Back in Europe

Location:

Beziers, France

Getting back to Europe was tortuous. Due to financial constraints, we picked flights that took us from Santiago - Buenos Aires - Sao Paulo - London - Madrid.

"Why on earth Madrid after getting to London??" I hear you say. A few reasons. Firstly, it is much cheaper to fly the bike back from Chile to Spain than to London. Secondly, Kevin was determined to ride into the UK. Thirdly, we have flown into Madrid previously with a bike and we knew exactly what the process was (so less grief!).

It took us barely three hours and only ten euros to get the bike out of the warehouse and onto Spanish roads. But our problem was petrol. Lan Chile were the strictest airline we have flown with and monitored the draining of the tank so that it was empty. We pushed the bike out of the security gates, but the nearest gas station was a couple of miles away.

"Lets try the bike anyway" I said, the thought of pushing the bike for two miles on some busy airport roads was not appealing. Somehow, there must have been some drops still left, because true to form and never letting us down the bike fired up and got us to juice.

The next day, we did a gentle 500 mile ride across to the Southern French coast to stay with friends who had just relocated to the north of Beziers. We chatted in English, drank single malt whisky and then delighted in smelly French cheese. It was our first real hangover in a very long time!!

The bike has gone

Location:

Santiago, Chile

We arrived in Santiago, back tyre in tact and are staying with our friends. It is a weird feeling knowing that there are no more miles now to ride here.

Yesterday, we took the bike to Lan Chile Carga. They are flying the bike to Madrid for us. It took the afternoon to get the bike crated and sort out all the paperwork, but it is now sitting in their warehouse, all cling flimed and palleted, waiting for its flight on Saturday.

Often the paperwork surrounding flying a bike can put off riders from even attempting this, but providing you are patient and have the right documents, it is normally quite straight forward. Regulations are different with each airline, but primarily, draining the fuel and disconnecting and taping up the battery terminals is all that is needed. We had a service company to then crate the bike who work in conjunction with Lan Chile.

The bike, with pallet, came in at 294 kilos and Lan Chile only charged us US$695 for the flight, which is miraculously cheap (we normally work on US$1,000 to US$1,500). Lan Chile only required from us our Customs form for the bike (provided by the Chilean authorities whe you enter Chile) and Kevin´s passport. Not even the registration document for the bike.

We left the Cargo Airport with our airway bill and two days to relax before flying out ourselves. Next report will be from Europe!

The final South American Country!

Location:

Pucon, Chile

The crossing from Bariloche over the Andes and back to Chile should not be missed. It is mainly a paved road, except in the no mans land between Chile and Argentina, where right at the top of the pass the road gives way to "ripio" once again. It also snowed again! We have ridden through more snow storms in the past two weeks than in any other ride!

The road passes by lakes and winds through amazingly tropical looking forest, especially given how cold it was. It seemed bizarre to be passing huge ferns and lush green trees when we were freezing our butts off. Crossing from the Chilean border, the road descends quite rapidly and gets much warmer. There are steep cliffs around us and even from across the huge lakes, we can see massive white water falls crashing out of the vegetation, along all the cliffs. It looks more like the "Lost World" than Southern Chile!

We ride from here to Osorno and then upto Pucon, in the heart of the Chilean Lake District. Even though it is the second time we have ridden in this area, the sight of the volcanoes always leaves us amazed. Coming from England, such sights are rare and to have some many of them, at this time of the year, looking magnificent, still covered in snow and perfect conical shapes towering ahead, almost as if they are growing out of the road is awesome scenery.

But we are lucky, it is a sunny day and our views are faultless. For the next three days in Pucon, the Villarica Volcanoe hides from view behind dense heavy rain clouds. We are now on the last leg of the ride and in just a few days it will be Santiago, where we have to sort out the bike for flying back to Europe.

