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.
