After breakfast we completed a life time promise to connie, Matty L's girlfriend, to get rid of his favourite red shirt. Now this shirt i originally sighted when we first met each other as goofy teenagers without a care in the world at Qantas cadetship introductions. Back then it was full of life, vibrant and ever so silky, covering his curves with ease. These days, after being delivered to me in a care package like a bag of poor quality cocaine being handed to a government official, it resembled the frustrations of a girlfriend who had taken to the fading (no longer silky) fabric with a hunting knife. Me, dad and david gave it a fair burial, wrapping it around an 'Escudo' (Spannish for 'Hangover') beer we placed it deep within a thornbush at the base of the 'Towers of Pain' in Chille. Matty, Connie. There is no way that is turning up one day on a leisurely stroll from your retirement home on a beach in tasmania....
Well, we love you all (for our girls we man that in the way its meant) for the men reading this we mean this in the most heterosexual way possible.
So back on our steads for the first of 340km's to our destination, the tourist town of El Calafate. Woken up in our space age moon tents by the incecent buffet of high winds, patagonia - true to form, was not going to lie down and let us ride accross her without a fight. Crossing the hills of 'Torres del Paine' we crested a ridge to be greeted with the first milliseconds of a few fateful joggers on August 6, 1945.... We were blinded, holding up one hand to shield our stunned eyes whilst riding over a serries of ruts inevitably led to trouble. Following the group and still trying to dodge texas sized pot holes in the ground i inevitably took a wrong turn, laughing at the person who turned the 'wrong' way behind me. By the time the third person behind me also took the 'wrong' route i was humbled. Met in my every technical fifty point u-turn by david come to save me, i took off to see him dissapear into the thick gravel at a most inappropriate angle. Giggling like a schoolgirl caught writing notes i met up with the group and told them, "david got lost, he might be a while!". Dignity saved.
Discovering gods gift of sunglasses and wondering why my bacon starved brain didn't figure the delightful contraptions out earlier we were into the best riding day yet. Again belting out a forgotten single by forgotten singer mariah carey (thanks babe) we arrived at a town on the border crossing between chille and argantina. Searching for the fuel pumps, with stilted english and much charades, we were led to a 1940's type glory hole in the side of a run down shack. Quite comicaly an ET type hand emerged leading a funnel of the precious liquid into our gas guzzeling machines. Fueled up we emerged again at the run down border crossing that is most notoriously chille, and deciding to wait for the support vehicle we sheltered in the nearest coffe house.
NOW. Whilst we were playing our gas mission, the support vehicle had not seen anyone at the crossing. Hearing of many old abandoned crossing and noticing this one looked decidably the same they decied to go through to the 'new' border crossing they were sure was just a few kilometers down the road. Picture this. FULLY functioning border crossing (according to the chilleans anyway) with a heavilly laden troopy shooting through it at seventy k's an hour. Cue high speed border patrol chase whilst people in the troopy sing showtunes. End result is they got seven k's down the track in 'no mans land' before an obviously chillean border gaurd who had commandeered a construction truck managed to flag them down. Many fluent and unimpressed spanish words were spoken...
David on the other hand, sitting quietly and sipping his delightful hot chocolate, didnt have a care in the world. Quietly perusing the gift store, picking up items gently and putting them back, it wasnt long before a good forty five minutes had passed. The troopy crew rock through the door and recount there near successful border smuggling mission to us before we lazily stroll out of the cafe. NOW, the wind was strong when we parked. But not this strong. It was blowing more than a nearsighted seniour blowing out his birthday candles. Again, not a care in the world, carefully checking his ipod playlist for the next three hundred kilometers, we both look up in time to see in slow motion his bike teeter on its side stand... Then, BANG, in one fowl swoop that is karma his bike had flipped over onto 'Leo's ' our guides bike. Also knocking it over. And sending my very relaxed brother into a full pace, 'Im sure i can get it in time', sprint. Reaching the bike, devastation was evident in the form of a busted windsheield and a completely sheared brakeline. Unfortunately the only thing david would be riding (shhhh dont tell him but it was the best days riding) for the rest of the uneventful, completely boring and not at all enjoyable days riding would be his comfy seat in the troopy. First drop, not his fault but definately the most funny. Kind of....
So me and dad were off in a cloud of dust, and david was off in a cloud of... nothing. It moved so slowly according to him that dust just yawned as the tyres of the troopy passed over it. So, lets just say the day ended after.....a few hundred k's of unbelievable riding through barren plains and loose gravel. I cant describe much more in detail for fear of david thumping me in frustration. Just know, it rocked.
Well, we love you all (for our girls we man that in the way its meant) for the men reading this we mean this in the most heterosexual way possible.
Also check out Steve's blog @ http://shortwayup.omega-prime.co.uk
and,
Mauricio and Dani's blog @ http://ushuaia2cusco.blogspot.com/
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