The Boeing 767-300 banked easily on our final approach into the city, the dawn's light glinting off the aluminum skin of the wings. Out of my window seat I could see that we had dropped way below the peaks, the mighty Andes reaching towards the sky like some angry stone gods as ou LAN aircraft flew just out of their reach. soon we were just floating above the farms and in seconds the familiar and cheery feel of tires touching down on tarmac.
In a short time we were through the Chilean bureaucracy and in a taxi heading toward the center of Santiago.
We had flown to South America to ride along with Aerostich Tours (Operated by MotoQuest) on their sojourn to Tierra Del Fuego - the "Land of Fire" - the end of the world.
Santiago would be a brief stop for just one night but, sleep deprivation be damned, Shira and I checked into the Hotel Orly and then, with Santiago map in hand, went out to explore this old city on a beautiful All Saints Day morning.
Being it was a holiday the crowds were light this early in the day and we made use of Santiago's excellent subway system and went to explore the Mercado - the market of the city. If you needed it, you probably could find it in this market. Eventually we found our way to the center and the fish market, where we sat down for a delicious welcoming meal of Scallops and Baby Eel, both done in a tasty garlic sauce and eaten under a giant filigree of wrought iron and glass. A little Chilean wine and the hectic past 24 hours of travel were washed away.
Walking back the crowds all seemed to come out and the town was bustling; little ones still running around with their Halloween costumes and artists showing their works. Crossing the Plaza de Armes I heard somebody call my name and then we spotted Ellen and Dave whom I had ridden with to Prudhoe Bay, Alaska a few years back. They too were riding on this tour, as were Jed and Brek - two fellows from California, and Chris, a rider from Kent, England' we sat and enjoyed a table at a small restaurant in the Plaza. Although we knew folks would be arriving over the last few days the chances of running into a good part of our tour group were monumentally small and we all took it as a great omen for the big ride to come.
The actual tour began the next day as we flew south to the city of Osorno. On the flight we met the rest of our group save one - Dan, Boyd and Chad.
Luck would have it that we all showed up at the Santiago airport around the same time and a few short flying hours later we were in the center of Osorno enjoying lunch with our guides Phil and Jeff of MotoQuest who were waiting for us at the airport along with Sonia and Roberto, our local contacts from MotoAventura. Aerostich and Phil from MotoQuest had worked closely with this company to put this tour together and that evening we had our first meeting to make formal introductions and go over the game plan for the next couple of weeks as we rode towards Patagonia and the end of the world in Ushuaia.
That evening the last of our pride rolled in, in the person of Mike Wernick, our friend from Rising Wolf Garage in New York City. Mike and I had ridden to Prudhoe Bay a few years back and it just wouldn't be right to touch the other end of the Americas without him along for the ride.
Shira and I would be riding two-up on this tour, on a BMW R 1200GS. We thought originally we'd be riding an F650GS, but along the line we got "upgraded" to a larger bike. Normally this would be a good thing, but on this journey I would have much preferred the smaller machine. Bigger is not always better, especially in the Patagonian mountains of Chile and Argentina. But, we would try to make do.
We picked up our bikes at the MotoAventura facilities the following morning under gray skies and the threat of rain. The folks at MotoAventura, from whom MotoQuest had arranged for our machines, had a superb facility and all the bikes were in excellent shape and all had new tires. We would need them.
After getting all the paperwork done and setting up the bikes to our liking we finally got underway by late morning. Our ride that day would bring us into Argentina and, as we rode ever closer to the snowcapped Andes, I could feel myself getting that familiar feeling of being on the road someplace new and exciting.
Along our route east we stopped by a small Auto museum, which boasted the second largest collection of Studebakers in the world.
How could we not stop for that?
Continuing on we soon reached the borderlands of Argentina. Here we spent a little bit of time getting our paper work in order, something that would be repeated on the Argentinian side as well.
In between the two actual outposts was about 30 kilometers of visual and sensory overload as the road snaked its way up and through the heart of the Andes Mountains. As we rode higher the terrain began to change and along the high road the temperatures dropped dramatically and we were all glad we had electrics. To both sides there was deep snow, but the roads, for the most part, were clean and dry. In the distance the skies of Argentina were bright blue.
