Part 2-Carretera Austral

I woke up at 8, packed up, and met Kurt and Sergio at the main square in Cochrane. They’d spent the night at a guest-house in town. After fuelling up and grabbing a sandwich and some water, we headed north out of Cochrane to the turn-off for the X-83. This was the same road I’d been down a few days earlier, when I’d camped in the Parque Nacional Patagonia. The X-83 would take us to the border crossing at Paso Rodolfo Roballos.

The road through the park was incredible, the scenery some of the best yet: mountains, valleys, rivers, strange coloured lakes. The road surface was in quite good condition, mostly packed dirt, a track more than a road, with a grass strip in the centre. There were a few loose gravel sections, and some rocky bits too. We stopped quite often for pictures, and just to look at the view. After a week riding through Chile’s amazing scenery, I was still in awe. The road follows the Valle Chacabuco, an east-west valley that runs from the Andean peaks to grass steppe nearer the border. About 45 minutes after leaving Cochrane, we passed the camp site I had stayed in on the way south. Herds of guanaco grazed on the grasslands near the camp site, and we had a brief break before continuing.

We reached the border about two and a half hours later, after an absolutely amazing ride through the Andean landscape. When we first arrived at the border, we parked in front of the barrier next to the immigration hut. A guy came out of the office and started shouting at us. Sergio told us the guy was saying we had to pull into a corrugated iron shack next to the road. Maybe they were going to search our bikes? It became apparent very quickly that the two guys working at the border hated each other. As we filled in the forms, one of them snapped something in Spanish at the other, and Sergio raised his eyebrows.

When we went to the counter, one guy sauntered over, and asked us a few questions. The other dude sat at a desk, snapping at the guy stamping our passports. It didn’t take long, and when we finished the guy at the desk came to the bikes with us, and told me to open a pannier. He took a cursory glance, and then just wandered off, towards a shed in the distance. We watched him saddle a horse, wondering if we could just open the gate ourselves. With the toxic atmosphere hanging over the place, we didn’t risk it, and eventually the guy who’d stamped our passports came out and lifted the barrier. I guess they don’t get much entertainment here. I wondered how long their posting was, and if both of them were going to survive.The Argentine side, in contrast, was full of happy smiley people, asking us about our trip and looking over the bikes. One offered me some mate tea, which I gladly accepted. They had no computers, so everything was filled in by hand, a detail that would later cause me some problems.

The road on the Argentinian side of the border, RP41, immediately deteriorated. It was all unkempt loose gravel, rocks, and a horribly corrugated surface for the entire 100km. Later on, nasty grey sections, that we guessed were old repairs, turned out to be soft, the front wheel sinking deep into it and threatening to throw you off. At one point I was sure I was coming off, after the front wheel sank into what had looked like a solid surface, throwing the bike sideways before I bounced into the air, hanging on for dear life. Luckily, I just managed to regain control. Both Sergio and Kurt reported similar experiences. For the rest of the ride, we all had multiple moments. Although I have ridden short sections that were worse on this trip, for consistent nastiness, this was by far the worst yet. The scenery was spectacular, a semi-arid landscape reminiscent of the wild west, but you couldn’t look at it much while riding without risking a crash. In view of the state of the road, and the total lack of traffic, I was glad I was riding with Krt and Sergio. We did see quite a lot of wildlife: guanaco, fox, nandu (an animal that looks like a weasel), and an armadillo. It took us 3 hours to reach Ruta 40, where we greeted the sight of tarmac with whoops of delight. We were all pretty tired by then, after 100km of dirt since the border, most of it in dreadful condition. We found out later that no maintenance had been carried out on RP41 for years, which probably explained why we saw no other traffic.

A further 16 km south on RN40 brought us to Bajo Caracoles, a village which apparently only has 15 inhabitants. It did, however, have a hotel, which is also the local shop and bar. We checked into a very basic room with three beds, had a shower, and retired to the bar. It very much had the atmosphere of an old frontier town, with televison though. It was the Superbowl final, and we asked the barman to put it on. Halfway through the game, some locals came in and sitched channels. They wanted to watch soccer. After a bit of a stand-off, wondering if we were going to end up getting lynched, the TV was switched back to the Superbowl, and we watched the rest of the game, with the locals scowling and muttering at the bar in the background.

