Katie is free! We liberate her and her 14 friends from the shipping container by the light of the Valparaiso moon. The first ride with Katie is from the Aduana yard high in the cerros above Valpo back to Viña del Mar, 30 minutes away. A wide swath of moonbeam shining across the Pacific Ocean far below greets us as we crest the hill. At that memorable moment on the new continent together, I say, "Katie, I´m sure glad to be together again. That moonbeam is a good omen, now for the next six months carry us safely home".

Amigobob and I ride our bikes back to Residencia 555, our home for the last few days, then pack til 1 in the morning. The next day we ride triumphantly out of town, heading north up the coast. Or at least that´s the plan. Instead we make a couple of tours through town trying to find our highway. Maps, discussions and GPS´s are all put to use. Finally we just say the hell with it and use our instincts. Keep the Pacifico on our left and follow the most cars going north. It works. Ah, technology and our brilliance as world explorers....

Not far from the scene above, General Pinochet had his coastal retreat where he could get away from the hectic life as a military dictator. The coast of Chile also has many faces, from tranquil sandy beaches to crashing surf on rocky ledges. The main Pan American highway, Ruta Cinco, is miles inland most of the time. Amigobob and I prefer the roads less travelled, so finding a lonely stretch of two lane coastal carretera is much more to our liking, no matter whether it´s dirt, gravel, oiled or pavimento. In time, we find road surfaces that pretty well run the spectrum from river bottom to 4 lane divided autopista.

Our rides sometimes take us inland. Although the aridity of the landscape reminds me of the serious consequences extracted from the careless, it is not a land untouched. At random intervals the delelict remains of a mining operation stands out like bleached bones in the sand. Often we stop and explore. The main prizes, depending on the era, are nitrates, coal, cobre (copper), plata (silver), oro (gold), and sal (as in pepper). There may be more reasons to dig holes in the sand here, including the unexplained desire to do it just for the hell of it (my personal theory).

It´s a good thing Amigobob and I decide to bring along camping equipment. We find brilliant little bivovacs, rooms with a view as FY would say. One of my favorites to date happens after a long day on the coast when we ride inland to visit a ghost town. El sol beats us to bed, but we continue riding east on the gravel road into the dark. We arrive at Chañarcillo, a mining town of 7000 personas in the mid 1800´s. Our friend, la luna, rises over the ridges to the east and helps us set up by her light. It´s truly a magical place. The desert air is dry and shirtsleeve warm, we put up our tents in happy comfort. Later I take a walk among the ruins. Not a breath of wind. Overhead the Milky Way paints it´s white path in spite of a waxing moon. There is Orion, the Southern Cross and low in the southern sky is a star so bright it looks like a planet but I think it´s too far out of the ecliptic arc. At my feet lies the ghost town, or what remains of its desicated ruins, so quiet I can hear the hum of my own being in my ears. The whole scene is another case of PFM (Pure F..king Magic).

Most days we start riding about 8:30 am and stop sometimes in a small town (pueblo) to grab a restaurant meal (favorite Chilean food is fish, chicken, and beef, all with rice or papa fritas). Every town has a plaza, usually well treed, green, shady, full of flowers and park benches. Usually somewhere near the plaza we will find a nice meal for $5 to $8, including Coca-Cola for me, Fanta Orange for Bob. Around 8 pm with cena (supper) we each order a medio litro of cerveza, or as it´s known locally, a schop. One must know these things, you know.

At some time of the morning comes the ritual of stripping off extra clothes, as the temperatures rise from 10 C to 30 C. Even as we stop in the middle of a dusty lot, kids show up out of nowhere if there´s any sign of habitation within 50 kilometros. The boys are pleasant, honest, curious and modest. It is plain they are typical Chileans, members of a nation I can´t say enough good things about. A remarkable contraction becomes evident, a time warp of tradition versus technological progress. Both boys have few possessions, that is plain, and probably live in a 600 square foot casa along with an extended family. But both pull out cell phones and take my picture as I´m about to leave. This is the same country where I must carry my own toilet paper for public baños, then fold up the used paper and put it in a small waste basket there for the purpose (sanitation systems are not designed to handle paper waste - not such a bad idea). A country where remote pueblos received electrification in the last decade. A country with one story adobe buildings, narrow dirt streets and satellite internet, all in the same cuadra. Cool.

After a scenic ride along the wild coast north of Taltal, we ride into Antofagasta. After sundown, the downtown streets are incredibly crowded with pedestrians. There is no special event, it´s just families, young lovers, old men and mujeres viejos out for an evening social stroll. I find it charming and in comparison to our Canadian lifestyle, reassuring to see a culture that openly values people and family. Street stalls are in abundance. It reminds me of the charm of India or Nepal.

It´s in Antofagasta where I meet the man below, Ramon Williams. Working for the small business of Frio and Electronic, he is a talented mechanic and when I show him where my Jesse panniers are rattling loose on the long corrigation roads, he immediately gets the drift and fills in the blanks of my broken spanish. He reads my needs perfectly, even to my desire to have the bolt holes siliconed to keep the maletas sin agua (the bags waterproof). Two hours of dedicated work, where he dropped everything to help me, cost me diez mil pesos and dos litros of Coca Cola (about $20). Muchos gracious, Ramon, Luis Palma y Jorge Monroy.

In the next chapter at the end of April, I will write about the most remarkable Atacama and the charming pueblo of San Pedro de Atacama (is it the new Kathmandu?). As we ride from sea level to within 80 kilometers of the towering Los Andes, we crest an almost inperceptible height of land. The GPS shows 11,200 feet above sea level! How could that be possible? I never noticed the climb. The vastness of the landscape that lays to the east and south of our highway summit nearly takes my breath away, like that first shock at seeing the Grand Canyon. Never while standing on this planet have I seen so much tierra at one time. To the east and up a massive swell of land that forms the base of the Andes lays the nearest pass at more than 15,000 feet. Snow capped volcanoes along the cordillera look like they belong to Mars. That and more is for next time. In the meantime, Amigobob and I continue to ride the great southern continent as we head north, east, west and sometimes south, but like well meaning explorers, perhaps a cross between Dr Livingstone and Mr Magoo, we move slowly towards the centre of the Incan Empire in Cuzco, Peru. At least I think that´s our plan...

And to my favorito hijo, Christopher, Happy 22nd Birthday on 19th of April. I wish you were here to share in this most marvelous adventure.