to the room for more rest.

We watched TV, took naps and lounged until 4 pm, when we were finally able to put on some clothes and walk in freezing cold to the grocery store to get some food for tonight’s dinner which we decided to cook at the hostel.

Ross came over for dinner and we had a nice feast with two bottles of wine. Happy and full we retired to bed early looking forward to another day of slacking tomorrow.

Monday, March 30 – Slacker Day #2

We were looking forward to having a solid home cooked breakfast, so we slept through the hostel’s breakfast enjoying every minute/hour of extra sleep, and made it into the kitchen around 11:30. I cooked one of our breakfast favourites, a cheese and vegetable omellette, and with full and happy stomachs we hurried back to the room to rest some after a tiresome morning.

In the afternoon we walked around downtown browsing the stores for “the end of the world” chachkis. I saw a funny collection of large Easter chocolate eggs that were called “Mamushka,” not “Babushka” (grandma) or “Matreshka” (a Russian wooden doll), but Mamushka, an Ushuaia cross-breed word that does not really exist in Russian.

As always, most of the stores were closed for their 4 hour siesta. We walked down to the water, froze our butts off, and hurried to a chocolateria for a piece of black forest cake and hot chocolate as we waited for the stores to open.

This part of the world is known for its larger than life centolla (king crab), which can be one meter long from claw to claw. Matt is not a fan of seafood, but he graciously agreed to accompany me to a recommended seafood restaurant Freddy’s known for their fresh seafood dishes and particularly the king crab. They even had a tank in the window filled with four huge crabs.

I had two options for the crab, either purchase a whole live crab from the tank (about $60 per kilo) cooked and served with a simple sauce or order “crab natural”, just the meat cooked in a sauce of choice. In as much as I wanted to select my own crab from the aquarium, it was meant for two people and was too much for me to handle on my own. So I went for the crab meat in provencal sauce. The dish was very good, and I actually enjoyed just being able to chow down on the beefy succulent crab meat without having to work hard at it. We also got to watch the waiter fish out three crabs from the tank for a group of Chinese tourists.

After dinner we went back to the hotel planning to get up really early the next morning in order to join Ross for a sunrise hike to the glacier. Unfortunately, some part of the consumed crab must not have agreed with me, and I woke up nauseous in the middle on the night, feeling the need to let the crab loose. Thus there was no early rising for us the next day.

Tuesday, March 31 – Slacker Day #3

After a late but hefty breakfast I felt guilty for wasting away another day, but all I wanted to do was curl up in a warm bed and snooze to the sounds of American sitcoms, the only TV programming we had in English. I am known for my food and sleep trooper abilities, but third day in a row of slackerdom was even a new high for me. Matt was nice enough to allow me this pleasure, and we only made it out on the town by 3 pm.

We visited the Yamana Museum, which had a few sorry display rooms “interpreting” the history of Ushuaia and the native peoples of Tierra del Fuego. As might be expected Europeans wiped out most of the Indians when they discovered the “land of fire,” and today only a tiny indigenous tribe of barely a 100 people resides in Port Williams, Chile across the Beagle Channel from Ushuaia. What surprised us the most was the fact that when the Indians were populating this land prior to 1700’s, they walked around naked, covering themselves only in whale blubber to keep warm. “Clothes” or animal skins were pointless because they got wet in the rain and served a contrary purpose. They only had fur cloaks. Its really hard to imagine going around naked in such brutal conditions. Ushuaia is by far the coldest place we had visited. During the day its been in the high 30s – low 40’s, and we were constantly cold or freezing.

For dinner we decided to take advantage of the hostel kitchen one more time and treated ourselves to another home cooked meal of salad and mac-n-cheese. We finished the night by watching the “Slumdog Millioneer” on the computer. We liked the movie, but thought it was a bit of a stretch that it received eight Oscars, including one for movie of the year. It must have been a slow year for movies.

Wednesday, April 1 – A Special End of the World Park Visit

Today I finally felt completely rested, and willing to get on the bike to see more of Ushuaia. We decided to ride to Ushuaia National Park to the very end of Ruta 3. You really can’t go any further south by road than this.

The ride in the park was pretty. The southern beech forest was outfitted with autumnal colors, covering a wide spectrum of hues from deep browns to reds to yellows. The jagged mountains were looming in the distance as we were passing the swampy bog and the sub-antarctic tundra terrain mixed with dead forest and tiny lakes along the way.

