It was a long and cold ride across Tierra del Fuego to Ushuaia all in one day but upon reaching Rio Pipo campground it was like coming home. We pulled up at the gate to be greeted by old friends. Alec, Martin and Katya, Martin and Siliva and others. Hugs and warm welcomes were exchanged as we tried unsuccessfully to get of the bike with sore backsides. It was the 23rd of December and despite the best efforts of fate we’d bloody made it!

Christmas day ride to the famous sign.

Following our adventures in Bolivia we had been stuck in San Pedro de Atacama for over a week trying to procure anything that would serve as a temporary repair for our leaking petrol tank. We did the best we could and set off for La Serena with the tank still leaking but not as badly. Thanks to an email from Martin we knew we could get a permanent repair there. A third of the way down Chile, La Serena is a lovely Colonial city, marred by graffiti but saved by a good motorbike shop which for us makes up for anything. As we rode to the bike shop we were assaulted by rude gestures and verbal abuse from three huge Russians in the back of a pickup with a broken down KTM. The gestures were aimed at our ailing Honda but we shouted back pointing out that at least our bike wasn’t in the back of a pickup. Evidently a good point. It turned out that they were going to the same place as us for repairs. As we pulled up and hopped of the bike they jumped out of the pickup and loomed over us shaking our hands and laughing. Meeting several Moscovite Hells Angels in mid Chile is an odd experience made all the more mad for their perfect English, backgrounds of bankers, journalists and businessmen and personalities resembling 5 year-olds fed on a diet of steroids and having an adverse reaction to E-numbers resulting in something akin to kids in ToyRUs on an unlimited budget. Once the bike shop had our respective repairs underway we all jumped back into their pickup for a break-neck ride round La Serena in search of a McDonalds and more E-numbers. Sometimes life on the road takes on a surreal air for us.

Two days later we were back on the road with a tank as good as new and riding south as fast as possible. We still had plenty of time to reach Ushuaia for Christmas but we’ve learnt over the years not to take anything for granted, even time. Knowing the infamous Routa Cuenta (Route 40) was ahead of us we wanted to make sure time was on our side if it lived upto its reputation of howling winds 24 hours a day, driving rain and 800 miles of deep bike eating gravel to contend with. We still had 1600 miles to ride before we even began the gravel sections though. Skipping borders from Chile to Argentina and back again several times as we went south, taking in the Argentinean Lake District, glaciers, canyons, pampa and snow-capped mountains of sheer granite we excepted the wind and freezing rain as payment for the beauty we found ourselves surrounded by.

A bizarre sculpture off the PanAm in Chile

Moreno Glacier, Argentina

As we made our way down the coast of Chile December 2nd came around again and Liz found herself another year older (but still lovely with it). We rode up and down the coast as the day drew to an end in search of a suitable spot to call home for the night and came upon a deserted beach sheltered from the wind by majestic cliffs. In no time we had the tent up and were sitting centre stage with a mug of hot chocolate watching the sunset over the Pacific. Sometimes the best birthday presents cost nothing.

The 1600 miles flew by and the anticipation of the gravel of Routa 40 soon became a reality. We were both nervous about what lay ahead having read the endless stories of crashes and the living hell of being blown off the road time and time again but we found the reality of it very different. There were a few days of rain and wind but for the most part we had an easy ride on good dirt roads that only required the ability to enjoy it for what it was.

Endless miles of pampa rising and falling over tabletop mesas where man struggles to survive and the animals reign as king. Day in, day out there is nothing other than pampa and more pampa. Some describe it as a boring wasteland of dull scrub of which its best asset is the road that gets you across it. For us it was a beautiful land of changing light, a watery mix of colours and a chance to see the abundant wildlife that has been driven from everywhere else by man. Darwin wrote…… “Why then, and this is not only my particular case, does this barren land possess my mind? I find it hard to explain but it might partly be because it enhances the horizons of the imagination.”

He was indeed right! Riding along a gravel road at 40 mph and being overtaken by a flightless rhea (ostrich) as it runs by with its 3 foot neck stuck out like a pool cue and its wings giving the occasional indignant flap is a surreal experience.

I don’t think we’ve ever been overtaken by the wildlife before. As well as the rhea there are herds of guanaco, flamingos, foxes, armadillos, hares and puma in every direction.

We’d camp off the road every night, somewhere out of the wind and watch the sun set a little later each time and every morning we would unzip the tent to startle the wildlife grazing beside us. I think Darwin would be please with how little this barren land has changes since his time.

Cave of Hands off Routa 40

The few people who do eke out a life here are estancia owners and ranch hands. They’re a tough bunch with wind beaten faces and big hearts. One night we took in the hospitality of Patty and her husband Coco who since the collapse of the Argentinean economy have turned to tourism to make ends meet. Now in their 70’s they have seen their estancia decline from the bustling sheep boom days of Patty’s parents to the present days of empty sheering sheds and rusting machinery. However they have a million stories to tell about their life in Patagonia and would never leave. One story was of the mayhem the Argentinean road engineers caused as they pioneered Routa 40 from north to south in the 1970’s. With the invention of the road grader the engineers could for the first time go over hills at will rather than having to go round them. For 30 years the road has taken in every hill to be seen as a result of big kids with big toys masquerading as engineers. Patty said it would all have been fine if they had only thought for a moment that as soon as the snow falls the road becomes impassable. For half the year it’s useless. Now the road is gradually being paved and redirected around the hills and Patty agreed that some of the quirky character of Patagonia will be lost when it’s completed.

