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To make arrangements for the trip, I consulted Sonia of MOTOAVENTURA via e-mail. She and her husband, a former competitive motorcyclist, maintain a fleet of nineteen motorcycles. Although their primary business is an organized tours, they also rent out motorcycles. They had one GS ready to go in mid-January and would handle the paperwork necessary for the border crossing into Argentina. After spending a frew days touring Santiago by bus, I flew to the small agricultural town of Osorno. I arrived in the evening, and Edelweiss, a very nice woman from MotoAventura and not be confused with another touring company, picked me up. Even though I arrived around 8 p.m., I did not want to spend the evening in Osorno, due the reputation as a sleepy farming town.
After filling out the paperwork for the rental, I took another look at my map and quizzed Edelweiss on what routes riders typically take. All I knew was that I wanted to do a loop starting north and then east through Pucon and across the Andean into Argentina, south through Argentina, and then back around to Osorno. She told me the routes I was contemplating for the return from Argentina to Chile would be impassable. I would plan my return to Chile from Argentina. Immediately after launching the Adventure north on the Pan American Highway out of Osorno, the sky darkened and the raindrops began to fall. I rode for several hours through a cold, dark rain north on the highway and then east on winding, two-lane Highway 199 to Pucon. My introduction to heated Handgrips was a warm one, and my highvisibility yellow Aerostich Roadcrafter withstood the Patagonia elements. My ventilated Sidi boots and non-waterproof, all-season Olympia bloves, however, did not. (You simply do not think about these things in Southern California). |
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When I rolled into Pucon after my first night of riding, I realized exactly how unusual I looked on my machine. I now know what it feels like to drive a Lamborghini through Iowa, Rural South Americans simply do not see many 1000-plus cc dual sport bikes. Everywhere I rode, I saw heads turn and mouths gape. I cannot count how many people asked me about the motorcycle, and it drew a crowd when it sat idle. Some people had seen it in photos, but never in person. After a nice sleep in well-appointed, German-styled Gran Hotel Pucon, I set off for my first full day of riding with my destination set for San Carlos Bariloche, Argentina. Just outside of Pucon, I encountered difficulty with the motorcycle. I had stopped for a few minutes at a construction zone. When the worker finally waved me through, the bike would not start. The starter motor seemed to be working, but the engine would not turn over. I soon discovered tha I would start in neutral, but once I would kick it into first gear, the engine cut out. This was very strange. Stuck on the roadside, I cursed the new-fangled Oilhead technology which was more complex - need lessly so- than my usual mount. "These machines just do not belong in the bush." I thought. How would I tell the naysayers back home that my motorcycle trip ended on my first day of riding?
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After I finished the pass through the mountains into Argentina, I was reminded why I had set off on two wheels instead of sitting in buses. The rain stopped, the road became hardpacked, and soft white light began to push through. The region's beauty emerged. At every turn, I discovered another vista. For the rest of the way to Bariloche. I enjoyed views of wooden bridges traversing rushing streams that fed into mist-enshrouded lakes. Water danced in tiny waterfalls from the hillsides that edged the road. The journey from Pucón to Bariloche proved to be a full day of riding. A night in the stylish town of San Martín de los Andes would have broken up the ride into more digestible pieces. My typical late start, muddy interlude and photo breaks landed me in Bariloche at around 11:30 p.m., cold and wet, but with images of the day's ride imprinted in my mind. It also helped that it stayed light until 10 p.m. I settled into a spare but clean room in the Interlaken Hotel, with a balcony and impressive lake view. This part of Argentina, with its emerald lakes and blue mountains, looks remarkably like Switzerland. I spent two nights in Bariloche, which more than lived up to its party reputation. Restaurants, bars, shops, and hotels line the streets. Also in Bariloche, I discovered the pleasures of the Argentinean steak ($ 7 U.S.), superior to any steak I have ver had at any price. Try it with some Argentinean Malbec wine. Also in Bariloche, I had the pleasure of meeting two GS riders in the middle of much longer journeys. Aussie Bill Shum had already piloted his silver R1150 GS Adventure all the way from Los Angeles. ( Visit his blog at: www.travelblog.org/bloggers/unpaidbill. ) As I write, he is on his way through Central America to Los Angeles where we are planning to share a beer together. Somewhere along his trip through South America, Bill teamed up with Rafael from Caracas, Venezuela who rode a new yellow R1200GS. The three of us traded war stories over a tasty bottle of Argentinean wine and more life-affirmiong steak. Since Bill and rafael were heading north, I also learned more about the roads south of Bariloche. I had only one choice to get back to Osorno, a ferry out of Chaiten. It felt good to be so far from home and find companionship in the BMW motorrad fraternity.
On the way out of Bariloche, I stopped to observe about 20 motorcyclists and 10 drivers and their teams preparing their vehicles for an off-road rally starting in the city plaza. I learned that the rally stretched for eight days through roads that rival the most difficult stretches of the Baja race. Most of the competitors were amateurs, but Toyota entered a full-size, turbo diesel truck with a support crew in tow. The participants were as interested in my vehicle as I was in theirs. After fighting to stay rubber-side-down in the mud, the 180 km of well-engineered, banked asphalt roads between Bariloche and the town of El Bolson were a revelation. As rows of daisies, thistles, and marigolds alongside the roadway parallelled my path. I leaned the GS over into turn after turn. No cars, immaculate stretches of road, a canvas of vivid greens and blues surrounding me and no speed limit - it was a great ride. Following a steak break in El Bolson - where I met three Brits on their own Euro R1150GSs - I finished the day's ride to Esquel. Between El Bolson and Esquel, the 180 km. of road opens up and the landscape flattens. The Argentinean plains and climbed across the Andes to the Gulf of Corcovado. The road also narrowed and became convex. When it twisted right, I could easily guide the motorcycle on the right side of the road, using the bank to gain traction. When navigating left turns, however, staying on the right side of the road would have pushed me into foul territory. Instead, I had to use the left side of the road, adjusting my speed to give myself an out if needed. Fortunately, other vehicles in Patagonia are sparse. Most Chileans and Argentineans do not have the incomes to support driving for leisure. As for those on the road, they were universally responsible drivers and easily overtaken in their small economy cars. Sadly, I have to say they were far more conscientious than the average Californian driver. While descending from the mountains into Chaiten's environs, the rain returned and again I wrestled to keep the GS upright. I had a few heart-in-throat moments sliding down hill in the mud, but the Adventure never lost its composure. When I arrived in placid and mist enshrouded Chaiten, I was wet, caked in mud and hungry. Chaiten is a city of weather-beaten dwellings built with distinctive wooden shingles, a convention brought by German immigrants, and rusty corrugated tin roofs. The tinyhunched-over elders of Chaiten perfectly reflected their town's architecture.
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