Estancia La Siberia
El Chalten - Estancia La Siberia: 135 miles
When you look at a map and trace Ruta 40 up and down, you hardly find anything on it. You could possibly ride on that gravel all day long and not have a witness (had it not been for the moto-traveler crowd!). After El Chalten, we had a long way to go until we got anywhere, and even the closest village was more than a day's ride away. Riding on this surface is nothing like riding on asphalt. Neither the size of the gravel, nor the depth of the grooves is consistent, so it demands full concentration at all times. Too fast is too risky, too slow too hard. Get caught on it when the winds feel like blowing hard, and you're in deep trouble. The only upside is that our top speed is always in check, and we get better than ever gas milage! Good thing, considering the abundance(!) of gas stations.
We enjoyed the paved road while it lasted, but after we filled up at Tres Lagos, some 210 miles from the next gas pump (which may not always have gas), 40 turned real ugly with sharp, deep grooves in very thick gravel. I was at the front, struggling very hard to keep her in line, and the rubber down. After several close calls I pulled over in sheer frustration and disbelief. The road was bad yes, but it wasn't that much worse than what I'd seen before up north, and luckily there wasn't even any wind. Moreover, casually tagging along behind me all the while, Cecilia didn't seem to be concerned, other than for me that is. After another shot at it, and another death scare, I pulled over again and did what a man does to cover his incompetence: blame the machine. But when I got a 50 psi reading at the rear tyre I was both appalled and relieved. After bringing it down to 25, she was a completely different bike. Shortly after, the road surface improved as well and all was dandy.
Turns out, when we swopped tyres around all the way back in El Calafate, I didn't bother checking what the guy put in there. No wonder I was all over the place on the way to Lago del Desierto, blaming the lack of luggage and enjoying the dirt-tracking antics.
So when we pulled into the estancia (cattle ranch) at the edge of Lago Cardiel and in the middle of nowhere to call it a day, we were absolutely certain that it would be a quiet evening.
- Simon! Damn, what are the chances? (Simon #2, not Viedma Simon)
And on cue, 3 more bikes pull in, lol!
Not only did 3 more bikes pull in, but one of the helmets was talking to me: "Sunny! It's Dan! Dan Peschio!" Hot Damn! The guy we were exchanging emails with when they stole the KLR he was preparing for his trip from Ashville to Argentina. This is where I run into him!? Surely, he too has a "Simon from UK" with him. Makes him Simon from UK #3. (I'm now wondering whether if Richard's middle name might also be Simon. And where is Richard anyway?) Hey Dan, does Mike also keep a journal?
So once again the beer started flowing, and for about $13 I had the worst food of my life. I think it was chicken bones mixed with rice and potatoes, and I honestly wondered whether if our food might have gotten mixed up with the dogs'. Luckily Dan proved to be talented in the kitchen and I didn't have to eat my chair.
Fast forward to next day, the cast got even bigger with the addition of a Jeep load of guys and gals, whom it turns out were friends of Simon (our Simon, not Dan's). All the way out here, it was really unexpected to come across a Land Rover with stickers of Anil Oto in Istanbul. (OK, so Jeep-load just sounded better ;)
After Dan & co. left heading south, we continued north unaware that within the next hour or so they would come across a motorcycle accident at that crappy section close to Tres Lagos.
Leo was injured and lacked any memory of the accident. We learned all this later from Dan whom had accompanied him in the ambulance to El Calafate. Luckily, he's all good now, but the same couldn't be said for his poor old Mariposa.
This woman can sleep like this for hours, honest.
Dan heading out.
Next : Bajo Caracoles
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