Round the world on a DR-z400

En-route we stopped for lunch, at which point we decided it was best if we changed Petes chain before carrying on. Our only spare was already worn, rusty and stiff. Despite being in bad condition, it seemed better than the one currently fitted, which had stretched so much that even on maximum adjustment it was still very loose. After struggling to remove the split link, the job was fairly straight forward, although Petes chain guide was now so worn-out that the chain had begun rubbing against the metal carrier. Team BMW gave us some WD40 and had lunch waiting for us when we were done! A delicious fish pie/risotto, with fresh lemon juice, they do look after us!

It was a tough windy stint on our way to Lima, and as we entered the city people were beeping and waving their arms at us. We soon realised it was illegal for any motorcycles to use the 3-lane highway. One lady was so angry that whilst waiting in a traffic queue she was taking pictures of us on her phone and making hand signals to suggest she would report us to the police. We turned and laughed at her, finding it amusing how anyone could be so furious at the thought of sharing a road with a motorcyclist, especially given the fact we had foreign plates! As we headed into the city we stumbled across a decent bike shop, where much to our amazement we were able to purchase 2 new o-ring chains, 2 spark plugs, brake pads and some decent chain wax. After sorting our new spares it didn’t take us long to find a nice hostel for the night, called the House Project.



Our evening in Lima was made more interesting by a couple of keen paragliders staying in our hostel. After a few beers we followed them to the nearest cliff edge to watch them jump. It was a tense walk as they carried their parachutes and crash helmets to the spot they had in mind. In the end only one of them jumped, and apparently he was later arrested by the police. The other lad decided to stay and try and find his friend, leaving us and two girls to carry his equipment back to the hostel! Don’t worry boys, we’ve got this one.



The following day Team BMW went to visit a potato museum, I’m not joking. Pete and I decided to crack on to reach Pisco, where we planned to go on a tour to Isla De Plata, also known as the ‘Poor Man’s Galapagos’. The tour wasn't exactly what I had in mind. I was expecting some kind of sailboat, but instead we had a small speedboat crammed full with young squealing school girls!



The islands were covered in birds shit and smelt worse than Mad Dogs old motorcycle boots, but it was good fun and nice to see some penguins and seals.



In the afternoon we packed up and rode to Huacachina, a village in south west Peru built around a small natural lake in the desert.



This oasis is a real tourist hot spot, and I can see why. Besides being a spectacular sight, the village has many fun hostels, which offer sand dune buggy rides with a chance to try sandboarding. Team BMW arrived just in time for the sunset tour. The dunes are epic.



Back at the hostel the bikes were parked under some trees, which appeared to be home to some birds with the scoots. Big Dog managed to find a large cover to protect them, but after a few beers we thought it would be funny to uncover Petes bike and see his reaction to the mess in the morning. To be fair it was pretty funny seeing his bike covered in birds shit, but during a tough pack up in the intense heat that kind of joke is never going to go down too well. Sorry Scousa. That morning the sun was shining, the swimming pool was lined with girls in bikinis drinking cocktails, and we were dripping in sweat loading up the bikes.



Sometimes you have to question what you are doing, and it’s times like these that you realise this is no holiday, it’s a biking mission, and it’s time to push on.

Our next stop was Cusco, approximately 500miles heading directly east inland. Shortly after stopping to check out the famous Nazca lines Pete had a rear puncture. Thankfully it didn’t result in an accident, and by now we could swap a tube at the side of a road in a matter of minutes.



A large shard of metal had damaged the tyre, so we cut out a section of the old tube to use as a support patch on the inside wall. The rest of the day was an enjoyable ride as we cruised back into the mountains along a flowing twisty stretch of smooth tarmac. It was a cracking road, but it soon become extremely cold as we reached altitudes above 4300m. We split the journey by spending a night in Puquio. There wasn’t much to do there, but it was nice to walk around the small village, try out some local street food and admire the colourful Peruvian attire. We were slightly concerened about getting altitude sickness, having come from sea level we were now spending the night at 3200m. Far from ideal.

The following day we continued our ride towards Cusco. The road was fantastic, and it was difficult not to get carried away whilst connecting the apex of each sweeping corner. Often we would remind one another about Petes accident in Colombia, knowing that a similar mistake could cost us the rest of the trip, or even worse. In the afternoon Marj also got a rear puncture. Unusual to have 2 punctures in 2 days on a smooth tarmac road. The local kids gathered around to watch Team BMW repair the tyre.

