Our first day on Ruta 40 across the Chilean border and on to El Calafate was tough to say the least, but what with the Argentine government's project for it to gradually being surfaced, and Ewan and Charlie's plan to "do" the Americas next, we are definitely doing this at the right time. The Perito Merino Glacier (not the confusingly same named Mountain, city and lake) was disappointing. Although massive in scale and the world's only currently advancing glacier, it felt very tacky and touristy, with visitor centres and minibus shuttles galore, a fate suffered by many of the world's other superlative sights. So next day, we continued on Ruta 40 to El Chalten and Mt Fitzroy. The weather was great and unusually calm, with none of the usual side winds to make the rutted and gravel roads even more challenging. The approach to El Chalten was brilliant. Almost as soon as we were out of El Calafate, we saw the profile of the mountain which towers over El Chalten, a distance of more than 200 kilometres away. The azure blue sky was streaked horizontally with white stratocumulus lines. With the sun blazing directly ahead in the northern sky, the Argentine national flag was made real. I stopped to take a picture and Neil did too, only to come off as the looser gravel on the side of the road gave way. We also had plenty of pushing action too as Neil was diverted by a newly laid tarmac road off to the side into loose gravel on soft sand. I didn't fancy the look of that so I broke the wire across the road and carried on the silky smooth tarmac. We met Duncan in town and planned a 2 day hike with him whilst Neil relaxed in town. El Chalten had a similar feel to Puerto Natales, in that it was a relaxed place, a bit of the current tourist trail, but with the feel that was soon to change with the completion of the metalled road. We learned later that the town was founded in 1982. Next day, Duncan and I trudged the dusty roads looking for breakfast and supplies, before heading off to Laguna de los Tres, with a steep uphill finish for a fabulous view of Mount Fitzroy, the eponymous tarn below, still fed by a rumbling and cracking glacier.We continued towards laguna Piedra Blanca, looking for a wild campsite and were rewarded by some rock - hopping into a hidden gorge, with the laguna and its regularly calving glacier beyond. Although the arroyo exiting the glacier had a strong current, there were plenty of significant lumps of ice left for Duncan and I to try out jumping and walking from one to the other. A late night, or rather an early morning (it doesn't get dark here until gone 12.30am) pee run from the tent gave us our most stunning view of the southern nightsky yet, with familiar sights as Orion and the Milky Way clearly in sight and new features such as the coal sack and the Southern Cross clearly visible in stunning brilliance too. Next day we went via Laguna Capri to Laguna Torre and back to meet up with Neil.
Off from El Chalten the next day towards Perito Merino - the town, not the lake, the mountain or the glacier. Ruta 40 is getting tougher, sand, dirt and deep gravel ruts which are almost 2 feet deep in some areas and a real challenge to cross, whether because of oncoming traffic, overtaking or just because your concentration wanders on such long straight stretches, before suddenly coming across a corner, a bridge or a pothole. I am feeling good though, especially now that my fork seals are fixed and my fork stanchions are tightened (Pablo left them loose as we discovered in El Chalten - hence my previous poor handling). I find myself conquering fear by riding with confidence, mostly stood up on the pegs for greater control along with the automatic feeling of assertiveness this affords. My normal neck ache and back strain start to disappear and the riding experience improves to the point where I am enjoying the challenging conditions.In particular, I am leading when we overtake a 4x4 convoy of adventure overlanders, crossing ruts, dodging the stones thrown up by their wake through the blinding and choking dust feels exciting and challenging. At that point, I sit down for the first time in what seems like hours and notice that there is no-one behind me even when I slow down so my own dust plume disappears. I wait for a few minutes for Neil and Duncan to appear - when they don't, my heart goes cold and I get a sick, acid taste in my mouth as I ride back and still no-one comes to meet me the other way with a wave and then in the distance I see a cluster of people and cars by the side of the road. I eventually refine the image that rushing up to meet me through the heat haze as the 4x4 convoy, a bashed up bike, an ok looking bike by the side of the road and Duncan sitting in the ditch, with Neil putting a sling on his right arm. Duncan looks shaken and pale and explains that he got into a tank - slapper as he crossed one of the deep ruts and was thrown off to the side of the road at some speed. Luckily, the loose gravel was an advantage to some extent when landing an prevented more serious damage to his bike and his body. Still, it looks initially like he has dislocated or possibly broken his shoulder and the front console of his bikeis smashed up, although once we haul it up, the bike starts and is ridable, although the forks are twisted at a strange angle.
Luckily, in such an empty stretch of the road, Estancia Angostura is nearby and we are able to summon help from friendly Maria and Fede who come out to the road and carry Duncan and his bashed up luggage to the farmhouse and call an ambulance, whilst Neil and I shuttle the bikes off the road. This is great for us all, as it turns out theirs is a tourist Estancia and just to get off the hot and dusty road, with all the well - meaning but patronising remarks of the 4x4 convoy to slow down and take it easy, etc is great. Particularly when we come doen into the Estancia and enter a river valley that is green and verdant and full of stock and wild animals, only a couple of kilometres from the dry and dust of the empty desert by the roadside. The ambulance arrives, and I ride the 50km to Gobernador Gregores hospital behind Duncan whilst Neil fixes up his bike some more. We get to the small but efficient hospital on what is Friday evening and Duncan is seen to straight away, having X rays and painkillers whilst I sort out the insurance and paperwork and do the translation job. It seems odd to me that even here, the hospital is roasting hot and the central heating system is turned on! However, the main difference is that there is a stray dog wandering around the ward with as much proprietorial nonchalance as the medical staff, who also ignore him as though he was a regular visitor. It turns out that he has broken his collar bone and whilst they patch him up, they want him to travel a further 200km more on a bus on Monday to attend a trauma clinic run by a specialist in Buena Piedra. I explained this to him, along with my experience of breaking my collar bone twice, and eventually we made a plan to get him a taxi and into a hotel for the weekend, found out the bus schedule and sorted out some food and drink from the local supermarket. After the clinic on Monday, Duncan would return to the Estancia, where the rest of his stuff was, recuperate for the 3 or more weeks they estimated, work on his bike and then carry on. It felt terrible to leave him, although he chose this plan as my advice to return to the Estancia straight away was dismissed because he felt the dirt road was too bumpy and painful. It was starting to get dark too and I was glad for the foresight of removing my luggage before setting out as the road followed the course of a river between Gobernador Gregores and the Estancia, through mud, sand and plenty of corrugations and was amongst the most challenging riding so far for me, and the most beautiful too as the moon rose through the dusk and the guanacos, nandu, armadillos and patagonian hares came out to play.
