4-28-10 Comodoro Rivadavia, Argentina

This is not the nicest place I’ve ever been. We’ve been seeing a lot of good stuff in Argentina so I suppose it’s only fair for us to see some of the other side. If Argentina were the US, then this part of the country would be much like North Dakota, central Nevada, or Kansas in its entirety. There is nothing out here worth seeing really. Sure, there are interesting things here and there, but nothing that can’t be seen elsewhere and better at the same time. The only reason people are here is because they don’t know any better. The landscape is nothing but rolling hills covered in some sage brush-like plant. Dead alpacas are seen about every 15 miles. Dead coyotes are every 20 miles. The wind is constant, only varying in direction, intensity and frequency of gusts.


We arrived yesterday around 1pm and found a bike shop that had tires for Mark, but they were closed for their mid-day siesta and wouldn’t reopen until 3:30 so we went off and found a little hospedaje owned by a friendly older guy who showed us around the place. They have a long garage for our bikes which is important as a safe place for the bikes is a prerequisite for a place for us to stay. Our room is a bit barren except for the large painting of eight wild stallions running through water that looks like it has lightning bolts coursing through it. The comically muscular horses have unusually long snout-like faces and extra large eyes. There are four Chinese symbols on the painting as well. It is stunning, thought provoking and of Peruvian quality even though we are in Argentina.

The bathroom is a real treat. It’s set up like an RV bathroom in which the shower and toilet are all in the same area. The design of this place baffles me. The floor plan is the same size as two refrigerator boxes placed end-to-end. Long and narrow. At the far end of the hallway-like room is the toilet. Adjacent to the toilet is the leaking shower head (there is hot water, though!) from the shower head back to the door is about 8 feet of walking space. The drain is at the door as well, so the water has to run down the little hallway before hitting the drain. All the plumbing is done externally thus the shower head could be relocated to an ideal spot in minutes with nothing more than a Leatherman, a garden hose and two clamps.

The kitchen which we were free to use was along the same level as the rest of the place. Most notable was the prison shank sitting next to the sink. It looked like some old sort of machete which had been ground down to a butcher knife size. The handle was impressive, made out of numerous layers of burned and melted plastic bags wrapped around each other.

After the brief showing of our luxo-hotel we rode over to the bike shop where Mark got a new set of Metzlers put on. Argentines have a funny way of pronouncing foreign words as though they are Spanish. I suppose we do the same at times in the US, but not to the extent that they do it here in Argentina. My favorite thus far has been their pronunciation of the word ‘Firestone’. They say ‘Fee-ray Ston-ay’. The mechanic put one of the tires on backwards but happily changed it when we pointed it out.

Upon getting back to our hospedaje the friendly older man was no longer there. In his place was an unfriendly older man. We started pulling our bikes into the parking area when he started throwing a fit, saying that there is no way the bikes would fit and that there needed to be room to walk to the back of the garage. I assured him that they would fit just fine but he carried on protesting with the typical pessimistic attitude that Argentines are known for (it clearly states so in my guide book even).

Mark and I blatantly ignored the guy and proceeded to park the bikes just fine (It would have been too easy to make a comment regarding American ingenuity so I held my tongue). Once parked the guy protested again, saying that there was not enough room to walk past. There was over 3’ of walking room between our bikes and the wall which he said was not acceptable even though his personal motorcycle protruded well beyond ours. “Hay muchas gorditas aca?” I inquired sternly. He said nothing and walked away.

One thing that I’ve learned quite well on this trip is that I shouldn’t always be my normal friendly and polite self as it doesn’t always get the job done. Being frank and somewhat unpleasant is required at times.

4-24-10 San Sebastian, Chile

First off, a few new videos that I've only recently been able to upload due to slow internet elsewhere...
Vilcabamba, Ecuador-
  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gf_hcyTjEJA&feature=channel   

Ruta 40, Argentina-
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a6GchrPjBMU&feature=channel  

Costa Rica-
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4bOADkk2QjI&feature=channel   

Salar near Iquique, Chile-
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2uvdikbO42Q&feature=channel    


We left Ushuaia and were happy to find the roads wet without any ice. Garibaldi Pass had snow on either side, and was cold but the road was just fine. Winds started picking up as we descended from the pass to the point where we had to slow down considerably, Mark was getting battered as usual due to his light bike.
We made it to the border of Chile at San Sebastian and checked out of Argentina though had some confusion as the lady thought that Mark and I were riding together on one bike. No, lady, that’s not correct. At the customs desk to cross into Chile we were greeted in great Chilean fashion by some cranky guy who told us to fill out some paperwork but refused us the use of a pen for a while.

