I. The Beginning
The journey began with the difficult decision to switch motorcycles: to stop using an XT 600E and travel with a recently launched motorcycle, therefore little known by motorcyclists, smaller, less powerful, and not as robust, the XTZ 250 Lander. This decision was due to some problems encountered on the 2006 trip with the XT, such as range, where I almost ran out of fuel twice on the road, the weight of the motorcycle for riding many kilometers on gravel roads, the age of the equipment, among other factors.
Once the decision was made, which would later prove to be correct, the next step was to adapt the new motorcycle for the heavy work of the long journey. So, I took some short trips to familiarize myself and observe the points that needed changing, which were: despite its economy, it needed more range, efficient aerodynamic protection, a transmission lubricator, a harder tire, more geared for asphalt, luggage rack, support for side panniers, and all this without significantly altering the total weight of the motorcycle, as its total load capacity did not exceed 170 kg. Thus, it was done step by step until it was ready.
We started organizing the luggage about a month beforehand. While packing, I had to leave a lot of things behind, due to the weight factor. So we planned to leave on the first day of the new year, chosen strategically, because the first leg of the trip included BR 116 towards Minas Gerais, which is very busy with heavy truck traffic, and since most drivers would be resting with their families on this day, the road would be quieter. Bingo!!! With many people still sleeping due to New Year's Eve hangovers, we left at 8 AM, accompanied by two members of the motorcycle group, Moisés and Deraldo, to the city of Santo Estevão.
The road was calm, with very little traffic, so we continued until Minas. However, I noticed something was wrong with the motorcycle. At cruising speed, it wobbled a lot, as if a wheel was misaligned. I checked the wheels and nothing, then I realized something was wrong with the rear brake. I found a warped disc, “What the f…!!” I thought. In the middle of a long holiday, where would I solve this problem? Even so, we rode 700 km that day. The next day, a Friday, I stopped at a workshop to see what to do, and the mechanic was emphatic: “it needs to be replaced.” The problem was: Where?!! We stopped in T. Otoni, dealership closed?! We continued to G. Valadares and tried to solve it there. They took it to a machinist, and tried to reduce the warping; they succeeded, but it still remained a little, enough to make me worried. The cause of this warping was the replacement of the original tire with a harder one by a tire shop, which carelessly must have placed the disc on the ground to change it, and the result: almost an entire afternoon spent at the workshop waiting to solve the problem, which wasn’t solved. The machinist was the alternative found because what I already feared happened: brake discs are not stock items, meaning there were none to replace.
We continued for a few more kilometers in an attempt to minimize the time loss caused by the stop at the workshop (4 hours). Then another unforeseen event occurred: heavy rain started early in the evening, forcing us to stop at the first hotel that had a vacancy (!!!), that’s right... a vacancy to sleep, they were all full, and around 9 PM, with heavy rain, we entered the city of Nova Era, where we found a vacancy. In the morning, we hit the road with cloudy weather. We passed through Belo Horizonte, where some rain showers began. We entered Fernão Dias, with rain, and then heavy rain, followed by a storm until Pouso Alegre. We passed through a beautiful region, the south of Minas, already praised on other trips. We arrived in Piracicaba-SP, already at night. The only thing noteworthy was the absurd price they charged at the hotel.
The next day, under the rain, we continued through Botucatu to Castelo Branco, to exit in Ourinhos-SP and enter Paraná, spending the night in Mamborê. In the morning, we rode the almost 300 km remaining to Foz, for a service, to sleep, and to enter Argentina the next day. During the service, they gave the motorcycle a treatment that made it new, and most importantly: they replaced the brake disc that was still warped, catching on the pad. For this, they took one from a Lander X that was still in its box. I arranged the green card and everything else that was missing; ready, let’s go to the second part of the trip.
II. Gringos!
Entering another country is always a mixture of sensations like: euphoria, fear, anxiety, accomplishment, etc. All thoughts cross your mind at the same time… like: “With so many unforeseen events, wouldn’t it be better to go back?” Then another comes “I’ve come this far, now I’ll go on!!”…”Can this motorcycle really handle it? The engine is robust, I don’t have to worry!!!…what if I have an accident, who will help me? What if the motorcycle breaks down in a place where there’s no help? What if I can’t fix it?”… and many others. As if it were an angel and a devil, fighting in your subconscious, nothing more than reason and emotion battling inside you, where instincts emerge and your mind becomes sharp, we feel like an animal crossing unknown territory, being watched and cornered, even in open country, that’s pretty much it.
