Journey to the Bottom of the World

Where to Begin?

Part 1: The Day Bolivia Ran Out of Gas

I spent 5 nights at the Ambassador's residence in La Paz.  I can't thank Jurri and his parents enough for their hospitality.  I had forgotten how nice it is to have hot water in the bathroom sink, a non-electric-showerhead hot shower, and it had been seven months since I had flushed my toilet paper! (the plumbing systems in Central and South America can't handle the paper, so it gets put in a waist basket) I left Jurri's parents' house in La Paz on January 2nd.  From there, I was making a big push south to the town of Uyuni, located on the shores of the Salar desert.  Jurri was heading that way as well, but was making a detour to the mining town of Potosi first.  Malik, his family's driver, was driving him on this stage of his journey, so I followed them out of La Paz, and I think it was the first time I drove through a big city without cussing!  Once we hit the main road south, Jurri took off, and I pulled over for gas.  "No Hay," said the attendant, meaning that there wasn't any.  Huh, OK.  I road 100m further to the next station,  "No Hay, " and the next, and the next, until there weren't anymore stations and I was back in the Altiplano:  "No Hay!"  I had enough gas to get the day started, so I wasn't worrying about it too much.  A while later I came to small town with a gas station and was able to fill up.  Maybe it was just an isolated thing in La Paz?  Continuing South to the small city of Oruro, and looking to top off my tank before heading into the no-man's-land between there and Uyuni, I ran into the same problem:  "No Hay!"  Actually in Oruro, I never actually heard "No Hay," but the dozens of cars lined up at every gas station told the story.
 


I knew I couldn't make it to Uyuni with the gas I had, but saw a couple more small towns on my map before the dirt road began.  I visited each of them and was finally able to track down 8 liters that someone was selling out of their house.  If my calculations were correct, I would have enough to arrive in Uyuni with 10 miles of gas left: a little too close for comfort!  There were a few small villages along the way though, so I figured I'd go for it and see what happened.  Once I hit the dirt road, I immediately came to a detour.  They were starting to pave the main route, so I had to ride on a new dirt road that snaked back, forth, over, and across the old straight road that was being paved.  I'm guessing that the muddy detour ate a mile or two into my ten mile buffer.  I hope there aren't too many more of those!  Once I was able to pick up the main dirt road again, the land opened up, and I was in the middle of the most vast terrain I had seen up until that point of the trip.  Usually there are scattered homes owned by herders, or small villages that aren't on my map, but here there was nothing, and it seemed to go on forever.  I tried to find fuel in the first two towns I came to, but struck out:  One guy who sold gas didn't have any, and the no one in the other town sold gas.  Finally, in the third and last town before the long stretch to Uyuni, I tracked some fuel down and bought 4 liters. (1 gallon)  Now I had more than enough to make it to Uyuni, and it's a much more relaxing ride when you can actually use your throttle and not worry about having to push the bike the last couple miles!  That night I met up with Jurri and Malik in Uyuni and we were both equally shocked to see eachother there.  I thought for sure they would be stranded somewhere without fuel, and they figured I would suffer the same fate.  They ran into the same problem in Potosi when they tried to fill up, but were able to find some from alternative sources as well.  When it was all said and done, it was actually kind of interesting to live through the oil embargo of the 1970's for a day!

Part 2:  A Day Without a Horizon

Riding across the Salar de Uyuni on my motorcycle was something I had dreamed about since the first days of planning this trip.  The Salar is a huge salt flat in Bolivia.  If you click on "SAT" on my map, you'll see the massive white spot in South Americ that is the Salar.  For a good part of the year, the Salar has a perfectly flat, hard-packed salt surface that is blindingly white.  It's a place where you can fall asleep at the wheel and live to tell about it.  Even though 4x4 tracks define the major routes from Uyuni to the few towns along the northern, western, and southern perimeter, there are no other points of reference, so it's a very easy to get lost.  Exactly 9 days before I arrived, the Salar change from a dry salt flat, to a shallow lake, as it does each and every rainy season.  It will remain that way until April or so.  The water basically ruined my chances of crossing the Salar on my bike.  It's certainly not impossible, but the ultra-concentrated salt water would kill my bike, and second, your chances of getting lost increase exponentially since the 4x4 tracks are no longer visible.  As disappointed as I was, it all worked out in the end.  I ran into three other bikers, who I had met a week ago in Cusco, and the four of us hired a 4x4 and guide for the afternoon.  Although the water ruined my Salar motorcycle experience, I can only believe that it only added to the actual Salar experience: I think the pictures speak for themselves!

