After the Chilean border formalities they told us that the road was dirt all the way to the Argentine border post (35k). We climbed up a few steep switchbacks and as we crested the Andes and made our way to the other side, we broke free of the cold grey skies and were greeted by bright warm sunshine. We were also greeted by downhill switchbacks in semi-loose gravel. Not my favorite terrain but the sun was nice and it was not far to go.

By the time we arrived at the border post, I was about to self-combust from the 20,000 layers of clothes I was wearing. I shed my layers and Jeff headed into the office. The usual stamp here and stamp there and we were done. They didn't seem to mind that we had around 5 Argentinian stamps in our passports from crossing back and forth so many times. We took a few minutes to ask the border guards where the turn-off was to the Seven Lakes road. They indicated that it was right up the road on the way to Villa La Angostura which was just about 15k further. We were planning to camp along the scenic Seven Lakes route and make our way to San Martin de los Andes the following day. Off we went through lots of road construction. At the last bit of roadwork, Jeff took off down the windy roads and, of course, missed the backwards sign that signaled the turnoff to the Seven Lakes. Grandma here noticed it but couldn't catch speedy Gonzalez to inform him. So within 10 minutes we found ourselves in the enchanting little resort town of Villa La Angostura. We were hooked before we had a chance to turn back around. We stopped at the beautiful Tourist Information office - made of stone and knotted pine, and asked for information about campgrounds. It was already about 4:30 so heading off to the Siete Lagos didn't seem like a good idea anyway. As we headed to the campground, I took in the views of the gorgeous pine trees and mountain tops peeking out from above. It looked so much like Oregon. Except that there was not a cloud in the sky. We were already thinking of the sporting possibilities.

We pulled into the campground across from the YPF station and maybe a half mile from town. The very helpful attendant showed us around, told us about the hot water and all that jazz for $5 a head. It wasn't primitive camping but it looked good to me and seeing as I'm a city slicker, it afforded us the ability to walk into town to cruise the strip. What more could you ask for? So we pulled into a site and started setting up camp and preparing our fine pasta dinner. Jeff decided pasta couldn't be eaten without a bottle of wine so he cruised in to town to find the perfect accompaniment. Upon his return he informed me that town was absolutely stunning and that we should hurry up and eat so that we could go walk around.

As the sun set, we headed in to check out the sites. All was right with world, for the evening was balmy (say 68 degrees), we were in a beautiful place and tomorrow we would rent mountain bikes and get some exercise. We walked down the only real strip of town and took in the architecture. VLA is largely made of stone and wood and it makes for a very aesthetically pleasing little town. Not to mention the beautiful lake, the National Park, the mountains, etc. etc. It is very resorty and accomodations don't come cheap. There is a ski run and we assumed most of the business came during ski season but after asking around a bit, we were told that summer is actually the high season. Anyway, we whiled away the evening watching soccer on tv in one of the local establishements and began heading home around 10:30. On our way back Jeff decided he needed a snack so we tucked into a little restaurant on the road back to the campground. The restaurant was owned by a family with three young boys and a kitten. We spent an enjoyable hour playing with the kitten and the rambunctious little boys and told them we would come back tomorrow. Ah, time for bed.

When we went to bed it was still very comfortable but by 3:00 in the morning it had gotten very cold and it was back to our usual freezing-our-butts while camping deal. We slept in late and when we finally woke, our beautiful clear skies from the day before were replaced with patchy skies. Not bad just very chilly. We had some breakfast and headed into town to rent some bikes.

We scouted out a few shops and settled on a half day rental for $10 each. We stopped by the most beautiful bus station that I've ever seen (again all wood and stone) for a potty break. As we saddled up, Jeff realized that he had left his Fox Pawtector Motorcycle gloves in the bathroom. He went back in and they weren't there. The two other guys that had been in there were standing next to us. Jeff was sure they had nicked them. He asked. They said no. They looked guilty. Jeff got really frustrated. I confronted them. "Can you show me your bag for security?" "Of course" Empty. By this point I couldn't really ask him to empty his pockets so we were S.O.L. We left in a huff to conjure up a little heart-pumping exercise.