By this stage we had dropped in altitude and temperatures had soared, so we all sat and enjoyed a homemade ice lolly before cracking on. It had been a tiring day, and the last 100km were a struggle for everyone. Spirits were lifted as we entered Cusco and finally arrived at the Loki hostel where we planned to stay. It was only late afternoon, and this hostel is renowned for having a party atmosphere, so it was time to get the beers in!

By now I’m sure you can guess how our first night ended in Cusco. To be honest, that’s all we can do, have a guess! I know it started with a few beers at the hostel bar, but where we went after that remains a mystery. The following day was unsurprisingly a complete right-off. At about 3pm we ventured down the road to buy some Powerade. On the way back up the hill towards the hostel we had to sit down on the step for a rest. I looked at Pete and said “I don’t know if I can go on, I don’t think I can make it”. We laughed at the situation, but in fairness, as Pete would say “this is the worst hang over of the trip so far”. Team BMW had a busy day organising the plans for a Machu Picchu tour, thanks guys. Tomorrow would be another day.

After an early night we all managed to get up at 6.15am and enjoy a daytrip to Machu Picchu, often referred to as the “City of the Incas”. If you are going to visit any ruins, anywhere in the world, then it should be these!



On Thursday the 6th December we left Cusco and headed to Puno. Despite only being 350km, it was a really tough ride for me. The previous day I was very ill, throwing up all night and shivering with fever like symptoms. Much of the afternoon was spent riding at altitudes above 4000m, in freezing cold, windy conditions. I fell asleep at least 3 times on the bike. There’s nothing worse than feeling so tired when trying to ride. We stopped for lunch in a small remote village. I could barely stomach any food, but I was grateful to have a rest and warm my hands. It was a relief to reach Puno, and after finding a suitable hostel I went straight to bed.

The following day we visited the floating islands of Lake Titicaca.





These floating islands are made entirely from the totora reeds and are the home of the Uros tribe, one which pre-dates the Incan civilization. As usual Big Dog was ready for action, dressed head to toe in full Patagonia gear. Looking the absolute business.



It was an excellent half day tour, and quite incredible to see how these people live. Pete actually met a girl on one of the islands and has decided to become part of the tribe. Here he can be seen enjoying his new life with the reeds



Marj and Big Dog found it hard to take him seriously as he explained over a coffee, but he just smiled and said “I’m happy here, this’ll do me”.



Next stop Bolivia!!

All on our Facebook page here and Tough Miles Site here

indeed! what the hell were you doing leaving that pool!?!

awesome update, thank you guys!

Despite slightly tainted from 6 years of absence, the memories of my first exposure to Bolivia’s carnage were still as potent as it’s locally distilled rum. I left the first time feeling like, well, like nothing really works all that well. We’d spent more time waiting for buses than actually riding them and once eventually on the move, the large majority of the trip would typically be spent either forcing the goats and chickens back under the seats or lending a hand to the overworked, underpaid drivers to botch a repair job to the overused vehicles as we clung to the side of a mountain dirt road. I’d been robbed in the streets of the countries capital, La Paz and, whilst boarding a bus to depart the city, I caught a glimpse of the Spanish headline on the newspapers sold by a 6 year old girl; ‘Sausages of dog meat sold in Bolivia’s capital!’ A nice change from the horse meat the British press are claiming I have been brought up on. Bolivia’s infrastructure; a nightmare for many tourists, a promised land for any dirt bike enthusiast. It was time to get dirty again.

Day 211, Saturday 8th December:
Peru to Bolivia, one of the last times we would have to deal with customs and piles of photocopying, the least exciting part of riding a motorcycle around the world. We continued on to Copacabana on Lake Titicaca. Finding an eatery amongst the hoards of Gore-tex wearing tourists proved easy and offered a cracking view over the Lake. That same lake and it’s large rivers which act as tributaries to the Amazon give landlocked Bolivia an excuse to maintain a navy to keep a cap on the movement of Cocaine. No joke.
Rule number one of Latin America; agree on one dish between the group and make no alterations. A cracking morning’s ride and spirits were high. We took our chances and threw caution to the wind. 4 different meals, 4 different drinks. “I’ll have mine without the egg please”, “Can I get rice with that?”. “You don’t need to write that down do you amigo?” We questioned the 14 year old waiter in an attempt to encourage him to get our request on paper. “No no senor.” He was on it. No he wasn’t. Brookbanks took the brunt of this one and spent the duration of the lunch stop twiddling his thumbs with a minor glimmer of hope that his dish would eventually show. It didn’t. “Welcome to Bolivia my young Padawan” I chuckled as I slapped him on his back, donned my helmet and headed south bound to La Paz.

