News – Jetlag Jon

20 000 mile review of the Royal Enfield Himalayan BS4

Jon Andes, Blog, Rides, Uncategorized April 11, 2023April 13, 2023 8 Comments

Introduction

I first bought a Himalayan for a trip to South America in early 2020. I’d been looking for a cheap, smallish and simple bike that I could reach the ground from with my feet while sitting on it. It soon became apparent that such bikes were rare, and before long I narrowed the search down to one bike, the Royal Enfield Himalayan. A few weeks later I went to London to buy a second hand Himalayan from a Polish plumber. On the way back to Manchester, I suffered what turned out to be the only puncture I ever had on this bike. The chain was shot too, and the bike had a few scratches, but I’d got it for a very good price, so I wasn’t complaining. The bike had 7000 miles when I bought it, and finished my most recent trip (which unfortunately turned out to be this particular motorcycle’s last adventure) with approximately 24 000 miles on it- the clock said 19000, but much of my South American trip was done with the odometer broken. I added a few bits and shipped the bike to Buenos Aires, and set off on my first (and longest) offroad motorcycle adventure for more than 30 years. For the previous 6 years I’d been riding a Harley.

I decided to combine this review with a list of spares etc I took on the recent trip I did to Morocco with Adrian Rose, a recent convert to adventure motorcycling who still refuses to be called a biker and who has a serious Lycra fetish (he’s a keen cyclist and I took the piss out of him as much as he did me for being a ‘biker’). I’ve also included here a few of my thoughts on adventure motorcycling in general- if you’re only interested in the bike, you can skip the last bit.

Background

My recent trip to Morocco was my second long trip on the Himalayan. The first trip was to South America in early 2020, when I covered about 6500 miles in Argentina and Chile over two months, about 1500 of those miles on dirt. I wrote a review of the bike after the trip, though shortly after that I had to replace the cylinder head, barrel and piston as the threads had pulled out of the cylinder head bolts while in Argentina. This was a known issue on early Himalayans. The cylinder head was also slightly warped, probably the result of thrashing the bike for up to 10 hours a day in temperatures up to 40 degrees in central Argentina, and the valve guides were burnt. I had a few oil seeps, but the bike kept going. Towards the end of my trip, the bolt holding the gear lever on fell out, resulting in a bodged repair by a lorry mechanic on the side of the road. This repair worked for the rest of the trip, and in fact I didn’t change it until two months after I got back to the UK. I blame myself for the gear linkage falling off- although I regularly checked the bike for loose bolts on the trip, finding several that needed tightening, I’d not checked the gear lever.

About 18 months ago I fitted a Tec cam, which changed the bike’s performance far more dramatically than I expected. I then fitted a 16 tooth front sprocket to enable faster cruising speeds on tarmac. My logic in doing this was to use the extra power to speed the bike up a bit, and I was very happy with the result-The Himalayan was my primary means of transport, and I rode to work on motorways. However, I’d not taken the bike offroad except for a few green lanes since fitting the 16t sprocket. Morocco would show whether this was going to work offroad. I changed the headstock bearings, which were shot, and the bearings on the shock linkages. As a precaution, I also changed the wheel bearings a week before setting off to Morocco, though the old ones were actually still in pretty good condition. I also bought a booster plug from Roalde Ralfe, which cured the occasional stalling issue while warming up the engine. Adrian, who I met just 3 weeks before the trip, bought a second hand Himalayan with 600 miles on the clock from Bolton Motorcycles. He also fitted a Tec cam and 16t sprocket before our trip. When we set off, my bike had 14000 miles on the clock, although true mileage was closer to 19000- the odometer had packed up fairly early on during my South American trip.

Modifications

Tec cam-As already mentioned, both our bikes had the Tec cam fitted. I fitted mine myself, accompanied by much swearing as is usual when I’m working on motorcycles. I have a tendency to lose tools that were in my hand just moments earlier. I couldn’t fit the locking pin Tec provided, even after putting it in the freezer, so I used the one from the original cam. I understand that their cam now comes with the pin fitted. In my mind, fitting a cam is an essential upgrade to the Himalayan- it increases torque and power, this extra power especially noticeable at the higher end of the rev range. Along with the cam, we both also had DNA air filters fitted.

Lextek exhaust– I fitted this after my South American trip. It shaves 2.2kg off the bikes weight, is smaller and thus less likely to burn your soft luggage, and I think it sounds good too. Adrian’s bike still had the stock exhaust.

16 tooth front sprocket– this enabled relaxed cruising on long stretches at 65mph with the revs below 5000rpm. Overall pulling power and acceleration imo remains about the same as a stock bike with the standard sprocket, though second gear sometimes feels a bit tall, especially in sand.

INNOVV Power Hub –Spotlights, heated grips and USB port are wired through this. It switches off all ancillaries 10 seconds after the ignition is switched off, and delays power to them for 10 seconds after the ignition is switched on.

Oxford Adventure heated grips– Again, these were fitted before my first trip. To me they are essential, and I ended up having them on more often than not on the trip. In the first two weeks, the temperature didn’t get above 10 degrees, and we ended up riding in temperatures down to -5 Centigrade, on three occasions riding in snow. Adrian didn’t fit heated grips, but then he’s used to riding mountain bikes in crap weather and thinks wearing Lycra is cool.

Spotlights- Bought from eBay. They’re very bright

Dual USB port – I paid less than 10 pounds of eBay for this in 2019. It has two ports, a voltage meter and temperature gauge. It was still working when the bike got written off a few weeks ago.

ABS Switch– I also fitted this before my South American trip. It wasn’t used as much in Morocco, but I was still glad I’d fitted it. Adrian didn’t bother fitting one, and didn’t have any issues.

Givi engine guards- I’d fitted these before my trip to South America. I like these guards as they have a bar that connects both sides of the guards using a bar through the frame. I suspect these have saved the engine casings from damage several times when dropping the bike on rocks.

Handguards– Again, these were on the bike since before my first trip. They were bought from CooperB. In spite of having no metal in them, they’ve withstood many drops without getting damaged. They can also easily be increased in size for winter riding using two cut down 2 litre Tesco plastic milk bottles and a couple of cable ties. They finally met their end when I got hit by a car a few weeks ago, but the entire bike was a write-off so I don’t fault them for that- only a small chunk of one handguard broke off.

Heel Guard– This was also bought from CooperB. It protects the rear brake master cylinder, and is in my mind an essential upgrade, especially if you ride offroad.

