Chile & Argentina – still
We left Chargentina at the end of Day 11 in El Chalten. Things had mainly gone right so far, but the big exception was Cindy’s leaking drive shaft oil seal after her crash in the gravel coming out from Estancia Angostura. These seals often leak, but calling this a leak was a bit like calling Niagara Falls a drip. Hence I didn’t really believe it could be the seal, they don’t normally fail completely, but it was coming from behind the drive sprocket so there weren’t many other options. Day 12 would reveal all.
Day 12 was a quick blast down the road with a raging tailwind heading east, a turn south including a stop to take a photo of a giant metal fish – reason for being uncertain, and then another stop for grey fox viewing, and a struggle up the road heading west into a raging headwind. Cindy was on the back due to the Tigressa still being glued to the back of the support vehicle, with parking in the correct orientation apropos of screaming wind direction the only challenge. Sounding a bit like it should be in Saudi Arabia, El Calafate is a bigger town and way bigger tourist draw than El Chalten mainly because of the huge Perito Moreno Glacier about 70km away. Not quite up there with Pucon, but certainly in the tourist ball-park.
Swinging into the Quixote hotel in El Calafate, the priorities were distilled into an all-you-can-eat lunch, get to a laundromat, and await word from Ride Leader JC that he had the oil seal. The first two completed without significant incident, apart from some of the laundry items being clean right up until the serving of lamb off the spit at lunch, we got the call from JC that he had the seal. Slight problem though, although the inner and outer dimensions were correct, the seal was 10mm thick rather than the Triumph preferred 5mm. Damn, might be too thick, but when the alternative was waiting until Ushuaia we’d give anything a go. So round to a mechanic’s place out in the El Calafate wind-blasted ‘burbs to give it a go. First, take the sprocket off, the mechanic had the right socket. As soon as the sprocket was pulled off the shaft two very round small pebbles dropped out, and the reason for the oil leak was revealed to the world. When Cindy had crashed onto the left side, the bike was still running and the chain dragged a whole lot of gravel into the sprocket guard, and unfortunately into the tight space between the engine and the sprocket. Two naughty pebbles had been running around on the oil seal, causing it to fail after a few kilometres.
Let’s give the new fat seal a go then, and to general surprise after a test run it appeared to do exactly what a seal should do; seal. Even a reasonable gap between the seal and the sprocket so no risk of it being grabbed. Still oil dripping from everywhere though, suspected to be just the oil which was coating most of the bike. After hugging the mechanic (Cindy took on that responsibility) a trip to the washing facility had the Tigressa spotless-ish and definitely not leaking any oil at all. Success. Cindy was back in the game. The copas de vino and the cervasas tasted extra good that night.
13 is normally considered unlucky; not in the case of our Day 13 with Cindy’s fortunes restored and she also had by far the cleanest motorcycle. Naturally the day was all about the Perito Moreno glacier, so after a walk around town with the usual following of publicly owned dogs, and rugged up against the expected cold, off we went. A pleasant ride across the usual Patagonia barren landscape, we were through the park entrance gate and into the concrete winding road along the edge of Lago Argentino. Some parking confusion at the end, we were directed by some random bloke into a big area, expectations of riding up onto the glacier were quashed and we were going to have to take a bus. But first luncheon, and a cruise onto the lake to hopefully be looking when the odd enormous lump of ice crashes into the water. This glacier grows and has apparently often reached the opposite shore requiring blasting to let the water flow out of the lake.
Back to El Calafate, pick up laundry, and off to town to exchange more USD for pesos and sample beers and wines with the result. Differences with Australia in pubs are notable – all table service and many places have no paper menus, so reliance on the local network and pub Wi-Fi to get the virtual menu is high. Usually the phone is handed over to a member of staff, who can’t get it to work and so give you their personal phone to scroll down the menu and punch out a few Snapchats.
Day Cat Horsey, Spanish for 14 was almost a direction repeat of Day 12; east then south then west but now back into Chile and the famous Torres del Paine National Park. The easting was okay from a wind direction perspective, but cold didn’t adequately describe it, bloody freezing and the ice warning went off on the bike. Weren’t too worried about ice on the road, just on the fingers.
