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.
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| 125 horses escaping from the rear wheel |
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.
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| Not exactly spoiled by choice in Perito Moreno |
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Sent from the dusty road using my rusty BlackBerry
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