REENTERING CIVILISATION'S ALL TOO FAMILIAR ATMOSPHERE

Humahuaca Argentina

to 

Uspallata Argentina

Listening to

 Death Don't Have No Mercy

Johnny Green's Blues Cowboys and originally by blues legend Rev Gary Davis

A workmate gave me a CD by Johnny Green's Blues Cowboys a year or two back and viola, another avenue of music to learn and enjoy! If you've not investigated rockabilly, blues and country with an Aussie angle have a look at the Blues Cowboys doco  "The Lost Highway" on YouTube. Full of Aussie accents, blues and rockabilly earworms and country Australia. 
It's corny, it's dry, it's all Aussie and I love it! 

On a Roll.

Damn! I watch the toilet roll flip out of my hand and scoot away towards the door. My only roll and the mongrel has done  a runner. As it's slightly out of round from living in my panniers it stops just under the door about a couple of feet out of my reach. Are you f@#$ing kidding.  Hmm. Well, that's the profanity option out the way, now I need a plan.  The toilet bowl I'm on in the Salta Municipal Campground has no seat as usual and is rather low to the ground so I'm sitting in it rather than on it making it difficult for a dignified launch at the roll. I put aside any thoughts of collateral fallout from the previous  job at hand and make my move. A misjudgement involving distance, trousers and ankles during the full on frontal assault  sees the roll knocked slightly further out of sight attracting a personal vocal exclamation that would make a sailor blush. A peal of laughter and a shouted retort in Spanish from the other side of the heavily graffitied door and the roll comes spinning back under the door from what must have been a pretty good soccer pass. The centre totally unravels and smacks into the wall next to the bowl leaving a white paper highway from under the door to the wall . Hmm, bummer, well, do I roll it up or just grab what I need...
...aargh best get rolling...

...toilet paper can be your best friend 

out on the road!

Argentina

Twisters spin and hang across red dirt distance 

The road, unhindered by diversion, suffers surveillance through bug splattered vision

Never ending grey red blue ranges frame my right shoulder

 A long days ride sees them multiply not diminish

My body absorbs the heat and vibe of the engine 

I bend and work with the afternoon southerly

A hundred kph man machine unit 

Humming south down Argentina

Dean

 The Two Hundred Kilometre Fall Back Into Civilisation's Familiar Atmosphere.

It's Sunday morning in Humahuaca. The church bell sounds out it's almost mournful fifteen minute dong...hmm...every fifteen minutes but nothing extra on the hour...or maybe I've missed it again. It's a beautiful clear morning and as usual no one rises early in South America. I've got the spanners out taking off the KLR's handguards and handlebar weights to try and help ease it back out of the door of the Humahuaca Hostal without destroying anything. Even Nestor the hostel dog shoots me filthy looks as I interrupt his sleepin in the morning sun. George the hostal manager appears around 8.15 and we wiggle the KLR out into the street. I breakfast with him on coffee and rolls and he insists on accompanying me to the servo to make sure they don't dodge me on the fuel...huh? 
Oh yes he says, make sure the pump doesn't read a lot more fuel than you think you may have used...umm what the? 
I work my way out through the deserted dusty cobblestone streets back onto the highway, dial in a hundred K's and sit back and relax. I'm on my way to JuJu and then onto a recommended back road to Salta. The dry landscape transforms as I head south with each valley getting greener and more and more undergrowth on the side of the road. Although still a dry place I see crops for the first time in a long time.  The biggest transformation though is in the  general quality of housing and vehicles as I head south and as I pass by JuJu I could almost be amongst traffic in Australia. After JuJu I stay on highway nine which transforms into an almost perfect tiny road about a lane and half wide which cuts through the mountains for about sixty K's To Salta. It's extremely twisty and approaching vehicles squeeze past each other with one wheel off the road.  
 Weirdly though everybody is careful and courteous...huh...
...am I still in South America?
 Modern VWs and Fiats packed with families wave and give the thumbs up. The road is extremely damp and I back right off respecting the dubious parentage of my back tyre and to avoid becoming a bonnet ornament on a VW or Peugeot SUV on one of many blind hairpins. Its like riding through a lovely park and the when the road straightens out 20k from the city I stop in a small tourist town and chuck back my new favourite of multiple empanadas and a bottle of Fanta. Oddly I've dropped a couple of thousand metres in the morning and we're down to about 1200m for the first time since the coast in northern Peru. The KLR is happy slurping on oxygen rich air and is feeling almost sprightly. I have to readjust it's idle back down and hopefully she'll even give up her high altitude drinking problem and save me some pesos.

