The final leg was here. Santiago to the bottom of the world. Staying with my Chilean friend in the Beverly Hills of Chile had been bliss, though was probably not the relaxing few days off my body craved before the final push! My mate Sofia is a legend, but is also mental and there was no way I was allowed to leave without getting completely intoxicated . Getting back on the bike was a bit of a shock after lounging around the pool overlooking the snow capped mountains and having my own on suite room with a maid cooking me whatever I desired. Sofia told me that her dads company had 13 shops selling dried food. What I didn’t realise was that they were also the largest exporters of dried fruit in the whole of Chile! The fact they lived down the road from the only Ferrari dealership in Chile was starting to make sense. The few days off had left me with withdrawal symptoms from not having my 100 mile endorphin release, it was definitely time to hit the road, especially if I was going to reach my target of cycling to the bottom of the world by the end of the year.
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| Catalinas House |
A 100 km's out of the city 4 lanes slimmed down to 2 and the traffic decreased dramatically. There was to be one last day of luxury that evening, Sofia had hooked me up with her cousin who lived in a town 200km south of Santiago. She had sent me a text with a picture of her swimming pool and the words “we are waiting for you!” Camp by the road that night or push out 200km's to a BBQ and have a dip in that pool..... it was a no-brainer! I rocked up just before nightfall to another private gated community where Catalina was cooking a mouth watering steak. The house was even bigger than Sofia’s! I was the poor European being put up by the rich South Americans! The next morning I had the long awaited swim I had been craving and got ready to hit the road, still undecided if going for a dip with a hot South American girl in a bikini before getting on my bike was good or bad for my health.
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| Chilean Truck Stop |
Further down the No 5 I stopped for coffee at a gas station. Loads of cars with trailers and transporters were parked up towing flash looking race cars. My Alaskan number plate has a habit of starting conversations and a few of the drivers came over for a chat. They explained that they were on there way to a race at a circuit called Interlomas 100 miles south and that I should come. Racing expensive cars was not a past time I associated with South Americans, and, with the track just a 5 KM detour from the number 5, decided to check it out.
Arriving at Interlomas were rows of Porsche's and a McClaren with tyre warmers ready for tomorrows race. I'd only just arrived when the drivers formed a circle around me, the blue bullet obviously way more interesting than the McClaren F1. The expensive cars had been flown from all around the world for the race...it didn't seem like a bad hobby! Although they were all clearly minted and looked like Richard Branston they were pretty down to earth. After an interesting chat I left and continued south on the motorway. A few miles further on I was startled by a car "beebing" at me from behind. Ready to raise my middle finger I turned to my left to see a brand new chauffeur driven Range Rover Vogue creeping along next to me in the slow lane, and immediately recognised one of the drivers in the front. The back of the car was stuffed with extremely sexy high society Latin women. This process repeated itself a further 4 or 5 times. The rest of the motorway traffic must have been bewildered how Chile's social elite knew the dirty looking nomad on his old bicycle!
Chucking a left off the boring 5 motorway nearly a week later I found myself weaving between snow capped mountains, perfect lakes and one perfectly symmetrical Volcano covered from head to toe in a blanket of snow. I had arrived at the legendary area known as Patagonia. I passed through the lakeside town of Villarica and then took the dirt road towards Puerto Fuy where the road terminated and I took a short boat ride to cross the narrow lake. The dirt road continued on the other side to the Argentine border before dropping down the Andes into San Martin de los Andes and rejoining the legendary route 40.
The pass was no way near as high as further north but equally as spectacular. Heading south back on the tarmac I was about to enter Argentina's Lake District. Its a bit like our Lake District......but on Ecstasy! Lake after crystal clear lake linked with rivers as clean as tap water... I passed through the town of Barriolche, hippy El bolson and then Esquel, where the tarmac of the 40 ended and I headed back towards Chile. At this point I had 2 choices, to remain south on the rocky 40 or to cross back over the Andes to Chile to take an alternative road heading south known as the Carretera Austral. The long spine of the Andes range forces the westerly air upwards causing huge amounts of rainfall on the Chilean side....and virtually none in Argentina. The result is an incredibly green Chile and a brutally baron boring route 40. It was a no brainier. Yet another border pass saw me through to the town of Futaleufu from which I dropped down to the Carretera Austral.
