Ecuador to Argentina;  17th December - 1 January 2000

I had two weeks to get down to Ushuaia, in Tierra del Fuego, Argentina.  That was 5600 miles in 14 days: 400 miles a day without fail.  It didn't leave much time for looking around or mishaps.  The whole point of the trip was to make Ushuaia for New Year and the money was running out fast.  It was sad to think that I would miss out on many of the places I had so looked forward to seeing, namely Machu Pichu in Peru and the mountains of Bolivia.  They would have to wait for another trip, another time.

The ride through Ecuador down into Peru was a very mixed bag.  The mountains around Quito soon gave way to the Scottish Highlands, literally.  Complete with mist and heather.  Indian families would block the road every few miles or so, demanding money to clear a path.  I was either waved through or just rode over their blockades.   There are advantages to looking like Mad Max sometimes.  The road was pretty dreadful too; pock-marked with pot-holes, but the weather was fine and I just weaved my way, taking in the varying landscapes as they changed on my way south.  The very south of the county flattened out and the road took me through endless banana plantations.   I became very bored of banana palms a long way before they ended at the border with Peru.

Once in Peru the desert started.  On either side of the road the sand and scrub spreads out as far as the eye can see.  Perfect crescent shaped dunes, formed by the almost constant wind coming in from the coast, sit serenely on the scrub grass.   Every now and then there would appear a collection of mud and grass huts.  A huge sign would announce that they were government 'projects'.  What these unfortunate people do out there in the middle of the desert is a mystery, but it would appear that the government 'project' is to get the poor and uneducated as far away as possible.  I pulled into the coastal town of Trujillo.  I got chatting with Carlos who took me to a friend's hotel from where we then went to check out a national college surf competition.  The people were friendly and hospitable.  After the gloom's of Ecuador, my spirits were rising rapidly.  The desert south of Trujillo became even more Sahara like; huge dunes and shimmering horizons.  At times the sea was visible to the west, and the mountains rose to the east.  Small, poor towns would spring up around the mouths of rivers running down to the sea.  They were like small oasis, with striking green rice fields and sugar cane breaking the monotony of the sand.

The smell began after I left Trujillo and intensified on my way south.  Its source was Chimbote, 100 miles down the road.  I had found hell on earth.  The large town was heralded by a huge open rubbish dump, through which people rummaged for anything they could salvage to sell or use.  A dense, filthy smoke hung over and in the streets of the whole town.  It came from the fisheries and had me gagging at the stench.  How these people lived like this I couldn't fathom.  Maybe they were just used to the smell, but what a bore never being able to see more than a block or two.   Even the brightest sun couldn't penetrate this hideous fog.  The Pan-American highway through Peru is a beautiful road, but it ends at the beginning of any town and one can spend a good half hour wiggling through a maze of streets before rejoining it on the other side.  I jiggled around Chimbote at crazy speeds trying to make an escape.   Finally, a  few miles outside the town, I was able to stop and take huge breaths of clean sea air to clear my lungs of the odious smoke.

The further south I travelled, the more desolate the country became.  I loved the emptiness and the increasing harshness of the environment.  There were times where I actually felt unwelcome.  There was an aggressiveness about my surroundings, the sand having given way to iron-red rock, jagged and barren.  I was on one of the hostile planets so often featured in Star Trek.  The few people who chose to make this their home, living in roofless mud shacks must have to fight with their very lives to win anything from this unforgiving land.

I was relieved to make the crossing into Chile.  Despite the adventures of the unpredictable countries of Northern South America, it was a comfort to be in a country that works.  The last reminder of just how different things are in these strange and wonderful countries came at the border crossing from Peru into Chile.  On the Peruvian side I needed to get four stamps on some official document.  None of the officials could provide me with this document.  I finally learned that it could be purchased in a cafe close to the customs building.  I had to borrow 1 Sol to get it.   I had run out of cash and plastic doesn't wash in the desert of Peru, so it was a relief to be able to finally get a meal and some cash once I crossed into a modern, functional Chile.