Then this feeling passes, and we feel more relaxed and at ease. The many kilometers of the far north of Argentina pass by, with intense heat, until we reach Paso de los Libres. Expensive accommodation, compensated by a good night’s sleep, back on the road again, we approached the Concordia region.
When I spotted a traffic police checkpoint, we were stopped. They asked for all my documents. At that moment, I sensed something was wrong in the air, especially when they asked for a first-aid kit, which I promptly presented, “fire extinguisher?”… I felt robbed at that point… I pretended not to understand, and then the police officer went crazy. He tried to explain with mimes, gestures, he just stopped short of drawing it on paper, until he remembered he had it written in Portuguese and showed me. When I said I didn’t have one, he smiled and said, “I have to impound your motorcycle, issue a fine, which must be paid here and now, for $1,100.00 pesos!!!” (I thought: he’s only not a bigger thief because he’s alone!! Not to mention the curses I can’t write here!!!). I kept calm and immediately said I couldn’t pay because I didn’t have cash, only a credit card… “do you have a card machine?” I took the opportunity to have some fun with the situation, as it was more favorable for them.
So, there were two official motorcycles stopped at the checkpoint. As a result, I became curious to see if they had one on theirs; I knew they wouldn’t, but… Bingo again! Then I made my move…”Show me your motorcycle’s fire extinguisher so I can see what it looks like, after all, I don’t know.” The guy changed color, and in a tremendous bind, he started to stammer and try to explain with one lame excuse after another, “and that the equipment was in the patrol car,” and so on, and he got all flustered; in short, I caught him off guard. But I know that if I decided to push it, he would invent some other way to screw me over, and the way out was to negotiate. They lowered the fine to “a meager” $800.00 pesos, $400.00, $200.00; it turned into a reverse auction; I offered $10.00; $20.00; until it reached $50.00 pesos, which, to my bad luck, I didn’t have any banknotes of that value. Giving a $100.00 and asking for change, no way, so I had to leave the change too.
After this episode, I understood why they charge us for the “fire extinguisher”; it must be to extinguish the flames of the many outrageous curses that come out like fire from our mouths, after being brazenly extorted without a chance to defend ourselves. So I continued very angry, and turning my face away every time we approached another checkpoint or police control, so as not to be stopped again.
From then on, there were not many new developments until we reached Navarro to spend the night. The observations refer to the long straight roads, intense heat, and the day starts to get longer. In the morning, we continued south until we reached Ruta 03, the main highway connecting Buenos Aires to the far south of the country. We passed through Bahía Blanca, where shortly after we were stopped by a sanitary inspection, which made us unpack all our luggage. After this inconvenience, we headed towards the interchange that would take us to the city of Viedma, under a cold wind that began to bother us, perhaps because it was past 9 PM. We stayed in a very simple and expensive guesthouse run by two elderly women in Mayor Buratovich.
III. First sensations of Patagonia
We woke up on the road with winds sometimes strong, sometimes gentle, until Viedma, where we headed west to a small town with a fitting name, San Antonio Oeste. A stretch of about 180 km with infernal heat, typical of desert regions. Since I didn’t have a thermometer, I estimate it was around 45°C, a heat I had only seen before in 2006 on Ruta 07, a little before Mendoza.
We stopped at a gas station at the city entrance. We rested a bit, drank a lot of water. When I tried to start the motorcycle to go to the pump to refuel, the engine wouldn’t start. I insisted, but it didn’t start. Now what? The motorcycle broke down! I immediately thought of the fuel pump, which was probably burnt out. I kept calm as much as I could, opened the fuse box, checked all of them, and nothing. I started to consider the possibility of the trip ending right there. In Argentina, this model doesn’t exist, so the solution would probably be to replace the part, which would have to come from Brazil, and… honestly, I didn’t know what to do. I just started preparing my companion for the possibility of flying back, etc. About 3 hours passed in this anguish, when I decided to try one more time and… it worked!!!
We mounted, I went to the city center to visit a workshop to investigate what had happened. I suspected overheating. But a police barrier was preventing entry to the city for some reason, they were telling everyone to head south, and since I hadn't even refueled, I asked where the next gas station would be, which was indicated 40 km ahead. I complied with the orders, but I confess I was quite worried, what if the problem occurred again in the middle of “nowhere”? I went to a gas station in the middle of a deserted area, far from everything. I hesitated a bit to turn off the motorcycle and refuel…”What if it didn’t start?” I refueled, and when I turned the key, everything was fine (phew!). We continued to Puerto Madryn where we spent the night in a very cozy “apartment.”