Each sweeping turn brought another stunning vista and I could tell right then that this tour would be something very special.
Heading back down through the valleys we were ringed in by striding peaks laced with snow. Strong rivers and streams flowed by and many of the cliffs rained down waterfalls hundreds of feet high.
Patagonia, the beginning of the end of the world. Phenomenal.
On the Argentina side we did our paperwork to get into the country and then continued on through a broad lake region, the stunningly blue waters sheltered by the mighty Andes; which seemed to be everywhere you could look.
An hour or so later we rode around the huge lake called Nahuelhuapi, home to Argentina's own plesiosauris Lake Monster - Nahuelito - and then into a high plains desert. Such varied topography in a relatively small area.
Late that afternoon we rode into the city of Bariloche, home to all things chocolate and the midnight car alarm.
It was a fantastic first day in South America.
Leaving Bariloche we ran into a mass exodus of town fold all walking along the main highway south. The parade of humanity lasted for miles and eventually they all headed back down towards the lake. We really had no idea what was going on - I jokingly thought it was time for the annual sacrifice to Nahualito and some of the younger and cuter kids would not have to make the trek back to Bariloche.
Once again the road heading south was flanked by the mountains of Argentina's famed Patagonia. As we moved south the road twisted up and our group spread out with some of us enjoying a mid-morning blast along the nicely paved mountain roads.
That day we were offered a choice in routes, some heading into the national park along a gravel road and others following a route to the east that went along the high desert. On the route we passed a very strange thing - a bottle shrine - a pathway hundreds of feet long, leading up to a Mother Mary.
Okay, that's a bit different. The first of dozens we would see on this trip.
Spying a sign for the Museum of Patagonia we dropped by for an hour's perusing where we learned the history of this mysterious part of the planet and the story of the giants who once lived here. This place is very deep in history, and along with the pure physical beauty there is a story to be learned.
Along the way the wind known as the Roaring 40's started to pick up, and then they picked up some more, until we were having a constant battle with the zephyr blasting in between the high craggy peaks and the long flat valley through which we were in no-mans land and there was not another human to see for miles, it mattered not.
I gave a nervous laugh through the intercom to Shira and accelerated trying to stay somewhat uprights.
An hour or so later we rode into Esquel and while fueling up we bought a bunch of local ham, cheese and wine. By the time our group reformed that evening we had a nice little banquet waiting their arrival.
They had an awesome time, following Phil through the park, with ancient trees, stunning peaks and beautiful lakes, and just a bit of rocks and gravel.
Considering the amount of gravel we would be on over the entirety of the tour, two up an a big GS, we did not envy them - we all had a great time.
Later that evening, rather than go to the town, the town came to us in a form of a protest. It seems that the powers that be, in this case the Meridian Gold Inc., headquartered to Reno, NV. wish to open a gold mine in the surrounding mountains, using cyanide and the local water supply to get at the pretty ore. Getting into the spirit of things a few of us joined the march. Nothing like a bit of good ol' South American marching in the in the streets. You can google Esquel gold protest for the whole story.
As promised this day's journey would be far more dirt than pavement. Leaving Esquel we turned west on what I thought was a delightful and well groomed gravel road that brought us toward the border with Chile, once again. Crossing over a wide river we found ourselves spending time with the Argentinean Police before heading across the frontier and doing it all over again with the Chilean gendarmes.
This took all of an hour and in the tiny town of Futaleufu we took lunch.
From there Phil told us the route would bring us into and through a National Park and would be a bit remote. When Phil says remote, believe him.
About 40 kilometers into the journey we took a right to head towards the Austral Highway - Route 7.
It was here that we ran into our first bit of gnarlyness in the form of large rocks that had been laid out as a base for the new road that would lead from the new bridge. The GS went in two different directions at once, but a steady had brought us down this section of road safely, if not gracefully.
Later on two of our group would get caught up in this action and both would end up down, with one fellow going off the road to be pinned beneath his bike a number of feet down the embankment. No names to protect the innocent and slightly embarrassed. Suffice to say both were okay and the trip continued for them.