La Paz Sits in a huge valley at 3650 meters. Yeah it’s cliched but with it’s snow peaks mountains in the background the views from the top of the valley are breathtaking.



We’d been on the road all day and pulled over to check out the view before dropping down in to the valley. An ideal spot to have a moment to collect my thoughts and appreciate the environment I was in but I was abruptly interrupted by a flock, no, a plague may be better suited of teenage school girls on a bus trip who had also stopped to take in the view. Each and every one of them insisted they sat on my bike and had me pose next to them for a photo. There was no escape. When I tried to sneak off there was uproar and I’d be pushed and pulled from all directions by the little critters until I was back in the default biker pose position ready for the next round of photos. Brookbanks and Team BMW were pissing themselves with laughter at my inability to escape. By photo 15 the face cramps had got too much and I signaled for the next in line to jump on to Big Dog’s pink (sorry Big Dog, purple) BMW and encouraged one of the rowdy ones at the back to pull Big Dog in to the frame whilst I sat back and enjoyed the best cigarette of the trip whilst watching Big Dog worm his way out of the carnage.

We’d arrived in La Paz on a Saturday night but the altitude seemed to be taking it’s toll on my wing-man and after a few beers and a bite to eat the night had a relaxed ending. In hindsight, this couldn’t have worked out any better. Jon and I had agreed to wake at the crack of dawn the following day to ride Bolivia’s ‘El Camino de la Muerte’ or ‘Road of Death’. At first light Brookbanks was rummaging about moaning about not being able to find his overpriced bottle of hair conditioner, remember the fancy one bought out of the shared budget? Well, bald men don’t hold grudges so I got up and got on with ensuring that every single piece of Forcefield body Armour was firmly strapped on in the perfect position. I wasn’t taking any chances. I felt like a Dakar warrior going in to battle. Although the road itself is only 38 miles (69KM) it descends from it’s highest point at La Cumbre pass at an altitude of 4,650 meters (15255 feet) down to 1,200 meters (3937 feet) in the town of Coroico in the Amazon Basin. This gives you an idea of how steep this trail really is. It’s extreme drop offs of up to 800 meters on the side and lack of guard rails makes the single lane track a major attraction for downhill mountain bikers. Most of the trail is no wider than 3 meters and rain, fog and dust can have a huge impact on visibility. It’s loose surfaces of mud and rocks and the high risk of land slides make it one of South Americas most dangerous roads.

In 1995, the Inter-American Development bank deemed it the worlds most dangerous road based on the death rate per mile and according to their sources up to 200 people had died on this road at that stage. Their stats released in ’95 claimed that an average of 26 vehicles dropped over the side of the road each year and it was at that point they said enough was enough and funded the development of an alternative road. The old road was no longer maintained and is now typically only used by thrill seeking downhill mountain bikers and the occasional pasty Brits who fancy their chances on a couple of well used Suzuki DRz’s. Why would you want to ride this road you may ask? As we rode north of La Paz to the starting point, I was asking myself that very same question.

The research we had done to the build up of this ride was sufficient to scare Team BMW off so we left them and their very posh bikes back at the hotel along with all of our luggage. The bike felt brand new again without the additional weight and I was reminded that I was effectively riding a full blown dirt bike. I was as ready as I could be to take on the off-road challenge. The moderate climate in La Paz had me right over and I assumed that the rest of the days ride would only get warmer as we proceeded deeper in to the Amazon Basin so once fully armored up, I donned the thin summer gloves. Yeah those ones with the gaping holes in from my crash in Colombia. I had no idea we had a snow section to clear at the high pass at La Cumbre prior to beginning the trail. Despite being as keen as possible to get to the start of the trail and lose a few hundred meters of altitude, whenever we tried to open the bikes up they would cough and splutter as if being strangled. A tell tale sign that we were at a ridiculously high altitude with much lower levels of oxygen.



As we neared the starting point of the trail we were pulled over by a copper who was clearly after something but his thick Bolivian accent meant we couldn’t quite put our finger on what it was. I immediately whipped my gloves off expecting to see frost-bitten finger tips under there but it just turned out I was being a pussy and after warming them slightly on the engine, I was ready to try and understand what the police man was mumbling on about. It turned out a toll ticket was necessary to drive on the highway we were using to find the start of the trail but we had completely missed the ticket office. He insisted that we needed to ride 26KM back in the direction we had come from to pay the necessary fee before returning to show him the ticket. It was far too cold to be riding back and not knowing what the day had in store for us we couldn’t afford to lose any more time so we had to try a different approach. At first he point blank refused a bribe but once the group of Bolivians on our left hand side had left, we gave it another go. This time he accepted our offering with both hands and a dirty grin before waving us on our way.