I get back to find Neil fixing up Duncan's bike so it is ridable - forks are bent, which was not possible to fix at the Estancia and was uncomfortable but possible for Duncan to ride out to Buenos Aires or Santiago in a few weeks time. Judging by how asymmetrical his shoulders looked in the hospital, it could be the most comfortable position for him anyway. At the same time, a parilla is starting and we meet an Argentinian family who are staying there and 3 dutch. Neil and I eat and drink with relish after a tough day and we get on really well with the Argentines, who are a fun loving group and soon get out their guitar and we all have a sing song session until late in the night. Up the next day, we pack up Duncan's stuff into one of the barns, write him a note (detailing what we have done on the bike and encouraging not to stop his journey) and make a plan for his return with Fede and get going again on the road. The heat haze, dust and long straights of this section lead to some hallucinagenic confusion. Objects in the far distance seem to rush up to you at the last minute and it is hard to tell whether the few and far between occasions when you see someone else on the road, whether they are travelling towards you or away from you until the last minute. Also, we take all day to travel a surprisingly short distance and find it hard to locate exactly where we are on the map. Our growing concerns about running out of petrol are allayed when we reach the fly - blown outpost of Baja Caracoles, which has petrol and is the junction with a road that heads into the mountains and the Cuevos de Manos, a cave with prehistoric art inside. We decide not to visit the caves and order some surpringly good coffee and some unsurprisingly bad sandwiches from the man who served us the petrol outside. He seems to be the only one working in the enitre place, although there are lots of other blokes hanging around, most noticeably a Mr Big character with a briefcase from which he seems to be dispensing and receiving money and various other pieces of paper. Two clean cut American backpacker - girls approach us to ask if we can give them a lift to the caves as they had been dropped off by a bus more than 3 hours ago - they just looked like the wrong people in the wrong place and as we left, we hoped they got to see the caves, but most importantly that they got out of Baja Caracoles...... We continued to Perito Merino, the city, not the glacier, the mountain or the lake - as we crossed our path for the first time and found a nice little cabana to hole up for the night. We noticed a good looking fruit shop on the corner and rushed out to buy some delicious peaches, plums and bananas, our first fruit for a while. We are also join by a stray bitch and her pups (mostly alsatian) who live under our cabana and who we enjoy playing with.
Our plans to be up and out early are thwarted by the barking dogs through the night (who have also stolen and chewed up Neil's socks), the first petrol station not having any fuel (something that is happening more frequently in the last few days) and the other one being re-fuelled, taking 45 minutes. Neil gets minty because he needs to crap (the fruit was obviously working!) and he goes through the rigmarole of getting the key, finding the men's too dirty to use and trying to explain why he needs the key to the ladies! Anyway, eventually we get going and onwards through the roughest section of Ruta 40 so far. At a diversion, I am sent off the road into heavy gravel and all of a sudden I am thrown into a rodeo competition as the bike is changed into a bucking bronco. Twisting and rolling to try to throw me off, come off the saddle and only my instinct to stand up on the pegs, come off the throttle to slow down and then power through the stones without touching the brakes or clutch gets me through. Again and again, we are sent of the main dirt road, into the dirt, which has had a lot of heavy chunks of gravel thrown onto it, then a T junction and we are almost into Rio Mayo, where hopefully we can get some more fuel and some coffee. The diversions are because of the perpetual roadworks we have seen to tarmac the Ruta 40. I slow to let the dust settle behind me so I can see behind me and sit down to check that Neil is still in my mirror and no sight of him. I check to see he is not in the blind spot and no sign, so slow and wait in case he has stopped for a slash. Wait for a few minutes and then turn around with the same growing chill in my heart and acid tast in my mouth as a couple of days before. My worst fears are confirmed as I return to find Neil and the bike on the side of the road after he was thrown off by the soft gravel of the diversion. Thankfully he only has a few bashes and bruises and his bike is ridable too, although the front end is smashed and the sub frame bent so that his front mudguard is fallen into the wheel. We haul up the bike and crawl on to Rio Mayo, where there is nothing at all and eventually getting fuel in Gobernador Costa and then holing up for the night in Esquel. Next day we move on to El Bolson, find a dirty but cheap cabana where we can work on the bike (mainly with my axe to re-shape the sub frame) and relax in this comfortable town with a wide variety of micro - breweries (cold bottles of cerveza frambuesa are our favourites) and play pool in Los Dos Ruedas, the local bikers bar. we also meet up with the Argentinean family again who invite us to stay at there place for a few days, but now we are on a mission to meet up with Nat and Lena in Lima in less than a month.....
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Sunday, January 13, 2008
The Whole Enchilada - here's what we have been up to in Argentina and Chile so far...
