8th Jan 2020
I only left Villa Maria about 11:30, after going into town to buy a sim card. Plus it’s taking me ages packing…..packing has never been my strong point. Nor has getting going early. I’d dumped a few clothes and other items at the B&B in BA. I would pick it up gain on the way back. I had too much stuff. My sleeping bag and tent are nearly the volume of a pannier. On the flight over, I had only brought hand luggage, the rest of the stuff was shipped with the bike. But my hand luggage consisted of three cameras, 4 lenses, 2 video cameras, a drone, batteries for everything, and a tablet computer. redistributing it on the bike had taken me over an hour before I’d left Buenos Aires.
First 160 km was motorway. Then the motorway was finally done with, and it looked promising, for a while. Green hills, trees, winding road. Then it all flattened out and I saw about 4 corners in 200 miles. And it got hot. The thermometer on my USB port said 43 degrees. The bike said 50, but the Himalayan is known to over -read. On the flatlands, with no shade, it was just too hot to stop. I went through 3 Camelbacks of water, and still polished off 2 litres when I got to the campsite. The bike ran really well though: it seems to like 67 mph, which surprised me. Takes a while to get there, but then it holds it’s speed on hills better than at 55. I can cope with boredom, and I got used to heat on rides around Qatar with Jackie and Wataweet. But boredom and heat together? Not recommended. I soaked the Hypetkewl vest today, and it sort of worked. I had been having to drink a litre an hour, and another litre at stops. Last night I drank two litres in a couple of minutes while eating chips frosted with salt.
Wrong fuel
In Rayo Cortado, I pulled into a station with 2 identical pumps. A young girl working there happily filled my bike with diesel, after I had asked for “Gasolina”. Luckily I was just topping it off. This was when I discovered that, in Argentina, the colour of a fuel pump’s hose bears no relevance to the liquid it is conveying. The pump was green, the hose was green, and next to it was a black pump. After realising she had filled my bike with the wrong fuel, she ran into the building, and her dad then turned up, syphoned the tank, and filled it up with petrol. he apologised, and din’t charge me. Strange thing is, it seemed to run better afterwards.
At the next fuel stop, I filled one of the cans, which was just as well. With 65 miles to go to the next gas station, it was on reserve. I pulled off on a long straight through some salt flats to empty hte can into the tank. I’d carry extra fuel now until a week before the end of the trip. I arrived in Santiago del Estero just before sunset. After cruising along the river I found Camping Las Casuarinas. It was a very scruffy campsite with a few hippy vans parked in it. I put up the tent, took a quick shower in the filthy shower block near my tent, then locked my expensive gear in the Pacsafe, locked that to the bike inside my scruffiest bag, and walked into town. Stalls line dthe road, selling Milansesas, hotdogs and other junk food. It all looked very dirty, so I ate two portion of chips. Time for bed. The temperature was forecast to hit 40 degrees the next day. I needed to get north quickly: it was currently only 12 degrees in La Quica.
The campsite in Santiago del Estoro was a total disaster. As soon as I got back to the tent, I knew it just wasn’t going to work. 31 degrees, 90% humidity, and a campsite that is the locals favourite place to party. So at one in the morning, I went on Booking dot thingy and booked a hotel, the highly recommended Coventry Hotel. I got there at 3 in the morning. It was adequate, and the same price as the campsite I’d slept at the night before.
Total miles today, 355. I think another 2 days to get to La Quica.