Patagonia, Day 8 - Perito Moreno to the middle of nowhere

Ruta 40. Ruta 40. And more Ruta 40. South. Long, straight, looong sections. Arrow straight in places, but where it crosses rivers or small valleys, it sweeps in wide, long arcs that go on forever; feels like 180 degrees. As we stream along, realising the potential of the bikes' engines, in the distance, kms ahead, you can see the heat haze on the road bending images from things further away. Car headlights are especially spectacular as you see the headlights and their reflection, even in the midday sun.

The landscape is predominantly flat and unending. It's only when you leave Europe do you realise how big the World is, and here it's certainly big. We travel for over 200km like this, stopping only for a quick coffee and fuel after 100km and then again for lunch by a river bank, before we turn off for more gravelly girations. 

Lunch stop - time to relax

At lunch we take the opportunity for a group photo with all the bikes, lined up and us puting on our best poses. Then it's 30km to our stop for the night, La Angostura ranch. It's in the middle of nowhere, set in a valley, sheltered from the wind and all forms of communication bar satellite TV (which we don't see) and road (gravel track).

View over the ranch

Previously a station for sheep farming, the ranch now caters for tourists as a hostel/hotel and camping ground. The interior is decorated with paraphernalia from generations past, old pictures, belts, maps, arrowheads and 78rpm LPs; it has lots of character. On the floor is the pelt of a puma, which must be 1.5m long, not including the tail. This is from the area and was shot locally. In the shearing shed there must be ten to 15 more hanging along with sheep pelts and some strange animal none of us can identify; looks like something out of the X-Files. The owners say that they are paid 80 dollars for each big cat kill. Seems a shame that animals like this have to be killed, but as they prey on the farmed sheep the farmers pay top dollar to stop that happening. The cougars are protected in the national parks, but here they are targets. Man and nature just can't coexist.

Camping in the grounds is another group of bikers and before dinner the two biker gangs square up against each other, armed with chains and big spanners, ready for a punch-up. Just kidding. In reality, while I'm typing this blog (on a real keyboard this time) Danny and Duff are discussing cooking, roast dinners and baking; while in-between Danny is reading about growing a herb garden. Bikers are such a hard bunch.

One of the other group's bikes - shipped from Europe

The other group lost a man yesterday. Rescue teams armed with their huge antenna'd 5MHz radios were out looking for him all night and today. He turned up safe and sound after falling and being able to pick up his bike from a gulley. They don't have a sweeper, hence he wasn't missed until the evening. Our system is better, and safer.

Dinner will be a huge barbie, but Ay ney ken whether there will be any fish or eggs. The roast lamb smells great. The sun is shining and it is a very pleasant evening. It's really windy here and it's like that most days, but that's great for drying clothes and I've rinsed out me smalls and they dried in no time on the bike's luggage rack.

No wifi here, or cellular signal, but so far, no one has the jitters. The strange thing is, we've reverted to talking.

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Sent from the dusty road using my rusty BlackBerry