Part 3:  "Lucky" is an Understatement

The following day, the four of us woke up early and loaded our bikes up with enough extra fuel to get us from Uyuni to Chile.  We road southwest  out of town, on a road that skirted the edge of the mudflats surrounding the Salar.  We weren't really sure what to expect heading into this region.  It's known for it's remoteness, brutally cold temperatures at night, confusing roads, and generally wild terrain.  The day started off easy enough though, with a wide and smooth dirt road taking us 120 miles from Uyuni to Villa Alota.  This is one of the main 4x4 tour routes, and also an important shipping route for the local mines.  In San Cristobal, about 60kms out of Uyuni, we ran into another gas station and were able to top our tanks off with extra insurance: always a nice surprise!  From Villa Alota, South to Villa Mar, the terrain became more vast, and the road became a little looser with sand, but overall, the route was clearly defined and it had plenty of 4x4 traffic heading North from Laguna Colorada.

We had planned to part ways in Villa Mar.  My friends wanted to head directly to Laguna Colorada, and I wanted to explore a little more of the region first.  So as we headed out of town, I veered left at the fork and they went right.  I wanted to get to the town of Quetena, and my map indicated that I had to head southeast to Soniquera, and then continue due south to Quetena.  I arrived in Soniquera about a half hour later and asked around for the route to Quetena.  I was told to head back out of town the way I came, bear left, and continue to Quetena. Simple enough!  That makes sense on my map too!  I took the road out of town, beared left and was on my way.  From then on the road situation changed completely.  I was confronted with countless forks and turnoffs, none of which had a clearly defined, "this is the way," look to them.  None of the roads were on my GPS, but at least the town of Quetena was, offering me a black dot in the middle of a blank GPS screen.  I did what I always do in these situations, and take the road that is heading in the direction of the dot on my screen.  I came to one fork and the road to the right looked unused, while the one to the left looked barely used, but the unused one seemed to head to Quetena more than the other one did.  Quetena is the only town in this direction, so all of these roads heading south should eventually lead there, right?  Not too far down the road, the road dipped into a small valley and it became clear why the road was unused.  On the near side, the road was covered with a rock slide, and on the far side, the road was rutted with 2 foot deep ruts that crisscrossed the road, making it impossible for a car to pass, and nearly impossible for me to pass.  I made it through though, and then dropped down into another valley where I cut directly across about 800 meters of wetlands to a road I saw on the hill on the other side.  This is definitely not the road on my map!  When I crested the hill, the unused road I was on, merged onto a more used one, and it seemed to head South to Quetena.  I figured this was the road on my map. 

I followed that road, passing about a half dozen more turn-offs that seemed less suitable, and eventually found myself 5km due east of Quetena: according to my GPS.  The terrain was hilly and rocky, so visibility to the west was limited.  My map showed that Quetena was on a river, so I knew I had to descend into the river valley.  I continued south hoping that the road would eventually bear right, descend into the river valley, and then come back north to the town, even though this wasn't what was depicted on my map. I found no such turnoff.  The road seemed to continue south indefinitely.  I turned north, and road back a considerable distance to see if there was a road heading into the river valley from the North.  I tried dozens of roads, paths, and even road through the open terrain, with the hopes of at least catching a glimpse of the town.  I had no such luck.  At this point I wasn't really sure what to do.  It had been 3 hours since I had seen a person, car, or house, so the one time I desperately needed directions and wasn't too stubborn to ask, there wasn't anyone around to ask.  My frustration levels were through the roof.  The town is right over there!  Why can't I find a path, road, or anything going there!  I'd been monitoring the sun, and time was running out.  I started thinking about the -4ºF nightime temps I read about, and how deadly serious the situation was.  How cold is -4ºF?  If I put on every layer that I have, will I be OK?  I certainly don't expect to be comfortable, but can I actually die?  Am I overreacting and I actually have more than enough clothes to survive the night?  Enough of that!  I'm not giving up yet!  I decided to scramble down a couple paths heading west hoping to catch a glimpse of the town.  If I could see the town, I could leave my bike in the hills, and hike there if need be.  It certainly wouldn't get stolen, although at that point I didn't have too many long term concerns beyond making it through the night.  I still couldn't see anything.  I considered retracing my route to Soniquera, but I knew that I couldn't ride the "adventurous" route with the rockslides in the dark, and I'd end up finding myself in the same situation looking for an alternative route to Soniquera in the dark. 

