So, here we are at the end of the world.  The furthest south you can possibly go by road.

We are 26,325 miles from our starting point of New York, 213 days ago.  

It is simply amazing to be here, we are thrilled to bits, and I am just going to sign off today with words that our good friend Marc gave us at the very beginning of the trip.  They have been very motivational to us:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

Theodore Roosevelt

We met Patrick at the front of our hotel at 8 am this morning.  We wanted an early start to the day, as we had two border crossings to make: out of Argentina into Chile, and back into Argentina from Chile.

This is because the road in Argentina ends, and we are taken into Chilean territory for about 150 miles before being returned to Argentinian soil. These areas are Tierra del Fuego, the land of fire.

It was an extremely exciting day.  We were at border number 1 by 9.30am, and it was quick and efficient with all officials from both countries in the same building. A quick check by the Chileans that we had no meat or fruits, and a poke about in our luggage, and we were on our way by 10am.

The next stop was a small ferry to take us through the Chilean waters at the Straits of Magellan, where once again the road runs out (this brought back great memories of all the crossings we did in Norway). We waited about 45 minutes, with the winds howling around our heads before the ferry came, but it was quick and efficient taking us across the 4km stretch of water into the land of fire.

Patrick was mindful of the fact that  he would need petrol, so we had made a plan to stop at a small place called Cerro Sombrero (closed sunhat!) as this was the only petrol station between Rio Gallegos and Rio Grande.  It was too far for either of us to make it on one tank of petrol.

When we arrived at the petrol station, which was a single pump, with one side petrol the other diesel, the light was on, but nobody was home! There was a sign on the window stating that it would close every day between 3pm and 3.30pm.  This was 12.30pm.  A friendly local informed us that it was probably closed for lunch, maybe try later?  We decided to have a bit of lunch, and a think. Patrick had a spare fuel canister holding 8 litres of fuel, we have 13.5 litres spare, so we did some calculations, and worked out if we rode on another 50 miles, and then refuelled from the canisters, then we should be able to make the further 130 miles we needed to go.  At this point someone else came along, and told us there was a petrol station at the border, so fingers crossed we could get some there.  Patrick was laughing and saying we could just tow him, if he ran out, although I think I heard Paul mentioning something about Rachel running along pushing, or running off to get fuel, something like that anyway!

We stopped after 50 miles, in the most incredible side winds, there was petrol spraying left, right and centre, plus a grazed knuckle for Paul, and a few choice words, but no matter, we pressed on.

Not 5 miles later we turned onto road YP57- and then our real fun for the day began, 65 kilometres (40 miles) of ripio, gravel road, with a brand new road already prepared beside it, which we weren’t allowed to use (as is so often the case).  Not fun, but at least the wind had dropped this time.  

After an eternity we reached the Chilean part of the border crossing, which was quick, easy and WINDY!  

15 kilometres later we arrived at the Argentinian side, once again, no problems, only the WIND!  One guy’s papers all blew away and everyone was chasing after them. The wind set of car alarms, and generally caused a nuisance.

Just the other side of the border, as promised there was the petrol station, and thankfully for Patrick a chance to get a ‘cafe au lait’, which was much needed. As I was waiting outside here, I saw a Land Rover pull in with British number plates, and was very excited to meet and spend time chatting with Jenny and Gavin, who are 8 months into a two year trip, and were on there way back up from Ushuaia.  They will work their way up Chile, before flying their Landy up to Vancouver, where they will work their way up Alaska, through Canada and back down through Central America.  We are envious of the North America part- we loved it there.

Tonight, we have an apartment on the sea front, and we are just off to meet Patrick for dinner…...

So, closer and closer we get to our destination, Ushuaia. It’s name is on the signpost now, the last signpost of the day red 578 km (350 miles) to go.  Our minds are truly focused on that now, as we head on down Ruta 3, battling the winds. Tomorrow we shall cross out of Argentina, briefly into Chile, take a short ferry crossing, before returning to Argentina again.

All throughout Argentina, each town has a sign either noting ‘Las Malvinas son Argentinas’ (The Falklands are Argentinian), or an outline of the map of the Falklands with ‘Argentinian forever’.  We have seen several war memorials, although no-one has actually mentioned it to us at all.  We have told everyone that asks that we are English, and no-one has taken against us.  There is clearly a wealth of emotion still surrounding the islands, and the relations were obviously not helped by the silly Top Gear debacle where Jeremy Clarkson drove a Porsche in Argentina with the the registration plate H982 FKL (1982 Falklands).  Those guys were hounded out of town, thankfully we have not been, but will continue to be low key and respectful, if asked.

