Sunday 21 January 2018

Part 25 Ushuaia,Tierra Del Fuego and the "End of the World", early Jan 18

One thing we have learned so far is to be flexible. An hour north of Buenos Aires, headed for Uruguay, we reversed course and head south toward Ushuaia. It was 10 o’clock on an early summer morning and the temperature was already 38 degrees. Riding away from rather than toward the equator suddenly seemed like a good idea.

This decision instantly recharged our levels of excitement. Ushuaia, “El Fin Del Mundo” was a special destination. The port city lies at the end of the road in Tierra del Fuego (Land of Fire). One must cross the Straight of Magellan to the island of Tierra del Fuego then ride south to 55 degrees latitude to find it. Antarctica is just a thousand kilometers further south.

A "finca" (farm) in Rio Negro Province


We stopped in tiny Cachari’s “Camping Municipal”, the first of many free campsites we would use on our journey southward. We had thousands of kilometers to cover and fuel is expensive. Finding free accommodations would help us stay on budget while moving.

Sculpture made of preexisting materials

Several people came over to our campsite to chat, curious about the two gringos on big bikes. Sleep was difficult in the heat. There would be no more air conditioning for us. A supervised teen dance began the evening in one corner of the park. Other people arrived in different corners, each group with its own sound system. The parties finally broke up at 5 am.

Wide open spaces


We got off the main highway and spent the next day on back roads. It was nice to be away from the trucks and to see all the prosperous farms on our way to Bahia Blanca. Free wifi at the gas station allowed us to find out about “Refugio Motoviajeros Ruta 22”. Some positive reviews in “iOverlander” attracted us to the place. It was about 30 kilometers away, we decided to check it out. 

Huge shallow lakes on the plains


We found the building and welcome sign for moto travellers inside the tiny hamlet of Argerich. There was no one around. There was a phone number on the door but we don’t have a phone plan and couldn’t place a call. Eventually we set up our tent, hoping that its orangeness would attract some attention. It wasn’t long before Horacio came to visit. He lived close by. We chatted for a while and he invited us over later for a drink and food. He also promised to send over his neighbor who would let us into “El Refugio”.

Adalberto


Soon after Horacio left Adelberto arrived and gave us a warm welcome, kisses all around. Everyone kisses in Argentina. We moved our things inside and Adalberto had some enthusiastic route advice for us. He displayed a passion for getting moto travelers together. He clearly has pride in the travelers’ refuge he and his friends have created. He told us the fee of 150 Pesos ($11) per person was optional. We didn’t have to pay if we couldn’t afford it.

The place covers about 1,000 square feet in open concept. There is a large table and benches, two bathrooms and five bunks. The kitchen is fully equipped and the air conditioning was welcome. The wells in the area are 130 meters deep. The mineral rich water that comes up is hot, so hot that heater tanks are not needed. We got settled in after Adalberto left but it wasn’t long before someone else came by. It was Horacio’s Grandson who had come to bring us across the park to the 16th birthday party of Luis. There we met Adalberto’s wife who set out all kinds of goodies. We ate too much cake and sweets and had fun conversation on their front porch.

The next day was New Years Eve. We had been told about and had already experienced how fun-loving Argentinians like to party in parks. The refugio was comfortable and quiet. We decided to stay one more day. We sent a Whatsapp message to Adalberto, asking if we could stay another day. His enthusiastic positive response foreshadowed the day to come.

Morning at El Refugio, photo by Adalberto


The day began with a visit from Adalberto. We met twin brothers Beto and Ariel on the way to the church up the street. They had developed the web-page for the refugio. Adalberto opened the tiny chapel and gave us a tour. He told us a story involving the resurrected Jesus being invited to someone’s house. His powerful baritone voice rang throughout the chapel as he sang about welcoming Jesus. His passionate and beautiful performance gave us goosebumps.

Then we crossed the street to see the old train station. It was build about 120 years ago, during the time Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid started robbing trains and banks in Argentina. In those days trains stopped every 50 kilometers or so for water. Local farmers put produce on the train at Argerich and sent it for sale in Bahia Blanca. The arrival of diesel engines changed everything. Water stops no longer needed, the small stations closed. Then good roads and trucks came along and things changed again. The Station Master’s house is still standing, overgrown now, beside the old station. It was fun to see that small piece of history.

Argerich station



The local motorcycle community came out to visit us after Adalberto placed on the internet some photos and news that a “matrimonial” from Canada was visiting El Refugio. They came throughout the day in groups of 3 or 4, almost entirely on motorcycles. Beto and Ariel invited us to lunch in the next town. Argerich has just 100 people and no restaurant. We had thick steaks (what else would one have in Argentina?) that were delicious. We met Camilla, a young daughter, who had been recruited to join us for lunch and help translate if need. She was delightful. Thank you again, Beto and Ariel.

