Well once again we find ourselves diverting from our own personal travels to work for a while. Although this time it does involve motorbikes. We are well into ur first tour as guides for Globebusters and already lots of adventures and new friends. I am not going to repeat it all here but provide a link to the site for our Travellers tales.
Hope you enjoy the stories. The site is updated every few days so keep looking for the next installment.

Just click below and look for the Tales from the Road section.

High Andes Tour

Christmas is long gone, as are the chills of Tierra del Fuego and for the first time in 2 years the compass is reading due North. In less than a month Tierra del Fuego was over 4000 miles behind us and we were back in the North of Argentina fighting off the mosquitoes again. These last 4000 miles had been an odd mix between enduring howling winds, the boredom of endlessly straight roads and the enjoyment of experiencing a vastness of flat landscape like nothing we’ve ever seen before. Even the Senora Desert of northern Mexico has more undulations and subtle changes than the endlessness of South-east Argentina. The experience does have its occasional distractions though. Littering the southern coast are the bones of ships that didn’t survive the traitorous waters of the lower 40’s. The struggling fishing villages all but abandoned and dead on their feet since the economic collapse of Argentina. And the hidden coves well off the beaten track where guanaco, rhea, elephant seals and penguins share the same beaches. A landscape of boredom and a seascape of captivation side by side.

Feeling the need to give our neck muscles a rest from the 100 mph winds we pulled of Rota 3 and rode down to the coastal reserve of Punta Tombo. Somehow we’d always managed to miss the penguin colonies of the far south so this was our opportunity to put things straight. The reserve of Punta Tombo isn’t very big but boasts a penguin colony of over 30,000 strong.

Before arriving we had daydreams of being able to camp right beside the colony but this wasn’t to be so; and thank God it wasn’t. Magellan Penguins are also known as Jackass Penguins because of their donkey like call, and once they get started they don’t stop. They go on and on standing inches from each other braying as loud as they can into each other’s ears. By the age of 2 they must all be as deaf as 80 year olds. The other good reason for not camping beside a penguin colony is that there’s shit everywhere. From a distance (and out of ear-shot) one could be mistaken that there had been a fresh snow fall but up close and smelly there’s no mistaking what it is. Years and years of shit banked up inches thick like a home made Christmas cake, complete with currents! There’s a sharp contrast between the penguins that have just been for a swim and those that haven’t. Glossy and slick with water the returning penguins walk amongst those who have stayed on land and subsequently crapped all over each other. Lovely!

Despite the smell and the noise it was fantastic to walk amongst the penguins and even have the occasional stand-off as a stubborn penguin would walk into our path and then refuse to give way. They have no fear and to put the lack of fear to the test Chris decided to re-enact a scene from the Endurance Voyage of Sir Earnest Shackleton. Gently he bent down and took a penguin by the wing and together they walked off across the colony like a giant courting a dwarf. They did look very comfortable together. We were planning to ride a little further up the coast to another, even bigger penguin colony but working on the principle of “if its not broken don’t try to fix it” we decided to stay another day. We spent the following morning with the penguins again before walking a mile or so up the coast to see what we could see. We kept our eye out for seals and once or twice we’d spot one or two frolicking in the water but they were always a long way off. Eventually we saw four heads sticking up over some rocks a few hundred metres away and began to get excited that we may see a couple a little closer. As we edged towards them we were so intent on not disturbing the four we’d spotted that we nearly fell on top of the 80 or so hiding behind the small cliff we’d just rounded. We both froze, as the seals looked at us looking at them, both weighing each other up to see who was going to make the first aggressive move. It’s not too wise to get within biting distance of a two and a half metre bull seal but here they surrounded us and up close they’re REALLY big. We were transfixed both by fear and wonder, waiting for the first aggressive move but it never came. The minutes rolled on and we relaxed. Moving slowly we sat down on a comfortable rock and there we stayed for four hours, watching the everyday life of mammals with a sense of fun. The pups, only a month or so old played King of the Castle using the big males as the castle while mothers played in the water at our feet. Once in the water they would swim towards us and feeling that bit safer and braver would stare at us passing comment to each other about the ugly buggers who’d come to visit.

The “them watching us watching them” afternoon could have gone on forever but hunger got the better of us so we returned to our campsite and talked of penguins and seals all night.