We reached the end of Ruta 3 and walked to the vista point overlooking Bahia Lapataia and the adjacent islands.

We then rode to Lago Roca and sat on the pebble beach enjoying a pristine mountain lake view.

We had a reason to celebrate, so we treated ourselves to a fancy dinner at Kaupe, a “hands down the best restaurant in Ushuaia” according to our Rough Guide, located in a family home with a good view of the harbor.

My crab incident didn’t stop me from ordering a crab and spinach soup as a starter, and sea bass baked in parchment paper for the second course.

The food was good, though I found it to be a bit overpriced for its simplicity. I never understood why some high end restaurants serve $30 entrees without a side dish. When i decide to splurge on a nice meal, I look for a complete culinary experience and think that the chef should be able to pair my fish with a suiting side dish.

I helped myself to a piece of roasted potato from Matt’s peppered stake dish. We shared a bottle of tasty Rutini Sauvignon Blanc during dinner and finished off our meal with a glass of dessert white wine. The bill was quite hefty, but since it was our “we made it” celebration dinner, we quickly got over it, and fell asleep as soon as we hit the bed.

Thursday, April 2 – Farewells

We were determined to be more productive for our last day in Ushuaia. The weather didn’t cooperate and today was the gloomiest and rainiest day since our arrival here. We thought about visiting Harberton, a famous estancia 85 km east of the town, where the descendants of one of Ushuaia’s founding families still live, and offer tours of the estancia museum. However, riding in the rain did not seem like a worthy expedition on our last day, so we opted instead for a 2.5 hour boat tour along the Beagle Channel, which departed at 3:30 pm. We thought we’d finish up our shopping before the tour, but discovered that all stores were closed until 5 pm due to a Malvinas/Faulkan Islands War memorial day.

Disappointed, we headed towards a chocolateria only, predictably, found its doors tightly locked. We saw a badly damaged BMW 1200 with Texas plates parked outside of a hotel. The front tire was flat, all the controls were bent or cracked, but miraculously the windshield was in perfect condition. We felt compelled to meet the owner, thinking he might appreciate sharing his story with fellow riders. We walked into the hotel and saw his tank bag and helmet in the lobby, but no sight of the rider. We left our card with the receptionist asking her to tell him we would be across the street at the only cafe open that afternoon.

When Paul walked in 20 minutes later in his riding gear, he was looking for something or someone else and hadn’t actually gotten our message yet, but we spotted him right away and invited to join us at the table eager to hear about his ordeal. He refused lunch, which as we later agreed was awful and overpriced, but Paul’s story was worth every penny. Like Matt, Paul was originally from Houston and started his trip in January. Like us, he did the toughest rides in Bolivia and made it all the way to Tierra del Fuego only to crash 20 km outside of Ushuaia, when his front tire blew up as he was traveling at 70 miles an hour. The bike was toast, but thankfully Paul escaped without a single scratch. We shared more road stories and wished we could meet up for drinks later, but it wasn’t meant to be.

It was time for our boat tour, and the minute I stepped onto the large catamaran I felt dizzy as it was swinging hard left to right in the stormy waters.

Our voyage itinerary on the Beagle Channel consisted of a visit to two tiny islands inhabited by a variety of seabirds and sea lions. They seemed to occupy every inch of the rocks with clear divisions and understanding of each others’ territory. From afar, I mistook the birds, with their striking black an white coats, for penguins. I was so sad to learn that we were a month late to be able to see huge colonies of Magellanic and Gentoo penguins that this part of the world is home to. Unfortunately, they leave to travel south in March, and the few ones we saw in Chiloe from the boat were a big teaser that made me imagine how much fun it must be to walk amongst hundreds of these adorable darlings and watch their comical antics. I don’t share the same enthusiasm for the sea lions however. We have seen so many of them in the Gallapagos that they hardly amuse or bring a smile to my face anymore.

The boat tour concluded at Faro Les Eclaireurs, a lighthouse that is erroneously called the Lighthouse at the End of the World (there is another light house that is further south than this one) and is one of Ushuaia’s iconic images.

On the way back we were passing close to the shores and were fascinated by funky trees covered partly in grey moss and leaning heavily one way in the direction on the constantly blowing wind.