I should to be careful how I word the experience we had on Death Road as it was day of mixed emotions. Although the trail isn’t the most technical of trails, the consequences of a mistake would have been fatal. For most of the ride handling the bike over the off-road terrain, riding under waterfalls and avoiding the huge drops on the side of the road had our adrenaline rushing but on the flip side, seeing the crosses of remembrance of those who had been killed and the wrecks of buses and various other vehicles at the bottom of some of the drops made me feel a little ashamed that I was thrill seeking in an environment that had cost so many Bolivians their lives. An unforgettable experience in more ways than one.





It was boiling hot by the time we reached the bottom but we weren’t getting back to La Paz without first clearing that frozen mountain pass again. That same mountain pass that nearly had me in tears stubbornly believing my finger-tips were gonners. The eerie hotel with no other guests had never looked so appealing. We were freezing cold, soaking wet and covered in mud. Team BMW had laid on a nice little surprise in recognition of successful completion of the ‘Worlds Most Dangerous Road’. It’s funny how such small gestures can mean so much when you’ve been on the road for so long.



Onwards from La Paz, southbound on Highway One to a town that must surely be called Shit-hole. The only source of food we could find which wasn’t swarming in blue-arsed flies was some empanadas, a Latin American staple. Small pasty like parcels stuffed with questionable quality beef deep-fried in a cauldron no less than 10 years old by a toothless lady on a street corner. The taste is acceptable simply because of the smile they are served with. One dusty unknown town to the next.This is Bolivia and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Next on to Challapata, well known as the hub of Bolivia’s illegal vehicle trade. Bolivia feels tiny in comparison to Peru and we’re making good ground. These people have nothing but huge grins and even bigger hearts. I started to grow fond of Bolivia’s people which was tarnished only by another bent copper who pulled us over waving a device he claimed to be a speed gun.

We’d been stopped on numerous occasions in Bolivia but up until now they had all been decent enough guys interested in what we were doing. We were speeding and this guy was well within his rights to pull us over but I could see from the word go that he was a nasty piece of work who wanted more than the value of a speeding ticket. He asked for my licence, I handed him my old expired card. He couldn't speak English and wouldn't be able to interpret it anyway. He asked for my passport, I handed him a laminated copy. He then informed me that he didn’t have the necessary paper work to fine a foreigner on the side of the road and that in order to pay my fine we would have to ride all the way back to a town over 250km away. I knew this wasn’t how it worked as I had been stopped no more than 100km earlier in the day. The previous officer had warned me of corruption in the Police Force and that I should always take note of the officers ID number down before involving myself in any conversation. He didn’t have a vehicle and he didn’t have my legit paper work so I knew I could ride off at any point and leave him standing but I was interested to see how this one played out. He mentioned how we could solve this with an on-the-spot fine but it would have to be $60 USD for each rider. A little on the steep side given the average monthly salary in Bolivia is short of $400. Once I had made it clear I was making a note of his I.D. number his colleague instructed him to give me my paper work back and let us ride on without needing to pay a penny.

Onwards and we rode through varying altitudes and varying climates narrowly avoiding becoming road kill to herds of llamas and packs of viscous looking stray dogs all fancying a bite of an Alpinestars Tech 10 for dinner. Then, decision time. Left to stick on the tarmac and ride the remaining distance with Team BMW or right in to the unknown. Just the two of us. A dusty trail marked merely as a faint line on the already proven unreliable map we sourced back in Cuzco. Two 28-liter brimmed Safari fuel tanks on board. We took the right, wave bye to Team BMW and feeling invincible and spin the back wheels up as soon as we hit the dirt. We rode for hours until we couldn’t ride any further.



The sand was so flooded there was no chance of continuing but on our right hand side we had the option to mount the rail track to clear the flooded area. We’d ridden the BAM road in Siberia, train tracks were our forte, right? Wrong. In the words of Dan Walsh ‘never an expert, always an enthusiast’, Brookbanks steps up and over confidently tries to ride the bridge without first identifying the most suitable path. He had completely mis-read the size of the gaps between the sleepers and despite agreeing we would ride in the middle of the two tracks headed straight on to the bridge on the right hand side. The gaping holes in between each sleeper had him bouncing around like a mad man. He nearly came straight off the side but somehow managed to pull the bike up-right and hold it there until I arrive and between us pull the bike in to the middle of the two tracks. I was laughing but crying knowing it was my turn next. Any excessive movements at this altitude leaves you short of breath. Still no idea if he should expect any trains on this line, he dropped the hammer before then dropping the bike. This is Bolivia and this is the absolute dog’s danlgies.

