Fin del Mundo

February 22, 2016

The last few days have been planned (term applied loosely) around the wind. I left Tolhuin late in the morning after waiting for the wind to die down. Which it did, as soon as the rains came. The rain didn’t last long, but gave me a chance to pack up and hit the road with less chance of getting blown off it.

The last mountain pass before heading down to Ushuaia…Paso Garibaldi.

Looking back at Lago Fagnano from Paso Garibaldi.

Entry to Ushuaia. Last town south in Argentina, and claimed as the southernmost city in the world.

Ushuaia is built on the side of the mountain, as the mountains go down to the bay. Thus the streets tend to look a bit like San Francisco in one direction, and then relatively flat and level perpendicular to the shoreline.

The cruise ships here bring lots of tourism. And lots of tourists. If not for tourism, this would definitely be a much smaller, and much slower town. As it is, there are tour buses and taxis everywhere, and they all seem to be in a tremendous hurry, which can get interesting when you’re trying to get rolling up one of these hills again after the tourists step out in front of you mid-way up.

There is also a steady stream of tour buses and taxis heading out to the Tierra del Fuego National Park, just west of town at the end of Ruta 3. This is a gravel road, and they don’t seem to care if the dust reduces visibility to near zero, they are still going to drive right on your taillight in the gravel (and mud).

They seem to be in a hurry to take as many tourists as possible to the end of Ruta 3 at Bahia Lapataia. And oddly, I had to actually get in line to take a photo of my bike with the famous sign at the end of the road, even in the rain.

The famous sign at the end of the road.

I lost count of how many people came up and wanted their photo taken with me in front of the sign. Crazy.

As I was leaving the parking lot where the sign is at the end of Ruta 3, I happened to notice the Alaska license plates on this VW bus. Dillon and Tessa spent the past year driving their 1975 VW Westfalia from Alaska, surfing, skiing, hiking, and enjoying themselves along the way. They plan to ship it from Buenos Aires to Florida and start a new journey there.

The hostels in town were mostly booked — at least the ones I could find a place to park the bike in — so I decided to camp at the National Park. I had already paid my $12 park entrance fee to take the photo with the sign, so after that, camping was free for up to three days. Might as well take advantage of it. And after all, the park is beautiful, with lots of trees, rivers, trails, and wildlife.

Three of these guys swooped in and hung out with me at my campsite. Obviously expecting to be fed.

Again, I know nothing about birds, but this guy appeared to be the Dad, and stood around not far from me while Mom and the chicks fed. I loved his black boots.

Mom watching over the family as they dine. This was about ten feet from my tent. These are very young but not small birds.

It rained a little in the evening, but the wind wasn’t bad. Until about 6am. That’s when it really started howling. I sat in the tent until 11am, wondering if the poles would snap before the fabric disintegrated. I was afraid to try to take the tent down, because all of my stuff was in it, and one wrong move would mean things would get blown into the river. Amazingly, the tent held up perfectly. Another piece of equipment that I will certainly buy again.

And of course, just after I publish a post about my gas canister stove, I run out of gas while making coffee! (But sure enough, I found two different outdoor stores on San Martin Avenue that sold the canisters, so I have plenty for all of the camping I’m planning to do between here and Buenos Aires.)

By noon I was ready to head into town and try again to find a hostel so I could put my stuff in a locked room, park the bike somewhere relatively safe, and walk to town. I found what I was looking for at Hostel Aonikenk, and after a trip to two ATMs I had enough money for a few nights here along with a tour or two.

City sign designating the “end of the world” at the bay.

The cruise ships were in port. Good for businesses, bad if you’re looking for a place to park, a place to eat, or a place to stay.

I always wondered what Jimmy Button did after his motocross career ended…

Estancia Harberton and Isla Martillo

February 24, 2016

Today I went to Estancia Harberton (Haberton Ranch), about 50 miles east of Ushuaia. This 48,000 acre ranch was founded by Thomas Bridges, a missionary from the UK in the 1880s, and includes four mountains, three rivers and 40 islands. It was named after his wife’s hometown of Harberton, Devon. They raised cattle and sheep on it for generations, until in the mid-1990s a snowstorm that lasted 21 days wiped out most of the livestock. At that point, the fourth generation family owners decided to stop ranching and the sole source of income now is from tourism, including tours to Isla Martillo, a tiny island on the ranch that has a large penguin colony.