It would have been nice to spend an entire week at the Punta Tombo Reserve but according to the guide book the Peninsula Valdes promised even better to come so we pushed north once again. A 300 mile ride at a 45 degree angle as we fought the winds and we arrived in Puerto Piramides. It seemed an unlikely staging post for tourists in search of elephant seals and penguins. It was a windswept, dusty beach town offering very little beyond over-priced tours around the peninsula. We found ourselves in an overpriced hospitaje owing to the campsite inundated by bums who’d be inside your tent before you’d got ten feet from it and hoped of better times ahead. Following our previous encounters with the penguins and seals of Peninsula Valdes would have to be better than the staging post suggested. Up early and itching to beat the tourists we were away and fighting the sand and dirt roads towards Punta Norta and one of the largest sea lion colonies of South America. We battled for 2 hours and arrived to be greeted by hundreds of tourists. So much for that! Unlike being surrounded by sea lions only a few feet away we got to see these particular sea lions from 100 metres plus. We moved on pretty rapidly to ride south on the peninsula and take a look at the elephant seals. Giant lumps of lard with faces only a mother could love. However, they are impressive. However, the six we got to see from 200 metres were a bit of a let down. Especially since they had their backs to us. We left Peninsula Valdes wishing we’d saved ourselves the 300 mile ride and entrance fee. You win some, you loose some.

Before we knew it we found ourselves in the capital of Argentina - Buenos Aires. As a rule we both avoid cities and especially capital cities but we needed to make repairs to our bike so there we were. Despite the mad tireburning women we meet on the outskirts it turns out Buenos Aires is a great city, full of wonderful architecture, a cosmopolitan atmosphere and as Chris informs me, incredibly sexy women all over the place.

We spent a few days longer than we planned in BA as a result of Dakar Motos taking our bike to bits and leaving it like that but that seems to be the Argentinean way so we spent our time sitting in street coffee shops watching the world go by and trying not to steam as much as our coffee. Eventually we got back on the road and resumed our ride north, crossing the ‘boredom lands’ of central Argentina and back to the mountains we love.

One of the reasons for the great rush north was due to a bit of route-finding work for a UK based motorcycle expedition company. Our remit was to seek out the interesting, enjoyable and challenging routes of the high Andes, which was good as that’s what we do all the time. Crossing backwards and forwards through northern Argentina our remit turned out to be a little harder than we anticipated however. Each evening we would pour over maps and guidebooks, consult tourist offices and chat to locals to pin down the routes that where the best of the best. Each morning we would load up the bike and set off into unknown parts – for us at least. Some routes were out of this world as the locals promised and other were less than inspiring but the hard part was finding the great routes that would lead us to a days-end hotel that would meet the needs of future tour groups. Not so easy.

The day we set off along an anticipated scenic dirt road sticks in our minds. It was a couple of inches long on the map but our maps tell lies. The road showed early promise as it wound its way along a sub-tropical river valley before climbing steeply up into densely forested mountains. It was a rough road and a little slick with the rains of the wet season but nothing that couldn’t be handled. For hour after hour we climbed and wound our way along mountain ridges as morning turned into afternoon. By 2:00pm we had only just reached the first village on the route and we began to suspect that this little road was a hell of a lot longer than we had given it credit for. Looking on the bright side it hadn’t rained on us which was a change from the norm so we just resigned ourselves to having a wasted day as far as route-finding was concerned and chose to enjoy where we were for what it was. We passed under waterfalls hundreds of metres tall. Watched the giant condors circle on the thermals above us and looked down on clouds and into deserted valleys. We were in a special place. However the enjoyment began to ebb as eventually the heavens opened and reaching the high altiplano we encountered our first river crossing of the day. We’re no strangers to river crossings with an overloaded bike and soon a pattern developed as the first river crossing became one of many. Slow down, read the water, make the split second decision of stop or go and, well, stop or go. Some were muddy, some sandy and others rocky. Some deep and slow, some shallow and fast and others just deep and fast with it.

As the sun began to fall below the horizon we were still high in the mountains with not a flat spot to be seen and we began a race against time to get down before the sun and find a campsite for the night. But it transpired that time was not on our side and we found ourselves hugging the cliffs in the dark as the narrow dirt road snaked down to the desert floor below us. Dirt roads can be tough but wet dirt roads in the dark are really tough. After 14 hours of riding and 22 river crossings we called it a day when we reached the desert floor and fell into our tent exhausted but nevertheless laughing to ourselves about the crazy day we’d had.

The route-finding continued day by day, although it wasn't all work, like the day in Salta when we bumped into 200 Gaucho's riding into town for a parade.

