Jan 18 started with Google Maps sending me to a river crossing that actually wasn’t on Ruta 40 anyway. Initially, the road was quite close to the mountains, and ended up following the eastern bank of the Rio Santa Maria, from just south of Tolombon until Santa Maria. Inexplicably, Google maps took me off RN40, which has a bridge, and 18km on RP39 to a ford across the Rio Santa Maria, and then back towards RN40. The river was obviously too deep, but I was just about to have a wade anyway, to check it out, when a gaucho rode up on his horse. He wagged his finger at me, and told me to backtrack 18km, to the bridge on RN40. He then went across the river on his horse, and it was past the horses knees. I took his point, and headed back the way I had come, to Santa Maria. Shortly after leaving Santa Maria, my phone fell from the mount, hit the road, and, and disintegrated. I was now without GPS, and had to use my map, which unfortunately is just a tourist map of Ruta 40, and not very detailed. Signage is pretty scarce here. The only indication you have that you are on RN40 for sure are the kilometre markers, taunting you every km. Only 3300 km to go. The landscape was desert, the temperature 34 degrees. I finished my hydration pac of 2 litres in the first couple of hours, and would stop 3 times during the day to refill it, in addition to pouring several 2 litre bottles of water over my head. About every 100k’s or so, there would be a fork in the road. When it was obvious which was the right way to go, there would be a sign. If there were more than two choices, often there would be no sign. As a consequence I rode about 20km on the wrong road, heading east, before the position of the sun told me I was going the wrong way. (The compass on the bike keeps telling me to calibrate it. Repeatedly).
Scenery was spectacular, if very distant at times. The temperature increased, the road continued through desert. Miles and miles of watching a movie of the Andes in my peripheral vision, then the road would snake back into the landscape for a while. Temperature was now 38 degrees, so stopping unless there was shade was not really an option. I was heading for Chilecito, where I hoped to buy a phone. In Belen, I stopped for fuel and bought a fridge magnet. Jackie and myself have a habit of finding the tackiest fridge magnets we can find while travelling. I then fortuitously decided to top off the tank in Londres, and buy more water. From there, the road had straight stretches of up to 30km at a time, a corner, then another 30km or so in a straight line. There was no shade, so nowhere to stop. Around 5pm, I reached the outskirts of Chilecito, passing two huge suburbs of identical cubes. .
Chilecito turned out to be a very weird and not very friendly industrial town in the middle of nowhere.I stayed in the only hotel in the centre, Hotel Waminatag,which also turned out to be the best value for money, at 700 pesos, of anywhere since La Quiaca. I guess no-one stays in Chilecito unless they really have to. I was so impressed I forgot to take any photos. The hotel was in a block of shops, and I parked the bike right outside the hotel entrance in a corridor. The room was basic, but it had aircon and a shower. I was sweating from virtually every pore in my body. After checking in, and showering in my clothes to give them a wash, I walked into the town. Everyone I saw looked really pissed off. I bought a dual-sim Samsung phone in a depatment store, then went in search of food. It seems Chilecito only has fast food. All the restaurants seem to specialise in greasy fast food. There were a few tents set up in the square, serving beer and pretty vile looking milanesa’s , empenadas and kebabs. I ended up eating yet another milanesa in a tent in the main square, which was so greasy that, in spite of being starving, I couldn’t finish it. I ended up getting a bar of chocolate on the way back to the hotel. I am learning that food in Argentina is actually not very good, unless you really like steak, and don’t care much for vegetables.
The next day, after breakfasting on the ubiquitous toast and jam, I set off for Mendoza. It was already really hot when I left Chilecito. Initially, the road was amazing, winding through mountains.
Then some long straight bits, across vast plains below the Andes. I got to San Juan about 3pm. My new phone had shut itself down due to the heat, so I put it in a fridge in a gas station for 10 minutes to revive it. One road, with virtually no corners, was like a roller coaster, there were so many storm culverts. As I sucked the last bit of water from my hydration pack, for the first time on the trip, I felt slightly uneasy. It’s like the feeling you get flying a single engined aircraft over water; you are completely dependent on the machinery. If the bike breaks, I’m still a long way from civilization. My pump is broken, so if I get a puncture, I’m up the proverbial creek. I’ve not seen a car for over an hour, and it’s now 40 degrees, I have very little water, and there’s no shade from horizon to horizon. I can feel the heat from the engine on my legs, but, unless I thrash it a bit, it’ll take me forever. The Himalayan is not fast. The only water I have left is a litre of hot water in a plastic bottle, that’s hopefully still under the bungee net behind me. The tarmac was now so bad it was almost like riding off-road, the surface was in such disrepair. The bike still likes about 5200rpm, even in the heat. I stopped at every opportunity of shade, which wasn’t that often. After a couple of hours of nothingness, I spotted a tree in the distance. Shade! I pulled over under a large tree on the right hand side of the road. Under the tree was what appeared to be a shrine. It was painted red, with red stones surrounding it. I took off my jacket, took a sip of hot water from the bottle on the back of the bike, and had a look at the shrine. Inside a red painted box was a statue of what I took to be Jesus, but later found out was actually Gauchito Gil, unofficial patron saint of outlaws. There were also cigarette ends, an empty wine bottle, and several burnt out candles. I found one candle that still had a bit of life in it, so lit it and said a prayer, just in case my lack of faith is misplaced. I’m wearing a St Christopher, given to me by my step-son before the trip, ad I have a gremlin bell on my bike. A prayer surely can’t do any harm.
Shrine to Gauchito Gil
Long way to nowhere
After thirty minutes or so, I continued. I’d not gone more than 5 km before I came across a roadhouse. I stopped there, drank a Gatorade and 2 litres of water, and poured another 2 litres over my head, to the amusement of other customers. One dude travelling with his grilfreind insisted on taking pictures. A waitress came out to my bike and asked for stickers, so I stuck a Wataweet MC sticker on the window before continuing towards Mendoza. The bike attracts a lot of attention, especially out in the countryside.
Roadhouse
Wataweet woz here
I arrived in Mendoza just before sunset. I was sweating like the proverbial pig as I followed the phone to a recommendation from iOverlander. The Chill In looked pretty cool, and even had a pool. They had no parking for my bike, so I had to ride it a few blocks to another hostel they owned to park it in their yard, then walk back to my hostel. Mattias, the dude behind reception, told me I should get off Ruta 40 and explore some side roads. “Ruta 40 is not a road to ride, it’s road to get you to more interesting roads” he informed me. He recommended Ruta 23. I filed the number away for reference, then drank many beers in the hostels restaurant.
I am not sure how many miles I covered, but it was 464km in a meaningful direction. It’s starting to become a bit of an endurance test, and I miss dirt. Tomorrow is promising to be another hot one, but I can’t leave until after the shops open. I need to buy a pump.