Towards Salta it greens up and highway nine is like a beautiful
green lane cutting through the hills to Salta.

Si si...cuatro empanadas and uno faaanta..si claro muy bien gracias.

Salta

 Salta is a town of about half a million people. As I pass through to the centre I have people in cars and on motorcycles asking me stuff at traffic lights, offering directions and seemingly just happy to have tourists and foreigners in town. I pass by sports fields, parks and crowded cafes with lines of parked modern cars.  Most of the streets are one way and easy to negotiate and I soon arrive at the centre. I'm a little at odds...it's almost a lot like home...there's even a mall like home. I do the hotel and hostel rounds and although I'm looking I'm not seeing...I'm so over them and they're pretty expensive. I spot the Municipal campground on iOverlander and after scanning the clouded sky I decide to camp for the first time since the USA. Fifty five Pesos and I'm in...bargain! I set up the tent on good grass where I'm told not to amongst the treddly riders and backpackers, remount the KLR and head to Maccas and splurge on calories. The next morning even the lack of toilet seats and the shower water coming out a hole in the wall where a shower fitting might have been doesn't damp my enthusiasm.
 Winner!

My entrant in green in the small tent competition in Municipal campground.
 I lost points due to all the others having two occupants...motorcycles not counted.

Rattles awaits my return from filling up on high octane tucker. Both rider and machine are now on the good gear and enjoying enhanced performance. I was encouraged by locals to park the bike in the mall. "Sure no problem it is only a moto"

How beautiful is this. Just around the corner from Salta mall.

Listening to  The Nosebleed Section  Hilltop Hoods
I was doing other life stuff when the rap thing was happening so don't have much of a handle on what's what. However every time I hear this I love it...and they're from South Australia, what's not to like! Honourable mention to another later Hilltop winner Cosby Sweater. Put em on , turn em up and dance about doing housework or washing the car or maybe while riding through South America or something...

On and Off the Tourist Trail.
One of the main things which bothers me about camping is the faffing about in the morning. By time you've pulled down your tiny cloth house, attempted to dry stuff out etc etc you could be a hundred K's down the road. Truth is, I finally have a little time up my sleeve...but I need some serious reeducation...and I just like getting going. I finally get theKLR pointed out of Salta and hit the road to the tourist town of Cafayate. The road passes through a truly stunning red rock canyon before flattening out onto a dry red plain that butts up to deep gray ranges with walled vineyards running next next to the road. From the moment you enter town it's tourist time with touts and clapperboards clamouring for your attention and multiple hotels and hostels to chose from. That night as I'm knocking back a cappuccino and some apple slice in a spotless modern patisserie (new name to enable bakeries to charge more) I notice they even have their own matching printed serviettes and china etc...what a contrast to four days ago in Bolivia! 

This is  a truly lovely ride on the way to Cafayate and is compared
 favourably on the web to some of the great canyons in the USA.

So far Argentina has mostly been a big dry quiet place...

...suits me fine!

There are bits in this canyon that I really should have stopped
at and taken more photos but I was just digging the ride.

 Looks a good place to camp and there are apparently
good hikes to waterfalls as well.

Oh dear it's tourist time...is that a strategically placed old car 
planted to enhance the charm of the town...or just an old fiat 
that's shit itself and waiting for the council to tow it?

As above!

Rattles gets in on the arty doorway competition.

Aaand back off the tourist trail.
I have a friend Nic who has travelled extensively in South America and sends me a few tips on where to have a look. I owe him a bottle when I get home. After I leave Cafayate I head down the famous route 40 and at Nic's suggestion then turn onto the 307 for an extremely odd day. The 307 crosses yet again back over the mountains towards the interior through a lovely little place called Tafi del Valle before emerging near Monteros. From there the plan is to motor south on the 38 all the way down to Catamarca. The steep narrow road up is paved all the way but rough as guts and rises from below a thousand metres to well up over three thousand. It's a cold lonely wild and windy ride over the top through absolute bare rugged mountain landscape. On the other side when I get to Tafi del Valle I find they've dug up the entire road into the town and it's a dust bowl in the high wind. I shun a visit and oddly the landscape on the way down the other side of the range turns lush green beside an ultra winding racetrack quality road. Just to spoil the fun there seems to be no land for pasture in the mountains and the local farmers run all their cows loose on the road amongst the traffic. Yep a lot of cows...Eeeek! The road then emerges near Monteros back down under a thousand metres and the temperature rises again accordingly. Back down on the flat I battle heavy highway traffic of  mostly trucks and godzillions of motos in the afternoon warmth. The road is straight dull and boring till I recross the ranges yet again before Catamarca. Oddly the traffic all disappears as I hammer south and I reach Catamarca in the heat of the late afternoon. Finding accommodation becomes a nightmare as there appears to be no hostels,  just a few pricey hotels and most of those are full or have no parking. The municipal camp ground is a horrible dust bowl and I'm thinking of heading out of town and sleeping by the road. I'm sweating my ass of in my bike gear and in desperation grab the worst flea pit hotel of the trip! That night I sleep on top of the bed covers under a blanket hoping the wobbling roof fan doesn't fall and carve me up! No printed serviettes or crockery at the Memel Hotel...although the grimy sheets had Memel hotel spray painted in black paint with a template or something in the extreme off chance someone might steal them!