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| Cycle refuge on the Carretera Austral |
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| Patagonia - close to Barioloche |
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| Carretera Austral |
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| Boat from Puerto Fuy |
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| Carretera Austral |
Apart from constantly replacing broken spokes, things were going well for the first couple of days....until I snapped my gear cable and lever that is! When the gear cable snaps the chain slips to the bottom cog, which is also the hardest to pedal! This wouldn't have been too much of an issue flying through California with a trail wind, but going up and down mountains on rocky dirt roads meant I was about to have to do a lot of walking!
I simply couldn't turn the pedals over, even the slightest of inclines were hard work. I tried to make up for lost time by "having it" on the downhill sections. Flying down hill after hill like a kamikaze Japanese pilot I was asking for trouble. Later that day I found myself bombing downhill all over the road with my tyres slipping everywhere over the sand and pebbles. As I My one remaining brake (which was slackened off due to the buckled rim) made little difference on the steep downhill gradient. As the road curved to the right I made a split second decision and took a “b” line towards the edge of the road, where the hillside dropped away steeply. I had a glimmer of hope thinking I could just about make it...when I heard a huge bang! The front of the minibus had slammed into the pannier on my right hand side, a matter of inches away from my leg! The only thing I remember was being launched through the air, my body turning in a spiral motion. My next memory was lying upside down on the steep bank in a thorn bush with my feet four feet higher than my head! The minibus reversed back, the sliding tour opened and about 10 tourists piled out and stared down at me like I was dead! Miraculously my cheap red plastic sunglasses from Mexico were still sitting proudly on my face. As the people starred down in shock, I slowly raised the sunglasses from the bridge of my nose, like something from a terminator film, looked up and smiled! I wasn’t actually sure if I was hurt or not until I tried moving, incredibly the only injury was a little cut to my knee.
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| Tourists returning to there minibus as the Japanese guy stops for one last pic of the stupid Brit! |
The plastic mechanism used to secure the pannier to the bike was obliterated! I stood there, slapping my body all over at the swarm of wasps and thorns in my skin whilst trying to figure out how I could possibly attach the pannier to my bike. The swarm became more and more intense so I ran pushing my bike to the next downhill, where I sat on the cross bar and rode out of control...pannier in one hand and the swarm literally chasing after me. I was to later learn there good for about 22 mph. They just wouldn’t leave me alone!....and with only one gear and one hand I couldn’t out sprint them, in great discomfort I threw my bike to the ground and buried my body in the nearby stream!
Back on the road, I eventually arrived at Puerto Yungay, where the dirt road terminated at a lake for a short crossing to Rio Bravo on the other side. On the boat, I explained to a Chilean bloke called Alfred What had happened to my bike. Alfred was an engineer and without hesitation went to the deck and pulled out his toolbox. He used his pliers to pull the snapped cable through and put an electrical crimp to secure it to an eyelid on the frame. Although I would still not be able to change gear, by placing the chain on my chosen cog and securing the cable at tension ,I was at least able to have a middle of the row gear that would work on shallower hills. Another big plus was that the normally temperamental climate of southern Chile had been bliss. People talk of torrential rain, impassable mud roads and mudslides on the Carretera Austral, though until the last couple of days, where I went from wearing Lycra shorts and a vest to thermals and full wet weather gear, it had been perfect. Then, barely a week after I left, this happened!.....
