Trans Americas 2009 - The Blog

After a good night's sleep I woke early as usual, showered and dressed and grabbed the laptop and headed for the crackling log fire I could hear in the sitting room. There I found Nick, once again having left the comfort of his room to sleep somewhere in the house where he could find silence, this time Simon's snoring the reason. He quickly packed away his makeshift bed, returning the cushions to their rightful places on the chairs and I gratefully took one closest to the fire and settled down to write, the upright position of the chair much more comfortable for my back than the flat horizontal bed I'd left just minutes before. When the blogging was done (still a poor Internet connection, hence it was uploaded minus photos to start with) I resumed my reading whilst the rest of the group woke up and sauntered into the sitting room, getting as close to the heat of the fire as possible. Those camping came in looking decidedly cold, their being a sprinkling of frost outside under a very clear pale blue sky. Oh how I wish I'd been able to join them under canvas... (ok, that bit's not true).

Breakfast was soon polished off and then the bike loaded, and I took the opportunity of a slightly later start (10am being the official get-go) to fix my intercom speakers to my new crash helmet, using some sticky velcro supplied by Richard & Karen (who seem to have room on their bike for all manner of useful things). That meant that I could at least have some music on the ride to the ferry, which promised to be all tarmac and relatively easy going. And so it was that I pulled out of the car park of the hotel around 9.40am to the strains of the Stereophonics. They always remind me of “The Long Way Round” (for which they sang the theme tune), which was the start of all this motorcycle travel nonsense for me way back in Winter 2004, and that seemed appropriate for a day when we'd cross the Magellen Straitss onto Tierra Del Fuego, having reached the southernmost point on the Americas land-mass...

The ride was as easy as billed, the road largely straight and well surfaced, passing first across sparse plain-land dotted with bedraggled-looking sheep and the odd rhea. I mentioned these emu-like birds in a previous post but hadn't managed to get a photo of one, so when I saw one between the fence and the roadside I thought it too good an opportunity to miss. He had other ideas, though, and as I stopped he wandered off in the direction I'd come. No problem, I thought, whipping a quick u-turn to follow him. Which then turned into a race, the rhea running along the side of the fence with a look of abject terror on his beak (if that's at all possible). I accelerated to get past, then slowed ready to stop and get out the camera, and he turned round and ran off in the opposite direction. Another quick u-turn from me and the race was on again, only for the whole sequence to be repeated once more. Feeling like a character in a silent movie farce, I gave up and continued on my way, the smug-looking rhea laughing at my failure in my mirror. Further up the road I saw another rhea, peering through the fence and he didn't seem spooked as I approached, so I quickly stopped and reached for my camera, only for him to turn round and leg it off into the field. So I don't have any photos of them. I'm sure you can find them on the Interweb if you're that inclined...

Whilst this last failure was unfolding, a gaggle of bikes came past, Aaron leading Nigel, Andy and Richard & Karen, and so I tagged on the back as the group sped across the plain. With a very stong sidewind it was amusing to watch the nicely staggered group get blown out of shape as first one bike then the others got caught in a sudden strong gust. I was no exception, getting blown across the lane frequently and having to lean over to the right and force my head into the wind in order to keep going relatively straight. Thankfully respite was at hand around 115 miles in as we pulled into a café for a warming hot chocolate and to rest aching neck muscles. With a “Bike Parking Only” sign outside we were made most welcome, the hot chocolate was very nice (and warm) but with the promise of a café at the ferry port I decided to wait for lunch until we got there, as we'd be hanging around whilst the rest of the group caught up so we could all cross together. A few others arrived just as I was finishing my drink, and with the café now crowded with weebles (remember those round fat kid's toys that wobbled but didn't fall down? That's what we looked like in all our bike gear!), I made my escape and rode back onto the empty road. I like riding alone on stretches like this, where the riding isn't too taxing and there's plenty of time for reflection. With so much of the journey done, there's plenty to reflect on, though I'm not sure I've reached any conclusions yet.

