11/29/18
The days in Pucon were wonderful. A bit rainy, a bit cold, but when it was nice, it was picture perfect. It looked like exactly as I imagined.
Thinking back to Santiago I was happy to have made the decision to repair the seals. It would have been such a shame to be unable to explore where I wanted.
Living was easy in Pucon and was told I was lucky to be there in low season before it is filled with tourists flocking to the beaches.
Finding a fishing guide I spent the day on the river in search of some trout and maybe a salmon. It has been a while since I fished and luckily my guide brought both a fly rod and a spinner reel.
The water is unnaturally clear. Easily spotting the rocks 12 feet below at the bottom of the river. We loaded into the wooden boat that looked like something out of the frontier. My guide telling me the boat is new and made my an old man in town. “Other areas in Chile copied this boat! But this is the best one. The old man created this boat.”
It is a nice boat, not what I was expecting, but nice.
Making our way to the first popular spot he hands me the fly rod. It’s the weekend and on the banks of the river are locals enjoying the weather. I attract their attention as I prepare for my first cast.
Drawing line and setting my arms I throw my first cast. Rusty doesn’t begin to describe my attempt. It was as if it was my first time. A few more failed attempts and unanswered coaching tips from my guide and he suggests we switch to the spinner. Which is a welcomed suggestion.
Since the water is so clear the fish can easily spot us and the rod. Necessitating a far and delicate cast. I had neither but with some fancy oar work courtesy of my guide we found some success.
Spending 4 hours on the water and 2 big brown trout later we arrive at the end of our route. I considered it a success and was happy getting a long armed fish picture while taking in the views.
The following morning taking a suggestion from my host to explore the surrounding area via a gravel trail loop. I wasn’t planning on taking an extra day but he seemed pretty adamant. I am glad I took his suggestion.
I was as happy as the day was beautiful. Realizing that this might be one of the last days like this. This adventure is coming to an end. I am have shifted from the ‘first’ experiences to the ‘normal’ experience to the ‘last’ experiences. The circle of life per se.
Leaving Pucon I had a month left but planned 10 days to facilitate the sale of the motorcycle. I don’t have much time left.
Walking around town one evening I felt a familiar anxious feeling. That feeling when a life change is coming. The end of one stage of life and the start of something new. That in between stage of uncertainty. That familiar feeling of scrambling, grasping at the past to ‘make the best of it’.
The anxiousness fueled by the feeling of time falling through my hands. Grasping desperately at the grains of sand in the hour glass in an attempt to get them back.
Finding myself walking around aimlessly in an attempt to experience more of ‘it’. Sitting on a curb laughing once recognizing that this is the same shit I’ve always done. The living was meant to be done the entire time. Not as a scramble at the end. Asking, ‘did you honestly live it?’ Confidently answering, ‘yes’. Standing up and walking home satisfied with the answer.
There are only a few ways down south. Since the beginning of the trip I knew I wanted to do the “Carretera Austral” Ruta 7 in Chile, It requires three ferries and snakes through 19 different national parks in Chilean Patagonia.
Leaving Pucon I made my way south to the first ferry. The weather is unpredictable and all of my rain gear is toast. Riding in the rain wasn’t a problem until now. Now, being soaked and cold has made for some rough days.
Riding til the end of the highway I arrived at the start of Ruta 7! Timing the ferry perfectly I loaded on to the rocking boat and held onto my bike for the duration of the ride.
Unloading on the other side the wet weather made a mess of the road. Landslides washed away the road and everything was flooded. Cars and trucks were spinning their wheels into the mud trying to free themselves. It made for an eventful few hours until I arrived at the next port.
The rain started as I arrived. It was the worst storm I have had so far. Waking up in the morning being notified that the ferry was delayed a few hours. I made my way to the port and took refuge in the office optimistic that I would get out that afternoon.
A didn’t have much time left. A delay here would put a seriously strain on the schedule.
Learning that the road I passed through the following day was now impassable. The rain showed no sign of stopping and the Chilean coast guard canceled all boat passage. Retreating to my hotel crossing my fingers to leave the next day.
30 hours or cold rain later the clouds lifted and the waves subsided. Arriving at the port the line of cars snaked around the block. Rumors start to spread about limited capacity on he boat. Since the previous days boat was canceled, there are now two days worth of people waiting to load.