He asked us where we were going to which I replied San Sebastian, which is the little border town. He wasn’t happy with my answer and again asked me where we were going in Chile so I spelled it out nice and clear for the guy, I told him that we were going to sleep 200 meters further down the road at a hospedaje then the next day we would take a ferry back to the mainland then go up to Rio Gallegos. His questions stopped and he went back to work poking at his computer before stamping my passport with more force than was needed.

Mark had a worse time with his customs official than I did, though. I don’t want to handicap his Spanish education by cutting in and offering help all the time so I’ll frequently just sit back and watch the hilarity ensue. Mark got good and riled up and gave the desk a solid kick. Mark has taken on a bit of an Arab look to himself with a stout beard and frequently pulls his balaclava up on top of his head, resembling a turban.


A few yards past the border crossing we found the little hospedaje. They had room for us in a small bunk room which was heated by a cylindrical fireplace which was of poor design and never worked well. There were two dampers on top of it, both the size of a hockey puck with a chimney protruding between them. The top of it was like an old-fashioned cookstove that could be picked up to drop wood in. The problem was when the dampers were opened to let air in then smoke would pour out. When we’d turn the dampers down enough to make the smoke stop then the fire would all but go out. We chose to be smoky and warm with a cracked door rather than completely cold.

This morning we woke up to terrible wind which was shaking the entire house. Mark and I walked behind the little house to check on the bikes and found Mark’s had blown over in the night. We stood it upright and wheeled it to a more protective place as the wind had shifted directions during the night. We found some scrap-wood and braced the bike so it couldn’t fall down again. It’s worked thus far.

The wind was around 100kph according to a trucker we talked to with gusts going well beyond that. He and several other truckers were waiting at the little restaurant next to the hospedaje as they said it was too dangerous to keep going with high winds. On the way down a week ago we saw a semi blown over on the side of the road so we thought it would be best to wait as well.

We’ve had a bit of a boring day, actually. Let’s see, we drank a lot of tea that we warmed on the smoky fire then had a big burger in the café nextdoor. I got caught up on some writing and sorting through photos which we copy to my external hard drive and to Mark’s for backups. I also fixed one of my fog lights whose bracket had broken in a crash in the salar in northern Chile. I used three of the hose clamps that I bought in Guatemala a few months ago and the light now works fine. I also cleaned and oiled my Leatherman, reorganized my gear and ate a chocolate bar. It's been a very, very stressful day.

I also got the chance to do a bit of research on the upcomming towns along the Atlantic side of Patagonia.  My findings aren't that promising, but Buenos Aires should make up for the dismal week we're about to endure.  According to my Lonely Plantet guidebook the towns that we'll pass through are-
 
Rio Gallegos..."Certainly not the world cup of tourist destinations."
Comodoro Rivadavia...."It's a homely city with busy streets and the ugliest cathedral you'll likely ever see."
Trelew..."Is not an exciting city."
Rio Grande..."This bleak and windy town..."

4-21-10 Ushuaia, Argentina....snowed in and crashing

Ushuaia was a fairly touristy town with more gift shops than necessary but also had some good restaurants and one of the best hostels I've ever stayed at.  While there we met up with another motorcyclist, Sami who split his childhood between Lebanon and Canada.  He'd flown to Quito and bought a bike there and plans to head north to Buenos Aires so we'll probably meet up with him again.

We loaded up the bikes with the intention of heading north, back over the treacherous Garibaldi pass and into the forests of central Tierra del Fuego. First, though, we thought we’d take a scenic tour to Tierra del Fuego National Park, about 10 west miles from Ushuaia.

The road was gravel at times and narrow and twisty and it was spitting snow. Upon coming around a corner we were greeted with a snow packed road leading up a hill so I accelerated to around 30mph as maintaining your speed on snow/ice isn’t that hard, but accelerating poses a problem decelerating is even more of a problem.

