ISABM Journal Caracas still

Our Journal

San Rafael / Chos Malal / Zapala

From Mendoza we drove to San Rafael, another part of the wine region and another beautiful city with trees all over. Outside of San Rafael we drove through Valle Grande on a winding road through steep valleys and exposed rock layers. There is a hydroelectric project in the area and the route took us along a series of dams with panoramic views of man-made lakes. We stopped at one canyon on the side of the road and hiked a ways in. Once horizontal rock juts up at almost 90 degrees vertically exposing layered textures and colors. We drove past painted looking rocks like sand castle drippings, a rock forest, and winding passes. We came out of the canyon at El Nihuil where the road loops back to San Rafael on good highway. It was colder than we were ready for but the road was through vast expanses of nothing but pampas, no farms, perfect for opening up the bike – totally worth the rush over the hand numbing cold. Back in San Rafael we ate well, but I am beginning to think that good Argentinean beef is a myth, or they are serving their bad cuts to the gringo.

We drove on and caught highway 40, which rides right along the Andes all the way south. We turned off for Las Lenas and hoped to find a place to stay at the ski resort off season. My bike does not like the altitude and sputtered through the climb. The landscape is incredible, treeless, textured slopes in all directions. Las Lenas was closed to visitors even though they had hundreds of rooms, just a café where we downed of couple of burgers. We walked around but it felt like an abandoned research station. We stopped at a sink hole that looked like a mad max amphitheater filled with water. At a gas station the attendants came out and explained the area. We had considered driving up into the mountains but learned there would be no place to stay. “Some people live up there, but they are used to it” A local asked if we had a air canister and we sold him one for five pesos. He smiled and gave us seven.

Back on 40 we made good time to Malargue and saw five other bikes traveling north, flashing lights and thumbs up all around. Malargue serves as a tourists depot during ski months and the people definitely like the sight of traveling gringos. We tried to go out one night as we heard there was a disco called “Cows”, but made it only as far playing pool, the smoke and juvenile filled room did us in.

Chos Malal

The stretch of road between Malargue and Chos Malal is one of the most isolated and the most beautiful we had seen. We started late and drove all afternoon trying to limit stops. There is so much scenery one could stop and gawk just about anywhere. Splotches of cattle and goats but mainly just treeless pampa everywhere. We saw a few houses, one small community and almost no people all day. We drove through a couple of passes with panoramas expansive enough to dwarf any problem in the world. The wind slapped the bikes around and I felt glad for the 400 pound weight of a 750. But it never escaped the mind the possibility of the wind sending you off the ledge.

I thought I was hallucinating as I saw a giant herd of sheep coming straight down the highway and I skid to a stop almost hitting them. We stopped as the cowboys herded them by, the road obviously being well used to drive sheep. One of the cowboys stopped and asked for a smoke. Then he just sat there staring. Trying to make conversation I asked, “Where you going?” “Aqui no mas, donde van ustedes?” “Over there.” Not much else to say so we moved on.

It was cold, we had driven all afternoon, and then up ahead the sky looked dark and rain pellets were beginning. I panicked in fear of driving more mountain pass in the wind and rain through the dark. My hands were getting numb and I had flashes of another foolish experience I had driving through a mountain pass in Ecuador where my hands literally froze to the grips unable to brake. I stopped on the side of road and told Matt we had to stop. He looked at me in disbelief, being that we were only 50 km from our next stop, Chos Malal. We could see four houses from where we were and I walked over to ask about the possibility of finding shelter for the night. One had an indigenous women with children who sent me to the next house. The next house had a couple and kids, all smiles but not liking the prospect of two strangers staying over. The third house didn’t have anyone. It was insane, I knew it, but realized there is no limit to idiocy of men on motorcycles. I bucked up and we drove on slowly. We lucked out as the rain stopped and the road through the pass wasn’t too slick.

We pulled into Chos Malal without a problem, a confusing city in V-shape, but they had plenty of locals ready to drive us over to where the only hotel was. We found the only restaurant and once more tried steak. I almost laughed out loud when I saw the guy next to me had ordered the same thing, got twice the portion and had tender cuts while I got a tiny tough fatty cut. Now I’m convinced, for good Argentinean beef, leave Argentina.

Zapala

Leaving Chos Malal we looked back and saw the pass from the day before, white capped peaks from snow in the night. Throughout the drive, the scale of the landscape grew bigger. One valley covered over 30 km. We stopped on the side of the road and walked around picking up rocks and found several fossils we recognized from a museum in Cordova, millions of years old. Four cars passed in 45 minutes. The silence was deafening after the scream of the wind and engines in our helmets.

We arrived in Zapala in the afternoon and couldn’t find any people. They take siesta very seriously. We found a hotel but they had no vacancy due to an international geologist convention. They directed us to a military residencia run by a bunch of retired military men, a jolly bunch that wanted to trade a moped for one of our bikes. I jogged around town, along a military installation, through the town dump by mistake and was afraid of stumbling across a mass disappeared grave site from the 70’s and 80’s, but in minutes I was outside the city with mountains and sky in all directions. We looked for a geology museum but it was closed and we noticed the sidewalks with foot size fossils in the rock, weird to be stepping on what looks like it should be roped off in a museum.

The next morning we drove through more mountain landscape. I stopped to take some pictures and Matt drove on ahead. I caught up to him and saw his body sprawled out in the middle of the highway. My mind went into emergency mode and I immediately started thinking of how I would get him to the nearest hospital. But then I noticed his kickstand propping the bike up, a strange way for it to land after throwing him. And there was a line of cows blocking the road and a bull looking intent. He swore that moments before I pulled up the cows had all been armed with guns and ordered him onto the ground. A local cowboy began riding over and we drove off before having to explain our shenanigans.

We came upon another herd of cows with some guys driving them straight down the highway. Our bikes parted the herd as they mosied by nearly bumping into us on both sides. I know cows are not known to be one of the fiercer animals but having those giant beasts and horns a foot away is intimidating. They could have sandwiched me easily. Stupid cows, he he he.

The road climbed up to a pass, the bike sputtered, and the wind continued slashing at us. We stopped to gawk at some Dr. Seuss looking pines and looked around for Thing One and Thing Two, those mysterious green pants, and some dogs having a party up in a tree, but it was freezing, actually warmer on the bike than off. Minutes later we climbed another pass and got a view of white capped volcanoes and mountains and the road snaking back and forth directly below, drop offs everywhere. I try and take pictures but have gotten so used to the landscape being so big and impossible to photograph, I missed out here. Lower down, we had to detour for gas and pulled into Alumine, an isolated mountain town that must have been in its rush hour. We could hear four types of road machinery all around us and got out of there as soon as possible. The dirt road followed a river curving back and forth through a canyon. I spotted a minature ostrich running across the road, supposedly they are all over this region as well along with guanacos. We hit pavement and accelerated on toward Junin de Los Andes, a Mapuche town, where we stopped for a couple of days, a little drained from all the driving.

un abrazo, Chris