Pain and Pleasure - Not in Equal Measure

On a long multi-day adventure ride there are days that offer pain and pleasure. Tuesday was one of those days, though there was more pain than pleasure. You just have to keep faith that things will work themselves out.

It was bucketing down on Tuesday morning, cold too, at just over 35F at 7.45 when I bailed out of the hostel. With a return home beckoning I just suited up and left. It is 25 miles to Liucura the location of  the Chlie/Argentina Complejo Frontier, leaving about 15 miles to reach the pass (Paso Hachado) and Argentina itself. Five miles out from border control it started to snow, big wet flakes that stick to the visor obscuring everything in front. What is it with me and snow when crossing the Andes from Chile to Argentina? Paso de Jama redux.

Well, the border was closed due to weather when I arrived at 8.40, not a total surprise. There is nowhere to wait at this border if the small café is closed, which it was. A wood stove was burning invitingly inside the border station, but they keep the office door closed when the crossing is 'cerrado'. There are a couple of overhangs where I sheltered with a group of hairy bummed truck drivers.....and watched the snow accumulate on the moto.

It lightened up a couple of times, but then resumed the big wet flakes. At one point the gutter on the roof stopped flowing, the temperatures had obviously fallen, the snow had stopped melting. My spirits sank with the temperature.

With a relatively short haul over the pass and the weather on the other side forecast to be good I decided to wait it out, 9.40 became 10.40, the snow had not abated but was not settling on the road. At 11am they opened the doors and the border. Remember those hairy bummed truck drivers? Nicest guys you could possibly meet, I presume taking pity on the ‘extranjero’ daft enough to be on two wheels, they let me go first.

Javier at DakarMoto's had urged me to check the import paperwork to ensure it was correct to avoid issues at the EZE export office. I spotted an error, the guy had my nationality wrong and he corrected it to the UK, not the US (traveling on my UK passport). Onward and upward..the roads had been plowed of the freshly dropped 4-6 inches from the spring storm. The temperatures were below freezing, the road remained wet but I slowed just in case. As I neared the highpoint windblown snow had returned to the road. With only a mile or so to crest the paso I gingerly pressed on. Within a couple of miles after cresting this was the view (west at left, east at right), temperatures in the 50's. Weather changes in the mountains continue to astonish.

The road ahead...the pleasure returned.

That is until I turned north on Ruta 40 at Las Lajas. The pain resumed, the wind was coming from the WNW, and was nasty, just downright nasty except for a few stretches where 40 trends east. This is the valley of the volcanoes, from the Argentinian side, copped another partial view of a cone. I could barely keep the bike upright from the wind, even cocked on the side stand.

I was aware that Ruta 40 to Malargue retained an unpaved section, more ripio. The NatGeo map I checked suggested it would last about 30 miles, not too bad. When I entered the ripio the surface was reasonable with a light coating of gravel in places. I stopped to capture another smaller volcano.

About the point where I expected the ripio to end small islands of blacktop appeared, lily pads in a pond of light gravel. With 100 miles left to get to Malargue I figured I would get there by about 6- 6.30pm. But the lily pads disappeared, over the next 30-40 miles the odd old strip of tarmac would appear along with 'Obras en Constuccion' signs. Not much evidence of 'obras' or work, but a lot of 'construccion', evidenced by the 6-8 inches of large 1-3 inch stone they had recently laid, mile upon wretched mile. Their plan being to allow the passing traffic to helpfully grind and pack the stone for future blacktop.

Trucks had passed and left a track, but with a 2-3 inch mini berm where the gap is on the paired wheels on the tractor & trailer. It was an utterly miserable 30 miles at 25-30mph. On a couple of occasions I inevitably put my front wheel in some of the deeper stuff when the tracks merged or disappeared, and once I nearly planted the bike on the ground; quick but smooth action on the throttle to goose the speed straightened my fishtailing up. Thank you motorcycle gods.

