Trans Americas 2009 - The Blog

I woke feeling very stiff but not in as much pain as the previous morning, desperately trying to convince myself that I was well on the mend and would soon be fighting fit again. I got up and showered, then dressed, delighted that I managed to get dressed in just 25 minutes and not the hour it took yesterday. Little steps all count...

After a quick breakfast I loaded Nick's bike with my bag (with help from someone who kindly took it from me when I was struggling with it down the hall), his panniers now straight again after some of Jeff's attention before he resorted to dressing in women's clothing last night. I'd been told that today I was to ride with the van, as there may be some police checkpoints en-route and I would need to present the documents for my bike (still in the van) and get Nick to present his for the bike I was riding, so I watched as everyone else left and hung around waiting for late-guy to go. Pertti was actually last as he'd had rather a lot of wine to celebrate his birthday, and he rode over to me to check if I was OK, then mentioned he was going for fuel. As Nick's bike was also low, I went with him, turning right out of the hotel instead of left as per the route-notes, but waving to Jeff & Nick so they knew what we were doing. When we rode back past the hotel there was no sign of the van, Jeff obviously missing my waves and thinking I'd gone, set off after me. So Pertti and I rode at a brisk 80mph to try and catch up with the van, and about 45 minutes later saw it parked up, with Jeff anxiously massaging Nick's back. Seems he was still suffering a fair bit and had gone numb sitting in the van, whilst the constant moving on the bike had prevented me from doing the same. Once on the move again Pertti and I got some way ahead of the van, arriving at the junction to take us onto Ruta 40 well ahead. Following the notes we took Ruta 40 through a small village and then hit some roadworks. The “desvio” (deviation) took us onto a rough gravel road at the side of the main tarmac road and instantly I was in having some problems. The bucking and weaving caused by the bike bouncing over the stones had me once again in pain and short of breath. I stopped several times over the course of the next 15 minutes to regain my breath and composure and to take on some fluid, but there seemed no end to the gravel road and the torture. I told Pertti to go on ahead to check we were on the right road, and tried my best to continue.

Soon the van was filling my mirrors, having caught me up as I crawled along at a snail's pace, stopping every half mile or so. For the next hour we crawled along with me getting a little bit ahead whilst I could and then having to stop to recover, all the while cursing the damn roadworks, Julia for telling me there would be no dirt, the sand that brought me off, my own stupidity for falling and everything else I could think of. At one stage I'd had enough, and was ready to lie down by the side of the road and cry. Jeff wound his window down and suggested I drive the van and he ride the bike until back on tarmac, but that just brought out my stubborn side and I said “just one more mile”...

And thankfully that's all it was, for the road first became tarmac with sand patches and potholes and then a t-junction leading back onto smooth tarmac once more. I pulled over, collapsed on the tank and breathed as deeply as I could for several minutes before gulping down some more water and setting off again. I got some distance down the road, gradually pulling away from the van as I could make quicker overtakes, and then passed Al who was cruising along at a steady 60mph, his leg dangling as he tried to relieve his own discomfort. Taking the ring-road past San Juan I realised I was once again some distance ahead of the van and so pulled over to the roadside to wait for it to catch me up. When it did I got some ibuprofen tablets as my back muscles were now causing me some grief, then we set off yet again. We did pass one police checkpoint further up the road, but they seemed content just to check my driver's licence and didn't bother with any other documentation. Finally we started the last leg of the journey to the ski resort of Upsallata where we were staying, taking the road into Las Heras and then out towards the mountains. Initially the road was more concrete sections through scrubland, where every tree at the side of the road had a car and family underneath it preparing a picnic. Quite bizarre, as it wasn't the most beautiful place for a picnic, but apparently it's an Argentine custom to have one on a Sunday. As we got closer to the mountains the numbers of people increased with the vegetation, and by the river there were hundreds of them all vying for space under the trees. When the road started climbing up the hillside it suddenly stopped being concrete and became pure dirt. Rocky, rough, dirt. I'd stopped at the beginning of it to check I was going the right way, and the van caught me up, Jeff hanging out of the window to re-iterate that if I wanted to drive the van he'd be happy to ride the bike. Through gritted teeth I declined and started upward, the bike skipping over the rough rocks and bouncing all over the place. I stopped a little way up to take off the tank-bag as it was preventing me from getting far enough over the tank to control it properly and Jeff looked like he thought he'd get to ride at last. But I wasn't about to quit just yet, and set off again in a cloud of dust, the back wheel struggling for grip as I hammered up the hill. I found that the rough going was much easier on my battered body than the smooth loose gravel of the roadworks earlier, and was soon really enjoying myself. The road wound its way up the mountain with spectacular views all around, but I wasn't about to stop to take pictures, I'd only have a small amount of time before my energy was gone, so continued upwards, overtaking slow-moving cars and passing the more adventurous picnic-ers who had ventured this far up the road. At the top the road levelled out, so I stopped to wait for the van so I could get some water (having left it in the tank-bag), and snapped a quick picture to remind myself of where I'd got to...





Dropping down the other side of the mountain the road became smoother and more gravelly, but by now I was pretty loose and enjoying myself too much to be bothered by it. I caught and passed Al and Max & Christine, and soon hit tarmac again on the way into town. Only that didn't last too long and it was a good job I was still very focused as ti suddenly went from smooth tarmac to loose gravel. Once in town I quickly found the hotel and immediately dropped my bags in reception and went to the bar to get a beer – and to order one for those still on the road. I felt I'd deserved it after such a long and hard day... the hardest of the trip for me by some distance...

It then emerged that Kevin leading a large group had not followed his own route notes and come a different route into town, avoiding the dirt road over the mountain and sticking to the tarmac. Had it not been for the road being so enjoyable, despite my injuries, I'd have been a tad pissed off!!

Dinner that evening was in a local meat restaurant, where the mixed grill consisted of lots of different cuts of meat burnt to a cinder on an open fire, washed down with a glass of red...





Then off to bed to try and get some sleep before the final day's ride to Santiago... looks like I might make it after all...