Ruta 40 - the spectacular road north

Since leaving Ushuaia a week ago I´ve been blow off the road, slept rough in the cold winderness and almost lost my rear suspension. I´ve now travelled over 4000 miles in South America and am currently in the lakeside town of San Carlos de Bariloche.

For the past week I have been criss-crossing between Argentina and Chile, mainly riding on Ruta 40 which tracks the Andes north. Far from the dull monotony of Ruta 3 (the long straight paved road that carried me south down the Atlantic coast to Ushuaia), Ruta 40 is infamous among bikers. A mix of smooth tarmac and rough (sometimes very rough) gravel road, it is synonymous with gusting winds, challenging riding, and spectacular scenery.

After leaving Tierra del Fuego the first breathtaking sight that greeted me was the towering granite spires of Torres del Paine National Park, Chile. Surrounded by crystal blue mountain lakes the national park has some of the best trekking in the world.


Loathed to miss it, I consulted my guidebook and looked for a suitably challenging but quick trek that I could do before sunset. The most appropriate seemed to be the "Las Torres" route - a 9km hike up 1500m to see the granite towers. The only problem was that my guidebook told me to allow 9 hours to get up there and back - I had two and a half before the sun went down. Looking at the spires, which appeared so close, I reckoned I could do it quicker than that. Surely it´ll only take half an hour to get to the top?


Setting off at a run, I stormed past the groups of English speaking tourists (all of whom were carrying heavy camping gear) and two hours later I heaved myself to the summit, panting like Boddingtons and completely exhausted. The view that greeted me was a cold barren lake and "glacier". Not quite the sunlit panorama I had imagined, but not bad. It took me another two and a half hours to stumble back down under a starlit sky.


Crossing back into Argentina I soon found myself in El Calafate - a pleasant tourist town that exists mainly to cater for the hoardes of tourists that visit the Perrito Moreno glacier every year. I cant imagine taking a tourist bus to get to the glacier though. The 50 miles of newly paved road are some of the best I have ridden. With tight hairpins, swooping corners and the spectacular vista of Lago Argentina, the road is up there with Highway 1 in California.


The glacier itself was nothing short of captivating. I have seen several so-called glaciers on the tops of mountains, but they often resemble little more than sheets of dirty ice. In contrast, the Perrito Moreno glacier is far more in keeping with the term, with shards of ice standing sixty metres tall cutting a path through the mountains. It reminded me of Superman´s ice palace and I watched it for over an hour, listening to the cracking ice like distant gunfire and watching the occasional piece crumble off into the lake below. Without a doubt, one of the best sights I have seen.



But following a few days of fairly touristy sightseeing it was time to get back on the road and begin the difficult stretch of Ruta 40 from Tres Lagos to Los Antiguos across Patagonia - 400 miles of rough gravel.

Normally, gravel is one of my favourite off-road surfaces - reasonably predictable and fun for sliding the bike around. But what I wasn´t expecting was the wind, which has a huge impact on the bike´s speed and handling. Normally I cruise at about 50mph off road, but with the wind behind me I was comfortably doing 60. For most of the time though the wind wasn´t behind and I was either riding into it (at barely 40mph), or it was coming at me from the side. The side winds are the worst. They catch the bike´s panniers and blow you off course. On tarmac you can correct the wobbles, but on gravel where there are deep rutts only a foot wide, it is much more difficult. On one stretch I cruised around a corner in what I thought was a sheltered nook only to be blasted with a hefty gust from the side. The wind was so strong it blew me out of the central rutt I was riding in and onto the loose gravel. After fifty metres of wild fishtailing I had just about brought the bike under control, now in the righthand rutt of the road. But as I was pulling up another gust hit me, blowing me completely off the road and down the steep bank on the side. Fortunately, I was only doing about 10mph so the impact was light and there was no damage. But it took me over half an hour to drag the bike upright again in the dusty sand with my gear blowing all over the place. Put that down as drop one of the South American tour.



Owing to the drop and poor state of the road, I didn´t make it to Los Antiguos that night and instead camped out in the blustery cold of the Patagonian plains. Even with all my gear on and a sleeping bag, it was still bloody freezing and I woke up with a cold. Bugger.

The following day I finally hit the tarmac again and road for a relaxing hour or two on the smooth surface, taking in the scenery around the sealike shore of South America´s second biggest lake - known as Lago Buenos Aires if you´re in Argentina and Lago General Carrera if you´re in Chile.


After stopping for a delicious salmon lunch I crossed the border and decided to continue around the lake on the rough stuff again. My guidebook promised me some of the best scenery in Southern Chile, and I wasn´t disappointed. Mystical canyonlands and lakeside stretches with a road that clung impossibly to the sides of the steep mountains.