We had planned on riding over to the little port on the lake (5k away) and then starting at the nearby trail head for the 24k roundtrip National Park loop. So we made a quick stop at the lake and headed in to the park. Within minutes we found a very, very steep hill with steps in it and had to carry the bikes up. Oh no, hik-ling. Jeff assured me that it would flatten out up ahead and we would be able to ride. And, of course, it more or less did. We meandered our way through the forest past overturned trees, grazing cows and a few hikers. I felt absolutely awful and could now understand why non-exercisers hated exercise. The kilometers slowly ticked off. Right about the time I was thinking this I approached a very rutted out section with cows all over the place. I tried to dodge the ruts but the cows were in the way and I was going downhill and all of sudden I was laying on the ground with some nice scrapes on my leg. Ow. I dusted myself off and pleaded to the cows not to charge the crazy gringa. They obliged and I kept going for the final 3k where the trail became a maze of tree roots. I found Jeff right at the end. We were both exhausted and starving so we decided to just head on back.

It had been so hilly on the way there and we had no water or food. You'd think that all those years of sports we would have prepared better but it seems as if our brains have gone through a melt-down. After we got through the tree root section and started to climb up hill, I went to drop to an easier gear but there was no lever. Crud. I got off the bike and realized that my rear derailer lever had fallen off. I walked down the trail and found it but could not get it back on. So I was now stuck in the heaviest gear of whatever chain ring I was in. Jeff appeared right at this time and I showed him what happened but he couldn't fix it either. We continued on, he on his 21-gear bike and me on my 3-gear bike.

After our initial gear-breaking little climb, we were surprised to realize that the trail was basically all downhill on the way back. No wonder we felt so horrible on the way out, it was all uphill. This was especially good news given my heavy gear condition. We flew back and finished the return trip in less than half the time it took to go out. Jeff had finished the big climb at the end ahead of me and had exited the trail in search of food. When I popped out of the forest, Jeff had scared up a gorgeous piece of apple pie and had met a motorcycle traveller on a Yamaha TDM 850. Uto was from Brazil and was looking for a campground. We told him about ours and after a few minutes of talking, told him we would meet him there after we rode the bikes back.

Back at the campground, we took turns chatting with Uto while Jeff and I traded taking showers. We were starving so we headed in to town for some pizza and agreed to catch up with Uto at the restaurant. After dinner we met Uto at the internet cafe, where they charged a brazen $8/hour. We wanted to check out our site but it was painfully slow and the cash register was calling our name. So we spent the remainder of the evening talking with Uto about his travels and discussing all of our travel plans for the next day. We headed back to the campground and it was really, really chilly. We decided to stop and visit the little family with restaurant on the hill and spent some more time playing with the maniac boys and terrorized kitten. Finally we were off for a freezing night in our refrigerator/tent.

We woke up as late as the moring chill would let us the next day, around 6:30. It was very cold which made it difficult to pack up the tent but we survived and after breakfast and some mate we were ready to hit the road. We talked with Uto for awhile and then we went to wake up Suzi. She would have none of it. Linda had complained about the way she was acting when we climbed up the mountain to get into Argentina a couple of days ago. Before we knew it the battery was dead as a doornail. Just as we unpacked and tried to jump start her from my bike (with the jumper cables I bought in Puerto Natales), it started to rain. Nothing doing. There was no way we were going to get her started. Whatever was wrong had been coming to a head for a long time. I then jumped on the Green Hornet and went in search of a motorcycle mechanic. I must have asked just about everybody in the town if they knew of one. Everyone said that there weren't any and it would be best if I looked 80 km down the road in Barriloche. Dejected, I returned to report the news to Linda. Uto was still hanging around keeping Linda company so I decided to follow up on the only other lead I had. A mysterious guy named Norman supposedly had a small shop in town and he had been known to work on motorcycles from time to time. So once again I returned to town hoping to find this Norman fellow. After asking a bunch of other people I was finally pointed to where his shop was. It was a really small garage tucked behind a small house. I asked the lady who lived in the house if there was such a thing as this Norman person. She said yes there was, he was renting her garage and she said that he was a wonderful motorcycle mechanic, the best in Villa la Angostura. Great, but where was he? "Oh he's on his lunch break and won't be back until 4 p.m." she replied. But it's only noon now. