The Ultimate Ride - Brother and Sister Motorcycling Duo

The Dakar. A rally where over 350 competitors drive motorcycles, quads, cars and trucks through wild places and crazy conditions. This year, we were in Salta to witness it.



Except we didn't really.


I'll tell you a secret. I didn't really care about seeing the Dakar. It's not something I've ever aspired to see, but as all the people around me seemed very keen to see it, I was happy to go along with them.



Phil really wanted to see the Dakar. However, his collarbone still wasn't healed enough to ride, so he had taken seven buses, over three days, just so he could meet us in Salta to see it. Sometimes life just isn't fair.


The problem we discovered with the Dakar in Argentina was that they don't publish the route. The manager of the hostel had a list of local roads that were to be closed, but that was all we had to go by.


Let me tell you about the day I raced in the Dakar.


<dl id="attachment_6831" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Me at the official Dakar merchandise booth.</dd></dl>
The day all the riders came in to Salta, we rode to the main convention centre where all the teams had set up shop. Cricket was having her fork seals changed, so I was on the back of one of the boys bikes as we rode towards the grounds. Riding pillion, after more than 50,000km on my own bike, was a very strange feeling. I didn't really like it and wanted my bike back ASAP.


The roads were lined with hundreds of spectators, who all, apparently, really didn't know much about the Dakar. I know this, because they all were clapping and cheering and taking pictures as we rode by. They thought that the old, heavily loaded KLR, carrying TWO people, was racing in the Dakar. I wasn't in any position to correct them, so I just smiled and waved at them all.


The real racers went up on a stage to be interviewed.
<dl id="attachment_6830" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Real racer on a quad</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6829" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">It should have been us up there!</dd></dl>
Unfortunately our racer status ended when we got to the compound. Only real racers were allowed through the gate into the inner sanctum. We didn't have the right accreditation. All we were allowed to see was the tourist area, with “Visit Salta” stands, a Honda booth, and Dakar memorabilia for sale.


<dl id="attachment_6835" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Honda was the only team to have a booth in the public area.</dd></dl>

All we wanted to see were the teams cleaning and tearing apart the vehicles, and preparing them for the next stage. That was not to be however. No access allowed. We could stand at the fence and look with longing at the other side.


In the end, that was all I saw of the Dakar. The next day was the official rest day, and there was supposed to be a bit of a parade and such, but it started raining very hard, and even had we wanted to stand in the rain to watch it, it was cancelled.


Phil wasn't himself in Salta. He seemed tired and depressed. I barely spent any time with him at all. He would sleep in very late, and take long naps in the afternoon. I can only imagine that the Dakar being such a disappointment after he'd travelled so far to get there, and seeing eight motorcycles ready to go South, when he had to make the tiring bus journey back to his bike in Peru, was a tough pill to swallow.


Even worse, there was nothing I could do or say to make it better. While of course I was happy to see Phil again, I found the whole situation very upsetting.


I got Cricket back with her new fork seals in place. The mechanic said there was slight scarring in the left fork, and that I may find that she just starts spurting oil again very soon. (Luckily I haven't so far.)



I was very ready to leave Salta and start adventuring again. We'd been there for five nights, and, with nothing much else other than drinking to be done, that was definitely long enough.
<dl id="attachment_6813" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Every night at Loki looked like this... and yes they were all a bit blurry!</dd></dl>
The next morning, Alan, Arun, Andre, Josh and I left heading towards Mendoza. Jordon was suffering from self-induced sleep deprivation, and Ryan and Mark weren't ready to leave just yet, maybe in a few hours. The rest of us were loath to stay another night, and so got on the road.


I said goodbye to Phil once more, not sure if I'd be seeing him again before one, or both, of us returns to Canada, and left him behind again.

Once again I rode away from Phil with mixed emotions. It felt great to be back on the road heading towards the unknown, but Phil seemed so down in Salta, and there was nothing I could do to make him feel better.


He was making the best of being broken, but it still must have been awful to be stuck with his arm in a sling while the rest of us rode off to continue our adventures.


