Saturday, February 21, 2004
Gone South for the Winter-USHUAIA
I have arrived in Ushuaia!
After a year of planning and almost 5 months on the road I have reached the end of the road, literally. I am not really sure how I feel about it though. On the one hand I am very excited to have achieved my goal, but on the other hand I am the furthest I have ever been from home.
Bittersweet emotions all around. As the continent began to funnel down into Patagonia and eventually Tierra Del Fuego we started to run into more and more travelers either returning from or moving towards Ushuaia. We would all swap road stories and congratulate each other for making the decision to go the distance, but we would never travel very far together, not sure why. With some 1,000 miles of dirt track ahead of us I knew we were still quite a ways away from El Fin del Mundo. A crash now would be devastating.
In northern Argentina we decided we would take the western coastal route through Chile so as to visit Fitz Roy and Torres Del Paines before cutting east into Argentina for the ferry over to Tierra Del Fuego. This is not the way most road weary travelers go opting for the less scenic, out of the way paved path across the Argentinian pampas. We made the right decision as the Lake District is without comparison, the most beautiful place in the world I have ever seen.
This far south the landscape and weather are unbelievably dramatic. The sun would sweep so low for so long before disappearing beyond the horizon that we would enjoy 2 hour, explosive, heaven-on-Earth sunsets. Once dark however, you would have to retreat to the tent or behind some sturdy structure as the wind would come driving in at over 80 mph picking up anything that was not deeply rooted in the Earth. Occasionally we would have to press on into the night to reach a town, by the time we would dismount our necks would be cramped from fighting the wind and our tires would be scorched on one side for counter-steering.
6 border crossings between Chile and Argentina and 4 ferries later we were on Tierra Del Fuego, within striking distance. Normally we would have made the final push to our desired destination, but we decided to bed up for the night so as to come in for a daylight landing. Just like every morning I put on my firefighters pants and struggled to slip my boots on, but today I broke out a fresh shirt, even though the one I had been wearing still had another couple of days of wear left in it before terminal bacteria growth set in. Fresh socks too, this is a very special day.
Over the hills and past the crystal blue lakes a hand carved wooden sign appeared. "USHUAIA-The southernmost city in the word." I threw my hands up and entered into the town a victor. Wild laughter bouncing around in my helmet, tears building. I made it. God damn, I did it!
I swung back around past the "Ushuaia-Come visit us again soon!" sign and reentered the town tugging on my handlebars in a failed attempt to pull a wheelie. Jim is already off his bike taking pictures of the sign, while I am on my third pass. I have gone too far and endured too much to just enter once, it is only a split second moment when you break on through. I want that feeling forever.
Wiping away some faint tears, I pose for a few shots with the sign to verify my location and roll into town to find a decent hotel for the night. No camping, there best be room at the inn. I tell myself I deserve a bed, maybe some company in it if Jim and I don't hit the champagne and cigars too hard. The townspeople don't even give us a second look as we roll down the town's main street. They are undoubtedly familiar with the sight of road dogs seeking something, looking to find that feeling of completeness in their town.
Within a few minutes we hook up with a couple of other motorcyclists, Juan Carlos, the self-proclaimed moto-poet from Mexico and Mike a square-jawed Canadian that rode the distance through Central America just a coupe of days behind me. They tell us they are heading into the Parque Nacional de Tierra Del Fuego to see where the road actually runs into the Beagle Straights and the Arctic Circle, so we saddle up and ride together til there ain't no more riding south.
"This is it brother.we are done."
"Yeah, I know. Just not sure how I feel about it. Sort of like: now what?"
"Me too."
"I say we go a little farther."
"Swimming? Its gonna be cold!"
"No man, its gonna be cool."
Drip drying naked on an abandoned boat moring, in full sight of a bus load of tourists, it occurs to me as I squint to see what the sun actually looks like- The road south has ended, but my wanderlust endures. Nothing has changed. I must keep going. Only now I have a more meaningful destination - HOME!
posted by Xavier - RoadWarrior on 12:55 PM
After a year of planning and almost 5 months on the road I have reached the end of the road, literally. I am not really sure how I feel about it though. On the one hand I am very excited to have achieved my goal, but on the other hand I am the furthest I have ever been from home.