Front mudguard raisers– Bought from CooperB. Another essential mod if you’re riding offroad. These raise the front mudguard so that mud doesn’t jam up the wheel when riding in the sticky stuff.

Fuel cans– I had the two 3 litre cans I’d used in South America fitted. They turned out to be unnecessary for the trip to Morocco. One of them disappeared on a rough track somewhere in the desert. I’d not noticed it falling off, as I was standing on the pegs most of the day.

Tyres– Once again, I opted for Mitas E-07’s, which served me so well in South America. Adrian fitted the same tyres just before we left at my insistence- his bike was fitted with road-biased tyres when he bought the bike. The Mitas tyres are very good on most surfaces, but they’re not great in thick mud or heavy sand, especially when the bike is loaded. They are, however, surprisingly good on wet tarmac. Once again, no punctures on the entire trip, on either bike. These tyres are very strong, which does however make removing them quite difficult. However, on this trip they wore out far faster than expected, much quicker than on my South American trip. After the 5000 miles we covered, both rear tyres were worn out and the front tyres probably had about another 1000 miles in them. I put this extra wear down to the long ride through Portugal on the way down on a never-ending series of twisties and the many rough rocky roads we rode on in Morocco. Adrian won’t go anywhere unless the road has lots of squiggles on the map. If I was going to the desert again, I would probably fit knobblies, either Mitas E09’s or Motoz RallZ. There is a company that regularly ships stuff from the UK to Morocco, so I’d send they knobblies down there and ride home on them afterwards. For any trip not involving heavy sand, I’d stick with the Mitas E07’s.

Luggage

Panniers

I used the same Lomo panniers that served me so well in South America. These panniers really are great value for money. My only criticism of them is that their stiffness is very dependent on temperature- on a hot day, they become quite soft, but when the temperature is around zero, they become stiff and can be difficult to roll closed, especially if the panniers are full. I would imagine this is common to all roll-closure soft panniers.

Tank Bag-In South America I’d used a Lomo tankbag, but I found it too big, and a bit of faff to get my camera out of due to the roll-closure. For Morocco, I bought an Enduristan Sandstorm 4H tankbag from Sportsbikeshop. Although fitting the front strap was a bit difficult and it’s too long, I really like this bag. It is completely waterproof, surviving a whole day’s riding in torrential rain without letting in a single drop of water. For me, this is essential, as I had two cameras and a couple of lenses with me. It also has a handy pouch velcroed to the inside for keeping your documents, and a removable map pocket fitted to the top of the bag with velcro. Although the bag is quite large, it didn’t ever get in my way. I’ll be modifying the front straps before my next trip though.

Top bag- A 40 litre dry bag that Lomo kindly donated for my South American trip. This bag has been used on both my adventures, at a dozen or so bike rallies and is the bag I use to put my bike gear in when I go to work. I’m amazed that it is still completely waterproof and hasn’t worn through anywhere. Amazing value for money if you’re looking for a simple, hard-wearing and completely waterproof bag.

Rok Straps- These are quite simply the best luggage straps ever invented. Easy to fit, easy to tighten, durable and simple, I’ll never buy anything else. Two of them kept my top bag secure on the roughest terrain, and they are also very handy for lifting the rear wheel when you’re putting it back on- simply put one over the rear seat and through the rim, then tighten it to lift the wheel.

Spares

Tubes etc– We took one front and one rear tube, a puncture repair kit and I had a Motopressor pump, the same one I used in South America. Once again, it got a bit of crud in it and I had to strip it down and clean it. I won’t be taking this pump again. Adrian had a small bicycle pump, and he could reinflate his tyres after leaving a sandy section as quick as I could get my pump out, connect it and inflate the tyres. I’ll be buying one for my next trip. I also packed a set of three tyre levers. I find it much easier removing tyres with three levers than two. We didn’t have any punctures on the entire trip, which is quite amazing considering the rocky tracks we were often riding on.

Clutch– The only spare part used on the entire trip apart from the oil filter. A spare clutch doesn’t weigh much, so I’ll probably take one on my next trip too.

Cables– I had a spare clutch cable plus a kit for making up new throttle or clutch cables.

Fuses

JB Weld- In my opinion an absolute essential on any long trip. For those unfamiliar with this product, it is a 2 part metal epoxy that can be used to fix metal. It can be sanded or filed after it’s dried. I also carry a piece of steel mesh to use with it on any major repairs. I’ve seen a big block V8 with a hole in the crankcase that was repaired with JB Weld and steel mesh, and it had been repaired over a year earlier and was still going strong. JB Weld will also glue anything together- in South America I repaired a hole in my air mattress with it, and the repair is still holding nearly 3 years later. Adrian also used it on our recent trip to repair the selfie stick he used to mount his GoPro on the bike.

Duct tape– This got used several times. Don’t leave home without it.

Cable ties– always handy to have some of these in different sizes. My number plate light ended up being held on by one.

Brake and clutch levers– I had them anyway, so chucked them in with the spares. They weigh next to nothing, but it was probably pointless taking them.

Oil Filter– we both changed our oil while in Morocco

Oil– I took one litre, used 100ml or so.

Air Filter– We both had DNA filters fitted, so I took a small can of filter oil. For cleaning filters, I found a great tip online about using stain remover mixed with soda water. We couldn’t find stain remover, so used body wash mixed with soda water instead. It worked really well.

Tools

Before a trip, I take all the tools off the bike before doing a full service. I then put all the tools I use servicing it to one side. Then I check the tightness of all the fasteners, bolts etc, and add those tools to the pile. I don’t take a ratchet for the sockets, I had one pack up on me once, so I just take a bar. The screwdriver in the tools provided with the bike is a bit crap so I added a screwdriver with a selection of bits. I also take a small mole wrench and Knipex pliers. Knipex pliers are far easier to use than an adjustable wrench and less likely to strip a nut. They tend to be my most used tool. Don’t forget to check you’ve got the wheel spanners and extension in the bike’s own toolkit. All my tools fit in a roll inside the tube mounted to the left pannier rail.

Mechanical issues-.We had two issues on the trip, both on my bike.

My front wheel was a bit buckled before we left, and I’d not managed to get it straightened as I’d had difficulty finding anyone to do it in time. On a particularly rough track in Portugal, I hit a rock and the wheel got bent even more. We found a mechanic in a village who straightened it on the bike by eye, and did an amazing job. It took him less than ten minutes. The boss of the garage wouldn’t accept payment.