Today was working out to be a day of two parts. It ended in three parts, but I will come to that later. I left Salta about 9, a bit later than planned. First part of the route ran through small towns. I am amazed how many police roadblocks they have here. I went through six in total today, two of them in less than a kilometre. I also got stopped at one for the first time. The cop asked for papers, so I gave him my V5 and international driving licence. I think he was more curious than anything else. Then I turned off onto RP (Ruta Provincial) 33, which wound uphill through what looked like rain forest. It was certainly wet, riding through cloud up a steep switchback tar road. After about ten km, it changed to dirt, or rather, mud. I seem to be seeing lots of mud lately. Though this mud was on a stone bed, so it wasn’t too bad. Halfway up two busses had collided, which held up proceedings for a while. I had the heated grips on, and was satrting to get wet through my supposedly waterproof Oxford jacket. It was slow going, the fog making it difficult to overtake. Then suddenly, the plant life disappeared. I was literally spat out of a cloud into a desert landscape, on tarmac, brand new tarmac.
The road sloped gently downwards, giving the impression that I was heading for the seaside. I stopped briefly to take in the view, and met a guy, Daniel, on a 10 day bike trip with his daughter, on a Super Tenere. I met them again in Cachi, looking for a filling station. I already had one programmed into my phone, so they followed me there. Then they invited me for lunch, insisting on paying for it. Lovely people here; apart from Gustavo, I haven’t had anything but warmth from all the Argentinians I have met.
Daniel and his daughter
Then back into the dirty of Ruta 40, the last stretch of dirt in the North. And La Cuaranta had been saving this bit especially for me. The weather was hot, but not unbearably so, the scenery, stunning. Huge valleys,, flat alluvial plains, the towering mass of the Andes to the right. Later, crenellated sandstone ramparts and knife edge ridges, interspersed with the occasional oasis of green where an estancia had been set up. The road surface varied from packed clay to gravel; some ripio, but mostly straight and flat enough to get to that wonderful velocity where it seems to disappear, even though you can see it rolling away underneath the bike. There were quite a few patches of loose gravel and deep sand, but the bike was running beautifully.I haven’t really talked about the bike much. I bought it second hand, as I wanted one that had had had the known teething problems fixed (steering bearing, oil weeping from cylinder head) that I had seen talked about in forums. Am I happy with the bike? Most definitely. It handles beautifully, seems built like a tank (the broken rack, fitted by the previous owner, was third party). It’s economical, very comfortable, and seems capable of handling virtually anything. Today I had complete confidence in it’s ability to cope with whatever the road threw at it. About 25 km out of Cachi, I came across a Swiss guy on a giant BMW, with a puncture.. He asked me to help him get it on the centre stand, which made me wonder how he would lift the bike if he dropped it. He couldn’t find the puncture in his tubeless tyre. He had a foot pump, so I let him use my electric one. The tyre wouldn’t inflate, and where the air was going was a mystery that remained unsolved. He set off for Cachi with a flat rear. Hope he made it ok.
Beemer with a flat
Great roads, if a bit sandy
As I rode, I realised I was probably going a bit fast. But on the right, a massive wall of black cloud was spinning over the mountains, and it was becoming yet again a race with the weather. Plus I was having the time of my life. The bike was running beautifully, the Mitas E-07 tyres are superb in anything except mud. I was just thinking that I shouldn’t push it too much when I came to a detour. An arroyo had a huge gaping hole it it. Bizarrely, the detour ran through the garden of the first house I had seen for 30km or so. The road then went back into the arroyo, through thick sand. I dropped a gear, and where the track rejoined the main road, choose an exit that hasn’t been churned up by cars. It was in fact a hole full of sand. The front wheel dug in, then hit a huge angled ridge buried beneath powder-soft sand. The bars were wrenched from my hands, and I came off quite spectacularly. I think I had the video camera running, so that will be an interesting watch I guess. Aware that I was in an arroyo that got fed by rain water from the direction where multiple storms were currently dropping huge amounts of water, and that I wss in the line of fire of a potential flash flood, I panicked and lifted the bike without unloading it first. I badly wrenched my right knee. What a twat, I told myself. I got back on the bike, tried to start it. The start switch was broken, it had been pulled out of it’s housing by the fall. A car arrived, but just hooted at me to get out of the way. I indicated I was stuck, whereby the car drove round me to the right to get past, and roared off. Knob. I got a screwdriver out and prised the starter switch back into it’s housing. It didn’t work. Then another car arrived, and stopped. It was a Canadian called Pierre, and his wife. I asked him if he could try push starting me. Credit to him, he got me going fast enough, and the bike started easily.
Where I came off. I thought I took a pic of the bike, but can’t find it.
About 10km later, the dirt ended. I arrived in Cafayate about 7pm, and foundb a mechanic from iOverlander, to hopefully get the starter switch fixed. But the bike had fixed itself. The starter now worked. While stopped there, two Uruguayan guys on identical clean, shiny Honda’s stopped and asked if I knew of any accommodation. Apparently rooms were scarce. One of them asked why me and the bike were so dirty. I pointed to the Ruta 40 sticker on his immaculate Honda. Meanwhile hordes of other bikers roamed around in packs looking for rooms. All sported Ruta 40 stickers. I guess I shoukd get one so I fit in. One guy stopped me and demanded to know where the Yamaha dealer was. Probably an absurd question, I would be very surprised if there was one here. Not just that, but what a rude bastard. He rode off in a huff when I shrugged my shoulders. Tarmac tomorrow, and I am unexpectedly glad. My knee is really sore, A bonus, though. The chemist sold me some pills for my knee that I have never heard of, and also changed some dollars for me at a good rate. Bedtime.Tomorrow is another day. Another day on La Cuaranta.
I ended up finding a welder on Google, and a very good one he was to. Its a small setup called Welder Salta, owned by Gustavo, who employs a master welder, Walter. Walter can apparently weld anything: aluminium, titanium, alloys. They have a huge Miller welder bought from the States. While refitting the frame, Walter noticed one of the threads was very stiff, so he retapped all the threads. It’s great seeing a true craftsman at work.
Walter at work
Meanwhile Gustavo called Nico, a motorcycle guy he knew. After Walter had finished a most excellent job, it was round to Nico’s for the throttle, plus a look at the chain, which hasn’t been running evenly at idle on the side stand. Oh, and a squeaky back brake. The chain was just mud, and a rusty split link. Nico took the chain off, cleaned it, soaked it in WD40, then put it back on the bike with a new split link, and lubed it. The throttle had a small piece of plastic in it, no doubt from when I fitted the heated grips. Nico lubed the cable too, fixed the squeaky brake, and his assistant Marcelo noticed that one of the bolts on the tail tidy was gone, so fitted new bolts. So a very constructive day. Nico worked on the speedometer too, but it’s still intermittent. It needs a new cable.