The next day, recovered from the scare, we continued south on Ruta 03. We passed through Trelew, then almost 400 km to Comodoro Rivadavia, where winds began that seemed intent on knocking the motorcycle over, at all costs, making the 70 km to Caleta Olivia a torment. I had to hide in the slipstream of a tanker truck to manage the motorcycle. After Caleta Olivia, there were some winds, which gradually subsided until they almost completely disappeared. We arrived in Fitz Roy to spend the night, and stayed in some “cabañas” that belonged to the city’s police chief, with the result that he charged whatever price he wanted. As it was very cold, we didn’t argue, nor did we think of continuing to the next city, because it was 200 km further south, and in that temperature, it wouldn’t be intelligent to continue at night. We woke up early, but it was still quite cold, we waited a few hours to continue with a pleasant temperature for another stretch of about 600 km to Rio Gallegos, 55 km from the border with Chile. Even leaving later, we arrived in daylight and without experiencing the strongest cold, when it gets dark there, at 10 PM!!!
When we arrived, we made friends with the owner of the grocery store next to the hotel, Roberto Carlos, who confessed to being in love with Brazil; with a name like that and caught watching Raul Gil, what did he expect?
IV. The Cold
In the morning, the temperature was pleasant, about 17°C. We refueled, then set off to face about 600 km with four customs offices, a ferry, 110 km of gravel, winds up to 80 km/h, and intense cold. The first 55 km to “Paso Internacional Austral” were calm, without strong winds or unforeseen events. We arrived at the vehicle queue, enormous, by the way, we pulled over and met again a Swiss couple, who were also on their way to Ushuaia, but on a BMW 1200GS Adventure. We went to do the paperwork and found a single, endless queue that was outside the building. After a lot of patience and about two hours to clear a visa, which would be reactivated on the same day a few hours later at the San Sebastian customs, we went to the next customs, the Chilean one. So the couple decided to come with us, so I rode slowly so as not to leave them behind (… :).
We arrived at the “transbordador” (ferry) of the Strait of Magellan for a quick crossing. After more than 7,000 km on asphalt, we reached the gravel, which sometimes gave me some scares, but which was generally in reasonable condition. So, we went slowly for 110 km. In the middle of this stretch, we encountered a rather “different” traffic jam: sheep!! We passed through them, and soon after, Simon spotted some acquaintances and braked hard in front of me, with a detail: his motorcycle has ABS, result: I collided with the back of his motorcycle, no major problems, it was just a fall. I even joked about the situation by telling him “my ABS failed!! Much laughter and everything was fine. He tried to turn around, then the motorcycle leaned to the side… down. He hurt his companion’s leg a little, nothing serious. We lifted the motorcycle, checked Helen, everything in order.
We continued to the two customs offices in San Sebastian and back to asphalt for another 300 km. As it was already 6 PM, and intensely cold, we thought about staying in the city of Rio Grande and continuing the next day. We went with the couple there, where we said goodbye, because he wanted to go “fast.” We put on our rain gear, and decided to brave the cold as far as we could go. On the way to the next city before Ushuaia, Tolhuin, I thought “We are on the twelfth day of the trip, just over 100 km from arriving, are we going to stay in the previous city because of 100 km???” We decided then to brave a little more cold and get there somehow that very day!!!
It was tough enduring the cold on our hands until Ushuaia, but I was rewarded when I arrived at the city entrance at 10:07 PM and photographed that welcome sign, a dream!! Then we returned to reality. Let’s look for accommodation for the night. The first option that came up was excessively expensive, but after facing 7,500 km, I couldn’t bear to ride any further looking for another place.
The next day, we looked for another cheaper option, which after a long search, we found one for half the price and less than half the comfort of the previous one, but since it was only for sleeping, it worked. We dropped off our luggage, then went out to enjoy the place and visit the main attraction: the Tierra del Fuego National Park. We paid $100.00 pesos at the entrance and went in to take photos, including at the famous sign of Lapataia Bay, the end of Ruta 03.
We returned to have the motorcycle serviced and then had dinner at the Swiss couple’s apart-hotel, who had invited us when they saw us in the park, for a typical dish (yum!!). Then we watched the sunset together at 10:15 PM, said our goodbyes, and returned to the hotel when it got dark at 11:00 PM!!!!! Impressive!