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Arrival in Uyini, another overrated, underpopulated dusty dive in existence only to feed a growing tourism trade of wealthy Westerners eager to experience the awe inspiring Salar de Uyini. And quite rightly so. Otherwise known as Bolivia&#8217;s Salt Flats the Salar is the dried remains of a 10,582 square kilometer (4,086 sq mi) salt lake which when flooded by a Bolivian wet season provides a surreal environment incomparable to anything either of us had ever seen.





This is Bolivia and I&#8217;m convinced that riding doesn&#8217;t get better than this.
Once we learned that the Salar was flooded we realised we couldn&#8217;t do the 2 day ride over the flats to cross over to Chile. The salt water is so corrosive we feared if we left it on the bikes over night we may not have any bikes left in the morning so we decided to spray everything with a coating of WD-40 and just check ride the flats for no more than a couple of hours. Not knowing how to get to the start of the flats we tried to discretely follow a 4×4 full of tourists but the driver clocked on, pulled over and asked us what we were up to. I chuckled and agreed to throw him some Boliviano&#8217;s, equivalent of a few quid if he would let us follow him to the start of the flats at which point we would go our own way and cruise for a few hours on our own. It was literally just us out there. Miles and miles of complete freedom. Impossible to judge depth or speed, at times it felt like we were just floating. Once everything was suitably covered in salt we headed back to Uyini and to a local motorcycle tour company where they power-washed our bikes down for us. The brotherhood once again playing an important role in this Tough Miles journey.

Onwards again&#8230; no time to hang around. Back on to the tarmac up to Potosi, the worlds highest city before heading south to join Highway One again to cross the border in to Argentina. Highway One, the Number 1 road in Bolivia, right? Wrong. Turns out the map we picked up is newer than that freaking road. Highway One as it happened hadn&#8217;t even been built yet. We rode all day on an intense off-road route. Our bodies were aching and no idea when this was likely to end. In parts the road was in worse condition than Death Road and every other corner would contain a series of crosses to remember the dead. &#8220;What the hell are we doing here, mate?&#8221;
The sun was setting but clinging to the mountain side, the road was so narrow we couldn&#8217;t stop to pitch up the tents as there was simply no room for our tents and a passing vehicle. Darker and darker, colder and colder the ride continued to get even more terrifying. Corner after corner with no end in sight we ended up riding in to the pitch blackness with the hundred foot drops illuminated only by the moonlight and a DRz headlight powered by 12v battery which was over 25,000 miles old. We&#8217;ve had a few moments on this trip but this one is definitely up there with the hairiest. We stopped and discussed our options. Did we take any photos? The ability to get the camera out when the fear factor is so high is something we are yet to get the hang of. We continued on for hours in to the night conscious that we had no food or water left and that fuel levels were ever diminishing. Eventually the GPS indicated that we were dropping in altitude. We&#8217;d come to the bottom of a valley and there we saw it, the bright lights of a hotel! At first I thought I was losing my mind but sure enough, smack bang in the arse-end of nowhere was a hotel with a lady standing by the door. When I asked if she could put us up she immediately said she was full. When I asked if we could pitch up the tents outside her hotel she seemed to take pity on us and somehow managed to free up a room. Awake at first light to work out where the hell we were. Initial impression&#8230; Nice room.



That was Bolivia. And that was outstanding. Onwards, southbound. Next stop Argentina. I&#8217;m ready for a steak.

We needed to get the salt water off as soon as possible...





More Death Road clips...

As always, lots more pics on our Facebook page here.

Unbelievable trip! I love the engine repair!

Great Stuff Pete!
Really enjoying the RR - Happy Trails

Hi, at Colombia you can get is RMX450Z, what do you think about this bike for a RTW trip?

thanks.

Not the best choice. Although it is a great offroad bike, the oil change interval is way to small. this is the same problem with most XRs, WRs, and smaller enduro/mx type bikes. They are made for "racing" and get the oil changed after every race.

the DRZ 400 has a longer oil change interval making it a better choice.

Hey guys where you at?

Been with you most of the way just wondering what the steak was like?

More

awesome!

Jon here:

The final stint, with only 21 days till Christmas. By this stage we had ridden through 24 countries, covering over 25,000 miles. The question remains…..did we make it to Ushuaia, Tierra del Fuego, commonly regarded as the southernmost city in the world?