The sun was just about to touch the horizon and I finally accepted the fact that I wouldn't be finding Quetena.  The feeling of actually accepting that truth is inexplicable.  I decided to make the best of what sunlight I had left and look for shelter.  I was in an area with large boulders and small ledges, and I spotted a nook in a ledge that would give me protection on three sides.  I parked my bike along the road, and as I walked up to the nook, I was in complete shock that this was actually happening.  I took a quick look at my new home, and it looked about as good as it was going to get.  There were an abundance of large flat stones, so I started roaming the small hill looking for stones to build a wall and block off the exposed side as best as I could.  As the sun hit the horizon, the wind began to howl and rip across the ground and right through me.  The temps were dropping as each minute passed. Oh how a sleeping bag would be nice right now!  Ironically, I anticipated the possibility of finding myself in this situation and I went shopping for sleeping bags in La Paz.  The only bag I found was $250, and I thought that it was too expensive.  Too expensive!  You cheap bastard!  $250 has never seemed so insignificant as when you're confronted with the possibility of dieing from exposure in the next 10 hours.  I carried the first stone up to the entry way and was already winded from exerting myself at 14,000ft.  I looked at the sun and took in the last rays of warmth I would be feeling that day.  As I turned to walk back down the hill, I couldn't believe my eyes.  A bus had just rounded a hill 200yds from my cave, and was driving right towards me!  My legs just about gave out from underneath me as the most all consuming sense of relief rushed through my body.  Unbelievable!  I haven't seen anything or anyone for hours, and here a bus appears out of nowhere and just happens to be on the road I'm on!  I ran down to where my bike was and waited as the bus approached, partially waiting for this apparition to vanish at any second.  The bus stopped and I explained the situation.  The driver pointed south, the direction I had just come from, but then said that he was going there and I could follow him.  Here I had just accepted the I was spending the night out there, and now I found it equally hard to accept that I no longer would be.  Seconds ago I was building the front door to what may have become my eternal home, and now I was following a bus that would bring me to a town with a real place to sleep.  This was so surreal and unbelievable!  Still partially expecting the bus to disappear, I took a picture as it passed by, just to prove there was a bus if it did happen to vanish.  I've rewritten this part of the post 4 times now and I don't think I can ever truly convey the situation or my feelings in words.  I don't know how cold -4ºF is, but I was concerned enough about it to put serious thought into whether I should use the last bit of sunlight to make a video; just in case...

I followed the bus for 45 minutes to the southernmost point I traveled to, and we continued for another 45 minutes beyond that.  I was completely baffled at that point.  When's the road going to turn north again?  It was completely dark and I was struggling to keep up with the bus.  The road was really rocky and sandy, and I crashed twice just trying to stay with him.  In addition, I had to leave a considerable gap between us to allow the dust to clear, but since the bus didn't have tail lights, I could barely determine which way he went at forks or turnoffs.  We eventually arrived at a river that was about 20 yds wide.  Yeah, my first river crossing in the dark!  The bus turned on it's reverse spotlight and lit the way for me.  Even then, the sandy bottom bogged my bike down and I had to put my feet down in about 1.5 - 2ft of water.   Yeah, wet boots for the next week!  I couldn't help but laugh at how lucky I was to be able to concern myself with the little things again!  A couple minutes later we arrived in the completely dark town of Quetena.  The town didn't have electricity, so I didn't even know we were there until the bus' headlights pulled up to a building and parked.  The bus driver introduced me to someone in the plaza who rented a room at his house.  After thanking the driver for saving my life, I made my way to my room for the evening.  As he opened the door, and I could feel the heat of the day still lingering in the room, the word "lucky" popped into my head.  "Lucky" is an understatement.

The next morning I turned on my GPS and saw that the real Quetena was 18 km south as the crow flies from where my GPS depicted it.  That would explain why none of the roads I found went to what was probably just another barren stretch of land.  Often times the roads on my GPS are way off, but the towns have always been dead on, so the thought that the town's point may have been wrong didn't cross my mind.  Even if I had thought that though, I can honestly say that I still would have never found the town; not with the maps I had.  I can blame my GPS, and I certainly will, but I really misunderestimated how vast and confusing this area of the country is.  With a road map and a roadless GPS map with points that are way off, there's simply no way to reference your location.  If you are planning a trip here, and plan to get off the main 4x4 tour route, I can't emphasize the importance of a topographic map enough.  Or at a minimum, don't be an idiot and bring a really warm sleeping bag.  That alone would have turned a life or death situation into a fun and interesting night in the hills.

Part 4:  My Own Mt. Everest

After rising from a warm night wrapped in wool blankets and with a roof over my head, I set off to ride the highest motorable road in the world.  I read that the road was between Quetena and Laguna Celeste, but locals told me that it was another road that led to the volcano.  Neither roads were on my map, so I took the locals' word for it.  The volcano was an obvious terrain feature, and the guys identified the road by pointing in that direction, but again, less than a KM out of town, I came to 4 different roads, all of which seemed to head towards the volcano.  After what happened the day before, my confidence was running a little low, and I didn't have the fuel to spend the day looking for the right road.  Not far down the first road, I changed my mind and returned to try the second one.  A ways down the second one I thought that it felt promising, but I didn't want to get my hopes up.  Once I saw the road start to snake up the mountain, I could finally relax and enjoy the climb.  The bike chuggged along as the road climbed and climbed.  I went into the ride not knowing how high I would be able to go, but I figured I'd give it my best shot and see where that got me.  At 18, 446ft, I hit a steep and sandy section and my bike wouldn't climb anymore.  I backed down the hill a ways to get more of a running start, but that got me only 2 feet further up the hill.  Well, this is it then. I walked up a bit further to take some pictures, and then I realized that I could take off the panniers and the spare fuel to lighten the bike up. 