The bike is still running well, although a little tired (who can blame him!?). We got the bike new at the BMF in May. In only five months he has 31,000 miles on the clock. Our back tyre is perilously low, but we have our old tyres waiting for us at Williamson Balfour in Santiago and we are not going to put a new one on for the last 500 miles or so. We stick to the main Ruta 5 tarmac. Besides, as our friend Francisco told us when looking at the back tyre, "in Chile, it is no problem!"

Off Ruta 40!

Location:

Bariloche

After the mega ride of 70 kms in three hours by Kevin yesterday, and the words of warning from the Argentinian business man about Ruta 40 to Rio Mayo (deep snow and lots of water), we decided to cut our losses and come off Ruta 40, sticking to the tarmac.

More than anything, the need to get the bike back home safely and in one piece drove this decision. We were now running on what would be an illegal back tyre back home (no tread!) and this alone increases risks of punctures and problems. Being stuck in Patagonia miles from any where in snow, with a flat and no camping gear was not our idea of fun and we had ahd enough adventure in the past two months to last a while!

We took the road back out to the coast and found ourselves back in Comodoro Rividavia for a couple of nights of R&R, before then heading back inland (but this time on a paved road) to Bariloche. It was about 400 miles on falt pampas again until we reached the small town called Esquel, set at the foothills of the mountains. Then from here only 180 miles on to Bariloche the following day. The change in ladnscape is stark. One day flat straight road with nothing; the next we are heading into the mountains on good road, gentle bends, magnificent pine forests and snow capped peaks.

Bariloche is set on the banks of Lake Napuelhuapi and we enjoyed three days of superb sunshine here, twinkling lakes and walks through the woods. The wind down from the ride is really starting to happen. No longer is the focus on miles and miles. At last we have the chance to relax between stops and have more chance to explore the places we are in. In Bariloche we celebrate our second wedding anniversary and Kev´s 39th birthday.

Waiting

Location:

Perito Moreno

The road became almost impassable. Through deep ruts of slush, we slipped back and forth across the road barely managing 40 kms per hour. At one point, we ended up almost facing backwards and half way down the edge of the road into the ever whitening pampas. It was a white knuckle ride in every sense. Crawling to the top of the next hill, I could only groan when I could just make out ahead the road disappearing into barely two tiny slivers of muddy black strips and heading into the blur of white.

It can´t get any worse. Surely. Around the next hill, I could only shake my head in disbelief again. The road seemed to widen out, but there was truly no road in any conventional sense of the word. It was wave after wave of deep rutted soft mud. The bottom of the 4x4 ground into it, spinning around. I began to wonder whether even we would make it. I could not even begin to think of what Kevin was going to have to do to get the bike through. I wasn´t even sure it could be done. How good was the bike, with an almost bald back tyre? I knew Kevin had not tackled road this bad before. And then there was the weather. There was no easing up in the snow and so it was only going to get wetter and worse.

I slumped myself into a large armchair in the hotel cafe, which overlooked the only road into town from Ruta 40. There was a tight knot in my chest. The snow was swirling across the road even here, where we were lower - the only consolation was it was not settling. I could not bring myself to think about how bad it was getting up there.

Half of me wanted to just get a truck out now, bugger the ride, just go and rescue Kev and the bike. The other half knew what Kev was like. He would relish the challenge and would want the opportunity to make it through without an over wraught wife sending out the cavelery. Even Marcio had said to me, don't worry he will get through - which in a way I read as don't insult his masculinity by going to fetch him!

Still I was sat there, with two hours of waiting before our time limit was reached and two hours is alot of time to worry about what could happen and whether Kev and the bike would succumb to some freak incident, beaten by the atrocious conditions. I would waiver between almost tears and then a confident determination that Kev and the bike were invincible. Minutes crawled by. I could not move from my seat, glued to the road. Every light, movement had me sat bolt upright. I am not a religious person in a conventional sense, but I was drawing on every ounce of spirituality and positive energy to will them both safely down the road.

As the clock crawled to five, I was there but not there. Keeping the what if question at bay was becoming harder and harder. I dragged myself back to the room collecting my jacket and fleece to prepare to head back out into the cold. Back in the cafe, I looked around for the hotel owner who had promised to take me out in his truck. He had disappeared, and I edgily paced back and forth.