That morning Josh, Arun, Alan and I left Salta together, with the rest of the gang in various stages of nursing hangovers, keeping girls company in their beds, and packing up.


<dl id="attachment_6952" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Nice views on the ride out of Salta</dd></dl>
It was a beautiful ride. We stopped for delicious roadside sandwiches and empanadas in Cafayate, a wine region famous for the white wine Torrontes, also has the most hitchhikers per kilometer I have ever seen anywhere!


As we were enjoying our lunch Andre rode up and joined the gang.
There was some talk of stopping there for the night, but we were all enjoying the ride and so decided to continue on further South towards Mendoza.


Turns out the famous ruta 40 (the Argentinian equivalent of the US Route 66) includes lots of gravel. Gravel is certainly not my favourite road surface on two wheels, but I managed it alright, including some river crossings!!
This video doesn't nearly look as scary as riding through it felt. (I just make it look easy I guess.)


[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=38aS88ETDcE]


As we reached the small town of Belen, Andre and I were riding together behind the other guys. We rode through town expecting to see them waiting for us, but we got to the other side and they were nowhere to be seen. I was tired, we'd been riding all day, and Andre felt the same way. We wanted to stop.


We decided to let those crazy boys continue on as far as they wanted, but we were going to spend the night there. We turned around and headed back into town to find a hotel.


I stopped outside the first hosteria I saw to ask Andre what he thought, and as I stopped I saw Arun and Alan pulled over. Somehow they had ended up behind us! Josh had ridden back to see if we were okay, and the others were waiting for him to return.


Turned out that there was a detour for heavy vehicles, which they boys had taken, not speaking Spanish and thinking they had to go that way. We took the direct route, and ended up in front of them.


In the end we all stayed in Belen at Hotel Angelica. Belen was our first experience of Argentinian restaurants OPENING at 9pm. In Salta we'd eaten almost every meal at the hostel, and so hadn't learnt this custom there. We wandered around and ate ice cream while we waited.


The next morning Arun left at 7am. Something had clicked, and he was on a mission to reach Mendoza. None of us were really sure why he suddenly wanted to go so fast, so we just let him go.


The rest of us left later and found the next day long, hot and straight. After a particularly picturesque ride through red canyons, Ruta 40 was closed for construction, forcing us to turn around and take the long way.

<dl id="attachment_6953" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Apparently the road after this point was too dangerous.</dd></dl>
After long straight roads to infinity, we eventually stayed in San Augustin Del Valle Fertil. It's claim to fame is dinosaurs.
<dl id="attachment_6954" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">I asked Josh to take a pic of me with the dinosaur. Alan thought I was talking about him.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6955" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Alan enjoying the local wildlife.</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6956" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">After a long hot day of riding, I realised that I should have put sunblock on my wrists!</dd></dl>
The ride to Mendoza was marred by bad gas. Both Josh and I suffered the same horrible lack of power and hesitation on our KLRs, but the fuel injected BMW and V-Strom bikes seemed okay. Very frustrating to say the least, octane booster didn't help at all, but adding more gas from a bigger station did help a bit. I think it must have been water in the gas. As soon as I'd burned through the whole tank I had no further problems.


When we arrived in Mendoza, we went to hostel Arun had told us he was staying in.


There was some discussion, but the lady at the desk eventually gave us all beds.


Just after we had all settled in, she then kicked Alan and Andre out because they had double booked. Poor Alan was sleeping and they woke him up!


Alan and Andre found another hostel nearby, and they even had a pool, which was nice because it was very, very hot in Mendoza!! (Over 40 degrees.)