As the road reached the south coast it turned East, the South Pacific stretching off to my right, and it really did feel like I'd reached the end of the world. There was nothing for miles around, the land wind-blown and a dull shade of beige, devoid of trees or signs of life of any sort. Then I came across a group of derelict buildings – an estancia which the sign proclaimed was founded in 1876 – complete with the rusting hulls of 2 ships grounded and being battered by the surf. Nick was parked up and filming the scene, but I sensed he wanted to ride alone too, so I parked up a bit further along and explored the site without disturbing him.





When I was done, Nick had just left, so I rode on, riding a little distance behind and maintaining a similar pace. It was only a short ride to the ferry port and as the first two on the road, we arrived first and pulled up outside the cafeteria. With the promise of a hot coffee and something to eat we eagerly went inside, only to discover it was no longer a café... but it still had the usual mass of stickers in the window, the travellers' calling card... see if you can spot the Globebusters one...





and so we waited for the rest of the group to arrive without a warming drink, watching the ferries come and go. There were 2 boats which constantly sailed from here to Tierra del Fuego, taking all sorts of vehicles (mostly trucks and buses) across to the island the other side of the Magellan Straits. What it must have been like before the Panama Canal, when all round-the-world boat traffic passed through this narrow stretch of water joining the Pacific and Atlantic is hard to imagine, given how quiet and deserted it now is. Eventually most of the group arrived, and then Jeff turned up in the van, so he and Finn (the Irish reporter) went ahead on one ferry to get photos of us disembarking whilst we waited for the next one. As it takes just 20 minutes to cross we didn't have to wait too long, and soon our ferry was dropping its bow door onto the concrete runway and unloading its cargo of vehicles. Unlike ferries that cross the channel, these do not dock as such, merely coming close to shore and then using their engines to try and remain in position with the door resting on the sloping concrete apron of the dock. With such strong currents in the straits this means that the boat is constantly moving sideways, first down-stream and then back up-stream, the ramp over which the vehicles go to get on-board moving with it. Riding on required a technique of ensuring sufficient gap in front, then riding slowly down the concrete before accelerating onto the ferry's metal ramp then slowing again as we manoeuvred the bikes into position. No problem in reality, but another example of how the thought of doing something that looks tricky on a bike can have a rider worrying about nothing. When parked up, I managed to get a quick photo of the bikes before they were surrounded by trucks and obscured from view, and then we “cast off” (only we didn't, of course, because we'd never “cast on”).





No sooner had we set sail than the ferry was surrounded by dolphins frolicking in the wake. They were quite beautiful and kept us all entranced for the short crossing, as cameras clicked constantly. Most of the pictures turned out to be of empty expanses of water, but unlike the rheas, they seemed quite happy to be snapped...





Once on the other side we disembarked, riding onto the “land of fire” and the final stretch of our journey to the end of the world...





Punching the air with excitement we rode as a group the 20 or so miles to Cerro Sombrero, battling a vicious side-wind all the way. Overtaking slow-moving lorries was a particular challenge, the still air at their side sucking us closer and then the strong wind as we passed by the front blowing us further towards the ditch on the far side. When we finally arrived at the little two-horse oil town we filled up with fuel and rode to the hotel, a place which clearly doesn't rank with the best we've stayed at. With basic rooms (thankfully with a hot shower), no Internet or bar, and no bars in town it was always going to be a quiet night. Dinner was a choice of “the set menu” or going hungry, so I opted for the former and headed to the dining room with the others. Not expecting much I was very pleasantly surprised at the starter of salmon pate in avocado, which was followed by a really good steak and veg and finally a chocolate ice-cream dessert. Naturally washed down with a good glass or two of vino-tinto. But then what? It was still only 8pm when we'd finished eating, but an early night beckoned, a final night-cap beer finishing the day off perfectly...