Patagonia..... and then there was one

Last leg of my journey home and I said my goodbyes to Mark at Madrid airport - two grown men with beards hugging in the business lounge must be an unusual sight!

Relatively short flight ahead, 2hrs vs the 12 from Santiago (another bum massage needed - not that I got one the first time you understand!).

This will be the final post for this trip (unless I feel an urge to review the 1200GS I rode there, and maybe one about what made Biker Dom), so I'll wrap-up a few points.

Thanks to all my buddies for giving me another head full of fantastic memories. I met some good new friends Ray, Graham, Tpong and AJ, and caught up with old friends, Cory, Steve, Danny, Gerard, Brett, Hugo, Mick, Mark and Christopher. Duff I think deserves a special mention for putting up with my messiness over the last few weeks; my 'stuff' managed to fill more than my fair share of each room we occupied. And he put up with my random music choices played through my 'monkey' speaker during the evenings and mornings, not to mention the dancing and prancing; I'm sure he'll never be able to listen to Shania Twain in the same way again!

Our trip to Patagonia has been less of an adventure trip and more of a group tour as it primarily consisted of good quality tarmac; sure we had gravel, but on well prepared bases. Previous trips have shown we are capable of dealing with more technical conditions and all of us have become better riders since then. We've covered 4200km (me 4300km because of the day ride in Ushuaia), which is way more than any of our other journeys. But those trips were generally shorter, eight to 12 days rather than the 16 of this trip.

So what constitutes an adventure trip? Well, we discussed this briefly during the weeks and decided an impromptu yardstick is that hotels with wifi and mostly well made roads signify a tour, while tents and/or remoteness from wifi and a significantly higher off-road content qualify as adventures. That would be all the previous trips then. This was still immensely enjoyable but in a different way. In my mind one thing that pointed firmly at tour rather than adventure was that the bikes were too good (give or take a 650cc twin). Take my 1200GS, which was the very latest model; it often meant I was on 'tippy toes' to avoid dropping the bike whereas faster would have actually been more appropriate and safer. The other bikes were also mostly in good condition and we faced hefty bills for ANY damage we caused. This is because MotoAventuraChile run a tight ship to cater for the US riders who expect and demand a higher standard and are prepared to pay for it. Personally I prefer rough and ready bikes with character and some 'history', ie a few dents here and there.

So, the flight's about to land, hopefully my bike will still be at the airport for Biker Dom's 'tour' back to Waterloo. Can't wait to say "Honey, I'm Home!". Yes, I've had a few hard days.

Thanks for reading....... Until next time! ;-)

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Patagonia, Day 17 - trip over, the return to reality

The anticipated late start didn't materialise as we agreed to all meet at 7am for breakfast and goodbyes to those on the early flight. Group hugs, and with the first few gone, most of us had a few hours to kill before we had to leave. Except Steve and Gerard who had planned to stay an extra day to do some penguin watching, only, they already did that. And the alternative whale watching tours had been cancelled due to bad weather (although it was ok here). Several calls to tourist info places yesterday drew blanks to other options. So, Punta Arenas was their oyster for the day and ours for the morning.

Fun packed it was not. Punta Arenas is basically closed on Sundays and after seeing the very unusual cemetery (multi-storey graves), the local supermarket and a walk through the town (statue of Fernando Magellan), the bitter wind got the better of me and I sought refuse back at the hotel. Some of the others had coffee and churros at a burger place, and then found a chocolate cafe to while away the minutes. We all met back at the hotel for 1pm when the next group was due to leave.

Multi-storey graves in the Municipal Cemetery

Fernando de Magellanes

More hugs, slaps on back, etc and we too were off to the airport, leaving Gerard, Steve, Christopher and Tpong to entertain themselves with all Punta Arenas has to offer on a Sunday. Which is not much as even the local museum is closed until Tuesday. Enjoy the wind and rain boys!

Huge queues at the airport with only three desks open and self check-in machines crashed, but Mark, Duff, Brett and I made our flight. It's not left yet; hopefully Mark and I will arrive at Santiago in time for our early connection to Madrid.....

The trip is definitely over. Back to reality.

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Patagonia, Day 16 - Cerro Sombrero to Punta Arenas the end of the tour

The ferry to the mainland was a relative short ride from our hotel in Cerro Sombrero, which incidentally I rode around briefly last night to see what's there; basically nothing. Dwellings and satellite dishes, radio masts and administration offices, but no shops or things to do. There is a school, I suppose that's a start. It's a town to service the oil/gas industry, and that's it.