My guidebook also promised me one of the best climates in southern Chile with 300 days of sunshine a year. But being British, I brought the bad weather with me. Not only was it overcast, but by the early evening it was raining too. Loathed to camp for a fourth chilly night in a row, I sort alternative accommodation. Hotels and B&Bs were pretty sparse in the area, as the relatively new gravel road had only just opened the area to tourism. Instead, I found myself in the tiny hamlet of Bahia Murta with little sign of life anywhere. After knocking on a few doors I eventually managed to find myself a cabana for the night - a log cabin if I´m being generous, a wooden shack if not.


The cabana was basic to say the least. No central heating, no warm water, and obvious gaps in the woodwork and windows, which let the wind in. But there was a roof over my head, and I had the expansive cabin all to myself - complete with three bedrooms, a kitchen and a bathroom. Most importantly of all though, it had a wood burning stove, which I got going after a few attempts (doubtless Ted "Macgyver" Macher would have done it first time).


Soon I had got the kitchen warmed up and my wet clothes dried, but the question was how to transfer that heat to the bedroom across the hall. Then in a Macgyver-esk stroke of genius it hit me - I boiled some water and used one of my water bags to improvise a hot water bottle. I woke up the following morning feeling refreshed and toasty warm. Marvellous.

Back on the rough road I soon noticed that the bike was handling oddly and not riding the bumps well at all. I pulled up to have a quick check and noticed two significant problems. First, a part of my notoriously rubbish Caribou luggage rack had completely disintegrated and fallen off the bike. Second, the bolt that supports my rear suspension spring had nearly dropped out - rendering the rear shock almost completely useless. Both problems were beyond my roadside repair skills, so I cautiously climbed back on the bike and rode as gently as I could along the sixty mile stretch to the nearest town - Coyhaique. Riding at 20mph was painful, not just because I´m impatient, but because I couldn´t get to enjoy this spectacular stretch of hairpins on the way.


Eventually though I made it to Coyhaique and managed to organise the local bike mechanic to help me out with repairs.


By the following morning the suspension was repaired, Juan the mechanic had constructed an entirely new part for my luggage rack, and I even had a chance to change the oil and clean the filter. The Phoenix was back in full working order and I spent the following day traversing glorious volcanic scenery with mountains and lakes galore.




Since crossing the border back into Argentina I´ve been motoring north on good roads. The weather has improved considerably and for the first time in almost a fortnight it has been warm enough to take off my thermal layers. Needless to say, since leaving Ushuaia the adventure has really begun. And with Bolivia only a week away, it should continue.

Mad dogs and Englishman

I´ve now been in South America for a fortnight. In that time I´ve explored Buenos Aires, visited the Welsh tea rooms of Patagonia, and voyaged two thousand miles to Ushuaia - the World´s most southern city.

Owing to shipping delays my bike only showed up from South Africa 6 days ago, so for the first week of my trip I spent my time in the welcoming metropolis of Buenos Aires. With its wide boulevards, green parks and occasional obelisk, Buenos seems very European to me. But one big difference from many European cities is the people - almost all friendly and almost all stunningly attractive. (They can probably all dance too). Needless to say, as a pasty Brit with no rhythm I stand out like a sore thumb.




But after six days of wandering around the city, seeing the sights, staying in a hotel, enjoying fine food and generally acting like a tourist, I had had enough. It was time to get out and explore. With my bike still waiting for a plane in Johannesburg I resorted to the backpacker method, lugged my gear to the nearest bus terminal and hopped on a coach.

A couple of hours later I found myself in a quiet town with single storey stone buildings, cobbled streets and a distinctive "land that time forgot" feel to it. I immediately liked San Antonio de Areco. The lines of ageing cars in the central square, the abundance of helado (ice cream) parlours, and of course the warm welcome I received from the town´s dogs.



A pack of about eight strays all made the effort to crawl out of the cool shade and bid me hello when I arrived. One particularly hot looking dog with a thick black, brown and white coat even went to the trouble of leading me to a nice hotel a few blocks away. I thanked him with a few pats on the head, and he replied with a wagging tail and said "no trouble at all". Strange I thought, a talking dog. "Ah, you noticed that did you" he barked. I did indeed, after all it´s not every day you meet a talking dog.

Boddingtons, who named himself after the famous English beer on account of his colouring, was a mixed breed - similar to a Beagle in size, but with the fur of an English Sheepdog. When asked about his lineage, he described himself as a ´pavement special´ and left it at that. It soon emerged that Boddingtons was keen to move to a cooler climate where his thick fur would be an asset rather than a burden. And I promptly mentioned I was heading south and would be glad of the company. After all my blog needs a hero. And that´s how Boddingtons the Adventure Dog and his sidekick (me) began our voyage to the end of the world.

