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When we can’t find them at any of the campgrounds we head into town and spot their bikes parked on the footpath outside the tourist information office. We’d know their bikes anywhere, two old KTMs, covered in stickers of the countries they’ve visited.
Sure enough, there are our two dear friends engaged in conversation with the lady behind the counter. Bernd has lost more hair since we last saw him, and his bushy red beard’s gone, but we’d recognise his smiling, round face anywhere. Heidi wouldn’t look out of place serving steins of beer or riding her bike. We just stand to one side, waiting for them to spot us. Heidi feels our presence and glances our way. There are lots of shrieks, hugs and tears. It’s just fantastic to be with them again.
We hardly draw breath as we walk around town together. Bernd and Heidi have met up with some other young travellers — Christian and Nicole, who are travelling the world in a Land Rover camper, and Jens and Kati, riding on their BMW 800s. Christian was a banker before he and Nicole sold up everything and took to the road in their specially designed Land Rover. He doesn’t like admitting he was a banker because of the ribbing he gets about funding their trip. Jens and Kati are also young professionals who turned their backs on good careers to travel.
We strike up an instant rapport. There’s no age barrier. We’re just overlanders together.
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After dinner we join everyone at the campground and have a great time sitting around the camp kitchen sharing a wine and some good conversation. We take our leave about 11.00 pm, a late night for us. Riding home, Brian gets whimsical about wanting to camp — again. Oh, brother. Give me a hotel room anytime. Bernd and Heidi’s tent is very small. No luxury here.
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In true German tradition, Christmas is celebrated on Christmas Eve. A tree is decked out with homemade decorations and empty beer cans. Travelling in a car, Nicole and Christian have extra space so they even have Santa hats. It’s all very festive.
It’s already Christmas at home and we’re more than a little homesick, despite being surrounded by friends. We talk to Brian’s sons, Gavan and Stephen, on Skype and our good friend Phil, who’s hosting her family for Christmas lunch. We even get to see our dog, Jasper, who’s at Phil’s with her niece, Sonia who is house and animal sitting for us in Melbourne.
We feel a long way from home today.
Brian: Christmas Day dawns in Ushuaia and it’s a beautiful day. The sky’s clear and the sun’s shining. It’s a little windy, but not too bad.
We can’t think of a better way to spend the day than to visit the Tierra del Fuego National Park with Bernd, Heidi, Nicole and Christian.
Our first stop is the end of the road, literally. Ruta 3 ends at the water’s edge — the southernmost point in South America. We do the usual bike thing and put the bikes inside the barrier and take photos with the sign, before we walk to the furthermost point in Argentina.
This is a milestone. We’ve come as far south as we can in the Americas. Now we have to go to the northern most point in Alaska. The sign says it is 17,845 kilometres away. That in itself could be a bit daunting, but it will be a lot further for us. We won’t just take the Pan American Highway. We’ll zigzag our way north, visiting sights on the way.
Photo op done, we ride to the banks of Laguna Verde — the green lagoon, which isn’t really green — for a picnic lunch. We all contribute to a fine feast of bread, ham, cheese, salami, Christmas cake and sweet crostini.
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Earlier in the year, just before they left for this trip, Bernd and Heidi got married so we take them out to an asado restaurant in town to celebrate. The asado here is the traditional lamb — a whole lamb, butterflied and stretched over a rack. The racks are placed in a pyramid shape over an open fire to slow roast the meat. It’s delicious.
Ushuaia is home to scores of street dogs. One is watching through the window as the chef carves off chunks of lamb for us. He then cuts off the bone and walks through the restaurant with it. The dog follows him along the footpath, watching him through every window and is sitting at the front door wagging his tail by the time the chef gets there. I know Shirl finds the lot of the street dogs disturbing. This act of kindness pleases her.
Once he gets the bone, the dog moves a little way down the path and enjoys his feast. Another dog sits and waits. When the first dog finishes he rushes in and takes the bone away with him. There seems to be a pecking order.
