After being stuck in a cold rinse cycle for three days at Pichilemu it was time to put ourselves out to dry in the Argentinian desert. The only catch was that we had no guarantee Scott and Pat would be able to leave the country with their motorbikes.
Lachie here checking in.
If my story of a hand written note seemed a little sketchy, the boys just had to take it to the next level and take on the border with no documents other than a poder. In preparation for the impending d-day crossing, we decided to chill out for a night at a stunning mountain top campsite.
Waking to a burnt orange sky, this beautiful sunrise was a sure sign of a good day to come. Having identified our allergy to highway riding, our route took us through the backlots of the Chilean countryside. We followed dirt roads over mountains, passing gauchos on their horses and their traditional mudbrick homes.
Making it deep into the Andes we roared past cyclists slogging their way up massive climbs with smug little grins on our faces. Those smug little grins quickly faded when the customs officials took our passports, visas and import papers and disappeared for half an hour. Thankfully with Chile glad to get rid of us and Argentina oblivious to the chaos they were letting in, we crossed the border, bikes and all.
Not making it 5km before a roadside churros stall stopped us in our tracks, it soon became clear we weren’t going to make it as far as we anticipated. In tune with our new favourite poem “We’ll see”, this turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Winding down valleys set between gigantic mountains, we momentarily took some time to look away from the views and notice a small tunnel leading off into the mountains.
This would become our beautiful home for the night, complete with a waterfall, a grand master bedroom, a breakfast bridge and Cliffside driveway. Safe to say we didn’t want to leave.
The only thing that could drag us away from our new mansion was an old disused railway line nearby. Now don’t worry because we can guarantee it was disused because there was no way you would send a train over the rotting sleepers that formed the base of the bridge we wanted to ride the motorbikes across.
Having had our fun and not lost ourselves or our motorbikes to the river below, we sped to the next town to top up with fuel. With all the shops closed for siesta we departed with what little food we had left and hit the road significantly unprepared for an epic adventure that lay ahead. We’ll fill you in on that story shortly.