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| Huge mudslide closing off the Carretera Austral |
6 days after joining the Carretera I had made it to O’Higgins for Friday night. I’d massively put myself through it to get there, doing nearly 100 miles per day on mountain dirt roads with one gear. The timing was impeccable. A boat, the only way out, was forecast for 6am the following morning. The Carretera is literally the road to nowhere, O'Higgins was in fact only accessible by boat until a few years ago. Just as well, I didn't want to hang around, the few shops all have the same food and rotten vegetables!
I stunk and needed a wash big time. Though instead of staying in town I cycled the remaining 7 km to where the road finally stops for good at the small port. My phone battery was dead and I had no alarm clock, so I thought it best to camp on the boat itself. At least this way I couldn't miss it! It seemed like a great idea, though the winds were so strong my tent folded in half on top of me and I began to feel sea sick....without even leaving port!
As promised, the boat left shortly after 6 am. The port was on a long leg of the lake which shielded it from the wind, as the boat entered the main section of the lake the waves quadrupled in size and crashed over the boat, as the wind came howling through. Then, without warning, the pilot did a huge u turn and started heading back. He said the waves were simply too big and dangerous. I thought he was being a pussy, but I guess its not my boat. The next break In the weather was the following Monday and I again went through the routine of cycling the 7km from O’Higgins to the lonely port, this time for an 8 am departure. Again we made it to half way across the lake.....and again he turned around! This time the engine had broken down!! Although we could still move off the secondary engine, the Chilean Navy have the last say...and we were going back to O’Higgins! I couldn’t believe my luck! I’d just literally nearly killed myself getting there for the early boat!
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| Pitching my tent on the boat - O'Higgins |
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| Lake O'Higgins |
The engine was properly busted and parts had to be ordered from Germany, a minimum of 3 weeks for delivery. There was just one other company that ran a smaller more irregular crossing. However, by the time I’d arrived back to O’Higgins, every man and his dog had ran to the agency and bought a ticket for the next scheduled crossing in 4 days time. Then again, the boat had been so hit and miss, I don't know if I would have bought one anyway! The father and son park ranger Canadians I met had a flight home to catch and found the local pilot, who flew from the grass strip. He knew they were desperate and had them by the balls, ripping them off to the tune of 400 dollars each for a 30 minute flight to the next town! I decided there was only one way out for me, and that was the only way I knew how, pedaling panther style on the blue bullet!!!
As far as anyone was aware, there was only one way out from O’Higgins to Argentina, and that was the Chile Chico crossing a few 100 km's north! I dreaded the idea of cycling all the way back again on that relentless bumpy mud road with one gear. I had a chat with Martin, a kind Czech guy working at the lodge I stayed, who told me there was one extreme way of getting to Argentina that few people were aware of, the Paso Mayer! And it began just 8 km from O’Higgins. It made complete sense to me, and there was no time like the present. I filled my panniers with supplies to leave that day. The more he told me the little he knew about the Paso Mayer, the more daunting it became! As I left the lodge people looked at me like I was bonkers and wished me luck. I was a bit mythed by the reaction, later I was to discover why. Either way, there was no backing down now! Returning back to O’Higgins with my tail between my legs was not an option!
As described, 8km from O’Higgins, an even smaller dirt trail T'd off the main dirt road and twisted up into the mountains. I’d only pedalled 15km when I had a puncture, and only one spare tube that was also punctured! It was not a good start, especially given the huge remoteness of the area. I used a muddy puddle to find the hole and patched up the old tube. Its always a tentative moment when you pedal away again, half expecting the whistling sound of escaping air, though the patched stayed firm. A few hours later after climbing a muddy hill, passing snowy mountains and an impressive lake, I saw the Chilean flag flying outside what appeared to be an old wooden army barracks. It must be the border I surmised. I knocked on the door which was opened by an officer in uniform, behind him I saw a huge long table where the officers were tucking into a Christmas feast by the tree. It was a far cry from being outside in the cold on my bicycle with a tin of sardines in my bag rationed for the evening meal! He looked startled to see me. This was not your average border crossing! He eventually discovered what he was supposed to do with my passport, hit it with an old pre-war looking rubber stamp and made a phone call to some other immigration office (that at least had a computer and internet I presumed) to inform them I was leaving Chile. He then walked me outside and pointed to the horizon, explaining that I must walk through those rivers followed by a serious of other instructions I didn’t understand but nodded to anyway! So this was the dreaded Paso Mayer!