Cafayate is a neat touristy place with wine tours etc etc. Nah sorry
really not me.

The turn off onto the 307. 

It's cold, it's high, it,s rough and the gale force wind wants me
into that gutter and over the side.

The lake just past Tafi del Valle. Photo only with the wind
howling and whipping up dust everywhere.

OK dad joke time...what do you do if a cow blocks your
way..."steer" around it of course!

The toilet and shower in the Memel hotel...
Hmm no button, no chain, no bucket, no rope,no lever...how do you flush this?

Hang on what's this grimy hole in the wall. Umm so I reach in,
pull up that piece of pipe and hold it up till the bowl's empty...
Then the wall fills up with water (eek) and in about half an hour I
reach back in and wiggle the float till it stops running...
...who thinks of this stuff?

A bunch of dads were lining up on their motos to pick up
 their kids from an event in the mall. 

Catamarca centre square at about seven thirty.

Interesting place Catamarca. The nearby mall was pumping till about
nine thirty full of families and kids. Most of the retail stuff is shut in the afternoon
and the blend of shops being open after workers and schools are finished
 seems to work better than the Australian system.

Listening to 
Sunday Bloody Sunday 
 U2
The first of U2  I ever saw were the recordings from a concert at  Red Rocks Amphitheatre in Colorado probably on Countdown or something. The energy in these clips made me a fan for life. A young band doing it from the heart. It's rough and it's proper watching a young Bono in sync with Edge and the band grinding out that fat grungy marching rhythm on Sunday Bloody Sunday.  A song depicting a grim incident in Irish history and using it depict the pointlessness of violence. Proper.

The Easyride to Jachal
I survive my night at the Memel hotel pretty well. Nothing has bitten me overnight, hot water appeared in the shower after a fifteen minute wait (which I'm sure would have even surprised the manager) and nothing is missing off the bike when I return to the garage. The sun is shining again as I negotiate my way through the one way streets out of town which completely bamboozles the GPS as usual.  I hit the long lonely road down to Patquia and then across the 150 highway to Jachal. It's another great day for a ride and after only seventy odd K's I top up at Patqhia as the next two fifty K's are pretty lonely with no fuel stations. This is one of the easiest and most relaxing days of the whole trip. Mostly dead straight perfect road, almost nil traffic all day with a fantastic twisty bit in the middle. Even the wind decides to get behind me all day. I even turn off the music and contemplate that old conundrum that always comes up on these trips...the more you see and know means the less you now know because you now know about stuff that you don't really know about...I won't expand on it but it it can keep you going round in circles for hours.  I've been preprogrammed now by most previous South American countries not to expect too much from small towns  which can be hard work finding accommodation and food. But Argentina again delivers with the town of Jachal being a lovely smallish town that delivers on all western levels. I need wifi bad as of course the Memel in Catamarca didn't have it and I need to touch base with the bike shipper and Marianne regarding how I'm gonna get home. I find the Hotel San Martin in a back street, stump up 550 Pesos (yes the prices are rising) and hook into the wifi for some urgent arranging. 

Si Gracias  and Per favore don't forget to take all of my money.
...seems my  fuel tank holds more than any other KLR on earth!

This is so like Australia. It's good just kicking back and dreaming
without worryng about pesky corners.

I think these are Guanacos.  They ran off when I first stopped but the
soothing duff duff duff of the KLR (four stroke white noise) lured
them back out. I wonder if David Attenborough has a KLR?

About now I was a bit bored with the road. Five minutes later I was
into serious twisties and a series of tunnels.

Aaargh I just stopped five minutes ago and now this appears. Deep
breath Deano you have time.

Argentina so far has been so dry...seems I've finally expended  my
 rain bringing prowess! 