At the ferry 'terminal' we wait beside a long queue of trucks. The ferry only has space for four or maybe six trucks, plus the equivalent length of cars and bikes, so I wonder whether we'll get on this time. We do, which is fortunate, because the one ferry takes about an hour to do the round trip. This time we don't see dolphins, but instead penguins popping up to the surface briefly before disappearing beneath the waves. Everyone scans the sea to spot the next one. From the shore, dark shadows in the sea could be whales, but from a better vantage point on the ship, they're just big clumps of seaweed. The sky is blue, but there's a biting wind again; people around here must be hardy folk.

On terra firma we're straight onto tarmac and away. There follows another quick blast into Punta Arenas battling the cross winds. The relatively flat and featureless terrain, and without trees, means that the wind has nothing to stop it or reduce its force; the land is consequently windswept and bleak. The cross winds were tough to deal with, on the long straights they'd push you sideways so that you're constantly riding at an angle to perpendicular, but the gusts meant that you have to constantly correct and your neck muscles get a real work out. And when a big articulated lorry passes in the opposite direction you get first the blast of its own shockwave, then a very brief respite from the cross wind, before a double hit of its wake and the renewed cross wind. Unless you're expecting it, it's a real shock and almost knocks you off.

There's a different mood in the group today, sombre almost. Of course, we're all in wind-down mode, thinking about the end of the trip, the potential big bills at bike handover, and the work awaiting us back in the real world. And soon it is over: we stop for lunch, pizzas etc, and then head to the garage in the rain that stated during lunch (we've been in dry conditions for so long it feels strange). But before lunch, I savour a few last moments on the run into town on the liquid cooled 1200GS; the exhaust note has become addictive. Winding on the throttle in 2nd/3rd or 4th gear at lowish speed results in a gloriously deep burble, following through to a throaty rasp as the speed increases, and now I notice that the traction control light is flickering; and this is dry tarmac. This bike wants to fly! And it did briefly at moments during the trip, I'm sure it enjoyed it as much as me.

At lunch, AJ is already planning his next trip, Columbia he thinks, as it will help him improve his Spanish further and he hears it's a nice country. Cory mentions other ideas, Gerard and Hugo have Alaska to Ushuaia in mind - but that's a huge trip and not one done in a few weeks. Steve and a few others have their own plans in mind. As a group, some of us have already booked to ride to Everest basecamp in 2016; we're greatly anticipating a return to the mountains that brought us all together: the mighty Himalayas. New stills and action camera required for sure.

The garage assesses any damage our bikes have incurred during the trip and Mark, as expected, gets bill shock. USD 1300 for a new front wheel.

Just one of Mark's five dings in a wheel made of cheese

Ray and Brett also have damage, but an order of magnitude lower. And me, I have incurred a USD 60 bill thanks to Sandra, whose firm rear end has managed to wear a hole into the paint of the GS mudguard. All those hours in the duck gym have not been wasted then. Considering the terrain and what the bike had to suffer at my hands, 60 dollars is a small price to pay, and the rear tyre is definitely chewed to bits - the GS itself is a tough old bird, like Sandra Duck, perhaps even Biker Dom proof!

Biker Dom proof, but maybe not Sandra Duck proof

New tyre

Tyre after 4300km and a "thug's" abusive right wrist

Christopher and Tpong have printed for each of us, the group shot photo taken at the End of the World, and we all get to sign them with abusive comments during dinner. I'm sure we'll all have fun reading them soon and in years to come. Mine will be on the office wall when I get back, and I expect to have to explain to bemused continental Europeans what some of the abuse means!

My flight leaves at 3pm tomorrow and I hope to enjoy a lie in for the first time in almost three weeks.

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Patagonia, Day 15 - Ushuaia and back to Cerro Sobrero

Leaving Ushuaia, we see a reminder of why there are still tensions with the UK.  We've had no trouble, but this is the first trip I've not carried a Union Jack somewhere.

A tribute to the veterans and those lives lost on the Belgrano 

The Malvinas (Falkland Islands) are Argentine

A quick blast north on Ruta 3, stopping for coffee again in Tolhuin, then on to Rio Grande for a return visit to the empanada shop. Duff's bike overheated just after leaving Ushuaia, so it's now on the back of the trailer and Duff is riding shotgun in the truck. What with his headlight bulb, puncture, leaking radiator, and now the terminal overheating, Duff is now officially our champion bike killer - taking the crown from Mark.