<dl id="attachment_6966" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Grapes growing as a shade over the patio at the hostel</dd></dl>
Jordon, Mark and Ryan arrived the next day. Josh, Jordon, Mark and I went on a wine/olive oil tour.
<dl id="attachment_6970" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Dump the grapes in here and they get crushed.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6971" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">They don't use these giant barrels anymore.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6972" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Mark and Jordon learning how to taste wine</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6973" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Bottles from the first winery we visited</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6974" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The second winery was very modern - this was their lobby overlooking the vines</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6975" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Some dusty bottles of wine</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6976" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">This is where the wine hangs out to ferment.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6977" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Jordon and Mark pretending to be wine snobs</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6978" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Josh checking out the legs on his wine</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6968" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Very interested in the olive trees.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6969" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The high tech Olive tree watering system</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6979" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Our pretty guide showing us the olive crushing stones</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6983" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Oil from the factory</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6982" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Olives, Olive Oil, dried fruits, and body creams!</dd></dl>

Also finally managed to find insurance for the bikes in Mendoza. Insurance is required in Argentina, but next to impossible to find. ATM Seguros can help and are super nice. (Also covers you for Chile, Bolivia, Uraguay, Paraguay and others.)
<dl id="attachment_6967" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">We bought insurance that covers us for all the Southern countries, for very cheap, from this lovely man in Mendoza. ATM Seguro. Great service.</dd></dl>
The gang was breaking up. From Mendoza Alan was heading South, Ryan left on his own, as did Mark. Very sad to say goodbye to the gang.
<dl id="attachment_6962" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Chilling with the guys on our last night in Mendoza</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6960" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Nothing like grown men enjoying cotton candy before dinner!</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6961" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">I ask them to smile for a picture, and this is what I get...</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6964" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Free wine for an hour every evening made us a happy gang.</dd></dl>
After a few days in Mendoza, and saying goodbye to Andre, Mark, Ryan and Alan. Andre, the Alaskans and I decided to cross the Andes and head for Santiago de Chile.


The Alaskans needed more US dollars and Andre and I needed tires.

This is one of the coolest ride reports I have seen in years. Thanks so much for your updates

Again, great report and pics!


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

I'm enjoying the hell out of both your RRs, guys. Your writing tell a very good story.

<table style="width:auto;"><tr><td><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/9CrKN_Ot4XttRdbRkn3YrdMTjNZETYmyPJy0liipFm0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-3POcAUqmPM8/TTXxdQFAUSI/AAAAAAAAXtY/3___YSB85ow/s288/P1040673.JPG" height="162" width="288" /></a></td></tr><tr><td style="font-family:arial,sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:right">From <a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/105133432232392762779/MotoTrailer?authuser=0&feat=embedwebsite">moto trailer</a></td></tr></table>

Phil, how is the shoulder doing now? clavicles should be made of adamantium...

If the clavicle was stronger, something else would have broken .

It's doing much better now with that pin out. Still sore after a couple long slow days on the dirt, but at least not bleeding from having the metal jabbed through my skin repeatedly. I stuggle to undertand how a surgeon would insert such a thing into a human and leave the end that presses against the skin so sharp. When I finally find an internet connection that doesn't suck, I have a ton of great pics to share. The pin is one of them.

I’ll decorate this post with some photos as soon as I can, for now…
Sometimes you want to get somewhere, but it feels like you are stuck in second gear, and just can’t get there as fast as you intended.
Figuratively and litterally, that is Bolivia for me.
Jayne’s time in Bolivia was marred with rain. A moto friend of hers had said long ago simply “don’t go to Bolivia in Rainy season”. Given that Jayne had a below average time and I have loved the rides and otherwise really enjoyed myself here, I think he might be right.
The border was quick and easy, possibly the fastest yet. The ride from Copacobana through to La Paz was scenic and great twisty roads. The only downside was that nobody would sell me gas! Not “that’ll be three times the price”, just “No”. The one lady who seemed like she miiight sell me gas had no power to operate her pumps. Fortunately I had taken all the advice and filled before the border but still, 0/7 is a pretty bad start.
In La Paz I moved into a place with Pablo and Mama Lilly, amigo’s of my moto friend Rusty. Great to have my own room. I still spent a fair amount of time down at Loki Hostel, since Luis and many of my other Loki Cusco friends had turned up there.
My second day in La Paz was bright and sunny, a change apparantly from a recent 2 week spat of rain. I took advantage and rode the “death road”.
I had such a great time riding down, that I turned around and rode right back up! The only real danger on death road: Tourists out of control on bikes.