Nico
In the evening I visited an electronics shop to see if they could fix a microphone. Turned out they could, but it would take several hours, not the hour they told me. Plus, they don’t actually close at 8pm, as they said. The guy who fixed it (hopefully) was simultaneously fixing 2 phones, working on my microphone, and taking part in two different chats on two different computers. Eventually, at ten past nine, it was done. Not tried it yet.
With running around, I’ve not actually seen much of Salta. Strangely, I am not particularly bothered. Cities and towns were never a target for this trip. It’s isolation, remoteness, and scenery that I wanted. Strange, but I have felt no urge on this trip to immerse myself in local culture, or go to tourist attractions. Perhaps my job as a pilot has made me somewhat jaded when it comes to exploring built-up areas. I did take time for a wander around though. It rained quite heavily in the afternoon.
Iglesia San Francisco
Dinner was at the same place as last night. Cutlets with mashed potatoes. We shall see. Today’s mileage- 17km
Tomorrow I head back to La Cuaranta, Ruta 40. I am really looking forward to getting back on the road.
A bit more adventure than I was looking for today. I set off for La Poma and the Abra del Acay pass at about 8am. The forecast wasn’t good but the weather looked ok. There had obviously been a fair bit of rain: the 10km stretch of tarmac before the turn off to Ruta 40 had large patches of mud that had been washed across the road. The road to the pass was ok, though still wet from the rain the day before. I could see that two vehicles had passed before me. The road wound upwards, some hairpins being a bit tricky due to ruts, where water had evidently been flowing across the road. The views were pretty spectacular, but, once again, the stupid side-stand design on the Himalayan precluded the idea of stopping very often for photographs.
About halfway up the pass the road turned to mud. Slippery, greasy and with virtually no grip. I toyed with the idea of turning round but it would not have been possible. It was first gear all the way to the top, feet down, bike squirming all over the place. I was aware that dropping the bike in mud on a steep slope would not be fun. I came across the two vehicles whose tracks I had seen earlier, both of them stuck. I couldn’t stop to help, there was no way I could have parked the bike. Occasional dryer bits gave me false optimism. It was too muddy to stop anywhere for pictures, and I was getting concerned about the wheels caking up with mud. About halfway up, I passed two cyclists, pushing their bikes. I gave them a wave, amazed again at the hardcore nature of cycling this part of Ruta 40. These cyclists have my utmost respect.
Eventually I reached the top, took the obligatory snap and noticed that the weather was turning. I was getting another altitude headache, hardly surprising at 4995m I guess, so stuffed another wad of coca leaves in my mouth before continuing. It looked like another storm was brewing. This place seems to make it’s own weather. The temperature had dropped to 5 degrees, and I seemed to be close the snow line. Ahead looked clear though. I started down the other side, the road in slightly better condition, though still with large stretches of mud.
Top of Abra del Acay
I guess I was most of the way down the pass when I came across a landslide, the road completely covered in a 30 degree slope of mud. Behind me, up the pass, the cute little cumulus cloud that had been there when I set off was now a full-blown thunderstorm. I did a quick evaluation: going back up was not an attractive option, I had a tent, about 3 days food and a water filter. If the worst came to the worst, I could find a sheltered spot and pitch the tent. I walked across the landslide, about 200 metres across. The other side looked ok. I unloaded the bike, rode it across, then came back for the luggage. I had just picked up the panniers when two 4×4’s turned up. The first was driven by Manuel, with his passenger Nasaren (not sure if that is spelled correctly) I asked them if they could take my luggage across, and they said they would take it all the way to La Poma if I wanted. Excellent! The tail rack on the bike (after market) had snapped in one place on my abortive attempt the day before, so a bit of respite would do it no harm. I still don’t know why it snapped as there was little weight on it.
A few km further on the road disappeared. It had been totally washed away in two places. Manuel thought a river crossing further on might be a problem too. No option but to go back over the pass . Shit. So I set off back over the pass in front. It was as bad as the way up from the other side, and got much worse when it started hailing heavily. The road was now a total morass. Probably the most taxing bit of riding I have ever done. I had the heated grips on, but was still getting cold hands. Rain ran down my neck,
Eventually I reached the bottom again and waited for Manuel and Nasaren. They took a while as they had picked up two German cyclists I had seen earlier.
Landslide
End of the road
Manuel
There was no option now but to go to La Poma via Salta, along RN51, which turned out to be one of the most spectacular roads I have ever been on. New tarmac, with the occasional dirt culvert thrown in to keep you in your toes. After airing up the tyres and switching the ABS back, on I settled into enjoying the sweeping curves, bizarre rock formations, giant cactus and weird colours, from red to yellow to brownish green. Then my throttle stopped working. The heated grip had come unstuck, and inspection and disassembly by the roadside showed the throttle tube was jamned in the housing. I fiddled about with it, squirted some chain lube in, and it seemed ok. So I reassembled it and set off again. It worked fine for about 50km, then jammed at idle again. This time I removed the heated grip and left it off. I could feel it sticking occasionally, but by pushing it into the housing, I could free it up. Just before Salta, my phone decided to update it’s software. Then I found I didn’t have a signal, so couldn’t get Google Maps working again. It was getting hot, 32 degrees, and very humid. A big change from freezing my ass off a few hours earlier. I asked two guys on a scooter for directions, and eventually arrived in the outskirts of Salta. I pulled into a gas station to cool down and get Google Maps working again, then found a hostel on iOverlander before setting off into the city.
So now I am in Salta, in a strange hostel with no exterior windows. I have arranged a welder for 10am tomorrow (he wouldn’t do it this evening due to a thunderstorm), dropped off some laundry, and in the morning will completely disassemble the throttle and find out what’s wrong with it. Meanwhile, I have effectively lost two days, as I expected to be at the end of the dirt on the northern part of RN40, at Cafayate, tomorrow. I will re-evaluate in the morning. For now, another beer, and bed.
So here finally is my review of the bike and equipment I used on my recent trip to Argentina and Chile.
For those unfamiliar with the RE Himalayan, it is an Indian made bike aimed squarely at the adventure market. At just over £4000 new, it is very cheap for what it is. It first came out in 2016. The frame was designed by Harris Engineering, who are now owned by Royal Enfield. It has a 411cc, single cylinder, long stroke engine, producing 24.5HP. Being designed for off-road as well as on road use, it sports a 21 inch front wheel and 17 inch rear. Seat height is 800mm, significantly lower than most adventure bikes. It has a 15 litre fuel tank, and comes with ABS as standard. Kerb weigh is 185kg, and suspension travel is 200mm on the front, and 180mm on the rear.
I’ll get straight to the point. There are those that will tell you that the Royal Enfield Himalayan is not an adventure bike, that’s it too slow, too unreliable, too badly made, to stand up to the rigours of true adventure motorcycling. Many people on online forums have been very scathing of the Himalayan. Few of them actually have ridden one. A number of people told me it wouldn’t last, that it would fall to bits or break down, that I should get a “proper” adventure bike. Having just covered just over 10000km on one, with over 2000km of that being off-road, I disagree. There are a few issues, but, for me anyway, the benefits of the Himalayan far outweigh any disadvantages. It is cheap, simple, rugged and capable, and is also one of the few (maybe the only?) adventure bikes on the market not clad in plastic. The seat height is lower than most, and it’s comfortable. It;s fuel efficient, easy to work on, and looks great in my opinion.