The desert continued and I slept out in it, pulling off the road as it got dark.   I would throw my sleeping bag on a mat on the ground, write my journal and watch the stars until they blurred into sleep.  Some nights I would sleep better than others, usually dependant on how windy it was.  The wind hadn't really let up since I left Ecuador.  I had got used to riding at an angle of 45°, leaning towards the west from where the wind was drawn by the hot land.  It finally eased up as I turned inland, just north of Santiago.  I changed my tyres and chain and pressed on south, through Santiago in the blink of an eye, spending Christmas Eve camping by a river just north of the Lakes of southern Chile.  Chile's lake district, in the very south of the country, is where its true beauty lies.  The ride south of Santiago was not ugly, just rather dull; a poor imitation of central France.  The south is breathtakingly beautiful.  The people too:  One family I met heading south, seeing that I was alone,  asked me to spend Christmas with them.  How's that for festive spirit?   I thanked them, but moved on, crossing into Argentina on Christmas day.  I spent the night in Bariloche, with a hotel room looking over Lake Nahuel.  Imagine the Swiss mountains and lakes and you aren't far from Southern Argentina.  There is a large German influence in the south.  The people are blond and blue eyed and the country side is dotted with wooden chalets.  It is odd to be spoken to in Spanish is such an environment.

I cut across the country to the east coast, passing the oil fields with the praying mantises doing dumbbells, or at least that is what the pumps look like.  The wind   picked up again and it was quite a struggle to stay on the road, let alone the bike sometimes.  Once a gust blew me into the path of an oncoming car.  I don't know who was more shocked, him or me.  I stopped to check out the sea lions near the sleepy port of Puerto Julian.  I had never seen any before and watched, fascinated, for an hour or so.  It is marvellous to watch the contrast of their lumbering masses on the rocks to their graceful agility in the water.  Boy do they stink though.

I ran out of petrol for the first time on the trip.  I just forgot to fill up and ran out in the middle of nowhere.  Riding along, most of the cars or lorries I passed would hoot and wave.  Standing by the side of the road, jerry-can in hand and thumb raised, I was surprised at how many passed me.  Finally a lorry stopped and took me to Rio Gallegos where I filled up and hitched a lift back to the bike.  The whole deal took about three hours.  You'd think it pretty difficult to run out of petrol with a 45 litre tank, but I managed it. 

Once I crossed over onto Tierra del Fuego, Land of Fire, I met Andres on his bike and Gail and Erik on theirs.  We teamed up and spent the next two days riding to Ushuaia together.  Andres had ridden from New York, whereas Gail and Erik had put their bike on a plane from Oregon, USA to Santiago, Chile and ridden from there.  They have ridden various bikes all over the world, so this was just a small outing for them.   We roughed the couple of hundred miles of dirt road that took us to Ushuaia and enjoyed the hospitality of the kind people of southern Argentina on the way.  Ushuaia is the most southern town in the world.  It certainly isn't pretty, concentrating on fishing and, more recently, electronics.  The weather is often bleak and, rather like Alaska, one has to have a certain type of temperament to survive down there.

The arrival in Ushuaia was an emotional moment for me.  I had reached my goal, on time and in one piece.  What made it even more special was the greeting of the 40 or so other bikers from all over the world who had also made some massive trek or another to be there for New Year, just like me.  We all camped together in Tierra del Fuego National Park.  It was a beautiful spot by one of the many lakes and at the foot of the mountains and surrounded by forests.  We shared stories and hot wine late into the nights.  The Millennium party was huge and memorable.  A tango show by Argentina's leading dancer, followed by unforgettable fireworks and all night dancing.A perfect start to 2000. 

The trip was over, but I still had to ride the 2000 miles up to Buenos Aires from where I would head home to England.  Andres and I rode a lot of the way together and it was a nice way of slowly bringing the trip to a close.  I feel an enormous sense of achievement.  I travelled 21,000 miles, mainly alone.  I am proud that I managed to plan and execute a journey of this kind, without any major mishaps.  I kept within my limits and maintained a level head and an open mind.  I met like-minded people, and others totally different from myself and learnt a lot about myself and the world I live in.  A journey like this can only lead to more.  I hope you'll follow my next one.