Bittersweet emotions all around. As the continent began to funnel down into Patagonia and eventually Tierra Del Fuego we started to run into more and more travelers either returning from or moving towards Ushuaia. We would all swap road stories and congratulate each other for making the decision to go the distance, but we would never travel very far together, not sure why. With some 1,000 miles of dirt track ahead of us I knew we were still quite a ways away from El Fin del Mundo. A crash now would be devastating.
In northern Argentina we decided we would take the western coastal route through Chile so as to visit Fitz Roy and Torres Del Paines before cutting east into Argentina for the ferry over to Tierra Del Fuego. This is not the way most road weary travelers go opting for the less scenic, out of the way paved path across the Argentinian pampas. We made the right decision as the Lake District is without comparison, the most beautiful place in the world I have ever seen.
This far south the landscape and weather are unbelievably dramatic. The sun would sweep so low for so long before disappearing beyond the horizon that we would enjoy 2 hour, explosive, heaven-on-Earth sunsets. Once dark however, you would have to retreat to the tent or behind some sturdy structure as the wind would come driving in at over 80 mph picking up anything that was not deeply rooted in the Earth. Occasionally we would have to press on into the night to reach a town, by the time we would dismount our necks would be cramped from fighting the wind and our tires would be scorched on one side for counter-steering.
6 border crossings between Chile and Argentina and 4 ferries later we were on Tierra Del Fuego, within striking distance. Normally we would have made the final push to our desired destination, but we decided to bed up for the night so as to come in for a daylight landing. Just like every morning I put on my firefighters pants and struggled to slip my boots on, but today I broke out a fresh shirt, even though the one I had been wearing still had another couple of days of wear left in it before terminal bacteria growth set in. Fresh socks too, this is a very special day.
Over the hills and past the crystal blue lakes a hand carved wooden sign appeared. "USHUAIA-The southernmost city in the word." I threw my hands up and entered into the town a victor. Wild laughter bouncing around in my helmet, tears building. I made it. God damn, I did it!
I swung back around past the "Ushuaia-Come visit us again soon!" sign and reentered the town tugging on my handlebars in a failed attempt to pull a wheelie. Jim is already off his bike taking pictures of the sign, while I am on my third pass. I have gone too far and endured too much to just enter once, it is only a split second moment when you break on through. I want that feeling forever.
Wiping away some faint tears, I pose for a few shots with the sign to verify my location and roll into town to find a decent hotel for the night. No camping, there best be room at the inn. I tell myself I deserve a bed, maybe some company in it if Jim and I don't hit the champagne and cigars too hard. The townspeople don't even give us a second look as we roll down the town's main street. They are undoubtedly familiar with the sight of road dogs seeking something, looking to find that feeling of completeness in their town.
Within a few minutes we hook up with a couple of other motorcyclists, Juan Carlos, the self-proclaimed moto-poet from Mexico and Mike a square-jawed Canadian that rode the distance through Central America just a coupe of days behind me. They tell us they are heading into the Parque Nacional de Tierra Del Fuego to see where the road actually runs into the Beagle Straights and the Arctic Circle, so we saddle up and ride together til there ain't no more riding south.
"This is it brother.we are done."
"Yeah, I know. Just not sure how I feel about it. Sort of like: now what?"
"Me too."
"I say we go a little farther."
"Swimming? Its gonna be cold!"
"No man, its gonna be cool."
Drip drying naked on an abandoned boat moring, in full sight of a bus load of tourists, it occurs to me as I squint to see what the sun actually looks like- The road south has ended, but my wanderlust endures. Nothing has changed. I must keep going. Only now I have a more meaningful destination - HOME!
posted by Xavier - RoadWarrior on 12:55 PM