The ranch also has a museum which has a large collection of marine mammal skeletons, including various dolphins, seals, sea lions, and whales from the area, and some penguins and other birds.

Many of the skeletons are mounted on the wall over a corresponding painting of the animal.

Whale skeletons, too large for inside.

Orca

Marine biology students serve one month internships here. This one is cleaning the skull of a specimen.

But the big attraction is Isla Martillo. It’s a ten minute boat ride from Estancia Harberton, and they only allow 80 people a day to actually walk with the penguins on the island. They do two morning tours with 20 people each, and two afternoon tours with 20 people each.

Magellanic penguins

Many of the younger penguins were molting, changing to their adult feathers.

Gentoo penguin. Note the different markings from the Magellanic penguins. Similar size. While the Magellanic penguins go north for the winter, the Gentoo stay here year round.

Feed me!

The lone pair of King Penguins on the island.

There are 7,000 nesting holes on the island.

Chick in the nest

I caught a short video of this “beak slapping” ritual between two penguins, likely mates. If you listen, in the background you’ll hear what sounds like a donkey braying. That’s the sound Magellanic penguins make. They raise their beaks straight up, puff out their chests, and make this braying sound.

From the ranch you can see across to Puerto Williams. I really wanted to go there, if for nothing else because of the name. But it’s a difficult and costly proposition, and the truth is, there’s nothing there. It’s a town of about 5,000 people with little infrastructure. The passenger ferry from Ushuaia (without the bike) is $300 round trip, and it’s only a 30 minute boat ride, plus a 30 mile bus ride each way. The car ferry is from Punta Arenas, and only leaves on Wednesdays, returning on Saturdays, and is a 34 hour trip and much more costly. And with both, there’s no guarantee on the sailing either direction due to the wind conditions here.

These are called Bandera, or Flag Trees. Did I mention the wind blows here? A lot.

Ruta 3 North

February 29, 2016

Ruta 3 can pretty much be summed up in one photo:

Long, relatively boring, and windy. From here, 2536 kilometers to Buenos Aires.

It’s the most direct way up to Buenos Aires. There are other ways, such as the way I came south, but it adds a lot of distance. And I now have a confirmed date to ship out of Buenos Aires, so it’s time to cover some ground.

And once again, I stand corrected: I said in my last post that I had ridden my last dirt/gravel road on this continent. Wrong again: as Alfred noticed by looking at my GPS track, I took a “small” detour (about 20 miles) down a dirt road yesterday to camp at an estancia. Not all camping excursions pan out as planned, and in this case I’ll admit that last night wasn’t great. It was still better than a lot of other places I could have been, but I don’t think I’d spend all that time riding down a dirt and gravel road on a bad chain to stay there again. The place had a decent gas stove to cook dinner on (no utensils, pots, pans, etc, but good gas) and hot showers. Okay, that’s it for the good. The bad: the place runs on a generator, from 9pm to midnight. The generator is in the building with the stove and bathrooms. It’s loud. The owner wouldn’t turn it off early, and it turns out that’s because he had company and they were practicing. Yep, the band is louder than the generator. But I was tired and managed to fall asleep anyway. So when I woke up this morning and started breaking down camp is when I realized that the owner’s four dogs had peed on three corners of my tent, and my gas can. Ugh.

So I used his dishrag to clean my rainfly. 🙂

Heading back to Ruta 3 this morning from the estancia. Twenty miles each way. Now I think I’m done with the dirt and gravel roads in South America. I think.

I saw this “Patagonian Eagle 150” at a gas station. Does that make it a Turkey Buzzard? I saw lots of those in Patagonia.

I’ve been praising my little 428 O-ring chain the entire trip, but it’s just a chain, and it is a small size, so in the last week it finally gave up. I’ve been adjusting it each day but even then it really needed it twice a day. I will have a new O-ring chain and sprockets in Buenos Aires, but I need to get there first. So today I bought a cheap non-O-ring chain and put it on my old sprockets (yeah, I know, it won’t be new for long like that). It just has to go another 1,200 miles. Hopefully.

Jonathon at the Yamaha dealer in Rivadavia installed my new chain for me. The original chain is an endless (no master link), so I let him cut it off and put the new cheapo chain on. He and Enrique were great to deal with. Really nice people. Total parts and labor: $34. I’ll put a new OE chain and sprockets on in another couple of weeks in Buenos Aires.