Outside El Refugio

Shortly after we got back to the refuge four more people arrived. Their warm greetings, complete with kisses for everyone, were genuine and demonstrated the shared passion they have for meeting moto travelers. Some of the people who built, look after the refugio or who visited that day are: Alcida, Gloria, Camilla, Quimey, Ariel, Beto, Carmelo, Carlos, Roberto, Tacauaka, Rubeu, Hugo, Rodrigo, Ricardo, Javier, Horacio, Jose, Luis and of course, Adalberto.


Inside El Refugio

Alcida stopped in to drop off her welcoming gift of a home baked cake. Lots of photos were taken as others arrived, mate (herbal tea pronounced mat-eh?) and comradery were shared all afternoon. Isa and I were overwhelmed by the warm greetings and immediate acceptance we received. Exhausted at the end of the afternoon, our brains aching from so much Spanish, we respectfully declined more than one kind invitation to a family New Years Eve party. We planned to get moving the next morning at about the same time the parties would be breaking up.

We rode 500 kilometers the next day through semi-desert. Sparse grasses peppered with small shrubs struggled to survive in the sand. The wind was of medium strength, by Patagonian standards, sometimes with and sometimes against us. The road surface was perfect. Free camping near a YPF station felt good after spending a lot on fuel that New Year’s Day.

Patagonian Picture

Endless semi-desert in bloom


Peninsula Valdes is large. We planned to spend two days there and to wild camp on one of the beaches but the main attractions were the penguin and the sea elephant colonies along the coast. The tourist town of Puerto Piramides was at the end of the paved road, 1/3 of the way along the peninsula. It had plenty of services and plenty of people. The beach was large and of good quality but we were just there for the gasoline. We needed to fill our tanks, at this last opportunity on the peninsula, to take on the lengthy ripio roads tomorrow that would bring us to the seaside colonies.

Puerto Piramides beach


The ride to that night’s beach camping was about 20 km long. The ripio started right outside town. It was to be the first time we ventured off pavement in more than two months since the crash. It was to be a “getting back up on the horse” moment.  It was also to be our first time on the famous (or infamous) Argentinian “ripio” surfaces. It turned out to be some of the most frightening riding we have done.

The road was incredibly slippery and difficult to ride. The hard under-surface was covered with a thick layer of rounded, smooth stones. The stones ranged in diameter from that of small to big coins. Riding on them felt like dancing on slippery marbles. Our handlebars swayed from side to side with little resistance as our tires searched for traction in the soup of stones. The sound stuck with Isa. When four wheeled vehicles passed us, they often did because we were so slow, they threw a wake of pebbles sideways like a boat. The wake produced by the tour buses was especially impressive as it arced through the air toward us.

The Road of Marbles


The road to the camping libre (wild camping) beach was even worse. The fresh layer of marbles gave way in time to “just” sand. The sand became deeper as we went along and eventually our wheels dug into it, up to the axles. We remembered what Clinton Smout, our BMW off-road instructor told us, “It’s like driving a boat. Use first gear. You have to spin the back tire, propel sand backwards and the bike forward. Put your weight back, get your eyes up and cause the front tire to float across the sand.

Beach access road


It worked and I only tipped over twice, stepping off in the soft sand. No one got hurt that day but our hearts were racing.

Wild Camping on Peninsula Valdez, Argentina


The beach was gorgeous. We set up camp and went for a swim in the sheltered bay. A sunset walk down the beach after supper was enjoyable. The tide was in by then so the sand was under water. We picked our way along the pebble beach. Each footstep squished through the same polished pebbles that had been spread on the main road. Sleep came easily that night. Adrenalin levels back to normal, we listened to the hissing at the shore as beach pebbles were tossed by the gentle waves, first up then back.

Lunch after a swim  

End of the day, cleaning the catch 

The coast about a kilometer from camp 

Barely formed calcareous rock exposed everywhere

The next morning, a large spider visited us during breakfast and before our sandy ride back to the road of marbles. A grader had worked the evening before to improve the sandy road back to the main one. He had given up clearing the drifted sand from one bad corner and just cleared a path between the dunes to go around it. His work had created a tough 100-meter section of deep sand. I started to walk back to the beginning of the detour to ride Isa’s bike through the obstacle for her when I saw her. She was rounding the final corner, rubber side down. She had made it through the hardest part. I took photos from that last corner of the detour. Way to go, Isa!

Breakfast at high tide


Visitor at breakfast

 As Easy as 1...

2... 

3! 

Horizontal cattle gate, ubiquitous in Patagonia


The riding became seriously challenging back on the main road. We discovered that the tires on heavier vehicles thinned out the fresh layer of pebbles, creating narrow tracks that we could follow. Thick berms of pebbles built up between the tracks. Putting a wheel into one of the berms could easily cause an upset. Clinton had told us, “Look where you want to go because you will go where you look.” Keeping one’s eyes up to plan a route through the multiple, meandering tracks and resisting the powerful urge to look down were essential to staying upright.