The other issue was burning out my clutch in the desert. I was being careful not to ride the clutch, but I guess the 20 000 miles on the bike and all the offroad I’d done in South America had probably not helped. I’d brought a spare clutch with me, and paid a mechanic to fit it in a village in the desert. He’d never worked on a Himalayan before, but after fixing the bike told me he could have fixed it even if I hadn’t had new clutch plates.

Overall impressions

I loved the Himalayan anyway, and nothing from this trip has changed my mind. I’m quite short, with a 29 inch inside leg, so I find most adventure bikes too tall. I’m not an expert offroad, and prefer to be able to reach the ground- I can have both feet flat on the ground on the Himalayan. I also find the bike very comfortable for long distance riding, albeit it’s slower than the larger adventure bikes. Handling is excellent, both on and off road. Off road, it reminds me of an old Land Rover; it’s not as fast as the competition, but it will go absolutely anywhere. It’s an easy bike to work on and simple to maintain. Any roadside mechanic would be able to work on it. Overall, it’s been a very reliable bike.

Conclusions and lessons learned

The Himalayan is a very capable motorcycle. It’s cheap, comfortable, handles very well and will go anywhere. As already mentioned, it’s been very reliable- The only time I’ve got stuck somewhere was on this recent trip when the clutch went. This could have happened on any bike. However, I was a bit surprised to find on returning from Morocco that the headstock bearings had gone again. The steering had started stiffening up towards the end of the trip, and sure enough the bearings needed replacing again. The upper bearing looked like new, but the lower bearing was rusted and starting to break up. I believe that someone sells upgraded bearing seals, so if anyone reading this knows where I can get some, please leave a note in the comments. I’ve ridden the Himalayan year round in the UK for three years, as well as the two longer trips I’ve done since buying the bike. It’s great in traffic as well as on dirt- the high seating position is ideal when you’re weaving through lines of traffic. I don’t mind getting salt on it as much as I do my Harley; I’ve always treated it with ACF 50 in the winter and rinse it off regularly with a hosepipe. The only rust I’ve found has been on the pannier rails.

The bike handles really well and has no vices that I’ve found. Adrian had never ridden offroad before, and hadn’t ridden a motorcycle for 30 years before this trip, but he had no issues on any of the terrain we rode on except initially in sand. His extensive mountain biking experience obviously helped, and also explained why initially he struggled a bit in sand- I don’t think mountain bikers venture into sand too often. However, I came off several times too. It’s part and parcel of adventure riding. Adrian was riding as fast as me on rough trails almost immediately. The bike inspires confidence, not that Adrian needed it- he’s a Grade A nutter who doesn’t know the meaning of can’t.

Some people complain about the brakes on the Himalayan, but my other bike is a Harley. The front brake needs a good squeeze sometimes, but the brakes are perfectly adequate.The Himalayan is easy to work on, parts are cheap, and it’s low enough that shorter riders can reach the ground with being on tiptoes. If the worst came to the worst and you had to abandon the bike somewhere, you’d not be out of pocket anywhere near as much as with more expensive bikes. You’re less worried about scratching it or getting it filthy. My bike has ended up with scratched paint, a badly dented bash plate, cable ties holding stuff on, but who cares? The Himalayan doesn’t have lots of electronics that can go wrong and is simple enough that any competent bike mechanic will instantly know how to pull it to bits. The bike also doesn’t attract the wrong sort of attention- I’ve been asked several times what it is, and how old it is, but no-one has ever asked me how much it cost. When travelling, personally I prefer to be on a bike that doesn’t advertise my relative (to the locals) wealth.

My only criticism of the Himalayan, apart from the issue with the headstock bearings, is that it is a bit heavy. At 182kg, I wish it was 20kg lighter, but it’s still easy enough to lift on your own if you use the right technique. It’s lighter than a Tenere or Africa Twin, and not as top-heavy due to it’s lower stance. Some people moan about it’s lack of top speed, but if you’re travelling at 75mph on a motorway, are you really on an adventure? For a trip to Morocco riding through Spain from Santander, you’ll probably lose 4 hours on the time it would take on a larger capacity adventure bike. I can live with that. We took back-roads, though I appreciate that not everyone has the time available for that luxury.

Our biggest mistake was taking camping gear. That’s down to me. Yeah, I know, some people told me not to bother before I left and I didn’t listen to them. You were right. We only camped for one night on the entire trip. Most of the time it was too cold, wet or windy to contemplate putting up a tent. I’ve spent a lot of time in Morocco in the past, my kids are half Moroccan, but I hadn’t been there for nearly 20 years. The country has changed, and for the better. The police don’t stop you for bribes any more. There’s plenty of cheap auberges and riads available, and competition means that the quality and prices are generally very good. They all love you putting reviews on Google Maps, so it’s very easy to find accommodation. Only one place was full on the entire trip. So why am I mentioning camping gear in a review about the bike? Because the extra weight of the camping gear proved to be an Achilles heel for the Himalayan, on 50/50 tyres, in sand. We ended up paying someone to take our luggage three hundred km through the desert, but the additional bonus with that was that they knew all the detours round particularly bad patches of sand etc. We would have really struggled with fully loaded bikes, especially without knobblies. If I was going out into the Sahara again (and I may be going again next year), I’d get a guide on his 50cc Chinese Docker motorcycle to accompany me, and I definitely wouldn’t be taking any camping gear. I’d also fit knobblies, even though with the bikes unloaded getting though the sand was much easier.

Postscript

Two weeks after getting back from Morocco, I was hit by a car pulling out of a side street in Bolton. I’d stopped before the impact, but the guy obviously never even saw me, as he was still accelerating when he hit me. To add insult to injury, while moving his car after the accident, he ran over the front wheel. Luckily I wasn’t injured apart from sprained thumbs and bruised and sore wrists. The bike was a write-off. I bought it back from the insurance and Bolton Motorcycles kindly removed some of the bits before sending it to a scrapyard who paid the same amount I’d paid the insurance. I’m gutted that a bike that I’ve done so much on, that took me through Argentina, Chile, Portugal, Morocco and Spain, as well as serving as my main transport for three and a half years is now a write-off, though as it was classified as category N, it may end up on the road again. I don’t have the time or the space to fix it myself. I had a quick think about what to get next. It didn’t take long. I’ve just bought another Himalayan from Alan, an old friend of mine. It’s the same colour as my old bike but with only 4000 miles on the clock, and its never been ridden offroad. It’s got the Hitchcock’s 462cc conversion on it, and Alan is fitting a Tec cam to it for me. Hopefully I’ll pick it up in a week or so. I can’t wait.

