I am interested in crossing the border to El Chalten, Argentina from O’Higgins but my interest is quickly squashed when I learn there is no aduana at the border post so no way to process a moto. On top of that the ferries have stopped running for the season and I’m not certain they can take a motorbike if they are running. So I will be taking Paso Roballo back to Argentina and enjoying a windy ruta 40 for the trek south.
I backtrack north from Cochrane and pick up the road that leads me to the border. This is where I say goodbye to the Austral. I’ve seen all sorts of wild life in Patagonia but the SE’s exhaust signature usually makes it impossible to get a photo. Today I see dozens of guanaco that don’t seem to mind my presence so I snap a few photos. Riding into the rising sun I arrive at the border and get stamped out with no fuss. Likewise, Argentina wastes little time checking me in. I’m thankful Chile and Argentina have fairly efficient customs given the number of times I cross their borders. The Argentine agent hands me a written message and seems to know who I am which I find a little odd. It turns out John, who I rode with for a couple days from Bariloche, is having problems with his clutch and is limping to the next town.
Not long after the border I run into a stranded French overlander couple having mechanical problems with their Citroen. A few minutes later John shows up. The Frenchman has a hole in his radiator from a wear spot. He has it pulled and is preparing to walk back to the border station where he will wait for a ride to the next town to get it repaired. Even if he’s able to find a ride, there’s not a lot of traffic out here, he has a long day ahead of him. I examine the hole and it’s not much larger than a ballpoint pen. I offer him my JB weld and he gets the hole sealed up without much delay. I think I just made their day.
John’s clutch reservoir is dry so we get him topped off with the clutch oil I’m carrying and we make our way to a very windy Ruta 40. We spend the rest of the day fighting gale force winds and getting blown off the road while zig-zagging construction desvios. We get to Gobernador Gregores and decide we’ve had enough. Unable to find any economical lodging we decide to head for the municipal campground. On the way we run into some friends of mine I met in Bolivia, it is indeed a small world in South America. I failed to get any pics of the evening’s festivities, needless to say everyone got their respective drinks on.