With the panniers off, I pushed/walked beside my bike for the steep sandy section.  From there I hopped back on and continued to climband the ride became truly epic.  We earned each and every vertical foot we climbed.  The road became more of a path, covered in loose rock and eventually snow. I know this is the highest motorable road in the world, but there is no way a truck could drive this road.  At 19,039 feet I thought I had reached my highest point, but I couldn't help but want to push it even further.  I hopped back on the bike and fought up to 19,060ft, where the road officially became impassable.  That moment couldn't have been any better!  Up until where I dropped my panniers, the road was pretty easy riding, but the last 124 vertical feet really tested the bike and my wits.  It would have been 1000x easier just to walk the last stretch, and my clutch certainly would have appreciated it, but what fun is that?

Llamas, Flat Tires, and More!

The evening I arrived in Quetena after being lost and found by the bus, the bus driver introduced me to Miguel, a guy who rents out a room in his family's house from time to time.  Miguel found the story of my arrival humorous, and was more than happy to offer the room to me.  He guided me down the sand streets of the pitch-black town to the entryway of his house.  When we arrived, he removed the panels of corrugated sheet metal that guarded the entryway, and I brought my bike into the yard.  This walk was the first moment I could really relax and actually take in my surroundings.  The cold air, crystal clear sky, and smell of the desert, brought me back to all the long winter nights I had sleeping out in the high-desert of 29 Palms, CA.

The following day, I road to the volcano where I made my way up to 19,060ft, and after descending the mountain, I took the same route back to Quetena.  The trip had taken me just over five hours, and I figured it was better to play it safe and spend another evening in Quetena, rather than take chances trying to find somewhere to sleep on my way to Chile.  I road back to Miguel's house and he was happy to hear that I had both found my way to the volcano and had gone as high as I had.  As I settled into my room, his son appeared moments later with hot water for coffee, and a bowl of soup for lunch.  As I enjoyed the soup, Miguel came in and asked if I would like to join him when he went to tend to his herd of llamas later that afternoon.  I thought it sounded like a great experience and told him I'd join him.  He added that there were some old paintings on the rocks near his herd that I may like to see.

Two hours later we hopped into his pick-up truck, grabbed his son from the neighbor's house, and the three of us made the 45 minute drive out to his llamas.  He makes this journey every day, twice a day:  once to let the herd out in the morning, and once to bring them back in at night.  Wolves and coyotes are a serious problem out there, but they won't attack the llamas if they are all contained in one small area.  As we drove to his herd, he explained that years ago, he lost his entire herd of 40 animals in one evening.  Coyotes or wolves had killed all of them but had only eaten a few.  Miguel said that since all of his animals had bled out many hours before he arrived, all the meat was bad and all was lost.  So now, although it comes at a huge expense of time and gas, he makes the journey daily so that history doesn't repeat itself.  Miguel also has a small home near his herd that he stays in several nights a week. 

We dropped his son off with the herd about a half a mile from his farmhouse, and Miguel and I drove over to the house and parked there.  We walked for a ways past large rock cliffs and he showed me the paintings that I assume were done by natives who lived there hundreds of years ago.  While showing me the paintings, Miguel's son had moved the herd to a field closer to the house, and afterwards he came over to see what we were doing.  Miguel left me with his son to explore the strange rock formations littered throughout the area, and he went back to tend the herd. 

After his son brought me on tour of the area, we rejoined Miguel and the two of them set off to bring the llamas in for the night.  I figured the best thing I could do at this point was stand back and not direct the animals in any way, either intentionally or unintentionally.  It was really quite amazing to watch the two of them bring the animals in.  I can only imagine what it would look like if two people with my herding experience tried to move a herd of 70+ animals into a pen. 

When it was all said and done, we made our way back to the house in Quetena, and I will be forever grateful that he shared that with me.  Miguel is extremely proud of his llamas and of all the things he has in life.  When he asked if I could send him photos when I get home, the first photo he wanted me to take was one of him infront of his truck with his son.