The scenery through this part of the day's ride was spectacular, with tall waterfalls, thousand year-old trees and something different around each bend. Bearing south on Route 7, the Austral Highway, I laughed that the Chilean government would actually have the stones to call it that.
Basically it was the same as everything before - a rough two-track road that rose and fell along the valleys of the Andes.
Large trucks would come bearing down from the other directions and barely pull over enough to let a motorcycle go by. And, when they did you got a mouthful of dust and pelted by small stones.
Right about then it started to rain.
There is a learning curve for riders like myself who spend the bulk of their two-wheel adventures on pavement, and by that afternoon most of us were in a groove, others had the groove to begin with and I cannot mention strongly enough that a tour such as this is not for the casual rider. If the idea of a dirt road scares you, this is certainly not your tour! Let's continue.
It was a long and hard day and as the sun was beginning to set we rode down to Puyuhuapi. Located at the head of a fjord, Puyuhuapi is more a street with some houses than any real town. By this time the cold rain, rolling in from the icy Pacific, seemed here to stay and we were grateful our room had a wood stove going inside.
With a rainbow ending the day's journey we happily put down the side stands and called it a day. Puyuhuapi was a bit different - still, would be home for the night.
We got the wonderful news at dinner the previous night that the road south would be closed for construction from 10AM on. This forced us to be heading out far earlier than we had hoped and, as the previous day had been difficult in places, it would pale to what we were riding into. The hard and icy rain did not help the mood.
Once again we headed towards a National park, this time the two-track road rose higher and higher, Soon we were in switchbacks created from large rocks and stones built up in the apexes. Our bikes literally slid around the turns uphill. Down hill was a pleasant task at best.
Still, the day was not without some extremely beautiful vistas. Waterfalls too numerous to count cascaded hundreds of feet off the mountain peaks. As tough as the road was, it was a blast to ride in most places, and it was only when we reached the actual construction areas that we had trouble with slick mud, large rocks and general crappy riding conditions. We passed many signs in Spanish that we could not read. Shira made up translations - "Death" - "Immediate Death" - and the good ol' "This is going to hurt so much Death!" At one point after sliding down a particularly gravelly piece of two-track she whispered through the Autocom that if I could get her safely to our hotel that night she would surely make it worth my while.
With renewed vigor I stood on the pegs and gave it the gas!
Our group did well and by early afternoon we were out of the park and on actual pavement. Proving my theory that the Chileans can, if they want, pave a great road, we followed along the rivers and through deep valleys ringed with the cloud-shrouded Andes.
This was the road into Coyhaique, and as if on cue the sun came out and the pavement dried as we enjoyed a marvelous ride towards the city.
Leaving early got us in early and the hotel was one of the best on the tour so far; so a casual and leisurely afternoon and evening was had by all, with a whole southern Chilean city to explore.
Coyhaique, Chile to Los Toldos, Argentina = 326K
This day started with brilliant sunshine as we rode our of Coyhaique. The first hour or so east toward the frontier with Argentina brought us though more magnificent valleys, with the ever present snow-capped peaks bordering them in; and as the road rose higher we snaked through the Andes and onto a high and wide desert that stretched for as far as the eye could see. Spending time with the Chilean authorities and then Argentina's finest, I could see that the road went into infinity in a very straight line. The road to the border was paved but once in Argentina it was all rutty gravel once again. Here again the Roaring 40's came in with a vengeance. Belting us with a steady gust of at least 40 miles per hour, the bikes all shot down the gravel leaning at precisely the same angle. Bearing south on the infamous Ruta Cuarenta, or Route 40, we instantly learned why it has gained such an evil reputation.
The road sucks! It was the worst ride since, well since, the previous day.
It started with deep stone, that gave way after 20 kilometers into Baja-like silt that spread across the road in the sneakiest of ways.
It it weren't for Phil catching on big dune hidden in the shadow we would have had a major incident.
As it were we had three riders go down in one uphill left hand sweeper when the palm-sized boulders grabbed the front ends away from the riders.