It was time to go back, very cold at the start. We returned by the same road, and right at the beginning, an unforeseen event: Cláudia had lost one of her gloves, and because of the cold, she was wearing three gloves, one inside the other, including one of mine. We went back to look until we found it. We continued with very cold weather, and now with increasingly strong winds. We reached the gravel again, but this time accompanied by gusts of wind up to 80 km/h. There were so many scares, there were situations where I had to stop so as not to go off the road. We saw some accidents due to the harsh conditions of the stretch, which made me apprehensive. The kilometers seemed to have gotten longer, giving the impression of greater distances, because I wanted to get out of that dangerous situation we were in right away.
Finally, we returned to the asphalt, yet the wind still bothered us a lot, because it was coming from the opposite direction with great force. I refueled in the Chilean town of Punta Delgada and headed west, with a headwind, sun in my line of sight, increasingly intense cold, night approaching. Under these conditions, I planned to sleep in the town of Gobernador Phillips, which was about 80 km ahead, at the junction that came from Punta Arenas.
When I arrived at the place, where was the town? That's when I didn't understand anything, according to the map, there should be one there. There was only a gas pump and the headquarters of a farm on the other side of the highway. We stopped at the gas station to ask where the town was, but there was no one to inform us, by that time it should already be closed. We crossed the road and stopped at the farm gate; we didn't see anyone, just a light on in the house. We went in and walked to the house, called, but no one appeared. Until a man looked at us from a distance and went back inside, I think scared by our presence. We insisted, as the cold was freezing me, especially my fingers, which stung painfully.
Then he appeared, a little suspicious. I didn't waste time and asked where the town was. To my surprise, he replied, "there's no town here." I was confused, as it was on the map, and now what? I was no longer physically able to ride about 50 km to Punta Arenas, I was worried about the possibility of hypothermia, and it was not for nothing; the farm's thermometer showed 6°C, with the wind the thermal sensation should be around zero degrees!!! The only way was to ask him to help us with any place to stay, which he promptly did. He invited us to his house, served us coffee with bread, and accommodated us in a trailer with a wood stove, which served as a support point for the farm workers, our five-star hotel on that freezing night.
V. The Charms of Patagonia
After experiencing the coldest weather of our lives in that extreme south of Chile, the true end of the world, in my opinion, we got up very early to follow Juan's instructions. He explained that the winds in that region only start to pick up after 9:00 AM on average, so early in the morning, they are gentle.
With that in mind, I jumped out of my cold bed at 5:40 AM to thank our savior, who starts his shift very early. It was still very cold, I think about 6 or 8°C, when I thanked him. Then, he invited us to have breakfast at his house with his father, as he was already leaving. We had a very hot coffee that helped combat the cold with his father and then continued after filling up at the only gas pump, which was, by the way, generator-powered.
We took Ruta 09 northwest under intense cold; the cloudy weather perhaps explained such a low temperature. Although the wind didn't affect the motorcycle's balance, it was bothersome due to the extremely low temperature. We caught up to a truck and I used it as a windbreak, which greatly improved the thermal sensation and allowed us to continue to Puerto Natales.
Since we arrived early, we were able to calmly look for a hotel until we found one with a good price, quite simple, but cozy, mainly due to the attentive service of the owner. We took the opportunity to rest, organize some things, check the conditions of the next kilometers, etc. The cold, an inseparable companion on this stretch of the trip, sometimes tightened, sometimes eased. In addition, strong winds relentlessly battered the city, and rain appeared and disappeared constantly. Since the weather conditions were not suitable for visiting the Torres del Paine National Park, we decided to go the next day if it was better. The weather here is unreliable.
We got up a little late this day due to the cold. After coffee, we got on the motorcycle, refueled, and headed to the park, where we would ride about 130 km of gravel. The weather was cloudy, but sometimes the sun appeared. Other times, cold rain showers made things difficult on some stretches of the park road, which had sections of gravel in good riding condition, others with potholes, washboards, pebbles on steeper climbs, and strong crosswinds that pushed the motorcycle off the road! Moments of extreme danger because I couldn't brake and was momentarily out of control, letting it stop only with engine braking, praying all the time not to fall!!!