Duff, the champion

The last border crossing was just another tarmac run away, and with Argentina now behind us, I can now reveal that Jeremy Clarkson was travelling with us incognito and he was pictured next to the welcome to Argentina sign! Maybe that explains Biker Dom's enthusiastic throttle wrist? "More POWER!"

Look who was welcome in Argentina

We divert west from the road to Cerro Sombrero and visit Pinguino Rey to see penguins in their natural habitat. En route Ray manages to hit a fox that dashed out in front of him. The fox is killed instantly, its guts splashed on the gravel, and Ray is lucky not to be dashed and splashed himself. Fortunately fortune favours the speedy and his angular momentum keeps him on track. Luckily Sandra Duck had her eyes closed.

After we pay our $25 entry fee, the penguins are pleased to see us, cackling like aliens in an unknown language. There's a group of about 30 spaced apart, definitely not enjoying the heat. Yesterday saw 100kph winds, but today is still and the sun beats down without respite. The penguins are not used to the heat, so occasionally they dip into the fresh water pond that separates us from them to cool off.

Hot, but not sweaty

About to take a dip to cool off

Normally they would swim in the ocean to cool off rather than the fresh water, but in the distance we can see why they choose not to today. The orcas are in town and they like nothing more than a tasty penguin to feed on. We can see their venting plumes as they surface and empty their lungs. It's a bonus for us to see them as well as the penguins.

Orca plume in the distance

Another long day today with 430km covered. Tomorrow we go back to the mainland and on to Punta Arenas, where we return the bikes and take sharp intakes of breath as we have them assessed for damage.....

Pics at http://bikerdom.blogspot.com

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Patagonia, Day 14 - around Ushuaia and finally to the End of the World

A quick 30km west from Ushuaia lies the Parque National Tierra del Fuego, and within this national park is the End of the World. Not literally of course, otherwise I'd not be writing this, and you'd not be reading it.

Ushuaia is the World's most southerly town, except if you count the small settlement of Port William just across the Beagle Channel. And in fact the End of the World even further south, is not even the end of the South America, as beyond that are a group of islands separated by only the narrow Beagle Channel. So what's at the 'End of the World'? Well a pretty cool national park with lovely views and nature, and the World's most southerly post office, where you can buy all sorts of souvenirs, and even get your passport stamped. Many of us did - we've officially been to the "End of the World" (fyi, last page in my passport, natch).

Passport stamp from the End of the World

It's also the end of Ruta 3 the World's southern most highway, which is dirt/gravel for the section from Ushuaia. So you get the theme, End of the World, most southerly this and that.

A view from within the national park

But, we're around 54.5deg South; to put this into perspective Middlesborough is around 55deg North. So, we are at around the same latitude south as Middlesborough (in the UK) is north; hardly worth shouting about. But it's significantly colder than Middlesborough. Here it's late summer, and a few weeks ago they had snow. In reality the UK and Europe are incredibly mild for their latitudes, so the next time you moan about the weather in Brussels, London, Manchester, Glasgow or Barnoldswick: consider yourself lucky!

Wending our way back to Ushuaia (yes, I've been to the End of the World and back to write this blog) we stop of for a quick lunch before a free afternoon; at which point the group harmony appears to disintegrate and we mostly go separate ways in smaller groups. Not sure why, but there you go. Gerard, Hugo and Graham take the low road south east along the coast; Danny, Steve, Ray and I take the high road east into the mountains before then turning south to the coast. Mark goes chasing pain killers for his hand, and Duff chases a few beers as he's knackered his bike (the warning lights finally come on), which AJ and Cory fix. Mick and Brett were AWOL on other unknown adventures.

Our group took the long option, back up Ruta 3 and then turning right onto Ruta J. Following this winding gravel road in the valleys for 30 or so km takes you to the coast again, with sea views or mountain views inland. Very pretty. Across the Beagle Channel we can see Port William in Chile; where we are, is probably the most southern point we've reached on this trip.
 

A view looking North from the most southerly point we reached

It gets very windy here!

On the way back we take a detour to another small village; we see a small navel outpost and wave at a local, who reciprocates. The ride back on Ruta 3 is entertaining as the car drivers seem to want to race Ray. They are locals who know the roads but Ray defends the honour of two wheels admirably, and they toot their appreciation as Ray slows to on the way into town.

We dip briefly into Ushuaia for dinner each evening and pass through it on the way to the End of the World; it's surprisingly thriving, much more so than I expected. I guess the reason is the oil/gas industries and tourism; there are plenty of outdoor activities to amuse and the port is busy receiving tour ships. There's also a strong sense of loyalty to Argentina and connection with the Falkland Islands. Apparently many of the Belgrano crew were from this area. No wonder Clarkson was run out of town.