This time around there was some serious bruising involved but we all continued on. These riders were nothing if not tough hombres.
The road did have its sweet spots, but we were always reminded that this was a road not to be taken lightly and maintain constant vigilance. Many times Shira and I got sideways and we had one big moment when we ran into the three downed riders and slid to a stop, only to have the heavy GS get caught on a small boulder and do a weird slow-motion high-side to the right which I caught just before touchdown. It was a great save, but almost cost me my leg and shoulder. I wondered if I could get a massage down here?
With some 80 kilometers more to go we tried to take in some of the scenery, but honestly, except for the occasional dead cougar on the side of the road it was windy, wide, and desolate.
We finally T'd into a paved highway and rode into lunch and fuel in a little town called Perito Moreno. From here we though it was all paved roads for the rest of the day. Along the way dark clouds floated among bright blue skies and the sun burned brightly across the land. The cloud rained down tendrils of moisture and I hoped we would ride around them, but that was not to be as soon the ground became wet and then it began....to snow.
Right about then the pavement ended and we were back on rutted gravel. I was waiting for the lightning and earthquakes to start at any second.
I hunkered down and kept the speed up. The earthquake was that night.
To be honest, even though the road was a hard one, we needed to do this route to get to the night's accommodations, a remote Estancia called Cuevos de las Manos -basically a ranch house high on the Argentine desert.
To believe that folks live so far from others is hard to fathom.
Los Toldos, Argentina to the middle of nowhere, Argentina 274K
In case you haven't heard this road is getting quite absurd
Likely breaking shocks - that's for sure
Roadside bombers - winds like tsunamis
Oh god how I want my mommy,
This road doesn't play fair anymore.
- Not Jimmy Buffet's words
We were told the previous evening that the next day was an easy one, but awoke to a revised memo and were told it would indeed be our toughest, some 250 kilometers of the worst of Route 40 - construction, high winds, possible snow showers. You know, the usual. Basically, the same as the last few day, only a bit tougher. Yikes!
The scenery was also identical as we motored through miles and miles and miles of flat gravel two-track. Occasionally the landscape would open up to something pretty and we did spend some time watching some giant Condors float high above us while looking for a snack. The largest birds on the planet, they were almost inspiring to watch - then we remembered they were basically the biggest vulture in the world and we were inspired to ride on south along the never ending plain To the left and right Guanacos (a kind of llama) and Nandus (good-sized flightless birds much like an Emu) ran along the open plains near the road.
At one point we got detoured off the route - as they were actually creating a real paved highway - which, considering there were all of 5 guys working along 20 miles, should be ready for the turn of the next century.
Seriously, it is taking time, but Argentina is moving forward -plus they have a babe for a president.
Along this detour was the worst surface of the day, loose small boulders, crushed rock, the ever-threatening snow squall and the occasional dead armadillo. Once or twice we had big-time pucker moments as the GS got its front wheel caught in some heavy gravel at speed. Steady on got us through it, but by then by nerve was quickly fading away.
That afternoon when we got to the beautiful Estancia, La Angostura, literally in the middle of nowhere, both Shira and I were done.
A hot shower, a cold beer and - hey, is that a guitar?
It was and after dinner and a couple of tunes from yours truly the owner of the ranch house played a number of wonderful Argentinean Gaucho songs.
Middle of Nowhere, Argentina to El Calafate, Argentina 319K
Today we would start from our furthest eastern point to the one of the furthest western points of the tour.
we got an early start and did 150 kilometers of gravel before a quick gas stop and lunch of empanadas. From here we swung west towards the Andes and off this god forsaken high desert.
Still it was miles and miles of the same Argentina moonscape and Shira kept herself amused spotting dead things on the side of the road - guanaco, rabbit, and armadillo- whatever. A girl has ti find fun somewhere.
In the mean time I did my best to keep the wheels in the two-track road. To give you an idea - think of trying to keep you bike within a two-foot plank for 500 kilometers. Sometimes you can slide off and imaginary plank and be okay, other times you will pay a price. Still, other times the two-foot plank dwindles down to 6 inches, sometimes to nothing,
It does demand attention.