Well after a fabulous day's riding on some of the best roads ever,. Neil and I have come down from our Cabana to the Rio Simpson for a spot of fishing and writing, overlooked by the towering edifice of Cerro Macay. Just in case, we went into Coyhaique fighting the big crowds, not for the last day of Christmas shopping but to get a place in a bar to watch a big match with the local team, Colo Coloto get some things from the supermarket, but I am sure that Neil is just about to get his first big bite of the trip....
We crossed the border into Chile at Futuleufu after getting up early and passing scenes of bucolic bliss on the dusty earth and gravel road - flocks of cows, sheep and goats being herded up to the higher summer pastures and in the quieter sections, large Andean hares running alongside us before overtaking and skipping accross the road. The formalities were completed with relaxed friendliness on the Argentine side and more formality on the Chilean side. It was heavy going in the gravel and we were running low on fuel when we hit the teaming metropolis of Junta, which had a Copac gasolinera, a cafeteria de viajeros and a triangular monument to General Pinochet for building the Carretera Austral, which we would be staying on for the next few days.
Next day after more dufty riding, we started off from the unpronounceable Puerto Puyuhuapi were we had spent the night playing pool (I won) and potentially eating our last supper at the appropriately named Comidas Gethsemane. All was well as the morning broke over the inlet of the Pacific which looks a bit like a smaller Oban, without the chips and deep fried Mars Bars. We had to wake the landlady up so that we could have hot water with our Nescafe (coffee so far in Chile is crap), bread and jam. Then we were off onto the gravel of the carretera austral. I am finding that riding on gravel is a matter of literally getting into the groove of previous viajeros, especially when it is deep and generating the confidence to treat it with the contempt that it deserves, with plenty of speed and momentum to get you around the bends. We started off by winding around the finger of the pacific, with snow - capped mountains attracting our attention at each turn, guaranteed to be followed by a deep pot hole. Then we turned inland and upwards into a semi - tropical, wet road with the local Alerce Pine forest lining the road, choked with giant gunnera, wild lupins and tangles of bamboo. Waterfalls crashed over and onto the road before we topped out into an alpine scene of forested slopes and straghter stretches were we reached more than 70 mph on the stragihts and I couldn't tell you how much on the corners as I was going sidewards most of the time and fighting to keep my handlebars in front of my back wheel.
Then, like a dream, we suddenly came across a 45km strech of slik ribbon overlaying a velvet undercushion, running through the mountains and around the lakes! At first I thought I had come off and was dead and gone to heaven or was concussed. No, it was real - a brand new, beautifully surfaced and ideally cambered for bikes travelling fast metalled road! It was the most beautiful road I have ever been on and I could really enjoy the scenery. It just goes on and on, literally until the end of the world and we have had it non stop for the last 4 days now since leaving the Atlantic desert coast of Argentina. This whole area of southern Chile was once given to a single company to manage for timber extraction up until the 1930s, a privelege they abused by forcing their workers to break the law and also using the Victorian truck system where they had to buy their provisions from the company shop, which of course had massively inflated prices, even when they were paid on time. Eventually, in the 1930s the workers got organised and went on strike, as well as sabotaging their major assets - the spruce trees. You see the belached trunks of these hulks lying all over the place now - some have been moved around and used as corrals for animals, some for houses and some are left scarring the hillsides where they were felled by axe and saw all those years ago as a ghostly reminder of how angry and abused those employees must have felt.
People we have met Nick and his wife ????, who we met at La Posta in Azul have been on a RTW trip since 2005 and talked the hind leg off a donkey, although to be fair they did give us some good information too - e.g. a roro ferry from Nova Scotia to Southampton. We also met Patrick and Belinda Peck and Misadventure II from Cairns on the gravel road outside the Welsh town of Trevelin. They own a real estate agency with their brother and sister - in - law and alternate with each other, a year working and a year travelling!
Christmas Eve we left our cabana in the forest outside Coyhaique and headed into town to get our seasonal fare, which we then stuffed into our spare tyres on the back of our bikes. Off onto another section of tarmac on the Carretera Austral, before hitting the gravel again - in my case literally. My excuse is that my forks are leaking (probably due to the constant pounding of the rocks, potholes and corrugations) and the bike isn't very responsive when steering. In truth I was also going a bit too fast into a tight corner with a particularly deep berm and a generous layer of those lovely small stones. Anyway, no real damage done to me or the bike although we did lose a couple of eggs and rasberry yogurts from our stash.A few hundred kilometres further and we reach Rio Tranquil on the shores of the deepest lake in South America, which is called Lago General Carrera on the Chile side and Lago Buenos Aires on the Argentine side. Anyway, it s beautiful, surrounded by snow - capped mountains in the distance and rocky fields strewn with fragrant wild lupins, birds and cows. No wonder they taste so good when the grass they eat is the greenest I have ever seen with the biggest concentration of clover, buttercups and sages that I have ever seen. We find a cabana with a jetty so Neil can fish and settle in with a swim (freezing!) in the crystal clear water, some chess and chocolate and then a dinner of boxed wine, spicy longanisas and a greek salad.
Christmas Day promises to be a lazy one of washing stuff, trying to repair my bike and also trying to find an internet connection to get through to you, interspersed by lolling, cooking and swimming.