We found out that the gas station had no petrol, and several people came into the bar asking where they could find some. I still had both jerry cans full, and could give the contents of one to Sergio, as his was the only bike running a bit short. We drank several beers, had a Milanesa sandwich, and watched the rest of Superbowl.

The next day, Sergio and Kurt were heading south, and I was debating whether to join them. I had 8 days left until I was meeting Jackie in San Carlos de Bariloche, and it was only 1150km north of Baja Caracoles. I could head to Rio Galagos, and then finish Ruta 40, heading north. However, I would have to average about 370km per day, and I really felt like chilling out a bit, and seeing more scenery. There was only one other stretch of dirt as far as I knew, 90km long, and I wanted a bit more. I’d heard the last 300km of Ruta 40 were especially boring, and it all seemed a bit pointless for the sake of ticking a box.High winds were forecast too, and I’d heard enough about the Patagonian winds to know I could easily get stuck somewhere. I decided to head north, and take my time.

1 Feb 2020

I woke up in the morning to pouring rain. Kurt had already left, hoping to catch the ferry from Puerto Yungay to Punta Arenas. I hope he gets on it. Expecting a cold day, I prodded hopefully at a few wires on the bike before I left, in hope of somehow miraculously curing the intermittent power problem, affecting both my USB post and heated grips, which I’d wired up through an Innovo power hub. Electrics are not among my strongest skills with motorcycle maintenance.

I left O’Higgins around midday. The rain stopped temporarily, but started again almost as soon as I left town.  It wasn’t too bad, though, and remained intermittent and patchy until I reached the ferry.

Due to the rain, I didn’t make many stops for pictures. The rain had improved the roads though, and I made good time, arriving at the ferry ramp an hour before it was due. In spite of the rain, I’d really enjoyed the ride. there was hardly any traffic, and the road held up very well considering the thorough soaking it was getting. There was a small shop at the ferry, selling coffee, and I drank several. Luckily it had now stopped raining, so I could remove my bike jacket. I sat on the steps of the coffee shop for a while, chatting to two elderly Americans who were travelling in a van.

The ferry crossing dragged, as it had started raining again, and the scenery looked like Scotland on a normal day. Kurt was still at Puerto Yungay. He was still waiting hopefully for the ferry to Puntas Arenas, hoping someone with a bike booking didn’t turn up. He’d been joined by Sergio, the guy who he’d told me about previously, who had had some problems with his bike. Sergio was from Colombia, and had decided to chuck in his well-paid job at a bank and his expensive girlfriend to go travelling. Not liking the idea of hitch-hiking or travelling on buses, Sergio had bought a motorcycle, and decided the best way to learn to ride it was by setting off on an adventure. Kurt had met him in Colombia.

Some other bikers waiting for the ferry told me about Tortel,a village on a hill, with wooden walkways instead of streets. When I asked more, they admitted that they had found it a bit boring, and full of tourists in buses. I decided I would probably give it a miss, but would make a final decision when I reached the turn-off. It was raining again when I set off. The road climbed up from the sea into forest, with a few hairpins. Visibility wasn’t great, but the road surface was ok, in spite of being sodden. I was pleased to find that the heated grips were now working, as it was quite cold, 8 degrees. When I reached the turn-off for Tortel, I kept going. I would head all the way to Cochrane.  By now it was raining continously. There was hardly any traffic, and I only stopped once on the 123km ride to Cochrane. In spite of the rain, my cheap Arma trousers, which I’ve had for years, and the Oxford jacket, which I’d bought for the trip, kept me dry. The Forma Adventure boots I was wearing, however, were leaking. In spite of the weather and my wet feet, I really enjoyed the ride. There was one stretch of about 10 kilometres which was slippery black mud, but I managed to get through it, albeit quite slowly, without coming off. The rest of the road was great, the mud not as slippery as it sometimes looked. Just before reaching Cochrane, the rain stopped, for the final descent into the town. I made a quick stop at a shop to buy a small bottle of whisky, and had a look on iOverlander for a campsite. It directed me to Camping San Lorenzo, which turned out to be in someones back garden. It was very crowded, but had showers and a hut whee you could cook. However, this hut was full of trendy young travellers with dreadlocks, cooking vegan mush while trying to outdo each other with their daring tales of adventure and privation on the road. I retired to my tent, and cooked the inevitable pasta. I was just about to go to sleep when Kurt phoned. He and Sergio hadn’t got on the ferry. They’d ridden most of the way to Cochrane in the dark. They were heading back to Argentina in the morning, and did I want to join them? Why the hell not? We arranged to meet at 10am by the town square the next day. My air mattress still wasn’t leaking. It had been a really good day, in spite of the weather. Mileage, 231km. 