We had done well so far, but I do know I am more at home on pavement then gravel.
After the stop we spied real macadam and Shira popped on the iPod. First song up - Steely Dan's "Home at Last."
"I know this superhighway. This bright familiar sun. I guess that I'm the lucky one...well, the danger on the rocks is surely past - seems I have found my home at last."
It was ironic at worst.
We had about 30 kilometers of actual pavement before it turned to shit again and more and more construction. Then they had paved, then gravel. then paved, immediately into rough gravel. Gravel/paved - paved/gravel.
You could never get really comfortable on this ride.
I was thinking it, but Shira said it through the intercom - "What the fuck is wrong with this country?"
Eventually it opened up to a magnificent view of the mountains and a far off glacier. the pavement returned and we rode, at a great pace, to El Clafate where we would put for two nights at a wonderful lodge overlooking the ocean and the Andes of Chile, right over the border.
A hot shower and cold beer were in order and then off to explore the tourist town.
Free Day in Clafate - 160K
We had the first of three scheduled days off the bikes and we used it to hop right back on them and ride an hour or so to the Moreno Glacier.
Ellen chose not to ride that day so Shira was able to get some saddle time here in Argentina on Ellen's F650.
The previous night I had taken a tumble climbing up a steep hill, landing hard on my tailbone, and I was finding riding was less than comfortable, especially when hitting any really hard bumps. Still, it was a stunning day and there were things to see. So I did my best to keep the journey smooth.
The ride was on a beautifully paved road, and through the national park was comprised of miles of sweepers and stunning vistas.
The glacier was a bit more than impressive and the sound of the ice calving and crashing into the water was like thunder. Sorry Global Warming crowd, there was plenty of ice to be seen.
We headed back later that day, just Shira and I on a private little ride to Calafate.
At Shira's request Roberto had arranged for a massage therapist to come to our hotel late that afternoon and, after the last few days riding and the tumble the night before, being manhandled by a beautiful Argentinean woman was just what I needed. She was awesome and hit places I didn't even know I had.
That evening we cabbed it in to town and had a traditional Argentinian meal of mixed grilled meats and sausage - the lambs opened wide and cooked on upright spits alongside a roaring wood fire.
Calafate, Argentina to Torres Del Paine, Chile 243K
Although our ride this day would be rather short it would not be without a little excitement as we had to ride back to my favorite piece of non-pavement, Ruta 40. The first 20 K or so was wonderful and we took advantage of the good pavement. Then the winds returned and started in for the rest of the day. On Ruta 40 we had to deal with a steady 40 mile cross wind with gusts at twice that. Add to this that while passing a tour bus a rock got kicked up and nailed my right foot. Icy pain shot through my already frozen foot and after a few minutes on the side of the road I decided to push on. Yikes, that hurt!
About 75 kilometers down the road we made a right and, after fueling up, we aimed towards the border with Chile. This part of the road was paved but the winds made it tough regardless of the full on Gerbings electric liners and gloves.
Cutting to the border on a small dirt road we ran into our first real border crossing snafu.
High in these hills it seems that the Argentinean Police have little to do and the Commandant demanded everything but our actual rental agreements in order to leave his country. Truth was he was being a real pain in the ass, but he held all the cards, the passports and the guns - so we all went in search of the required paperwork.
Not soon enough we rode into Chile, where the border was swamped with a tour bus. The Chileans gave us a quick look, a smile and told us to enjoy their country. By this time I had found a big difference between Argentina's machismo and the Chilean hospitality. We rode into Chile and things got good real quick.
Torres del Paine was declared a UNESCO region in 1978 and is said to be one of the most beautiful National Parks in the world, rivaling our Yosemite.
The road into Chile soon turned to pavement and, for the first time, I was a bit disappointed. At this point gravel or paved almost felt the same.
This road, however, would soon become one of the sweetest in a long time as it swung left and right in gently cambered turns as it wound towards the town of Puerto Natales.