After Christmas we headed back off on to the Carretera Austral and rapidly found ourselves amongst a group of 12 Italian bikers with 2 support vehicles caryying their luggage, which was great fun to overtake and get them covered in dust. Passed the border back into Argentina and the scenery changed as rapidly as the name of the lake we had been following, from the gorgeous Lago Carrera General to the dismal Lago Buenos Aires. Not a lot of love lost between the Chileans and the Argentinians, as found out when we met Gustavo and Marcella, a married couple from Buenos Aires on a GS1200. They had taken all their annual leave over the last 4 years to tour Argentina and were on their last leg this year and asked us about what we thought of Chile. We shared the glowing reviews of the roads we had been on and they didn't look too impressed, promising us that Ruta 40 was the best possible riding in South America. Indeed, only when we praised the consistent quality of Argentino coffee and slagged off the Chilean custom of serving you hot water with a sachet of Nescafe when you asked for coffee, they warmed to us to such an extent that they ordered and paid for our fork seals to be sent from Buenos Aires for us to pick up on the way down in Rio Gallegos. This is just one example of the amazing hospitality we have had throughout Argentina. The only time we have been made to feel uncomfortable is in Viedma, when a lorry driver asked us where we came from and we said England for the first time (most of the time we have been from Wales and Scotland). He led us to the back of his lorry to show us the mural commemorating the sinking of the General Belgrano in the Falklands War, allegedly whilst sailing away.
That night we stayed in a fly - blown oil town called Las Herras surrounded by nodding donkeys across the pampas. After a cold beer in the hotel we hit the town, only to be forced to eat in a casino as everything else looked inedible and had the worst food of our trip so far - a burger and a chicken sandwich. Unsatisfied, we went back to the room which was like a cell and I spent most of the night listening to noises outside the window next to our bikes and the sounds of Neil's snores echong off the bare concrete walls. Needless to say we were up early and back onto the long straight roads of Ruta 3 for an 850km jaunt to Rio Gallegos. The highlight of the day (apart from seeing guanacos, rheas and armadillos by the side of the road) was stopping to help Arthur, an Irish bloke on a KLR650, who had run out of petrol. We filled his 1.5 litre water bottle 3 times from my bike, although we were so low ourselves that my siphon tube was too short after the first time and we had to resort to removing the tank filler tube and then turning the bike on to get the pump to get the fuel into his bottle. It felt great to be able to help out another biker and in a way return the favour done to us by Gustavo and Marcella. We made it to Rio Gallegos and shared a hostal room with Arthur, some beers and a parilla before crashing after a long day.
Next day we were up and out fairly early to get the ferry into Tierra del Feugo and cross 3 international borders in one day.The first two sections, out of Argentina and into Chile went ok, although there were a lot of coach tours on their way to Ushuaia and we had to stand in queue for quite some time. Then we dashed to Punta Delgada, unsure of the situation with the ferry that looked like in ran from there, without the extra distance required to go to Punta Arenas. Anyway, there were 2 open decked ships shuttling across the Straits of Magellan throughout the day. We barely had time to order a finish a meal of Churrasco Sandwiches and Chilean "coffee" before our boat was in dock. We used that excuse to send back the unwanted Nescafe and were pleasantly surpirsed to receive a refund! When we got outside, we realised that the beach was the dock and the boat had driven itself up the slope and was keeping its engines going to stop it from being swept away by the forceful current. As soon as it was loaded, it switched them off and we were swept into the channel and across in 10 minutes. It was the same deal on the other side and felt great to ride off first whilst the boat was still moving against the land. Then onto a stretch of ripio road to the second Argentine border of the day where we had a great stroke of luck. Big queues greeted us as we were informed there would be a wait of at least 4 hours, when Duncan appeared to let us in at the front. Once through, we rode onto Rio Grande, where there was an enormous Heroes of the Malvinas memorial on the beach and a bed for the night.
Up from Rio Grande and onto ripio again outside of town to the final stretch to Ushuaia. As we passed Tolhuin, the mountains were getting closer and we had a wonderful approach to the city at the end of the world. Lots of "camino sinuoso" signs, lakes and sweeping mountain roads greeted us, which gave us a real lift after all those thousands of kilometres of pampas roads, we knew that from now on the Andes and the Rockies and roads like ths would be our constant companion. I remember one scene rushing by which has been etched on my memory - as the road became a causeway between the land, with its wind - rippled spruce covered hills, merging into rich meadows and a lake on one side and the same wind having a similar effect on the steely - blue sea on the other, with the tops of its kelp forest poking through the waves. At one point, Into Ushuaia and the high was continued by the fantastic views across the Beagle Channel and over to the snow - capped mountains of Isla Navarino and Cape Horn beyond it that we hit the bars early in the afternoon and were in bed before it got dark, although that was almost 1am! The next day, New Year's Eve, feeling a bit delicate, we rode out to the Rugby Club where a lot of bikers were camping and had a few gentle beers and an asado, before seeing the New Year in there and then riding back into town with Duncan as most of the bars opened at 1am. In the gloomy light, you could still make out the outline of the mountains, with their frosted tops, the lights of the city below and Neil and Duncan tail-lights zooming along the coast road. We hit an Irish Bar first, which had a back bar which had been taken over by a returning Brazilian Antartic expedition, which had a great atmosphere and gave me a tinge of regret that we wouldn't be seeing Brazil this time. Then we went on to the Invisible Bar and listened to some live, heavy rock until 7am, when we were chased to bed by a load of enthusiastic stray dogs.
New Year's Day was quiet, with a bit of fresh air gained by climbing up to the Martial Glacier outside of town with Duncan, followed by a trip to the seafood restaurant to gorge ourselves on an enormous (4kg+) locally caught, centolla crab. Today we went to the Tierra del Fuego National Park and had a swim in the freezing cold Beagle Channel, much to the hilarity of some builders working on a pier nearby, who came over and gave us a litre bottle of beer in return for our bravery. We have now swum in the Atlantic and Antartic Oceans so far on this trip, and aim to do the Pacific and Artic ones too before we finish. Personally, I am looking forward to the Caribbean man......