I bought the bike second had, with just over 7000 miles on the clock. The guy I bought it from had had a stroke, and wanted to sell it before gong back home to Poland. The bike had evidently been dropped at least once, judging by a few scratches and a broken spotlight. It was also apparent that the previous owner had lubed the chain, but never cleaned it.
Here I will go into a bit more detail about the bike and mods. Most of the mods were very cheap, and all bar one lasted the trip. I have been asked by a few people how much the accessories etc cost, so, where applicable, I have included the price I paid for them. You don’t need to spend a fortune kitting a bike out for a long trip.
Ready for the road
The Bike
After buying the bike, I fitted a few extras, which I will include in this review. To start with though, here are my top 5 negatives and positives about the bike.
I will start with the negatives.
1- The side-stand. This is number 1 on my list for a reason. It is too long, and the foot too small. I really regret not getting it shortened and a bigger foot put on it. Stupid thing is, I found a fantastic welder in Salta who could have done it, but I forgot about it. Duh. It was a very annoying issue, as I couldn’t always stop where I wanted to take pictures, and had to be careful every time I parked in dirt or on ground that wasn’t level. It’s getting shortened asap.
2-Cylinder head bolts- I had to replace two cylinder head bolts during the trip. It’s a known issue with the bike. The threads came loose in the holes. Fitting longer bolts worked, though I still had a minor oil leak. One of the bolts has since come loose again. For anyone buying a Himalayan, I would suggest changing these bolts before you get a problem. I thought mine had been done, but evidently not.
3-Things tend to come loose. Easily avoided by regularly checking all, and I mean all, the bolts. I missed out the gear shift on my last check, and it fell off, losing the bolt and bush from the shifter. It was fixed beside the road by a car mechanic with stuff he had in his boot.
4- Top end cruising speed. The Himalayan is not fast. If you want to cover huge mileage, either get a GS, or be patient. Cruising speed is 95-100kph.
5- I can’t think of anything else.
Now the positives
1-The bike is really comfortable. I had no problem riding the bike all day, on or off road. Standing on the pegs was also comfortable, but I suspect someone taller than me ( I am 5’7) would benefit from risers
2-It is easy to handle off-road. I hadn’t ridden off road for 30 years, and had no issues with the bike in gravel, sand, rocks or ruts. The suspension soaks up bumps very well, and very rarely bottomed out. The lack of engine power and smooth torque curve possibly also helps in this department. The 21 inch front wheel is the right size for off-road, but the bike handles very well on tarmac too. Power delivery is smooth. Some people have complained that the front brake is not powerful enough, but I found it perfectly adequate. It does require a strong squeeze to get maximum braking, but I found this helped off-road, making it less likely to lock the front wheel up when I had the ABS switched off (I modded the bike to make ABS swiitchable)
3-It is very strong. Apart from the cylinder head bolts, nothing broke on the trip, apart from the rear rack, which was after-market.
4-It’s light enough to pick up on your own. At 185kg, it’s no lightweight, but the low centre of gravity helps when you you have to pick the bike up. One of my requirements for this trip, as I was travelling solo, was having a bike I could pick up.
5- It is very reliable. It’s easy to work on, and simple enough that whatever you can’t fix yourself, a competent bike mechanic should be able to work out. It’s easier to find a mechanic than a technician when you are in the middle of nowhere. The only issue I couldn’t fix,or get fixed, on the trip was the speedo cable, which stopped working quite early on.
6-It is fuel efficient. I was averaging about 65mpg on the trip
Before leaving, I did a few mods, and fitted luggage and extra fuel capacity. All of them bar one turned out to be a good idea. Here’s a list, broken down into the bike itself, luggage, and electrical components.
Bike Mods
Loobman chain oiler – disintegrated the first time I rode on dirt. Cheap, and useless imo.
Tyres-Mitas E-07. The tyres lasted the whole trip, just over 10 000km, which actually surprised me. They probably aren’t legal now. These tyres worked well in everything except mud, but I doubt anything short of massive knobblies would. They handle tarmac well, including wet roads. I didn’t get any vibration from the tyres on tarmac. Off-road, they are very good in sand, gravel, rocky terrain, though in mud they tend to get clagged up. I will be replacing them with the same tyres.
Front fender raisers – £16.60 from Cooperb. They stopped mud jamming the wheel on a couple of occasions. Essential imo , but it would be easy enough to make them yourself.
Sprockets and chain- I used a Talon rear sprocket and heavy duty DID X-ring chain. £144 for the chain and both sprockets, ordered direct from Hitchcocks. I also bought 2 spare split links for £4.50 each. Halfway through the trip I ditched my spare rear sprocket. It was obvious the chain and sprockets were going to survive the trip. 10000 km later, the chain hasn’t stretched at all, and the sprockets look good for another 5000 km at least. I did lube the chain every day, and cleaned it regularly with an old toothbrush. It only needed adjusting 3 times on the whole trip.
Givi engine guards – probably not essential, but, if fitting an engine guard, probably the best on the market, with 3 points of attachment, including a rod through the frame. £129.97, from Italy via eBay.
R&G Shock tube protector- Keeps dirt and mud off the rear shock. The guy who serviced my bike in Argentina thought it the best mod on the bike. £29.98 from Cooperb.
Windscreen extension : cheap Chinese one off eBay, at £13.95. It looks like a copy of a much more expensive Givi one. Everyone, me included, expected it to contribute to the complete destruction of my already damaged windscreen, but the screen survived the trip. It also worked very well, a big improvement over just the stock windscreen. It’s still in great condition.
Handguards : plastic ones from Cooperb via eBay, £35.99. I was worried about there being no metal in these, but they worked fine, including in an off at about 40kph, and several time dropping the bike. I see no reason to change them.
Heel guard – for off-road riding, I consider this essential. It would be very easy to damage the rear brake master cylinder without it. £29.99 from Cooperb.
Luggage etc
I decided to use soft luggage. There are pros and cons to the soft/hard luggage question, but I am not going to go into them here, save to say that I am pretty sure that in one of my offs, I would have ended up with a broken leg if I had hard panniers on the bike
Lomo Panniers – Bought direct from Lomo. £136.95 for the two panniers, a magnetic tank-bag, waterproof phone case, waterproof leg bag, and a first aid kit. Panniers on their own are less than £50. The panniers and tank-bag proved to be totally waterproof, and indestructible. They are large, basic, very cheap, and do the job. What more do you need? I certainly will use them again. In addition, I had a Lomo 40litre drybag, donated by Lomo. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have got the magnetic tank bag : it tended to move around when standing on the pegs on bad roads, and has scratched the paint on the tank.