31Jan 2020

I woke up at 6:47 in the mountain campsite in the Parque Nacional de Patagonia, about 20km from Cochrane. The air mattress was finally fixed, and I’d had a really good sleep. It was one of those days that just starts lazily, plus, I was hoping to to see the pumas that Hector had told me were regularly seen around the campsite.

The night before I had noticed that in the shelter near my tent there was a lot of cooking stuff. I hadn’t seen anyone there the night before but about 8:30am an American couple, Ken and Bobby, showed up. They offered me breakfast of salmon and scrambled eggs, which I gladly accepted. After breakfast, they made me a cup of coffee and we shared a few stories of the road. Then the ranger turned up to collect the camping fee, 8000 pesos, which seemed pretty expensive to me. The ranger told me there was a female puma with cubs around, but unfortunately I never saw them.

Time to hit the road. First stop was Cochrane for fuel, and to call Jackie. Leaving Cochrane, Google Maps decided to take me round in circles for a while, before I asked someone where the road was. Finally,  I set off for Villa O’Higgins. Initially the road was tarmac, and I took another wrong turning. After about 10km I realised and turned round, into a very strong gusty wind which would continue for the next 50km. I’d come around a corner, and it would be like riding into a wall; the bike would slow, and then the wind would veer and try and blow me across the road.

When the tarmac stopped, the road wound into some hills. I stopped for break, and found a text from Jackie, telling me I had been heading for the Argentina border when I took a wrong turning. I mounted up and continued. The surface varied from sketchy gravel, to hard packed earth, to the occasional incongruous stretch of brick. The scenery was amazing. I was really glad of my decision to abandon Ruta 40 and come to Chile.

The temperature was nice, about 15 degrees, the bike was running well, and I was really enjoying the ride. Eventually the wind dropped a bit. Shortly after that, I came across another biker, just pulling out of one of the viewpoints, which are placed all along the Carreterra Austral. About a mile further on I pulled over, and so did the other biker. We introduced ourselves. Kurt is American, about the same age as me, on a KLR 650. After introductions and a brief chat we decided to ride to Villa O’Higgins together. He had no problem with me stopping for pictures, and we made frequent stops along the way, which turn out to be a problem later on. The weather was great, sunny with some scattered clouds. The ride to Puerto Yungay and the next ferry was great. During our frequent stops, Kurt told me he had been riding with a group he had met on the road. One of then had had to go home, and the rest had headed back to Argentina, save for one guy who had had a problem with his bike.

On arrival at Puerto Yungay, we had to wait an hour for the ferry, which was then delayed further by being refuelled by a truck. We had a coffee and chatted to some other travellers. Several guys on pushbikes sat around brewing drinks and chewing the fat. Kurt was hoping to catch a ferry the next night to southern Chile, but didn’t have a booking. He was meeting his travelling partners, all of whom he had met on the road, a few weeks later in Puntas Arenas. Several other bikers were also waiting for the ferry, and we chatted with them for a while. They were all from Argentina.  

The ferry crossing took an hour. I bought a pretty disgusting hamburger, then sat on the deck watching he mountains slide past. Kurt joined me, and he told me more about his trip, which had started in the States. I couldn’t help thinking about friends who told me that they weren’t up to a trip like this, as they were too old, not fit enough, or kust scared of the ncertainty of life on the road. Here was Kurt, 58 years old,diabetic, and with a dodgy knee that meant he couldn’t stand on the pegs. In a cool bag on his bike, he had his insulin, which had to be kept chilled. The cool bag had to be kept filled with ice, and Kurt had managed to get all the way to Chile without ever running out of ice. If he did run out of ice, the insulin would only last three days. It just shows that obstacles to a trip like this are largely a case of mind over matter. If you really want to travel, you’ll make it work.