Taking a place at the front of the line I met some bikers from Brazil. We hear there will only be space for two motorcycles. There are three of them and one of me. We all got bumped from the canceled boat the previous day.
Eagerly we wait for the loading captains signal. I arrive in the first group of two and wait with my new friend for the rest of his group.
They are cousins from Brazil taking a month of ride down to Ushuaia and back. Our schedules are roughly the same and we get along. I end up asking to join their group and they welcome me with open arms and treat me like the American cousin they never had.
Renting a cabin together we spend thanksgiving sharing a meal and drinking getting to know each other.
It has been a long time since I was with anyone for a prolonged period of time. It is nice to have a crew to travel with. It’s also the first time I have traveled to a destination with anyone since this leg of the trip began. Previously schedules and timelines never worked out.
I was glad to have the company during those remote stretches and enjoy them with someone else.
Somewhere along the way my rear suspension started to sag leaving me with a dangerous situation. I was limping to the end but damnit we are going to make it.
A few long days later we had completed Ruta 7 and it was time for us to part ways. They continued south while I crossed back into Argentina.
The riding in that part of the world is unparalleled. The mountains, lakes, and views are the best I have seen anywhere.
Ahead was a long windy stretch to the good stuff of southern Patagonia. The drive was 2-3 days or 1-2 really long days depending on the route. I picked the shorter route that contains a long off road section.
Leaving early with 14 hours of daylight ahead of me I felt I could make it in one day. There is no gas or civilization after a certain point. I was prepared but still never know what might lie ahead.
The past few weeks have felt like a cosmic test from the universe. Like an exam to see how I would react testing what I have learned. It feels as if the moments now will dictate the future. And it will but it feels even more like a choose your own adventure novel.
Riding down the 40 I had a moment of dejavu. Along the gravel road looking at the landscape “I have been here before”.
The road surface, the horizon, the wind, all eerily familiar. The road surface deteriorating due to an abandoned construction project, to my right looking beyond a rock pile I see an area where alpacas are grazing.
Suddenly I remember, BAM! This is the area that guy was talking about!
In Denver I met with a guy who just returned from riding to Ushuaia. He warned me about this area. I knew it by the way he described it. Route 40 is over 2000 miles long and he described a 80 mile stretch, this was that section.
The road is terrible here, where the alpacas are, beyond the rocks he told me of a path. The path is the old old road, long abandoned. It’s dirt and overgrown but flat. Electing to explore it and finding the surface perfect. It was like a video game upgrade. Foreshadowing from the wizard in the beginning of the quest.
Laughing and happily riding along my new path trying to recall the conversation. He said something else. What else did he say?
After sometime day dreaming along the way I return to the road after the construction. The road improving, the surface hardening, the rocks flattening, and speed increasing. This particular gravel section was bout 120 miles. I planned for it but it is a long section and still a lot more ground to cover for the day.
50, 55, 60 mph my speed steadily increases and sustains. The anxieties dissolve and I let down my guard. Suddenly in the distance I see the paved road!! Home free as I twist the throttle.
In the back of my mind, like a knock on the window. What did that guy warn me about? I know there was something else. Recalling pictures of his crashed motorcycle and separated shoulder. He crashed but that’s why he moved to the path, right?
Suddenly, NO! He crashed at the end!! The gravel comes back deeper!
Studying the road ahead looking for issues I get on the brakes. Cautiously with my gaze fixed on the paved road less than a half mile ahead.
Releasing the brakes and coasting I finally see it. The gravel comes back and the tracks of the tractor trailers are easily a foot deep. Back on the brakes hard releasing them as my front wheel starts to slide and shovel the gravel, fighting to keep the bike upright by kicking my foot on the ground. The bike bucking unpredictably and the rear suspension jumping I fight for balance left and right. Finally, I regain control.
THIS was the area he crashed. Recalling the warning that the gravel comes back as the paved road comes into view. He got back on the gas once seeing the road assuming he was home free. Flipping his bike a few hundred feet from the end. Separating his shoulder and just shy of totaling his bike.
On the paved road manically laughing in my helmet. Feeling as if I had passed this test and scored points in this personal video game.
Arriving in Chaltain gazing at Fitz Roy in the distance I let out a howl. It reminded me of that last day riding into work. I was doing it, I was getting closer. I was also hit with the realization that this is coming to an end.
But I guess every accomplishment comes to an end, followed immediately by a time of uncertainty and that’s scary.
