Rio Grande to Punta Arenas, 260 miles
Today was a repeat of the 13th, only in reverse: 2 boarder crossings, 80 miles of dirt, and a ferry ride over frigid, windy terrain. Long and monotonous. Even more so, when you’ve already done it less than a week ago. The border crossings are the worst, so much paperwork, so much BS just to cover less than 100 miles. When entering Chile the customs guy was a real dandy. He was giving me a rash because the Argentina customs didn’t take the Chilean customs paperwork from me when I entered. On a super power trip he was getting really snooty and acting like he wasn’t going to let me import the bike. I hate these situations because I get so fired up I want to take the guys pen and stick it in his throat, but what good would that do me.
As we came out I saw a group of guys heading in all bundled up in moto gear, fellow moto riders! Not just any either. Americans. Practically unheard of. There are almost no Americans doing this trip, in fact I think we know all 4 of the others. We run into a ton of Germans and Brazilians, but Americans almost never. Here was a group of about 8, riding from Alaska to Ushuaia… all between 40-60 years old from all different states. Turns out it was a tour group with guide and support vehicle.
Our hotel last night was pricy by our standards at $40, but it had an ocean view and hot showers, so it was worth it. It was so important to warm up after camping. Even having slept most of yesterday evening and night very sound, I still woke up feeling like I’d been hit by a truck, and then dragged by it for a few miles. My body must be fighting a serious cold, or the YPF (gas station) dinner was doing me wrong—one or the other, or both.
Coming back across the straight of Magellan on the ferry it felt much colder than before, almost unbearable. Back on the bike everywhere that wasn’t covered by multiple layers was painfully cold. My lips are badly chapped, nipples chaffed, feet frost bitten… I’m looking forward to getting further north, quick!
We are in Chile now and rolling right along. Our plan was to stop somewhere when we got tired in route to Puerto Natales. I was tired when we came up with that plan so was scouring the roadside for a hotel Amie would agree on. There wasn’t anything. There wasn’t any gas either… I asked TWO different people in two different places how far for gas, as I knew we were low, and we were on a stretch with really no towns to speak of according to our map. Both people assured there was gas in less than 30 miles, a distance I could make. Well, we were back in the crouch, freezing, running on fumes at about 27 miles, then 30, then 35… I shook my fist in the air realizing we were going to run out of gas, despite having made double sure from “friendly locals” we could make it. We past the last town on the map and there was no gas. We had gone 37 miles. I was going to run out at any second. I need a miracle. I need a miracle. That’s what was going through my head. Then, like a ray of sunshine we saw a sign for gas. One of those block-figure type signs, there was no station in sight, and there was no distance associated with the sign, but sure enough, right around the corner was a single gas pump with two spigots, one diesel, and one 93 octane gasoline! Hallelujah! Or so I thought. A salty nut comes out of an out house, and after the pleasantries says, “Pesos Chileanos, solo” or “I only take Chilean pesos. I had none. We literally “just got off the boat” and there was no where to change money, or an ATM from which to get the local currency. I told him I had Argentine Pesos or USD, but he wasn’t having it. “There is another gas station in 50 miles that accepts credit card.” You have got to be kidding me!!!
He took the US$20 offering me a shitty exchange rate. Actually, the exchange rate wasn’t the problem; it was the legitimate price of gas. I got 5.5 gallons for $20! We paid less than $8 to fill up yesterday. Argh. Chile is expensive, but I had no idea…
We pulled into Punta Arenas, unimpressed. Tired and cold I didn’t have a ton of patience for the hotel shuffle, but this is how it went, first one a dump, second one $30, decent, but full, third one $75, fourth one full, fifth one full, sixth one somebody’s house with toddlers running around and a shared bath, $36, even tired and cold, I’ll pass, 7th one lesbian run old house with rooms running $24, we’ll take it.
For those wondering where Adam (aka El Guapo, aka Chepe Grande) is, he is alive and well in Northern Chile. After quite an ordeal in the salt flats of Bolivia his bike is running again and he is back on the road traveling with a Mexican biker gang. We wish he would update his blog, as I’m sure he has great stories. We hope to meet up with him in the coming weeks.