From Patty’s estancia we made the final push for Punta Arenas where we planned to catch the ferry across the Straits of Magallanes to the island of Tierra del Fuego. Here our lesson of not taking time for granted paid off. For a couple of days the bike had been running badly due to a missing screw in the carburettor. Needing to book the ferry and not having a screw of the right size we dropped it off at the Honda shop for 10 minutes work but on return found that the bike had gone from being a little ill to dead on its wheels. To cut a long story short instead of a new screw, over the course of three days we left the shop minus the £360 alarm and immobiliser, a broken din socket and a plastic bag of pieces that used to serve a purpose on the bike. And of course we missed the ferry! The only consolation was that we found a long lost friend. As we arrived at a guesthouse a greasy biker emerged with bits of his bike in one hand and a manual in the other. We hadn’t seen Dereck since Revelstoke in Canada one and a half years ago and he was a welcome (if dirty) sight following our difficulties at the bike shop. It transpired that he was in a worse position than us with a blown head gasket and an engine full of water but over the course of three or four days we drowned our sorrows with copious amounts of beer and wine and caught up on old times and stories of adventures, or more accurately misadventures.

Reluctantly we left Dereck in Punta Arenas but safe in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be far behind us. We waved good bye to the mainland and looked across the Straits of Magallanes towards Tierra del Fuego. For 2 years we’ve been riding around the Americas dreaming of the day we would reach this island. We thought we’d be here a year ago but that was before we knew how captivating the Americas can be. Even though it’s a desolate, windswept land of cold summers and miserable winters it has been an ambition of ours to be here for so long and to see this ambition realised was an emotional time for us. We were beaten by snow in Canada and didn’t even get close to the end of the road in Alaska. We were beaten by the mud of the Darien in Panama and got within spitting distance of the end of the road at Yaviza but were stopped 7 miles short. But finally we’ve made it to the furthest possible point south that can be reached by road. Tierra del Fuego is a land where most of its history is only negative. It’s so harsh and barren that for over 300 years there were successive attempts made to colonise it but all failed in tragically. Only now in the days of fast links back to civilization has it been possible to establish permanent settlements. But for all of its unforgiving nature it’s a very beautiful island. A coastline of craggy coves, inlets and black cliffs. Inland are numerous lakes fringed by bogs and shrouded by the towering mountains looking down like unapproving giants.

The ride to Ushuaia has become something of an annual pilgrimage for bikers and throughout the town campsites are littered with bikes and tents stuffed with damp, smelly bike gear. At one point we didn’t think we were going to make it for Christmas day but we did and it was worth it. Like all bikers on a budget not a single present was exchanged by anyone but it was made up for by a Christmas dinner of fresh Antarctic salmon and several dozen drunken Argentineans teaching the rest of the world how to party. On Boxing day (26th) we all set off to the real end of the road, another 80 miles south of Ushuaia. Riding in small groups we were the first to get there but were nearly stopped by a barrier across the road. However, after 2 years of trying to get here we were never going to be stopped by a barrier and a bit of private land so we got off the bikes and walked up the road in search of the landowner. It turned out he was very accommodating and opened the barrier for us with no reluctance at all. A quarter of a mile further on the road terminated at an Argentinean Naval listening post and we pulled our bikes up to a stop at a non descript cliff edge. A foot further on and we would have been in the sea 50 metres below. The Argentinean Navy looked on as they listened to communications that weren’t from the BBC but definitely were British (as they later admitted) while we ran around in the cold rain taking photos of ourselves at the end of the world.

The real End of the Road!

Despite our recent and unhappy history there are no tensions when people find out we’re British. For most British people the Falklands war is something that is behind us but for an Argentinean the Falklands are a piece of home soil they are denied. Everywhere there are signs proclaiming Argentinean ownership: “Las Mavinas Siempre”. There are statues dedicated to the continued struggle and claim over the islands and even the sections of roads on the islands that were widened for runways and airfields are obvious. But for all of it it’s not personal and it politely goes unmentioned. It may be that their minds are taken off the issue for the moment if all the anti-Bush propaganda is anything to go by. Rather him than me!

Not too many people ride a motorbike to the bottom of the world and even less get to the “real” end of the road. As we sat beside the cliff edge in the rain eating bread, cheese and salami it was a moment to reflect on the trials and tribulations of the last 2 years. The highlights and lowlights, good times and bad. There are few moments in your life when you sit somewhere and realise that the dreams, planning and effort of the last 15 years have brought you to a place and time where everything has paid off. The result – a quiet smile in the rain and immense sense of achievement. There was of course the other realisation that in the last 50 years we had been at war with every country represented by all present. Ooops!

So now 2005 has come to an end and 2006 will be another year of adventures, highlights and lowlights. We have a few plans for the year that will hopefully keep us on the road a while longer but for now we look north for the first time in a long time and continue to be happy. Happy New Year.