Going back is scary. I know I don’t fit any longer. Not sure I ever really did.
The past year doesn’t seem real. The time wasn’t linear, it blew by, it was beyond slow. It was amazing and blissful and painful. It was life. I feel like I really lived. Beyond doing whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. Finding that life bores when it is too easy or blissful.
It really is about balance. I feel like I have learned everything and in doing so realized I have learned nothing.
I don’t envy the super rich or those who could do this all the time. It’s not real nor sustainable.
Living is a game of no winners because there is no one to compare. No metric. Learning only that it is all a choice.
I have a choice of how I want my life to look like when I get back. I have a choice to go back to sales. I have a choice to recreate the life I left. Or I could make the choice to try something new.
By sticking around on the planet I am making a choice to live. And If I am making a choice to live I might as well try to make the best of it. Now is the envy of all the dead.
Being angry about your job, finances, etc are all a choice. It is your choice to stay with them. You have a choice to not pay your bills. You’ll have to deal with the consequences. Or you have a choice to work on progress to a different reality. Might take some immediate pain and might not work out but you won’t know either way if you don’t.
I find people enjoy a bit of pain and don’t want to be alone. Suffering together makes it feel normal and limits the ability to think of what is possible.
Living a life without choice seems cruel. To no one else but yourself. I have certainly had my dark times but learned that running and going on vacation for a year doesn’t fix them. They are still there waiting just below the surface for a moment of desperation to reappear.
I really can’t tell what is real any longer. I’m not even sure what real is.
Someone messaged me about buying my motorcycle and asked me if it was worth it. Asking me to give the trip a rating out of 10. That guy already knew the answer. Debating whether or not to go on a trip of his own. Asking if he should go on one. He already knew that answer too, and some schmuck trying to sell a motorcycle wasn’t going to sway him one way or another.
I think we all know what we should do. We might not be able to put it into words but we know what the ‘right’ decision feels like.
If life is keeping score to define success, I think it might be a scoreboard of those decisions. Which way did we choose. They seem to be the ones that define us the most. Impacting the future and past with regret and hindsight due to the ‘wrong’ choice. Or going against what we knew but couldn’t articulate thus discrediting it.
The weather had cleared and the wind calmed. Perfect opportunity for hiking and seeing Fitz Roy! The hike is ~20km round trip and took just about all day. It was a wonderful day and enjoyed the company of a fellow traveler from the states. Discussing going back home and what we expected.
In the morning I was so sore and felt as if I had been hit by a truck. Having not done much if any real strenuous activity it reminded me how out of shape I am. Resting the next day and enjoying the warm sun and beautiful mountain range.
There is a lot to see in this area as it is the most popular for tourist destinations and understandably.
Making my way further south I spent the afternoon at the glacier and was blown away by its size. Happy I got to see it as who knows how much longer it will be there. So massive the sound of the ice cracking would reach you a few seconds after watching it disappear into the water below.
12/8/18
On the way out of town I spotted my Brazilian friends again. We were heading in the same direction and made plans to meet up in town.
Arriving in town I discover that I snapped off my license plate. I guess due to the extra suspension travel some gravel mound somewhere along the way grabbed it. I planned on keeping the plate as a souvenir since I’ll be selling the bike. The missing piece I think gives it a bit of character.
I needed to get a replacement in order to cross the borders. Immigration seems to care more about the plate number than the VIN. So now, how do you get a new plate when you are in a different country on a different continent? You gotta get creative.
Again like a cosmic test I recalled a post a guy made who had a similar issue. Stuck somewhere in Central America and noticed his plate was gone. You might not get pulled over but customs and immigration is going to check. I remember another woman who placed a blue monster energy sticker where her plate was supposed to be. Hoping to fool any quick glances.
Asking around town where I could get a sign made that resembled my plate the locals responses were a mix of confusion and insult.
“You cant just get a new plate, that is an official government process here in Argentina”.
“Yes yes I know, but I want someone to make me one out of plastic with this picture printed on it”.
“You want to make a fake license plate”.
“yes”
I get word there is a sign maker on the edge of town. The shop looks like a super Kinkos. With plate in hand I tell the guy using google translate that I need this copied and made into a sign.
Passing me a side eye glance and looking at his coworker. This is clearly illegal but you can tell from the look in this guys eye he liked the idea and the challenge.
