January 18th and 19th 2020
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.