We finally left Ushuaia after a fruitless search for a pump (in case of punctures on the ripio) and empanadas to eat on the way during our many stops for border crossings and ferries. We decided to head for Puerto Natales and then on to Torres del Paine and Duncan was possibly going to join us after having his fork seals fixed. Instead of re-tracing our steps we headed for Porvenir for the ferry to Punta Arenas on an increasingly cold, damp and very windy day. The wind got stronger and stronger as the day wore on and it seemed like we were fighting to stay upright (or at least at 45 degrees) the whole trip. We finally got to Porvenir, around 5.30pm and were immediately struck by its atmosphere of desolation, which was reinforced by the news that the daily ferry had just left! Faced with the prospect of spending 24 hours in Porvenir, when we had no Chilean pesos, we managed to change some dollars in the almacen, bought petrol and left for the same ferry we had taken. By now the wind was even stronger and the crossing in the open decked boat was extremely rough, but good fun all the same. By now it was getting dark and we were running out of fuel again, as fully laden in the wind our mpg was woefully low. We carried on the road towards Puerto Natales and in the middle of nowhere a tin - shack, roadside hostal appeared. As we entered, several dogs and a lamb followed us in (the lamb came all the way into our room), desperate to get out of the wind. We had some wine with a game of chess and went to bed very tired, under the watchful gaze of a giant poster of Jesus with a bleeding heart.....
In the morning, the landlord told us that yesterday's winds were 130 mph and today's were forecast to be just as strong. As he was a very honest bloke (he changed money for us at exactly the same rate as was quoted in the newspaper) we left quickly to make the last few hundred miles to Puerto Natales. We went through a deserted town at Estancia San Gregorio, which was clearly once big enough to have its own port, now with several rusting hulks scuppered on the beach front. The was indeed just as strong as the day before, although oddly coming from the exact opposite direction, which gave us an all over, even ache across the neck and shoulders. We stopped at the Copec gasolinera to fill up, whilst the attendant's hat blew off and we had to push our bikes behind a wall to stop them blowing over. Arriving in Puerto Natales we headed to a cheap hostal recommended by Duncan from when he came through here after his Christmas ferry trip to Puerto Montt. PN is a lovely town overlooking la sena de la ultima esperanza (the Sound of Last Hope) and is full of good bars, cafes and restaurants, one of which we met Duncan in and over a few drinks decided to go together to the Torres del Paine national park and complete the 5 day, 100km+ circuito walk around the soaring peaks and glaciers of the park.
Next day as we were leaving, a truck driver who was staying at our hostal told us that a new gravel road had been opened into the park, which turned out to be a great tip as we enjoyed the best road and scenery since the carretera austral. We camped in Torres, had a fire and hung out with Alistair and Maria, who were on there way north too, but didn't want to do any walking. We had bought lots of dried meals and some lovely dried fruit from a great shop in PN, that sold nothing but dried fruit and played very loud 70's rock music - what a great combination. First day, after leaving our dried fruit behind, we walked 28km to Refugio Dickson, which left us all very tired and Neil in particular, half - dead. It was a hot day and rough terrain (lots of hills, boulders, river crossings and bogs to negotiate) and although there were lots of streams to drink from, we were all dehydrated by the end. Next day we took it easier and walked to Los Perros, although morale was low here due to Duncan having a stomach upset and having to cook outside in the pouring rain. Next day we walked 22km to Refugio Grey, across the Pass at John Gardner. As we climbed, we got colder and colder until we crossed the pass in a blinding blizzard of snow. Walking on to the other side as the snow gradually cleared, we saw that we were looking over the huge Glacier Grey. Clearing through the clouds it looked like the surface of an alien planet, like a frozen lake complete with ripples and waves in shades of grey, white and blue for the older ice making its slow journey down the valley.Tired and happy after a great day, we went to enjoy the bar facilities at the Refugio, taking our muddy boots off as instructed on the way in. Imagine our anger as we were then told that we had to leave, because our feet were too smelly!!! Abusing the sanctimonius manager and poe - faced trekkers on the way out, we sat by the lake instead overlooking the icebergs floating by after they had cracked and calved into the water. It was however, indubitedly true that our feet did smell pretty rank, so instead of taking into our tents with us, I climbed a tree and hung them there overnight, out of harm's way. There was a lovely sunset and we enjoyed our best meal of the trek, consisting of pasta and a tin of mussels which I found on the trail. We then took another 2 days to walk the last 36km back to Las Torres, our bikes and our dried fruit and decided to head of to PN for some relaxation and civilisation. The highlight of the trip, apart from the dramatic scenery, was the sighting of a group of condors circling and swooping over our heads near Los Cuernos.
After dumping our dirty washing off into a laundry to be washed, we rapidly fell into a 3 day alcoholic vortex mainly centred around a shabby - chique bar called Ruperto's and a nightclub next door, which looks like it is in someone's front room. Russell, an Englishman from Wakefield runs Ruperto's and is a fine and attentive host, liberally serving us with Calafate Red, one of the local brews and pisco sours too. Russell shuts up at 5am, so we were forced into the nightclub, which was full of much younger types. I do remember Neil one night insisting on speaking in French to all the locals, despite their offers to talk in English which was pretty funny to watch. I also remember approaching the DJ hip - hop Krewsters to try to give them a hand with the music selection, only to be informed that the music had finished (it was around 7.30am then) although I was immediately offered a rather large spliff instead as some means of compensation! The town is full of stray dogs, some of which we have befriended. However, when it gets to the stage that they wait for you outside a bar and then follow you to the next one, you sort of realise that it is time to move on. Alas the road beckons once more, so we are off to Calafate to start the infamous ruta 40 and see the only expanding glacier in the work at Perito Merino...
