After cruising through the Straits of Magellan we arrive on a very cold, clear day in Punta Arenas, and are taken ashore by a small boat. Only four passengers disembark here. No bike, though!
After a bit of a worrying wait, the bike arrives ashore in a cool barge, on its side. So much for all the “This Side Up” signs I’d carefully displayed on the crate.
Customs and Immigration are all very friendly. The bike is uncrated there and then, and all is okay. It has at this time done 8,837 miles from new, from my riding it all around New Zealand. Now I just have to put the front wheel and guard on, fit the crash, handlebars, and foot pegs, connect up the battery, and, with a trickle of petrol still on reserve, I prime the carb and with one kick the bike fires into life. It’s ready for action, and so am I.
The officials are ecstatic when I say they can have the crate. Timber is like gold; they just don’t have trees down here.
My first sight after leaving the Customs yard is a truck bouncing towards me on the wrong side of the road. I’ve got to learn quick here, especially since dirt roads don’t have a center line.
I go to the shops and the first purchase I make is a Spanish/English dictionary. The second is a meal with Trevor, an Aussie hitchhiker off the ship.
The main street in town is sealed; otherwise, the roads are rough, with big sharp potholes and, fortunately, all-weather surface.
Trevor the Aussie wouldn’t have much luck on the roadside, drizzly and cold and with no shelter, so I agree to give him a ride over the border to the east coast. It sounds easy enough at first, but it turns out that he has a guitar in a big case.
We spend the first night at a fuel storage depot. After a cold wet ride, we’re well-treated to a meal and a bed, but in exchange I have to sing a few songs with Trevor on the guitar.