GETTING WHAT I WISHED FOR...MONTREAL TO SANTIAGO COMPLETED!

   
Uspallata Argentina

to the final destination,

Santiago Chile

Listening to 

The Long and Winding Road

The Beatles

Montreal to Santiago. My longest and the windingest!

Last start to the last stop.
The clinging mist from the Valparaiso bay lingers damp and grey over the prelude to my final morning on the road. I tug at the zippers and velcro on my jacket in a vain attempt to find and trap any traces of elusive body heat. My helmet slides on and settles immediately into it's long accustomed position. The once firm inner liner, a victim of a hundred days of rain, dust, heat and sweat, is now a loose clammy mould of the skull pressed into it daily. I fasten the filthy strap, drag my dusty boot up over the piled luggage and panniers,  flip the stand, and settle onto the faded air seat. Yeh...it all feels so familiar...and all so right. My guts churn as the familiar daily surge of fresh adrenaline arrives ...yeh  what's gonna happen today. Hmm. Choke lever full, thumb the start button, kiyi kiyi kiyi ka dak dak duffata duffata duff duff duff and the KLR settles into a 1500rpm warm up. I scan the GPS to see what imaginative route it's mongrel little electronic brain has mapped out for me today and punch in appropriate changes. Mario the hostel owner hurries out all smiles and shakes my hand. He wishes me something unintelligible through my still expanding earplugs and heads over to unlock and slide back the gate. I pull on my now threadbare gloves, ease the clutch, and first gear bangs in with it's daily resounding clunk. Clutch out and the KLR lurches back under it's load and wobbles and rattles towards the gate. Same as it did on that first day in Montreal, same as it's done every day since. The one constant in months of ever changing landscape and weather. Hmm...Santiago...a hundred and thirty odd K's to go...maybe twoish hours...hmm Montreal...three and a half months ago...hmm...OK...
...best bang on the blue tooth, crank the music, and try not to think about how much I'm gonna miss this.

Back on the Rails

I've been off the rails

away from known tracks

choosing my own horizons

 just to see

but it's time to turn back

from unknown and uncommon

no matter cos I've been there

 and I've seen

Dean

Listening to   Get Free  The Vines

A great song from the Aussie garage band for setting off in the morning. Maybe be careful if you have a helmet on or risk a neck injury chucking your head around.
 Yeeeeh gotta get free...gotta get....

Up and over the border number fourteen to Valparaiso Chile.
I stay at a cheapy hostel in Uspallata called the Samadi for my last night in Argentina. It's OK  but pretty quiet and there seems to be only one other occupant. Clarence is a US resident from Montana and is building a house nearby. He's seventy four years old, looks fifty five and although he doesn't seem to be getting far on the house he strikes me as someone with far too much energy. He leaves his wife at home for four months every year and escapes the Montana winter to come down and work on his house. Hmm...still making plans at seventy four...maybe I will get time to get stuff done! I set off from Uspallata in perfect sunshine and the eighty K's to the border is a beautiful ride. I ease back on the speed and soak it all up. The road is bordered by towering mountains on both sides and I get a glimpse of the highest mountain in South America on my right half way along. It's a Sunday morning, the traffic is light, and any semi trailers are easily dispatched on the beautiful sweeping road. Before I reach the border I pass through a long tunnel under the mountains before popping out into crisp mountain air and bright sunshine. The border arrives too soon and there's about forty cars lined up before the checkpoint. It takes about an hour and half all up with the in out and out in paperwork only taking about thirty minutes.
The Chileans and the Argentinians have got their act together and all paperwork for both sides is taken care of in the same spot...wow...finally...the fourteenth and last border and it seems there's some sort of logic happening.
 The road down on the Chilean side drops about a thousand metres in a series of crazy hairpins designed to get vehicles down reasonably safely and quickly. It's big fun to ride with plenty of width to get around the multiple semis inching down on smoking brakes and screaming transmissions. Once again the temperature quickly rises as the altitude drops and I rip at velcro and zippers whilst trying not to think about what the rear tyre's up to on the diesel soaked hairpins. Halfway down I realise I haven't changed my Argentinian pesos for Chilean dollars...aaaah bummer... so back up I go and doing it twice really was twice the fun! Back on down into Chile and the landscape reveals a much greener softer landscape as opposed to Argentina's endless harsh red rock on the other side of the mountains. As I cross Chile on multiple almost perfect toll roads the wind from the southwest howls and gusts and blows me all over the road. I head to Valparaiso on the Chilean coast not really knowing what to expect and just wanting somewhere interesting to sleep. Aaaargh...I ride into a seriously heavily populated area all along the coast and crawl my way through traffic and multiple traffic lights. When I reach the Valparaiso area the back streets on the immediate hillsides away from the main highways are crazy, winding, slopey, narrow and roughly paved. It takes extreme care to avoid  getting cleaned up by marauding taxis or just plain falling off on the testing back street maze. I try several hostels in the late afternoon which don't even answer the door and I get the shits on after going round and round for an hour and a half. I work my way through the hostels on iOverlander and finally try the Hostal Miramar. I ring the bell and...no one home...aaaargh. As I remount to leave a Toyota Corolla pulls up and out jumps Mario. We shake hands and he unlocks the gate and takes me in to see the room. We climb a little spiral staircase at the back of his house and ...bloody hell...it's a fully contained little apartment that looks like a display home with views over the harbour out to sea and a full lockup for the KLR. Well, it's my last hope so whatever it costs I'll have do it. I open my wallet and motion for him to grab what he needs and he grabs $20000 Chilean dollars, about $41.00 au...bargain! Oh, and the next morning the best free breakfast in South America arrives, so I bust out another two $20000 notes and I'm here till Wednesday...done.
How often can you tell someone you paid twenty grand for one room for one night and it was a bargain!