When I'm writhing about holding my chest waiting for the ambulance
to arrive I'll try to caste my mind back to just how good the "Big Pancho"
and Coke was for only 55 Pesos in Jachal!
Update...the famous big Pancho seems to the victim of a price war
and seen as little as 45 Pesos including gaseous (soft drink) in Mendoza!

This is the line up for the bank. It's like this in every town I go through.
Sorry no explanation...gotta find out!
Update...I stood in the ATM line at the Mendoza bus station and had a hand 
signal conversation with a  lovely Argentinian lady while waiting. I'm pretty sure
 that the reason for the lines is simply because so many places in Argentina
 still only accept cash...and what pain in the bum it is!

What the hell? The Argentinians took the 1960 falcon
and kept building it them from 1962 till 1991! Unfortunately the
 svelte 1960's body copped a 1980's grill and square tail lights to frankly 
look ridiculous.

Highway 52 scores for Argentina!
After leaving Jachal I idle down route 40 to San Juan and Mendoza. I stay in a backpacker hostel one night and a ratty hotel the next. Both cities seem clean and safe and exude a certain buzz that seems to have been sanitized out of Aussie towns and cities. The mechanicals of life are all there to be seen instead of hidden and there's a laid back can do attitude Australia might want to revisit.  If Australia sunk under the sea tomorrow and I had to live somewhere else I'd reckon I'd give Argentina a run. For all that I'm here to see stuff and nothing in the last couple of days has really popped my cork. For days I've been channeling south on dead straight roads looking over at the mountains to my right thinking yep, Chile's over there somewhere. I leave Mendoza after knocking over yet another shocker of a free breakfast...free breakfast in Argentina is a cup of coffee and two small bread rolls...sometimes with jam and butter if you're lucky. Best keep a banana and a bottle of orange juice in the pannier if you're gonna make lunchtime. I'm trying a backroad , the 52, to the town of Uspallata. Uspallata is halfway to the border from Mendoza and I'll use it as the jump off point to cross my final border into Chile. The 52 spears out of Mendoza on a dead straight deserted concrete slab road before turning to dirt and winding into those mountains I've been coveting for days. I'm not disappointed...wow! It enters the Villavicencio Park and the winding road up into the mountains is dirt and rock but quite good. You stop, take photos, then around the next corner it's even better and you stop and take more. Just when you think you've seen it all and snapped off enough photos  you top the range and look towards Chile and "Kapow" the classic scene of he snow capped mountains bordering Chile appears leaving you gobsmacked dribbling and punching away at the poor camera again. The road down the other side to Uspallata had been recently graded leaving it deep in loose gravel and sand. The poor KLR with an almost bald front tyre, the unloved Rinaldi on the back, too much air pressure now that we were back up to 3000m and overloaded to the hilt was not happy and chucked in some heart stopping front end loses before we finally got back on tarmac. What a great little ride. Words can't describe the scenery and I'm sure even pictures will struggle.

On the slab. The dead straight concrete slab at the start of 

the fifty two. 

Yep the stray cats eat you here. Apparently there are pumas in the park...

There were some Argentinian lads on trailies taking in the view and offered 

to take a snap of this dusty duo.

After every time I stopped there would be a better view around 

the next corner.. aaargh...now that's a road...

I feel I should have my foot on a dead Puma here for that classic

big game hunter shot.

Lots of Guanacos but no Pumas.

Whoa!

Yep the reason why you travel huh.

Listening to 
Non, Je ne regrette nien
Edith Piaf
Ok Ok the mice also sing this in Babe Pig in the City. That's where you might know it from. If you want to be uplifted, if you need more lead in your pencil, if you need a battle won sometime, then lift your head, thrust out that chin and chest and hone in on Edith and this wonderful song. 

Reality Check N0.16

In the running scene from Forest Gump, after he'd been running for three years, two months, fourteen days and sixteen hours he stops, turns, says he's pretty tired and goes home. He'd put the past behind him and knew it was time to head home.  After I crossed the border from Bolivia into Argentina I hit about a hundred K's of almost straight road. The sun was warm, I had my feet up on the highway pegs, I had money in my pocket and the KLR was rejoicing knocking back some high octane. It was a moment of serious contentment. I looked around at the now almost familiar countryside and thought to myself, yep Deano, what do you really want to do now...hmm...I reckon I'm done here...I've seen a bit now, I'm gonna head home. I could've pushed time and made a run further south and ran my time out right to the limit but my heart and my head struck a rare moment of accord and said mate, you're just an ordinary guy who came here to see stuff, you've got nothin to prove...

...it's time to head towards home and family.

Next Blog 
Hopefully over the border and a quick 
look at Chile and finally 
on to  Santiago. 
Cheers Dean.