But, despite all the risks, the landscape rewarded us with a spectacular show. As if nature was sending us a message saying that any sacrifice to admire it would be well rewarded, and indeed we were. Torres del Paine National Park shows all the enchanting power that Patagonia has. It helps us understand why two crazy people ride a small motorcycle full of trinkets for many days under extreme heat and cold just to admire, even for a few moments, a place that cannot be imagined even in our best dreams. If with photos we cannot translate well what we see, with words, forget about it!!!
Near the end of this day, the weather closed in and heavy rain covered all the park's attractions. So we sped up a bit more to get out of Chile soon. We arrived at the border along with our companion, the cold, of course! We went through the formalities under curious questions from customs agents, especially the Argentinians who were very cordial, showing that the episode in the north of the country is restricted to that region, as other travelers had already told me, that in the rest of Argentina we would not have problems with the police. We continued on the gravel in good riding conditions until we reached the beginning of the feared Ruta 40, which, according to the agents, was initially paved.
We arrived there, and with new asphalt, a carpet! Now we had two options: continue to El Calafate by a 92 km shortcut of gravel, or ride a little further to the city of Esperanza on asphalt, thus increasing the trip by about 100 km. The decision would be the least rational, that is, to go by gravel, if it were earlier, but since it was around 9:00 PM and it would soon get dark, we decided to spend the night in Esperanza. With the cold getting stronger and stronger, and favorable winds, we quickly arrived in the city. We spent the night with the sound of the wind whistling through the hotel's cracks, as the place is very windy, no exaggeration.
We continued west, against the wind, going up a mountain range that made our fingers stiff with cold. I stopped several times to warm my hands on the motorcycle engine, in a futile attempt to lessen their suffering from the low temperature. From the cold, I estimate it was about 8°C or less, due to the wind chill caused by the strong wind, which shook the motorcycle a lot while it was on its side stand, scaring me sometimes. Under these conditions, we started descending the mountain range, already close to El Calafate. We arrived in the city to refuel, eat something, study the map, and during this stop, we met a Brazilian on a KTM who was coming from Ruta 40 North and warned us of the terrible conditions we would face.
We went to visit Los Glaciares National Park, home to the greatest attraction of those parts: the Perito Moreno Glacier. It cost $120.00 pesos to enter, which would later be justified by the investments in infrastructure, with the paving of all the park's roads, which were previously gravel, and by the awe upon seeing the ice giant.
The Glacier is truly impressive! It is about 250 square kilometers of pure ice, with walls ranging from 60 to 80 meters high, amidst a stunning landscape. At times, huge pieces of ice break off, emitting a loud crack and plunging into the green waters of the lake, producing beautiful and violent waves. We took many photos, filmed, were enchanted, and then it was over... we had to return from that place that left us with such longing. We spent the night in El Calafate and mentally prepared ourselves to face the most feared stretch of the entire trip... Ruta 40!
VI. Agony on the gravel road
We left El Calafate with a full tank and a 5-liter reserve can. I had about 25 liters of fuel; there was no guarantee of finding a place to refuel with available fuel!!! That's right... there was a possibility of finding dry gas stations along the way, which could be a big problem, as the astronomical distances between cities would make any attempt to find gas in the next town unfeasible.
The first 30 km were asphalt until we reached the junction with Ruta 40, which, to our surprise, was paved for the initial 70 km. When the asphalt ended, we rode for 10 km on gravel and then returned to asphalt for a few more kilometers, about 20 perhaps, when the paved section definitively ended. From then on, it was gravel until we were sick of it; sometimes it allowed us to ride at 80 km/h, other times at less than 10 km/h. The great concern was damage to the motorcycle's chassis, which could be caused by the many washboards that shook the bike as if they were going to dismantle it. So, I was forced to ride more carefully than usual, and it didn't help to ride slow, or fast, or brake; there was no way to reduce the discomfort. That situation caused agony; I felt like I was in an unequal fight, as if the road was against me!
There were complicated situations with signage, as there are sections under paving (thankfully!!), there were no indicative signs at some intersections or forks, which forced me to make an instinctive decision that could get us into trouble if it was in the wrong direction, such as the risk of running out of gas in the middle of absolute nowhere, where a vehicle very rarely passed. So much so that, at an intersection that indicated a gas station, I kept looking for where the station was, and I kept riding and riding until I realized I had passed straight through that rare refueling point. Going back to look for it was out of the question; under those road conditions, there was no margin to afford that luxury.
