| Location: | Perito Moreno (the town not the glacier!) |
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.