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| Border post |
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| "Go through the whole in the gate and walk through the rivers!" ...the army officer tells me |
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| The first of many rivers....this one slow and not so deep....it got a lot worse! |
Martin had printed me a very basic aerial view map and instructions from someone’s account of making the pass. Unfortunately they were of very limited use. What lay ahead of me was a vast network of rivers and dense forest without even a hint of a footpath! With light fading the officer had suggested I camp the night and start tomorrow morning, though procrastinating about wading through freezing cold rivers with limited food rations didn’t make any sense. I took off my socks, rolled up my leggings and set out immediately. 100 metres after leaving the base I found myself waist high pushing my bike through the first of many rivers, the icy cold meltwater stung, especially when I dropped below the level of my groin! The first few streams and rivers were cold and hard work, but predictable, and I managed to drag the bike through. Next was a narrower river which meandered with a powerful current. The nearside of the mender was shallow but as I stepped to the outer bend of the river I felt my body plunge down and the water neared my chest, the bike all of a sudden became weightless and floated, the strong current grabbed hold of it, flipped it sideways and launched it down stream! I yanked at the handlebars wrestling with my bike and footing and tried to lunge forward to the river bank! I eventually managed to throw myself at the bank and pull myself up, pulling a muscle in my arm in the process. I was wet, freezing cold, my panniers were now full of water, and to top it off completely lost! The only civilization I was aware of was the border post. I couldn’t work out if it was safer to turn around or keep ploughing on into the wilderness! I chose the later.
The only landmark I was sure of was that at some point I would hit a main river (if the last 10 rivers I’d waded through weren’t main enough!), chuck a left and follow that “main” river until I found a footbridge. The rest of the instructions were completely meaningless, a huge network of rivers and streams criss-crossed the huge U shaped valley intertwined with boggy marshland, ponds,dense bush land and forests. I eventually came to what I thought was the main river which I followed for as long as I could before climbing a steep bank........and there.....in the distance...was a glimpse of the footbridge! Seeing that bridge toped reaching any border crossing and I recall letting out a pathetic little yelp of joy! I was in deep and there was no turning back, but importantly I was going the right way.
The bridge was so narrow my handlebars would not fit between the hand ropes. It had broken wooden slats and swung erratically above the fast flowing river it crossed. It wouldn’t have looked out of place in an Indiana Jones movie,The Temple of Doom springing to mind! I had to make 2 trips, the first with my panniers and the second waking backwards dragging the bike on the rear wheel so the handlebars cleared the top of the bridge. The bridge terminated in an enclosed triangle of fences. I pondered who and why anyone built this bridge in the middle of no mans land between the 2 countries and why they had build border posts with no connecting paths between them! I guess it was due the two countries hatred of each other, no doubt exacerbated by the Chileans helping out the Brits in the Falklands. I emptied the contents of my paniers onto the grass and hung the sodden wet Clothes over the fence to dry out as night fell, cooked some grub and passed out wondering what was in store for me on the Paso Mayer tomorrow.
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| Drying out them clothes! |
At moments like this on my journey I became oblivious to tiredness and hunger and woke anxious to get cracking, envisaging the moment when I would see the blue and wife flag of Argentina, marking the border post, safety and the end of 15 kilometres of no-mans land. I woke early and left eagerly without breakfast, pushing and then carrying my heavy bike over one shoulder. The vast stream and river network now replaced with prickly fauna and thick forest. It was a nightmare, I had no idea which direction to walk, no spare tubes and just 2 patches left...and vivid memories of pedalling just a 100 metres off the side of the road in northern Argentina to find a place to camp, later discovering I had a total over 14 thorns piercing both tyres! Any more than 2 punctures this time it would be trip over, El Calafate was the next town several hundred miles away! Bike over the shoulder was the only way!