Under these conditions, we rode about 290 km until we reached the junction for the town of Gobernador Gregores, 67 km from that point, where we would find a gas station, restaurant, water, etc. However, going there would add about 70 km of gravel road, because we would have to leave Ruta 40, so we were in doubt, stopped, thinking about what to do. It was a difficult decision because it involved a series of factors; the next town, Bajo Caracoles, was about 200 km ahead. I analyzed the fuel level I still had in the tank, even after riding so much, the darn thing still had about 10 liters!!! Claudia helped seal the deal; I put her in the situation: "We still have about half a tank, plus a 5-liter reserve canister; in the worst case, we can ride another 300 km, and the town is 200 km away, meaning we have a safety margin of over 100 km. Shall we face it and reduce these 70 km of gravel?…Let's go!!"
With the decision made, we continued. I confess that even with such a margin, I was apprehensive, "Will the bike really run up to 500 km without running out of gas?!! Did I not calculate wrong?" Now, it was too late, as I had said before, going back was not an option, the only way was forward. I kept doing and redoing the calculations all the time, worried about the distance without refueling, after all, I had left two refueling stops behind, and in a place like that, no one in their right mind would risk it this way. I didn't know what the average consumption was on that stretch, but I noticed that the bike was very fuel-efficient.
When hunger struck, we stopped at the side of the road, near a group of guanacos, who ran away startled. We had some food and water to relieve ourselves; there was nowhere to buy anything, so money has no value here, what matters is the planning of bringing provisions in your luggage. The other option is to be thirsty and hungry all day until you reach the city. As I ate that formidable lunch, I thought about how difficult life must be in that corner of the world. Everything far away, no infrastructure, bad roads, no hospitals, schools, fuel, hotels, nothing, absolutely nothing. The feeling of loneliness was great, but at the same time a peace of mind invaded my mind, no thieves, no pollution, no traffic jams, no noise, the only sound was the wind and that's it!!
We mounted the bike and pushed forward, always slowly, first, second, third, when possible, a fourth, then downshifted again, idling, until we spotted a mirage: a black line in the middle of the desert... "It's asphalt, Claudia?!!! Yeeeeeeeees...", she shouted back in euphoria, as if she had won a lottery prize. But, as everything here has its price, during the celebration, I felt stronger and stronger gusts of wind, until they became headwind squalls, which made me very concerned about fuel consumption, which would surely increase significantly and jeopardize all the calculations made earlier.
This stretch, to our misfortune/fortune, lasted 40 km, until we returned to another 120 km of gravel. In these kilometers, conditions changed so much that there were places where I found myself riding at 100 km/h, while in others, I rode at 5 km/h, and stopped, and rode a little more, feeling like I was dragging myself along the way. We passed a vehicle that had overturned, but the occupants were not seriously injured. The city of Bajo Caracoles seemed to get further away with each kilometer we rode, due to the precariousness of the pavement, which worsened as we approached the city because of the paving work. Sometimes I felt consoled, because I knew that on a possible new visit to the region, I might not find gravel anymore, as they are making an effort to pave it completely, meaning I would be part of the history of gravel, as one of the last to pass through it on the infamous Ruta 40.
VII. Wild West
Finally we arrived at the c… I mean, one of the most isolated places I’ve ever seen, Bajo Caracoles. The place is truly isolated, very reminiscent of an American Old West town. Everywhere you look, you only see desert. The town has no more than 10 houses, one gas pump and, believe it or not, two hotels. One of them is entirely made of recycled material, where we spent the night. In this hotel, we met two Italians and a retired English motorcyclist.
In the morning, I went to refuel, after all, I had ridden 500 km without refueling, so I was curious to know the motorcycle's range. The attendant, who happened to be the owner of the other hotel, took a long time to serve us, perhaps angry that we had stayed at his competitor's. But he came, somewhat reluctantly filled the tank with 18.2 liters of gasoline!!!!!!!!!!!! A record!!!! An average of 27.5 km per liter, with all that weight and under those circumstances, a very good number.
We resumed our ride on Ruta 40, accompanied by Richard on a 1000 cc BMW, vintage, for 128 km until the town of Perito Moreno. The first 75 km were gravel in terrible condition; it was psychological torture to feel the bike shaking as if it would break the frame in half. There were stretches where we rode at 80 km/h, but Richard wanted to ride at 80 the whole time, yet there were places where it was unfeasible to ride at that speed, so I stopped trying to keep up with his pace and adopted my more cautious one. We had already ridden so much without serious mechanical problems; I wasn't about to risk breaking the chassis now, as other travelers who had passed through here reported.