When Amazing Becomes the Norm

I was sitting at Overland Oasis in Tule, Mexico one afternoon last August, listening to two travelers, Jason and Toby, discuss their travels. Both had been through South America already and were headed north — Jason and Lisa on BMWs, Toby and Chloe in their Ford F150 camper. They both seemed to be suffering from some version of sensory overload, I suppose. They were somewhat lamenting what life was going to be like after the trip was over. I think it was Toby that said he had arrived at the point during their South America expedition that even the most majestic mountains and waterfalls became “just another mountain” and “just another waterfall”.

Then he said it. The line that hit me like a brick to the head:

“You see and do all of this incredible stuff and you get to the point where amazing becomes the norm.”

Wow. Mind boggling. Dangerous. I’ve always been an adrenaline junkie. What will life be like after seeing all of these amazing sights? Then what? Can you accept a daily routine in one place? What will it take to keep you happy? What will provide the adrenaline rush?

I’ve attended seminars and presentations held by people who have traveled the world by car, motorcycle, bicycle, boat, or on foot, and often there is the question of how to adjust to life after the trip ends. Most of the time the answer I’ve heard is the same: they don’t. They go back to work for some time, always with the goal of going again. But are they happy to be doing that? Or has it become a necessary drug to feed an addiction?

After seven months, I’m still fairly new to this, but the thought of how you handle life after amazing becomes the norm has me a little bit nervous.

But not enough to pass up the amazing.

Just a few days ago, I was sitting at a campsite on the beach with Daniel and Joey. They’ve been traveling together for 22 months now. When we last spoke in El Calafate, they were uncertain of what was next for them. They were discussing shipping the bikes home to Germany from Buenos Aires, and taking some time off from traveling. They were facing difficult decisions about starting a family and settling into a “normal” life.

Joey spoke up over dinner at the camp north of Rio Grande, Argentina: “Well, we have some exciting news.”

This sounded a lot like the introduction to “I’m pregnant and we now know which direction we’re headed”. Turns out it was quite the opposite.

She said, “We’ve decided to ship to Africa!”

Wow. Didn’t see that coming.

They said they were basically broke, and didn’t know how they would afford Africa (remember, this is the same Daniel Rintz that left home six years ago with no money to start his journey), but they were going anyway.

And then Daniel uttered a line that became the second time this trip that I had to immediately jump up and write something down:

“The thought of going back to a regular life is more terrifying than facing Africa with no money.”

Truer words have never been spoken.

Note: When I first drafted this post, one month into my trip, it was difficult for me to see beyond the amazing sights that I anticipated over the next several months. However, since riding the length of South America, and seeing some truly amazing places, I’ve come to realize that there is enough amazing in this world — even in your own backyard — to last more than a lifetime. If and when this trip ends, I believe there will still be amazing weekend trips to local places that I have yet to discover.

And that’s more than enough to keep me going.

I’ve had this fortune cookie slip of paper in my wallet for years. You can see why.

Ruta 3….Still!

March 4, 2016

This road truly seems to go on forever.

If you’ve ever driven through the King Ranch in South Texas, or up Highway 395 between Victorville, California and Ridgecrest, then you know the feeling of driving a long, straight two-lane road with nothing but desert scrub in either direction as far as the eye can see. Now, instead of that long, straight road going a hundred or even two hundred miles, imagine it going for 1,800 miles. In other words, if you left Raymondville, Texas (near the Mexican border) and drove north through the King Ranch, the scenery wouldn’t change until you got to, say, Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. That’s the same distance. With a few dots in the road along the way for towns, but for the most part, nothing and nobody. Yep, Argentina is a big country.

Thankfully there are occasional detours to places that are a little more interesting.

Rada Tilly. I camped here one night at the municipal campground a couple of blocks from the beach. Nice town.

Puerto Madryn. I spent a couple of nights at the Ruca Hue bungalows. Reasonably priced, with my own kitchen, good wifi, and walking distance to the main area of town and groceries. Always nice when the staff encourages you to park your bike as close as you want to your front door.

Playa Larallde on Peninsula Valdes. Thirty miles off of Ruta 3 heading east across the peninsula, then six miles down a gravel road (the last mile was actually just beach sand). I had the whole place to myself all day and night, with the exception of a few hours in the evening when a couple of fishermen showed up. It was so dark that night (just a sliver of moon) that I was amazed at the stars and the Milky Way in the sky. And for the first time I saw the Southern Cross.