Often the hardest part about planning a trip is making the decision to go, and then committing to it. The rest is easy. We planned most of the route on the hoof- actually, Adrian planned most of it. He turned out to have quite a talent for finding remote roads full of snow, gravel or mud along with some incredible scenery. We never got to my original planned destination, a hole in the ground near the Mauritanian border, but I wasn’t really expecting to anyway. A destination is just a point to aim at to get you going as far as I am concerned. We weren’t keen on riding 1300km over flat terrain from what proved to be our furthest point south and west to get to it. I never reached my original destination in Argentina either, instead veering off into Chile to ride the Carreterra Austral to O’Higgins.

A few friends have asked me why I risk going on such long and potentially hazardous trips. What if something goes wrong? What if the bike gets damaged or breaks down and you can’t fix it? What if you have an accident? I think my accident in Bolton after covering nearly 12000 miles on foreign roads without incident proves the error in that thinking. One biker friend of mine recently told me that he’d never have the confidence to do a trip like the two I’ve done on my Himalayan. Why not, I asked him? I’m a 62 year old guy who’d not ridden offroad for 30 years before I went to South America at the age of 59. Adrian is a 60 year old guy with nerve damage that makes it difficult for him to get on the bike, and he’d never ridden offroad at all before we went to Morocco. Yet we had an amazing trip, on all types of roads. There’s nothing special about us, we’re not expert riders, we’re just two old farts who decided to do something extraordinary. And the trip was extraordinary- we saw so much amazing scenery, rode so many incredible roads and had such a good time that we’re both already thinking about where to go next. Adrian is looking at Sweden and Canada, I’m looking at South East Asia and maybe Morocco again. For the next two years I’m restricted to winter trips only, due to work.

I hope one day I get to do another trip with Adrian; he turned out to be the best riding companion I could have hoped for. Before I met him, I was planning on going to Morocco solo, as I did to South America. Now I’m glad Adrian turned up at my boat one day in December, to my utter horror clad completely in Lycra, to ask me about the Himalayan. He’d been put in touch with me by Bolton Motorcycles after he’d wandered in to look at bikes to pass some time, and his eye had been caught by the Himalayan.

Finally, if any of you have been dreaming about a long trip but have some reservations, just remember this- whether you think you can or you think you can’t, you’ll end up proving yourself correct.

I am currently writing a book about the trip, which should be out later this year.

Men and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

Jon Andes, Blog, Uncategorized July 9, 2022July 9, 2022amateur mechanics, bikers, bikes, Himalayan, maintenance, motorcycle, motorcycle maintenance, Royal Enfield 0 Comment

Lately I’ve been hearing a buzzing sound between 2-3000rpm while riding my Himalayan. It’s been getting gradually worse, and I’m using the bike every day to go to work. At first I thought it was the new windscreen I fitted- it’s off a later model, and I had to bodge a bracket from a bit of aluminium. However, grabbing the windscreen while riding made no difference to the noise. Further investigation showed I couldn’t replicate the noise with the bike in neutral, so I started thinking it might be the front sprocket, which I know is worn. I’ve got a new chain and sprockets on order.

The other night, night on my way to work, I started really worrying about it. What if it’s not the sprocket, I wonder? What else could it be? Is there an issue with the engine? I arrive at work and forget about it for the night. It ends up being a late one, and I leave work at 5 am. On the way home, the noise suddenly gets much worse. Bloody hell, it’s the camchain, I think. I’ve knackered something when I put the new cam in. Maybe I didn’t tighten the bolts on the camchain sprocket properly? Perhaps I shouldn’t have reused that tab washer? Or perhaps I’ve installed the camchain tensioner incorrectly? Images flash into my mind of the camchain flapping around, slipping a couple of teeth, a valve hitting a piston. The rear wheel would probably lock up as the engine seizes, and if I don’t pull the clutch in quick enough, I’ll finally get to try out my airbag vest. Assuming the best, I’ll be stuck on the M60 just before rush hour.

Gingerly, I ride the rest of the way home trying to avoid the rpm range where the buzzing occurs. It’s too early to have a good listen to the engine while stationary, I don’t want to wake up the neighbours, so I put the bike in the garage and go to bed. In the afternoon, I do a bit of online research, which seems to confirm my fears. I get the tools out, and am just about to take the camchain tensioner off, resigned to the idea that I’ll probably having to remove the tank and cylinder head too, when I think why not put the bike on the centre stand, run it in gear, and have another listen? I wheel the bike out of the garage, put it on the centre stand, start it and put it in second gear. The noise is there, really loud without a slipstream muffling it. I take the bike out of gear, and the noise continues- for the first time, it’s also there with the bike running in neutral, so it’s definitely not the sprocket. Being able to listen to the noise from different directions rather than from the saddle while riding, it soon becomes obvious that the buzzing isn’t coming from the engine, but somewhere around the headstock. I try pressing the clocks, pulling the windscreen, but the noise is still there. Frustrated, I ask my wife to come out and have a listen. After a few seconds, she grabs the phone mount, and the noise stops. It seems an harmonic vibration was turning the phone mount into a tuning fork, but without any visible vibration. Relieved, and feeling rather stupid, I push the bike back into the garage. Thoughts turn to the Harley, which needs a service, and the rear caliper needs looking at, the pads aren’t wearing evenly. I’m sure the gearbox sounded a bit noisier than usual last time I rode it, too…..I wonder what that could be?

Feb 8- RP71 & RN40

Jon Andes, Northbound, Uncategorized November 28, 2020November 28, 2020 0 Comment

8 Feb 2020

Another lazy start. Two local guys offered me some mate tea this morning, which I gratefully accepted. Then I just couldn’t pull myself from the view. I sat by the lake shore for ages, just gazing at the mountains. Eventually I pulled myself away, and packed up. I left the campsite around midday. I had to ride up a steep slope to get to the road, and thought at one point I was going to come off the bike. The road was bizarre, a mix of nice flat bits, interspersed with sections of loose gravel, rocky bits, stretches of washboard.

Scenery was lakes, mountains, pine trees. Scotland on steroids, with dirt roads. I checked out a couple of the paid campsites, just out of interest. None of them had a patch on the free one I had stayed in.