I painstakingly carried my bike across an open area of marsh and bushes before entering a dense Forest, keeping the main river on my right hand side. I eventually saw the first signs of life, the tred marks of a 4x4 disappearing into a mature forest. I followed them for several kilometers before they came to an opening and terminated at the end of a field into a metal fence. On the positive, a fence was the first sign of human life I had spotted in 2 days! I decided to climb it....and several kilometers and fences later with massive relief I spotted a yellow wooden building on the horizon. Getting closer I saw I ripped flag on a pole and was convinced it was the border, though soon discovered it was a primitive farmhouse surrounded by chained up dogs. I knocked on the door and an old boy limped out like something from the Goonies! He looked as shocked as I did and grunted at me in what must have been Spanish, to which I understood Nada. I eventually discovered I had passed the border by a couple of km's and managed to find a track leading back there. A wooden building sat in the middle of nowhere with a couple of horses and Soviet era 4x4 sitting out the front The startled immigration officer opened the door in his tracksuit, kindly gave me some water, stamped my passport and I was on my way! End of the Paso Mayor, massive relief!......
Paso Mayor.
Something else I forgot to mention had broken was my camera! Whilst taking a dump in a small town I placed it on the cistern. As I stood up to wipe my arse it fell in! The only saving grace is I had to put my hand into my own poo water and not someone else's! The Camera was supposed to be waterproof!...it started working again intermitetlty a week later, though most of the pics are very washed out looking / or crappy mobile phone shots....real shame!
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| It must be this way! ...completely lost and getting a little concerned! |
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| It should be obvious said the bloke in the hostel....yeah right!..completely lost at this point. |
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| Civilization!!! The moment I stumbled upon the yellow roofed old farm |
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| I may as well have used this paper to light a fire! |
The road turned right again, placing the wind behind me once more......it was time to bandage up and switch the Turbo on!!!! This is no exaggeration whatsoever, but, on a completely flat remote dirt road my bike launched ahead without me pedalling at all! On the flat....without pedalling ....I was ripping along at a constant speed between 23 and over 30mph ...........for over 60 miles!!! I had to constantly keep slamming my brakes on to prevent me losing control! Eventually I brought my new wanna-be motorbike to a holt as the gravel track terminated. I had reached the infamous route 40 - and this section was fresh tarmac! What a buzz! I continued in a south easterly direction until I eventually hit the town of Gobernador Gregores later that day. From waking up in my tent by the Indiana Jones bridge lost in no mans land, I had walked, climbed, pedalled and been blown 220 kilometres that day. Unfortunately after the extreme 2 day effort I was barley south of O’Higgins, the place I was trying to escape... The race to the bottom of the world was getting longer not shorter! On top of that, there would be a big price to pay for all that tail wind!!!
My memories of daily head on winds throughout Peru where about to seem like a walk in the park by what was coming my way. The 40 was to return to its infamous “ripio” – unpaved gravel and stones, and the 40 was about to snake its course from heading east to west. Southern Patagonian wind is said to be among the strongest in the world....well I quote!
The extreme winds in Torres del Paine have become the stuff of legend for hikers in the area. These gusts have been known reach up to 110 mph (180 kph) – strong enough to make a hiker and his backpack airborne!
The wind in Patagonia is notorious for being so strong that it could blow you over. This is because Patagonia is an enormous, mostly treeless plateau which gets blasted by the relentless dry polar winds that continually blow from the west. Patagonia is the definition of windy.