The reward, when it came, was in the form of utterly smooth fresh black top.....70 mph, a couple of miles ...then slam on the brakes, no warning signage to alert of a 100-200 yard interval of 2-3 inch stone, then back onto the smooth stuff, this happened 2 or three times (I don't understand the logic behind this approach to construction) before black top returned for good. I reached Malargue at 7.30 with about 30 minutes of daylight to spare. 380 miles and I was completely shot, but at least I was in Argentina and had the paperwork to allow DakarMotos to start the booking process. I sent Javier a picture of the TVIP, smugly noting that as requested I had carefully checked the paperwork, found a mistake and had it corrected. Then I showered and left for dinner, three blocks away at a nice place. Pleasure returned.

I was looking forward to a good sleep at Hostal Kathmandu, but before putting my head on the pillow I checked emails. The pain returned, intensified... there was a number missing from the VIN on the TVIP Javier advised. I would need to return to the closest border (the nearest was over 100 miles one way) to get it fixed.

Noooooooooooo……...the pain was searing, how could I have been so dumb. Maybe two + hours of watching snow fall in the cold and a desire to get moving on what was a long day, delayed at the border, addled my brain at the aduana window. Regardless, it was a silly lack of attention on my part, I needed a plan of attack, but a fitful sleep came first.

At 4am my eyes pinged opened and I could not will them shut. Argentina has a fiscal office, the AFIP, that collects taxes, manages social security and so forth, one of the branches in AFIP is customs (Aduana). I had seen AFIP offices in various towns during my journey. Obviously tax collection and welfare are nationwide issues, customs control is an issue at points of entry and Javier at DakarMotos had warned that most AFIP offices do not have an aduana section.

San Rafael has an AFIP office, 115 miles distant but on the route to Buenos Aires. Google Maps showed a 'Zona Operativa Aduanera' in San Rafael, I guessed it was a free trade zone to serve the wine industry, speculating that as a consequence San Rafael AFIP would have an aduana section. The AFIP website was not helpful in confirming that. I resolved to try San Rafael. If unsuccessful the worst case was to head further north to Mendoza and onto the main border with Chile; Las Libertadores.

The office was easily located. With no parking on the street I followed the locals and rode up  onto the sidewalk and parked. Sure enough there was a customs section in the AFIP office. The staff could not have been more helpful. In my best Spanish I explained the situation, showed them the documentation and the error. Ten minutes later I had the corrected document in hand and left. Found wifi and sent a picture of the document to DakarMoto's to grease the wheels.

My enthusiasm to visit Mendoza had evaporated, I continued on an easterly track eating 380 of the 750 miles to Buenos Aires. It is time to head home.

On the way I passed  numerous vineyards; I could have been in France.

Realico, in far north La Pampa (and yes still in the Patagonia Region) reminded me of some towns in central Illinois. Flat land, streets laid out in a grid, clean with a conservative feel and reasonable wealth fueled by agriculture. 

On arrival I contacted DakarMoto's for an update and when I told Javier where I was he commented 'there is nothing there except for a shitty gas station'. He was wrong about the gas station, it is modern and offered a full range of services to the traveler. He was right about the town though, excitement is not an emotion that has touched Realico, which is precisely why I decided to stay here a couple of nights and unwind from the last 6 days and 1,250 miles. I had my fill of excitement during that period.

When I checked into Hotel Juan Jose I bumped into Vincent from Buenos Aires, a septuagenarian leading a group of 7 bikes on a tour of 10 days or so. Vincent spoke a little English and with my modest Spanish we were able to dialogue. I met several of the group including his son Mauricio.

The town itself is spotlessly clean. As I mentioned it is conservative in feel and they take 'siesta' very seriously. At Noon they down tools and the streets are empty.

A town with money can afford to indulge in sculptures of a prehistoric animal and the current version, an armadillo and keep the flag flying in a spotless main square.

Realico's wealth is on display in the homes. I have not seen this quality of property in a town center in any other place in Argentina. The old brick building, if renovated, would make a ritzy panaderia and coffee store. But I don't think ritzy would be to the local's taste.