Walking me through the options we start with a laminated paper printed with the image. Ending with a quarter inch sheet of printed plastic. Showing me what he thinks it could look like. Honestly, it looked like shit but fuck it. It would probably get me by. This was a cash transaction without a receipt, telling me to come back the following afternoon.
Calafate is a nice little tourist town. Spending the evening walking around sourcing souvenirs and new cold weather clothing. It is difficult to pack for all the different climates I have encountered and now I am wearing everything I own in an attempt to stay warm.
That evening I met up with my Brazilian pals sharing a meal and some beers. They are kind and make me feel at home trying to use their English skills to communicate.
Trump and America in general come up in conversation. I find myself shying away from these conversations if I can’t completely communicate as to avoid something being lost in translation. Knowing that now this isn’t a baited question and a simple, trump is good or bad isn’t what they are after.
I did find it interesting that it seems that these guys and others I have met are able to separate the identity of the people from the government. While I don’t think Americans can see that as clearly or might have a higher level of identity investment.
Them citing that the American problems aren’t so bad and are unproportionally represented. Every country has problems. I never knew how good we have it. I never realized how good I had it.
It is almost as if things are so good there is a need to seek out pain. To find suffering and manifest it. It’s like we need it to feel important and to compare suffering is some sort of strange emotional hierarchy.
I’ve been gone for a while and it’s possible nothing is based in reality any longer as I’m living in Joe land. But fuck dude look around and check this shit out. Check out that body and the space you're occupying. How you’re definitely not going to starve to death and if you twist that faucet you can drink it without worry. You got hot water to take a shower and a job that makes it all happen. You got some friends and family to experience life with.
I am not looking forward to going back to the media of home and will actively try to avoid it like I am currently. After small bits of exposure I can understand why everyone is on antidepressants. Cause that shit is depressing. I guess if everything is so good and society as a whole is looking for a painful stimulus it would explain the ratings and attention all these terrible news stories get.
I have found a new pride of my story and my life. I am proud to have connected with so many different people from different places. Always happy to hear that the decision to go is viewed as an inspiration. But more than that using it as personal evidence that we all aren’t so different. There seems to be some common themes that connect us regardless of the borders of language or countries.
Circling back to the sign store the following day the guy spots me and hands me our license plate project. Ecstatic with the results we high five and thank him for his help. This is 100% going to work.
s
Joining up with the Brazilians the following morning after a late night out we made our way to the area around Torres Del Paine. The weather is unpredictable down here and known for the gusting winds and cold temperatures. With my rear shock deteriorating I limped to the border.
Each imperfection in the road surface turned the bike into a trampoline. The bounce impacting handling and past 60 mph a violent shake would develop. My friends were understanding and made sure to keep an eye on me while we went slow.
When leaving Denver I knew I wouldn’t be camping a lot but did bring camping equipment. Electing for a hammock with rain fly over a traditional tent in an effort to save on space and weight. I haven’t camped once up to this point. Camping is a lot of effort and came to find out there were few and far between places with trees that would support me.
The guys wanted to camp in Torres del Paine but I was apprehensive due to the below freezing temps and constant prediction of rain. Also I was woefully underprepared. Telling them to count me in for food and I would make the call when the time came if I could string my hammock.
Entering the park on a windy overcast day I understood why it was such a popular destination. The mountains are absolutely unbelievable and the sky so big it seems to go on forever. Coupled with the 4:45am sunrise and 10:15pm sunset, the horizon doesn’t exist.
Arriving at the campsite the wind shifts a bit and removes the clouds providing a private window to the mountains across from the lake. It was a good decision to camp and elected to stay.
Concerned with my warmth and comfort in the hammock the guys decided to pair up and give me one of their tents. And without any camping supplies proceeded to give me everything I needed. The generosity was truly unbelievable. I felt so guilty and worthless but they seemed to genuinely want to help me and wanted me to experience this with them. I am so thankful, it was an awesome night and finally got to check off camping on this trip.
In the morning we took our time exiting the park with plenty of stops for photos along the way.
Based on the map we really only had two more days of riding. The current day on our way to Punta Arenas and then one more to Ushuaia.
Wow. I never thought this day would come. After all the detours, problems, and adventures along the way. It was finally coming to an end.
While day dreaming and humming along the road the bike jumps in what feels like a tire explosion. A different shake than before and looking down I see my boot is covered in oil, again.