I had planned to leave the next day, but finally got approval to have my bothersome clavicle pin removed. I spent an extra couple days with appointments to have that done, and what a relief! Video here. Even managed to find an ultimate game at 4000 metres. Took it easy, but great to get a run around after 3 months!


Good chats with Pablo and Mama Lilly highlighted my stay in La Paz, and made it easy to stay, but once my pin was out, I hit the road the next morning towards Potosi.
Once out of the traffic nightmare that is Alto (above La Paz), the road past Oruro introduced me to what would become the norm here in Bolivia: Spectacular scenery. (Many photos to come)

Potosi was run amok with children throwing water balloons and spaying shaving cream. All in a lead up to carnival apparently. Eventually I found myself a place at Koala inn, parked in the living room, and booked a mine tour for the morning. For dinner I met up with Carla, one of Rusty and Pablo’s amigas. I ate Llama for the first time. Tasty.


In the morning I set off to blow some things up. Only we didn’t. The mine tour was great: cramped, hot and head smashingly uncomfortable. Exactly what the brochure offered. Really makes you appreciate your job back home. But the brochure also offered explosions, and apparently that usually only happens on the evening tour.


The “unregulated” miners market is indeed unregulated. When you show up in your miners costume and helmet, they will without question sell you all the explosives your heart desires. But when you show up again later in your Motorcycle gear, the questions start. Regardless, I convinced the kind lady that I would be very careful and left with some fuse and a detonator to go with the extra stick of dynamite I had picked up earlier. I would get my explosion come hell or high water.


Chased out of Potosi by black clouds, I soon came into bright blue skies to highlight one of my top five rides of this trip. Potosi to Uyuni is just magical. I also stopped at a weigh scale along the way. Jugs: 280kgs. Jugs and me in my gear: 380kgs.


In Uyuni my first stop was gas. I’d discovered a trick to always getting served, and generally at a discount: Coca leaves. I pull up to the pump, and before they say anything or look at my plate, I’m already shoving coca leaves in my mouth and offering them some. Without question they say “yes” and we start chatting. Tank filled, and at an average of about 5 BOB/liter (rough guess: 80 cents) since I started with the coca. Golden!
In the morning I set off on a 4×4 tour of the salt flats. The entry was still s 30 cm lagoon of salty water, and after all she’s been through, I couldn’t subject Jugs to that too. Great day on the salt flats with my crew of 2 sweedes and 3 chileans. Many fun and beautiful photos to come of that too. p.s. Sunsceen would have been a good plan…


From Uyuni I set off south west towards the Avaro National park, then into the Atacama in Chile. 100kms into my day, I pulled into the small town of San Cristobal to try to top off with gas. The station was closed for lunch, but my abilty to change gears was suddenly closed forever.


I had felt a couple rough shifts from first into second gear for quite some time. But it never caused any problem more than having to shift a second time out of neutral. The only luck I would have is being stuck in Second gear, not neutral. It feels like the shifting forks are worn out, with simply nothing happening when I shift up or down. Not knowing my fuel mileage running purely in second gear, and not wanting to get stuck in the Atacama, I pulled a U-turn and head back to Uyuni. A mechanic there confirmed my diagnosis: “muy dificile”, a very tough fix. To get at the transmission you have to take apart the motor and then split the cases… He had no parts to help out, so recomended I head off towards Sucre. Instead I head south, towards Argentina.


The roads since leaving Uyuni have been all dirt with sandy patches and a couple washouts. In all, I haven’t missed having gears too much. Second gear does alright for the most part. A couple water crossings first gear would have been nice. I stopped to help a young guy change his blown tire, then found a nice secluded place to go blow something of my own: my stick of dynamite.