I was ahead of Mark and was able to maintain my speed pretty well, breaking traction just a few times which caused the back end to shimmy a bit. I made it to the top of the hill where there was a ranger station for the park with the sign we’d been looking forward to taking some hard-earned pictures with. I glanced in my mirror and didn’t see Mark so I dismounted and slid my way over the crest of the hill and was happy to see him on his feet, picking his bike up which was in a little ditch next to the road. He’d spun it 180 degrees while going uphill before sliding off the road. No damage to him or the bike. The video of the crash can be seen  at   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Qe-vpj_9GA

After a bit of pushing and careful clutch-work he was at the top as well where we had a bit of a photo shoot. I’m sure I’ll be looking at these pictures when I’m an old man with sore hips and they’ll bring a smile to my face.

Before heading back down the icy hill I turned on my helmet-mounted video camera as another crash seemed likely in the next few minutes. We started out riding on the side of the road where the snow was fresh and not compacted and gave us better grip. After a few hundred yards I was confident with my snow-cycling abilities and accelerated a bit, passing Mark and pulling onto the main road which was snow-packed, still going slow though. Within seconds I felt my rear tire get a little loose and it started pulling to my right while I kept my front tire facing forward. It was a rather helpless feeling and not much later I low-sided the bike and we both went sliding down the road together on the ice.  It was a pretty tame crash and no damage was done to either of us.

 Upon reviewing the crash on my video camera, a faint whimper can be heard coming from me mid crash which Mark has taken full advantage of, incessantly heckling me when the opportunity arises.

Once back in Ushuaia it was snowing harder and we met an Argentine motorcyclist who’d just descended Garibaldi pass which had accumulated quite a bit of snow on it in the past few hours. Being that we weren’t in the mood for more crashes we headed back to the hostel and booked another two nights.

We spent two days exploring Ushuaia some more but mostly resting. One day we went to the penal colony museum that also housed a maritime museum of sorts. Most notable was a small exhibit about the indigenous people who were typically naked except for body paint that ran wild throughout Tierra del Fuego back in the day. Darwin had done a lot of exploring in the area and spent some time studying these locals to which he described them to be….”the missing link between humans and monkeys.” Probably not going to find that published in a textbook back home.

4-18-10 Ushuaia, Argentina

Arnold escorted us out of town with his Hummer before pulling over and saying goodbye at a fork in the road.  We didn't want to dismount the bikes as we were sure they'd blow over in the wind.  We rode another hour along the coast where the winds were brutal. At times, however, we’d ride with the wind which let Mark hit 86 mph, a new speed record for him. Once at Punta Delgada we caught a 20 minute ferry across to Tierra del Fuego. While aboard we enjoyed some hot dogs in the small lounge area with a few truck drivers who had their rigs aboard as well and we all watched Guns n Roses music videos on a small TV.


We made it to the little village of Cerro Sombrero whose name is a bit of an anomaly as it was pretty flat ground in all directions and I saw no sombreros. We stayed at a little hospedaje run by a friendly old lady who cooked us dinner. She asked us if we’d like dessert and presented us each with an orange and a knife with a big smile. Not sure if oranges are hard to come by down here or not but she seemed quite proud to provide us with them. We pocketed the oranges for a snack the next day. In the morning, breakfast consisted of the usual Chilean fare. She told us that it was 600 kilometers from Cerro Sombrero to Ushuaia which seemed way off, in reality it was about 450 we found out.

The road turned to dirt just outside of town and varied in condition widely. Some places had deep ruts over a foot deep, others were almost like asphalt. On one straight, windy stretch we passed a long semi that had blown over which isn’t uncommon down here we heard.

Half of the island of Tierra del Fuego is owned by Chile, the other by Argentina so we had to do our usual border crossing work in the middle of the island. Upon walking into the customs office Mark pointed to a huge poster and started laughing. On the poster was a giant orange, several feet in diameter with an ‘X’ running through it and some instructions forbidding the import of fruits and vegetables. We didn’t worry about it as we’d crossed into Argentina 3 or 4 times and we know they don’t search luggage and find our oranges. Chile, however, does.

We fueled up in Rio Gallegos, the last town before Ushuaia, some 250 clicks off. As soon as we left town it started getting cold. Not much wind, just a damp cold. The sun started its long process of setting which provided for a good sunset over various lakes and mountain ranges. We didn’t stop for pictures as we were excited to make it to the bottom.