The weather was nice, some clouds around, but I had sunshine most of the way through the park. Shortly after leaving the park, I spotted a Himalayan beside the road. I stopped, and was even more surprised when the owner turned out to be a fellow Brit. What are the chances of that, on an obscure dirt road in Argentina?

Jack (Britonabike) was on his way to El Bolsón, so we rode together to Epuyen, from where I was then heading to Lago Puelo, on the recommendation of a couple I had met in the campsite on Lago Futalaufquen. It was a nice ride. Shortly before Epuyen, we rejoined Ruta 40, and tarmac. We on the edge of Epuyen at a restaurant, where a group of bikers on street bikes were sitting outside eating. For the first time on the trip, bikers completely ignored me. Jack had some accomodation booked at El Bolson, so wanted to carry on immediately. I needed petrol. After saying goodbye to Jack, I headed into the village to find a gas station. It took me a while to find it, and turned out to be back near where I had said goodbye to Jack. I called Jackie, grabbed a coffee, and then set out to Lago Puelo.

Not all recommendations work out. Lago Puelo was a tourist trap. There was a lot of traffic, and lots of people wandering around eating ice cream. iOverlander recommended a campsite near the lake. It cost 450 pesos, very expensive imo. It’s a bit like like Butlins; you have to wear a wristband. Just outside the campsite, about 500 cars were parked, so I knew it wasn’t going to be a nice little remote camp. At least it had a sign saying no music after midnight. The campsite was huge, so I rode around a while looking for a quiet spot. The vast majority of people seemed to be camping nearer the entrance, where there were picnic tables and barbecue pits dotted around under the trees. It was quieter towards the lake. I found a secluded spot under some trees, with an electrical hookup. An Argentinian guy and his Columbian girlfriend were my neighbours, and invited me for a coffee. After a chat and excellent coffee, I set up my tent. I was 50 metres from the lake shore, but couldn’t see it due to a line of tall trees. Just as well, because when I took a walk, I discovered that, although the beach was very beautiful, it was jam-packed with people. I should have learned my lesson by now. Avoid public campsites in Argentina on the weekends. I went for a shower, and on the way back met two bikers from Rosario, Jesus and Joaquin. They invited me to come back later for homemade pizza, cooked over a campfire.

I got the drone out, and flew it above the trees to get a bit of footage of the lake. Then I took a walk down to the shore, on a path through a gate with a sign saying the gate shut at sunset. Back at the tent, I picked up the litre of cheap wine I had bought on the way here, and joined Jesus and Joaquin for pizza. The food was excellent, and they were great company. We chatted about our respective journeys, swapping funny stories from the road. I told them about the incident with the Malvinas veteran at San Antionio de los Cobres, which they found really amusing, though then apologised for the guys behaviour. I said it was the only time I’d had any hassle for being English, but that I also sometimes told people I was South African. We drank my wine and several beers, talking in a mixture of bad English I my even worse Spanish. I told them that one of the phrases that I kept remembering was “Yo bebe leche”, which means “I drink milk”. They thought this was hilarious, and suggested I kept it to myself. They told me they did two long trips every year, and also did camping trips with their wives regularly. They invited me to come and stay with them if I passed Rosarion on the way back to Buenos Aires, but it was unlikely I’d be going that way. I told them I was heading to Lago Roca, and they told me that the road was really bad. They’d been down it a bit before deciding it would wreck their bikes. I would see tomorrow.

Back at my tent, some of the typical Saturday night Argentine camping fraternity also turned up, one lot in a truck blasting the dreadful Argentinian disco/salsa music that seems so popular. Unfortunately, for this subsection of the camping fraternity, playing really crap music really loud all night is how you enjoy the countryside. They were still at it at 1am. So much for the sign saying no music after midnight. Eventually, I fell asleep to the strains of Ricky Martin singing La Vida Loca.

Another fairly short day or riding: 130km

Feb 7: RP71

Jon Andes, Blog, Northbound November 27, 2020November 27, 2020 0 Comment

6 Feb 2020

No riding today, the weather in the national park was crap, it would have been foggy. Instead I got some laundry done and caught up on some maintenance. I had had a slight oil leak for a couple of days, and decided it needed investigating. The Himalayan is known to have problems with the two visible cylinder head bolts. The guy I’d bought the bike from had told me he had changed these bolts for longer ones, a known fix for the problem. As soon as I removed the bolts, I could see this was not the case. One of the bolts tightened up ok, the other came out with part of the thread, which had evidently separated from the cylinder. It would not tighten at all. I called Bolton Motorcycles, and they suggested trying a longer bolt (thanks again guys!). A quick internet search brought up a car and boat mechanic, Vitus Braig, here in Trevelin. I rode round to his yard, which was full of trucks, old cars, and a couple of boats. Vitus was a fit looking guy in his sixties. He didn’t speak any Engliash, but with Google Translate and a bit of sign language, worked, he soon worked out what I was after. He had a bolt that fitted. Vitus fitted it, and also made a replacement for the missing part from my fuel can, all at no charge! Unfortunately, he only had the one bolt the right length, but the other one was holding ok. Back at the camp site, I cleaned and lubed the chain, and gave the bike a good looking over, checking bolts etc. Then I just spent the rest of the day lazing around. In the evening, I cooked some pasta on the gas stove. I was running out of gas. After dinner, I had a shot of whisky, then called it a night.

7 Feb 2020

I woke up early, but didn’t get going until nearly midday. I cooked scrambled eggs with salami, had a coffee, then repacked the panniers yet again. And yet again, the load seemed to reduce. I topped off the fuel, bought a new gas canister, then headed for the Parque Nacional de los Alarces. It’s only 15km from Trevelin.

In the park, lots of lakes, pine trees and expensive looking hotels. The park has lots of camp sites, some free, and apparently it is not allowed to wild camp. Roads are a mix of tar and dirt at the start of the park, so I took all the dirt ones I could find. I was in no rush today, the park is only 70km long. I stopped at Lago Futalaufquen for a coffee and a tart made with Dulce con Leche, the caramelised condensed milk they like so much here. Weather was glorious, and it’s nice just puttering around for a change. Scenery looks a little like Loch Lomond.