After Argentina we once again we crossed over into Bolivia but it was to be an entirely different experience to the Bolivia we visited four months ago. Bolivia is as a rule an incredibly friendly county and as before people would wave to us as we rode past but it seemed we were in for a period of tough knocks. Bolivia in the Wet season is very cold and well wet!

The wet dirt roads got the better of us time after time and we would find ourselves sliding down slick clay on our backsides before being slammed into the roadside. We would count our new cuts and bruises and then battle to find a footing and get the bike back onto its wheels, knowing the exercise would be repeated again before the day was out.

Once we reached paved roads again things didn’t get any better. We rode into Potosi dodging lightning bolts and manhole covers as the besieged drains gave way to the sheer pressure of water and flew several feet into the air in front of us opening up unseen holes before us on the cobbled streets.

We were getting tired with it all and we would ride a hundred miles and stop for a rest somewhere. The day after the trials of Potosi we came upon a fiesta in the middle of a road in the middle of nowhere so stopped to take it in. We parked the bike on the roadside with the other beaten up cars and trucks and wandered off into the crowd. Looking back we watched on in horror as a taxi driver backed straight into the bike and it toppled off the roadside into the 5 foot ditch. Indicators and mirrors snapped off, helmets and panniers crushed and a fresh hole in the petrol tank. We raced back as the taxi driver made an attempt to flee but Chris dived through his open window and got his keys. Luckily several people had seen what had happened and were on our side. They helped us lift the bike out of the ditch and stood by as ‘heated negotiations’ took place for compensation.

It was a difficult situation as we knew we needed to keep the crowd on our side but a few friends of the taxi driver insisted on wrestling Chris for the car keys and over the course of half an hour a few black eyes and bloody noses were received but non by Chris. Finally it was agreed that we would follow the taxi driver to the nearest town for new indicators and mirrors etc. but we knew before we set off that it was a waste of time. You win some, you loose some…….. and we lost.

Looking forward to a well earned rest day in La Paz we didn’t fare any better there. Time after time people have tried to divert our attention as an accomplice makes off with something of ours. They’ve never succeeded before but in La Paz a group of three managed to distract us long enough for a fourth to get away with one of our cameras. We didn’t even notice until hours later. There’s no question they were good as 2 years on the road has made us very wise to the scams but it seemed the odds were against us this time. Finally we crossed into Peru and received the warm welcome of having a rock thrown at us within ten minutes of riding across the border. It hit Chris full in the face and we screeched to a halt as Chris flew off the bike to chase the culprit down to the shores of Lake Titicaca. We’ll let your imagination answer what happened next!

Now in Cusco we’re feeling a little jaded with it all and hope our time of misfortunes has come to an end. The bike is parked up and it’ll stay parked up for a couple of weeks. Now its time to relax and catch up with the friends we made last time we were here.

It was a long and cold ride across Tierra del Fuego to Ushuaia all in one day but upon reaching Rio Pipo campground it was like coming home. We pulled up at the gate to be greeted by old friends. Alec, Martin and Katya, Martin and Siliva and others. Hugs and warm welcomes were exchanged as we tried unsuccessfully to get of the bike with sore backsides. It was the 23rd of December and despite the best efforts of fate we’d bloody made it!

Christmas day ride to the famous sign.

Following our adventures in Bolivia we had been stuck in San Pedro de Atacama for over a week trying to procure anything that would serve as a temporary repair for our leaking petrol tank. We did the best we could and set off for La Serena with the tank still leaking but not as badly. Thanks to an email from Martin we knew we could get a permanent repair there. A third of the way down Chile, La Serena is a lovely Colonial city, marred by graffiti but saved by a good motorbike shop which for us makes up for anything. As we rode to the bike shop we were assaulted by rude gestures and verbal abuse from three huge Russians in the back of a pickup with a broken down KTM. The gestures were aimed at our ailing Honda but we shouted back pointing out that at least our bike wasn’t in the back of a pickup. Evidently a good point. It turned out that they were going to the same place as us for repairs. As we pulled up and hopped of the bike they jumped out of the pickup and loomed over us shaking our hands and laughing. Meeting several Moscovite Hells Angels in mid Chile is an odd experience made all the more mad for their perfect English, backgrounds of bankers, journalists and businessmen and personalities resembling 5 year-olds fed on a diet of steroids and having an adverse reaction to E-numbers resulting in something akin to kids in ToyRUs on an unlimited budget. Once the bike shop had our respective repairs underway we all jumped back into their pickup for a break-neck ride round La Serena in search of a McDonalds and more E-numbers. Sometimes life on the road takes on a surreal air for us.