The road from Uspallata to the border is beautiful.

Perfect weather, perfect road.

The road gets up to around three thousand metres with a bit of snow around on the peaks. Apparently in snow season  all cars must have snow chains or they are turned back at the border. 

The tunnel under the mountain before the border. 
My last tunnel and a beauty to go out on...or in?

With the weather so beautiful even lining up was OK. OMG...where did this all this patience come from?

Is there a more beautiful natural welcome than this?

Woo hoo, it's a show ride you can take with your own vehicle!
 Even better now my brakes are working!

 The view  from my room at the Miramar Hostel in Valparaiso. 
Best place I've stayed at on the whole trip. 

Valparaiso is a major naval port rich in maritime history.

 Lots of little boats and Chilean naval vessels are seen throughout
the harbour. On my first morning I watched a submarine slowly head out 
to sea in the morning mist from my window.

 It you sharpened up the end of that centre building you might
think you were in New York. 

The narrow streets have real character.

 Businesses and graffiti artists compete for signage space.

Bumper to bumper buses down on the main highway

along the water. With the crazy streets and traffic I'd

be on the bus if I lived here!

Yep seven hundred and thirty eight dollars for a litre.
Fortunately only about a dollar fifty five Aussie.

Listening to
Long as I can see the light
Creedence Clearwater Revival
Great words for travellers. Yep I've drifted a while but I've never
lost sight of the light and...I'll be coming home soon. 
If you haven't listened to Creedence for a while, dig out that scratchy greatest hits CD  from the bottom of the shoe box and turn it up. No toilet breaks though as there's no duds  from start to finish.

