Staying on a farm in the town of Trevelin (in part of northern Patagonia where the Welsh settled) we met a German chap called Elmer, who was on a year long trip to South America on his Africa Twin. He'd travelled with his bike from Hamburg to Montevideo and was planning to stop often and absorb the culture as he travelled. His bike hadn't been on the dock in Montevideo for five minutes before someone nicked his screen spoiler and auxilliary lights - one of the dangers of shipping by sea I think. Anyway, he wasn't phased by that, or by the fact that his AT was perhaps a bit big for him. Of course, he didn't know what was going to be the major disruption in his plans, did he? Hopefully he was able to leave his bike somewhere safe and will carry on at some point in the future.

Our next stop was our most southerly point - Puerto Puyuhuapi, and another border crossing.

At the Argentinian customs desk there was was a big sign in the office - Las Malvinas son Argentinas - and this was not the first one we'd seen. Clearly the Falklands conflict is still something of a sore point - there are loads of Avenue General Belgranos around in towns to remind the Brit traveller of one of the less glorious episodes in our military history (the sinking of a shonky old WW2 battle cruiser by a state of the art submarine). Rob had clearly decided that the GB sticker on his pannier was not such a good idea, so had scraped it off by then.

The day started sunny, but after clearing Chilean customs (and a very thorough check to see if we had any food on us) it started to rain. Fortunately the gravel road was well packed so not muddy, but it did mean concentrating hard. That said, I was having a ball. The road wound through towering mountains that appeared and disappeared through the mist and rain, and the scenery in the valley reminded me very much of the farms that line the road on the west coast of New Zealand's south island. Unfortunately because it was slinging it down no one felt like stopping and taking any pictures. So I nicked a couple off Google Streetview...


Along here somewhere we came across two couples on Triumphs. One had a puncture in the rear tyre and had foolishly ridden on until the tyre had unseated itself. I don't know if Tigers have tubes (you DO NOT want to be changing a tube in these circumstances; actually as far as I'm concerned, in any circumstances, but then I'm a wuss) but if it was tubeless they were never going to get the tyre reseated with a tiny compressor. They didn't want any help, so we left them to it. Someone with a pick up would have come along, but in the lousy weather it all looked a little desperate.
Presently we joined the famous Caretera Austral, Chile's Ruta 7. To Be honest, all we wanted was to get to Puyuhuapi as by now even Rob's mega high spec Gore-tex Rukka was leaking.
Puerto Puyuhuapi is a modest wee place with a few restaurants (one on the water which was quite smart) a couple of supermarkets (well, grocery shops) and several hostals. I liked the place, but by gum it was wet for our first day. Clearly it rains an awful lot - I was constantly reminded of the sodden west coast of NZ - because as soon as we arrived the hostal owner had our gear hanging up on a large drying rack in the back hallway. The main compartment of my tank bag is lined with a dry bag so everything in there was fine, but I forgot about the top pocket so my document wallet was wet, as was all my money.
I handed all my cash to Mrs 3D, but she wasn't budging...

Eventually the sun came out and we went exploring. I liked Puyahuapi, it had a certain ramshackle charm, although I think the rain would bug me after a while. Or an hour.



As it wasn't raining Rob and I went to gas up in preparation for the ride north the following day. I wish we still had gas stations like this in the UK.

While we were getting fuel, Rob noticed I'd picked up a screw in the back tyre. It was fairly small and right in the centre so probably could have been left in (maybe...) but as it might be pissing down again the following day we decided to put a plug in it. UK customs had removed all but one of my wee tubes of glue from my kit, so Rob donated his Bikeseal 'string' repair kit.
https://bikeseal.co.uk/product…plug-puncture-repair-kit/ It worked a treat. The kit is very heavy duty (no nasty plastic handles) and the repair was done in a few minutes. Bollocks to tubes.

Sadly the next day saw us heading north, and therefore back towards Santiago. The good thing was that it had more or less stopped raining, so we were able to enjoy the ride to Chaiten before a day largely spent on ferries.
Some of the Caretera Austral is still hard packed gravel, but more and more is being tarmac-ed



[/url]
Chaiten was an interesting place. Some time ago the (previously dormant) volcano had blown it's top and basically destroyed the place. It was slowly being rebuilt, but it must have been a hell of a blow given that things must be pretty precarious economically at the best of times in such a remote location.
Mahoosive volcano just behind the church not visible.



The following day was beautiful. I was so happy becuse we would be taking two ferry rides through what I reckoned would be some stunning scenery.

First up was a pleasant ride anlong good hard packed gravel to Caleta Gonzalo and the first ferry.


[/url]
Straight to the front of the queue at the ferry terminal (natch), unfortunately Rob decided to cause a spectacle by falling off here. DOH! No harm done, except perhaps to his pride...




After about 45 minutes we arrived at the start of the next road section, about 20 minutes drive in convoy to the next ferry.



I was right, the scenery was amazing, and it was just warm enough in the sun to stay up on top and enjoy the mountains as we trundled sedately along for three hours or so.


That's Hornopiren the mountain dominating Hornopiren the town, or next overnight.

We stayed in a very strange (and potentially lethal due to the stairs) house on stilts overlooking the harbour. - the ferry is pulling away in the background. Funny place Hornopiren, we went out to the local supermarket and were served by a lad wearing a carboard box on his head like a hat. Well, I suppose you have to make your own entertainment in such a remote place.