The dynamite had been on my mind constantly. Where? how far away should I be? What should I blow up? Eventually my concern for roaming wildlife took priority, and I found a location devoid of Llama’s, Alpacas or anything else. I’ll post a video with the results. (less impressive than you might think)


At sunset I was in the middle of nowhere, so set up camp next to a hut. As I set up my tent, a lady hearded about 150 llamas into their walled pen. My night was spent eating chese and jam sandwiches, watching the stars come out, with lightning storms off in the distance to the north and east. All the while the Llamas made Llama sex noises, or perhaps Llama snoring. I guess I’ll never know which. It was a pretty amazing place to end up.


I’m now riding very slowly southbound to Argentina. There I hope to track down a replacement lower end for my motor. I’ll cross at the worst border in the world: Villazon. I’ll still get south to Ushuaia, just maybe not as fast as I intended, stuck in second gear.

Tore down the bike today and found the issue:

Broken "shift shaft return spring".
Fortunately accessible by the right engine cover, and no case split required.
Unfortunately while taking off the right engine cover I managed to break the water pump seal, and will need to replace that too. Sonofabitch.

and of course the gasket.

Now to find parts.

Great folks in the neighborhood I'm holed up in here in La Quimba. No problem finding a lad to loan me a skinny 8mm bit. And cheap beer right on the corner!

Too right!! Couple times I was very close to yanking it myself. In the end I though better not to do anything that might mess with my insurance coverage of it all.
Still... would have been more fun cleaning the skin with whiskey and grabbing the pin with a pair of vice grips.

and yes, so much more comfortable now!

“Calgary!!!” Boomed a loud male voice. I looked up from where I was organising my tank bag and saw two men I'd never seen before striding towards me with big grins on their faces.


It turned out that they were also from my hometown of Calgary, Alberta, Canada but I still couldn't figure out how they had known from afar where I was from.


Their secret was soon revealed; they had been talking to Josh in the gas station shop, and he had told them. They were travelling with their wives, and had been to a wedding in Argentina. It's a small world. I gave them some of my last stickers. (You know you're nearing the end of your trip when you start running out of stickers.)


The ride out of Mendoza and into the Andes was beautiful, and thankfully it got cooler as we gained altitude.
<dl id="attachment_6996" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">A glimpse of snow in the Andes</dd></dl>
As we neared the border, there was a long line of hundreds of cars. As always we motorcycles overtook them all and rode to the front, expecting a construction zone. However it wasn't construction, it was the queue to cross the border! We cut into line and the boys climbed a pile of rocks to get a better look.


<dl id="attachment_6997" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Border inspection committee</dd></dl>
They decided that we could push our way a bit further down the hill into a big parking lot where all the cars seemed to be heading, which we did.



Eventually we were directed to join another group of motorcyclists at the far end of the lot. When we arrived they all wanted to chat about our trip and our bikes. They had been waiting for three hours.
<dl id="attachment_6998" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Our bikes hanging out in the LONG line for the border</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6999" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">We were directed down to the parking lot on the right, along with all non-bus traffic</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_7000" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The gathering group of motorcyclists waiting to cross into Chile</dd></dl>
They told us that the border was so busy because January was the holiday season for Argentinians, and the nearest beach was in Chile. We happened to be travelling on a Saturday (January 18, 2014), as was half of Argentina.


When we neared one of the small toll booth like boxes, the other motorcyclists waved us over and we got all our passports stamped out of Argentina and into Chile in the same booth by very friendly officials.


Now we needed to clear the bikes out of Argentina and import them into Chile. This wasn't as simple. We waited a while longer, and then our new friends waved us over to a different booth. There we had our bikes stamped out of Argentina, but they didn't have the correct form for us to bring them into Chile. We had to go to the big building on the hill, where all the buses were processed, to get the form.


Jordon and I rode up there, with the others right behind us, except they weren't. Somehow they hadn't understood the process, and when Jordon and I returned to the car processing lot, they were still there having their bikes searched. We went and got our new forms stamped by our old friends in the immigration box, and sent the other two up to get their forms.