They stand squarely athwart what sailors refer to as the “roaring forties” and “furious fifties” — that region of the Southern Hemisphere between 40º and 60º south latitude known for ferocious wind and storm. The violent weather spawned over the great south sea charges through the Patagonian Andes with gale-force wind, roaring cloud, and stinging snow. Buried like a rapier deep into the heart of the southern ocean, Patagonia is a land trapped between angry torrents of sea and sky.”
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| The last night of using the tent - from that night on I roughed it outside under bridges and tunnels. It was the only way I could get a decent night sleep! |
So lets just say its not a great place to ride a bicycle!....and my stupid detour meant I was about to ride straight into it!!! My average speed was about to slow from high 20's mph to either a slow walk, or if I could cycle, 3 mph at best! It was literally a case of celebrating every mile. The wind would often slam me to the ground, grip hold of my bike and turn me 180 degrees, sending me in the other direction, make me weave all over the road like a alcoholic leaving an open bar or on a couple of occasions, send me flying across the entire highway into the fence on the other side! I would often see passing trucks laughing at me as my bike was angled at 45 degrees into a side wind! I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry! To top it off, civilization was always a minimum of 100 miles apart. There really is sweet FA in southern Patagonia! That night I tried to pitch my tent behind a rock as the wind dropped off. I probably got a cumulative total of an hours sleep that night, the wind was so strong my tent smothered around me like a mummy with the top frame of the tent touching the floor! I may as all well have kept walking all night! The following day saw the return of the tarmac, as well as 2 freshly broken spokes. My cheap Argentine rim that cost me the price of a hamburger was a constant ball ache. As one spoke breaks others always follow in quick succession, before long the whole wheel will brake behond repair. With me getting so remote and close to the finish line, I was coming increasingly concerned that a broken rim would jeopardize the whole expedition. I had cycled every inch of the way. If that wheel broke I would have to walk for weeks to get to the finish line. I had come to far to brake my only rule and take a lift now!
That afternoon, with my bike balanced as upright as possible to prevent any further damage, I trickled into the tiny town of Tres Lagos. There was one mechanic in town who told me to come back at 4. When I did he told me in Spanish, "I thought you just wanted your tyre removing"!! Do I really look that blond and stupid I thought! ....well obviously yes! He went on to tell me he didn’t know how to fix bicycles. How anyone could fix modern car engines and not a bicycle wheel is a myth to me! There was just one more hope, the tyre bloke, who lived at the blue house on the edge of the town (hamlet would be a more appropriate word). This bloke explained he didn’t have the tools to fix my bike – which to me implied he had the know-how to fix and true a wheel if he could find the right tools. I had a huge stroke of luck when I knocked on an old boys house with a garden full of mechanical junk like (a bit like our family kitchen as a child with my mad professor father). To my amazement he lent me the two things I needed -
1) A spoke key (for tightening spokes)
2) A Cassette remover - a little adapter so you can remove the back cogs with a wrench in order to poke new spokes through the rear hub.
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| Spoke key and Cassette Remover...and my improvised bandage for the sliced finger |
Again I knocked on the blue painted house. This time his wife came out followed be her dog and 3 kids, a good looking girl with a fag hanging out of her mouth. She was the Argentine equivalent of a Jeremy Kyle candidate...but nice! She had no idea where her bloke was, but left the young kids in the house and barking dog, disappeared and came back with 2 lads carrying a tool box, they looked about 14! I had no chance I thought! The next town of any size with a bike shop was El Calafate, 162 Km's away, with 2 broken spokes already that wheel would never get me there! Surely these unlikely lads could not come to the rescue! First the fork and spoon came out to remove the tyre....then the hammer and screwdriver, one of them smacking the rear cogs while the other gripped it with his hands, I gave up there and then. Not a chance I thought.....how wrong I was!!! The crafty little beggars freed the rear cassette, changed the spokes and I was up and running! Hats off to those boys!