Seven days in Santiago
I'm sitting in the Casa Matte Hostel kitchen in Santiago feverishly pushing the reconnect button trying to hook into the ever elusive wifi. I've got seven days to get the bike and myself organised to ship home and it seems the paperwork and the bloody South American wifi are conspiring to keep me here. A couple of other guests, Allen from the USA and Kyle from Perth, are outside in the workshop completing a multitude of tasks on Kyle's tired KLR hoping to get it down the Carretera Austral and back. A battered early model KLR belonging to Eric lays in the front garden next to Allen's GS800 Adventure and my KLR is in the driveway awaiting shipment. Two guys have just arrived by air from the USA and are headed off in the morning south on a GS1200 and a DL650 which they have had stored here for the past six weeks.  Matt and Karin, the Dutch couple I met in Cusco riding GS650 BMWs, are crossing the border  today and should be here later and a young lad just rolled up on CRF190 Honda.  Tomorrow a tour group of fourteen Argentinian riders will arrive testing the hostel's parking space and bathroom facilities to the limit.
 What a cool place to end my trip. 
The hostel buzzes with a travel liturgy uniquely shared by long distance riders. Everyone here has made what would normally seem illogical life and financial sacrifices just to ride an often uncomfortable, sometimes unreliable or dangerous two wheeled machine, across big chunks of the world. Many have been away from home for months or even years. The hostel echoes with excited banter detailing and comparing tales from every crowded hour spent crossing the planet on two wheels. Each rider here has acquired a personal catalogue overfilled with tales of woe and win from their time on the road...hmm...
...that overstuffed personal catalogue of memories. Totally intangible, ridiculously expensive, time consuming and often risky to acquire...
...but locked in and yours for life! 
Bargain.

Last stop outside the Casa Matte Hostel for Rattles 
before being stuffed in a box and sent home. What can I say,
I'd have no problem hopping back on the KLR and riding
 back to Montreal tomorrow.

Kyle and Allen in the workshop at the Casa Matte...
....OK...the bead on the tyre won't pop...again...
...aaah yeh naah leave it till Monday.

Friends on the road. Karin and Matt from Holland. I wish them 

safe travels and best wishes for their wedding next year.

The much awaited meat dish photo...and yes I had some help eating it!

Argentinian invasion.
Whoa...I hope there's a ticket system for the toilets!

Nice of the Chileans to put on a band for the end of the trip.


 Parliament House Chile.


The centre of Santiago is a busy cross section of interconnecting 
malls which were super busy. Handcraft salespeople
set up blankets all over selling hats belts and jewellery which
add to the colour and ambiance of the shopping strip.  

The city centre is a clean pleasant place. Riding in there drove me
crazy though with multiple traffic lights and one way streets.

Perfect weather, everything orderly and clean...
Hmm...yawn.

I love this...this lady selling handcrafts must have 
done a Tafe marketing course on where to find cashed
up customers.

Three roses left and it's only lunch time..
....love must be in the air...or there's a rose shortage...

Aaargh traffic worse than home...yep time to go...

No longer rattled about Rattles
Aaah my mechanical mate Rattles the KLR650. When I first bought the KLR man and machine just did not gel. I found a myriad of minor problems with it and it was a subject of much discontent before and at the start of the trip. Much of it was my fault for the late purchase and commitment to a new and untried machine. KLRs have a ironclad reputation worldwide as a reliable machine for the budget traveller and indeed I have seen many of them on the road on this trip. Rattles earned it's name for the mechanical racket it makes under load... aaargh what is that bloody noise? I adjusted everything adjustable, listened and analysed it endlessly, swore it was knackered, never rode without earplugs, and waited in vain for it to blow up. When I met KLR mounted Chris at the Mexico Guatemala border the first thing I heard as he accelerated up to the border was the same racket...huh...they all do it? And so it is...and so they do...but I still wear my earplugs. Consider this, it had an electrical hiccup after a deluge in Mexico, the dash fell off after all the screws vibrated out somewhere in Colombia, I've changed the oil five times, put a spark plug in it at twenty thousand, fitted two rear tyres and that's it, for the whole trip. It runs happily enough on any fuel, fires up perfectly every day regardless of rain, shine or altitude and uses around half a litre of oil between changes. It's contented duffing always makes me smile while I'm screwing in my earplugs and strapping on my helmet...yep  a new day about to unfold and the team's ready to go. It sits comfy on just over 100kph at any altitude, gets twenty to the litre on a good day at low altitude and fifteen on a bad day in the wind or high in the mountains. It's arse clenchingly scary in gravel or sand and  a wobbly hoot on twisty pavement. Just an unassuming mate that asks for little and never stops giving. 

Jack of all trades and a trusted mechanical mate. Rattles gets hoisted aboard
the Stahlratte for a cruise across the Caribbean to Cartagena Colombia. 


Original Speedo reading in Montreal.


The last reading in the driveway of the Casa Hostel in Santiago.