Low tide. That big rock sticking out in the water is about 15 feet from the water to the top.

Nearing high tide. At high tide, the rock was completely submerged. Made it easy to figure out where to put my tent.

Only 771 more miles to Buenos Aires!

Tangled Up in Blue

March 6, 2016

Just south of Bahia Blanca the scenery finally begins to change. Things start looking greener. Trees appear. I spend the night on the coast in a public park called Balneario Maldonado. A nice older couple manage the campground, and it’s just me and a guy from Buenos Aires staying there.

In the morning I pack up late, taking my time. The weather is good — clear skies and temperatures in the upper 60s and low 70s — and my days are getting shorter, both in mileage and in daylight. Today is my last “long” day in South America: 245 miles to Azul.

South of Tres Arroyos I pass a couple on a Kawasaki KLR on the side of the road. They look like they are in need of help, so I turn around and ask. They are from Buenos Aires, and have been to Ushuaia and are headed home. It seems the KLR has stopped charging and died. He has a small set of home-made jumper cables, and I offer to try to jump the KLR from my XT250. We succeed in killing my battery as well, which is tiny and the KLR is really dead. Fortunately my bike push starts easily and I’m able to get it going again. No such luck for the KLR. I offer to give him (or her) a ride to the YPF service station 15km up the road in search of a new battery, but he insists on waiting for a car to stop that hopefully will be able to jump-start the KLR. They thank me profusely, but I feel bad as I ride away leaving them on the side of the road.

I pull into that YPF station several minutes later for fuel, and there are a half dozen other bikes there already. They are the Fuser biker club from Punta Alta (just north of Bahia Blanca), and are returning home from a weekend ride. They stand there bug-eyed while I discuss riding my 250 from Texas to Ushuaia and now to Buenos Aires. You can almost see the wheels turning. Most of them are on 250s, with a 400 and a 600 thrown in. Suddenly their world seems to be getting bigger. They can imagine traveling further on their 250s. We sit down and have lunch together in the fast food restaurant at the station, and, as usual, have a conversation in Spanish only. It’s getting easier, but can still be exhausting, probably for them as well, since I have to ask them to repeat several sentences.

Fuser Moto Club Punta Alta Argentina

After lunch and trading stickers, I head north and they head south. The landscape continues to get greener. Crops appear; corn, soybeans, sunflowers, olives.

Hard to see, but sunflowers as far as the eye can see.

These signs are randomly placed along the highway; not anywhere near the Malvinas (or Falklands) Islands. It seems Argentina wants to be sure to remind everybody who these islands belong to.

For seven months, I’ve been riding with a Sena bluetooth headset on the side of my helmet, but I haven’t used it once. I used it constantly in the States, but in Mexico, Central America, and especially Peru, I didn’t want any distractions taking my attention away from the other drivers. Now, on Ruta 3, I finally feel comfortable that I can listen to music in my helmet again. It seems appropriate to listen to Gotan Project as I make my last days towards Buenos Aires.

As I pull into the campground in Azul, I am approached immediately by a gentleman in a new motorhome. He invites me over for a maté (tea), and wants to discuss travel. Hector and Olinda are from Buenos Aires and have just purchased their motorhome. They are clearly excited about traveling.

Hector and Oly and their new motorhome.

“Oly” wants to take it to Central America and Mexico. We have a spirited conversation about getting the motorhome around the Darien Gap to Panama, and she begins to make a list of places to see in each country, asking questions about my route. They are not computer-literate, so I pull out my Michelin World Map that I have traced my route on with a black Sharpie, and we talk about where I’ve been, and why I chose to go where I did (and didn’t) go. This couple speaks absolutely zero English. I spend a good two hours with them before I even get the tent off the bike. It’s fun, but at the same time, exhausting. Hector gives me a tour of the motorhome. I am actually amazed at how much space there is and how nice it is considering it’s built in a Mercedes Benz Sprinter. It has a bathroom, and double bed, a nice kitchen with a fold-down dinette, and lots of storage. I tell them that next time I’m doing this trip in their motorhome.

With all of the time spent talking with others, it’s been a long day. I finally get the tent pitched, and cook the last of my pasta for dinner.

And I had “Birthday Cake” for dessert…

My brother and sister-in-law sent me this awesome card for my birthday. I think they hit the nail on the head.