Tool tube-I bought this from eBay, for £11, and secured it to the left pannier rails. Inside, I had a tool roll with sockets, pliers, scissors, a couple of spanners, and Knipex plier/wrench, which turned out to be my most used tool.
Tool tube
Fuel cans – cheap 3 litre cans from China, bought off eBay. £47.98 for the pair. The mounting kit cost £29.99 from Hitchcocks ( now £39.99) The cans survived two crashes and several times dropping the bike. You can spend 4 times as much on Rotapaks, but why?
Tailbag- This was actually the magnetic tank-bag I use on my Harley. It was useful to hold electrical tape, tie-wraps, rubber bands, spare fuses and other bits and pieces.
Front crash bar bag-This held my waterproofs, a multi-tool, and a head torch. Free, from my loft. It was a re-purposed old camera bag I had lying about.
Electrical
INNNOV Power Hub2 : £59.95 from Amazon. I ran the spotlights, heated grips and dual USB port through this. I fitted it in the small box under the seat. It survived torrential rain, crashes, river crossings, really bad roads. However, it became a bit intermittent immediately after getting the bike serviced, halfway through the trip. I guess a loose wire, but I never found it. Investigations continue. I am going to rewire everything anyway, to tidy up the wires a bit more. The power hub meant I didn’t have to worry about leaving any of the ancillaries on, and meant only single wires to the battery, from the hub.
Dual USB hub : cheapo from China, £8.67. It survived all the conditions mentioned above. It also displays voltage, so I would immediately notice any charging problems. The temperature gauge was much more accurate than the one built into the bike.
USB Hub
Heated grips : Oxford Adventure. £48.99 from eBay. They work great, though on the trip I had to remove one to clean out a bit of plastic that had found its way into the throttle housing. My fault, probably happened when I fitted them.
Heated Grips
Spotlights : Chinese, off eBay. They were wired incorrectly when I bought them, but I got refunded the cost of getting them rewired. Very bright, seem indestructible.
ABS switch- I wired this to the main ABS fuse. £2.67 for the switch, from eBay. I’m very glad I did this mod, though it would be great if I could wire it up to just the rear wheel ABS.
ABS switch
Spares
Most of my spares were in the let hand pannier, which when driving on the right is the side nearest traffic. Spares I might need on the road, like tyre irons, were in the right hand pannier.
In addition to tyre irons I had
Motopressor pump-at £34, a complete waste of money. It broke on third use, and I ended up buying a cheap foot pump for about £6 which lasted the rest of the trip. .
Two tubes (17 and 21 inch)
Spare clutch’
Spare clutch cable
2 oil filters
Spare brake and clutch levers
Throttle/clutch cable repair kit
Fuses
Spare headlight bulb
O-rings
Of these, only an oil filter got used. I never got a puncture.
Extras I didn’t bother with:
Steel bash plate : I considered fitting a stronger bash plate, but the stock one is fine, it stood up to a lot of abuse.
Headlight grill : To me it appears to be mainly cosmetic.
Mirrors- I see lots of complaints about the mirrors, but, especially compared to my Harley, they were perfectly adequate.
What would I change?
I am very tempted by the 462cc conversion. Main reason is to change the gearing and get a higher cruising speed. Alloy rims are also tempting, to lose a bit of weight. However, they are very expensive. I might also get a Lextek exhaust; weight saving again, and it’s pretty cheap. Apart from these, I actually don’t think I would change anything. Larger pegs and different handlebars are available, and I had a look at a different rear shock, but I see no reason to change any of them. I had no problems with the pegs, bars or suspension.
Camping gear
I’m not going to go into lots of detail here, but here’s a list of the stuff I used and liked
Tent-Vango Banshee 200- I have used this tent on several previous motorcycle trips.It actually belongs to my step-son, though I think he has given up on the idea of getting it back! It;s easy to put up and take down, large enough to keep your gear with you in the tent, and has stood up to a lot of bad weather. It’s also quite light and packs up small.
Sleeping bag-Snugpack Softie expanding 3 season bag. It’s bulky (it took up most of a pannier), but it’s very warm and comfortable. You need a bit of luxury.
Sleeping mat-Thermarest Neoair Xlite- I have had this a few years, it’s been used on many rallies and bike trips. It got a puncture on this trip, but I managed to repair it. It’s comfortable, and insulates you from cold ground.
Chair-Cheap copy of a Helinox chair, bought off eBay. I consider it essential to have a comfortable chair when camping.
Stove- Chinese copy (Outry) of Fire Maple Spark gas stove. This stove is brilliant, and folds up very small. At £13.99 from eBay, it’s also much cheaper than similar, better known brands.
Wood burning stove- Lixada portable wood burning stove. This folds up flat, and you can cook using twigs or fir cones. I used it as much as the gas stove. It works very well, with the added bonus that you have a little fire to sit next to. At around £14, it’s a brilliant bit of kit
My cookware was just a cheap pan and saucepan from Decathlon.
I also had a Waterdog backpack with a 2 litre bladder, bought in Argentina to replace my lost Camelbak. I wouldn’t entertain the idea of doing a trip like this without a means to drink water on the go. Relying on stops to drink water on a long trip is a sure way to get seriously dehydrated.
Summary
For me, the Himalayan is an excellent adventure bike, and I personally don’t see the need to think about any other bike. Royal Enfield’s Himalayan is simple, rugged, and it does the job, on or off road. It’s also cheap enough that, if the worst comes to the worst, abandoning it somewhere is not the financial disaster that losing a more expensive bike would be. It also doesn’t attract the same level of unwanted attention you can get on a GS, Africa Twin or other highly specced expensive adventure bike when travelling in areas where people don’t have the disposable income we in the West have. To me, it also looks great. I hate plastic.
I hope some of you find this review informative. Of course, it’s all just my opinions and observations, and some people may want a bike with traction control, rider modes and lots of other gizmos.
If anyone wants any more info on any of the products mentioned, feel free to drop me an email. I have no affiliation with any companies, apart from Lomo, who gave me a free drybag. I bought the panniers and tank bag. I do thoroughly recommend Lomo products though. They are a British company, producing quality products much cheaper than their competition.
I would also like to once again thank Bolton Motorcycles for their support, and the free service they provided before my trip.
Ride safe.
I left the El Cactus hostel in Susques just after 9 am.I said goodbye to 3 very friendly Brazilian bikers who were heading to Chile and Peru, then went for breakfast. The weather was looking a bit dodgy on the forecasts; thunderstorms expected pretty much the whole way. Ruta 40 is pretty much impassable in rain on the northern dirt bit. I was hoping to get to La Poma which reputedly has a fantastic municipal camp site which is also free. The weather looked ok so I decided to head for San Antonio de les Cobres and take it from there. The road was ripio (corrgated) most of the way. I hadn’t seen stuff as bad since Botswana 30 years ago. If you can get some speed up it’s not too bad. But there was a stretch of about 20km across a huge bowl in the mountains that was obviously uphill. It would take me about a mile to get up to a speed where the corrugations suddenly seem to smooth out, which was around 2300rpm in 4th, top speed on this section. Problem was, about every quarter mile there was a stream crossing the road, which meant slowing down again.