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Christmas and New Year give me a chance to do some much-needed maintenance on the bike. The bike’s idling roughly, which to me is a sure sign that the air filter needs a bloody good clean after the dust we’ve experienced on Ruta 40 and some of the other dirt roads heading south. I’ve fitted a K & N re-usable filter and I’m sure it’s chock-a-block full of crap.
Luckily Christian has some K & N filter cleaner in the Land Rover and we use water to get out the easy stuff, then the filter cleaner for a much deeper clean. It must sit for about ten minutes to penetrate the fine silk membranes. Bernd and I take it to the washroom and run water through it. Enough dirt comes out of it to build a sandcastle that would please any child. No wonder the bike has been wheezing a bit.
Shirley: New Year’s Eve and we’re planning to celebrate again at the campground. An Australian couple have arrived at the campground, Owaine and Hannah. He’s a bit of a hippy who says cooking a good asado is an art form and boasts that he’s learned the skills from the locals during his months travelling around South America. He could be setting himself up for a fall, but because of his claims of expert status we let him choose the meat and cook our New Year’s Eve feast.
Owaine explains the secret to a good asado revolves around the fire and the coals. He lights the fire outside of the grill area. As the coals are generated he pushes them under grill. The secret, he says, is in the heat of the coals: ‘If you can’t leave your hand near the meat for five seconds it’s too hot.’
When it’s too hot he drags the coals away. When it’s too cool he pushes the coals back. The meat is cooked slowly and to perfection.
Owaine and Hannah also come up with an unusual sangria made with some sweet wine, rum, Tang (yep, Tang — it seems to be a favourite in Ushuaia and the supermarket has about ten flavours of the stuff), soda water, orange juice, oranges and lemons. It’s actually quite tasty.
A pannier filled with ice acts as an esky. Good food, cold drinks and a bonfire are just the ingredients to see the New Year in.
As the countdown to midnight begins the campground manager invites everyone into the lounge for mulled wine. The place is rocking by the time the clock strikes 12.
The party is showing no sign of slowing and nor am I. Brian has the good sense to drag me home about 1 o’clock. It’s a smart move. When we get home there’s a party going on in the foyer. Brian shows even more good sense by insisting we go up to our room and NOT Skype our friends at home. Thank goodness there’s one grown up in our group.
Not everyone can say they’ve spent the end of the year at the bottom of the world.
Now we begin our journey to Alaska.
Brian: The next morning I want us to get to Rio Gallagos by the night and this means two border crossings — one into Chile and then another back into Argentina for the ride up the east coast.
Bernd and Heidi are marvellous people and saying goodbye to them gets harder every time. I shed a tear. Bernd is a kindred spirit. We both love life on the road without the expectations society places on us. He’s like a brother. As we ride out of town I know Shirl is crying inside her helmet.
The road out of town is sealed all the way to the San Sebastian border crossing. As we near Rio Grande the wind is bloody awful — situation normal.
At the border we’re confronted by a seething mass of humanity. There are people everywhere and the queue to get into the immigration and customs area snakes through the foyer, up the stairs, down the ramp, then back up the stairs and down the ramp again before another run up the stairs
and along the corridor into the customs hall.
We’ve been lucky up until now with very few delays at borders. We’ve heard horror stories of travellers spending hours at border crossings but this is our first slow one. Holiday time in Argentina is the same as holiday time in Australia — people are on the move. It takes us just over two hours to clear the border.
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On the dirt road to Cerro Sombrero the rear tyre warning light comes on. We’ve got a flat and it’s a beauty. The sensor shows the tyre is only holding four pounds pressure. It’s windy, it’s cold and it’s dusty. I do have a compressor but I need to find the hole in the tyre and repair it before I can pump it up again. I pour some of our water on the tyre but still can’t find the hole. We’re in trouble.
Shirley: A little beat up car slows, pulls up and reverses back to us. A local man with his wife and two young daughters has stopped to see if he can help. He doesn’t speak English but his daughter, who’s about 11-years-old, speaks a little English and with my baby Spanish we find out each other’s names and where we’re from.