The road on the other side of the crossing was superb. After an initial few km of loose gravel, the surface became mainly hard packed gravel and dirt. It was smooth and fast, with the normal amazing variation in scenery. After some initial confusion due to the road being also called the X-91, and some more stops for pics, we realised we would be hard pushed to reach O’Higgins before dark. The road was the best dirt I had ridden on so far. Long flat bits, twisty mountain passes, rivers, waterfalls beside the road, it has it all. I absolutely loved it, as did Kurt.

30km before reaching O’Higgins, it got dark. My spotlights were suffering from the same Gremlin as the USB port, so kept flashing on and off. The road first lost visible texture, then became very difficult to see unless travelling in a straight line. The spotlights would flash on for a second, then go off again. The Himalayan stock headlight turns out to be pretty useless on a dirt road. Kurt rode just behind me, trying to light the way with his lights, but it was not the nicest 30km I’ve ever ridden. We arrived in O’Higgins just after 9pm, refuelled the bikes and set off to look for accommodation. Kurt had no cash so wanted to use his credit card. After riding around and asking people, a very helpful guy who had initially offered us rooms, cash only, took us to the local shop. The owner had a house available, and could take credit card payments in his shop. It was a very nice place to stay. We were told only to use one room in the house, but, not fancying listening to Kurt snoring all night, I slept in one of the other bedrooms. I cooked us some pasta, Kurt cooked two sausages he had, and we shared a bottle of wine. It was nearly 2 am before we got to bed.

I will stay in touch with Kurt, we got on really well. He wants to ride to the ‘Stans and Mongolia, which is also a trip I would like to do. Who knows, maybe we would meet up again. Kurt was leaving early the next morning, to try and catch the ferry from Puerto Yungay to Punta Arenas. I was planning on a lie-in, and catching the 2pm ferry back to Puerto Yungay.

Jan 30 2020

I left Coyhaique about 9 am. First a fill up of petrol, a coffee and one of the rather bland sandwiches they seem to like here. The first part of the road was a bit cold, and for the first time I had the liners in my trousers and a down jacket under my riding jacket. Heated grips on too. As usual, the scenery was stunning. About 40km later, I took a wrong turning. I realised after about 20km and turned round in a town called Balmaceda, not far from the Argentinian border.  I headed back into a howling wind, which I hadn’t noticed until then, as it had been directly behind me.  The wind continued all the way back to where I had taken a wrong turning, and carried on for the next two hours. I’d heard stories of Patagonian wind, but thought it was worse in Argentina. Rain threatened, but there were only a few odd patches. The wind was so strong it was blowing the bike around, and I had to slow down for a while. Mountains, valleys, rivers…it just kept on coming. Later I stopped at a viewpoint, where an improbable series of perfect hairpins snaked down into a valley.  I say improbable, because, although the slope evidently required a few corners, this looked like a biker had just drawn them onto the hillside for fun. While there, I chatted for a couple of minutes to a couple on an Africa Twin, on their way back from O’Higgins. 

About 15km later, just after Villa Cerro Castillo, the continuous dirt started. I knew I had to reach there before 1pm, as the road is closed for work every day from 1-5pm. It would be dirt the rest of the way. I arrived at the major road works at the start of the dirt section just after midday. Initially, the road was quite sketchy loose gravel. Then there were miles and miles of roadworks: apparently they are planning to tar the whole route. I felt very glad I came here before they did. Although tarmac is obviously easier to ride, and of course is faster, it’s far less personal. It’s much more fun to have to find a line, rather than it being obvious.  After the roadworks, it was back to the normal ripio, and the road was quite good, enabling a good turn of speed on stretches. A few steep twisty mountain passes, views of rivers, lakes and trees.. I’d let a bit of air out of the tyres earlier, when a short stretch of dirt had deceived me into thinking I’d already finished with tarmac. The dirt road was almost hemispherical in places, the sides dropping off very steeply, which made it virtually impossible to park anywhere to take pictures.

A couple of times, I stopped and took a picture while sitting on the bike. However, one bonus of the incredible camber was, right hand corners were great, as you can use the slope as a berm, helping you round the corner. On left hand corners, it meant I was riding on adverse camber on a very loose surface, unable to stay in the centre in case of oncoming traffic. After a while the road turned to a hard clay-like surface, which was grippy and fast. Then back to the gravel, deep in places, nice ruts fee of stones to follow in others.