One of the customs guys did a very cursory search of a couple of my boxes, asked if I had any fruit, and then I was free to enter Chile. Jordon was finished shortly after me, and then the two of us chilled out waiting for Andre and Josh to finally be processed as well.


It was a very disorganised border, where no one really knew the correct process for foreign licensed bikes. (The Argentinians didn't need to do the same paperwork we did). It took us a couple of hours to cross, but we were only that quick because we jumped most of the queue. In the future I am going to try to avoid weekend border crossings.


It was nice to be back on the road, but our freedom was short lived, because we soon came upon another long line of cars. We zipped up to the front, and found our Argentinian friends there. It was construction this time. Luckily we didn't need to wait too long, and soon were on our way making a steep descent down gentle hairpin turns.


As we entered the mountains again, it started to rain lightly. I was talking to Josh over the intercom when he went round a corner and warned me that a rider was down!


I slowly turned the corner to see Andre and his BMW in the ditch. The rain had made the road slick, and Andre's bike had slipped out and done a flip or two, landing them both in the ditch. Fortunately Andre was fine, and his bike started. I couldn't find a safe place to park, so just stayed on my bike while the Alaskans helped pick Andre's bike up. The windshield was shattered, and parts of the fancy dashboard broken.


Andre later told me that he thought I might be having flashbacks of Phil's crash, because I was so still sitting there watching them all. I wasn't, but I still don't like seeing bikers go down, it upsets me, and makes me nervous when I start riding again.


Therefore I was riding carefully behind the others when about a minute later I hit a small rock that was in the road having rolled off the hillside as part of a small landslide. It was only a few inches in diameter, but made Cricket's front tire jump to the side a little. Nothing Cricket doesn't handle every day. Except after going over that rock, the steering felt a bit off. I was just trying to decide if there was something wrong when the road turned gently, and all of a sudden Cricket was on her side and I was sitting in the middle of the highway!


Turns out that my need for new tires was more urgent than I had thought. That small rock had taken a chunk out of my thinning front tire and the tube inside as well. The strange steering I had felt was all the air leaving the tire. (That Avon Gripster I had on the front took me 30,312km, all the way from Los Angeles. Pretty good going really!)


I got Cricket up and to the side of the road, with a few cars slowing down to ask if I was okay. The guys were somewhere ahead of me, and I knew it would be a while before any of them realised I wasn't behind them.


I decided to wait, because I didn't have an air compressor, and if they didn't come back, it'd have to find a truck to take me to the next town. It started to rain again a bit.
<dl id="attachment_7011" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 650px" data-mce-style="width: 650px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">That's the corner I went down on there in the background.</dd></dl>

Little did I know, while all this was happening to me, Jordon had also gotten a flat front only a few hundred meters further up the road. One of the cars that had seen me fall had stopped and told him that I had fallen and needed help.



Poor Jordon panicked, not knowing what had happened or if I was hurt, but couldn't ride back to find out what really had happened, and so he started trying to hitch a ride back to me! While that was happening, Josh had returned and found him in distress.


Josh rode back to find me waiting patiently on the side of the road. Josh told me that there was a pull off just down the road, and so I turned Cricket around slowly, and rode on the flat tire to the lay-by. As Josh turned around he dropped his bike in the middle of the highway. It really just was the unluckiest stretch of road ever.


Josh had his bike up in a flash, and rode off to tell Jordon and Andre that I was okay, and to get an air compressor. At this point the rain really started to come down and there was no shelter anywhere!


I pulled off the road and started getting everything ready to change the tire. Josh was soon back, and together we propped Cricket up on my topbox, and took the front wheel off.


<dl id="attachment_7001" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">What I look like when I have to change a tire in the pouring rain.</dd></dl>

Surprisingly Josh had never changed a motorcycle tire before, so I was in charge. I put my bike cover on the ground as a work surface (instead of the increasingly muddy dirt) and had the damaged tube out fairly quickly. I repeatedly shouted at the sky, first requesting, and then demanding that it stop raining. It just rained harder.