Watching the little fluffy clouds becoming big fluffy clouds, I didn’t stop much, though I did manage to fly the drone again. Eventually crossing the plain the road wound through some ravines, at one point becoming a narrow winding track on a cliff, with a huge drop-off to the right. Then I came across a strange sight, a huge curved railway bridge about 200 feet above the road. It is the Viaducto de La Polvorilla, the highest railway bridge in the world at 4182m above sea level. It is also the last stop of the Tren les Nubes, which makes it seem pretty pointless: couldn’t they have just stopped a bit sooner? The locals evidently don’t mind wrecking their cars as I passed numerous little cars rattling their way up the hillside. Two stopped me and asked how far it was.
Viaducto de La Polvorilla
At San Antonio de los Cobres I could see some storms buiding. I decided to see if the road avoided them knowing I could probably outtrun a storm back to town if I couldn’t continue. I followed Google Maps on to a bit of Ruta 40 which looked unused. After about 10km it joined a tar road. a new bit that I have subsequently found out has in fact been incorporated into Ruta 40. After about another 10km it turned off onto gravel. It was corrugated, not as badly as the previous stretch but I could get up a good speed heading towards some mountains and the Abra de Acay pass, at 4895m reputedly the highest pass on a national road in the world. Its certainly very high. There were two storms. The road seemed to be heading between them so I continued. Even when I reached the base of the pass it looked clear. But I guess sbout halfway up I came round a steep climbing hairpin in first gear, to be confronted by a wall of black! The gap was closing up. I turned round and scuttled back to Cobres. I didnt stop for about 10 km from the base of the pass, then I saw a bicycle heading towards me so I stopped and waited for him. He was French, about 59 I guess. When I pointed at the storms, he just shrugged his shoulders and said he was used to it. Wow. He also told me there were no hotel rooms available in Cobres, so evidently he had been thinking of treating himself to one.
Mad cyclist heading towards the storm over Abra del Acay Iglesia de San Antonio de los Cobres
The first hotel had no rooms. Second hotel had one room but it was a triple, I took it anyway. There is now a German couple hanging around hoping a reserved customer doesn’t turn up.
I took a walk after a shower. It was really hot. Its like you can feel you are closer to the sun. All the shops were closed.
There’s beautiful church here. I sat inside for a while enjoying the cool calm. When I came out a shop had opened. Using Google Translate I asked Lorenzo. the shopkeeper to let me buy the ingredients for a sandwich, and asked him to assemble it for me. He produced a huge butty and a sub. He asked me where I was from. The reply that I was English didn’t go down well. Turns out Lorenzo fought in the Falklands (Malvinas). Whoops. I said I hated war and that calmed him down a bit. He shook my hand when I left and wished me a safe journey.
I think I am Scottish now.
Lorenzo the Malvinas veteran
So tomorrow I will have a look at the weather and hopefully get to La Poma and points beyond. And I am glad today just turned out to be an acclimatisation trip.
It’s just started raining here.
13th Jan 2020Well today was just mind-boggling. I left Cusi Cusi around 10am. The first 20 km or so were really slow, as the roads were still wet. Large puddles filled ruts in several places, and there were stretches of mud, which, fortunately, didn’t seem to get picked up by the tyres too badly. The Valley of the Moon, turned out to be a bit of a damp squib, the grey light from a still overcast sky muted the colours, and the road was too wet to stop until I had passed the main visible (from the road) part. It was still quite a sight though, from the glances I had when not concentrating on the riding. Gradually, the road dried out, the sun came out, andthe road surface switched between ripio , sand, a mixture of both, very fine gravel, and some amazingly smooth bits where I topped out at 4000 rpm (no speedo, so I guess around 45mph?). The whole day was spent more than 10,000 feet above sea level. My altitude headache had pretty much gone, possibly due to the coca leaves recommended by the pharmacist in La Quica., which I was still chewing as I rode. There was very little traffic, though two guys on bikes passed me going north.The scenery here was epic. Rock towers, ravines, vast plains, different coloured rocks, mountains that look like they have been made of modelling clay. Often hours of riding without seeing anyone else, though at one point there were a lot of trucks carrying rocks and gravel, this coinciding with a section of road that is obviously being improved. Signposts seem quite rare in these parts, so I was relying on Google Maps, which does not seem to be up to date. At one point Google sent me up a tiny steep rock and cactus laden track. I hadn’t gone far before I realised this couldn’t be Ruta 40 – I had heard bits were bad but this was getting ridiculous. While turning the bike round, I dropped it when the front wheel hit a rock. Picking up a bike at 12000 feet on a steep slope isn’t much fun. By the time I got under way again, I was sweating profusely. Google Maps kept trying to send me past a small hut where a dog actaully latched onto my boot, to sent flying with a kick. There was no sign of a road. Eventually I rode back to where I’d last seen proper road, and a track that didn’t appear at all on Google Maps seemed to head southish. Finally I joined an “unknown road” , and followed this until eventually Google and reality agreed again, I was definitely now on Ruta 40. The road continued through some of the most amazing scenery I have ever seen. In fact, I will go as far as saying its the best days riding I have ever had.A long day, the 179km (112 miles) covered taking me all day, with a stop to fly the drone, buy dodgy fuel, and stop for many pics, and just to drink in the landscape. I saw Llamas, antelope, including a lone one shaped like a whippet, a fox, and alpacas.Fitting an ABS switch to enable me to turn the ABS off was definitely a good idea, it saved me twice today; once on a fast bit where a deep rock-strewn culvert suddenly appeared unexpectedly, and I locked the back brake, slid the bike sideways, and manged to lose most of my speed before hitting it. Cue decision to not take for granted that a long smooth bit won’t have craftily hidden obstacles. The second time was on a very steep, winding downward slope on gravel, a huge drop-off to one side where I kept having to lock up the back wheel. I think the ABS would have been a severe hindrance on that hill. The side-stand was still annoying me. It’s very difficult to park the bike on any sort of slope.Now I am in Susques Department, in a very nice hostel called El Cactus. It looks like its been raining further south so I am going to visit the police station tomorrow armed with Google Translate and see if they can tell me of the road conditions. El Cactus
I woke up in La Quiaca with a really bad headache. I had known it was a bit stupid gaining altitude so quickly. The receptionist in the hostel made me some coca leaf tea, but it didn’t seem to make any difference. I wandered into town and found a pharmacy. The walk was down a hill, and I wasn’t looking forward to walking back up it. The pharmacist, a tiny little lady who looked Asian in appearance, sold me some wild garlic tablets, and told me to go to the market and buy coca leaves. The market was almost opposite the hostel. There were a few people setting up stalls selling vegetables, and after making chewing motions and pointing to my head while grimacing, I was sent out the back of the market to a lady who sold bags of coca leaves. I bought quite a large packet, and was surprised that they tasted ok. When I came out of the market, I met a French guy I had spoken to briefly in the hostel, and gave me a largish lump that looked like Nepalese hash and told me to break a bit off and chew it with the coca leaves, to give more flavour. He also showed me how to break off the sharp bits of stalk so that they didn’t hurt your gums. Under his instruction, I stuffed a wad in the side of my mouth with a small piece of the hash-looking stuff, and started chewing. I thanked him, and went back to the hostel to get the bike. The coca leaves worked; by the time I left town, my headache was abating. Time now to find out if I could still ride on dirt, after a thirty year absence. I followed Google Maps to the edge of town, and found a dirt road meandering into the distance. Here goes, I thought. To my relief, I felt OK almost immediately- whether that is because it is actually like riding a bicycle, and you don’t forget it, or because of the coca leaves, I couldn’t tell; nor did I care. It felt great to be starting on Ruta 40, for so long just a dream.