He offers us more water and tries to find the hole in the tyre. Then he produces a can of spray foam that we could use to fill the tyre. This is good for car tyres but we really need to find the hole and plug it. It’s decided, using a lot of sign language, that we should take the tyre to Cerro Sombrero. Brian doesn’t think that’s such a good idea. Who knows what would be left of the bike if we take the wheel and leave it here on the side of the road.
The next solution is for me to get a lift into town and find a tow truck. The girls squeeze over in the back seat to make room for me. In town we stop at the petrol station where the man explains the predicament. The petrol station man rings the tow truck driver and the tyre man but they’re not answering their phones.
We all pile back in the car to find them. The tow-truck man is also the local mechanic and he’s at his workshop fixing someone’s car. The tyre man is at home but his workshop is shut. None of this seems to be a problem. The tow-truck man drops his tools and gets the tow truck. The tyre man will open up and fix the tyre today. I go to thank my saviour. I don’t know whether to offer him money, but before I can even find out his name he kisses me on both cheeks, gives me a hug and pushes me towards the tow-truck. I wave goodbye to his daughters and jump in the truck.
The toothless tow truck driver knows where to go. I try to chat with him in broken Spanish but it’s obviously too much. He turns the radio up to stop me talking.
Brian: While Shirl’s been gone I’ve used the compressor to pump up the tyre and ride until the tyre goes flat and then pump it up again. I’ve gone about four kilometres and still can’t find the hole. I’m relieved to see the tow truck pull up. It has a sling to put around the bike and lift it off the road. I can see Shirl’s stressed by this, but it’ll be fine.
I load the luggage in the front of the tow truck and some on the tray. I jump on the back, wearing my helmet — just in case. I want to try and stop the bike from rubbing too much. I must be quite a sight.
We get over the eight kilometres of dirt and the five kilometres of sealed road to the hosteria where we drop the luggage off. It’s now after 5.00 pm. We won’t be heading out of here tonight, even if the tyre is fixed.
The tyre man opens up his shop and we take the bike off the sling. It takes less than half an hour to patch the tyre and put it back on the rim. A very sharp stone had gone right through it. Our service and new tyres in Buenos Aires can’t come soon enough.
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We head back to the hosteria and spot a couple of motorcycles heading up the road. It’s Jens and Kati. We didn’t realise we’d be seeing them so soon.
We have a very funny night. Jens and Kati spent several months riding around Australia before they came to South America. Their first experience of an Australian accent came when they were trying to find out about compulsory insurance for their bikes. They thought the best place to start was at the police station. Jens had been learning English for eight years but the policeman’s accent was so broad they couldn’t understand a word he was saying. It was like he was speaking another language. Jens had to ask him to write down the directions and was worried he’d never be able to speak to Australians if they all spoke like the policeman.
Shirley: Jens and Kati are heading up to the glaciers and we’re heading across to the east coast of Argentina so we say goodbye. They hope to get to Alaska later in the year so we might catch up with them again then.
Our plan is to get to Tres Cerros and the Petrified Forest today. There’s a service station with a motel about 50 kilometres from the forest that’ll do us for the night. We can visit the forest in the morning and then head to Peninsula Valdez.
We haven’t travelled that far from Ushuaia but the weather has really warmed up. It’s in the mid-30s, which makes riding unpleasant. We get to Tres Cerros and there isn’t a hotel room in town. There goes our visit to the forest. When Bernd and Heidi were here they camped at the back of the police station. This sets Brian off on his ‘we should have camping gear’ tangent. Yeah, right.
We ride another 130 kilometres to Fitz Roy. It’s booked out. We go through smaller towns that don’t seem to have hotels at all. We end up at Caleta Olivia, a larger beachside resort. It’s around 8.00 pm and still light, thank goodness. The first hotel we try is booked out. We then try the GPS and see Hotel Robert. Brian tells me to get a room, no matter what the cost. He’s definitely over it today.
