Jan 2, 2005
The end of the world is quite beautiful, rimmed in snow covered mountains, with light that lasts this time of year after eleven at night, and lots of peak roofed houses climbing the hills from the
bay. Unfortunately, it is full of backpackers, so the only room I could find that didn't involve sharing with five strangers who would probably pilfer all my valuables when my back was turned is $23, with shared bath. The end of the world is fully occupied. Ushuaia has a permanent population of 45,000 or so, and beautiful light.
I rode from Esquel to Rio Gallegos yesterday and spent the night in Rio Gallegos, which is a dirty port city with nothing to rave about. I had driven so far and fast that my ears were ringing for hours afterward. This morning I got up and realized I was only 350 miles from Ushuaia, the farthest point south one can drive on the planet, so I fired up the trusty Guzzi and headed south, into Chile, then onto a boat, across some water, back into Argentina, and here. There were a total of 120 miles or so of gravel roads, so it took a little longer than I would have liked. I also got a flat tire, but an italian couple I met on the road gave me an inner tube and he helped me change it. My bike brings the italians out of the woodwork, and no matter what they are riding, they all want photos of the Guzzi for someone back home who loves them, and they want to know how reliable it is.
I also met three Chilenos who's whole purpose in riding here seemed to be to show me that they could ride faster than me. I pushed them a bit then asked myself why I was pushing my bike, when it had carried me 10,000 miles and I was hoping to ride it back. So they are out there content in knowing they have faster motorcycles.
When I set out on this trip, my goal was to ride here, filming the experience and the people I met along the way. I'm here.
The end of the world is quite beautiful, rimmed in snow covered mountains, with light that lasts this time of year after eleven at night, and lots of peak roofed houses climbing the hills from the
bay. Unfortunately, it is full of backpackers, so the only room I could find that didn't involve sharing with five strangers who would probably pilfer all my valuables when my back was turned is $23, with shared bath. The end of the world is fully occupied. Ushuaia has a permanent population of 45,000 or so, and beautiful light.
I rode from Esquel to Rio Gallegos yesterday and spent the night in Rio Gallegos, which is a dirty port city with nothing to rave about. I had driven so far and fast that my ears were ringing for hours afterward. This morning I got up and realized I was only 350 miles from Ushuaia, the farthest point south one can drive on the planet, so I fired up the trusty Guzzi and headed south, into Chile, then onto a boat, across some water, back into Argentina, and here. There were a total of 120 miles or so of gravel roads, so it took a little longer than I would have liked. I also got a flat tire, but an italian couple I met on the road gave me an inner tube and he helped me change it. My bike brings the italians out of the woodwork, and no matter what they are riding, they all want photos of the Guzzi for someone back home who loves them, and they want to know how reliable it is.
I also met three Chilenos who's whole purpose in riding here seemed to be to show me that they could ride faster than me. I pushed them a bit then asked myself why I was pushing my bike, when it had carried me 10,000 miles and I was hoping to ride it back. So they are out there content in knowing they have faster motorcycles.
When I set out on this trip, my goal was to ride here, filming the experience and the people I met along the way. I'm here.
So now what?
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