Panicked I pull over and check the seal that I previously had issues. All the possible bad situations running through my head. It’s over if it's the seal again. I’m too close, it’ll cost too much, and I don’t have time.
Looking at the engine to my surprise it is clean. No oil. Hmmmm
On the ground a small drip starts to form a puddle which I trace back to the shock. The shock is now fully dead with the bike sitting on the spring.
The shock doesn’t seem like a big deal, the engine works, and before I just assumed the shock was for comfort. I now know it keeps the bike on the ground and allows the stability of the motorcycle. While the engine worked it was incredibly dangerous. Every turn resulted in the rear tire jumping and sliding, the front wheel tracking strangely trying to keep up.
Arriving in town I start to reach out to my contacts to see who can help. Within a few minutes I have a few names and numbers, Researching repairing the shock and finding reports of others in the same situation that the shock is not repairable. The company of the shock already sent me a new one to Denver confirming the inability to repair it outside of their facility.
My friends telling me that they will go slow and wait for me as we arrive together. After tracking down a few shops, no one has a replacement and the only shock guy doesn’t have time to fix it. One of the other Brazilian bikes starts to have a fuel issue. But after taking it around the block a few times the problem seemed to go away.
After dinner deciding that I would continue on with the broken shock. Take it slow and just arrive. While the decision was made it didn’t feel right. Receiving one last message suggesting one last mechanic. He didn’t speak English and didn’t have the replacement shock but told me to come to his shop the following morning.
Going to bed that night rationalizing that I don’t have the time to try and repair it. If it is true that it can’t be repaired and we discover that after taking it apart. I am left with a broken bike and no way to finish the trip. I am 500 miles away from the end. 500 miles out of a 20,000 trip and it felt like it was a final test of the universe.
Getting up early not feeling any better about the decision, looking outside it’s 42 degrees and raining. I pack my gear and load my bike for our 8 am departure. Everyone is ready and I am dressed with my keys in hand. It didn’t feel right. Thinking back to my rule, failure is ok as long as I tried every possible avenue. I didn’t try every avenue, there was one last mechanic. I tell the guys I’m not going. We wish each other well and I watch as they drive away. Hoping I would see them again but not sure based on our timelines.
Leaving the apartment I make my way to the shop which I was provided. I am not expecting much but would be satisfied if I could check off investigating this final option. He was a nice man and like the others I have had the pleasure of meeting, he genuinely wanted to help me. Telling me he had friends, after a few phone calls and showing him my messages I had already contacted all of his friends. One final call to a new number.
Writing on a piece of paper the name and an address. In the video game that has been this adventure, these pieces of paper are gold. The biggest helps, secrets, treasures have been passed to me on scraps of paper. Innocent enough and act as a map to a solution. Turning on his wifi so I can map my route to a blue garage door on the other side of town.
Told that I’m looking for a guy named John who has a shop behind a blue door that doesn’t have a sign. Smiling at the piece of paper I set off.
Arriving at the other side of town it's raining and there really isn’t anything there. Parking my bike on the sidewalk I walk in a shop. Some sort of commercial equipment rental place. No one answers to “John”. Walking outside looking for a blue door I spot a clue in the brush. A broken shock is under some trash next to the side walk. He’s gotta be around here.
I hear a horn behind me but pay no attention to it. Walking back to my bike to grab the piece of paper to check the address. The horn gets louder and the sound of an engine gets closer. Finally I turn around and see the Brazilian guys. I didn’t even recognize them since it seemed so unlikely for them to be there. My phone is broken and there was no way for them to know where I was. Also why would they be coming back? They left over two hours ago.
The fuel problem came back 60 miles down the road. After pulling off and speaking to a series of mechanics they were told to go find John with the blue door. We arrived within a minute of each other looking for the same mechanic by name in a nondescript shop. It was weird.
Asking the coffee shop next door they show us which door to bang on. John opens up and lets us in. Confused and not totally comprehending how we knew each other, but didn’t arrive together, but did arrive at the same time. He wasn’t the only one.
After an hour the fuel problem seems solved but we never found a culprit. They take off again in an attempt to reach Ushuaia.
Turning the attention to my bike we get the shock out and start taking it apart. Asking how broken it is he replies ‘very’. Elaborating that IF he can get it apart and IF we can fabricate the part that is broken we can fix it. Well we could get me to Ushuaia and hopefully back up again. Since I rode on it damaged for so long until it completely failed the shock would never be 100% again. 60% at best is what we were shooting. Just good enough.