Two hundred and sixty miles left to Buenos Aires. I’ll take two more days to do it, just to make it easy.

Buenos Aires, Part One: The Bike

March 11, 2016

Before I could allow myself to do any serious sight-seeing in this city, I needed to get to work: I had a list of items to be done on the bike before taking it to the airport for it’s first flight.

First things first: get all the mud, dirt, and grime off so I can work on it. It’s nice to have car washes that will actually wash bikes too. These guys did a great job: they used degreaser, soap, and not too much pressure. Cost: about $7.

The Butterfly Effect: lots of white butterflies on Ruta 3 heading north. Many of them were kamikazes, turning my helmet into a sticky mess.

Meet Paolo. This guy is awesome. He runs Moto Avenida, a little one-man independent parts, accessory and service shop just around the corner from my apartment on Avenida Cordoba in Buenos Aires. I stopped in and asked him if he would let me use his shop to change my oil & filter and chain & sprockets. He gladly allowed me to use his space. I bought a few small items and my oil from him. As usual, not a word of English, but incredibly nice and helpful. I had to remove the swingarm to install the endless chain, but everything I did took about an hour and a half at his shop. Just coincidence that he was wearing a Yamaha t-shirt when I showed up.

Back at the apartment, I removed the fuel tank and swapped out the fuel pump and fuel filter. As noted earlier, there’s nothing wrong with the fuel pump, but unfortunately the in-tank fuel filter is part of the fuel pump and only comes as an assembly.

One of these things is not like the other: old fuel filter/pump on the left. Filter is just a wee bit black compared to the new one. I’ll clean it again and keep it as a spare just in case.

I also replaced the mirror that was broken when the bike was dropped off the worklift in Punta Arenas. I removed my GPS, its’ mounting dock and associated wiring for shipping, and installed a new air filter.

At this point, the bike is ready to ship. I’ll cover those details Tuesday when it goes to the shipper.

Buenos Aires, Part Two: The City

March 13, 2016

With the bike prepped and ready to deliver to the shipper on Tuesday, I have a few days to relax, wash gear, pack everything, and see the sights.

This is a very lively city, with tons of sidewalk cafes and beautiful parks. Today I walked about six miles in one direction, then caught a cab home at the end of my tour.

From the apartment, I walked to Plaza Serrano, a small park surrounded by bistros and sidewalk bars and cafes. Being Saturday, the park was covered with arts and crafts vendors selling their wares, while others continued to assemble more booths for Sunday’s large event. I stopped at a nearby cafe for a couple of empanadas and a smoothie, then continued walking northeast.

The trees and plants here are beautiful. The front of this cafe was covered in an enormous bougainvillea.

Palermo Buenos Aires

Saw this nice Triumph parked on the sidewalk while walking along.

My route took me past the Buenos Aires Zoo. Beautiful place…I might even go back and pay to go in. But for free, from the sidewalk, I saw flamingoes, giraffes, and hippos. For a moment I couldn’t help but think about the expense of shipping to and from Africa, versus walking past the zoo here and seeing the same animals.

Yeah, I know….I’m going to Africa.

Buenos Aires zoo flamingoes

Buenos Aires zoo giraffe

Past the zoo, I walked through several more large, shaded parks. In the corner of one, near Plaza Italia, is the Jardin Japones, or Japanese Garden.

Jardin Japones Buenos Aires

I found my ultimate dream job: I want to be the guy that changes the date every day on this rock calendar at the Japanese Gardens in Buenos Aires. The most stress he could possibly experience is leap year.

Eventually I made my way to the Cementerio del Recoleta. This huge cemetery in the middle of Buenos Aires is absolutely incredible. Well worth the price of admission, which by the way is nothing. Nada. Free.

Cementerio del Recoleta. Feels like a small city of buildings.

Cementerio del Recoleta

Evita’s resting place.

Eva Peron Cementerio del Recoleta

Next up was Calle Defensa, a street in the San Telmo district that is lined with flea market vendors on Sundays. Probably a kilometer of them. With a few side streets joining in with vendors as well. It ends at Plaza de Mayo, which is also filled with vendors.

Calle Defensa San Telmo Buenos Aires

Defensa Market San Telmo Buenos Aires

I ran into this guy with a Luckenbach Texas t-shirt.

Great street entertainment.

This guy was quite entertaining as well:

And great street food.

Reflections of the past

You can tour Buenos Aires in a stretch limo Citroen 2CV.