Back in Buenos Aires at the airport, Boddingtons distracted the customs guards while I sneaked the bike out. Finally, after eight days of waiting I was on the road. I was riding and Boddingtons sat behind me with his ears flapping in the breeze. We were travelling on the smooth surface of Ruta 3, which extends all the way from the capital to Argentina´s southern tip. It was great to have the freedom of the bike back, and Boddingtons and I celebrated by motoring well over 400 miles that afternoon. But as we travelled further south and crossed into Patagonia the scenery turned more bleak, the road more dull, and the weather more and more formidable.



Wind was a permanent feature of the ride from Buenos Aires. Admiteddly for the first few hundred miles it was just Boddingtons clearing his pipes. But as we travelled further south through Patagonia the westerly gusts became more and more intense. Often we would end up riding with the bike leaned over into the wind just to keep us on the right side of the road. The howling noise was distracting too (and not just from Boddingtons). I always wear ear plugs when riding, but even with them, it was like standing next to a jet engine for hours on end. I don´t know how Boddingtons coped. But when I offered him some ear plugs he barked back "have you seen the size of my ears?".

To break up the journey and to get some respite from the wind, we stopped off in the town of Trelew on the way down - sight of one of the few Welsh colonies. I explained to Boddingtons that I was three quarters Welsh and wanted to find some signs of the original Welsh settlers. But after riding around for a little while, all I could find was a sobre looking monument with a Welsh flag outside it.


Trelew was a bit of a disappointment. But then Boddingtons picked up the scent of something good. We headed inland along the Chubut Valley and soon came across the small town of Gaiman. Welsh Dragons were all over the place and Boddingtons and I soon found ourselves sitting down to a traditional Welsh tea in one of the town´s pleasant tea rooms. They brought us so much cake and tea that we didn´t eat anything else for a full day afterwards. But boy was it good.




Back on the road as we motored further south the wind remained a distraction, but the real challenge became the temperature. By the time we got to the straights of Magellan on the southern tip of the mainland I was wearing a ridiculous amount of clothing and was still nippy. At one point I had on: a pair of boots, two pairs of socks, undies, long johns, knee guards, riding trousers, waterproof trousers, a long-sleeved t-shirt, normal t-shirt, body warmer, windstopper, riding jacket, wrist bands, two neck warmers, waterproof jacket, gloves, googles and a helmet. In contrast, Boddingtons was sitting smugly behind me, comfortable in his thick winter coat. He gloated for several hundred miles before it started raining and he got soaked. Then it was my turn to chuckle, but my gloating was short lived too, as we decided to camp that night and I woke up with the smell of wet dog all around me. Of course Boddingtons blamed my boots, but I think we all know better.

After catching the short ferry across the strait of Magellan and traversing a fun stretch of dirt road in Chilean Territory, we emerged on the Argentine side of Tierra del Fuego - the Land of Fire. The dull monotony of Patagonia was behind us, replaced with the Andes rising up from the sea. The landscapes were stunning and full of fantastic twisty roads. Perfect for biking.




And so, after just five and a half days and 2000 miles, Boddingtons and I rode into Ushuaia and reached "El Fin del Mundo" - the end of the world. We pulled up to get the obligatory shot of the sign, but as I was explaining to Boddingtons that this was as far south as I could go with my bike, the weather rolled in and soaked us again with a freezing torrential downpour. "Only mad dogs and Englishman ay Boddingtons?" I joked. "More like mad Englishman and imaginary dogs" he smiled back, and then he was gone.

La Aventura Comienza

After spending a couple of days recuperating in the UK, I'm now off on the South American leg of my adventure. In just under twenty four hours I should be in Buenos Aires, Argentina where the weather is warm (28 degrees) and surprisingly wet. The Phoenix should arrive from Johannesburg in the next few days once I've worked through a bit of paperwork.

I'm looking forward to South America as it's a new continent for me. I cant speak any Spanish though, so there'll be a hefty language barrier to overcome. But I cant wait to follow in the footsteps of the many riders who have travelled this route before - Che Guevara, Alberto Granado, Ted Macher and Tyson Brust to name but a few.

I have 75 days on the continent and plan on seeing as much of it as possible. But I haven't got a concrete plan of where to go yet, more a general idea.


From Buenos Aires I'll travel south through the stunning scenery of Welsh speaking Patagonia. I'll go as far south as my cold weather riding gear will allow, and hopefully reach the tip of the continent in Tierra del Fuego - the Land of Fire. From there I'll turn north and follow the course of the Andes up through Chile. The devastating impact of the recent Chilean earthquake will certainly be an influence on my trip, but I plan on seeing the country all the same. From northern Chile I'll cross into Bolivia to see the world's largest salt pan and highest capital city - La Paz. Then I'll meander around Lake Titicaca up the Inca trail in Peru, before following the volcanoes up to Ecuador. I hope to make it at least as far north as Bogota, Colombia. But from there my route is undecided. Depending on time I may loop back down to Buenos Aires via Paraguay and Uruguay; continue north to Guatemala; or round off my time in unstable Venezuela. There are many options and there is lots to see. I cant wait.

Adios for now.