Our lodging for the next two nights would be at the great lodge called the Tres Pasos, or Three Passes, which we could see from our very comfortable room.
in true Chilean fashion the woman at the lodge greeted us with smiles and Pisco Sours, the national drink of Chile. They prepared a great lunch and then took us on a tour of the ranch.
Life was about to good as it gets this day.
After lunch I took a well deserved nap and Shira and Ellen went for a hike up the side of the mountain in search of Condors - which they found.
After the nap I took off on a little sortie of my own riding into the town of Puerto Natales - which had a very Ushuaia way about it, with multi-colored building and a seafaring style.
Free day to Explore Torres Del Paine Park - 255K
We doubled back 20 kilometers to a small town where we found fuel from a hole in a small shack that said "Gasolina. " hey, whatever works.
We rode the 50 or so kilometers into the park on gravel road, but this day we were dealing with rain and things got a touch slippery. Not so much the surface that morning but the pegs of the bike. I had forgotten that you can pop off the rubber part of the pegs on the GS and just use the cleats. This re-found memory was precipitated by my foot slipping off on one bump and my ankle being nailed by yet another small boulder.
This one really stung, but the pain began to fade in an hour or so. No biggey,. But, my right foot was taking a beating in the past couple of days and I swore a weious foot massage was in order - somewhere on an island named Saint Somewhere real soon.
the park was everything we were told it would be and the only down side was that we had oto constatly deal with varying weather - sometimes dramatically different from just the previous few miles.
We first rode south, with wild herds of Guanaco running right along side us and sometimes charging right in front of the bikes. Nandu loped wildy alongside as well and giant Condors watched from high above as they silently rode the thermals of the Andes.
The terrain was truly magnificent and we could see why the people of Chile treasure Torres del Paine so much.
The rain and snow squalls kept the truly dramatic views away from us, but still it was a treat to spend the entire day exploring the dirt roads of Torres del Paine.
We stopped for coffee at a little hotel that was accessible only by a small, rather decrepit, walking bridge that crossed Lago Pehoe. The views from here were breathtaking and worth every knarly kilometer.
The last place we rode was Lago Azul, where we hoped to see the Towers of Blue - the famed rock spires of this park. The road we took rose high into the mountains and the waterfalls of the Paine were most impressive. So was the snow that started to fall and soon we were in a full fledged snowstorm. high in the Andes and a quickly liquefying two-track dirt road.
The slick switch-back road off the mountains to the lake was a real treat - right - the ride back was no pleasure either. Slow and steady back over the peak.
We used a cut-off road to get back towards the main road and our lodge.
Far ahead we could see another Mother Storm and soon we were in the middle of the tempest. The winds basically stopped the bikes and visibility was near zero. Along the side of the road we saw small buildings - shrines to those who might have perished along this way I thought.
Shira asked if they were lean - tos- for midgets and what about us normal folk? that, and our situation, caused us to laugh so hard that my tailbone hurt and I had to stop the bike till I was done laughing. Tears were running down my face as we slowly made our way out of the park and to a small restaurant for coffee and soup.
To add to the fickle weather we had been handed this day as we pulled into the Tres Paso a whipping hailstorm started.
The fire was indeed good inside that evening.
Torres del Paine, Chile to Tierra del Fuego = 430K
There's a place you can go called Tierra del Fuego, down in the southern hemisphere. It's kind of Troy without Helen, past the Straits of Magellan, and things are always looking up down here.
Party at the ed of the World - Jimmy Buffett
This would be a day I had long awaited. We would ride about as far south as you could go on the mainlands of the Americas - to the very bottom of South America.
Leaving our beloved Tres Pasos Lodge we took a short detour to explore the Milodon Cave National Monument. We have seen manyh caves but none as grand as this. Huge in size it must have been used by man and beast for thousands of years. In fact, they have found the bones of a Milodon, or what the locals call the "Toothless Lazy Sloth" inside the cave. There now stands a life-size statue of one of the big beasties right at the entrance to the cave. After fueling in Puerto Natales we headed directly south. As we rolled on the trees got stubbier and were all wind-swept to the south' following the direction of the constant breezes. We even rode by a monument to these ghastly breezes, a tall series of twisted and spun steel.