Back on the road Friday, 260 miles to Chivilcoy, (a town I passed by in late September) leaving the final 120 miles to the environs of the airport for Saturday, just south of Buenos Aires. By the time I arrive I should have the travel plans for the following week nailed down.

Cheers. T2

Salmon and Volcanoes

The area around Puerto Montt and Chiloe Island is the center of the salmon farming industry in Chile. If you have ever purchased or eaten salmon from Chile it likely came from these parts. 

On exiting the ferry, I followed the coast via Calbuco to catch the ferry to Chiloe Island. Not the shortest or fastest route to Chiloe, but nicer than the motorway. So despite the rain I pressed on and by the time I arrived in Calbuco the steady rain had been replaced by showers of diminishing frequency. Calbuco is built around small scale commercial fishing and salmon farming in the numerous coves and backwaters in the area.

The town was bustling, a street market was in full swing in one of the main roads close to the front, parking was impossible. I headed around the peninsular towards the ferry, stopping first at a restaurant that served a 12-16oz slab of salmon, pan fried in butter at a price locals could afford, about $5. Delicious. Of course, the salmon was accompanied with the plate piled high with French fries.

Two companies operate ferries to Chiloe, on an alternating basis from different ramps located a kilometer apart. As you approach the embarking point a guy hops out and directs traffic to the next ferry. It isn't cheap, about double the price of the ferry to Tierra del Fuego for half the ride. Perhaps it reflects the salmon farming boost to the local economy, the ferry operators getting their slice of the pie. The channel between the mainland and Chiloe has a fascinating mix of rough water, eddies and millpond areas, often interspersed depending on the tides.

Pelicans seem to like the area, several flights passed the ferry. Perhaps they are drawn by the opportunity to steal salmon from a poorly protected farm.

Chiloe is known for the 16 wooden churches across the island. A program of restoration was started after they fell into disrepair and is ongoing. Local effort combined with central government funding will preserve them for future generations. A small but interesting museum is housed in one of the churches in Ancud. As I wandered through the museum sunlight came streaming through the stained-glass windows, high up in the church, casting myriad colors onto the exhibits of doors and windows that had been replaced during restoration.

I stayed the night in Ancud at the Hostal Mundo Nuevo, nice, private parking but pricy (a feature of accommodation in Chiloe it seems). The hostel recommended a local seafood place for dinner; my first experience of a fish called congrio - I thought it might be conger eel but the shape of the fillet didn't look eel like. Anyway, it tasted good (perhaps any fish pan fried in oodles of butter would?) and I would have it again.

Even without a recommendation I wouldn't have been tempted by a restaurant that offered a bizarre breadth of cuisine. A place that serves pizza and sushi surely cannot do either very well, can it? I will never know.

Ancud is a gritty town in need of some TLC, but it does have a nice seafront walk that passes the local fishing port.

Sunday I returned to Puerto Montt, on a bleak, rainy, ugly kind of day, in a rather bleak town that has not been improved by the recent protests. The sidewalks and plazas down by the shore where littered with broken glass, the spaces now boarded up, and walls liberally painted with slogans. Not photogenic.

Though on my way back into town I stopped between down pours and captured a few shots of the several ports that Puerto Montt boasts. One area in particular has several dockside businesses with large numbers of big white totes, generally protected by overhead nets from the gulls circling above. Obviously, the totes contain something edible the gulls enjoy. I surmise that it is processed protein harvested from the ocean intended for the salmon farms. Next time I buy Chilean salmon from Kroger or Publix I will be reminded of this area.