Left with no other options he gets to work as I watch from the sidelines. It was like watching someone working on a rubrics cube. Trying every possible combination until he eventually hit a wall. We needed different tools. Telling me to get in the car as we were going to his fathers workshop.
Arriving at his parents house, the house resembling one of an American suburb. In the garage his fathers organization methods clearly influencing his own in his shop. A little while of fiddling before his father arrives. Both trying to figure out a way to open this thing up. Finally breaking loose the high strength locktite and exposing the internal machined pieces.
Shortly after we were off to the machine shop to fabricate the piece. Behind another sliding garage door a stocky man smoking a cigarette opens it and greets us. Showing him the pieces and what we needed. The man looking over his glasses at me as I anxiously wait on his answer. They say something in Spanish and we leave the shop.
John was a quiet guy and didn’t seem to get excited about much or show any emotion. Unable to read his reaction or understand what they said I asked him to translate. Telling me flatly that the guy should have the part done in a few hours. Unable to read any confirmation of good news I ask him to confirm “this is a good thing right?”
Dropping me off at my hostel he tells me to come back to the shop at 6:30 and the bike should be done. Confirming this could be really good news.
Waiting impatiently at the hostel I can’t believe it and am careful not to jinx it. It’s not fixed until it is fixed. Returning to the shop late that evening finding the bike was back together. Advising me that it is fixed for now but it is not 100%. Warning me that it might last 10 miles or 10,000 miles, there is just no way to know but it was probably on the lower end of the scale. We were damaged but back in business.
Driving back to the hostel I felt like I had made the right call. The bike felt better and felt that I had passed the test. As well as providing some confidence for the remainder of the trip.
Leaving early the next morning prepared for a long day. It would either be 6 hours riding with a 2.5 hour ferry ride or 9 hours riding with a 20 min ferry ride. The ferries run on different schedules and depend on the weather.
Arriving at the port a woman in line for tickets frantically tells me something in Spanish. Blankly staring at her conveying that I don’t understand what she says. Once the terminal opens the ticket counter tells me the ferry is delayed by over 8 hours. That must have been what she was upset about.
Happy to have arrived to the port early it allowed me to use the extra time to get around the island to the other ferry.
It is sure as hell windy down here but this stretch was brutal. I saw wind speeds of 55mph the previous day and this felt stronger. White knuckled on the handlebars I speed through the expansive landscape of Patagonia at the very tip of South America. Leaning hard into the wind to compensate and fear of being pushed off the road. I remember the first day leaving Denver with the very strong winds and needed to stop and take refuge under a bridge. I can’t decide if I just got used to it and these winds were stronger or what. Strong wind used to be a huge fear but now I wasn’t really phased. Certainly a factor but not paralyzed by fear. Learning how to prepare for the natural wind gusts as well as those that bounced off trucks.
What has surprised me the most about this region and Patagonia in general is how desolate it is. In between all the big mountain attractions there is nothing. Just open open plains with sheep and an animal that looks like a llama crossed with a camel. They can jump really high and get scared by the traffic, running back to the other side of the fence when I pass. You can also spot the few unlucky ones who didn’t make the jump and got stuck. It’s harsh conditions out here.
Arriving at the next port the next ferry was just about to depart but they couldn’t take me due to some dangerous cargo and I had to wait for the next one. I really started to get a sense that I was being delayed on purpose.
That these events were happening for me not to me for something that was up ahead. I was scared. I felt that my worst fears were ahead. The rear shock was going to blow out while in a turn and I would crash and return home in a wheel chair or worse. That a trucker would fall asleep at the wheel and run me over. I could feel there was a reason and I just assumed it was bad. It was a real feeling but knew I had to push on. What will be will be and chalked it up to another test.
Getting to the other side I have finally arrived at Terra Del Fuego Island! 200 miles until Ushuaia. Unreal. Somewhere along the way in the middle of nowhere the familiar shake came back to the bike. The shock had blown again but didn’t explode. Leaking oil but hasn’t completely emptied.
I knew there was an unpaved section ahead which I would need to take slower along with the remaining paved section. I was going to make it I just needed to take it easy.
After being processed into Argentina and returning to the paved section I stopped at a gas station and filled up while eating a ham sandwich. They only do one slice of ham and one slice of cheese here but I was flying high, great sad which for a great moment.