I guess the locals felt that if you can't beat them you might as well honor them. We are not big fans of the Patagonian winds.
At this point we crossed into the Magellanes, the Antarctic part of Chile and heading east, we rode along the Straits of Magellan. Here, the land ended and we found the wrecks of ships scattered along the chilly coast.
It was a reminder of where we were.
We had ridden to the bottom of South America, but we were not done just yet.
we crossed the straits of a large, very industrial-like, ferry and rode onto the Tierra del Fuego. The Land of Fire. The End of the World.
We heard there was a party.
The Road to Ushuaia...the Southernmost City on the Planet earth = 437K
We overnighted in the little industrial hamlet of Cerro Sombrero and got an early start the next day, as we would cover over 400 kilometers.
The first 100 were on a gravel road that cut right through the heart of the island called Tierra del Fuego.
Rolling scrub and thousands of sheep dotted the land. Lakes of flamingos added a shad of pink guanacos watched us silently. In Rio Grande, Where the Argentineans staged their failed annexation of the Malvinas, called the Falkland Islands by the British, we saw a large military presence and a beautiful memorial to Argentina's soldiers who died in the conflict.
From there we continued south and in the distance we could see the high peaks that surround Ushuaia. Andes were giving us one last shout, one last mighty sho, before diving under the south sea and rising backup in Antarctica a few hundred miles south.
The highway rode directly through and around the peaks. Along steep valleys, gorges and the deep Lago Fagnano.
We rode over the Garibaldi Pass on a road shrouded with snow on this bright and sunny day. I would not want to do this in the rain and fog - that was for sure.
Of everything we had seen so far this was surely the most impressive.
What a grand way to slowly bring a journey like this to an end.
We parked the machines that night, and since we would be here for two, we cabbed into town to party like rock stars.
Free Day At the End of the World - Ushuaia 90K
After sleeping a bit later than usual we took a ride to the Tierra del Fuego National Park. The day was warm and sunny - far warmer than anything we had yet during the entire tour. The park was a visual stunner and we spent a good part of the day exploring its fine offerings. Grand mountains, great vistas, the deepest forrests we have ever experienced, the Beagle Channel - named after the ship Darwin sailed and the southernmost Post Office in the world where we sent postcards, got our passports stamped and left one great big Backroads sticker with all the others that decorated the wall.
We rode back to town to do a little shopping ad for lunch before heading back towards the mountains and our lodge.
A perfect way to spend a day here at the bottom of the world - for everything, including home was north from here.
The Final Days = 700 K
The following day we headed back, the way we came but, as wonderful as the previous day was, that night had brought in a good amount of rain and riding back over the peaks that Ushuaia wears like a snowcapped crown would be slow, especially over the Garibaldi on this rain haunted day.
The road did dry out a bit for awhile while we made miles along the stunning southern Andes on brilliant pavement before returning to the usual garbage that Argentina claims is roadway.
Taking lunch in Rio Grande the rains really came in and our ride to San Sebastian and the border with Chile was as cold and crappy as they come.
Passing through the last of our border crossings we took back to gravel and by then the sun had returned and things looked good for the rest of the day's ride.
Until they didn't.
Without warning the clouds sailed back in and with them cold rain. Clay surface turned to slick much in places and in the tempest we took a wrong turn along a road was about as bad as any one on our trip so far.
We discovered our mistake, but not before our friend Mike rode full throttle through a huge puddle, completely soaking himself and his GS with black mud and water. Even slightly lost and in worsening conditions it made for a huge laugh. We got back on track and soon pulled into the same hotel we had stayed at just three days before. Hot showers and cold beer were in order.
The next day we crossed back through the Straits of Magellan and then rode towards Punta Arenas, fighting winds all the way. Did I mention this place is a bit breezy? This was our final destination where we handed the keys back to Roberto.
We all had one last meal together and with a bit of melancholy, but with the knowledge we had indeed ridden to the End of the World, we brought this incredible motorcycle journey to a close.
If you ever have the urge to really get away - then there is a party waiting for you in Ushuaia
