Tuesday, April 10, 2012

PATAGONIA!

Corcovado viewed from Chaiten

Mt. Chaiten Blowing steam
Chile border in
Chile border out!

Wednesday
Max cooks up a fantastic breakfast of eggs, steak and potatoes. We still don’t know much about the area but the visitors center opens at 10 and we learn that there  is a hike up the volcano so we decide to stay another day. First thing we need is cash so we track down the bank only to find that the ATM only works for Master Card.

Max cooking up a storm
Then it’s off to get gas. Nope the line is a hour long so we say f@#k it, lets ride. So we head north out of town to find the trailhead. On the way Max stops to ask directions from 2 girls on the side of the road. It seems they know where to go and they are going to the same place. They need a ride and we need directions so they hope on Max and my bikes and we head off. After about 30 kms I begin to worry about gas plus it seems we are going too far past the volcano. I pull over and after further attempts to communicate we determine the girls are going to the end of the road and we passed the trailhead 15 kms back. After saying our goodbyes we turn around and start back. John runs out of gas and I give him the liter I carry with me. Earlier I had noticed my fork seals are leaking badly so I was anxious to call the SF BMW and get their advise. So I headed back while Max and John climbed the Volcano.
These hitch hikers from Isla Chiloe braved riding on the back of Max and
my bikes up htrough the park

 After talking to BMW I’m not as concerned about my problem which is a relief.



Max shows up without John who had run out of gas again and had to push his bike the last three blocks to the hotel. Now things really begin to twist. We have been seeing scenes on the news of protests and long fuel lines but didn’t know where they came from. Well at dinner we got to talking to a guy from the area who spoke English and he informed us the protesters had blockaded a bridge that separated the southern Patagonia from the North and had stopped any fuel from getting through. That’s where we had planned to go tomorrow so once again protests will change our plans again (remember Guatemala?).

Thursday
We wake to a bluebird day! The sun is shinning and Corovalo Volcano is standing tall! Briner is the breakfast chef today and cooks up potatoes and eggs plus his famous coffee.
Tides out 

Max and I head down to the gas station and there is no line! Fill up with what turns out to be our last drop of Chilean Gas. The plan is to ride south to La Junta, the last town with any gas in Southern Chile, and turn east into Argentina. Down the road 50 kms. We stop to wait for John to catch up and talk to a family that just came from the south. “No gas in La Junta”. Now our only choice is to back track to Argentina the way we came into Chile. It’s still is a beautiful ride. Seeing everything in reverse is like riding a different road. We stop for gas before reaching Esquel and decide to spend the night there. While looking for lodging an another rider stops by. His name is Greg and he’s riding down from Toronto. So we join forces and find a hostel that will accommodate all of us. Gregs been riding alone since July coming across Canada to Alaska then South.
Near Chaiten

He’s had some pretty exciting times including bandits knocking him off his bike at Lake Atitlan and robbing him at machetie point. They took all of his clothes and money. His most recient adventure was he was in southern Chile and got caught up in the uprising. So it was off to a late dinner (restaurants here open at 9:00 pm for dinner) and swap stories of the road.

Friday
Lazy morning drinking coffee and shooting the shit with Greg. Max want a day on the internet to try to work out details to sell the KTM. So it’s decided we’ll stay another day while Greg continues his quest to reach Ushuaia. Not much for me to do so I go out, buy a sharpie pen and write the names of all 15 countries I’ve ridden through on my gas tank. I think it looks cool but briner just dosen’t get it.
Our hostel in Esquel

 Why would you want to put stickers and writing all over a perfectly good motorcycle? Meanwhile he washes his bike again. Another late dinner at Cheers, a family run restaurant/bar that shamelessly stole the name from a tv show.