We crossed the border into Chile at Futuleufu after getting up early and passing scenes of bucolic bliss on the dusty earth and gravel road - flocks of cows, sheep and goats being herded up to the higher summer pastures and in the quieter sections, large Andean hares running alongside us before overtaking and skipping accross the road. The formalities were completed with relaxed friendliness on the Argentine side and more formality on the Chilean side. It was heavy going in the gravel and we were running low on fuel when we hit the teaming metropolis of Junta, which had a Copac gasolinera, a cafeteria de viajeros and a triangular monument to General Pinochet for building the Carretera Austral, which we would be staying on for the next few days.
Next day after more dufty riding, we started off from the unpronounceable Puerto Puyuhuapi were we had spent the night playing pool (I won) and potentially eating our last supper at the appropriately named Comidas Gethsemane. All was well as the morning broke over the inlet of the Pacific which looks a bit like a smaller Oban, without the chips and deep fried Mars Bars. We had to wake the landlady up so that we could have hot water with our Nescafe (coffee so far in Chile is crap), bread and jam. Then we were off onto the gravel of the carretera austral. I am finding that riding on gravel is a matter of literally getting into the groove of previous viajeros, especially when it is deep and generating the confidence to treat it with the contempt that it deserves, with plenty of speed and momentum to get you around the bends. We started off by winding around the finger of the pacific, with snow - capped mountains attracting our attention at each turn, guaranteed to be followed by a deep pot hole. Then we turned inland and upwards into a semi - tropical, wet road with the local Alerce Pine forest lining the road, choked with giant gunnera, wild lupins and tangles of bamboo. Waterfalls crashed over and onto the road before we topped out into an alpine scene of forested slopes and straghter stretches were we reached more than 70 mph on the stragihts and I couldn't tell you how much on the corners as I was going sidewards most of the time and fighting to keep my handlebars in front of my back wheel.
Then, like a dream, we suddenly came across a 45km strech of slik ribbon overlaying a velvet undercushion, running through the mountains and around the lakes! At first I thought I had come off and was dead and gone to heaven or was concussed. No, it was real - a brand new, beautifully surfaced and ideally cambered for bikes travelling fast metalled road! It was the most beautiful road I have ever been on and I could really enjoy the scenery. It just goes on and on, literally until the end of the world and we have had it non stop for the last 4 days now since leaving the Atlantic desert coast of Argentina. This whole area of southern Chile was once given to a single company to manage for timber extraction up until the 1930s, a privelege they abused by forcing their workers to break the law and also using the Victorian truck system where they had to buy their provisions from the company shop, which of course had massively inflated prices, even when they were paid on time. Eventually, in the 1930s the workers got organised and went on strike, as well as sabotaging their major assets - the spruce trees. You see the belached trunks of these hulks lying all over the place now - some have been moved around and used as corrals for animals, some for houses and some are left scarring the hillsides where they were felled by axe and saw all those years ago as a ghostly reminder of how angry and abused those employees must have felt.
People we have met Nick and his wife ????, who we met at La Posta in Azul have been on a RTW trip since 2005 and talked the hind leg off a donkey, although to be fair they did give us some good information too - e.g. a roro ferry from Nova Scotia to Southampton. We also met Patrick and Belinda Peck and Misadventure II from Cairns on the gravel road outside the Welsh town of Trevelin. They own a real estate agency with their brother and sister - in - law and alternate with each other, a year working and a year travelling!
Christmas Eve we left our cabana in the forest outside Coyhaique and headed into town to get our seasonal fare, which we then stuffed into our spare tyres on the back of our bikes. Off onto another section of tarmac on the Carretera Austral, before hitting the gravel again - in my case literally. My excuse is that my forks are leaking (probably due to the constant pounding of the rocks, potholes and corrugations) and the bike isn't very responsive when steering. In truth I was also going a bit too fast into a tight corner with a particularly deep berm and a generous layer of those lovely small stones. Anyway, no real damage done to me or the bike although we did lose a couple of eggs and rasberry yogurts from our stash.A few hundred kilometres further and we reach Rio Tranquil on the shores of the deepest lake in South America, which is called Lago General Carrera on the Chile side and Lago Buenos Aires on the Argentine side. Anyway, it s beautiful, surrounded by snow - capped mountains in the distance and rocky fields strewn with fragrant wild lupins, birds and cows. No wonder they taste so good when the grass they eat is the greenest I have ever seen with the biggest concentration of clover, buttercups and sages that I have ever seen. We find a cabana with a jetty so Neil can fish and settle in with a swim (freezing!) in the crystal clear water, some chess and chocolate and then a dinner of boxed wine, spicy longanisas and a greek salad.
Christmas Day promises to be a lazy one of washing stuff, trying to repair my bike and also trying to find an internet connection to get through to you, interspersed by lolling, cooking and swimming.