There were a lot of bikes parked up at the gas station when I pulled into Puerto Rio Tranquilo, and, after filling up, I met an English guy, Pete Leach, working for a motorcycle tour company. We chatted for a while, and he told me of a shipping company they used to bring bikes from the UK. They sounded cheaper than James Cargo, who I had used to ship the bike out, so I resolved to contact them on my return to Argentina.

Puerto  Rio Tranquilo is a on a bright turquoise lake,  and not on a river as it’s name implies, and seems to be the turning round point for a lot of the bikers. I spoke to a group of guys from Chile on BMW GS’s, and was surprised they weren’t going any further. Lots of bikers were, however, joining the throngs being disgorged by buses, who had come to see the famous marble caves. These caves were a short boat trip away., and getting on the boats seemed to involve queueing and being hassled by touts. Not really my thing. As I had done many times previously on the trip, I denied myself the opportunity of “seeing the sights”. I just couldn’t get excited about joining hordes of people.  The longer the trip went on, the more I realised how much I enjoyed being on my own. More than anything, I wanted to get some food, but at the gas station shop they wouldn’t let me into the building, as they were filling up the ATM. Several security guards were inside, and one stood, arms folded, stopping anyone from entering. I also really wanted some water, so decided to wait. The bike was parked up next to the security companies 4×4, and it chose this moment to perform it’s great trick of falling over for no apparent reason. It fell into the security companies vehicle. The guard at the  shop door, intent on his job of protecting a gas station in the middle of nowhere from being robbed by bikers in a small town with only one way in or out, didn’t even seem to notice, despite being only a few feet away. My handlebars had left a huge gouge in the door of the truck, but the guard saw it happen, and he didn’t seem at all bothered. So I decided I wouldn’t be, either. Eventually, they finished loading the ATM, and I went inside and bought some water and a typically crap sandwich. I also decided to top up my cash reserves since the ATM was now full of shiny new notes. After pouring some water over my head, as it had now got quite warm, I set off.  I only saw one more biker the rest of the day.

The cyclists were still going, though. I nearly hit one who suddenly veered into my path. They were everywhere. Many of them would stick to the best bit of road, whatever was coming, and hope that vehicles with more traction would swerve round them.  I realised most of them couldn’t hear me, as they were listening to music, when a guy I had hooted at still didn’t move, and very nearly crashed as I swerved round him at the last moment. I decided then that cycling long distance probably required a very fatalistic approach to be successful.  A bit further on, I stopped and waited for the cyclist I’d nearly hit.  For some reason, I was really curious what he was listening to as he rode.  When he puled up next to me, he pulled out his white earbuds and introduced himself. His name was Marco, he looked about 30, with scraggly long blonde hair and a goatee, he had lycra pants and a string vest on, and he was Swiss. He’d been on the road for 3 years. I asked him what he’d been listening to when I nearly hit him. 

“I’m listening to Bach”, he told me, before gulping down some water.  “It works well here. In the deserts, where it’s more dangerous, I prefer Wagner”.  

About 40km from Cochrane, there is an amazing little cafe beside the road. Hector, the owner, was well aware of just how lucky he is to live in such an incredibly beautiful area. His house/cafe is next to a turquoise river running through a tree-lined valley. I had a coffee and some raspberry cheesecake while chatting to Hector about the region. He recommended I camp at the Patagonian National Reserve campsite, 11km off the Carretera Austral, up a mountain road in the Parque Nacional Patagonia.

After setting off again, it didn’t take much time to reach the turnoff, and I followed a tiny road into the hills to the campsite. Guanacos grazed beside the road, a hawk circled above me, and I thought to myself, “Shit, I really like this long distance motorcycling lark”.

The only slight drawback at the campsite was that I couldn’t park the bike next to the tent, and had to carry all my gear across a meadow. However, it’s a beautiful campsite, with wooden huts near each pitch where you can cook. I chatted for a while with an English couple touring the region by motor-home, then cooked my staple of pasta and tomato sauce before turning in for the night. I was really glad I had abandoned Ruta 40. This place was magnificent. The only thing that could improve things would be Jackie being here. I miss her.

325km today, not including the 20km in the wrong direction.  Tomorrow I will continue to Villa O’Higgins, the end of the road.