Day 217, Friday 14th December. We woke up at 8.30am in a rustic Bolivian farm house. Our fear and anxiety from the previous night had now changed to feelings of excitement. With blue skies and sunshine the epic mountain road sweeping through a deep valley was no longer a nightmare, but rather a motorcycle adventurers dream. The landscape was incredible, and the last 50km of gravel cliff edge road was a perfect way to finish off Bolivia before crossing into Argentina.



30km outside of Villazon we finally joined a brand new stretch of tarmac. Despite our love for off-road, the asphalt was a welcome change at the time, and I felt a great sense of self-achievement having accomplished our route through the depths of Bolivia.

Having been told the Argentine Peso is quite frankly ‘all over the place’, and that once we were in Argentina we would be unable to withdraw US dollars, we decide to use a bank in Bolivia to withdraw $400USD each. After sorting the money, and then using an internet cafe to drop Team BMW a quick email advising them not to follow our route down ‘Highway 1&#8242;, we headed to the border.

This particular border crossing was the busiest of the trip so far. Whilst Pete sweated it out waiting with the bikes and luggage in the blistering midday sun I joined the back of a lengthy customs queue. Things seemed to be looking up as an official noticed our bikes and much to our surprise took our passports straight to the front. This good fortune didn’t last long though, as we then sat for hours waiting for the Aduana office to re-open after lunch. It was late afternoon by the time we finally made it into Argentina, and despite not having ridden many miles it already felt like it had been a long day. At this point we took a moment to congratulate one-another, as we had now ridden around the world from the UK and more than fulfilled our original objective of riding from Alaska to Argentina! However, we were soon brought back down to earth by a large road sign….



This was a blatant reminder of how far we still had to go in order to reach Ushuaia. No doubt there would be many more more Tough Miles ahead.

We stopped at the first town in order to withdraw some local currency, get a bite to eat and try and sort insurance. This makes it sound relatively straight forward, but as usual each of these tasks proved almost impossible! After-all you’re on a biking trip, generally in the arse end of nowhere, in towns not exactly set-up to cater for your average gringo tourist expecting to use chip and pin in a Sainsburys Local. Forget worrying about extortionate cash handling and non sterling transaction fees, just plough through your cards until you find one that works, and if your lucky then enjoy the sound of an ATM rattling through potentially counterfeit notes and dispensing some of your hard earned savings!

It was a huge surprise to actually stumble across an insurance office, but no surprise to find it closed for a few hours. After killing some time trying to find money and food we went back for a second attempt. Thankfully it was open this time, but despite donning a large sign saying ‘buy motor insurance here’, I wasn’t shocked to hear the guy say, “no, we don’t do motorcycle insurance”. Of course you don’t. We sat on the pavement exhausted, and made a decision to simply forget about it for now and ride on without it.

In true Tough Miles style, a few kilometres down the road we realised we had forgotten to change our Bolivianos into Pesos. Unfortunately we still had a significant amount, and therefore decided we had no option other than to turn back. Unbelievably, upon arriving back at the border an Aduana official approached us to hand us some paperwork they had forgotten to give us as we entered the country! This was a huge stroke of luck, as getting out of Argentina without the necessary paperwork would have undoubtedly caused a serious headache! Pete then proceeded to explain our problem with regards to exchanging our currency, and much to our amazement he was allowed to walk back across the border, without repeating all the usual formalities, visit a money changer and stroll back into Argentina! Job done, time to hit the road.

That evening we stopped at Humahuaca. Despite not being in the guide book, Humahuaca, a small city in the Jujuy province, seemed to be a bit of a tourist hot spot with various hostels to choose from. Unlike your average backpacker we had the bikes to worry about, so we based our decision on finding them a suitable home for the night! Most people reading this probably dream about owning a big garage, well they don’t come much better than this…..



With the bikes safe and sound Pete and I filled the room with our stinking bike gear and headed out for a well deserved pint or two.

The following day we hit the road by 9.30am. At this stage we were roughly 1450km from Mendoza, where we planned to spend a bit of time with friends and service the bikes. Our aim was to try and cover this distance over 2 days, a bit of a push on a DRZ400 but certainly doable…..especially with the luxury of a custom made Bill Mayor Saddle. Whenever we stopped I couldn’t help but look around the bikes to make sure everything appeared OK. Pete shouted over “Stop poking around Engineer, just sit back and enjoy your Empanada for once”. On this occasion lunch was ruined by yet another tyre failure. The Mefo Explorer had been a fantastic choice of tyre, providing good grip on and off-road. Having been fitted in Oceanside, California, it had covered a huge number of miles. However, my rear had finally given up, and a piece of missing tread now exposed a large patch of canvas.