As we came out I saw a group of guys heading in all bundled up in moto gear, fellow moto riders! Not just any either. Americans. Practically unheard of. There are almost no Americans doing this trip, in fact I think we know all 4 of the others. We run into a ton of Germans and Brazilians, but Americans almost never. Here was a group of about 8, riding from Alaska to Ushuaia… all between 40-60 years old from all different states. Turns out it was a tour group with guide and support vehicle.
Our hotel last night was pricy by our standards at $40, but it had an ocean view and hot showers, so it was worth it. It was so important to warm up after camping. Even having slept most of yesterday evening and night very sound, I still woke up feeling like I’d been hit by a truck, and then dragged by it for a few miles. My body must be fighting a serious cold, or the YPF (gas station) dinner was doing me wrong—one or the other, or both.
Coming back across the straight of Magellan on the ferry it felt much colder than before, almost unbearable. Back on the bike everywhere that wasn’t covered by multiple layers was painfully cold. My lips are badly chapped, nipples chaffed, feet frost bitten… I’m looking forward to getting further north, quick!
We are in Chile now and rolling right along. Our plan was to stop somewhere when we got tired in route to Puerto Natales. I was tired when we came up with that plan so was scouring the roadside for a hotel Amie would agree on. There wasn’t anything. There wasn’t any gas either… I asked TWO different people in two different places how far for gas, as I knew we were low, and we were on a stretch with really no towns to speak of according to our map. Both people assured there was gas in less than 30 miles, a distance I could make. Well, we were back in the crouch, freezing, running on fumes at about 27 miles, then 30, then 35… I shook my fist in the air realizing we were going to run out of gas, despite having made double sure from “friendly locals” we could make it. We past the last town on the map and there was no gas. We had gone 37 miles. I was going to run out at any second. I need a miracle. I need a miracle. That’s what was going through my head. Then, like a ray of sunshine we saw a sign for gas. One of those block-figure type signs, there was no station in sight, and there was no distance associated with the sign, but sure enough, right around the corner was a single gas pump with two spigots, one diesel, and one 93 octane gasoline! Hallelujah! Or so I thought. A salty nut comes out of an out house, and after the pleasantries says, “Pesos Chileanos, solo” or “I only take Chilean pesos. I had none. We literally “just got off the boat” and there was no where to change money, or an ATM from which to get the local currency. I told him I had Argentine Pesos or USD, but he wasn’t having it. “There is another gas station in 50 miles that accepts credit card.” You have got to be kidding me!!!
He took the US$20 offering me a shitty exchange rate. Actually, the exchange rate wasn’t the problem; it was the legitimate price of gas. I got 5.5 gallons for $20! We paid less than $8 to fill up yesterday. Argh. Chile is expensive, but I had no idea…
We pulled into Punta Arenas, unimpressed. Tired and cold I didn’t have a ton of patience for the hotel shuffle, but this is how it went, first one a dump, second one $30, decent, but full, third one $75, fourth one full, fifth one full, sixth one somebody’s house with toddlers running around and a shared bath, $36, even tired and cold, I’ll pass, 7th one lesbian run old house with rooms running $24, we’ll take it.
For those wondering where Adam (aka El Guapo, aka Chepe Grande) is, he is alive and well in Northern Chile. After quite an ordeal in the salt flats of Bolivia his bike is running again and he is back on the road traveling with a Mexican biker gang. We wish he would update his blog, as I’m sure he has great stories. We hope to meet up with him in the coming weeks.
A view from our hotel window in Rio Grande
Straight of Magellan
Enormous sky country
posted by Pedro and Maria at 1:18 PM
1 Comments:
omg, i hope you really don't have frost bite on your toes! reading this part of your trip makes me happy to be home...i hope you guys get back to the sunshine and warm weather soon. it's been freaking freezing at home and all of the plants in the backyard are dead. it's been 27-37 on average in the mornings.
miss you!
gene
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