After Christmas we headed back off on to the Carretera Austral and rapidly found ourselves amongst a group of 12 Italian bikers with 2 support vehicles caryying their luggage, which was great fun to overtake and get them covered in dust. Passed the border back into Argentina and the scenery changed as rapidly as the name of the lake we had been following, from the gorgeous Lago Carrera General to the dismal Lago Buenos Aires. Not a lot of love lost between the Chileans and the Argentinians, as found out when we met Gustavo and Marcella, a married couple from Buenos Aires on a GS1200. They had taken all their annual leave over the last 4 years to tour Argentina and were on their last leg this year and asked us about what we thought of Chile. We shared the glowing reviews of the roads we had been on and they didn't look too impressed, promising us that Ruta 40 was the best possible riding in South America. Indeed, only when we praised the consistent quality of Argentino coffee and slagged off the Chilean custom of serving you hot water with a sachet of Nescafe when you asked for coffee, they warmed to us to such an extent that they ordered and paid for our fork seals to be sent from Buenos Aires for us to pick up on the way down in Rio Gallegos. This is just one example of the amazing hospitality we have had throughout Argentina. The only time we have been made to feel uncomfortable is in Viedma, when a lorry driver asked us where we came from and we said England for the first time (most of the time we have been from Wales and Scotland). He led us to the back of his lorry to show us the mural commemorating the sinking of the General Belgrano in the Falklands War, allegedly whilst sailing away.
That night we stayed in a fly - blown oil town called Las Herras surrounded by nodding donkeys across the pampas. After a cold beer in the hotel we hit the town, only to be forced to eat in a casino as everything else looked inedible and had the worst food of our trip so far - a burger and a chicken sandwich. Unsatisfied, we went back to the room which was like a cell and I spent most of the night listening to noises outside the window next to our bikes and the sounds of Neil's snores echong off the bare concrete walls. Needless to say we were up early and back onto the long straight roads of Ruta 3 for an 850km jaunt to Rio Gallegos. The highlight of the day (apart from seeing guanacos, rheas and armadillos by the side of the road) was stopping to help Arthur, an Irish bloke on a KLR650, who had run out of petrol. We filled his 1.5 litre water bottle 3 times from my bike, although we were so low ourselves that my siphon tube was too short after the first time and we had to resort to removing the tank filler tube and then turning the bike on to get the pump to get the fuel into his bottle. It felt great to be able to help out another biker and in a way return the favour done to us by Gustavo and Marcella. We made it to Rio Gallegos and shared a hostal room with Arthur, some beers and a parilla before crashing after a long day.
Next day we were up and out fairly early to get the ferry into Tierra del Feugo and cross 3 international borders in one day.The first two sections, out of Argentina and into Chile went ok, although there were a lot of coach tours on their way to Ushuaia and we had to stand in queue for quite some time. Then we dashed to Punta Delgada, unsure of the situation with the ferry that looked like in ran from there, without the extra distance required to go to Punta Arenas. Anyway, there were 2 open decked ships shuttling across the Straits of Magellan throughout the day. We barely had time to order a finish a meal of Churrasco Sandwiches and Chilean "coffee" before our boat was in dock. We used that excuse to send back the unwanted Nescafe and were pleasantly surpirsed to receive a refund! When we got outside, we realised that the beach was the dock and the boat had driven itself up the slope and was keeping its engines going to stop it from being swept away by the forceful current. As soon as it was loaded, it switched them off and we were swept into the channel and across in 10 minutes. It was the same deal on the other side and felt great to ride off first whilst the boat was still moving against the land. Then onto a stretch of ripio road to the second Argentine border of the day where we had a great stroke of luck. Big queues greeted us as we were informed there would be a wait of at least 4 hours, when Duncan appeared to let us in at the front. Once through, we rode onto Rio Grande, where there was an enormous Heroes of the Malvinas memorial on the beach and a bed for the night.
Up from Rio Grande and onto ripio again outside of town to the final stretch to Ushuaia. As we passed Tolhuin, the mountains were getting closer and we had a wonderful approach to the city at the end of the world. Lots of "camino sinuoso" signs, lakes and sweeping mountain roads greeted us, which gave us a real lift after all those thousands of kilometres of pampas roads, we knew that from now on the Andes and the Rockies and roads like ths would be our constant companion. I remember one scene rushing by which has been etched on my memory - as the road became a causeway between the land, with its wind - rippled spruce covered hills, merging into rich meadows and a lake on one side and the same wind having a similar effect on the steely - blue sea on the other, with the tops of its kelp forest poking through the waves. At one point, Into Ushuaia and the high was continued by the fantastic views across the Beagle Channel and over to the snow - capped mountains of Isla Navarino and Cape Horn beyond it that we hit the bars early in the afternoon and were in bed before it got dark, although that was almost 1am! The next day, New Year's Eve, feeling a bit delicate, we rode out to the Rugby Club where a lot of bikers were camping and had a few gentle beers and an asado, before seeing the New Year in there and then riding back into town with Duncan as most of the bars opened at 1am. In the gloomy light, you could still make out the outline of the mountains, with their frosted tops, the lights of the city below and Neil and Duncan tail-lights zooming along the coast road. We hit an Irish Bar first, which had a back bar which had been taken over by a returning Brazilian Antartic expedition, which had a great atmosphere and gave me a tinge of regret that we wouldn't be seeing Brazil this time. Then we went on to the Invisible Bar and listened to some live, heavy rock until 7am, when we were chased to bed by a load of enthusiastic stray dogs.
New Year's Day was quiet, with a bit of fresh air gained by climbing up to the Martial Glacier outside of town with Duncan, followed by a trip to the seafood restaurant to gorge ourselves on an enormous (4kg+) locally caught, centolla crab. Today we went to the Tierra del Fuego National Park and had a swim in the freezing cold Beagle Channel, much to the hilarity of some builders working on a pier nearby, who came over and gave us a litre bottle of beer in return for our bravery. We have now swum in the Atlantic and Antartic Oceans so far on this trip, and aim to do the Pacific and Artic ones too before we finish. Personally, I am looking forward to the Caribbean man......