<dl id="attachment_7009" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 650px" data-mce-style="width: 650px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Not my favourite kind of spooning....</dd></dl>
The valve tool that my dad had bought for me (used to pull the valve on the tube through the small hole in the rim) turned out to be useless, because it wouldn't fit through the hole in the rim. I started mumbling to myself. Not a good sign.


Josh helped me spoon the tire back onto the rim and then we started filling the tube with air. Except it wouldn't fill, then the air compressor stopped working (probably water logged).


Josh rode off to get Andre's compressor, and I just stood there in the pouring rain, soaked to the bone and getting cold. I repeatedly reminded myself (without really believing it) that this was all part of the adventure.


Andre's compressor confirmed that indeed the tire was not taking air. So out came the tube - we'd made a hole in it spooning the tire back on. Luckily the Alaskans had another spare tube. Did I mention it was raining heavily?


<dl id="attachment_7010" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 650px" data-mce-style="width: 650px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Been here before...</dd></dl>

By this time Jordon and Andre had finished changing Frank's tire, and they had come back to help get me back on the road.


I very carefully spooned the tire back onto the rim and handed it to Andre to fill with air while I put my tools away. Except it only filled part way and then would fill no more. I couldn't believe it. Despite being incredibly careful, there was a hole in this tube as well!

Andre came to the rescue with another new tube, and this time, finally, we didn't make a hole in it.


If I had jumped into a lake I wouldn't have become any wetter than I was at that moment. I was also so cold that I was shivering. And there was still water pouring from the sky. Also Andre's fan wasn't working.


We got Cricket's wheel back on, and everything packed up, and headed for some food at the next town. The next town turned out to be Los Andes, where it was not raining. We'd all had enough of motorcycles for the day, and decided to find a hotel.


We passed on the first one we found because it had rates listed by the hour and red and green lights outside each room, and found a nicer one not far away. At $28 each to share a family room, we were immediately reminded that Chile is a lot more expensive than any other country we'd been to in South America but we just didn't care. It had wifi and hot water and looked nice.
<dl id="attachment_7002" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Never have I been so happy to check in to a hotel with hot water showers.</dd></dl>

We ventured into town, found cash machines that would give us money, and a restaurant that served us delicious, huge sandwiches, a mountain of fries and cold beers.


It had been quite the day, but we were all safe, our bikes still ran, and we had made it to Chile (country number 16 for me).


The next morning we dried out our things, and inspected the damage that short stretch of road had wreaked on our poor bikes.
<dl id="attachment_7005" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The official tool drying section of the parking lot</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6995" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The damage the rock did to my worn tire.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_7003" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">My homemade front crash bar bag got a bit shredded.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_7006" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The corner of my aluminum box didn't like sliding along the highway very much.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_7004" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The rain cover on my tank bag isn't so waterproof anymore.</dd></dl>

overall looks like you faired pretty well in the fall off. downhill twisties in the rain are no fun at all. :eek1

good to see you guys on here! glad to see that you are still traveling south!

Week and a half without an update - you all okay?

We interrupt your regularly scheduled service for a very special announcement:


<dl id="attachment_7030" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 480px" data-mce-style="width: 480px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">WE MADE IT!!!!
</dd></dl>

It's been a crazy adventure, and we're both having pretty mixed feelings about reaching the end of the road.


We're heading back to Canada in early April. (Exactly how we're going to get there is still TBA. Anyone with a line on cheap flights or a surplus of airmiles please let us know!)


I know you have a million questions running through your head right now. How'd Phil and Jayne end up together again? What happened on the way there? What's going to happen to THE BEARD???


Never fear, we will catch up on the missing stories ASAP.


Thanks for all your support of The Ultimate Ride!


Jayne and Phil

Congratulation!!

Congratulations! And I am wanting to know the missing details. Thanks for sharing your adventure.

Congratulations and thanks for sharing

congrats! looking forward to the updates, your report is always the first one i check. not sure what i'm gonna do when the ULT ride is over?? ...more working i suppose.

Yeah congratulations on a great ride!