Tomorrow, we're leaving, but of our own accord! Back into Chile and we're planning to visit a penguin colony, before going back to Cerro Sombrero.

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Patagonia, Day 13 - Cerro Sombrero to the End of the World, almost.

Today was a mix of dirt and tarmac, taking us all the way to the Argentine border. The landscape has been very flat since we landed, so the ride was not particularly exciting. Tierra del Fuego is an island about the size of Belgium, shared between Chile and Argentina, rather like Haiti and the Dominican Republic. The Argentine side is on the East and is mostly flat, except in the south. You cannot reach it by land, except by passing though Chile.

At Chilean immigration and customs we were misdirected by a bossy coach driver, who we thought was an official, and ended up stuck behind his coach load of tourists. But once clear of that, we moved swiftly onto the Argentine entry procedure, which didn't take too long.

Duff managed to get a small leak in his radiator, which left a small puddle wherever he parked. Doesn't seem to have caused the bike any problems yet. Radweld should sort it - if we can find any.

The Argentine side of Tierra del Fuego seems to be more developed than the Chilean side and the first big town we meet is Rio Grande, complete with prison. It seems relative affluent with neat houses and fancy cars, but somehow we end up in a more modest part of town for lunch. Still, the empanadas were nice.

On to Ushuaia via Ruta 3 and just before the road starts to pass through the mountains., we stop for a coffee in a cafe in Tolhuin. It seems to be a famous place as there are photos of Argentine celebrities pictured there, adorning the walls. The coffee is ok and there's free wifi; but only upstairs. After that there follows another magical stream of bends and curves to throw the bikes into, interspersed with some fine views of the lakes and valleys they snake around. One unusual aspect about Ruta 3 are the regular police checkpoints we have to pass through. We slow for these and are usually waved through, but at one, Hugo is given a warning about speeding. He claims it's a general warning for all bikers, but we only have his word on that.

View from Ruta 3, heading into Ushuaia

Then it's down into Ushuaia. The entry to the town is between two 15m high towers emblazoned with the town's name. With the mountain backdrop, it's another nice photo op. It was our longest ride today at 430km.

We made it to Ushuaia!

Ushuaia is a port town, that is immediately obvious. First impressions are that it is a busy little town. There seem to be many small cars with big exhausts and noisy stereos. We're here for two nights so a fuller description tomorrow.

Tomorrow is the End of the World. For sure this time.

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Patagonia, Day 12 - Puenta Natales to Cerro Sombrero

During the night we could hear Hurricane Hernandez raging outside out hotel and inside our wooden room was creaking with every gust. We emerged to total devastation. Or at least that's what I expected; in reality it was just another windy night in Patagonia, everything was normal.

Breakfast was a lacklustre affair, but fuel is fuel and at least the sun was shining and it wasn't too cold. But it was VERY windy. Once again we found ourselves riding extended periods leaned over to counter the strong crosswind. It was nice when we changed direction to have the wind behind us and it became eerily quiet apart from the now under stressed engine virtually idling beneath us.

Turning off from the tarmac we ran a very long mostly straight gravel road stint across the plains for about 130km.

Gerard on a loooong gravel road

You'd think riding long straights would be boring, but far from it, it's a challenge every metre. Every stone, every dip, every mound of gravel alters your course so you have to keep your wits about you to stay on track and upright. Lose concentration for even a moment and you risk coming a cropper, especially with the cross wind throwing you around; it was quite a challenge. Mark had a minor fall on a downhill bend as he faced two choices: brake, lock and fall; or barrel over the edge of the road and into a ditch. Steve pointed out the obvious other choice: just go round the corner! Shortly afterwards, brain fade turned to brake fade as he came in hot and almost piled into Mick at our crossroad stop. He took it a bit easier after that.

Duff of the Patagonian Steppes

During this run across the gravel we had numerous sightings of llamas (guanacos), horses, sheep, and rheas. Often they would cross the road in front of us and we'd have to slow or stop. Sometimes even if they're off the road they'd jump about skittishly, so it's always safer to slow to let them do their thing. I slowed to a crawl for a rhea that trotted along in front of me for a while, which was very nice to watch. Then it jumped off sideways, ran into a fence, flopped about, feathers everywhere, before darting across the road again and into another fence.