We returned to the asphalt, both celebrating, good asphalt all the way to the city. When we arrived, we paused for a refreshment at the gas station, a lot of conversation in English, which was good to brush up on mine, then we filled up the tank. During refueling, I took the opportunity to confirm the information I had been given about the next 120 km of gravel to the city of Rio Mayo, which were supposedly the worst of all Ruta 40. The attendant confirmed this information, adding a caveat about the terrible condition of the road. I immediately asked, "worse than the stretch we just passed?!", he replied emphatically, saying yes, much worse.
As I was already giving up on continuing on the gravel road to Bariloche, I knew it would only be another 120 km on it and then asphalt all the way, but riding on gravel is already not good, knowing that it would be the worst stretch to cross, this information only helped confirm the decision to change the original itinerary.
I'll never know if I made the right decision or not, but I preferred the safety of asphalt to the uncertainty of gravel. We cut across the country from west to east, with favorable wind and pleasant temperatures, arriving in Caleta Olivia, and then heading to Comodoro Rivadavia, under the already familiar crosswinds that tested our patience by shaking the motorcycle all the time. When we arrived, we looked for a hotel, an absurd rip-off in prices. Nevertheless, we stayed.
VIII. Now, the heat
The next morning, we continued north on Ruta 03, to the city of Sierra Grande, where we spent the night. We agreed to wake up very early, and ride as much as possible until midday, to take advantage of the milder temperature, already preventing what happened on the way there, when the motorcycle wouldn't start. We left at 7 AM with a pleasant temperature, and as we crossed the San Antonio Oeste region around 9 AM, we felt intense heat. That place seems like the devil's vacation spot... it's very hot; at 9 AM, it was already over 30°C!
We refueled and quickly left that place, to ride the little over 200 km to Rio Colorado. As we approached, I think the temperature increased by about 5°C every hour. We arrived in Rio Colorado around midday, about 40-something degrees Celsius in the shade! We had lunch, refueled, and looked for a place for a strategic stop. They recommended the municipal camping, an oasis.
We entered the place, paying $2.00 pesos, looking for shade to wait for the heatwave to pass. I had already ridden over 300 km to get there, so I was calm, I could stay until 4 PM resting before continuing the journey. Many baths and shade, but the heat didn't let up. Lots of water, soda (1.5 liters!), a bath, and nothing. What kind of heat is this?! I imagined how much we would be suffering if we continued riding?
Meanwhile, time passed and it was time to get back on the road. It was around 4:30 PM and the heat was still intense on the highway; imagine if we hadn't stopped? Until Bahía Blanca, we stopped many times during the 140 km. We bypassed the city, which has some complicated entrances and exits, until we found the road to Coronel Pringles, where we arrived at dusk.
When morning broke, we left with the intention of sleeping in Buenos Aires, or a little before. The distance information was contradictory; you would see a sign, ride about 10 km, and the next one would report a greater distance than the previous one. With this war of information, we reached Cañuelas, 60 km from Buenos Aires. Claudia insisted on the idea of touring the Argentine federal capital, with all those belongings hanging from the motorcycle, and I kept saying that it was not a good idea, that it would be very risky, that at the very least they would steal our luggage, the camera, etc.
IX. Exploitation
We left Cañuales heading towards Buenos Aires. Highway, tolled, where motorcycles pay every 10 km. We arrived in the capital without even noticing. I made the mistake of asking at the toll booth how to get to Buquebus, they almost kicked me in the butt, so many people were honking that I couldn't even hear the officer saying "get out!!". With such delicacy, I kept driving on the highway without guidance, until a sign appeared indicating Mar del Plata. I immediately realized I was leaving Buenos Aires via the expressway to the coast. I took the first return and when I got back on the highway, I ran into two police officers stopped on the side of the road on two TDM 900s! I stopped and asked how to get to Buquebus. They were very friendly (I just noticed that cheeky smile in the corner of their mouths that didn't bring back good memories!) and showed me the way. Should I have asked where the fire extinguisher was on their bikes? You know what, never mind, it's better.
We asked other police officers again (we were pushing our luck, I know, but it was the only way!) who guided us and we ended up there. Just in time for departure, we went through all the paperwork, but when it came time to pay, I almost fell backward at the price... $417.00 pesos. There was no other alternative but to go through the Concordia region again and... I've already told the rest of the story.