I saw this on the way back to the apartment. Not sure what it means…

Then back at the apartment, I was looking through a coffee table book on Banksy, the graffiti artist, and ran across this. Apparently there is quite a bit of copy-cat Banksy artwork in Buenos Aires. I’m guessing the overpass sign is one of them.

You Can’t Fix Stupid, But Fortunately You Can Find Ways Around It

March 16, 2016

Never let it be said that I am not capable of doing some really stupid stuff. Yesterday is just my latest shining example.

Yesterday (Tuesday) was supposed to be “shipping day”: the day I took the bike to the airport and delivered it to the shipper. I had a 10:30am appointment at the cargo terminal. It takes just under an hour to get to the airport from where I am staying in Palermo, and I needed to get just a little gas before heading that way so I wouldn’t run out (the bike is supposed to have less than two liters of fuel in it when it goes on the plane).

I made sure the bike was sorted, packed and ready to go the night before. Tuesday morning I left about 9am, and rode a block to the gas station where I bought exactly two liters of fuel, figuring I would burn about a liter on the way to the airport.

After getting fuel, I pushed the bike off to the side, out of the way, and pulled out my waterproof zip-lock pouch with all of my documents in it. I looked at the information from the shipping broker, DakarMotos, which had the GPS coordinates of the cargo area on it, and entered the coordinates into the Maps.Me app on my phone. The route came up, I slid the pouch into my tank bag, put my gloves on, and set off for the airport.

About two miles up the road, I stopped at a stoplight. A cab pulled up behind me, honking furiously. I looked back, and the cab driver was pointing behind him and yelling something at me, but with all of the traffic noise I couldn’t hear him. I assumed I must have run a red light or cut him off in traffic, so I simply waved at him and when the light turned green, I took off.

About a half mile later, I looked down and noticed my tank bag was open. And my document pouch was gone. Massive panic immediately took over. The pouch contained the original title to my bike, my Argentina temporary import certificate, my Argentina reciprocity fee document, the shipping paperwork for the bike, and a bunch of other stuff that I can’t even remember.

I spun an illegal U-turn in the middle of an eight lane busy avenue and started splitting lanes as fast as I could to get back to where the cab driver had been honking at me. I rode in the gutter, between cars, around trucks and buses. When I got back to the street where the cab driver waved me down, I rode slowly up and down the street all the way back to the gas station, several times, looking for my documents. I kept thinking someone would see me and yell at me, waving my documents. No such luck.

Dejected, I went back to the apartment, and set off on foot to walk the entire route. I spent another two hours walking both sides of the street, looking on cars, in windows of buildings, in trash cans, everywhere I could think, with no success. Eventually, I began to accept that my documents were gone, and I was stuck in Argentina. I wasn’t sure how long it would take to get a replacement title from the US, and a new temporary import document from the Argentina Customs offices, or if that was even possible. Fortunately, I had two pieces of good news: first, I had the original Texas registration for the bike in a different pouch at the apartment, and I thought I might be able to use it in lieu of the title at Customs. Second, Sandra and Javier at DakarMotos had photocopies of my temporary import certificate, which I hoped would make it easier to get a replacement original.

I contacted Sandra, and after a long discussion with the airport Customs officials, she suggested I file a report with the local police, and get an affidavit from them advising that I had lost the documents. So after a couple of hours at the police station, and the help of Sandra’s daughter-in-law acting as translator, I walked out with the affidavit.

Meanwhile, my brother in Texas was working on getting a certified copy of my title from the Texas DMV. I was somewhat shocked to learn that I could send him an email and he could take it to the DMV and they would give him a copy of my title. For all the difficulties I usually suffer at the DMV, this seemed way too easy. Perhaps they felt sorry for me? Nah, it’s still the DMV.

I went to bed with the bike still in the garage…it should have been on a plane or at least in the cargo area at the airport. I couldn’t help but think of all the things that had to be addressed now: besides documents, there was local logistics (I had to be out of the apartment by Friday morning, as new renters were moving in, and now I had two large roller bags with all my stuff packed in them that wouldn’t fit on the bike); travel logistics (I was going to miss my flight Thursday night, and I wouldn’t arrive in Cape Town when I was supposed to, so my hotel reservation needed to be changed or canceled); and bike logistics (what if I exceeded my time limit in Argentina waiting on documents? I had no document to allow me to exit the country with the bike and then return to start the clock over).