The next morning I woke up to the idle of a diesel truck at about 5am.  I knew that Miguel was heading back to the herd to let them out for the day.  I dozed back off, and two hours later when I opened the door from my room to the yard, Miguel and another guy were standing around a llama that was peacefully sitting with a towel wrapped over hits head and eyes.  I instantly had that shocked feeling, as if I had just walked in on something I shouldn't have.  Neither of them had seen or heard me.  I quickly ducked back into my room.  I knew what was going on, and I didn't want to receive the offer usually given to guests throughout a variety of cultures: to cut the animals throat.  While I understand that it would be a "cultural experience" I have no desire to cut a llama's throat or anything's throat for that matter.  So I lingered around a bit until I knew they were fully underway, and then I wandered back out to see what was going on.  Miguel greeted me with the bloody knife still in hand, as if this was a perfectly normal event for him and me both.  Of course, it is a perfectly normal event for him, but it's certainly not what I'm used to waking up to.  He said, "Give me a minute, and I'll get you breakfast." I said "thanks" and went back into my room.  The next couple of minutes were excruciating.  I had visions of a plate being brought to my room with a beating llama heart, or with fresh balls of either variety, all in the name of a delicacy for the honorary guest.  As the door swung open, a huge sense of relief passed over me as my eyes locked on to the plate of bread and thermos of hot water!  Phew!!!

As I loaded up my bike, the family had gathered around the llama and each person went about their duty.  The daughter, who I'm guessing was thirteen, skinned the animal.  The mother made an incision through the membrane covering the entrails, and was dutifully fishing through the intestines, almost as if she was looking for something specific along the length of them.  Miguel and his son were skinning the animal as well.  It was about as far from home that I could be at any given moment.  It's not that I have a problem with any of this occurring, but when I looked at the family going about their work, the scene couldn't have been anymore different than my own life and childhood.  Heck, I used to complain about spending a couple hours hanging Avon books on mailboxes with my mom.  Here Miguel's son, who was maybe 10 or 11, was out herding llamas on his own one afternoon and then butchering them in his backyard the next.  Certainly a different childhood than my own.

It was a long days ride from Quentena to Chile.  The route itself was easy to navigate, but the section of road between Laguna Colorada and the border was not fun.  A good portion of it was deep and rutted-up sand, and there was no escaping it.  I tried riding off of the road itself and in the fresh sand covered with a solid layer of small stones, but that was equally not fun.  I reached the Chilean border that afternoon and it was another straightforward and simple South American border crossing. Note: if you're heading this way, the Bolivian Aduana is not at the border.  If you are heading South past Laguna Colorada on the main 4x4 route, you will undoubtedly see a sign directing you to a mine where the aduana office is.  I don't remember the distances exactly, but the mine is closer to Laguna Colorada than it is the border.  If you are going to the border via any other route, I don't know what your options are. From the border I rode a little further west to San Pedro de Atacama, a rather unexciting and expensive tourist town, but it was a necessary stop for gas.

The picture below is of flamingos in Laguna Colorada.  I couldn't help but chuckle when I arrived there.  Laguna Colorada is a massive lake with a gravel road going all the way around it.  Yet, each and every 4x4 tour that arrives at the lake parks in the same exact spot.  I can hear the driver now, "Get out now and take your pictures here!  This is the spot to take pictures of Laguna Colorada!"  There were four 4x4 parked there when I arrived, and I'm sure the trails of dust heading to and from the horizon had either just been there or would be arriving shortly. 

I took a day off from riding in San Pedro and caught up on the website, and then I headed east to Argentina the following day.  I was on the road by 7:30am and ready for a long days ride.  Well, it ended up being much longer than I expected.  I checked out of Chile in San Pedro, and then road the desert road to the Argentinian border at Jama.  As luck would have it, the border had a power outage and the line of people waiting to cross was huge.  Three hours later I was back on the road, and riding at 120kmph on more deserted desert road.  The bike started gradually swerving from left to right, and then the swerving became more abrupt until it forced me to pull over.  What the hell?  Oh, look at that, I have a flat rear tire.  That was the first flat I've had while actually riding, and I can't imagine what an instantaneous deflation of the front tire would feel like: hopefully I'll never know.  I pulled the wheel off the bike, and breaking the bead was easier than it has ever been since the tire was so hot from riding it on little to no air.  I pulled the inner-tube out and saw that the patch I put on in Uyuni, Bolivia, had come off.  I took out my patch kit, threw another patch on, and had the tire remounted,  all in record time.  I took off again and less than 10 minutes later the patch came off again.  Grrrr.  I repeated the process again, but this time I put in a spare tube that I patched back in Peru.  The patch from Peru was my first patch job ever, and it has since held up through very long highway drones in Argentina.

That same day I came to another salt flat.  This one wasn't nearly as big as the Salar in Bolivia, but it was dry, so I was finally able to ride on a salt-flat.  It was not nearly as much fun as I thought it would be.  After about 2 minutes it gets old fast, although I imagine doing it on a 1000cc sportbike would be a lot of fun!