This was the toughest, most frightening riding we had done, even trickier than Ruta Del Che in Bolivia and the Cordillera Route up the spine of Peru. Some “getting back on the horse” moment. Seeing the penguins and sea elephants was the reward for enduring it. Back at the gas station in Puerto Piramides we met a Portuguese couple on a Triumph Tiger who had spent the day riding two up in the park. They looked exhausted and told us that the ripio had really frightened them.

Seeing these little guys was worth the effort 

Sea lions and elephants basking in the Patagonian sun


That night’s free camping was at a YPF station in “the middle of nowhere”. It was isolated by 200 km of pampa on either side. There were almost no buildings or roads leading off the highway but the Patagonian wind was there. It was gusting from the right, trying to push us into the oncoming traffic. It was unbelievably powerful. We had been warned about it by numerous people and had believed them. It was still shocking.

The station had its own generators and well. Hard quarters for the employees who staffed this remote post were around back of the station. There was shelter from the wind available on the grass and behind some small trees. We parked the motos into the wind and didn’t cover them, hoping for less wind resistance and upright bikes in the morning.

Shelter from the wind


We got away at 7 am the next day hoping to have less wind. We rode the final 200 km to Comodoro Rivadavia in wind as strong as yesterday. Just before town the road went down off the pampa into a valley. The wind reduced noticeably and was even behind us sometimes because of the confused swirling created by the valley walls. According to what we had been told, the worst section for wind was behind us.

Patagonia: big sky, big wind, big dinosoars


The next 80 km to Caleta Olivia had winds that could be described simply as strong, not dangerous feeling. Maybe we were getting accustomed to them. We spent the night further down the road at a YPF. The internet kept cutting out but the showers were free and so was the camping. This station is very isolated, like the one last night. It too had its own power and water sources along with living quarters for the staff. Numerous truckers and some other overlanders stayed the night. There was very little traffic on the road all night. The wind, potholes and wandering animals made it far too dangerous to drive at night.

We rode over 500 km the next day through the endless seeming semi-desert of the pampas. The wind ranged from reasonable to favorable in sections, a welcome change and stress reliever. There were countless guanacos along the side of the road or keeping guard at high points, looking for pumas.

Guanacos on the pampa (these guys are real)


Guanacos are deer like creatures with a long neck like a llama. They are wild and we saw some easily leaping over fences that would stop the pumas that prey on them. Deer whistles mounted on my bike make the guanacos pick up their heads as my moto gets closer. They often retreat from the road. This seemed like a good thing at first but the effect of the whistles can also be unpredictable. One large guanaco looked up suddenly as I approached and bolted away from the road. After I passed it circled around, possibly to return to a young one on the other side of the road, and ran right in front of Isa. In the pampa there are no trees. Isa saw this situation develop and predicted the road crossing. She had applied her brakes early and avoided danger. The outcome would have been different in the dark of night.

We camped in the small, isolated city of Rio Galleros. It has a beautiful campground. Motos were allowed in but not cars. It is not big rig friendly. The heated washroom, kitchen and showers are clean and new. We were very comfortable. An extra day to rest after that terrible wind and to do laundry seemed attractive.

Laundry day


The next day was relaxing. We did chores like laundry and moto maintenance. I serviced Isa’s chain and set up the extra circuit to power her heated jacket. She will need it as we travel further south. I discovered a loose cable collecting tray that was interfering with her steering. Two bolts had vibrated out. Luckily, I brought a bag of extra nuts and bolts and easily found replacements for the missing bolts. I installed them after applying a good amount of ‘lock-tite’ to the threads.

Trepat BMW Motorrad in Buenos Aires had tried to upsell me on a rear brake job. Their price for the regular servicing they gave our bikes was very high, 1 ½ times the Ottawa price for the same work. I had brought spare brake pads with me so declined their offer to replace my rear pads for $300 CDN. The pads cost $55 off the internet before leaving home. I took my rear brake apart at the campsite and compared the wear indicators on the old pads with those of the new ones. They were almost identical! I reinstalled the old pads confident they have a long life ahead of them.

On January 8th we crossed into our 13th country so far, Chile. We rode across the cold, windy pampa to the ferry dock. The wait wasn’t long for the ride across the Straight of Magellan to Tierra del Fuego, the Land of Fire. We met a group of riders with the commercial outfit, “Moto Aventura Chile”. They were all riding big GS motos like ours. We watched them follow us up the ramp and onto the ferry.