The last thirty miles were the longest of the trip thus far. It ended up getting uncomfortably cold but we pressed on as there was no place to stop. I had 6 layers on, a wool t shirt, a synthetic long sleeve shirt, my heated jacket, my alpaca sweater, my motorcycle jacket and a rain jacket on top of that all. My hands were the coldest even though I had my heated grips on high. I squeezed the grips hard which transferred more heat to my palms though the backs of my hands were still cold. ( I later found out that I had blisters on both palms from the heated grips, but I couldn’t feel it at the time).

There was a bit of an unforeseen obstacle just outside of Ushuaia- Garibaldi Pass, which cut through a mountain range a few thousand feet above sea level. As we approached the mountains we could see a distinct elevation running the length of the mountains where the frost and snow started. I’d occasionally think back to Central America and how hot it was up there but didn’t have time to reminisce much as the road started getting a little icy. We could have taken the road at an exciting 60mph had it been dry but were forced to putt around at 10mph as we didn’t want to go down.

We reached Ushuaia after dark and did a few laps around the town before finding our little hostel. We were exhausted. The hostel was owned by some large Rasta feller who welcomed us with big hugs and saying 'Welcome to the island'. We staggered across the street to a little restaurant and sat down.

“Well, we made it.” Mark smiled without saying anything. No grandiose toasts, no eloquent quotes that we’d been thinking up for the last 17,000 miles, just a nod in agreement.

We spent the next day lounging around the city, taking a few pictures and trying to comprehend our place in the world. The world is not a small place, I’ve come to find out, and I haven’t even seen that much of it.

Getting to Ushuaia was the only real quantitative goal of this trip. Yes, I’m glad to make it down here but it means nothing more than checking a box, really. The best memories and accomplishments happened on the way down.  It does feel good to reach the bottom, though. I’m thrilled that the bike has held up as well as it has which was one of the things that could easily have gone wrong. Should the bike explode, get stolen or slide off a cliff I won’t be all that disappointed as I have finished what I came to do. At the same time I’m excited for the next segment of this adventure, heading north via a different route.

4-15-10 Punta Arenas, Chile

We made it down to Punta Arenas which is the bottom of the mainland, though still north of the island of Tierra del Fuego, our next stop. In town we found my friend, Arnold, pretty easily. His red Hummer truck with an American flag decal across the back window was a dead giveaway in the driveway; it’s the only one I’ve seen since leaving the States.  Arnold and I became buddies while working at a silver mine in Chihuahua, Mexico. We were both on nightshift for a while where he looked after the heavy civil work while I looked after the earthwork.



Arnold's parents are from Portugal and Holland. His dad worked in the oil and gas industry, moving around to various projects throughout the world. When Arnold was young they did a 5 year stint in Punta Arenas then moved to Houston for a bit then back to Punta Arenas. Basically, Punta Arenas became his home by default. At the moment Arnold is working in northern Chile building a port. He works 8 days then comes home for his 6 day descanso.


Not long after getting to his place he took us out to a Chinese restaurant. He opened the door and walked in, still smoking his Marlboro which isn’t allowed and headed back to the kitchen where he gave a few orders to the cooks then helped himself to an armful of beers from a cooler which he passed out to us. The food showed up almost instantly and was excellent, the first Chinese food I’ve had since Colorado. We had a good feast and no bill ever showed up as Arnold’s family owns the restaurant.



We spent three nights at Arnold’s place, the most we’ve stayed in any one place since Colombia and with good reason. He’s a generous and entertaining host and also had good wifi and even maid who did our laundry. The maid also set out breakfast ingredients for us each morning so we could cook our own American breakfast.



Arnold had some pepper trees growing in a greenhouse that he’d smuggled into Chile from Thailand. The peppers were just right, meaning hot, unlike the local ‘aji’ peppers which are tame. Upon leaving he gave me a few peppers wrapped in paper that I still have in the pocket of my motorcycle jacket...”In case it gets cold down there in Ushuaia.”



Arnold ushered us out of town for half an hour to make sure we would made it out safely. Once out on the open highway he pulled over and we said our goodbyes while the wind howled across the plains.



We rode for an hour or so, making it to Punta Delgada where we boarded a ferry along with several other cars and some semi trucks. The ferry was about half as wide as it was long and seemed to be fairly flat-bottomed, making it really stable in the water. We didn’t strap the bikes down as there wasn’t any rocking to the boat. Inside the little waiting room we watched some Guns N’ Roses music videos and ate hot dogs during the 20 minute voyage over to Tierra del Fuego.