Leaving Tres Lagos, I was just waiting for the moment one spoke broke and the wheel fell apart. It didn’t. It hadn’t been put together quite properly as the pedals turned without pedaling! But it got me there! There were 2 bike shops in El Calafate (a town built at the site of the huge glacier). The posh new shop was useless. The other shop, a garage in the back garden of a blokes house, covered in local 1980s race photographs, was a absolute gem. Heaps of components piled up in boxes that hadn’t been sifted through for decades, not only did he have a 26 inch wheel of reasonable quality, he also fitted me an old school frame mounted gear lever! Having more than one gear for the first time in 2 weeks was priceless!
Back on the bike with confidence renewed I was on to the final push. Winds continued to howl bossing me all over the road and temperatures plummeted. I ended up cycling on the left towards on-coming traffic wearing my trainers to prevent me getting blown into a lorry. I also stopped using my tent. The only thing keeping the tent on the ground was my body weight. I ended up opting to sleep rough in the underground concrete tunnels which passed underneath the road to allow rainwater to flow. If they were at right-angles to the westerly wind they would provide excellent cover and enable me to light my gas stove and get half decent sleep. I vividly recall waking up one morning in one of these tunnels, freezing my tits off with snow blowing in, thinking I was dreaming, unfortunately I wasn’t!
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| The bone shaking route 40 |
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| Packing my bags after a good night sleep in the tunnel |
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| great wind shelter to get the stove lit |
The 40 winded its way south with both huge tail, head-on and cross winds depending on which way the curves went. I was headed back to Chile for the final time. As I passed immigration in Argentina into no mans land, a bold sign marked the arrival of Chile. Directly beneath it the poorly maintained gravel road of Argentina was dramatically cut like knife through butter, the surface transforming into perfectly paved fresh tarmac of Formula one quality. It was like the Chileans were raising a huge middle finger to the Argentine’s saying.. "Who's the economic powerhouse of Latin America now!!” The area I had entered was a national park known as Torres del Paine. Its beauty is world famous. Unfortunately the park entrance was on a road heading north. Furthermore, the demand to see its impressive jagged peaks is so high they charge a small fortune for accommodation, trekking and camping permits. It was a real shame, but mustering the energy to cycle in the wrong direction after pedalling from Alaska was a mentally grueling. Anyway...this is what I missed out on!
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| Torres del Paine - not my photo! |
Heading south from Torres del Paine the wind gave me a huge push and all four seasons would hit in one day. Sunset was now at 11pm. The road, known as the end of the world highway, passed through Puerto Natales before eventually arriving at the pretty city of Punta Arenas. Chileans like to claim Punta Arenas as the worlds most southern city. It is actually the most southern part of the continuous landmass of South America. Tierra del Fuego beneath is technically an island despite it being a stones throw from the main land mass. Though this claim is more due to the fact that Ushuaia, the actual bottom of the world, belongs to there good buddy Argentina! Such extremities seemed to equal strange behavior. At the start of my trip Alaskans opened there doors with pistols, shot bears and were a law to themselves. It was not uncommon for people out of line to just disappear! The Chileans at the opposite end of the world lay topless soaking up the sun on a cloudy day of about 12 degrees. This was there summer! It made the half naked Brits abroad in Benidorm look civilised!
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| Seeing Ushuaia on the sign for the first time. |
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| My very final night on the road - gas station Tierra del Fuego |
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| The Maldives are of course what we know as the Falklands...it crossed my mind swop the flags back. |
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| Passing under a chair lift of a ski resort near to Ushuaia |
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| My final border pass from Chile to Argentina....camping literally on the border |
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| Taking a quick power nap by the roadside in my sleeping bag |
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| 3 days to go....Starting to realise the dream! |
From Punta Arenas I took the boat to Porvenir, the small port in Tierra del fuego. The final push to the true end of the world, Ushuaia. The last few day were some what of a blur and it wasn’t until now that I actually released that, after pedalling south from Alaska nearly everyday since 3pm on the 23rd of April 2017, the road would actually come to and end. It was hard to believe. Everything I had seen since initially starting the trip in November 2016 in Delhi,India, started drifting through my head......