Chilean border


The ferry Captain was doing a good job with the engines and rudder, keeping the small ship quite still as vehicles came onboard. The Patagonian wind combined with a strong tidal current still managed to cause the ferry to move and the lowered bow ramp to rotate on the concrete covered shore. The Moto Aventura group leader rode confidently up the ramp and parked beside us. Some of the clients that followed him seemed hesitant and shaky coming up the ferry ramp. Relief came over each of their faces as their motos came to rest on the side stand.

A whole lot of GS motorcycles on the ferry crossing the Straight of Magellan

Chatting with French riders

There was a stretch of 37 km still being paved half way to Rio Grande. We used the old ripio road that ran beside the concrete road being constructed. Our tires easily gripped the ripio surface. It did not feel dangerous at all. We were so relieved to discover that ripio roads in Patagonia are as easy to ride as any gravel road at home. The road on Peninsula Valdez had been an exception, not the rule.

We arrived late and cold at “Camping Azul” in windswept Rio Grande. Graciela’s welcome was open and genuine. We spent a pleasant time in conversation enjoying the warmth of her home and of her heart before she left for work at 8:30. Being the only guests, our tent standing in her small yard, she trusted us with the use of her house for the evening. There had been noticeable change in people’s approach to security in Tierra del Fuego. Everywhere in Latin America so far, home security in cities had been taken seriously. In the Land of Fire, mostly gone were the typical bars on the windows and the gated yards surrounded by walls that were often topped with barbed wire or broken glass.

The windswept Rio Grande estuary just across the street from Graciela's house

Graciela's smile, so engaging


Half way to Ushuaia the next day we stopped for fuel and coffee in a small village. We didn’t really need gas but fuel stations are few and far between in Patagonia. Sometimes they don’t have any fuel and you get turned away. A few stops ago my dashboard said that I had 14 km of fuel remaining. That was too close.

On the way out of town I saw the flash of a tumbling car going into the ditch. The car had approached the corner with too much speed. The driver was trying to turn left in front of me. The car had slipped on scattered gravel, overshot the paved culvert and rolled over a couple of times into the ditch to my right. A mother and daughter were inside the overturned car. The ten-year-old daughter’s head had put a hole through the windshield and she was panicked trying to climb out the passenger door, now on top.

I helped the girl as she struggled to climb out the passenger door. There was no stopping her, no chance to ask if her neck hurt. Isabelle came to put her riding jacket around the child. The girl's face was bloodied but it was still possible to see shock in it. The victim was uncooperative at first but soon Isa was sitting with her back against a light post and cradling the girl in front. Several other people showed up. The mother remained pinned within the car, driver's side down. Water was entering from the ditch so we pushed the car over, onto its broken-off wheels. Emergency services arrived quickly.

Up at the roadside, Selena was conscious and upset but Isabelle managed to calm her. Isa spoke softly to the Selena slowly answering her fear, “Voy a morir?”, and distracting her gently with questions and talk. We left after the ambulances had gone and the police had finished with their questions. We wonder about that little girl and about the extent of her injuries.

In contrast to the mayhem with which the day began, the final 200 km to Ushuaia were stunning. The pampa gave way to forest covered foothills and finally to real mountains. The wind was mostly behind us and the temperature rose too. We saw lots of grazing livestock for the first time in days. We passed a couple of very prosperous looking estancias (ranches) before reaching the small harbor city of Ushuaia, latitude 55 degrees South.

"Barba de Viejos", lichen covered dwarf trees in Tierra del Fuego  

Tierra del Fuego 

Sheltered valley in Tierra del Fuego

A mirador in Tierra del Fuego 

Full bloom in Tierra del Fuego 

Arrival in Ushuaia 

Ushuaia's harbour 

"Photo op" in Ushuaia

The real "Fin del Mundo" 30 km past Ushuaia

We parked and had a little look around. We enjoyed an expensive lunch along the waterfront. Everything is extra expensive in this tourist destination. Then we rode the final 30 km to the end of highway 3 (The Pan American Highway) to “Fin Del Mundo”, The End of the World. This point, inside Parque Nacional Tierra Del Fuego, marks the end of highway 3 and is the furthest point south in the world that is accessible by road. We hope some day to ride to the other end of the Pan American highway to reach the northern limit and see the Arctic Ocean.

Camping in the national park 

Parque Nacional Tierra Del Fuego 

Hiking in the park 

Looks like northern Ontario 

"Mariscos" in Ushuaia


We back tracked a few kilometers to a beautiful campsite at a bend in a mountain stream. The 360-degree views of the surrounding mountains were wonderful and familiar. We realised that we had missed the mountains. It had been nine months of riding over 33,000 kilometers that had brought us here.  Crashes, broken bones and Bolivian surgery had slowed us down, allowing us to connect with people and places. We had made friendships. We had made it to the End of the World.


Part 43 - Situation: Stuck in Spain, Dilemma: Deadline in Dublin

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