My two-wheel journey north began in earnest today, Monday. I had intended to use Santiago as my exit point but with the continuing unrest and silence from the shipping agents I am diverting over to Buenos Aires (and hope the Argentinian Presidential election held Sunday doesn't stimulate protests around the country). DakarMotos in BA responded immediately so planning for the return is now underway. In the meantime, I will make the most of the diversion and head to Mendoza, before cutting east late in the week to BA. To avoid backtracking on roads north from San Carlos de Bariloche I am using the frontier crossing at Pino Hachado, which places me in Argentina 20 miles north of Zapala. a town I passed through a month ago on my way south. Ruta 40 north takes me to Mendoza.

It was 200 wet and dreary miles north on Ruta 5, the Pan-American highway in Chile, a fast toll road. In view if the weather I ambled along at 50-60mph, stopping for fuel and rest breaks along the way. The last 100 miles was more interesting, cutting off east towards the frontier on Ruta181 takes you into volcano country. I finally saw a cone, though not the top which was shrouded in cloud.

Lonquimay, forty miles from the border, was my target destination and staging post for the crossing into Argentina. To get there requires transiting through the Las Raices Tunnel, Originally built for a railway it has since been converted to road use, one direction at a time, controlled by traffic lights. Just as well as the tunnel is about 3 miles long. It seemed to go on forever with the noise of the exhaust bouncing off the walls.

By the way Las Raices is no ordinary tunnel, it warps the space-time continuum. The road sign shortly after exiting the tunnel offered a bewildering choice, continue to Lonquimay 10 miles distant or make a left to Central Alaska. Huh?

Lonquimay is in a pretty valley, nestled in a mountain amphitheater. It is getting a makeover with a lot of small, new, properties being constructed. Perhaps they are holiday homes; it is within a days drive of Santiago.

The old and the new structures welcoming visitors to the town are strikingly different.

It is raining cats and dogs at the moment, the streets are like rivers. I arrived here in the dry; I hope to leave in the dry in the morning. We shall see.

All for now.

T2

'NaviMaging' the Chilean Fjords

On Tuesday afternoon I wandered down to the port to check the Navimag ferry, Evangelistas, had arrived before returning to the Xalpen hostel to pick up my gear and moto to drop off at the vehicle staging area in the port. Here she is, full board and home for 4 nights. First passing the port to make a turn to orientate properly, then to reverse into the dock, ramp being lowered.

Back in February I bumped into another motorcyclist, Chad, while crossing the Cordillera Blanco. When we chatted, he mentioned he had a brewpub in Puerto Natales, but never mentioned the name (or I forgot it). Anyway, a bit of sleuthing and I tracked it down, Baguales, situated on the main square. I had planned to go for lunch, but it doesn't open until 5pm.

After dropping the bike off I walked back into town to have a beer and a bite at Baguales before boarding. As I get near the building I thought I recognized the guy up on steps putting plyboard over the windows. He sees me in the motorcycle jacket and starts to get down, "Are you Chad?" I asked, 'Yes, you're the guy on the CB500, right? John wasn't it?' ..the connection was made!

Chad explained that the plyboard was cheap insurance after the disturbances in the center of town the night before (part of the ongoing protests in Chile). After dark a few youths had set fire to tires and thrown Molotov cocktails at the police station across the main square. The police in riot gear responded with tear gas, a canister of which landed near his restaurant front door, he showed me the scar on the sidewalk where it landed. People had entered his restaurant to get away from the gas which resulted in his place being filled with noxious fumes and a few noxious people; he evacuated his customers into the brewhouse at the rear and the back yard. As the neighboring businesses had already put up boards for the coming night Chad followed suit, he didn't want to be the only guy on the block left unprotected.

Anyway I had great food, beers, a tour of the building and the brewhouse, met his wife Rose and enjoyed a 90 minute chat with Chad. It was a super way to end my stay in the far south.

One can drive your own bike on the ferry if you wish, I didn't as I wanted to board with the other passengers at 9pm. Passengers board first and there was no telling where the bike would be in the loading rotation, it could have been midnight. There was no point waiting around, though it turned out the freight and passenger load was light. I scored a four berth cabin to myself, nice, as they are quite small. Four guys in one small cabin with a squeezed in bathroom for four nights; enough said. And a shot of the town after boarding.