Would I take a KLR again if I had the choice?
In a heartbeat...
...it proved me wrong and I'm happy with that!

Listening to
It's a long way there
Little River Band
The theme song for my first blog. Listening to it will 
forever take me from wherever I may be and drop me in Mongolia,
 Ecuador, Tajikistan, maybe in a thunderstorm on the Trans Siberian,
 or even cruising the sunny route 40 in Argentina...
One of the most successful Aussie bands internationally and almost forgotten.
Eight minutes thirty seven seconds well spent.

 My responsible half.
Marianne and I have been married for thirty six years. When we stood opposite each other on that sweltering hot day in 1981, her looking stunning and me in a big lapelled  Peter Shearer rental suit, I'm pretty sure she didn't agree to take an irresponsible optimistic money wasting dreamer for not much better and lots of worse! So how lucky am I. During the trip we face time regularly when the WiFi is working or I try to ring to say I'm OK when it's not. I get to hear about the latest news concerning the family, grand kids and household, and she gets to patiently listen to the latest tales of crashing, earthquakes, sailing ships, food poisoning, dodging death on wet roads, sitting atop cold mountains, trying and failing not to blow savings, sleeping in strange beds, crossing borders, not eating properly etc.
 Uuum...I've never had to apologise for being me in thirty six years so how lucky am I.
Thanks Doll.

Marianne performing Grandma duties with my grandson Jack.
I might have to wear a nappy and dribble a bit (more?) just to get
attention when I get home!

Final Reality Check No.17
When I was a kid my older brother Ken had a cartoon book by Australian cartoonist and political satirist Bruce Petty. My favourite cartoon and enduring memory from it depicts a sedentary suburbanite suddenly yelling from his TV chair "oh life where is thy sting". (A parody of "oh death where is thy sting" from the bible) I still think it's hilarious and for me finding life's "thy sting" often gets me in the shit and always keeps me poor. Yep...here I am again, punching away on the lap top at the end of another odyssey, nursing a beaten up body, beaten up bike, beaten up bank balance, no holidays forever, and a wife using the words 'last time'  on a regular basis. Hmm...honestly...fifty percent of the time on these trips could be regarded as crap and hardship. I've eaten dinner alone over ninety times, slept in almost as many different beds, been sick about three times, fallen off three times, two of which were hard ones, made a bit of a mess of the bike, spent every tiring minute of every waking hour organising the next minute, been saturated with rain for around sixty percent of days on the road, spent more on freight for the bike than it's worth, actually looked death in the eye at least twice on the road and erm, developed an itch I can't get rid of...but...really...every tiny crappy moment, every second, was still a moment when I'd jumped off the rails of everyday life...and out of that sedentary TV chair. Toss in riding the St Lawrence River, the Blue Ridge Parkway, Deals Gap and seeing the total eclipse, looking up at the mighty  Saturn V rocket engines in Huntsville, dodging hurricanes, getting shaken up by an earthquake and dodging teargas in Mexico,  jumping borders through Central America, sailing the Caribbean on the Stahlratte, dodging trucks in the Colombian mountains, riding canyons mountains and mud through Ecuador and Peru, climbing around Machu Picchu, scooting round Lake Titicaca before grinding my way through Bolivia to Uyuni, plus the open spaces and friendliness of Argentina and Chile, meeting great people on the road and a million other memories...and...well...
...there's life's thy sting right there!  

Last listening to
Wide Open Road
The Triffids
It's Aussie, it's 80s, it's a great road song, and you'll never hear it on radio. Fire up the WB ute, put a water bag on the bull bar, push in the cassette
and hit the wide open road.


 Life is for living...
it doesn't come to you...you've got to go to it! 

 Many thanks to all the people that have taken the time to read my blog. It's a lot of work, fun, and pretty scary to bare your soul and bang out a weekly report.  It's always a gut wrenching moment when I first push the publish button and think oh oh,  anyone can read this, what if it's shit...followed by "ah what the hell who really cares!" If you've managed to make a comment give yourself a pat on the back as apparently the process is not easy and I thank you deeply. My blogging days are over but I look forward to reading and commenting about your stories...what stories? 
Well go to it!