The hotel has a 2-star room for about $70, which is fine. It’s a bed and a shower. We’ve ridden 900 kilometres today with a border crossing back into Argentina. That’s a bloody big day.
We should have thought about this being the first week of January. Of course the beach towns are full. It’s holiday time. It’s like going for a ride to the beaches in Australia and wondering why you can’t get a room. Maybe we do need camping gear.
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After the horrendous day yesterday riding along the Atlantic coast is delightful, with a cool sea breeze. We both feel a lot better about life on the road. We feel so good we decide to visit the Punto Tombo Magallenic penguins. Even though the heat is debilitating and we’re shagged we make the effort to wander through the rookery. It’s hot work in bike pants and boots. This is a weird experience seeing the little birds in this heat. They’re under trees and in hollowed burrows in the sand, waiting for their mates to come back from the sea with some food for the babies.
It’s a long way from the sub-zero temperatures the penguins enjoy in Antarctica.
We love a boat trip and can’t resist taking an inflatable out to the sea lion colony off the coast of Puerto Madryn. You only need to see the males to work out why they’re called sea lions.
Brian: The ride into Buenos Aires is a lot easier than we expect. Being a Saturday the traffic is pretty light as we negotiate the main drag into the heart of the city, the colossal Avenue 9 de Julio. It’s said to be the widest street in the world and it takes a couple of changes of lights to get across it on foot. To ride it we need to make sure we’re in the right lane well before we have to make a turn. From the centre to the edge are nine lanes. Thank goodness for the GPS. It gets us to our hotel without a hitch.
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It’s time for a break off the bike. To get our bearings we do a city bus tour that takes us to all sides of the city — from ritzy suburbs like Palermo to the area around the La Boca where we’re warned not to wander away from the main streets. This is where local artists live and ply their wares from brightly painted houses and galleries. And also where pick pockets flourish.
The nature of the Argentinean soccer fans is highlighted at La Boca. The team’s main rival, the River Plate, wear the colours red and white. La Boca’s main sponsor is Coca Cola and all their signage at the ground is in black and white rather than the corporate colours of red and white. No red and white is allowed at La Boca!
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Refreshed after a day of sightseeing, we battle the traf
fic to sort out a service for the bike at the legendary Dakar Motos, run by salt of the earth couple Javier and his wife, Sandra. They say their business is ‘created by bike lovers for bike lovers’.
It’s a normal work day so Avenue 9 de Julio is teeming with traffic. Negotiating it and the city’s system of by-passes, freeways and tollways is a little tricky and stressful. We get bamboozled, even with the GPS, and end up going on and off the tollway and then back on again when we miss a turn.
Eventually we find Dakar Motos in a tiny, leafy street in the suburbs. Plenty of travellers begin or end their South American odysseys here. Javier is big, powerful man who’s ridden many of the roads we’re travelling. Sandra, his very glamorous Mrs Fix-It wife, helps travellers through the bureaucratic maze of shipping bikes in and out of the country. They even offer a bed and a hot shower. Their generosity to total strangers is a lesson to us all.
There’s no rushing to get things done here. Everything works on Argentinean time. There are breaks to chat with friends, or sip on a Mate (pronounced mar-tay), the herbal tea concoction that so many constantly drink in this part of the world. It’s an acquired taste that we don’t acquire.
Javier changes the tyre by hand, using the side stand of another bike to break the bead, then three tyre levers. Putting the tyre on is a real struggle, and it takes Javier, his son and I wrestling tyre levers to get it mounted in the correct position.
I also want the final drive oil changed. While the back wheel is off it’s a fairly simple process of draining the oil and then refilling through the fill hole mounted behind the disc brake rotor. The issue is, and I stress this with Javier, the final drive must not be overfilled. It takes 180 millilitres of fully synthetic diff oil only. There have been problems with rear diff seals blowing and I’ve suffered four. I reckon it’s because there’s no breather on the final drive and a build up of pressure under heat and load causes the seal to burst. I have a 20 millilitres syringe and extension tube with me. It’s a long, slow process.
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