We finally left Ushuaia after a fruitless search for a pump (in case of punctures on the ripio) and empanadas to eat on the way during our many stops for border crossings and ferries. We decided to head for Puerto Natales and then on to Torres del Paine and Duncan was possibly going to join us after having his fork seals fixed. Instead of re-tracing our steps we headed for Porvenir for the ferry to Punta Arenas on an increasingly cold, damp and very windy day. The wind got stronger and stronger as the day wore on and it seemed like we were fighting to stay upright (or at least at 45 degrees) the whole trip. We finally got to Porvenir, around 5.30pm and were immediately struck by its atmosphere of desolation, which was reinforced by the news that the daily ferry had just left! Faced with the prospect of spending 24 hours in Porvenir, when we had no Chilean pesos, we managed to change some dollars in the almacen, bought petrol and left for the same ferry we had taken. By now the wind was even stronger and the crossing in the open decked boat was extremely rough, but good fun all the same. By now it was getting dark and we were running out of fuel again, as fully laden in the wind our mpg was woefully low. We carried on the road towards Puerto Natales and in the middle of nowhere a tin - shack, roadside hostal appeared. As we entered, several dogs and a lamb followed us in (the lamb came all the way into our room), desperate to get out of the wind. We had some wine with a game of chess and went to bed very tired, under the watchful gaze of a giant poster of Jesus with a bleeding heart.....
In the morning, the landlord told us that yesterday's winds were 130 mph and today's were forecast to be just as strong. As he was a very honest bloke (he changed money for us at exactly the same rate as was quoted in the newspaper) we left quickly to make the last few hundred miles to Puerto Natales. We went through a deserted town at Estancia San Gregorio, which was clearly once big enough to have its own port, now with several rusting hulks scuppered on the beach front. The was indeed just as strong as the day before, although oddly coming from the exact opposite direction, which gave us an all over, even ache across the neck and shoulders. We stopped at the Copec gasolinera to fill up, whilst the attendant's hat blew off and we had to push our bikes behind a wall to stop them blowing over. Arriving in Puerto Natales we headed to a cheap hostal recommended by Duncan from when he came through here after his Christmas ferry trip to Puerto Montt. PN is a lovely town overlooking la sena de la ultima esperanza (the Sound of Last Hope) and is full of good bars, cafes and restaurants, one of which we met Duncan in and over a few drinks decided to go together to the Torres del Paine national park and complete the 5 day, 100km+ circuito walk around the soaring peaks and glaciers of the park.
Next day as we were leaving, a truck driver who was staying at our hostal told us that a new gravel road had been opened into the park, which turned out to be a great tip as we enjoyed the best road and scenery since the carretera austral. We camped in Torres, had a fire and hung out with Alistair and Maria, who were on there way north too, but didn't want to do any walking. We had bought lots of dried meals and some lovely dried fruit from a great shop in PN, that sold nothing but dried fruit and played very loud 70's rock music - what a great combination. First day, after leaving our dried fruit behind, we walked 28km to Refugio Dickson, which left us all very tired and Neil in particular, half - dead. It was a hot day and rough terrain (lots of hills, boulders, river crossings and bogs to negotiate) and although there were lots of streams to drink from, we were all dehydrated by the end. Next day we took it easier and walked to Los Perros, although morale was low here due to Duncan having a stomach upset and having to cook outside in the pouring rain. Next day we walked 22km to Refugio Grey, across the Pass at John Gardner. As we climbed, we got colder and colder until we crossed the pass in a blinding blizzard of snow. Walking on to the other side as the snow gradually cleared, we saw that we were looking over the huge Glacier Grey. Clearing through the clouds it looked like the surface of an alien planet, like a frozen lake complete with ripples and waves in shades of grey, white and blue for the older ice making its slow journey down the valley.Tired and happy after a great day, we went to enjoy the bar facilities at the Refugio, taking our muddy boots off as instructed on the way in. Imagine our anger as we were then told that we had to leave, because our feet were too smelly!!! Abusing the sanctimonius manager and poe - faced trekkers on the way out, we sat by the lake instead overlooking the icebergs floating by after they had cracked and calved into the water. It was however, indubitedly true that our feet did smell pretty rank, so instead of taking into our tents with us, I climbed a tree and hung them there overnight, out of harm's way. There was a lovely sunset and we enjoyed our best meal of the trek, consisting of pasta and a tin of mussels which I found on the trail. We then took another 2 days to walk the last 36km back to Las Torres, our bikes and our dried fruit and decided to head of to PN for some relaxation and civilisation. The highlight of the trip, apart from the dramatic scenery, was the sighting of a group of condors circling and swooping over our heads near Los Cuernos.
After dumping our dirty washing off into a laundry to be washed, we rapidly fell into a 3 day alcoholic vortex mainly centred around a shabby - chique bar called Ruperto's and a nightclub next door, which looks like it is in someone's front room. Russell, an Englishman from Wakefield runs Ruperto's and is a fine and attentive host, liberally serving us with Calafate Red, one of the local brews and pisco sours too. Russell shuts up at 5am, so we were forced into the nightclub, which was full of much younger types. I do remember Neil one night insisting on speaking in French to all the locals, despite their offers to talk in English which was pretty funny to watch. I also remember approaching the DJ hip - hop Krewsters to try to give them a hand with the music selection, only to be informed that the music had finished (it was around 7.30am then) although I was immediately offered a rather large spliff instead as some means of compensation! The town is full of stray dogs, some of which we have befriended. However, when it gets to the stage that they wait for you outside a bar and then follow you to the next one, you sort of realise that it is time to move on. Alas the road beckons once more, so we are off to Calafate to start the infamous ruta 40 and see the only expanding glacier in the work at Perito Merino...
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