Two days later we were back on the road with a tank as good as new and riding south as fast as possible. We still had plenty of time to reach Ushuaia for Christmas but we’ve learnt over the years not to take anything for granted, even time. Knowing the infamous Routa Cuenta (Route 40) was ahead of us we wanted to make sure time was on our side if it lived upto its reputation of howling winds 24 hours a day, driving rain and 800 miles of deep bike eating gravel to contend with. We still had 1600 miles to ride before we even began the gravel sections though. Skipping borders from Chile to Argentina and back again several times as we went south, taking in the Argentinean Lake District, glaciers, canyons, pampa and snow-capped mountains of sheer granite we excepted the wind and freezing rain as payment for the beauty we found ourselves surrounded by.

A bizarre sculpture off the PanAm in Chile

Moreno Glacier, Argentina

As we made our way down the coast of Chile December 2nd came around again and Liz found herself another year older (but still lovely with it). We rode up and down the coast as the day drew to an end in search of a suitable spot to call home for the night and came upon a deserted beach sheltered from the wind by majestic cliffs. In no time we had the tent up and were sitting centre stage with a mug of hot chocolate watching the sunset over the Pacific. Sometimes the best birthday presents cost nothing.

The 1600 miles flew by and the anticipation of the gravel of Routa 40 soon became a reality. We were both nervous about what lay ahead having read the endless stories of crashes and the living hell of being blown off the road time and time again but we found the reality of it very different. There were a few days of rain and wind but for the most part we had an easy ride on good dirt roads that only required the ability to enjoy it for what it was.

Endless miles of pampa rising and falling over tabletop mesas where man struggles to survive and the animals reign as king. Day in, day out there is nothing other than pampa and more pampa. Some describe it as a boring wasteland of dull scrub of which its best asset is the road that gets you across it. For us it was a beautiful land of changing light, a watery mix of colours and a chance to see the abundant wildlife that has been driven from everywhere else by man. Darwin wrote…… “Why then, and this is not only my particular case, does this barren land possess my mind? I find it hard to explain but it might partly be because it enhances the horizons of the imagination.”

He was indeed right! Riding along a gravel road at 40 mph and being overtaken by a flightless rhea (ostrich) as it runs by with its 3 foot neck stuck out like a pool cue and its wings giving the occasional indignant flap is a surreal experience.

I don’t think we’ve ever been overtaken by the wildlife before. As well as the rhea there are herds of guanaco, flamingos, foxes, armadillos, hares and puma in every direction.

We’d camp off the road every night, somewhere out of the wind and watch the sun set a little later each time and every morning we would unzip the tent to startle the wildlife grazing beside us. I think Darwin would be please with how little this barren land has changes since his time.

Cave of Hands off Routa 40

The few people who do eke out a life here are estancia owners and ranch hands. They’re a tough bunch with wind beaten faces and big hearts. One night we took in the hospitality of Patty and her husband Coco who since the collapse of the Argentinean economy have turned to tourism to make ends meet. Now in their 70’s they have seen their estancia decline from the bustling sheep boom days of Patty’s parents to the present days of empty sheering sheds and rusting machinery. However they have a million stories to tell about their life in Patagonia and would never leave. One story was of the mayhem the Argentinean road engineers caused as they pioneered Routa 40 from north to south in the 1970’s. With the invention of the road grader the engineers could for the first time go over hills at will rather than having to go round them. For 30 years the road has taken in every hill to be seen as a result of big kids with big toys masquerading as engineers. Patty said it would all have been fine if they had only thought for a moment that as soon as the snow falls the road becomes impassable. For half the year it’s useless. Now the road is gradually being paved and redirected around the hills and Patty agreed that some of the quirky character of Patagonia will be lost when it’s completed.