Whilst on the subject of Patagonian fauna, which we weren’t but are now, we’d been told that we’d see guanacos. Everyone was excited about this and assumed if they just caught a glimpse of one in the far distance, they’d be lucky. The inevitable happens – the first guanaco brings on a wild frenzy of trying to get a photo, only for it to run away and all hopes are dashed. Then 50m up the road there is another, wow we are lucky. Another 100m and a big mob are standing looking bored just off the road. Are we the luckiest people to travel to Patagonia since Charles Darwin or what? Then one runs across in front causing some mild emergency braking. Then every 100m or so groups of four or five are standing around just off the road, then nothing for a kilometre or so and one forgets about them, and suddenly one is standing like a statue well camouflaged and just off the road, praise Zeus I’m glad that didn’t go for it. Then for the rest of Patagonia and about 50 near collisions with guanacos, one learns to truly hate the bloody things. And we hadn’t even got to the rheas yet.
Down to the turn-off and over the border was fairly easy, just a quick stop at an easily accessible wind sign in one of the worst places for it. Apart from our 80kmh winds heading to Perito Moreno we’d had it pretty easy so far, and today was quite balmy. Surely when we got into the park it must improve.
Not really. It was variable dirt roads in the park, but a bit better than earlier experience so no major dramas, and the scenery was frankly epic. Cindy and I were bringing up the rear, and noticed that everyone had stopped in a picturesque spot at a nice time for a rest and photos. Neither of us noticed there were no palm trees, and the wind coming down off the appropriately named Towers of Paine was just nasty. On a stopped motorcycle, one normally has a foot down, but even with said foot on the leeward side there is not enough strength to hold the bike up if a big gust hits it. Scott and Gina went down, that was more than enough for us and we took off again, battling a few gnarly bits until pulling thankfully into the Pampa Lodge. A few beers and off we went for a nice dinner in a very rural rustic setting with some of the most spectacular views we’ve ever had out the bedroom window.
We had a free day the next Day 15, but two activities were on offer – a walking tour up in the park and a 3 hour horse riding tour. As the walking tour involved riding around 30km on the dirt roads to get to where we would meet the guide, only Rex, Paul and myself with JC leading and Gabby going as his pillion were interested. A 9am start would see us back about 1pm with everyone doing the nags at 2pm. Trouble started from the get-go, at 9am the roads were closed in the park due to +100kmh winds. We received the message at 9:30am, the roads were open but the guide was no longer available. Never mind, we’ll do it ourselves. Off we went, backtracking at speed and dodging a grader to where Scott and Gina had fallen over, and up toward the Towers of Paine. Parking the bikes carefully to ensure they were head-on to the wind, off we went. A nice waterfall viewing platform gave us a taste of the wind situation; it ranged from dead calm to insane within moments. Rex, Paul and I decided to push on and perhaps summit something, but after 3km we nearly ran out of track just under the peaks. A few photos were taken and Paul and I got a hard lesson – don’t give Rex your phone to take photos. Somehow and almost miraculously he could make it look like we were nowhere near a spectacular mountain range. If he’d been up on Everest with Hillary and Norgay he’d have taken close-up photos of Edmund’s knee and Tensing’s boot. Never mind, we got plenty of awesome photos of Rex.
Back at speed to the bikes and then even more speed to the accommodation, with gusting winds and slow-moving buses making it more challenging. We made it back in time for the horse riding, unfortunately. Horse riding always seems like a fun thing to do, but one should note the huge drop-off in pony club enrolments since motorcycles were invented and recognise this is because horses you’ve only just met are rarely compliant or comfortable. Mounted up, the peculiarities of one’s beast must be learned, usually the hard way. Cindy’s was a magnificent and quiet yet dignified beast. Back in 2002. Now it was an aged slow walking struggler which set the horse convoy pace from the rear. Mine was totally fixated on its own needs and spent the entire 3 hour stroll finding things to eat and drink, but it did win the race back before my legs had totally stopped working due to the highly cramping stirrups.
