The journey
San Pedro de Atacama - Antofagasta - Jujuy (Argentina) - Salta - Cafayate - Belen - San Juan – Mendoza – Uspallata – Valpariaso (Chile) – Mendoza (Argentina) – Malargue – Zapala – Bariloche - El Bolson – Trevelin - Caleta Olivia - Rio Gallegos - El Calafate - Rio Gallegos – Ushuaia - Rio Gallegos - Caleta Olivia - Puerto Madryn - Bahia Blanca - Villa Gesell - Buenos Aires
Best bits
Siesta’s – life takes on a slower pace with a siesta
Beautiful, smooth, sexy, black tarmac
Un-sweetened bread, dulce de leche, chorizo, steak, wine
Ushuaia – I had no idea it would be so beautiful
Argentine hospitality
Worst bits
Siesta’s – four hours for a siesta is taking the piss. When I think of Argentina one word springs to mind… “closed”
Chilean’s impatience with English motorcyclists and their unique Spanish accent
Dog poo
Ruta 3 – long, flat, straight tarmac… still it beats those Bolivian roads!
Waterpump/radiator problems
A “lonely planet” town packed with tour operators and over priced restaurants. The joy of making it from Ushuaia to Chile was short lived as I discovered that the cost of living was three times that of its neighbour. San Pedro was full of touts trying to lure me into over priced restaurants and my price culture-shock made me long for Argentina. A very high dreadlock count here too… does anyone know the Spanish for trustafarian?
My long side trip to see the “Manu del Desierto”, or “Hand in the Sand” was sweetened by the generous hospitality of a Chileno biker who insisted on feeding me and he put me up in his penthouse apartment over looking the Pacific Ocean for the night. My first taste of a good bottle of wine for over a year, low altitude and warm weather had me smiling like the Cheshire Cat
Jujuy (Argentina)
People are waving at me as I pass through towns, I’m greeted with warmth and smiles wherever I go, and I get my first taste of the Argentine siesta. Here in the north the climate is hot and it looks a lot like the Utah desert, the siesta makes a lot of sense and my pace of life has had the brakes slammed on. “More wine vicar?”
Salta
The alternative road to Cafayate has the sexiest black tarmac curving its way through green hills. I buy a pair of ear plugs and pump house music into my helmet as I get my first smell of pine forests and enjoy leaning into each corner with the sun keeping me nice and warm. Biking heaven.
Cafayate
More siesta’s, more wine, more sunshine and the start of my journey along Ruta 40. This also marks the start of Argentina’s wine making region, but I’m wondering why the people are still waving at me as I ride through towns and villages? In fact the coach and truck drivers have started waving and flashing their lights at me too. The last time this happened was in Peru where everyone felt the need to tell me that I was riding with my headlights on and that I should turn them off to give them a better chance or mowing me down.
Mendoza
Town planners take note, plant more trees. Wine lovers take note, get yourself to Mendoza.
Mendoza’s streets are lined with mature trees and a complex irrigation system runs through the oasis city to keep it green and help make it a pleasant place to visit. Siesta’s, wine tasting, and partying. Life is good.
Valpariaso
On my way to Chile the master link to my chain breaks and I’m left scouring the mountain roads for any remaining parts of my chain. Note to self: what the hell am I doing travelling without a spare master link? I find parts of my chain back down the road and bend it back into shape. I limp back to the nearest town and get my chain spot-welded together which was sufficient to get me over the Andes and into Chile, only for my water pump to blow.
An enforced stay in Valparaiso allowed me to spend my days hopping over the dog poo littered streets, dodge the rock thrown at me by local kids, and enjoy the abrupt and dismissive attitude of Chilean’s. With me bike patched up I turn it around and run to the hills.
Mendoza
Oh, beautiful and friendly Argentina, why do you treat me so well? I breathe a big sigh of relief as I ride through a snow storm back into the Argentine desert.
Bariloche
Shortly after leaving Mendoza I feel the wind getting colder. I enter Patagonia and true to its reputation the wind picks up and it cuts through my clothing as I realise the party is over. It’s time to start wrapping up warm and use the cold weather cloths that I’ve had packed but not worn since the start of my trip.
Bariloche is beautiful. In my hostel I enjoy a duvet for the first in Latin America, I had no idea I was missing them. Hot chocolate and wine keep me warm as I reflect on the miles that lie ahead and wonder if I have sufficient warm clothing to get me to Tierra Del Fuego
El Bolson
Tranquil El Bolson makes a perfect stop over and is only a short ride from Barioche. Known for hippies and home brew beer I took a breather from the wine and failed to spot that many fire juggling, string bracelet wearing, dreadlocked brothers.
Trevelin
Very Welsh
Caleta Olivia
Yes, I’ve met a rude Argentinean. I was starting to think that they don’t exist. Although I’m not so proud of my tantrum in the pizza restaurant after the oik behind the counter did his best to ignore me. If you want to know how to annoy me just address everyone else in the room and never let your eyes connect with mine. The trick is to pretend that I don’t exist and then watch me explode.
El Calafate
Not so much cold as windy. I lose 25% of my fuel efficiency to wind that I’m riding into.
The glacier here is a big bugger. 5km wide and up to 60 metres tall. Arriving late in the day gave me time to myself away from the crowds to enjoy the echoing rifle shots from the cracking ice flow. Unlike the rest of the worlds glaciers the Puerto Merino glacier is stable and is an incredible sight.
Ushuaia
I get my first sight of road side signs stating “La Malvinas son Argentinos” and pass army barracks in Rio Grande with even stronger assertions. Even the border posts have Argentine flags with The Malvinas on them but I realise that it’s hardly surprising since we’re only a few hundred miles away from the rocky islands.
No one said that Ushuaia would be so beautiful. The last 70 miles into town are spectacular with lake views and snow capped mountains, I’m guessing that Alaska might look a little like this. I reach the end of Ruta 3 knowing that there is nowhere left for me to go except to turn the bike around and head back to the U.S.. I’ve come a long way.
The perfect place for my water pump to blow once again and for me to discover just how cheap none BMW branded seals cost. Everyone else is busy taking photos of the marine life but I’m put off by the price knowing that I’m fortunate enough to have seen most of the creatures posing for snaps in other parts of the world. Besides I’m a little offended at the custom in the Argentine national parks to charge foreigners so much to enter. My photo at the end of Ruta 3 cost me $12 USD… what a tight a*se!
Villa Gesell
What happens if you ride into town aonly days before a big motorcycle ralleye is due to take place? Internet radio and local newspaper interviews put me on the map, and I’m recognised in the local ice-cream parlour and asado restaurant thanks to the coverage.
The people couldn’t be warmer. My hotel treat me like a 5 star client anxious to please the biking Brit with cups of tea and dulce de leche croissants.
Buenos Aires
Why do I find the need to join in with the Portenos and stay out to 7am in the morning drinking? House music, samba and even The Smiths resonate in my ears and allow me to ignore the ever present reggaeton sound track.
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