When we were pulling up to the town we were greeted by Ushuaia’s crafty slogan: “The End of the World, The Beginning of Everything.”

Being on the boat in the Beagle Channel was the perfect way to finish our stay in Ushuaia. I was glad we went with the shortest tour though, as after 2.5 hours I was eager to get off the rocking boat onto a steady ground.

Later that evening we met Ross for our farewell dinner at Pizza & Pasta restaurant with less than memorable food and terrible service. Ross is going to stay here for a few weeks before heading north to Chile to continue shooting South American cowboys for his portfolio. We said our goodbyes, and realizing that after all this time (we first met Ross at Lake Atitlan in Guatemala) we had not a single picture together, we agreed to stop by his hostel in the morning to get a photo with Ross and his travel companion Jerry, a 38 year Volkswagen beetle.

Back at the hostel, we did some packing, paid the bill receiving hardly a discount we were so counting on for our 6 night stay, and went to bed much later that we were hoping. We had plenty of rest in Ushuaia and were finally eager to be back on the bikes to head south towards Buenos Aires.

Saturday, March 28

We woke up earlier than usual for us as we wanted to be early to arrive for our 9 am ferry to Porvenir. The owner of our hostel was up and engaged us in cheerful conversation. The breakfast was better than usual, having a good selection of juices and cereals in addition to the usual bread. We had packed the bikes before eating so once we were done we were off to the gas station. On the way out, we passed the sculpture Monument to the Wind.

We filled up and headed to the ferry. As we had a reservation already, it was easy to get our tickets and get on board. After we put the bikes on the centerstands, they put a wide cargo strap across the seats to secure them to the deck. We’d never had this precaution taken on a ferry before, so we were a little alarmed about the voyage ahead, but they assured us that the sea was calm today.

We settled in on the upper deck of the passenger cabin. It was very nicely set up, like a luxury train with a table between opposing seats. Large flat screen TVs were located throughout the cabin. The choice of programming for the 140 minute voyage was strange. The first shows were children’s cartoons. The middle of the voyage was an ultra violent movie about assassins, which was followed by a pre teen sitcom. Strange mix. We passed the time writing.

Once we were off the boat, we headed south and road along Y-71. This route had been recommended to us as scenic, rolling along the coast of the Straight of Magellan with a favorable tailwind. The ride was more ripio, but reasonable enough. We saw a few dolphins at one point, but the ride was mostly uneventful. The road was very hard packed and we were able to ride at 50+ mph.

We arrived at San Sebastian, Chile, and checked out of Chile. After a few miles, we reached San Sebastian, Argentina and checked in with the country’s slowest aduana agent. We hadn’t been sure how fast or slow the day’s ride would progress, but it was only 2 pm so it was clear we would be in Ushuaia tonight. This was really hard to imagine after all these miles.

The ride south along the coast was well paved, and we were lucky, no serious wind. The road, Ruta 3, hugged the coastline. The wind created a strange surf, very short waves packed tightly together and moving slowly into shore. The landscape was flat and open.

The road finally turned inland, and the landscape changed. We rode through patches of forest consisting of short, gnarly twisted trees. They looked ancient for their size, and each branch was dripping with pale green moss. It was clear we were entering a new climate.

We reached Lago Fagnano, which gleamed in the late afternoon sun. The forests were denser along its shore, and unless its their natural color, the leaves were beginning to turn red. I know that’s not why it is called Tierra del Fuego, but the hints of red among the forest seemed very appropriate. The mountains loomed to the south of the lake and had a light dusting of snow.

The mountain pass was more green and red forest and passed quickly. Before we knew it, we had reached Ushuaia. All during the last few hours I had been trying to psyche myself up for this momentous to us occasion, but it was hard to get really excited. I think we were too tired and it just didn’t seem real, that we were really here. We grew a little more excited as we posed for pictures with the Welcome to Ushuaia sign.

As we rode into town to find a hotel, we came across a rider on a Kawasaki Tengai. He was a local and led us around town until we found a satisfactory and affordable hostel. People who ride motorcycles are just the coolest people. We exchanged contact information and he was off. We settled in, still a bit disbelieving we were really here.

As we checked email, we saw our friend Ross who we had first met in Lake Atitlan, Guatemala, had arrived in town two days prior. We met up for dinner in town and celebrated with a few bottles of wine. We were really in Ushuaia!!