Soon the road turned to ripio, varying from loose gravel, to hard packed sand, to rocks. Running along the eastern shore of Lago Futalaufquen, it’s a very pretty road. I passed a couple of campsites, including two that said free camping. I stopped at the second one. A Danish couple told me it was the best camping spot they had found in the park, and that the paid campsites are quite busy. They were travelling in an old battered camper van, which they had bought in Argentina. I had only ridden 60km, but I was not in any hurry. With the bike, I could get right down to the shoreline, so set up camp right next to the lake. The sun was shining, the scenery amazing, and I set up tent and then wandered down to the lake shore. I chatted for a while to the Danish guy, who was fishing, but he didn’t catch anything. Later on, his girlfriend caught a fish with her first cast. I took a walk along the rocky shoreline, and collected a bit of wood for the stove. The wind died down enough to fly the drone, so I got a bit of aerial footage. The gimbal on the drone had been playing up since I first flew it on RN40, so some of the footage looks a bit jerky. On the shoreline, and eagle took off in front of me.

Dinner was lentil, pepper and salami casserole, cooked on the Lixada wood stove. I really like this stove. It packs up very small, and burns twigs or cones, which are always easy to find. If using tins, you can burn them on the stove afterwards, which stops them attracting critters in the night, and also ensures the tins don’t end up stinking your luggage out before you can dispose of them.

Two very young couples turned up just before it got dark.. They couldn’t get a fire going. I didn’t know whether to offer to help. Eventually, I wandered over and got their fire going for them. They’d been putting green wood on it, so I gathered some dryer wood. One of them gave me a beer, and I chatted with them for a while before heading back to my tent. One of them knows 3 chords on the guitar, but they are quiet, which is nice.

Back at the tent, I sat drinking a whiskey and looking out across Laga Fuatlafquen. What an amazingly beautiful place. The park is named after a tree, the alerce, which is the world’s second longest living tree. They can live for over 3600 years. There was also a glacier in the park, but it takes a full days trekking to get to it apparently. I was wondering about spending another night in the park, but thought I’d probably continue towards Bariloche. I’d been thinking about trying to find a camper van, to explore the area with Jackie when she arrived. It had been a very short day, only covering 55km. But it was really nice to have a day with no compunction to cover miles. It had been a great day, and very relaxing. It was also one of the best camping spots I had found so far. Tomorrow, on the recommendation of a local who offered me some mate tea, I would probably head to Lago Puelo.

Feb 5: RN40 & RP259

Jon Andes, Northbound, Uncategorized November 26, 2020November 26, 2020 0 Comment

Feb 5 2020

Although last night went on later than expected, I got a good sleep. Tim leaving around 8am woke me up, but I ended up getting another hours sleep. There was frost all over the bike, and the bed looked far more inviting. I took a look at the map, trying to decide which direction to go. Eventually, I decided to head to Esquel, and Parqes dos Alerces. I fancied a bit of lakeside camping. After packing my bike, I ended up leaving around 11am, later than I had intended. Google Maps took me 7 km in the wrong direction, just to make a U turn in a dead little village called Jose de San Martin, where the road I had arrived on appeared to end.

Scenery back on Ruta 40 was semi-arid rolling hills, reminding me of Rannoch moor with the complete overcast. Temperature was 8 degrees and the intermittent problem with my heated grips continued. A pleasant ride though. I stopped in Tecka to get fuel and a Milanesa sandwich. Tecka is in a small gorge, an oasis of green in the barren hills of Chubut province.

More hills. An idiot in a car overtaking towards me nearly forced me off the road. I gave him what I think is a fairly universal signal, and the truck he was also overtaking blared it’s disapproval. A bit further on I saw a parked motorcycle, so pulled over. The bike had an improbably large top-box, and was ridden by Richard, a 70 year old Frenchman on an Africa Twin. Like me, he was meeting his wife in a week, though further south. He didn’t really like his bike. He couldn’t pick it up, and had dropped it a couple of times.

**Richard and his improbably large top-box**

I was glad of the manageable weight of the Himalayan. We had a quick chat, and shortly afterwards I turned off Ruta 40 onto the RN259, and, as has happened so many times here, the scenery and climate instantly changed. Now it was green, with trees, livestock, valleys, mountains with snow on them. Temperature shot up to 18 degrees. Ten minutes later I was in Esquel, a tentative stopping point for the day, the point I had aimed for. It looked a bit of a shithole.

It seems geared towards winter skiing and like all ski resorts, has a forlorn feel in the summer. I found a little shop run by a father and son, a small grocers, where I recharged my Argentinian sim card, and also changed some dollars. I then carried on to Trevelin, one of the several towns around here where people speak Welsh. It looks a bit Welsh. iOverlander once again found me a great campsite, El Chacay, on what looks like a small farm on the edge of town.

Fancying steak for dinner I walked to the nearest shop. I bought an onion and some tomatoes in a small grocery, then a steak in a butchers, and as I came out of the butchers I heard accordion music.

It was a small bar, a real spit and sawdust place with very little furniture, and 5 old guys drinking. One guy was playing a guitar and singing, and it was the barman on the accordion. I bought a litre of beer and introduced myself. They all seemed really happy I had dropped in. As so many people do here, once it was clear I knew no Spanish, they carried on talking to me as if I was fluent. Google translate amused them all greatly The music was excellent, and I videoed a bit.

Back at the campsite, I cooked up potatoes with onions and tomato, and fried the steak. To my surprise, it was really tough. Still a good meal though. I flew the drone for a bit, before turning in for the night. Another great day on the road, though a fairly shot one; I’d only covered 205km.

Rain was forecast for the next day, so I decided to take a day off. I needed to do some bike maintenance and wash some clothes. Then it’s a few days in the Parque Nacional de Alerces before heading north to meet Jackie.

Feb 4: RN40

Jon Andes, Uncategorized November 25, 2020November 25, 2020 0 Comment

Feb 4 2020

Breakfast was excellent, the best I’d had on the trip so far. Ham and cheese, in addition to the normal bread with dulce de leche (basically caramelised condensed milk) and jam. I even had yoghurt. Then a quick stop to buy another sticker and a fridge magnet before setting off for the 359 km to Gobernador Costa. I’d found Perito Merino overall a strange place. On the street, people said hello; In the shops, they seemed a bit surly. Apparently, they get tourists turning up all the time, thinking they are at the Perito Morino glacier, which is miles away. One of the waiters told me at breakfast that sometimes they even try and blame the residents of the town for daring to live in a place with the same name. Before I left, I went through my regular bolt-tightening procedure. I’ve not really mentioned the basic maintenance I carried out on the bike during the trip. The Himalayan, has a long-stroke thumper engine, and I’m sure most big singles (in common with the big twins I normally ride) are subject to vibration. I was always finding things that needed tightening on the trip. Every time I camped, I got the spanners out and checked bolts all over the bike. It was often surprising what was loose; one day a sprocket bolt, another a bolt holding a pannier rack on. The bolts holding my USB port on the handlebars were a regular. Yet, strangely, the chain hardly ever needed adjustment. Later in the trip, a missed bolt would cause me some delay….