We stayed 3 nights in Puerto San Julian.  This end of the country has a bleakness, and wild feel, similar to that of Dungeness in Kent. It is, however, vast, and that’s just the part we pass through on the road.  San Julian was an old port town, no longer used in that way.  It had a nice sea front and walkway along the front, which we enjoyed using, and the hotel was obviously used to receiving tourists.  People seem to travel extensively in the summer around Patagonia, and it is not just the travellers, including us making their way to the end of the world.

We saw French Pat again on Tuesday night, and have made plans to see him tonight, and to meet in Ushuaia.  He’s great company, and it’s nice to have someone to share the excitement of the pinnacle of both our trips.  As Pat was treated for lung cancer last year, the destination of Ushuaia has been a goal that has been a huge motivation to him. For us, it raises a rollercoaster of feelings, and we’ve been having some periods of reflection, whilst also allowing our minds to think of home again (although we shall have at least another couple of weeks riding before boarding any planes).

Wind! That’s what we found today, the famous Patagonian winds.   In southern Argentina, hills and flatlands form the plateau of Patagonia. The Andes to the west cause Patagonia to be dry, barren, and windy. This made our day rather challenging!

We’d decided to make today a long one, because there were either hotels at 100 miles from where we stayed last night, or 350 miles, so we went for 350.  This meant this would be the longest distance we had ridden on this trip.  Apart from the wind, the day went very smoothly.  The driving time estimated was 6 hours 20 minutes, and it really didn’t take us much longer than that.  Paul’s shoulders are aching from counteracting the bikes handlebars against the wind though.  I don’t think we’ve ever experienced wind like it, it would occasionally die down, and then come up so high that it whipped my head and arms up, if I wasn’t ready.  At one time we were riding into a head wind that was so strong Paul was riding at 50mph with the accelerator wide open.  That’s as fast as the bike would go.  This means we use petrol a lot more quickly, but it was fine, we used our spare cans to fill up, and made it all the way.

Along the way we saw more of the ostrich/emu type birds called rhea.  These are just along the roadside. Also, the guanaco, cousins of the vicuna deer-like animals we saw in Bolivia.

Other than that the way was quite barren, another huge expanse with no human presence other than the oil fields, and the many whirring mines.

Last night we really enjoyed spending a bit of time with Patrick Sherma, as I mentioned he is a French guy, who has lived in the USA (Washington DC) for 40 years.  Patrick is making the same journey as us, with the destination of Ushuaia.  You can read more about him here: http://www.ridewithpatrick.com/  

So, tonight we are in Puerto San Julian, our hotel faces the sea, and we’re here for a few days, hoping to spot some penguins…….

Well, I’d love to say we had a great night’s sleep last night. But we really didn’t!

Well, perhaps Paul did? I mentioned that we were staying in a very busy tourist hotel, but what I didn’t say was it was rather run down. It wasn’t the cheapest hotel in town, and it really wasn’t cheap at all, at $80 US. Our door was hanging off the hinges, the bathroom threshold strip had come away and we couldn’t shut that door, and it was all very haphazard, unkempt and a bit grimy.

Our problems though, really began when one of us used the toilet and the flush broke. No matter, Paul asked them and they came and mended it. This was probably late afternoon…. The problems became much worse at bedtime, after I used the flush, came out of the bathroom and lie down. Paul was instantly asleep, but I lay there tossing and turning as the most horrendous noise of water gushing into the toilet reverberated around the room. I went to investigate, sure enough the flush was broken again, and this time it would not stop refilling.

I considered the options, grabbed a pair of earplugs, and tried to sleep. I thought, well I’ll tell them in the morning. I slept fitfully, until at 2am I could stand the noise no more, and woke Paul to tell him I was off to find someone to mend the toilet. I did find someone, the guy at reception, and he came to help. However, I was astounded that no-one else had complained about the horrendous noise! It could be heard all along the corridor and halfway down the stairs.

After managing to drop off, I was not in the best of moods this morning, especially when the toilet broke again. What a dump, we were extremely happy to leave there.

Today’s ride was 200 miles along Ruta 40, before turning east toward the end of the day onto Ruta 26. It was a ride busy with vehicles, all types, carrying quads and the like, plus quite a lot of caravans, which we haven’t really seen since North America.

Once again, it was necessary to queue for petrol, there were perhaps 20 vehicles ahead of us. Petrol stations are just so few and far between, we have to get it whilst we can.

We reached Sarmiento around 4pm, rode to the hotel, where we were lucky enough to find Pat Sherma staying. Pat is a French man who lives in Washington DC, and is friends with several people that we know of, and have met. He saw us ride past in Esquel last night, but tonight we have a chance to swap stories.