       

The ship weighed anchor at 5.30am the following morning and by the time I woke up and scurried to the deck we were already passing through the narrowest point of the voyage through the fjords, a mere 80 meters wide.

The scenery was good and visible on the first two days, not on the third when whales and volcanoes where potentially on offer. There was a nice sunset on the second day.

 

Early on the second day the ferry stopped at Eden, a town of 65 people on an island isolated from the rest of the world. Goods and passengers are dropped off and picked up.

We took on two young lads who grew up in Eden, returning to Santiago after visiting their parents ...something of a wide contrast in living environment for those two fellas. The ramp at the stern is lowered to exchange goods and people.

Also on the second day you pass the wreck of the Cotopaxi, a Uruguayan registered boat carrying a load of sugar at the time. The story goes that the wreck was intentional as they were outside the normal channel and heading for a 'safe' wreck by running into the rocks on shore, no lives lost and claim on insurance....but what they didn't know was a boat had previously sunk, they hit it and got hung up on it. A crew member said the holes in the wreck are from the Chilean navy who use it for target practice, they hit it a lot but of course it won't sink, sitting on top of the prior wreck.

We also had an interesting tour of the bridge.

During the voyage I spent a lot of time chatting to Aron and Cindy Springer who live in Whitehorse, Yukon, a town I visited back in 2014 on my Alaska trip. Aron was interested in the motorcycle, so we arranged for an escort to take us to the cargo decks. El Burro was well snugged down on a largely vacant deck. 

They extended an open invitation to stay with them should I ever return to the Canadian northwest. A very interesting and amiable couple.

The Evangelistas will only be in service a few more months, built in 1977 in Japan it will be replaced in the first quarter next year by a new ferry built in ….you guessed it....China.

We arrived at Puerto Montt about 7.30am Saturday, to a very dank and wet day, though it brightened later during the ride to Chiloe.....more on that in a future post.

Cheers T2

Puerto Natales and Torres del Paine National Park

Friday, I made a 6.30 start leaving Ushuaia for the nearly 400 mile trek to Punta Arenas. Nice day and not too chilly given the early start. Things were going well, made Rio Grande about 1/3 of the way just after 9 and slipped in the YPF station outside of town to refuel. 

I hadn't noticed the wind until I got off the bike. The gas station is on a rise and it was blowing some and as I went to pay my credit card was no longer in my hand. Nooooooo…... 'Mi tarjeta, donde esta mi tarjeta!'

With silk glove liners on I hadn't noticed the card being taken by the wind. Nowhere in sight....(expletive removed). People got out of their cars and looked, nowhere, checked in the slatted drain...nope. With a line waiting behind me I handed what Argentinian pesos I had left, which turned out to be 5 pesos more than needed. 

I pushed the moto out of the way to look for the card. Fortunately, the hologram glinted in the sun, it had been under a truck that moved up to fuel. Felt like a real Charlie. Still, it meant I left Argentina with less than 2 cents worth of pesos...better to be lucky than good.....plus card in pocket.

Border crossings were slick, and if all goes well it will be the last land border crossing of the trip. More on that later.

Refueled at Cerro Sombrero (Sombrero Mountain), Chile, with a ferry crossing and 130 miles left to go. What a great name for a rather shabby looking town. Held onto the credit card like you wouldn't believe......😅.

I arrived at the ferry, Bahai Azul, at about 1pm just as this bad boy was docking. Which was just as well as it started to rain, a cold wind-blown rain, which was better than the frozen mix that had been promised.

I was lucky to catch the larger ferry as it had a small café on board. Coffee and a slice of pizza the size of a postage stamp; still food is food and I needed a little fuel myself. 

I decided to wait until we docked before trying to proceed; never entirely trust a GPS. Then onward to Punta Arenas in the cold rain with a plucky wind as I ran along the coast.

