The End. Or maybe not...

There is nothing quite like the sinking feeling of looking down to see a puddle of oil and bits of crankcase under your engine, after the bike just ground to an unexpected halt. I can say this with confidence since it happened to me Saturday.

Having got to El Calafate with a sore backside, and neck pain from my head being blown about in the ferocious winds across the Steppe, I then got in the shower to wind down from a hard day and slipped straight over, injuring my knee too. I must have looked a sight hobbling around the hotel, clutching my neck and trying really hard not to wince when I sat down. Why do you never read about these things in adventure books? ;)

I got a tour bus out to Lake Argentino next morning. Calafate exists solely because of the tourists looking at the glaciers, and all it is good for is t-shirts, beer and glacier tours. There was no way I was going to get the bike looked at, or obtain a new chain. I tried to push my worries about the bike out of my mind and enjoy a day off, but the nagging doubt that I had to make Punta Arenas somehow just wouldn't go away.

The bus took us the 80km to the national park, then dropped us at a dock where we got on a catamaran which took us out to the glacier's south face. Perito Moreno glacier is odd for two reasons - firstly it occasionally is long enough to cut Lake Brazo Rico off from Lake Argentino, resulting in one lake higher than the other until the glacier finally breaks spectacularly - and secondly because unlike almost every other glacier on Earth at the moment, Perito Moreno is not retreating. Scientists are all over it trying to figure out why.


The noise as we sat a hundred metres or so from the ice face was the amazing thing, lots of cracks and splitting noises going on. At one point I saw a huge section at the centre fall away or "calf" into the lake, but was so busy gawping that I forgot I had my camera more or less in front of my eyes. After the boat ride the tour group spent a lot of time at some observation platforms with loads of other tourists, but it was nothing compared to Peru and I was quite happy to see how many people were interested in a cool natural phenomenon.


Heading back in the bus I more or less passed out for the whole journey, I was very tired for some reason. Back at the hotel I managed to find someone, finally, that still wanted to talk to me after she found out I was English. Since arriving in Argentina I had started to become a little paranoid that when people asked where I came from and I replied, they quickly lost interest. Added to that I had noticed it was possible to buy stickers or badges with the flag of more or less everywhere in Calafate - even Belgium for goodness sake - but not the UK. No hotels had the Union Flag outside either, but had most other nations. I thought about the Falklands war that was all over the TV when I was a kid and guessed that some grudges die hard.

Having adjusted the chain as far as it would go on the bike, it was still slack and I reluctantly left Calafate next morning, knowing there was little chance it would survive the 550Km to Punta Arenas but not having much of a choice other than to try. If I was lucky it might just keep jumping the sprocket, but the worse case scenario was the chain snapping or jumping and mangling the engine at 60mph, causing untold damage to the bike and more importantly me, maybe in the middle of nowhere. It was going to be a tense day.

I resolved to try to slow down or stop as little as possible, as slower speeds meant more slack chain. Against that I had to weigh up the fuel situation, and I knew I would need to stop as often as possible to fuel the bike as it was going through fuel so fast. I also needed to stop at the border as I was crossing back into Chile to get to Punta Arenas.

The first 150Km or so went ok, but as I slowed down to make my first fuel top-up I could hear the chain rattling even with my earplugs in and the fierce wind. In the petrol station I got off the bike and had a look. The chain was the same shape as a capital D, or a big cheesy mocking grin. Chains aren't meant to look like that. It didn't do anything much for my confidence, so I sat next to the bike on the forecourt steps and ate an ice cream while I pondered my options. I pressed on.

I crossed the border at a dull looking industrial town called Rio Turbio. I was a little upset that I was going to miss out on Torres Del Paine, one of the planned highlights of the trip, but it was up a gravel road and there was simply no way I could risk going there with the chain in the state it was. A little before Rio Turbio however, I got a view of Torres Del Paine in the distance and the peaks were all covered by low cloud, so I didn't feel quite so bad.

Leaving Argentina was no problem, in fact they probably couldn't wait to get rid of me judging by most folks I've met ;) but entering Chile, I was stopped by SAG customs officials because I had a couple of gallons of fuel strapped to the back of the bike. I politely pointed out that there were also 5 gallons IN the bike, but they weren't concerned about that. They told me that a few years ago a car carrying a plastic can of fuel crashed, and everybody died in a fire because of the split fuel can. Now it is illegal to carry fuel in a plastic can. Unusually for me, I resolved to argue the toss on the point. I needed the fuel, there was nothing between the border and Punta Arenas 200 plus km away, and I think I was a bit stressed about the chain. I got off the bike to pursue the matter, but at that point an official came over and in very good English told me that they understood I was on a long remote trip, and they would waive the issue for me. I like Chile ;)

So it was I found myself riding the entire way to Punta Arenas head down watching the mileage fall, almost completely ignoring everything around me but the wind, which was starting to reach simply unbelievable levels. I've always known that Punta Arenas was about as far south on the mainland Americas as you can go, but what I wasn't prepared for was how bleak and remote the peninsula it sits on is. There is simply nothing there, except wind. When Shackleton failed to reach Antarctica in 1914 and survived two winters on the ice floes, the rescue finally came from Punta Arenas. Judging by the bleakness of this place in summer, I cannot comprehend what Shackleton and his men went through further south.

I rolled into town hugely relieved that I had made it, and found an hotel for the night. The staff helped me track down a couple of bike shops, but no one had a chain in the size I needed. One of them however pointed me to a bike mechanic, so I figured on Saturday morning I would take the bike for him to have a look at. I got three blocks from the hotel before there was a thump, the clutch lever went slack and the bike died. Looking down there was a gathering pool of oil and engine parts. Oh.

My first thought was actually relief - I was glad it didn't happen out in the wilds of Patagonia. I was also glad I was barely crawling along at the time. As I pushed the bike up the long hill to the mechanic I figured that worst case, the engine was damaged and that would probably mean the end of the trip, and me flying home from Punta Arenas without the bike, unless I wanted a long wait in South America while the repairs were carried out.

Arriving at the garage I started trying to explain what had happened with the chain and the resulting damage. The mechanic looked at me and asked if I spoke English. It turned out that Gonzalo, the mechanic, spoke really good English which was helpful since I have enough trouble ordering lunch, let alone bike parts ;) He took one look at the chain and told me the problem was that the chain was a cheap one with no O rings, and he showed me how loose all the links were. Hmmm, thanks Promoto. In fairness, I had bought the chain on recommendation from a different shop, but it would have been nice if Promoto Suzuki had told me I needed an O ring chain when they fitted it. Some VStrom experts they turned out to be!

Gonzalo said I had snapped the clutch pin, and the crankcase around it which would be easy to fix, but that ordering the chain would take time I didn't have. He thought Thursday 18th maybe I could have the bike back, fixed. My chances of Christmas at home just evaporated.

So - the bike is dead but appears to be in the hands of a decent mechanic. I am stuck in Punta Arenas, which to be fair is not New York City. There isn't much to see or do. If I really do have to wait here until Thursday I may try to get a coach tour back up to Torres Del Paine, or over to see the penguin colony at Seno Otway.

When I find out more about the bike, I'll post it here.

Frase.