Apart from these minor events we made good progress and enjoyed a hot lunch at a very pleased little roadside cafe. A group of 15 hungry bikers is a valuable addition to any catering establishment. A few km further and we reached the ferry to cross the Magellan Straits.

Welcome to the Magellan Straits

Waiting for the ferry

We had to wait a while to board, but the actual trip didn't take more than about 20 minutes. Looking over the side we could see small porpoises under the surface tracking the ferry. Occasionally they would jump out of the water through the boat's waves. Good photo opportunity.

On disembarking, we were now on the land of fire: Tierra del Fuego. In my youth, this was a low-key base for British special forces during the Falklands conflict and the place evokes memories of news stories about their heroics. No doubt in the next few days we'll hear more about that war, but hopefully without causing Top Gear style difficulties.

Before launching our own invasion of the island, we spend 30mins fixing Duff's puncture, which is longer than expected, but you can't get the staff these days!

Cory fixing Duff's puncture

Desolation and remoteness are key words to describe this place. On the road into Cerro Sombrero there are a number of parking spots with shelters and solar panels. They look like bus stops, but there's nothing around them and I mean nothing, so can't be bus stops. Their purpose is not clear. Steve and I went out for a run after checking in at the hotel, and looking back to town, you can see that outside the compact built up area there's nothing but open land, fields and hills - that maybe because there are still areas of Tierra del Fuego that are mined, a hangover from the Chile/Argentine border tensions. There's also a strong smell of gas in the air. A by-product of the area's main industry, gas and oil extraction.

Cerro Sombrero, not quite an oasis in the desert

After battling the winds all day, most of us are very tired and ache, so we have an early dinner and retire before 10pm - to watch flashback clips of WWF in the hotel lounge. Very sad.

Tomorrow we're off to the End of the World; we might not be back!

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Patagonia, Day 11 - El Calafate to Puerto Natales

Any brass monkeys riding with us today would have arrived looking highly embarrassed as the temperature on our route dropped to 4C. That particular low was after climbing into the hills above El Calafate where the temperature was 10C. Such was the cold that even our resident thermonuclear piles donned their thermal layers. Definitely not T-shirt and shorts weather.

With our early start, even the sun was struggling to get up as it hung low on the horizon and illuminated the powerlines making them look like dew covered spider webs. Once we'd finished climbing we were on a wide expansive plateau, and gradually the temperature rose a few degrees. This was Ruta 40. A road sign confirmed it and we stopped for pictures just to show that we had really been here.

The famous Argentine Ruta 40

With the Paparazzi chased away, we double backed a short distance to take a shortcut on a gravel road that probably saves 50km. Shortcuts are always fun, especially when they take you off the straight tarmac, but after 40km or so, the gravel fun was over and we re-emerged on Ruta 40 going south.

Refueling stop on Ruta 40

We refuelled at a petrol station where we met two French riders who had bought French registered bikes in French Guyana and had ridden down through Brazil and Argentina to Ushuaia and now were heading north to Santiago where they hoped to sell their bikes, but they were not optimistic as imports are illegal in Chile so were ready to write-off their purchases at rock bottom prices.. They could have purchased in Argentina, but at five times the price. I always admire self supported riders who tour like this, as they are genuine travellers not tourists or weekend warriors.

A French registered Honda -the bike of a proper adventurer

Yet another border crossing later and we're in Chile again after a quick lunch beforehand to finish off our perishables; no fruit/veg is allowed to be transported into Chile and all the border crossings have sniffer dogs to detect 'contraband'.

Chilean Special Forces expect our arrival

Into Chile and then entry to the Parque Nacional Torres del Paine a beautiful ancient volcanic landscape; rather like Dartmoor on steroids. Towering shear sided peaks characterise underground volcanic magma intrusions that have over the years been exposed by erosion (Mr Piercy taught me that). Unfortunately clouds obscured the views of the peaks. We stopped at the Salto Grande water falls to admire a powerful flow of water linking two lakes. Probably two leagues below Niagara, but still worth seeing. Shortly after I stop to take a picture and my bike is blown so hard by the wind that I cannot stop it falling over with me on it. I manage to control the fall, so no damage is done, but it really shows how windy it is here!

The waterfall at Salto Grande - ah', ah', ah', ahhh!

One of the famous 'Torres' shrouded in cloud

By now it was raining so we all had our wet weather gear on. The gravel roads felt more or less the same, and the GS scrabbled for grip in Enduro mode, traction control light flashing away coming out of corners. I followed AJ for a while until my road ran out on a corner. Fortunately, plenty of run-off into which my line could expand! AJ is obviously a very good rider on a well sorted bike and not an amateur on a oil tanker.

