Round the World by Motorbike: Into the roaring 40's

It was with a heavy heart that we said our goodbyes to our awesome hosts, Susan, Dave and Tiv and hit the road, southward bound.

After almost a month in San Rafael and Mendoza with few kms ridden, we now had a date on our calendar. So far we had succeeded with keeping our temporal movement around the continent organic. That is to say, have no deadlines, let the road and our mood determine the pace of travel. With a March 6^th flight booked out of Rio for a quick trip home, we now had not only an immovable duration, but thousands of kms to ride if we wanted to visit the southern part of the continent. It was this part of South America that had long fascinated me, the cold, windy yet by all accounts, stunningly beautiful Patagonia. Not only had I heard of brutal weather conditions but road states to match. I was half excited, half worried, half nonchalant (last half was my ‘manly’ side!)

To date we had clocked up 17,000kms on the journey so far. This was in 10 months on the road and now we had to knock out around another 10,000 or so within 8 weeks. It was time to become ‘real’ motorcycle travellers. Many of the motojeros we had met on the road had either finished their journey or were returning north by now while we found any excuse to pause and get comfortable. For the last time in what we expected to be around 2 months we got out of a bed that had legs under a roof that was supported by walls and shrugged off the inertia that we had readily embraced.

First stop was the Lakes District of Argentina, 1000kms south. Rarely do we do more than 400kms a day but this was about to change and on the first day we clocked up two milestones, longest day on the bike and crossed into the official region of Patagonia. Almost as soon as we saw the sign the wind picked up. Caused by cold air from the glaciated peaks of the Andes rushing down to fill the void left by the rising hot air off the eastern plains, this wind is famous, or should I say infamous. Apparently there are days when there is no breeze at all, I liken this to finding chicken lips. By 6pm, with the sun still high in the sky in these southern latitudes, we still had time and energy to go on but the cross-wind saw us pull over and find a small stream to camp beside. Here we learnt a valuable lesson, finding proper shelter for the tent will help avoid sleepless nights of flapping nylon and mini dust storms in your sleeping bag.

View from near the camp site

My hope for a windless morning was blown away by the raging easternly gale made worse by the crossing of a mountain pass and hairpin turns by midmorning. The wind was steadily worsening and by the time we reached the small decrepit town of Zapala, dust was obscuring the sky and streetlight poles were bending like glow sticks. A study of the map and I knew that the next 150kms would be a hellish blend of swirling crosswind, dust and oncoming traffic. I was not proven wrong as sudden gusts would push us over 2 metres sideways and unfortunately into the opposite lane. It was nerve-wracking stuff, my whole body tensed and ready for an unexpected jolt, forever hoping that it wouldn’t coincide with a passing truck, car or chicken.

The 2 and a half hours passed painfully slowly until finally we pulled into our destination, Junin de los Andes. We planned to camp in the national park by a huge, beautiful fresh water lake, overlooked by a 1700m high snow-capped volcano. What we got instead was cold icy wind carrying stinging mist and rain dropped by low, dirty, scurrying clouds and the chance to pay over triple the normal entrance fee because we didn’t have the right passport. The two tier fee structure in some countries annoys me beyond belief. I understand that the local population pay taxes that help fund the national parks but I too have been paying tax on the fuel I need, the food I eat and the items I buy, asking now for exorbitant, triple the normal fee is simply poorly disguised extortion. So we found a lovely campsite 300m from the entrance next to a crystal clear stream brimming with trout. It was free and came fully equipped with three black dogs for Carlie amusement.

The lake the next morning.


Blacky I, II, and III

The next couple of days we wandered through the area visiting the different lakes and waterfalls, camping next to some, riding past others, each turn in the road opening a new vista to behold. The water in the lakes looked amazing; clear, hues of blue unimaginable and varied. The almost irresistible invitation to swim just as appealing as the water was bone chillingly cold. Still, if we wanted to remain with some semblance of hygiene we had to brave the waters at least once a day.

Another perfect campsite

OK, there was some rain!

Inspiration for he movie Avatar

cooking Argentinian style, todays' menu - fresh river-caught salmon

The view from one of our campsites.

Near Bariloche, a very expensive/touristy place!

sunrise on Lago Trafel

Local wildlife

And trees! It hadn’t been since Ecuador that we had been in a real forest; Peru, Bolivia and northern Argentina, while their beauty lies in that stark rawness and jaggedness that epitomizes high altitude mountains and plains, for us just couldn’t compare with the oxygen rich, chloroform heavy embrace of dense woodland. Maybe it was this aspect or the fact that I hadn’t had a beer in three days but my head was filled with confusion.

sunset, somewhere, nice, calm, and bloody cold!

Looks nice, but no swimming!

One night in the touristy Bariloche and it was time to head once more over the border and into Chile. The rear tyre on the bike had just celebrated its 18,000km birthday and was looking as worn as grandpas old socks and Orsorno was the place to get it changed. In the past I have waxed lyrically on the challenges of border crossings. The almost comical requirements, lining up, disgruntled government workers and inevitable language difficulties have made for good writing material. I am older and wiser now, I would rather just have a painless interaction with officialdom and then write about the pancakes I had for breakfast. That said, the crossing was uneventful and my morning meal a real delight.

Chileans on one side, Argentinians the other, you choose which is which!

just across the border into Chile

I couldnt decide which picture I liked the best

The good people at Motoaventura were super friendly and the tyre was changed and my money was spent, painless apart from that. They are a BMW dealer and offered us free coffee and biscuits while we waited. I had to quickly tell them that I am a Suzuki rider and that I could not be persuaded otherwise by any amount of complimentary refreshments.

Before and after!

So again we pointed the bike in a southerly direction. The weather so far, apart from the first day in Patagonia, had been nothing short of spectacular. Clear skies, hot sun, cold nights and the trend looked set to continue. Passing through the last town of any note, Puerto Montt, I miss judged the availability of fuel and we would need to return to town if wanted to avoid pushing a 300kg motorbike. On the off chance that we could find a campsite nearby we headed down a disused road following a camping sign. The place looked immaculate, and empty. It had a cute little puppy for Carlie the sun was setting perfectly. The owner however decided that he would require 15,000 pesos, or $30 for us to camp the night. Yea, $30 to pitch a single tent, flush a toilet or two and maybe 3 minutes of hot water. I almost dog napped the puppy to teach him a lesson as we headed back into town. As we passed through towards the gas station I spotted a small café that specialized in artesianial craft beer with tables sitting comfortably on the side walk. The decision was made, we would luxuriate in a hotel for the night before tackling the Caraterra Austral.

first night on the road and Zora was in need of two bolts that hold the back plate on, these roads are rough!

It was this road, the CA, that I had been reading about for near on two years, since we first decided on South America as our starting point. Stretching around 1000kms along the thin spine of Chile, it starts at the 42^nd parallel and requires both terrestrial and water modes of transport to complete.

getting on the ferry

our ferry coming into port

And when it does finish, there is no crossing into Argentina nor any further to go, just one big dead end. But that doesn’t stop travellers from seeking out its mysteries as it winds through glaciated valleys, between mountain peaks crested with blinding snow, quaint harbours settled by German immigrants, massive ice fields and thick, near impenetrable forests. Not to mention the countless waterfalls, lakes and fishing opportunities. The only down sides, the potential for seriously horrendous weather and road conditions that would have my teeth either gritted or chattering uncontrollably on the corrugations. The list of places, lakes and campsites is long; better just to look at the pictures!