Needless to say, we were excited to hit the island, as we were only two days away from hitting the bottom of the world. Mark launched his bike off the ferry as I pulled a wheelie riding up the ramp, almost there!

4-11-10 Torres del Paine, Chile

We left El Calafate three days ago and had to backtrack as our intended route through a high pass wouldn’t work for a few reasons. We were told there were many steps in the narrow trail that aren’t ideal for motorcycles, it’s typically used for hiking or pack animals. Also, there was no proper border crossing with customs and immigration to accept us which would be a problem when we tried to leave the country as we wouldn’t have any papers.
So, we took missed our little turnoff somewhere as they aren't too big on signs down here so we went a half hour too far and crossed into Chile via another border crossing, no big deal. We then rode up to Torres del Paine but not before getting lost again as they don't have signs showing their huge national park. We finally found the visitor center which I used to be highly opposed to due to seeing too many as a kid. I have since learned to like them but this one was severely lacking.
I had a ton of questions for the lady working there who answered none of them. ‘Can we buy food, water, firewood here? Are there cabins available? Is there snow and ice up the road? Lots of 'no se’ followed by a long shrug.
I was amused when she gave us each a little ticket then told us to turn around and hand the ticket to a lady at a desk a few feet from me. She stamped them and gave them back to me and we then returned them and told me to return to the first gal. Classic Latin American inefficiency. This whole time where was some other lady who had her forehead on her table, sleeping while sitting in her chair, loved it.
We rode an hour or so into the park which is centered around several huge rock formations, similar to Devils Tower in Wyoming but better, more jagged with ice, glaciers, snow, and waterfalls.
It was almost dark when we saw a little campsite that wasn't marked and had not utilities with it, just a table and a grill. Being a large gringo I was able to reach lots of dead branches in the trees and yanked them down for firewood. We got a big fire going and made some pasta and soup and tea all enjoyed with BENJAMIN vino tinto. Obviously superb.
We set up our little gypsy tents and fell asleep, waking up at 8am while it was still totally dark. Such a confusing feeling. We couldn't see the sun till about 10 am. It was freeeezing so we made another little fire and boiled up some water from a little stream nearby. We later found that our pristine mountain stream was frequented by a herd of cattle which prompted us to boil the water for longer than usual the next time.
We set off hiking up towards 'El Mirador' which seemed like a good idea. It was to an overlook of some of the rock towers we were told. The trail was 6 miles in, a steady climb for the most part. Mark and I quickly felt the effects of sitting almost stationary for hours and hours every day.
It was supposed to take us 3.5 hours to the top according to our little tourist guide but we were clearly not on that schedule. We were on a 5ish hour track. We're both horribly out of shape. Not fat out of shape, but weak out of shape. We took dozens of breaks for water, tuna, crackers, olives, cookies and granola bars.
At one point we were passed by a group of tourists on horseback, the first lady was complaining about how much her knees hurt while she was riding. Mark and I considered becoming horse thieves but didn't take action.
We made it to the mirador which overlooked a milky grey-blue lake under the huge rock towers with rock fields surrounding us. Very impressive.
The road home was luckily downhill and faster but oh so painful. This is why God made ATVs. We're getting old, it's a fact.
We staggered down and poked our head in the huge lodge near our campsite, $300 for a room, $10 beers on tap and walked out. We walked back to our little camp and ate some more soup and pasta. A huge herd of cattle started roaming around our camp bleating and mooing. Mark and I each executed good shots with golf-ball sized rocks which kept the beasts away for a little. They came back early in the morning and woke us up again.
The second night was colder than the first so being the clever little Boy Scout that I am at times, I made a hand-warmer of sorts to have with me in my sleeping bag. I took an empty jar of instant coffee, unscrewed the lid and poured some hot water inside. I put the lid back on and wrapped the thing in a bandana. I then crawled into my bag and tucked my little cylinder of warmth inside my shirt, quite content as it was toasty. Well, it was very, very toasty I later realized.
I later woke up with a terrible burning sensation in my chest. No, didn't have the lid come off and get scalded, nor did I break break the glass and have glass shards in my chest. I did some investigative poking around and realized that I had two blisters just to the left of my sternum. Not a common place for blisters I don’t think.
A few nights later I awoke in pain again as I had accidentally ripped one of the blisters open with my watch in my sleep. Looking forward to warmer climates soon but must keep going south for a while yet.