Not too far after the sky opens up with rain, temps fall, and the wind picks up. Stopping to put on my useless rain jacket and cover up my bag. Looking ahead dark clouds fill the horizon. It’s cold and wet but I am so close. The next town is two hours ahead where I can warm up.
Arriving and resting for a while to warm up with a coffee. 60 miles to go until I reach the end of the journey. It feels surreal watching the locals going about their day. I just drove 7 months to get here and they are just going about their daily lives. I guess this is my daily life now too.
Back on the bike the wind cuts through my jacket and chills the wet clothes layered on my skin.
The road snaking and the views get better again as the plains turn back into mountains. I see mountain formations and landscapes I’ve never seen before and don’t seem to be possible. Stopping a minute to just appreciate how fucking awesome it is.
Looking at the map compared to the sky it looks like it will be rainy all the way in. 20 miles to go until USHUAIA I’m excited and the weather doesn’t matter.
As the road snakes along the mountain pass it curves slightly to the left. The new sky previously hidden by the mountain side is exposed and it’s blue. Not a dark cloud in sight. The rain stopped and the sun was drying the road. Looks like the clear sky for me on the home stretch.
The last part into town was beautiful and no wind. The weather was picture perfect. Laughing to myself, did I get lucky? Or was it the way it was supposed to be?
Arriving at the Ushuaia sign it was as beautiful as I had imagined in all its brown and white glory. Standing tall as the finish line of a 7 month journey south. Taking a few pictures surprised that I was the only one there. Expecting and hoping to find other travelers there to share the moment.
But I was alone at the finish just as I had been alone when I started. But along the way I had more help than I could have anticipated needing and was never really that alone.
Sitting on my bike staring at the sign I couldn’t help but feel underwhelmed. In all honestly while it is big, it’s a pretty ugly sign. While it took me a long time to arrive, it wasn’t the most beautiful thing I saw along the way. Certainly bitter sweet that the trip was ending but finding an understanding that it was never about Ushuaia at all, but about the journey and experiences along the way.
I got the check mark of making it but the real story happened in the 18,147 miles it took to get there. The real learning took place in the difficult times. With the people at home supporting and rooting for me. With the new friends I met along the way who helped me in more ways than I can remember or pay back. In the conversations with others and myself that changed my perspective. Watching others while growing my understanding of what I should do with my life. In the shift of priorities and understanding not everything is quantifiable.
But, you can’t have a journey without a destination so Ushuaia will always be special.
Heading into town I searched for some wifi to contact my friends to see where they were staying. As I park he was coming down to see if he could spot my bike. Another bout of good timing.
I had my work cut out for me in the following days. My flight back to Denver is on the 16th, 12 days away, my flight to Buenos Ares is on the 13th, 8 days away. I had to sell my bike and get back to Ushuaia. Seems simple enough except Chile and Argentina are incredibly strict about importation of vehicles and ownership transfer.
A search on any motorcycle forum will return very few success stories and an incredible amount of horror stories. Mostly around foreigner to foreigner sales and the resulting documents. They are sticklers for making sure the name, VIN and license plate match.
Knowing what I know now, it would be possible to find a buyer who is comfortable forging the paperwork and changing the name. It just needs to look official and no one outside of Colorado knows what a Colorado title looks like. I have been using a very good copy for my entire trip and never had an issue. Shout out dude at the Kinkos in Lodo.
I had some interest in the bike but not as much as I was expecting. Similar motorcycles to mine were selling for $5k-$6k and I thought I was in for a nice pay day. What I didn’t realize is they were Chilean plated. The process to get Chilean plates is arduous to say the least. Takes a minimum of two months, involvement with customs, tax revenue and other government agencies, as well as a resident to put their name on it.
Enter the guys who import these bikes. A Chilean guy contacted me and was clearly very interested. Based on his questions I assumed he was in the business of flipping these bikes. The bikes are brought down by foreigners, he spends his time and money importing them, then sells them legally within Chile easily doubling his money.
After cutting my posted price he made me an offer about a month ago of $2000 from the pictures. It hurt me knowing what he was doing but I didn’t have many other choices. $2000 is about what it would be worth back home and it would have cost $2000 to ship it back. Not to mention the cost of the maintenance necessary to drive the 1800 miles north to Buenos Ares.