It’s amazing how quickly the stress level can rise after months of virtually no stress. Eventually I took a deep breath, sat down and made my “to do” list, and got to work.

Sandra and Javier are experts at shipping bikes into and out of Argentina, and I was not the first person they had dealt with who for one reason or another didn’t have a full set of documents. After exchanging a few texts, Sandra agreed (for a small “Stupidity Fee”) to meet me at the airport Wednesday morning with the remaining copies of my documents that she had, along with the registration and police affidavit that I had, to see if we could convince Customs to accept what we had and allow me to ship the bike.

After four hours, and another hand-written statement explaining what had happened, I was allowed to take the bike into the freight warehouse and put it on the pallet. Things were once again moving forward!

Before putting the bike on the pallet, I rolled it onto a freight scale. The fully loaded bike, with everything except my camping gear, weighs 174.5 kg, or 384 pounds. For reference, an unloaded BMW 1200GS weighs 260kg, or 573 pounds dry, and a stock KLR650 with no luggage weighs just more than my fully loaded bike, at 176 kg claimed dry weight.

Bike going onto the pallet…

It’s definitely getting real now. This is the first shipment for the bike with the exception of the Stahlratte; I’ve ridden it everywhere until now. It’s a lot farther to ride home from Africa than from Argentina.

And finally some good news: since my bike is considerably smaller than the typical 1200cc adventure bike, the shipping cost turned out to be 20% less than I was originally quoted. So even with the Stupidity Fee it turned out to be less than I had budgeted.

One more day in South America, then a very long flight to South Africa.

How To Turn A 4,300 Mile Trip Into 13,200 Miles

March 19, 2016

Buenos Aires, Argentina to Cape Town, South Africa. Direct, it’s a bit over four thousand miles. Not bad. That would be about eight hours on a plane. If there was a plane from Buenos Aires to Cape Town. But there isn’t. For me, or for the bike. South African Airways used to fly between these two cities, but no longer does. Which means that instead of eight hours to cover 4,300 miles, it now takes 37 hours and just over 13,000 miles to travel between South America and South Africa.

I left Buenos Aires at 9:30pm on Thursday night. Eighteen hours later (and seven hours of time zone changes), I landed in Dubai, UAE, at 10:30pm Friday night. I’ve traveled to Japan many times from the United States, but this was the first time I had been served dinner, breakfast, lunch, and dinner again on a flight.

I had a nine and a half hour layover in Dubai, and the airline provided me with a free hotel room near the airport to get some proper sleep before continuing on in the morning. I was a bit disappointed to be there only at night, and not get to experience this incredible city in the daylight. But I was also exhausted from being on a plane for so long, and was ready for a bed.

Arriving in Dubai Friday night.

The hotel apparently functions solely as a stopover for Emirates Airlines. When I checked in, they already knew my schedule, and had already set up a 5am wake-up call, and informed me that check-out was at 6am (how’s that for efficiency?). By 6:30am I was back at the airport and about to board my nine hour flight to Cape Town.

By the time I arrived in Cape Town Saturday afternoon, I had been served six meals and watched ten movies, including:

Star Wars: The Force Awakens
The Big Short
The Martian
A Walk in the Woods
Amy
Truth
The Program
The Legend of Barney Thompson
Trumbo
The Intern

You’ve probably never heard of more than half of these movies. I hadn’t either. But I have to say, they were all good. Some were good for helping me catch up on my sleep. Others, like Barney Thompson, were just plain strange.

As of this writing, the bike hasn’t left Buenos Aires yet. It will fly to London, then change planes and head to Cape Town, and should arrive here Tuesday afternoon. Meanwhile, I’m on foot (well, foot and a half, actually; my ankle swelled up tremendously from all of the plane time, but I’m still walking fairly well), so I plan to do some walking today, and head to the shopping area to acquire some things that I couldn’t fly with, such as gas canisters for my camp stove.

27 hours in economy coach seating is not good for the ankle.

The area I’m staying in reminds me a lot of Southern California, and in particular Orange County. The neighborhood, the weather, and the landscape looks and feels a lot like it.

Since I’m restricted to short distances for a few more days, I probably won’t post much until the bike arrives, unless something interesting happens between now and then. Otherwise, I plan to catch up on my reading and rest until then.

2 Ride The Globe

If Not Now, When?

Argentina