• Being dragged into the back room of a guesthouse by a drunk doctor in socks to find myself standing above a woman patient while they sliced her open and pulled out her gallbladder! – (see India blog update)
• Running across immigration in Bangladesh after the homosexual border control guard kept trying to hold my hand....... then being chased by a Police motorbike demanding me to keep pedalling. The fear finally wiped from my face when the 2nd armed police jeep convoy presented me with flowers, the day ending with a 3rd convoy taking me through Bangladesh with Machine guns at the ready, blue lights flashing and the traffic separating for my arrival!...and it didn’t end there– (see Bangladesh blog)
• Cycling to the magnificent sights of The Taj Mahal, India, Mt Fuji, Japan and trekking to Mt Everest base camp, Nepal...(& of course a solo summit without oxygen will happen soon!)
• Screaming out load thinking I was going to die after being stung by a Stingray in the sea of Cortes.
• Leaving Alaska in freezing snow, camping in minus 10 waking up to my water bottle frozen solid and shitting myself every time I saw a bear – 14 in total!
• The incredible transition of starting at the top of the world in snow, reaching sunny California (where I shipped home a classic car), baking in the insane desert heat in Mexico, tropical jungle In Central America, and finally getting to the very bottom of the world...which wasn’t so different to where I started.
• Being offered a place to stay in the old cockroach invested home of a seemingly very friendly old Mexican couple....The one – eyed man then walking towards my make-shift bed in his underpants, lying down next to me.....and reaching out a grabbing my arse!! His wife then coming in to give him a beating!
• Skinny dipping with a friendly good looking bi-sexual Mexican girl at a gay beach resort.
Tierra Del Fuego was a dramatic and stunning end to the trip. Hugely remote, the dirt road eventually gave way to tarmac.The land was full of Guanacos (big deer looking things) who would run from the road and hurdle the fences with Colin Jackson like grace.Seeing Ushuaia on the signpost for the first time was a surreal feeling. My last night on the road was spent camping outside a petrol station less than 100km from Ushuaia. The next morning I rose early just wanting to get to the finish line. The last day was hilly, my mind was a mess, thinking about the last 13 months on the road. My legs were like jelly and just wouldn't work, it was like a horrible dream where you try to run away from someone and just get nowhere! I think my body mentally knew it was all about to end and had just said... that's enough! It had been a long way from Alaska with little rest. When I finally passed the signpost to arrive at the city of Ushuaia, the bottom of the world, my mind just went a bit numb. It didn't seem possible I wouldn't have to get on my bicycle the next day and pedal! Before arriving, I didn't know if I would want to throw my 350 quid second hand bicycle into the ocean or hang her on my wall, in the end it was obvious. On the 21st of December 2017, 7 months and 27 days after leaving Anchorage, Alaska, I had actually cycled from the top of the world to the bottom.
This last chapter of the blog was meant to be finished a long time ago! Though I made it my mission to get down to the bottom inside 8 months - and was really proud to make it. I had originally intended to chill on a beach for a few days before going home to winter in the UK, though I had made it possible to get home for Christmas to surprise the family. So, I flew from Ushuaia to to Buenos Aires on Christmas Eve, partied all night, then got a flight to Amsterdam on Christmas day where my family were spending Christmas with my younger brother. I assembled the blue bullet and knocked on my brothers door.....my mum opened the door startled and couldn't stop crying! - I was beginning to think she was going to have a heart attack and the plan would backfire! But all was good...my first Christmas with the family in 10 years......................
I've called this the last blog, which may or may not be true! A couple of months ago, to my amazement, I was granted a 6 month extension on my sabbatical. If I could pull the money together I had always planned on cycling to my starting point, Delhi. However, since the temperature in Kazakhstan right now is at minus 10 I've had a change of plan. There was only one solution......the most extreme and incredible continent of them all....Cairo to Capetown......AFRICA!