I saw a bright headlight appear down the road. It wasn´t just a mirage. A huge black bike followed the light. They were there! I let out a bit of a girlie shreek and raced out out of the door and into the road, flagging him down to me. I was smiling the biggest smile and leaping around like a mad person. As Kev drew up, his face bright red and covered in melting snow, I flung my arms around him with almost enough force to knock the bike sideways. "I'm so happy to see you" I managed to get out.

It is not often that Kev and I travel separately, but Kev certainly had an amazing experience riding on his own. "I knew you´d be worried" he said, "but I just had to stop when I saw a herd of guanaco in the snow. They look so different in the snow. I had to stop for ten minutes, switch of the engine, so I didn´t spook them and watch".

Part of our ride back north was to take roads we had never been on before. To explore more of the remote roads for our tours next year. Part of this experience is knowing which roads NOT to bring people down!

We settled down to a well earned Quilmes beer that night and re-adjusted the route we were riding the next day. We had talked to an Argentinian business man, who had come south on Ruta 40. It is terrible he said, not paved and deep with snow . . . . .

Ruta 40 - Off the bike . . .

Location:

Perito Moreno (the town not the glacier!)

For those who have looked closely at a map of Southern Argentina, it will be apparent that to ride south (or for that matter to ride from the south back north), there are primarily only two roads.

You take Ruta 3, down the Atlantic Coast. All nicely paved and quite fast (hence why it was chosen for the Trans Am record route) or you go for Ruta 40. The inner route that runs the foothills of the Andes and is, well, not paved. To describe this road as a dirt road, does not do it justice. It is a bit like describing a person as nice. It covers a multitude of sins.

Ruta 40 is a nice dirt road.

From Calafate on the western section of Argentina and close to the Chile border, we headed off to ride 400 miles of no mans land. No man (virtually) seems to live there. You either do this, or you have to head all the way back to the coast, hit Ruta 3, and then head back in to cross to Chile. Hundreds of miles that are not necessary . . . . if you can survive Ruta 40.

The Handbook, describes the small places that we go through on Ruta 40 along the lines of "an expensive forlorn pitstop" or a "village (**!!!) with police station and water", because in fact there is nothing else. There is so little out there that even a hotel, is marked on the map as if it is a town. The hotel is described as "basic". (It didnt matter because although we planned to stay there, we could not find it!)

It also says that it is impossible to hitch on Ruta 40. The reason for this becomes clear when you ride it. We must have met five other vehicles in the whole day of riding.

Having covered over 200 miles of the nice dirt road in 8 hours, we arrived at the forlorn pitstop at 9pm. The last hour had been freezing and pitch black making avoiding rocks and holes a minor piece of miracle work. Our forlorn pitstop provides us with a bed, gas fires and very hot vegetable soup. We are just pleased to have arrived in one piece and congratulate ourselves. At least tomorrow, we have only 80 miles to ride to Perito Mereno and this gives us plenty of time to visit Cuevas de los Manos, ancient caves, with rock art from thousands of years past.

When we left, a very lazy start of 11am, the sky looked very black and heavy and the road off to the caves, was a very dodgy nice dirt road, heading to what was snow covered moors and what seemed to be snow flake flurries. After a few miles, heading further into snow and mushy road, we decide that today is not the day to be heroes and turn back to take the "main" road straight to Perito.

We manage to "blat" out twenty miles or so at more than 40 mph. The next ten, slowed down to about 25 mph. But with fifty miles still left to go, the nice dirt road disappeared into snow and we were left with a muddy, sludgey quagmire of the worst motocross track to get through. It started with a few huge slides, with the bike ending up sideways, Kev swearing and me being turfed off the bike to walk through this "section". This section turned out to be miles and miles and miles. I kept hoisting myself back on the bike, we would do a few hundred yards, then I had to get off the bike again.

