Trans Americas 2009 - The Blog

Like a child on Christmas morning I woke early excited about the day ahead and finally reaching the “end of the road”. With the group riding together and departing at 9am I had plenty of time to get my things in order, update the blog, pack the bike and chat to my fellow riders. The mood was one of calm excitement, of a sense of a job almost done with just the final easy task to complete. That easy task was a short 70-mile ride from the hotel to the town of Ushuaia and then into the Tierra del Fuego national park and a short dirt-road ride to the very end of the road at Bahia Lapataia – the most southerly road in the world.

As usual the group was ready to go well before the 9am kick-off, even Late Guy, who Kevin had asked to ride in 2nd position in the group so he wouldn't be last for once. Pulling out of the hotel and up the short gravel drive to the main road the group dropped into its usual formation and I assumed a position pretty close to the back so I could get a great view of the group ahead. The road from the hotel to Ushuaia was a gem – smooth tarmac heading first along the valley and then up into the mountains, skirting round them along the Garibaldi Pass before descending into town. On the run up into the mountains we crossed paths with the Patagonia group who were leaving Ushuaia and heading back North. First to pass was Hamish, going like the clappers and hardly acknowledging the 20 bikes heading in the opposite direction. Next up was Matt, the Globebusters tour leader with a couple of riders on Africa Twins in tow. We pulled over to the roadside where they joined us and we chatted for a while before it was time for us to get on – the rest of the Patagonia group were some distance behind, and we waved as we passed them on the mountain road. I saw Santa Phil, and even through the visor on his Arai helmet I could see his huge grin. It would have been nice to stop and thank him personally for fetching out my new starter motor, but there simply wasn't the time. Finn (our Irish journalist and deputy editor of the Sunday World) rode ahead to get some photos of the group, for which I'm very grateful...





With a backdrop of black mountains with their bright white snow-caps and a large blue lake the gentle ride gave me plenty of time to reflect on just how far we've come. Over 21,000 miles and 13 countries in just 18 weeks... Images from the trip kept popping into my mind as I rode – from the dust of the Dalton Highway in Alaska, the bears in Canada, the glacier in Stewart, the dry heat of the US and camping in Valley of the Gods, the poverty of Mexico, the challenging riding in Copper Canyon, the colours and vibrancy of Guatamala and central America, the breakdown in Honduras, the tropical rainforests in Nicaragua and Costa Rica, the border chaos in Costa Rica, the banana bridge crossing into Panama, the crazy fast-as-you-like riding in Columbia, crossing the equator in Ecuador, the abject poverty in the desert of northern Peru, the beauty of Machu Picchu, the long straight roads in northern Chile, the rocky madness of Canyon del Pato, the fall on Paso de San Francisco and having to ride Nick's bike, the pain of Ruta 40 and the gravelled roadworks that almost broke me, the joy of finding tarmac, the wilderness of Carretera Austral, the endless dirt riding on Ruta 40 and finally this...

Arriving in Ushuaia we came through the industrial part of town, past the port where the huge cruise liners bring their cargo of tourists on their way to and from Antarctica, passed the main part of town and out the other side, still heading South... and onto the dirt road that leads into the National Park. Once through the park entrance we were once again in a different world, riding along a narrow single-lane mud road through a forest. Riding in single file and trying to pick a line through the pot-holes that reduced the amount of punishment my long-suffering bike received we made our way slowly to our destination. We had to overtake the occasional coach, ferrying the tourist sheep to the end of the world for a picture they'll savour not half as much as us, for we've got here under our own steam, having started a long, long, way away. Then we entered a clearing, a place for the coaches to turn round, and there it was... the end of the road...

We parked up in formation, parting the sheep, sorry, tourists, and dismounted, helmets off and tears flowing, bear-hugs all round. I ignored the pain from my cracked rib and threw myself into the open arms of my fellow riders, no sense in coming over all British at a time like this. The sense of achievement and of relief was mixed with a sense of sadness that the journey was nearly over and that from here we'd be heading home, albeit with a 2,500mile ride to Buenos Aires first. But to see the smiles on the faces of the people I've spent the last 5 months with, to share their moment of joy, and to share mine with them, was very, very special.





We parted the tourists so we could get our photos, then Jeff produced a box of bottles of champagne and some plastic cups and we toasted our success in fine style, as the rain started to fall. More hugs, more tears, more smiles... Some of us had the little stones we'd picked up on the beach at Prudhoe Bay, and we had a little stone-throwing ceremony as we launched them into the ocean, a little gesture to mark the journey and confuse generations of future geologists (“How did this Arctic rock get all the way down here to the Antarctic?”). We were constantly asked by the tourists where we'd come from and once again found ourselves basking in the glory of our “minor celebrity status” as they stared open-mouthed when told we'd just finished riding from the top of the world to the bottom...








Finally it was time to tear ourselves away from this spot that we'd spent so long and so much effort trying to reach. With a café just outside the national park our destination, I set off first, happy to be riding on my own again after the slow group ride in. Revelling in the joy of riding without pressure I blasted along the dirt road, confidence in my riding slowly returning after the fall, splashing through the puddles in the potholes and scattering loose gravel on the corners. Once in the café I had a nice salad and Sprite and sat and chatted some more whilst the rain poured down outside.

Finally we left and rode back in the rain to town, Al and I riding with Aaron who's GPS has the right maps and so could find the hotel. On the outskirts of town I ran out of petrol. I'd ridden all the way to the end of the world, and then ran out of gas. How appropriate! Luckily I still had my 2ltr petrol can on my pannier, so used that to get going again, whilst Aaron and Al re-appeared wondering where I'd gone. We stopped to fill up properly and then found the hotel, parking up and then heading off to our rooms to get changed and catch up with loved ones back home and share our news.

With a group meal planned for the evening we met up in the hotel bar and had a celebratory beer, followed by a congratulatory beer, followed by... well, you get the idea. The restaurant was a short walk away and served up a great steak and some half decent red wine. Over dinner we had a number of toasts, the whole restaurant joining our celebrations whether they wanted to or not... and then we retired to the obligatory Irish bar for some more beer and perhaps a whisky or two... until the bar closed and we couldn't find another one open, not even the hotel bar... which is perhaps a good thing...