RN 40
I started Ruta 40 by taking a wrong turning some where on the road to Santa Catalina, which you can see on the maps below. I blame Google maps, but the roads are also numbered differently. Instead of turning right onto RP 5, which is part of RN40, I took RP64. According to Google, RN40 only starts where RP 65 meets RP 64, at Oratorio. Whatever, RP 64 turned out to be pretty interesting, and the Himalayan turned out to be great on gravel and in sand. Before leaving La Quica I had reduced the rear tyre pressure to 25psi, the front to 22. The accidental road I went on had some very steep and twisty bits. Problem is I couldn’t mount my damaged phone on the bike. I only noticed I had gone wrong when I joined what was actually a much better road, which turned out to be Ruta 40, 19km south of Santa Catalina. I toyed with the idea of retracing my route for about 2 seconds. A huge thunderstorm urged me onwards. I also still had the altitude headache, and had to keep chewing coca leaves to keep it at bay, so I ate some more and carried on.
On the hairpins you can see on the map just before Oratorio, I ran into a Brazilian cyclist pushing his bike up a hill. He seemed pleased to see me, even though we couldn’t actually communicate beyond start points and destinations. With weather around, and not much hope of reaching a village today, this guy had balls. Over the course of the trip, I would come to really admire cyclists.
In the distance, the riverbed that RN40 follows for several kilometres..
After 20 km or so on RN40, I came across a very excitable guy with two companions, who had driven from Ushuia, all the way up Ruta 40. They were in a small van and a little Fiat. They informed me the road was very difficult, and gave me pointers on crossing a river a little further on. Excitable guy suggested I carry my luggage across first. Seeing as they had got both of their two wheel drive vehicles across, I didn’t bother. The river crossing was fine. A bit further on, however, the road follows a river bed in a ravine that obviously gets flooded in storms. With heavy clouds around, for the first time on the trip I felt slightly uneasy. I wouldn’t want to be caught in this gorge in a storm. I was here that stupidity caught up with me. A loud graunching noise, followed by a sudden lack of forward motion, had me thinking the worst. I thought the chain had come off, or, even worse, snapped. In fact, it was a fleece I had strapped to the back of the bike that had made its way into the chain. It had also pulled the chain guard into the chain. I had just finished fixing it and readjusting the chain which seemed to have gone out of whack, when two bikers from Tucuman (which so far this trip seems to produce many crazy bikers) turned up on street bikes. One was on a CB250 the other on a Chinese 250. They hung around to make sure I got going again. I crossed a total of 6 rivers, only one of them deep enough to get me worried. But figuring that two guys on street bikes had just crossed them, I decided I didn’t need to walk them first.
Leaving the gorge, the road now became decent gravel, with reasonable grip. For a while, I made good time. In the distance, I could see it was raining. It looked pretty likely I was going to get wet. I just hoped the road didn’t turn to mush and cake up my tyres. Rain ahead
A thunderstorm hit me just as I was passing Paicone, a tiny little village. I took refuge under a metal awning projecting from a big square building. It carried on for about 40 minutes, during which I saw absolutely no signs of life in the village. When the rain stopped, the area where I had parked had turned into a pool of red mud. Immediately I set off, the tyre treads got clogged and I came off for the first time on the trip. The bike was on its side in a morass of pink clay. I took the large dry-bag off, pulled off the higher pannier, but I couldn’t get enough purchase in the mud to lift the bike. It and me just slid in opposite directions. I couldn’t get any purchase in the mud at all. I saw a woman across a field and walked over to ask her if there were any men about, and she seemed to understand me.
Rafael Ten minutes later, I was the afternoon entertainment. A young dude called Rafael took charge, using Google Translate on my phone to ask questions about my trip. An older guy said I wouldn’t make it to Cusi Cusi that night, due to 3 rivers I needed to cross. After asking about the possibility of a bed in the village a car arrived from Cusi Cusi and the driver said the rivers were ok. I set off again, crossing the first river which was on the deep side of comfortable for me, and I wondeed how much it had risen since the guy in the car had driven through it. It turned out to have a solid track in though, and I got across with no problems. The other two rivers were really low. As I got closer to Cusi Cusi, I could see I was riding straight towards another storm. Would I get there in time? The only other option was pitching my tent., which, if the road turned to clay mush again, would be my only option. Luck was with me, and I arrived at Cusi Cusi just as the storm hit. The hostel was run by a very excitable little fat teenage boy, who kept pestering me for information about my motorcycle. How old was it, how fast did it go, how much did it cost? When I showed him Google Translate on my phone, he got very excited, and told me his life story. I told him I needed to make a call, and he directed me to the village square, which had free wifi. After calling Jackie, I had a quick look on Google Maps to look at the next days route. I already knew from my illustrated tourist map that tomorrow I would pass through El Valle de la Luna, the Valley of the Moon, with lots of multicoloured rocks. Cusi Cusi itself wasn’t a very pretty village, just a cluster of low-slung stone houses set on a few streets radiating from the main square. It is named after a spider o the Salticidae family, Polybetes pythagoricus, which is a jumping spider that resembles a taratula. When I got back to the hostel, the boy’s dad had turned up, and between the two of them, they rustled up a very decent dinner of steak, rice and salad. My first day on Ruta 40 had been a long and quite difficult one, and I was very tired. I crawled into bed in my cold room, and slept for 11 hours straight.
On the road again, after a day off to do laundry, buy camping gas and look over the bike. People here are super friendly. I’m finding that my lack of Spanish, in a land where only a small amount of people speak English, isn’t such a hindrance after all, especially if all the participants in a conversation have been drinking. Sign language, adding an a at the end of nouns, stupid grins and hand gestures, backed up with the occasional reference to Google Translate, all serve to make getting by here actually fairly simple, as long as you don’t want to discuss astrophysics or something.