 

Continuing eastward, the sun was starting to go down and I was still fairly far from where I wanted to end up that evening.  I saw a small but lively looking town on the right side of the road and figured I'd call it a night there.  As I pulled into town, there were backpackers everywhere.  The town's called Purmamarca and I guess it's a really popular spot for Argentinian travelers who are all on their summer vacation right now.  I road around for a couple minutes to get my bearings, and then parked my bike in the plaza and started searching for a place to stay.  Everywhere I went was full.  Everywhere.  The sun was down and I kept searching.  I found two hotels next to eachother that had plenty of vacancy.  They were also over $150 a night.  I ran into a group of backpackers from Buenos Aires who were in the same situation.  They told me how earlier that day, they passed through the town of Yala, south of Purmamarca, and how they had eaten lunch at a place with rooms.  They added that the food was great, so even though it was dark, I decided to give it a shot.  Literally as I pulled out of the town, it started to rain.  My favorite!  Riding in the dark, in the rain, with a tinted visor, crappy headlight, and with knobby off-road tires!  When I hit the main road running south, I came up on a slow moving pick-up truck and decided to follow it.  Its headlights were much better than mine, and I figured the truck would find the rockslides for me.  (there were plenty of signs indicating rockslide areas)  It was after 10pm at this point and the road seemed to go on forever.  I wasn't used to the scale on my map of Argentina, and I underestimated the distance.  After 45 more minutes of riding visor up, visor down, and everything in between, I arrived in Yala.  There was a police station on the border of the town, so I pulled over to get directions with the information I had, which wasn't much. 

The police officers came out of their one room station, and the first looked at me and said, "Your clothes are waterproof right?"  I looked at him and shook my head no.  "So you're wet then?" he said with somewhat of a dumbfounded look.  "Si," I replied.  The truth is, I have rain gear, but I was too lazy to put it on becasue I thought the town was just down the road.  After having established that I was indeed soaked, I took out the piece of paper I scribbled this restaurant/hotel's name and address on.  "Do you know of a Sara Chatal?  She has a restaurant."  The first officer maintained the dumbfounded look he had when he found out that I was soaked.  The second grabbed the piece of paper and said, "Si, I know her.  We are bringing this guy home and we can bring you there."  Wow this is great, the police are going to bring me there!  The day is finally over!

I followed the police pick-up down the main road and then we took a left onto a side street.  The road was completely covered in mud, and it headed into what appeared to be the woods.  Keep in mind, it was pitch black and my visibility was zero.  Where are these guys bringing me?  A couple minutes later and with a few more puddle/pond crossings under my belt, we pulled up to a white house that was completely dark.  I didn't see any signs stating that it was a restaurant, hotel, hostal, hostel, hospedaje, store, or anything other than just a house.  I pulled up along side the truck and they told me that this was the place.  I thanked them, pretty sure that I was worse off than I was 10 minutes ago at the police station.  They drove off, and I got off the bike and walked up to the front door of the unlit house.  I knocked a couple of times and a light clicked on.  The door opened and a middle-aged man answered the door.  "Good evening sir, sorry to bother you, but is this the home of Sara Chatal?"  "No," he says and then stares at me for a second.  Alright then.  "She lives back there," and he points to his left, where the second story of the home over-hangs a cement patio area, or a car-port of sorts.  Everything is pitch black and there is a section of chain link fence pulled across the patio/car-port entrance.

"Sir, do you think you would be able to get her?" I ask.  "Just clap," he quickly responds.  That was the second time that day I was told to clap to get someone.  While searching around Purmamarca, I pulled up to a hostal's iron gate and was ringing the bell.  Two women saw me standing there and said, "Just clap your hands."  I paused for a second, "Seriously, or is that some kind of a joke?" I responded with a smile.  "No, seriously!"  So I stood there and clapped.  It was about as effective as the unanswered door bell.  As I pondered clapping my hands for the second time that day, the man who had answered the door sensed my moment of hesitation, and stepped outside and clapped his hands.  They were like the hands of god.  I was looking into the dark abyss behind the chain link, and seconds after he clapped his hands, the lights kicked on in the car port area and two dogs came running and barking.  Now I could now see that the living area continued beyond the car port, and a door opened and a woman stuck out her head.  I looked to my left and the guy had already gone back inside.  "Hi, Sara!?...Sorry to bother you.  My name is Jeff and I met 5 people in Purmamarca that said that you had rooms here.  They said that they had lunch here today and that you make great empanadas."  She walked out the door and came over to the fence.  The line about the empanadas seemed to be the key words.  As she walked over, I could see that he eyes were still adjusting to the light, "Well I don't rent rooms but I do have good food!  Come here young man and get out of the rain."  She pulled aside the fencing and offered me a seat at a picnic table.  "I only have empanadas, is that ok?"  Actually, I'm really not hungry.  It's 11pm and I really just need a place to sleep and I still haven't found that place.  "Of course, empanadas would be great.  Thank you so much!", I said with a smile.  She went back into her house and I sat there, shaking my head at the picnic table as I watched precious time tick by.  A while later she emerged with a plate of empanadas.  As I dug in, I asked, "Sara, do you know of a place that has rooms in this town?"  "Yes, there's a hospedaje back on the main road and about 1km further south."  She was walking back to her kitchen to bring me a soda, when she stopped and turned around.  "Do you have a tent?"  "No, I don't," I responded.  "Well I have a tent you can use.  You can set it up here.  I will bring you some blankets and a pillow."  I was shocked.  "Thank you so much!  That would be perfect!"  Her daughter came downstairs with a stack of blankets for me, and she helped me set up the tent.  After everything was ready, Sare wished me a good night's sleep, and asked when she should have breakfast ready for me.  While sleeping on cement is never really a good time, it can feel suprisingly comfortable when you're too tired to care.  It had been a long first day in Argentina, but with this show of hospitality, it couldn't have ended on a more positive note.  The next day I road back up to Purmamarca to check out the colorful hills (that I had missed the day before) in broad daylight.