I hope my air mattress is fixed.

Jan 28 2020

So not such a good sleep as I was expecting at my riverside beach. My air mattress still leaked. I woke up about 5 times during the night to blow it up again. Around 7:30 I gave up, and got up. After making myself a sausage sandwich, I had another go at fixing the mattress, this time glueing a patch from the tent repair kit onto the mattress. We will see if it works. The night before I had given up on dry clothes, so left them hanging in the rain for a rinse so they don’t get smelly. After packing the bike I realised that my wallet was in the tent, so I had to unpack it again. Camping on a beach is nice, but sand gets everywhere.

Eventually packed, I set off heading for Coyhaique. The scenery is simply stunning on the Carreterra Austral, all the time. Even though it was raining continuously, I still enjoyed the views. The first bit of dirt (apart from several short sections), about 20km, started off with loose rutted gravel, which then gave way to more compact stuff, and the rain actually seemed to improve the road. Then lots more tarmac, wending it’s way through some of the most spectacular scenery I have ever seen. I ran into a couple from Canada on identical Suzuki DR 650’s with large fuel tanks, and stopped for a quick chat. 

Here a quick word in the bike: the side-stand is the one serious design flaw on the Himalayan. It is too long, with too small a footprint. On tarmac, but especially on dirt, there have been many times that I wanted to stop and get off the bike, but couldn’t due to camber on the road or a soft surface. Why I didn’t get it modified by the welder in Salta is a continuous source of self admonishment. For anyone contemplating a long trip on a Himalayan do yourself a favour, chop a couple of centimetres off the side-stand, and fit a bigger foot.

Back to the trip. Did I mention the scenery? Mountains, glens, forests, farms, bigger mountains, the road a ribbon following the contours as it makes it’s way south. Temperature varied between 13 and 18 degrees. I had the heated grips on most of the day.

The second stretch of gravel, about 30km, makes it’s way up and over a steep pass. There were a lot of huge trucks, but I managed to get past most of them as they laboured round hairpin bends. The road surface, though very wet, was actually pretty grippy, though the hairpins were generally chewed up messes of rock, sand and gravel and required a lot of care to negotiate. Some sections also had a lot of potholes. Near the start of the pass, I met a group of Chilean bikers, one of whose chain had come off. They asked to borrow tools, but by the time I got them out the guy had managed to get his chain back on. I carried on, the rain now what they call in Ireland “soft”, ie, small droplets, almost like a mist. At the top I was in cloud briefly, then started down the other side.

At the end of the pass, just before the road became tarmac again, I found a hotdog stand and bought a Chilean specialty called a “completo”, which is a hotdog with guacamole and sour cream. As the temperature has been dropping my appetite has increased, and I really enjoyed the hotdog and a cup of coffee. A short while later the rain stopped. A long stretch of tarmac followed, and, once again, the scenery was just amazing. The road here follows the Cisnes River for a while, passing over the Viaducto Piedra Del Gato, which has a viewpoint looking out over the river. I found myself exclaiming aloud rounding every corner. The last 45 km to Coyhaique was gravel, a bit gnarly, very loose and quite deep in places. You can’t take your eyes off the road to admire the scenery too long without regretting it. The scenery, however, was still epic. I would rate this as the most beautiful road I have ever ridden on.

I arrived in Coyhaique about 5:30pm, and the weather and fatigue decided I would find a hostel. A quick look on iOverlander led me to the Puesto Patagonia. It is a lovely hostel in someone’s home, and, even though I slept in a dorm for the first time since school, I had a great sleep. The crazy old lady who ran it made me feel I was staying with an eccentric aunt. After a Shower, I called Jackie, and it only took minor prompting to make me decide to take a day off, do some washing, a bit of bike maintenance, buy some socks and food, and have a generally lazy day. It looks like it will take another two days to reach the end of the Carretera Austral.

Waking up at 5:30 am due to another mattress deflation, I realised I hadn’t heard my alarm, Which I had set for 5am in order to make the early morning ferry. Cesar, who’s tent was on the pitch next to mine, hadn’t woken up either. A mad dash ensued to pack up in the dark and get to the ferry, which departed at 7am. We all made it, though  it looked like touch and go for a while for  Joaquin and Anna, who arrived shortly before the ferry cast off.  We grabbed coffee and cakes, and stood on the deck watching the scenery for a while. 