Lodged at the Hostal de Casa del Profesor, walkable to town, the room was a tad small but otherwise all good. Wandered around and found a few nice pieces of wall art and the sculpture down by the front.

The house below had an interesting mix of real and painted architectural features. So well done it was hard from a distance in the dusk light to determine which was which. 

Punta Arenas has been around for quiet sometime.

Onward to Puerto Natales, Saturday. A modest 150 mile trot. The day was correctly forecasted to be windy. There were a few times the gust pushed me close to the shoulder, a quick correction on the bars was necessary. The road did not carry a lot of traffic, but with the crosswind any oncoming trucks or buses prompted me to drop 10-15 mph to manage the buffeting as they passed by. Turning due west to head into the wind was a blessing. If I've had a strong tailwind in my entire time in Patagonia I don't remember it.

All was quiet in Punta Arenas when I left on Saturday morning, by Sunday morning the town was on the curfew list along with Santiago and a few other towns. Punta Arenas didn't seem like a town that would have the kind of demonstrations and riots seen in Santiago on Friday and Saturday night. Shame for the town folk, it seemed a quiet backwater, anyway I was happy to be out of the way. That said there was a demonstration in Puerto Natales last night, probably 100 or so people, mostly teenagers, banging tins and carrying signs; peacefully. 

My plan to use Santiago as the point of departure in two weeks may need to be revisited. The news reported some disruption at the airport as personnel were unable to get too work. As of writing I have not heard back from the shipping agent. 

Buenos Aires is the other option but will add another 800-900 miles to the journey. Plus Argentina holds their presidential election on October 27th, who knows if the outcome will trigger demonstrations, the political situation in the country is a little tense.

For now I'm in Xalpen hostel, a great little place that looks rubbish from the outside but is fantastic inside. The bike is behind gates, guarded by the owners dog, Juli, who would roll over for a cookie.

I like Puerto Natales. Some of the buildings put me in mind of Dawson City, Yukon. A worn look that might be considered 'chic' on the northeast coast of the USA. Here it is just worn.

The town spent some money on the deserved and rather spectacular Monument to the Wind, down on the shoreline.

Spending three nights here before boarding the NaviMag ferry Tuesday night, which seems to be on schedule so far. The Evangelista is now heading south from Puerto Montt on the first trip of the new season.

Yesterday was spent in Torres del Paine National Park, one of the destinations on my original list when the trip planning started 5 years ago. It did not disappoint, albeit on an 11 hour bus tour. As an added bonus the park entrance fees were waived as Chile was celebrating some anniversary for the park system, a nice $50 saving.

The Three Towers are the iconic symbol of the park, the cloud cleared to get a reasonable shot of them, from the Rio Paine.

  

The deep blue color of the water in Lake Pehoe was a stunning.

As were the icebergs in Lago Grey, shed by the Grey glacier a few miles from where the icebergs came to ground. The people walking on the beach provides a sense of scale.

There were a few remnants of iceberg that had washed up on the stony beach. The small pieces of ice, slowly melting, releasing water that had been locked up for hundreds or perhaps thousands of years. Quite humbling. 

Before returning to Puerto Natales for the evening a final stop was scheduled at the Milodon cave. The cave is named after a prehistoric large sloth like animal, the remains of which were first found in the cave. The statue of the animal at the entrance to the cave was rather comical and reminded me of an elementary school homework project assignment on a grand scale, not particularly well done by Chilean standards. But the cave was worth visiting, a huge cavern carved out of the rock by waves  when the level of the lake was significantly higher than today. The people captured in the photo give a sense of the size of the cavern.

Tomorrow I board the ferry at around 9pm, anchor is weighed at 6am on Wednesday. The ferry is due to arrive in Puerto Montt on Saturday morning around 7am. It stops in a couple of towns along the way that are only accessible by sea. It must be a lonely existence especially in the winter; living off the grid in spades.

No cell phones, no internet while on the ferry. Radio silence on the blog, see you after arrival 800 miles further north.

Cheers. T2