Moto Art


Saturday
We get on the road around 11 and ride South to Rio Mayo, a little sheep shearing town that is also the capitol of this providence we are in. On the way we meet some riders from Braizl that are riding North from Ushuaia. They tell us off gas shortages south of us and they are beginning to ration.
Roadside shrine near
Rio Mayo

They advise us to pick up extra gas as many stations are closing. Shit we just can’t dodge this! About 40 km’s from Rio Mayo Max loses the end of his muffler and while retrieving it notices and new noise coming from the bike. As soon as we reach Rio Mayo we find a shop that can rivet the tail piece back on and Max has me listen to the bike. Big noise! Sounds like piston slap to me. But we also suspect the starter clutch again. The owner lets us use the shop and once again Max and I are tearing into the KTM. After a while we decide it’s fruitless and head over to the hotel where we find that there is a KTM dealer 165 miles away. Hell that’s like next store in this country so the new plan; Find a truck and get the bike to Comodoro Rivadavia, 165 miles East.

End of the road for Moto Diablo


Sunday
While I put the bike back together Max goes out looking for a truck and driver. The guy that owns the shop wants $700 to do it but Max finds a guy that will do it for half that so stay tuned for our next adventure. We meet the guy at 3 and load up the bike. John and I will follow behind. What happened next is while we are waiting for the truck to take John begins a conversation with 2 Scottish Bicyclists. The truck begins to roll so I follow but John, deep in conversation, fails to notice us leaving. The truck turns up a street and as per SOP I wait at the corner to show John we turned. Finally, after watching the truck disappear in the distance I see John down the street turning my way. I give him a wave then proceed to catch up with the truck. The truck has pulled over waiting for us to catch up.
Some kids at Rio Mayo

Our hotel in Rio Mayo
When I get there John is nowhere in sight. Shit I thought he was behind me! So off I go on one of what turns out to be three scouting rides around town. On the third attempt I see him coming from town toward me and wave to him to follow. Instead he thinks the truck is in front of him and continues riding out of town. I can’t believe what I’m seeing .  Not only is he riding away from me but he’s riding like a bat out of hell! So  I turn around and give chase. I’ve got the GS wound up to 110mph and I am hardly gaining on him. Finally after chasing him for 5 miles I catch up and wave him over. Then I politely (NOT!) tell him to turn around, the truck is back in town. Well we all managed to get together and made our way to Comodoro Rivadavia. We are in the Pampas region of Argentina and the landscape is mostly just rolling hill and scrub. We did pass by a couple of large lakes but other than that it’s pretty boring. As we approached Comodoro Rivadavia we began seeing the oil derricks and pumps this area is known for.

We found the KTM dealer without too much trouble but it being Sunday there was no place to leave the bike. While looking for alternative storage Max talks to the neighbor next store to the shop who graciously offers his house for storage. A quick search of the finds the hotels and hostels are relatively expensive but we settle on one near the motoshop but it has no parking. Well it’s back to Nester’s, where Max will keep his bike for the night, and ask if John and I could keep our bikes in his yard. “No, it is not safe in my yard, you must put them in my basement” was the answer. After spending a couple of minutes trying to convince him that would not be necessary he made more room for our bikes. The over priced hostel turns out to be a shithole. Noisy, no internet and no kitchen. Worse than all that, no love! We did meet a couple from France who have spent the last 3 years riding a 2-person bicycle around the world. That certainly puts our trip into perspective.
Then we find out the bad news; 2 day holiday Monday and Tuesday! This would mean not getting Max’s bike into the shop until Wednesday. Bummer! So we did what any down ridden traveler would do, we went out for an extravagant dinner.

Monday
Big surprise, the motoshop is open. The downside is they won’t look at the bike until the boss gets back from Buenos Aries the next day. The first thing on my list of things to do is look for a better hotel. It seems this oil rich town is used to entertaining oil rich executives. The hotels are expensive! I don’t care if I’m forced to spend time in this place I’m going to be comfortable. So we shell out the big bucks and get a room at the Hotel Austral. Later this day I find they have gin in the bar and know how to pour a drink! Money forgotten I’m settling in for the long haul.