Since then, I've been heading south on Ruta 40, which is Argentina's equivalent of Route 66 in the US.  If anything its more popular than Route 66.  I've never had anyone ask me if I road Route 66, but starting in Mexico, I had other travelers asking me if I was going to ride Ruta 40.  So far, the road has been nothing to get excited about.  I road 500 miles of it yesterday, 500 miles more the day before, and quite a bit of it the day before that.  I picked it up just north of Cafayate, and that's where I saw the first Km marker indicating that there were 4362km (2710 miles) to the end.  I originally thought that Ruta 40 went all the way to Ushuaia, but Ushuaia is actually another 200 miles south.  Either way, that mile marker was the first indication I've had had that this trip will eventually come to an end.  With that realizatoin came a variety of emotions.  The first: Wow, I only have 2710 more miles to go.  The second: Wow, I still have 2710 miles to go!  And the third:  After all the planning, all of the good times on the road, and all of the bad, only 2710 (+200) miles separate me from reaching reaching my "objective" as I worded it in the "The Journey" tab on this site.  I never thought reaching Ushuaia would be as important to me as it is now.  Don't get me wrong, I am completely content with the experiences I've had on this trip.  Yet with that being said, I need to reach Ushuaia!  It's as simple (or confusing) as that.

Patagonia

I've been heading south fairly quickly through both Argentina and Chile's lake districts, and I'm currently making my way through Patagonia.  I've probably said it twenty times now, but photos cannot even begin to capture the beauty of this area, and that truth applies here more than anywhere else I've been.  You need one of two things to even attempt to photograph this area: a helicopter or a fish-bowl lens. If photos can't do it justice, I can assure you that my words can't either.  Everything is so huge and expansive that merely a photo-frame's worth seems inadequate.  Likewise, my vocabulary isn't colorful enough to describe it in words.  It's a place you really need to see for yourself.  Until then, here's a glimpse of what you'll see:  

As I've been making my way south past the unworldly vistas of Chile and Argentina, something hasn't felt right.  Here I'm in one of the most beautiful places in South America, if not the world, and I can't help but feel like something is missing:  The challenge is missing.  Honestly, it's too easy here.  There's gas stations a plenty and so many signs that I haven't once had to ask for directions.  Likewise, I've never had the feeling of, "Am I where I think I am right now?".  The roads have basically been immaculate, and even the dirt and gravel roads are in good shape.  There's no wondering about what I'll find in the next town.  This whole region is overwhelmingly touristy so each and every town has dozens of places to stay and eat. 

In Bariloche, which is known as a little Switzerland, I saw a sign for a "Tea, Bread, and Cheese Tasting Boutique."  I had a double-take.  "Tea, Bread, and Cheese Tasting Boutique?"...wait, what, where am I?  Only days before I was staying in a Bolivian town without electricity, a restaurant, or a store carrying anything but basic supplies.  There certainly wasn't extra money for tasting Tea, Bread, Cheese, or anything else for that matter.  It probably doesn't seem like a big deal but it really blew my mind.  By all means I'm happy that the majority of Argentinians and Chileans seem to be doing well and that they have expendable income.  In fact, these are the only two countries where I've met large numbers of tourists that are actually from the country.  I'm not selfish enough to want to take their well-being away so that I can have an experience a little rougher around the edges, but it takes some getting used to.  It's an adjustment I was bracing for when I arrived back in the States, and I guess I wasn't ready for it yet.  Simply put, I miss Bolivia, Peru, and Ecuador.  I miss not knowing how long it will take to get somewhere or if I can even get to where I want to go.  I miss being "lost".  I miss roads that go over mountains, rather than between, around, or through them.  I miss asking for directions.  I miss worrying about finding gas, or if I can get off the road before nightfall.  I miss the adventure!