Day 16 plan was the Pacific port of Puerto Natales via about 50km of variable dirt road completed without dramas. A refuel and we decided to get a coffee, before becoming totally lost in the ‘burbs and doing some of the more challenging gravel of the trip just getting back onto the highway.
Pressing on, we stopped for a quick lunch at the Hotel Rubens and travelled at our own pace across the plains and valleys of southern Patagonia before reaching the Atlantic along the Strait of Magellan.
A bit further and we reached the end of the South American mainland at the Punta Delgada ferry terminal. We were a bit early so wandered about, nothing was open and it mainly became about sheltering from the sun and the wind that had been off-shore here for 10,000 straight days while brushing up on a bit of Magellan history. Strangely there wasn’t an office to buy a ticket, rumour was that it was part of the national highway so crossing was free.
The ferry arrived, we rode on, and then went up on deck for the crossing. With the end in sight, news came that we actually needed to buy a ticket and so we joined a queue. David got to the window to hand over his 8300 pesos and the ticket printer broke down. There was no back-up plan such as another printer or just letting the few remaining punters get a freebie, the printer needed to be fixed or no-one was getting off. Luckily it was fixed as the ramp was lowered, and the late leavers had to dodge between moving vehicles to get back to theirs. No-one was inspecting tickets so the whole thing had been a bit of a shambles, but we’d successfully reached the Land of Fuego. A bit of an open fuego and a hot chocolate would have been appreciated about then, the wind was getting strong and it wasn’t exactly tropical.
A final 42km into Cerro Sombrero, which means Hat Hill, and pointing into the wind saw us fuelled up and into the accommodation with various other adventure motorcycling parties. Hat Hill is not a thriving metropolis, so the dinner was in-house and frankly magnificent. In a strange twist, the Hosteria Tunkelen accommodation in Hat Hill is the most expensive of the trip, a good example of supply (very little) and demand (lots). Up not too early for Day 17, the ice was attacked using the heated seat, before heading to the final border crossing back into Argentina. Successfully done, we pushed on in the rather vicious biting cold to reach the top of the pass, and then down into the big one; Ushuaia.
Lots of photos at the entrance gate, then to the hotel which was a few blocks up from the very touristy main street, and by up I mean up, the side of the hill running down to the waterfront is very steep. We had two nights in Ushuaia, so after a wander about the town and a celebratory beverage, we did some more wandering up into the cruise passenger-riddled tourist strip to purchase a few souvenirs and get some photos near the original Fin Del Mundo sign. During the wandering, we came across a Triumph dealership that obviously didn’t sell many motorcycles but sold lots of drinks and food; we were welcomed like celebrities possibly due to our clothing brand. As it was a Sunday and the Irish Pub was closed, we ended up having dinner there with our Triumph riding compatriots Rex and Sally.
Day 18 was a milestone day. As we’ve ridden to Deadhorse in Alaska, the furthest north one can get by road, it was a good feeling to ride to the southern end of the road a bit west and south of Ushuaia. It took two attempts, during the first we were told that foreign motorcycles were no longer allowed, but National Park officials were argued by JC into letting 4 in at 10am and then the remainder at 12 noon. We were in the back half so went back to town to buy some shoe glue for a damaged boot sole – Bunnings self-service hardware doesn’t exist in Argentina but armed with “pegamento para zapatos?” and showing the hardware customer service technician the boot in question, some pegamento was bought. A stop with the bikes at our Triumph shop haunt to show the staff what modern Triumphs look like earned us a couple of stickers, then back out to the fin del road National Park for the second attempt, this one successful.
Back into town, we made another stop at the new Ushuaia sign which attracts tourists like a dead horse attracts blowies. Cindy did the usual and parked highly illegally, and the pressure was on to clear the crowds before someone in authority turned up.