Rejoining the tarmac we traverse the last few kms into Puerto Natales and another refuel. The waterside town feels like I imagine one in Alaska, or a northern US or Canadian state, would be, like something out of hollywood movie. A raw frontier town, filled with tough outdoor types driving V8 pickups or petrol tankers and not afraid of hard work. I preferred it immediately to El Calafate, it didn't feel pretentious.

Tomorrow we cross the Magellan Straits, or the Estrecho de Magallanes as they are known here. That means we will be on the island of Tierra del Fuego and very close to the End of the World, our ultimate destination.
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Patagonia, Day 10 - at the Perito Moreno glacier

It rained overnight; we could hear the rain drops pattering persistently on the leaves of the trees outside. By morning it had mostly stopped, but when we started out from the hotel, it resumed. So far, we've not had to contend with rain on this trip, but in any case we were prepared for it; for us rain never stops play.

The clouds hung low over the valleys as we made our way towards the national park, some 50km west from Calafate, and there was very little traffic on the road because it was early morning Sunday. As our speed increased, the rain began to bite into our exposed skin, stinging like pin pricks on our noses and cheeks . Those with more touring oriented helmets with full visors had no such problems, they were fully covered. But off-road helmets leave a small gap just below where your goggles sit.

The rain we may have been prepared for, but the cold was something else. The chill was a notch below what was expected and consequently a few of us were rather cold when we stopped for the first time. Even with heated grips, hands felt very exposed in the cold air.

We paid the 215peso fee at the park entrance and had a briefing from the rangers about not dropping litter and or stopping on the road unless in a designated parking area. By this time we still hadn't seen the glacier as we wound our way through the lakeside trees and it wasn't until the first parking area that we saw it. Even from a distance over the lake it looked impressive, the milky turquoise water dammed at one end by a craggy blue-white wall of ice; and we were still 7km from the glacier.

Leaving that viewpoint, we headed closer to the glacier. Near the turn off for the boat jetty, AJ and a few others stop briefly to determine if we should turn off for our booked boat trip, but that's not until 11:30, so they don't. While they are discussing, a tour coach comes up behind, and has difficulty getting past; a few words are exchanged.

Later as the tour coaches labour their way along the road further along, AJ takes the opportunity to make progress past them. For some reason one of the coach drivers takes exception to this and becomes a complete arse, weaving over the road to impede the riders behind. Graham is the first victim and nearly gets pushed of the road by this stupid behaviour and becomes very angry as a result, giving an appropriate response in the coach mirrors. At the main glacier viewpoint Cory receives a complaint from the driver which then escalates to the park warden. The 'crime' is stopping. While negotiations are in progress, rumours circulate about potential penalties: fines for all us bikers; having to report to a police station in the morning; or worse. We plot our escape from Argentina, a la Top Gear, with the police in hot pursuit. This soon turns to resignation as we realise we have to enter Argentina again to reach Ushuaia and the End of the World. Finally, the penalty turns out to be just a warning.

In front of the glacier face is a hill which separates one part of the lake from the other. On this hill are built a series of connected balconies at different heights overlooking the jagged ice. During especially cold periods the glacier completely separates the lakes, which take on different levels. In warmer times the ice melts and water can suddenly escape from one lake to the other in dramatic fashion. For us the lakes were already well connected, but the glacier was none the less impressive when viewed from the balconies.

The boat trip is a real highlight. I wasn't expecting much, but as we got closer (to within 200m) the shear size of the towering 70m high ice wall could not fail to impress. Not only the size, but the colour is amazing. White mostly, but the clean cut faces and inside ravines are an intense deep blue colour. It all seems very fresh. Scientists say the glacier is advancing, not because it's growing, but because it's moving. In reality it's shrinking because it's not being replenished at higher altitudes; an effect of global warming. We had a real treat when a chunk of ice fell from the top of the wall with a big splash. And then, probably triggered by that impact, a huge column of ice toppled over. We were probably a good 500m or more from the impact but it was truly spectacular to see this relatively up close. I thought the impact would generate a huge tsunami like wave, but by the time it reached us, it had reduced to a swell, rocking the boat gently. We caught a second calving event a little later which wasn't quite as big.

The big calving. (picture courtesy of Steve King)

On dry land we kitted up and raced back to catch the England vs Ireland rugby match on TV. Unfortunately bad intel meant this had already finished by the time we got back and dem feckers had already won! Then a lazy afternoon of washing and uploading pictures; our wifi dependency only partial satiated by the slow connection speed.