Tuesday
Back to a all too familiar routine. Get up,eat and go to the KTM shop. At least we have Nester to break up the routine. We stop in to get some of Max’s things and end up spending a couple of hours with Nester in his kitchen swapping stories in our respected languages.
Nester with Max and his son

Of course Max is the only one who can partly understand both so I mostly just sit and listen. Nester tell us about when the moto shop bought the property next store and tried to swindle him out of some of his property. Sounds like the shop owner is a real asshole. Very discouraging.
The diagnosis is terminal

Back to the shop and our fears are realized.  The main crank bearings are toast, no parts in Argentina and shipping parts from Europe are 3 weeks out. One KTM for sale; $3000 as is where is.


Wednesday

Same old routine. Begin negotiations with the shop owner to sell the bike. Max and I take a walk along the water front. All the streets are covered in mud. I ask some people about it and am told the sewage from the hillside buildings perk up during high tide. I’m thinking maybe they meant storm sewers since the city doesn’t smell like shit but it sure is dirty. Back to the KTM. We have an offer of $1500 for the POS.

Thursday
Agree on  $2510 for the bike. This gives us $2000 to put in my pocket after we pay the labor on the bike. Truly a bittersweet moment. With all the problems we all had become obsessed with the idea getting the bike to Ushuaia. The KTM died 2 days ride from our goal. This makes my very sad because it means Max won’t be riding with us but, as always, Max puts a positive twist on the situation. He’s actually looking forward to some bus traveling and maybe even some hitch hiking.

Friday
Well the plan today is to get to the moto shop when it opens, get our money for the bike and get the hell out of town! Max and I get to the shop but have to wait for the owner to show up. Selling a used foreign vehicle in Argentina is illegal so we need to do it in a way it appears the bike is being sold as scrap to be used for parts only. This is to protect us as we have already imported the bike into Argentina and it must be exported within 6 months, if not Max will be tagged in the system and possibly fined if he ever tries to enter the country again.  The owner finally shows with the cash and we begin to wade through the legalize part of the deal. At this point I had the money and just wanted to get out of there and ride!  But noooooo! Since my name was also on the title, even as a “or”, I would have to have my signature notarized! By now it was a quarter to 1 and the notary goes for his 3-hour lunch at one. “Come back at 4” I’m told. NO,NO,NO! I must have said this out load because a call is made and the notary agrees to stay open for us. Max and I squeeze into a truck with 2 others and tear ass through Commordoro looking for the notary office. Once there the bikes title is passed around the office and many calls made until the big cheese himself approaches us to inform me we don’t need this document notarized! Great! We squeeze back in the truck and haul ass back to the shop hoping the secretary is still there so we can finish the deal. She is and after hanging around long enough to see Max can handle it from here John and I finally get out of town around 2:30. So we leave Max behind to deal with his shit, getting the document written up right, packing up his stuff and mailing it up to Buenos Aries and finding a place to stay for the night. John and I ride south on Rota 3 then turned west on highway 49 leaving the pavement behind. The ride along Ruta 3 takes us along the Atlantic coast, flat but rugged with rocky fingers jutting out from the shore. Not to sure about the geology around here but it sure looks volcanic.

The wind is defiantly picking up, blowing in from the west and gusting, causing a few unintended lane changes along the way! After turning onto the gravel the wind continues to hit hard causing the bike to drift onto deeper berms of gravel. With all the weight plus the size of my bike it becomes quite a handful. We are heading for the Monumento Natural Bosques Petraifcados  stopping to camp a few klics east of the park.
An old truck rusting away

Looks more like a sheep ranch than a campground. I go up to what appears to be the living quarters and knock. Nothing. Then I walk around the area looking for the camping area and find a kitchen, showers and a eating area but still no humans. The showers have hot water and the stove has gas so what the hell lets set up camp! Through the course of setting up camp we meet a dog, a cat and a rooster. They will all conspire against me getting good nights sleep. The dog is cool. We become good friends and my guess is if there was sheep around the dog would do a good job herding them. He is very accomplished in cat herding and herding chickens.  Walking around we find a old bus that was once used as a apartment, an old 1940 vintage truck and the ground is littered with what appears to be a red onyx looking rock and jade.
View from our camp

This part of the Pampas reminds me of far western Colorado and Utah. A rejuvenated valley with buttes in the distance. The wind blows here all the time. But we find a somewhat protected area to set the tents up. Missing Max.