Ruta 40 was tarmac, all the way to Gobernador Costa. It was deja-vu. Long straights, riding suspended between two vanishing points on opposite horizons. After some initial hills, it became the familiar slog through a semi-arid plan with few corners, albeit without the heat I experienced on the northern section; temperature varied between 13 and 8 degrees. The heated grips were working, so I was plenty warm enough, with thermals and my down jacket under my bike gear. The wind was still a factor, but a constant lean of about 10 degrees to the left was all that was needed. It was severely affecting fuel consumption though. It also got me idly wondering about whether I was wearing out the left side of my tyres.

As I rode, the sky got darker. I could see thunderstorms ahead, and I seemed to be heading for the worst of them, so I put my rain jacket and trousers on. Every time I thought I was about to get wet, a rare serendipitous corner would veer me away from the rain. Quite a bit of the road was wet, so I evidently timed it perfectly, if accidentally. I got a few drops once.

A sign warned warned of pothole for the next 50km, and there were plenty. Some of them were of bike-wrecking proportions at the speed I was riding, so I had to take care. I didn’t slow down, in fact I ended up giving the bike a bit more head. the road a bit more attention, weaving all over the road, picking the best lines. It brought some fun to an otherwise fairly monotonous road. The Andes were barely visible on the horizon, but it really didn’t matter, the road was all.

Suddenly the plain dropped into a gorge with a large river; the Rio Mayo gives the small town I found there I found there it’s name. At the fuel station I met three other bikers, a young guy on his own, and two older guys, all heading for Ushaia. A quick coffee, fill up, and then back to the road, which, with the heavy cloud and dull light, reminded me of bits of the Yorkshire moors. With 232 km to go, and a full tank, fuel wouldn’t be an issue, without even considering the spare 3 litres I had. But, back on the road, fuel was dropping quicker than expected. Although I was cruising at I guess (from the revs) about 60 mph, I watched with alarm as the fuel guage headed steadily for E. Not much I could do about it, unless I stumbled across a gas station. Soon afterwards, I did in fact come across a service station, but it had evidently been out of business for some time.

The garage was covered in really crap graffiti, very incongruous in the middle of nowhere. I stopped for a break, and took some pictures. I wondered why a service station miles from anywhere would attract graffiti. Did the “artists” specifically drive out here to daub it’s walls, or was it perhaps a group of graffiti artists on there way somewhere else, who hadn’t been able to resist stopping for a bit of vandalism?

I carried on, the wind now quite gusty, with always the never fulfilled promise of rain driving me onwards. An hour later, I found I was on reserve, and the last sign I had seen said it was 71 km to go. It also looked once again like I was about to ride into a huge thunderstorm. Surely my luck wasn’t go to hold out all day? I stopped to empty the Jerry can of fuel into the tank. It was only when I stopped that I realised quite how windy it actually was. The same wind, from the north-west, that I had had the day before. I accidentally dropped the inner part of the fuel can cap, and the wind snatched it away, to oblivion. I looked for it in vain for about 20 minutes, dropping bits of dead plant in an effort to work out which way it would have been blown. Eventually I gave up, and, finding a piece of shredded truck tyre that I could probably cut a replacement from. I jammed it into the spout of the can and carried on.

The next sign I saw said 71km, again. I had seen distances actually increase on signs as you head towards somewhere on RN40, so I wasn’t overly surprised. Once again I was on reserve. Without an odometer or speedometer, and few signs, it’s easy to end up with no idea how far I have gone, as I can’t always see the phone in my tank bag, or if I can, it’s often gone into hibernation. Stopping to check the map would have just used more fuel as I accelerated back to cruising speed, so I just reverted to my old trick of pretending nothing was wrong, and carried on. Gradually the landscape became populated, with more Estancias, and got a bit greener. The previous sign must have actually said 21 km, because suddenly I arrived. I had not got wet. The wind had drastically reduced my range, with an extra 3 litres of fuel giving less range than just the tank on a calm day. Gobernador Costa is a small place, and all Wikipedia has to say about it is “Gobernador Costa (Chubut) is a village and municipality in Chubut Province in southern Argentina” I filled up with fuel at the YPF, then went on iOverlander to find somewhere to stay. With the municipal campsite apparently being a bit crap, it being cold, and with thunderstorms still lurking, I liked the idea of being indoors, so I ended up at an excellent little hostel with apartments.

The price was per room, with it being a 3 bed room, but I managed to knock 25% off. It was still very expensive, but the room was excellent, with a big duvet on the bed and a kettle. Shortly after I arrived, another biker, Tim, from Germany, turned up. Tim was on on a KTM, and he had just ridden from El Chalten, 590km south of here, including a particularly nasty 70km section of deep gravel. He is on a six week trip and shipped his bike from Germany. I suspect he rides very fast on dirt. In Germany he races a CBR600.

We decided to go and look for a restaurant. One seemed uninviting. Then we found a restaurant, mentioned on iOverlander, that was apparently a bit strange. It looked the part. Wooden, inside and out, and a fire, which was also the barbecue. An old guy came out of the kitchen and shouted at us in Spanish. Neither of us could speak it. I thought he was saying 9 O’clock. He seemed to be shooing us towards the door, but, still shouting, he pointed us to a table. We asked for Cerveja, and a litre and two glasses were brought. There was no offer, or indeed sign of, a menu. About ten minutes later, a waiter brought over a tureen of vegetable soup, and two bowls. OK. We ate the soup. It was very nice indeed. I had 3 helpings before the waiter whisked it away.

Next thing to arrive was two massive steaks, on the bone, with two eggs on each. Somehow he knew I liked it medium rare. In a separate bowl, a green salad. It was excellent, in fact, the best meal I have had in Argentina. In a restaurant with no menu, where you eat what you get given. I loved it. Tim told me more about his trip. He was trying to get in as many miles as he could in his 6 weeks. He wore loads of gear, leg braces, a neck brace, expensive jacket and trousers. He also wore motocross boots. He said it gave him a feeling of invincibility, and, as a consequence, he said he tended to ride much faster than he thought he probably should. After dinner, we walked back to the hostel. It had been a great day.