The Buquebus is first-world stuff, it even has a shopping mall with luxury goods for sale. The crossing to Colonia Del Sacramento was quick, about an hour. We disembarked and immediately exchanged all the foreign money we had on hand. Then, we drove towards Montevideo.
When we arrived in the Uruguayan capital, we didn't see anything interesting, just some old buildings, many industries. As we walked through the place, more precisely after the port area, we found interesting spots for a photo, resulting in beautiful images. We continued along the waterfront until we returned to the highway that would take us to Punta Del Este.
Upon arriving in the city, we immediately tried to find a place to stay, as it was already getting dark and we intended to stay there overnight. We asked some hotels for the price, then the receptionist started to say the price... 95, I thought great, the price is very good... then she completed... dollars! What? What an absurd price!! Converting to Brazilian Reais, we are talking about R$ 220.00 just for one night! In a simple hotel, a dive, better yet! I was horrified! In their money, it would be 2,200.00 Uruguayan pesos, a rip-off.
So we started looking for more affordable prices. We looked in another, I ran out before they picked my pocket, then another, and another, so many that I lost count, until we arrived at one that shamelessly charged me $32.00 dollars per person in a room that would be shared with 6 other strangers. I left there as quickly as possible thinking what a strange place, only thieves here, right?
We went to one that they told us was the cheapest in the region: $90.00 dollars! When I was already willing to risk it in another city, the receptionist asked, "how much do you have?" I thought, "that's it, he's called for business." All the money I have is $1,500.00 Uruguayan pesos, which would be about R$ 150.00 or a little over 60 dollars, which was already a lot. But, due to the late hour and the uncertainty of finding accommodation in another city, all we had left was to pay the price for the naivety of wanting to stay in a high-level tourist city, paying little, another lesson.
In the morning, completely broke, we continued with only enough money to refuel and reach Brazil via Chuí.
X. My Brazilian Brazil!
We are back in our beloved homeland. As there was no welcome committee at the border, we continued through Banhado do Taim, to the city of Pelotas. Then we drove to the metropolitan region of Porto Alegre and spent the night in the city of Esteio, in a motel, which was the cheapest option, after all, all the money had been left in Faca Del Leste... I mean... Punta Del Este.
From there we headed towards Curitiba via Serras Gaúchas (BR 116), on a sunny Sunday with quiet roads and fun curves. We spent the night 100 km before the capital of Paraná, in Mafra-SC. After a good night's sleep, I took the motorcycle for a service in the same city, which delayed our departure a bit. Soon after the service, we took the 116 again, but we didn't enter Curitiba, we went straight on Régis Bitencourt, to São Paulo, where we would meet Francisco.
Since we left Mafra at noon, it got dark before arriving in the capital of São Paulo, about 100 km before we passed through the most dangerous mountain range of Régis at night, with intense truck traffic, explaining why this stretch is so dangerous. When I arrived a little before the city, I called our friend to arrange a meeting place. We agreed at the exit of the ring road that led to Castelo Branco, at the toll booth. When I arrived at the agreed location, a small technical problem, there was no phone in the place and our cell phones were out of battery. How to notify him of our arrival? As we were stopped near a São Paulo police car, the police officer saw our agony trying to turn on the cell phone and cordially gave us a call, which helped us notify Francisco.
We arranged to meet further ahead, at the other toll plaza. We thanked police officer Wilson and headed to the other point. On the way, we took the wrong route and ended up on Marginal Tiête. At the first gas station, I stopped and called Francisco again, who finally found us. After settling in, we went to rest. We took the opportunity to rest all day in the capital, where we rode the subway through the center, to the commercial areas of the city, including General Osório, the Mecca for motorcyclists.
As our friend Gustavo was arriving from a trip from Australia, I took the opportunity to meet him again in Rio de Janeiro. We left São Paulo, in the rain, which increased in intensity and decreased throughout the Dutra route to Rio. We arrived in the capital of Rio de Janeiro with some apprehension. I didn't know the city's landmarks, and the signage was poor. Even so, we arrived in Copacabana, after missing the entrances a few times, but I made it.
Our reunion with Gustavo, after 5 years, was emotional and he introduced us to his great friends from Rio, Murilo and Débora, who welcomed us like two siblings. So much to talk about, photos to see, that it was impossible to say everything. We visited tourist spots in the city, such as the Copacabana subway, the Rio Sul shopping mall, Christ the Redeemer, the beaches of Ipanema and Copacabana. It was a day fully enjoyed.
XI. At home