It was a price I had come to accept and felt it was the right call. Yes it was hard to sell and was a difficult decision especially with all the signatures and memories but my budget is shot and this now represents a few months of rent.
I started the ten hour journey north to Chile to meet the buyer. Along the way reflecting and thinking about the journey and what the future might hold. Savoring the last couple hundred miles of windy terrain through the Patagonia plains. The final sendoff to Cowboy Sam.
Sighing, “man it is really over”. Running through a never ending stream of questions. Questioning if it was worth it. Reminiscent of that time of uncertainty after college. There was a track and a path and you followed it to the end left facing, what’s next?
Well things were rocky there for a minute after college but I’m here now, things seemed to have worked out pretty well. I don’t know what will be next but I’m confident it’s going to be good if I use what I learned.
Stopping on the side of the road to admire the power of the wind and appreciate the vastness of the sky. Taking out my camera but realizing that there was no way to capture it. Taking a moment to remember the feeling in my chest to be so lucky to be able to see something so beautiful. Smiling, ‘yeah it was worth it.’
Upon arriving in town I contacted the buyer and removed my last bit of belongings. Nervously awaiting his arrival. I had a general idea about the sales process but as I mentioned, it’s difficult. I was up against buyer scarcity and time. The offices to process the paperwork were only opened a few hours a week. If we weren’t quick about the process I could fall into a difficult spot quickly.
Once he arrived we communicated through google translate and he asked for a test drive. Exchanging our keys I watched as he drove away on my bike. Looking at the keys I test the buttons to make sure they worked on the car he arrived in. They do, but after 20 minutes I start to get nervous. Noticing that the keys aren’t really on a ring, it is just by itself. What if he stole the car and then came and used it to steal my bike! This spirals for a few moments before I see him appear down the street.
Stopping on the sidewalk and bouncing he points to the rear shock. No surprise there. New offer is $1800 with the promise to have the paperwork completed at 10am the following morning, deal.
Meeting at the agreed location we enter a notary office who types up the bill of sale. Handing me the money and counting it in plain view while explaining why the amount of the bill of sale is lower than the amount he just gave me. To avoid taxes of course and no one seems to care.
Taking our new contract to the customs office they advise me to drive the bike to a quarantine hanger by the docks. Once delivered I’m handed my customs documents with a typo that I am from China. Again, no one seems to care.
Making my way back to Ushuaia was no problem. My paperwork states that I entered with a motorcycle and anticipated a question about why I was leaving without one. But no one said anything and the bus seats were extremely comfortable. While I was sad to see the bike gone, I didn’t go kicking and screaming on the bus, I think I made the right call.
Recently I have been thinking about the relationship between comfort, security, and uncertainty. It seems that traditionally or commonly uncertainty is seen as bad and is actively avoided. Yearning for stability, security, and the resulting comfort. Career changes are seen as risky. Moving to a new city borderline unthinkable. Taking a year to ride a motorcycle around the world, impossible.
Are we programed to actively avoid uncertainty and view it as bad? Or is that an evolutionary trait? It is so common place there has to be a reason but not sure I have an answer.
I was reminded of an argument I had with my mom when I was younger. She was very, let's say passionate, explaining to me her displeasure in what she summarized as my lack of risk taking. Countering that I took risk but they were calculated risks. I was a calculated risk taker and I was satisfied with that answer. Also, I never agreed with her because I loved skiing, sky diving, and other ‘risky’ hobbies.
Seeing now that the truth was I never tried. I never wanted to attempt something that I might fail at because I never believed in myself.
Recalling taking piano lessons when I was younger. I hated piano lessons but everyone told me I was good and had potential with the reach of my long fingers. But I was afraid of hitting the wrong keys and hated practicing as this increased the chances of screwing up.
There was a recital where all the students were to perform and I remember performing inappropriately easy songs. Afterwards feeling embarrassed about how easy my songs were in comparison to the other students. I don’t remember touching the piano after that. Maybe I’ll give it another chance when I get back.
At the moment I feel like I am at a crossroad. To either go back and get comfort and security immediately by going back to the life I left. Or to try something else and sacrifice the security and comfort for the uncertainty.
I know it is going to be hard when I go back in so many different ways. But it’s also the time to put into action all that I have learned. Going back to quota just seems like such a waste.
One more week down here until I am on my way back to Denver. It has been one hell of a ride. Going to spend the remainder of my time in Buenos Aires before getting on that plane home.