One nice thing about this town being so touristy, there is a good selection of restaurants to choose from. We dine splendidly.

Tomorrow we head yet again into Chile. Our route depends very much on the weather: if it's good a long scenic route, if poor a shorter more direct route. The forecast is for 50mph winds. And rain. But a lot can change overnight, so fingers crossed.

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Patagonia, Day 9 - the middle of nowhere to Calafate

The morning sun adds colour to the day, just like Duff erases it from his arty photos. Dark slides into pink, then grey and then light blue. While we watch, we enjoy a hearty ranch breakfast of eggs and fresh orange; maybe not ranch then, no beans. Plenty of road kill possibilities though with the kamikaze llamas and rheas that jump into our paths later in the day.

The Art of Duff

The gravel track from the ranch evolves into a gravel road and then a wide gravel dual carriageway. We are the only traffic, so can take any line we choose, weaving from one rut to the other, depending on which looks less bumpy. Although with a ridge of gravel between the ruts, changing 'lanes' is not always straightforward and has to be planned well in advance; even then, the bars wobble nervously as you cross that small gravel ridge. Keep your nerve, and the throttle open, and things soon settle; close the throttle and it's not so nice. You'll learn in time: if in doubt, gas it out. Just like sand, only bumpier. Making this more difficult than usual, is the strong cross wind today, gusts see us swaying unsteadily.

Strong winds - but not the beans this time

The weird thing is that these roads are just like real tarmaced roads, complete with armco barriers and road signs, just without the tarmac. They've obviously been prepared to be laid with the black stuff, but it hasn't happened yet. 100 km later, we see the machines doing this work and shortly after, the tarmac road starts. No ceremony, it's just open; and virtually steaming fresh. And then we turn back onto the famous Ruta 40.

As we speed up, the effects of the cross wind increases, sending us from one side of the lane to the other, and all the while we're leaning over to counter its effects. This is a different kind of sideways action to the one we had on the gravel a few days ago.

Along Ruta 40, we periodically pause to take photos and at one vantage point we can look across Lago Viedma to see a long way in the distance what we think is a glacier, but not the Perito Moreno glacier, which we plan to visit tomorrow. In this same general direction are the peaks of Fitz Roy and Cerros Torre, standing tall and regal beside the glacier. Pictures rarely do justice to the scene, so we take a few moments to soak it up.

Hotel Leona - this far from home

The lunch stop is at Hotel Leona, on the banks of a fast flowing glacial meltwater river. The river colour is milky green and it swirls and churns as it goes. You can see the previous attempt at a river crossing downstream of the concrete bridge we just crossed; all that remains of that is the pier stumps, as the bridge itself was probably washed away. The hotel itself has wifi and we all eagerly feed upon our social medias after our forced abstention.

You can just see the posts of a previous river crossing

A final run into Calafate sees several of us well into our reserve tanks and a few run out. These are filled by Cory using supplies stashed on the jeep, and later we all fill up at a petrol station.

The hotel is pleasant enough and it has a decent wifi connection. Steve and I go for a quick run which turns into yet another adventure as we have to take off our socks and trainers to cross a water inlet which reaches up to our crotches. I doubt he'll do that on the Marathon des Sables in a few weeks time.

An adventure run - my fault, I started him off

Calafate itself I've decided I don't like. Too touristy and too many tourists. But as we are tourists ourselves, there's not much I should complain about. I think the town only exists or prospers because of glacier tourism. It's the most important attraction in the area and rightly so. Tomorrow we'll see it for ourselves, up close and personal. But we won't get a chance to walk on it as all the tours are fully booked days ahead.

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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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Patagonia, Day 7 - Coyohaique to Perito Moreno

Again we get lost leaving our hotel, but after a tour of Coyohaique we find Ruta 7 and head east back towards Argentina. With all this to and fro travel, it's sometimes difficult to remember whether you're in Chile or Argentina; we are starting in Chile this morning. As Chilean roads are less connected due to all the islands and inlets on the Pacific coastline we have to keep crossing borders to continue making progress to the End of the World.