The road finally seemed to be getting more interesting. For the first time, I realised I had been on the same road since leaving Buenos Aires. This was purely unintentional.
Temperature was 27 degrees, very pleasant, albeit overcast and threatening rain at times. After a few hours I stopped for a break. Like all filling stations so far, this YPF has free wifi. Wikipedia tells me I am following, in sticking to RN9, the “Camino Real del Perú” (Royal Road of Peru). This was once the main road to Peru, heading from Buenos Aires up to the Bolivian border at La Quiaca. In those days, before the railroad took over in the late 19th century, and it’s later demise in the twentieth, there were establishments to feed and water horses and their charges every 30-50km. Three empenadas and a coffee later, it’s time to hit the road. 170 miles done so far, 220 to go. I met a Brazilian parked next to my bike who had obviously recently had a big off in mud, and his radiator was leaking. His bike looked in pretty bad shape, and he was limping. I offered him some laundry soap (I bought a bar the day before). It was a trick I had actually used myself to sela a radiator once, many years ago, but he seemed reluctant to try it. He wasn’t having a good time, and told me he had come off about ten KM from La Quiaca, on Ruta 40, on the very last bit of dirt, in a rainstorm. He was heading for Cordoba, a long way to go on a damaged bike in this weather.
Not long after starting out again, the odometer/speedo stopped working. I found that as I opened the throttle and accelerated, it worked fine. But as soon as I reached cruising speed, or was slowing down, the indicated speed dropped straight back to zero. Sometimes I could play with the throttle to keep it indicating for a while, but that was futile really. So I am now relying on Google Maps for my speed. With the Argentinian sim card in my phone, everything had switched to kilometres, which is just as well. My brain had already slipped comfortably back into kilometres, to match the road signs, and the units of my youth.
At one point I stopped and took the pic above with my phone. About ten minutes later, something hit my leg, and after a quick bit of deduction and a visual check, I realised it must have been my phone. I hadn’t secured it in the phone mount after my photo stop. I hadn’t used the camera as it was inside a dry bag, and not easily available. Duh. I did a U-turn, rode back a few hundred metres, and I saw a guy who had obviously just picked up my phone. He must have scooped it up just before a passing truck reached it, judging by the horn from the truck. When he realised I was coming back for it, he waved it in the air. It didn’t appear to be working, so I think he wasn’t too disappointed I came back for it. I stuck it in my pocket, and the next time I stopped for gas, had a proper look at it. The screen was scratched really badly, a bit missing from one corner, but to my surprised, powered up. I needed to be more careful with my phone….
The next few hours were spent gaining altitude, with large doses of wetness and cold. I had the heated grips on, and a fleece under my jacket, and it really wasn’t much different than riding to work in Manchester, just a lot further. The jacket was a warranty replacement for one I bought that had leaked, and I hoped the replacement didn’t have the same issue. My winter gloves were buried in a bag somewhere, so I had very wet hands in my summer gloves, and I could almost see steam off them as the grips warmed my palms. Temperature dropped to 8 degrees, and it rained for two hours solid, including a torrential downpour with lightning flashes on all sides. When the lightning started, I started looking for shelter, but it was 20 minutes or so before I passed what at the first glimpse in my peripheral vision looked like a shop. I almost missed it in the rain. A quick U-turn, and I took shelter under an awning, next to a building that turned out to be an MC’s clubhouse, in the middle of nowhere. I walked across and knocked on the door, with visions of a warm room with beer and a fire, fellow bikers welcoming me in from the storm while feeding me Alpaca steaks. No-one was home. The large sign outside read “Resto Bar Chez Didierm Parrilla” just above where it said Inca Riders. I was pretty sure that resto bar probably meant restaurant/bar, but boredom and Google Translate and Wikipedia soon told me that parrilla was the Spanish word for torture using electric shock. Maybe they cook alpacas by electrocuting them, using the lightning from storms like the one raging around me, chanting as you watch. Maybe it just as well no-one was home.
Inca Riders Parrilla
I came out of the rain into a sunny patch for a while, and then raced a storm front for the last 40km. The sky was black in the mirrors. I got to La Quica at about 6pm, after 10 hours on the road. I had decided earlier to try get to La Quica in one go, 625km (390 miles), partly because of the weather, and partly because it’s where the interesting stuff starts. In retrospect, probably a stupid idea, as I had now ridden from 1328 feet (420m) altitude to 11,293 ft (3442mt) in one day. I had read enough mountaineering books to know about altitude sickness. Temperature today ranged from 34 degrees to 8 degrees. Scenery varied from flat straight stuff, to twisty green rolling hills, to river valleys that look like images I have seen of Afghanistan. Througout the day, loads of police checkpoints, but I was been waved through every single one. I had been following RN9 for 1979km, completing a transit of a road I hadn’t been consciously trying to follow.
I stopped and took the obligatory picture by the sign saying 5121km to Ushuaia, then had a quick look for a hostel on iOverlander. The Copacaban Hostel proved to be both cheap and comfortable. I rode my bike through reception to park it in an adobe courtyard right outside my room.
All south from here….
There was a very different feel to the country here, the locals all being descendants of the Incas, and it feels like a very olde worlde type of place, in spite of the modern breeze block buildings.
In the hostel, I met two Argentinian bikers, Ricardo and Samuel. They are on a week long trip from their home in Misiones. Tomorrow they are heading for Cafayate, but not via Ruta 40. They knew of a local restaurant, so we walked there in the gathering dusk. The altitude was palpable. You couldn’t walk quickly without getting out of breath, and it felt like walking on a planet with more gravity. Over dinner, Ricardo and Samuel tried to persuade me to join them. They seemed to think I was nuts to be going on Ruta 40 tomorrow, on my own. “Ripio, ripio!” they warned me. Ripio seems a particularly nasty sounding word for dirt roads, imo. Later in the trip, I started wondering if the sound of the word itself discourages some Spanish speaking riders to venture onto dirt. To be fair, Samuel was on a road bike, and he was planning a bit of dirt down in the salt flats. The local restaurant had a mixed grill, which included black pudding, steak, kidneys, chicken and tripe (yuk). It was actually I nice enough meal, and great company, but I was very tired and could feel a headache coming on. I was also still wondering if riding on dirt really is like riding a bicycle…..
“Ripio, ripio….” Dinner with Ricardo and Samuel. Pic courtesy of Ricardo Werle.
So Ruta 40 starts here. But no more rushing, I am going to slow it right down, I think, take more pictures, see more stuff. The weather might be dodgy tomorrow, and next 725 km is dirt, so I have no plans beyond getting to Santa Catalina tomorrow, which is only 39 miles away. Plus I can definitely feel the effects of the 3442 metres, or 11300 feet, of altitude. Or maybe it’s the beer….
Daniel and his daughter
Beemer with a flat
Great roads, if a bit sandy
Where I came off. I thought I took a pic of the bike, but can’t find it.