The ferry trip was great, the scenery spectacular. The ferry arrived into Galeto Gonzalo at 11:45 am. I said goodbye to the cyclists. I’m really impressed with all the cyclists I have met so far. Every single one of them have been really cheerful, in contrast to a few grumpy motorcyclists I have met. It takes a level of commitment, never mind fitness, way beyond what a long distance motorcyclist needs. Then it was 42 km of very loose gravel, so I dropped the pressure in the tyres to 25 on the back and 22 on the front. After joining tarmac, with only about 30km to go, I took the lazy option, riding a bit slower, and using a pump at a gas station in Chailten instead of my foot pump, bought to replace the totally crap Motopressor unit that packed up after three uses (Marcello, the guy who serviced my bike, pulled it to bits and said sand had wrecked it).

I actually thought the majority of the Carreterra Austral was dirt, but in fact it’s mostly paved in the north. There were a few more dirt bits today, but it was mostly tarmac, through some of the most spectacular mountain scenery I have ever seen. Being a bit knackered, due to the early start, and knowing it was most likely to rain in the late afternoon, I decided I would stop early.  I also wanted to try and fix my leaking air mattress. I had a place in mind mentioned on iOverlander, but a stop at a particularly scenic spot next to a river for a photo led to another option. A cyclist, Pablo, and his girlfriend Francesca, cycling north up the road, saw my bike and pulled in to say hello, as did a polish woman, Alexandra. Pablo told me that the previous night they had camped on a beach next to a river on a farmers land. He told me how to find it and said ask for Carlos.. So I did, and found Carlos herding cows. He showed me to the riverside spot, said feel free to make a fire, and wished me a good stay.

After putting up my tent, finding the hole in my mattress and repairing it with JB Weld, which was the only method available, it and started raining and carried on for several hours. No point waiting for it to stop, I thought, so I got a fire going, starting it with cotton pads covered in Vaseline, cooked a meal, tried to dry my clothes. It’s nearly 10pm, and just getting dark. And it’s been a pretty amazing day, even though I only covered 249km.

26^th Jan 2020

Well, maybe I should do a bit more research sometimes….I will come back to that in a minute.

I left the particularly bad campsite in Puerto Montt at about 9 this morning. I actually slept ok, but the campsite looked far worse in the morning than it had the evening before. No one asked me for money, and I didn’t look for anyone, so it ended up being a free night at least. After packing up the bike, I headed into town to fill up and look for an ATM. I eventually found an ATM at the cruise ship terminal. Quite why Perto Montt is a place for cruise ships to stop is a bit of a mystery: Peurto Montt is an absolute shithole of a place. It was the first time on the trip that I had the feeling I was somewhere unsafe. The first ATM didn’t work, the second one did. After a quick sandwich, I set off on the Carreterra Austral. It was a great ride to the first ferry, at Caleta la Arena, which was just about to leave when I rocked up.

The ferry took about 30 minutes to cross, then it was a fairly short ride to Hornopiren, where I needed to catch another ferry. I got held up at some roadworks for 20 minutes, but otherwise it was a nice ride on smooth tarmac, the road going through some low hills near the coast. I arrived at about 2:30pm, to find out that the next ferry to Vodudahue isn’t until 11pm tonight. That would mean continuing in the dark, so I think I will stay here for the night., and catch the 7am ferry in the morning. It is a very beautiful little town here on the Pacific coast, so there could be worst places to be stuck. While at the ferry terminal, I met a group of cyclists, Joaquin, Anna, and Cesar, who were also waiting for the morning ferry. First we had to get tickets, which meant waiting until 4pm at the ticket office. After that, we all headed to the same campsite. After putting up the drone for a bit, we had a shared dinner of It was a very nice evening, sharing a bottle of wine and cooking a communal meal. They are all off to Villa O’Higgins too, but it will take them ten days longer than me.

Joaquin and Anna work in shipping, Cesar is an electronics engineer. All are Chilean and they all speak good English. I also washed some clothes, but too late for them to dry. We only went to sleep around midnight, and my air mattress kept deflating, so I didn’t get the best sleep. More from the Carretera Austral tomorrow.