Going The Distance

Wake at 8.30. Hope to be on the road by 10am. Is that so much to ask? Apparently yes: breakfast takes 45 minutes to arrive. Even though we’ve ordered toast, we’re in the very hostel we spent the night in, and we’re the only people at breakfast. Dude.

Mike decides to take the bike to a mechanic again to get the exhaust refitted. Apparently the road from here to the Argentian border is even worse that the road from Potosi. Frankly, none of the three of us is quite sure how that can be the case given the quality of the roads yesterday (Mike said it was the toughest riding he has done on this entire 7 month journey), but if Bolivians are saying it, jeez, it must be true.

When we get back to the mechanic to pick up the bike with high and secure exhaust (one of its two pipes), Mike notices that the sealing screw of the transmission oil is gone. Which means that the reservoir will be filled with all the dust of yesterday’s journey. Oh shit. So I’m now typing outside the third mechanic we have asked, Mike is with the mechanic, they have cleaned out the chamber, which apparently was filthy, replaced the oil. Mike is now going to take it round the block then they’ll replace the entire oil once more.

Then we’re going to go to the Promised Land of Argentina.

Later: oh my, oh my. Really nothing I can type can begin to capture the experience of travelling on the MAIN ROAD between Bolivia and Argentina. We knew that Tupisa was only 90km from the border. 90km really is chump change – on decent roads it’s less than an hour. It took us 3 and a half.

They are rebuilding the road from Tupisa to the border town of Villazon. Which means that the entire 90km is a mud/dirt track which weaves and winds, dips through rivers, over large stones. HELL. About half an hour into the journey, we were greeted with a large ford. The road dipped maybe a foot into a river red with mud. So as not to flood the exhaust, we went through at quite a lick. And got DRENCHED. The sidecar filled with muddy water, Mike was blinded by the surge. Oh God, we’re now going to be wet and muddy for the next 10 hours on the road. NOT COOL, BOLIVIA.

The road was miserable but we got there eventually. Then it was the turn of the border process. It took 4 hours to cross the border, and actually, it was the Argentinians’ fault. One man types slowly, with one finger, to register all details about all vehicles entering and leaving the country. Peculiarly, he works between two offices on either side of the entry road – half an hour in one, then half an hour in the other. So when you’re in the queue and he changes sides, you know you have at least another half hour to wait. We still have Ale’ the mad and wonderful Brazilian with us so at least the wait is filled with laughter.

When we are finally through, we head immediately to the best asado in town (I spent the hours doing my homework…) The restaurant is a striplit little place at the side of the main Ruta 9, but the owner smiles warmly as we enter (haven’t had that for months…), takes our order swiftly, and shortly afterwards the most delicious meat I have had on this entire trip arrives. We rejoice, involving the whole restaurant in our love for Argentina.

Things are on the up.

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