A bit of dinner and a proper Pisco Sour at the Irish Pub and the momentous day was done. Only north from there didn’t start terribly well on Day 19, it was raining and bloody cold. Everything that could be jammed under suits, helmets, and gloves was jammed. It started off miserable but by the time we hit the snow line up at the pass it felt like fin del los dedos, or end of the fingers. 1°C in the rain isn’t much fun.
The stop at Tolhuin could not have come earlier, and at least the rain eased off a little afterward. We pushed on to the South Atlantic proper at Rio Grande for a refuel, and then off to the quick border crossing back into Chile, a complete reversal of Day 17.
Warmed and lunched on the Argentinian side, we headed west which was OK. Then the road turns due north for about 70km, and this was not OK. We’d thought the 80kmh wind in Patagonia up around Rio Mayo was bad, but that was a mild breeze compared with the 90-95kmh gusting crosswinds we experienced on this section, which are truly terrifying. Travelling at 80kmh near the middle of the road, a vicious gust pushed me halfway across the lane, then another vicious gust pushed me to the edge; for a second I was riding at about 30° lean along the painted line on the edge which drops off into loose gravel, praying that there wouldn’t be another gust. Then luckily a truck went past me, and I was sucked back into the middle of the lane. There is nothing that can be done but to just hang on and press on, stopping is out of the question. Luckily it had calmed a little by the time we got into Hat Hill, and it was a very happy group that arrived back into the same hotel. The winds were so strong that the ferry had been closed, and stories of people waiting for it to re-open while cowering behind any solid object – a parked truck was actually blown over.
Day 20 was a transition from west to east, for a long time now we would be on the Atlantic coast. Up and using a card to scrape ice off the seat, we headed to the ferry, which had re-started operation at around midnight. Neatly queued and trying to find a 34mm socket to adjust JC’s 850GS very loose chain amongst the plethora of trucks, we watched the ferry drive past to a different ramp, causing a minor panic as we chased it down the coast. The payment system was understood now so no dramas getting off at the other end, and heading to the east at the T-junction the 40-odd km to the border with Argentina, our 4th crossing from Chile.
I won’t become all waffly about riding Days 20, 21, and 22 over 1,400km. The assumption that treeless Patagonia is on the western side of the continent was taken behind the woodpile, and like Ol’ Yella, humanely put down. At least there are mountains that side, there ain’t nuttin’ on the eastern side. Fortunately it remained bloody cold and windy just to remind us that we had a long way to go as we motored to San Julian the first night, Comodoro Rivadavia the second, and blessedly a day’s rest near the end of Patagonia at Puerto Madryn. It was a happy time for Scott and Gina however, their R1200GSA motorcycle finally caught up with us after being held up in just about every town in North and South America, their hire bike was returned via Punta Arenas.
While the riding was fairly uninteresting, an item of interest in Argentina notably on the eastern side is the focus on Islas Malvinas, the Falkland Islands. There is still a strong belief that the islands are Argentina’s, and every town has memorials and statues and displays with the map of the islands a constant picture everywhere. The most bizarre sign in Ushuaia on our visit in 2015 said that the Malvinas local by-laws must be obeyed according to Argentinian law when out there, even though they aren’t Argentina’s. A bit like the UK saying their London City council by-laws apply for people visiting New York.
Puerto Madryn was settled by the Welsh, luckily their language didn’t survive in the New World as we were already struggling enough with Spanish. We did a tour on our free day out to the still fairly barren Valdes Peninsula, which at certain times of the year has Killer Whales, Elephant Seals, and miscellaneous other wildlife. We went to the north-east point and down south to Puerto Piramides to check out the Sea Lion groups, not terribly much action happening, but we did luckily see some interesting land animals – the Big Hairy (not kidding) Armadillo, and the Mara, a weird looking giant Patagonian rodent which prefers sandy and low shrub environments. Like Western Australians.
So what may seem to the reader we randomly call Puerto Madryn and Day 23 the end of Part 2, in fact the very next day we leave Patagonia and start poking into the Pampas. A reason for us all to take a break from lugging ourselves and our stuff back up the continent.
travellingbennetts 