Tim was off to Bariloche in the morning. I thought of heading for Esquel, where a bunch of enterprising enthusiasts run a steam railway that apparently has 18 working locomotives. However, I was now more than halfway to Bariloche, and I wasn’t meeting Jackie for another week. Should I instead head across country to Trelew? Or slow it all down, and go to Trevelin, and the Parque Nacional los Alerces, which I’d heard was very beautiful, and had dirt roads? I’d decide in the morning.

Feb 3: RN40

Jon Andes, Northbound November 25, 2020November 25, 2020 0 Comment

Feb 3 2020

Well, today turned out a bit different than expected.

Kurt snores very loudly, though Sergio said I had a concert going with Kurt most of the night. We were all up around 7am, and grabbed some crappy breakfast in the bar; stale croissants and sugary jam. Kurt and Sergio headed off about 8:30, me an hour later.

**Kurt and Sergio just about to set off south**

I’d decided to visit Cuevo de los Manos, which is an cave where people left imprints of their hands on the cave walls thousands of years ago. It’s only 15km off Ruta 40. However, strong winds were forecast, so I decided to play it by ear, or, more accurately, by ability to ride in the wind if it became really strong. Just as I left, the first gusts arrived. By the time I reached the hills just north of Baracoles, the wind was reaching insane speeds. For much of the time, I had about 25 degrees of left lean on to stay straight. The wind was from the front left, or NW. Passing trucks going the other way was pretty dodgy, so I slowed down, although I rarely got out of 4th gear and much of the ride was spent in 3rd. I reached the turn-off for Cuevo de los Manos, and decided that the wind was too strong to head off down a dirt road that probably had no traffic on it. I was having trouble on tarmac. I was also wondering how the wind would affect my fuel consumption: I’d filled up the bike and jerry cans in Cochrane, and now had just under half a tank, plus one jerry can of 3 litres, after giving Sergio the contents of one of the cans. Perito Morino was 130km from Baja Caracoles. I carried on, and the wind got worse. At one point I thought how bizarre it was to be going round a steep, downhill, right hand bend, with the throttle pinned in 3rd gear, and the bike leaning to the left. Huge swirls of blown sand kept blasting me and twice I thought I was going to get blown off the road by gusts. It was difficult staying in my lane. Now I understood the stories of people being driven mad by the Patagonian wind, or being blown completely off the road. I was glad I hadn’t acted on the tentative idea of trying to finish Ruta 40. At one point, I stopped in the lee of some hills for a while, but I knew it wasn’t going to get any better. As soon as I set off again, the wind got even stronger, and, for the first time on the trip, I was shitting myself. It’s the first time I’d ever ridden in wind that made a motorcycle almost uncontrollable.

After the hills, the road wound across a plain, where at least the wind was more constant in speed and direction. I hunched behind the screen, getting into 4th gear for a while, once even trying 5^th, but ended up having to change back down. I was still leaned over at about 25 degrees, hoping the wind didn’t suddenly stop, or I would be crashing. The wind seemed almost malevolent. I could hardly hear the engine over the howling around my helmet. Huge clouds of sand would billow onto the road in front of me, reducing visibility to about 50 metres. It was by far the most unpleasant and scary day on the trip so far.

I arrived in Perito Morino 3 hours later: it should have taken me less than half that time. I decided to call it a day. Recent horror stories from these parts, including one of 6 German riders all being blown off the road as group, and another of a rider being blown into a truck a few days earlier, made me decide it was too dangerous to continue. I don’t mind a challenge, but I draw the line at stupidity.

Being far too windy to pitch a tent, I decided to find an hotel.The first hotel I tried was full, the second too expensive. The American Hotel was actually quite nice, and had a restaurant that opened at 7:30 pm instead of the normal for Argentina of 10pm. I parked the bike right outside the room, checked the oil, and lubed the chain. I then had a shower, washed some clothes in the sink, and put them on the radiator I was quite cold, 8 degrees when I arrived. I decided to get an early night and continue north before the wind started again in the morning. I wandered around the town, a very odd place. It was very quiet, and the shops were amily expensive clothes shops and places selling tat. In a little shop run by a very strange looking old lady, I bought a sticker advertising how windy the town was, which seemed quite appropriate. I also changed some dollars at a really bad rate (for the black market) with the seedy proprietor of a run-down hotel in the centre of town. Perito Morino looked like a bit of a shit-hole, save for the stretch of street full of touristy craft shops. The wind had actually died down quite a bit by now, just the occasional savage gust making me duck into a doorway.

In the restaurant that evening, I met a 63 year old English guy, Sebastian, who was riding a BMW. I knew that before he told me, as he turned up for dinner in a BMW jacket. He joined me at my table, and we chatted about our respective journeys. He was heading south, to Ushaia, that Mecca of overland adventurers that for some reason had never grabbed my imagination. Bizarrely, Sebastian knew my brother Nick, through a company Nick had worked for when his green credentials didn’t stop him working for evil multinationals in the oil business. The food was excellent, the best meal I had had for weeks. As I’ve mentioned before, so far I had found the food in Argentina underwhelming, but, when they get a steak right, it’s really good. Dinner was even better when Sebastian insisted on paying for my dinner, and the two litres of beer I had drunk.

After dinner, I retired to my room to write up my blog on Facebook, phoned Jackie, and vainly searched for some news in English on the TV. Jackie had told me about a new virus that had just emerged in China, and was worried it would cause problems in Europe, or even affect my trip. I didn’t really take it seriously at the time. I had a look at the forecast, thinking I could backtrack the next day and visit Cuevo de los Manos. The forecast was showing 70kph winds after 10am, with gust up to 100kph…. I would head north. After an abortive attempt at reading, I went to sleep, hoping I could get far enough north in the morning to be out of the worst of the wind before it really picked up.

Feb 2: X-83 and RP41

Jon Andes, Part 2-Carretera Austral November 17, 2020November 25, 2020 0 Comment

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.

**RP41- This was the best bit of the whole road**

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.

Feb 1: Ch-7

Jon Andes, Part 2-Carretera Austral November 15, 2020November 17, 2020 0 Comment

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.

Jan 31: CH-7

Jon Andes, Part 2-Carretera Austral November 15, 2020November 17, 2020 0 Comment

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.

← Previous