Ruta 7 leaves the town and the roads are relatively straight on the flat landscape, but begin to curve as they head into the hills. Every now and again the tarmac gives way to a lattice of grey bricks like driveway block paving, which can be anything from a few metres to several hundred. Not sure why the bricks are there, it could be that they are repairs covering tectonic fault lines and cracks, but they are laid impeccably and feel almost as good as the tarmac, or that could just be the BMW electronic suspension doing its magic. The roads in Chile have been impressive, well maintained where they exist, and well signposted showing the curves and hazards. Makes progress easy; until you meet the diligent repairers. Then you stop at the "pare" sign and wait for the man with the walkie-talkie to turn it to the green "siga" side. Only then can you soak up more roadsigns. One often seen is "sugerida" and I can only assume it means 'sweet roads for ridas' ahead as it usually precedes a killer set of curves.

While waiting at one checkpoint, we look back to see a police car sitting patiently behind us with its lights flashing. When siga appears, the police car follows us, first through the roadworks and then onto the regular highway. It's always unnerving to be followed by a police car, but this time the lights are flashing and we're not stopping! The 'chase' continues for several kms until the police car gives up, or perhaps ran out of fuel, or maybe became bored. For the avoidance of doubt, police cars here always drive around with flashing lights, not just during an emergency.

Turning from Ruta 7 onto X65, we see our first sugerida of many and climb into the hills again. Sugerida after sugerida of awesome curves. From a viewpoint at the top we can see a green milky lake in the distance, Lake Buenos Aires, which straddles the border. The Chilean border post in Ria Ibanez is not far, but between us and it is a very impressive collection of hairpin bends; this time on tarmac. Now, we're back in the Alps.

At the Chilean border post, we spend an hour waiting and I kill time by playing in the children's' playground. We could now take the ferry across the lake, but instead we take the land route and once again enter a virtual no mans land before reaching the Argentine border. The trail linking the two is a winding gravel track with more amazing views over the lake.

The Argentine border post is manned by a single guard. Friendly enough, but completely overwhelmed by our mass group. We have to fill out all the forms by hand individually, and the guard takes time to carefully overwrite each letter to make sure the carbon copy underneath is clear. He only allows two of us in the room with him, so the rest queue outside and it's a long process.

By this point, it's well past lunch time and very hot, so while we wait, we snack on biscuits in the shade.Those who've finished their paperwork follow AJ into Argentina. The road is still dirt and after a few km, I'm the first corner man. Feels like I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere and one by one the others pass by. I'm there for 30 minutes or so before Cory finishes his paperwork and reaches me. Then I'm unleashed and there follows about an hour of intense gravel riding as the bike dances, glides and slides its way to Perito Moreno. The GS is ever impressive, seeming to get grip where none exists and you can feel it biting as the spinning rear wheel finds traction. For simplicity I've put it into enduro mode and the resulting power slides are enjoyable, but safely limited by the electronics. The rear tyre is taking a real pounding by the rough terrain and is showing signs of hard use.

125 horses escaping from the rear wheel

En route I pass Mark, Graham, Mick and Hugo on corner man duties and Graham ends up waiting there for an hour in the sun, eventually hiding behind a road sign for shade. Poor Hugo doesn't have the luxury of shade and he's there for 50 minutes.

On reaching Perito Moreno, it seems Mark has added further war wounds to his bike. Yesterday he managed to ding the front rim and the resulting bulge gave him a slow puncture, which was partially fixed with silicon gasket sealant (not meant for the job but seems to work) and today he added a further four dings. His rim will almost certainly need to be replaced, which could be expensive. No one else has had this problem. But we think the lowered suspension on his bike is partly to blame as the reduced travel means the tyre takes a bigger role in cushioning; it could also be because Mark has an eager throttle hand. Most of us have found a place in our merry band, Steve, Tpong and Christopher are the photographers, Mick and Ray the font of a million funny stories, Gerard, keeps Cory on his toes, Hugo the napper, Duff the philosopher, Danny the butt of most jokes, me the blogger, and Mark. Well, Mark is the reason we carry such a big tool kit! ;-)

Perito Moreno is not particularly exciting. A few supermarkets, hotels, and restaurants. We struggle to find somewhere to eat at 6pm, settling for a cafe serving pizza, which turns out to be frozen and microwaved, so we leave. By 8 the choice has expanded and we eat at a place that only opened a few days ago and we probably doubled its total number of visitors. Unlike other towns we've seen so far, there seems to be a thriving youth culture here. Groups walk up and down, drive by with stereos pumping the beats, or just 'hang'. Feels like Wembley without the decent food. Perito Moreno seems to exist because it's a stop-off point. Can't see any other reason for it to be here.

Not exactly spoiled by choice in Perito Moreno

Tomorrow night we're staying at a ranch. Should be interesting. We might get a chance to ride something with real horse power.

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