I hope I don't sound overly negative about Argentina or Chile.  They are great countries, and if I had to suggest a place for friends and family to visit in South America, Patagonia would be it.  It's truly an amazing place, but the overall experience is just a little different from what I've become used to, and what I was expecting and hoping for.

On a completely different note, I finally broke down and bought a tent and sleeping bag in San Martin de Los Andes, Argentina.  In light of what happened in Bolivia, I'll admit that I was a little late on that purchase, but even the night in Bolivia wasn't enough to convince me to spend the money on the gear.  Spending $60 on a hotel when I arrived in yet another town that had all of it's inexpensive accommodation full, was finally enough to convince me.  I figured that if I got stuck paying $60 a couple more times that the gear would quickly pay for itself.  It's been great having camping gear, mainly because there is inexpensive camping everywhere, and waking up on the shores of a massive lake beats a hostel dorm room any day of the week, regardless of price.

Before reaching Chalten, I road the gravel stretch of Ruta 40 south of Perito Moreno, Argentina.  Throughout the motorcycling community, that section of Ruta 40 has the reputation of being notoriously rough and windy, and many trips have ended there with serious injuries and/or bike failures.  I went into it expecting the worst.  I envisioned a road like the one between Laguna Colorada, Bolivia and the border of Chile: deep rutted up sand that seemed to go on forever.  I added the nasty patagonian winds to that picture and braced for a rough couple of days.

On the first day, the road was surprisingly nice.  It was gravel, and had plenty of ridges running the length of it, but the wash-boarding was kept to a minimum, and there weren't any potholed sections.  The Patagonian winds held their breath for most of the day as well.  In the afternoon, I hit a rain and lightning storm that turned the necessary detour to the town of Gregores into pure mud.  The road was like ice, and the winds had picked up making it impossible to ride straight or have any sort of control over the bike.  With no traction in the mud, the wind was making the bike slide whichever way it wanted.  Even keeping the bike upright while standing still was difficult because my feet were slipping everywhere as well. I filled up with gas in Gregores, and with no end to the storm in site, I decided to call it a day and set my tent up in the Municipal campground in the center of town.  The campground was basically a small grass park in the town where anyone can set up a tent for free, and there's even free hot showers if you're brave enough to use them:  Free does have a price.

Ruta 40 showed its true face on the second day.  The road was still in fairly good shape, although the ruts were a little deeper.  What made the second day challenging and entertaining was the winds.  I can't even venture to guess what the wind speeds were, but when I pulled over to share my tire pump with a guy and his pick-up truck, neither of us could hear each other talking/screaming at each other just two feet away.  Off the bike, I had to deliberately lean hard into the wind, or I would instantaneously loose my balance.  A perfect day for riding a motorcycle!  The winds cut across the road from right to left, and made for a tiring day in which I couldn't let my mind wander for even a half-a-second.  At any moment, and even when riding slow in first or second gear, a gust of wind could hit and blow me clear across the road and over all the ridges of gravel.  You have to allow the wind to push you across to a certain extent, because if you lean equally hard against it, it will blow the wheels right out from under you.  If you try to steer hard to the right as you cross one of the gravel ridges, the front tire will wash out.  You can't slam on your brakes either, or you will definitely end up on your face.  Thankfully my newer and knobbier front tire handled the gravel ridges infinitely better than the MT-90 I had on back in Peru, which would wash-out each and every time I tried to cross a loose rubble ridge either intentionally or unintentionally. 

I arrived in Chalten two days ago and have hit what is hopefully just a minor setback.  I was changing my rear tire yesterday, and when I removed the rear axle, a half-a-dozen ball bearings spilled out.  I'm not an expert, but that's never a good sign.  Upon further inspection, I saw that the bearing inside the cush drive (rear-sprocket hub) was no longer a bearing.  Unbelievable!  When I was buying spare parts for the trip, I can remember looking at that bearing specifically and thinking:  Hmm, should I buy one of those?  Nah, it doesn't have the weight of the bike on it like the four other wheel bearings, so I doubt it will wear out.  I'll just buy the four wheel bearings.  At this point in my life I should realize that when I have a moment of doubt like that, I shouldn't ignore it, but I did, and now I have to find a bearing down here.  Without it, the sprocket hub floats on the axle, and the sprocket tilts inward several degrees.  Again, this is all new to me, but I'm sure riding it like this will wear-out the chain, sprocket, axle, and the hub itself.  I've asked around town and can't find a bearing here, but I did meet a guy who has a friend of a friend going to Calafate tomorrow in a pick-up truck.  He said I should be able to throw my bike on the truck and get to Calafate that way.  There's an auto parts store there so with some luck they will have the bearing I need.  We'll see what happens.  Until next time...