As we’ve seen many times before, within a matter of minutes a helpful local was on the case. He rushed down his lunch in order to lead us into town before the dreaded siesta ruined our chances of rescuing the day. We followed him around in his rusty pickup truck visiting various motorcycle shops to try and find a replacement tyre. Unfortunately we were out of luck. Despite being worried about how long the tyre would now last we had little option but to push on. By the time we reached the next town it was 2pm, and everywhere was closed until 4.30. At this point we made a decision to cross our fingers and continue the ride. There was a much larger town 100km away, where we would stand a much better chance of finding something. Thankfully the canvas held up and we eventually managed to find a new tyre. The only option was a skinny Pirelli road number, which we fitted on the pavement. Who needs a center stand??



With my new ‘low-drag’ badboy Pirelli we pushed on into the evening, covering another 300km. This left us with a mere 800k’s to reach Mendoza the following day. All in a days work for Tough Miles.

On Sunday 16th December we rode 800km in blistering heat through desert terrain. A long day, and we both struggled to stay awake. Sometimes it’s so hard to occupy your mind, and if you start watching the clock it’s crazy how long a kilometre can feel. Upon arriving in Mendoza we were totally knackered. We stopped at the side of the road in some shade, got the laptop out and set about trying to contact our friends and find a hostel with suitable parking. Dripping in sweat, feeling partially deaf and exhausted, these times are tough.

Mendoza is an incredible city, with beautiful wide streets lined with trees, Argentinian steak houses and decent bars. I was finally experiencing the joys of Latin America Pete had told me about. The climate was great, with nice warm sunshine yet cool in shade. One of the main tourist activities in this region is wine tasting, with all the hostels organising large tours around hundreds of wineries. Although this sounds like great fun, we didn't have time for this, Tough Miles had business to do.



Monday and Tuesday were spent hunting down new tyres, fitting new chains, changing oil and spark plugs, and generally making sure the bikes were ready for the next stint. Besides these service requirements it was a chance to get the laundry done, back up the riding footage and see to any online admin. We also needed to look at the route, time was tighter than ever and we had a mission to complete.

Our final tyre choice at this stage was limited. For Pete we managed to find a pair of Metzeler Sahara 3&#8242;s from a small independent shop. These were expensive, but seemed like a good tyre to hopefully finish the trip on. I was able to get the same for my front, but not for the rear. The ‘emergency Pirelli’ would do for getting me down to Chile, but it was wearing more quickly than I had hoped, and we still didn’t know what kind of road conditions to expect in the deep south. With this in mind I opted to carry a Pirelli MT-21, and only fit it if sh*t hit the fan.

On Wednesday 19th December we left Mendoza and began our journey towards Bariloche. Whilst packing up on another stinking hangover some girls came out of the hostel and asked if they could take some photos. One of them said “I want to show my boyfriend what real men do”. I laughed and thought to myself, really, is this really what real men do? What the hell are me and Pete doing then? At that point in time I would have given my right arm to to be tucked up at home in bed with a hot water bottle and a horlicks!

As Pete had already explained to me, leaving Mendoza on a hangover was inevitable, and on top of this we had to stop and buy more oil, spare bungees and fuel. The weather had taken a turn for the worse, and for the first 200km it was cold, wet and windy, with bundles of tumble weed blowing across the road. Tough Miles, but this is what real men do! In the afternoon the hangover lifted and the weather perked up. We made good progress and finally stopped at a town called Santa-Izabel. We had covered 450km, therefore leaving 800k’s to reach Bariloche the following day. Another classic 450,800.

As we neared Bariloche the scenery was stunning, with the road following a winding river through the hills. However, the weather soon became freezing, and as we entered the town it began to snow. Recent riots meant the streets were quiet, and most of the shops seemed to be shut. Nevertheless we didn’t have any trouble finding a decent hostel with parking, and before long we were toasting to a successful couple of days, and trying our best to chirps up any local talent.

Our next stop was Rio Gallegos, the capital and largest settlement of the Patagonian province of Santa Cruz in Argentina. Basically an absolute shit hole, but certainly a convenient stop on the way to Ushuaia. On Friday 21st December we spent a couple of hours in the morning fixing Petes custom dash before leaving Bariloche. Bending the brackets back into shape after his accident in Colombia had weakened the structure, and eventually led to a couple of cracks. It was no big deal though, and after a quick visit to the local welder we were able to head off into the wilderness. The ride that day was freezing, and the rain soon set in as we ventured down a long straight road through absolute baran landscape. The road really did feel like it went through ‘the middle of nowhere’.