Saturday March 3rd
As I mentioned before, the dog (who I thought was my friend until he pissed on my tent) and the rooster (who began crowing way before day break) kept me from getting a good nights sleep.
The dog

I awake to the wonderful smell of fresh pressed coffee coming from the kitchen where John is busy making his breakfast.  Looking around the area I still can’t find any sign of life. After a walk with my pissy dog friend around the ranch we gear up get ready to go. I start my day by dropping the GS while getting it off the center stand. This is becoming so common I’ve quit taking pictures of the bike on the ground. John and I take the short ride to the park and are greeted by a very friendly ranger who speaks no English. Through sigh language he explains the rules and shows us the trails to take. I’ve been through numerous petrified forests in my time but never have I seen one this impressive! These are trees 3’to 6’ in diameter that had been blown down and covered with ash from a nearby volcano, preserving them just the way they looked when they fell. Even the putrefied wood chips around them looked like wood. We see some large foxes while walking back to the park entrance and have a final look at the museum then hit the dirt. The road west begins as a one lane 2 track gravel road and winds in and out of the rolling hills surrounding us.
Mobile home at the camp

The wind is blowing so hard it knocks my bike while it’s sitting on it’s side stand. We begin to see small herds of Guanacos (a relative of the Lama) and some Rheas (large Ostrich looking birds). As we ride further west the Guanaco herds get larger, some having as many as 50. They are everywhere and scatter when I ride near them. We also see a few very wild looking horses out there. Highway 49 eventually intersects with highway 12, a two lane gravel road that leads us into Gobernador Gregores (another town named after someone I never heard of). There we gas up and find a room for the night. Long day: 200 miles and it’s 7PM by the time we find the hotel.
Long day 200 miles on gravel
Gas and hotel by 7

Sunday
Today we push for El Chaten. El Chaten is known for its glaciers and rugged peaks. It’s a small place with lots of hiking and on very famous peak, Fitz Roy, named after the captain of the Beagle (the ship that took Darwin on his voyage). Before leaving we were told by a number of people to avoid Ruta 40 and take a longer route around. This runs contrary to my thinking  as the 40 route is much shorter but one thing I have learned is to listen when locals speak so off we go down
Ruta 27. The first 80 miles is newly paved and a joy to ride on.
That faithfull turn that ended my ride

Then we turn west on 288 and find it a bit more challenging (an obvious understatement). The gravel is deep and unpredictable and the going is slow.

After a while the road narrows and the gravel thins out a bit and I pick up my pace. Not much to see out here on the Pampas other than the Guanacos and some Cows. While bombing along in a wheel tract doing around 50 a rather large monument catches my eye off to my left. Glancing over my shoulder was just the distraction need to turn my front wheel into the gravel berm along side the wheel track I was in and in a flash the bike was sideways and I was airborne! It was, what we call in the Moto world, the classic high side. The big old bike actually must have flipped in the air before landing too close to me. I, myself, hit the ground so hard I could not breath, not even a small breath, for what seemed like minutes. Once I came around to my senses I took inventory. I could wiggle my toes, move my legs and had no neck or head pain but I couldn’t move my right arm or shoulder. After some time I became aware that my collar bone was obviously broken. Shit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
John showed up a number of minutes later (boy does time slow down when you are laying in the road writhing in pain). Alls I can say is “I’m so sorry I fucked up the trip”.
Well that moment was the last of the riding part of the trip but certainly not the end of the adventure. After some 30 minutes or more John flags down a passing truck (only 1 of 3 we have seen all day). I didn’t know it then but the driver of the truck was none other than Saint Carlos! Well John and Carlos cleaned  up the debris and stashed the bike while I sat helplessly watching from the truck. Carlos then drove me to a hospital in Peidra
Buena 3 hours away. About 30 miles outside of town the gravel turned to new pavement and, if I could have, I would have crawled out of the truck and kissed the ground! Once in Peidra Carlos would not leave my side until he was sure I was being taken care of properly.





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