From Patty’s estancia we made the final push for Punta Arenas where we planned to catch the ferry across the Straits of Magallanes to the island of Tierra del Fuego. Here our lesson of not taking time for granted paid off. For a couple of days the bike had been running badly due to a missing screw in the carburettor. Needing to book the ferry and not having a screw of the right size we dropped it off at the Honda shop for 10 minutes work but on return found that the bike had gone from being a little ill to dead on its wheels. To cut a long story short instead of a new screw, over the course of three days we left the shop minus the £360 alarm and immobiliser, a broken din socket and a plastic bag of pieces that used to serve a purpose on the bike. And of course we missed the ferry! The only consolation was that we found a long lost friend. As we arrived at a guesthouse a greasy biker emerged with bits of his bike in one hand and a manual in the other. We hadn’t seen Dereck since Revelstoke in Canada one and a half years ago and he was a welcome (if dirty) sight following our difficulties at the bike shop. It transpired that he was in a worse position than us with a blown head gasket and an engine full of water but over the course of three or four days we drowned our sorrows with copious amounts of beer and wine and caught up on old times and stories of adventures, or more accurately misadventures.

Reluctantly we left Dereck in Punta Arenas but safe in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be far behind us. We waved good bye to the mainland and looked across the Straits of Magallanes towards Tierra del Fuego. For 2 years we’ve been riding around the Americas dreaming of the day we would reach this island. We thought we’d be here a year ago but that was before we knew how captivating the Americas can be. Even though it’s a desolate, windswept land of cold summers and miserable winters it has been an ambition of ours to be here for so long and to see this ambition realised was an emotional time for us. We were beaten by snow in Canada and didn’t even get close to the end of the road in Alaska. We were beaten by the mud of the Darien in Panama and got within spitting distance of the end of the road at Yaviza but were stopped 7 miles short. But finally we’ve made it to the furthest possible point south that can be reached by road. Tierra del Fuego is a land where most of its history is only negative. It’s so harsh and barren that for over 300 years there were successive attempts made to colonise it but all failed in tragically. Only now in the days of fast links back to civilization has it been possible to establish permanent settlements. But for all of its unforgiving nature it’s a very beautiful island. A coastline of craggy coves, inlets and black cliffs. Inland are numerous lakes fringed by bogs and shrouded by the towering mountains looking down like unapproving giants.

The ride to Ushuaia has become something of an annual pilgrimage for bikers and throughout the town campsites are littered with bikes and tents stuffed with damp, smelly bike gear. At one point we didn’t think we were going to make it for Christmas day but we did and it was worth it. Like all bikers on a budget not a single present was exchanged by anyone but it was made up for by a Christmas dinner of fresh Antarctic salmon and several dozen drunken Argentineans teaching the rest of the world how to party. On Boxing day (26th) we all set off to the real end of the road, another 80 miles south of Ushuaia. Riding in small groups we were the first to get there but were nearly stopped by a barrier across the road. However, after 2 years of trying to get here we were never going to be stopped by a barrier and a bit of private land so we got off the bikes and walked up the road in search of the landowner. It turned out he was very accommodating and opened the barrier for us with no reluctance at all. A quarter of a mile further on the road terminated at an Argentinean Naval listening post and we pulled our bikes up to a stop at a non descript cliff edge. A foot further on and we would have been in the sea 50 metres below. The Argentinean Navy looked on as they listened to communications that weren’t from the BBC but definitely were British (as they later admitted) while we ran around in the cold rain taking photos of ourselves at the end of the world.

The real End of the Road!

Despite our recent and unhappy history there are no tensions when people find out we’re British. For most British people the Falklands war is something that is behind us but for an Argentinean the Falklands are a piece of home soil they are denied. Everywhere there are signs proclaiming Argentinean ownership: “Las Mavinas Siempre”. There are statues dedicated to the continued struggle and claim over the islands and even the sections of roads on the islands that were widened for runways and airfields are obvious. But for all of it it’s not personal and it politely goes unmentioned. It may be that their minds are taken off the issue for the moment if all the anti-Bush propaganda is anything to go by. Rather him than me!

Not too many people ride a motorbike to the bottom of the world and even less get to the “real” end of the road. As we sat beside the cliff edge in the rain eating bread, cheese and salami it was a moment to reflect on the trials and tribulations of the last 2 years. The highlights and lowlights, good times and bad. There are few moments in your life when you sit somewhere and realise that the dreams, planning and effort of the last 15 years have brought you to a place and time where everything has paid off. The result – a quiet smile in the rain and immense sense of achievement. There was of course the other realisation that in the last 50 years we had been at war with every country represented by all present. Ooops!

So now 2005 has come to an end and 2006 will be another year of adventures, highlights and lowlights. We have a few plans for the year that will hopefully keep us on the road a while longer but for now we look north for the first time in a long time and continue to be happy. Happy New Year.