The snow was getting heavier and had settled along the short tufty plants on the side of the road. The pampas all around was becoming increasingly white and pretty. It did not take long for visibility to reduce to negligible. Snow flakes and turned into a full blown white drifting sheet. By the time you had wiped a finger across your visor and flicked the snow into the stodge below, the visor was white again.

We stopped and the conversation basically concluded that it was going to be impossible to get to Perito two up. Our choices were that Kev rode on to get help and came back for me in a 4x4 or that we stuck together and hoped that a vehicle would pass by. We knew that on average that would be at least a couple of hours, unless the snow had put people off the journey . . .

With teeth chattering and as I squelched my way through the mud, watching Kev and the bike edge away, only to stop and wait for me, I started praying for a 4x4, because our options were dire. As I drew close, Kevin shouted to move faster before, inching the bike onwards and through the next hole on muddy slush.

I wondered how we had got to this - completing a world record and now dogged by the worst snow and road conditions that we had ever encountered. This made the Paso de Garibaldi coming from Ushuaia like childs play.

I got back on the bike and we slithered a few more yards on the bike, when Kevin says, "theres a car behind". Our guardian angel was driving up behind. It was utterely unbelievable. Two Argentina lads (Jonatan and Mario) in a 4x4 on holiday. They were delightful. The bike panniers were loaded up and I jumped in the back. No problem they would get me to Perito Moreno. But Kev still had the bike to ride. A very precious bike that BMW wanted back on their stand at the NEC!

The plan was to give Kevin three hours to make Perito and if he did not arrive, I would hire a 4x4 truck to come and get him and the bike. We synchronised watches. I felt sick leaving him but we both knew we had no choice and besides, Kev said, they bike was always too heavy with me so now he could see what he could do on a bike with no luggage and no Julia.

When the lads left me at Hotel Belgrano in Perito Moreno, I sat glued to the window, watching the road. The owner was already primed. If my husband had not arrived by 5pm, then he would get the truck out. I now knew exactly what Kevin had to get through and I could not bare to think about it.

Rough Ride

Location:

El Calafate

It´s been a roller coaster of a ride from Punta Arenas north wards through Puerto Natales, Torres del Paine and onward to El Calafate.

The wind! It is the first time I have sat on the back of the bike, with the bike being at 45 degrees and we are still going in a straight line. One way to get rid of chicken lines without cornering! The myths of Patagonian winds are not myths! It is incessant, sweeping off the Andes and rushing with great force at the bike. Hard to handle in any situation, almost impossible on some of the roads we´ve been riding.

There are so many dirt roads here that are short cuts to places, that you can´t and don´t want to avoid them. Well, you can avoid them by riding two sides of a triangle on sealed roads, but that wouldn´t be cricket! Besides, these dirt roads are some of the most remote and really put you in the middle of the wilderness and give you a challenging ride at the same time.

The same road goes from perfect hard smooth dirt, to the tiniest strip of hard rocks, edged high with great piles of pebbles, so that one inch of wobble and it could be all over. That´s where the wind comes back into play. . . . our only consolation was it was dry. It is hard for Kev to take charge when he carries so much weight (me!) on the bike. The front is so light that the wind plays with it like a feather in the wind and more than once we are pushed to the brink, the bike dances into huge ridges of dirt, wanging it left, right, left, but coming out of it upright and still moving forward.

How we come through some of these rides without yet hitting the deck is a bit of a myth in itself. In both of world record rides, not once has Kevin let the bike hit the deck. I try not to think too much about this statistic, because given the amount of miles we have ridden, in the type of countries we have ridden, on the types of roads we have ridden, in the weather conditions we have ridden, we must be on borrowed time or else Kevin was a cat in his last life . . . .

Suffice to say that we survive the rides to pleasure at gawping at the massifs of Torres del Paine for a second time, still as wondrous as the first, and stand speechless at the Perito Moreno Glacier as thunderous groans echo from its great insides and huge jagged chunks of flouresent blue ice slide into the lake below.

Riding here is truly a once in a lifetime experience and yet we are here for a second time and, when our motorcycle tours start to Patagonia, we will be back again. . . . .