By this stage the trip was taking its toll on me and Pete. The ride through Patagonia was cold and wet, and the savage winds were often strong enough to push you off the road. The bikes were also getting tired. Our batteries were on their last legs, so we were grateful to have the kick starts as a back up. The heated grips would no longer function with the diminishing power, so I decided I shouldn’t be putting extra strain on it by listening to music through the Garmin. Instead I found myself singing Christmas songs and thinking what on earth are we doing this for?! Perhaps we should have just ridden straight to Buenos Aires, given ourselves more time to find an Argentinian princess, and chilled out in the sun. Not for us though, we chose to spend days on end hammering through endless moorland. I wouldn’t have it any other way!

On Saturday 22nd December we had a huge riding day, covering 900km to reach Rio Gallegos. It was another long day, riding flat out between fuel stops. The fuel stations are roughly 200km apart, giving good break points throughout the journey. Running continuously at wide open throttle, often against strong head winds, sent fuel consumption through the roof. Even with our 28L Safari tanks we would generally fill up at every opportunity. At one particular fuel stop we met a rider from Brazil. He had dreamed about riding down to Ushuaia, but after reaching Rio Gallegos he decided he couldn’t carry on any longer and chose to turn back. He explained how he was missing his family and was upset with feeling cold, wet and lonely. I thought to myself, living the dream! I looked at Pete and said “don’t you start, you signed up for this, so button up and lets push on”.

From Rio Gallegos it is approximately 60km to the border of Chile. On Sunday 23rd December we had an early start and headed for the border. The border crossing took hours to get out of Argentina, and further down the road we then had to join a long queue to get into Chile. All this seemed slightly ridiculous when all we wanted to do was get back down into Argentina. Despite having been through this process countless times, I still don’t really know the sequence of events. I generally bumble around following Pete and collect whatever stamps and documents they throw at me, hoping I’ve ticked all the right boxes. Seems to work!

Once in Chile it was then only 50km to reach the ferry crossing. Thankfully the weather conditions were good, and we had no delays. By now the end of the mission was insight, and we were excited about the prospect of reaching Ushuaia for Christmas.



This particular ferry crossing is only 30mins, and once on the other side we had 110km of gravel to enjoy. The surface was fine for my Pirelli road tyre, and I was still able to leave Pete in a cloud of dust. I can hear him now….”a really dusty one that mate, I had to hang back to see where I was going”.



Before crossing back into Argentina we stopped for some lunch at a small cafe on the side of the road. As we came back out I noticed my rear tyre was completely flat. Another day, another tyre change.



It’s basically a full unpack luggage off jobby, pretty painful but there’s no point moaning. It soon became apparent that the heavy duty tube we fitted was the wrong size for the tyre, and a crease had caused the tube to chafe and eventually split. Thankfully this didn’t happen whilst riding at high speed. At this stage we decided to swap my rear for the Pirelli MT-21, as our spare tubes would then be the correct size.

Now for the final time……the border crossing back into Argentina was very quiet, after which we only had 250km of tarmac to reach Ushuaia! The ride was so cold I could barely feel my fingers, but my spirits were kept high by the prospect of reaching the finish line before sunset.



The last 150km was awesome as we cruised through the snow-capped mountain range, and by 9pm we had at last made it to Ushuaia, Tierra del Fuego! Mission Complete.
We parked up next to the sign, shook hands and said “that’s that then! We really have made it. That was one hell of an adventure”. Amazing.



This Tough Miles mission took us through 26 countries, covering over 30,000 miles in just 8 months. Particular sections of the trip were extremely challenging, but despite numerous crashes and countless hangovers we did it! The DRZ400S was an exceptional bike of choice, and all of the time and effort we put into preparing them certainly paid off. It really is a dirt bike you can ride around the world.

The support we received prior to and during this journey was simply incredible. Without the exceptional help of various individuals we really couldn’t have made this a success. Thanks again for all of your support, and we really hope you have enjoyed being part of our mission.

Hundreds of people have been kind enough to donate towards our fund raising page for Cancer Research, and amazingly we have now raised over £5500! This is a great achievement, and Pete and I are really grateful for all your donations.



Although the mission was complete, we still had to get back up to Buenas Aires……….after some serious celebrations in Ushuaia…..Tough Miles style!

woooooh!

NICE! Glad to finally see the story wrapped up properly!

awesome finish!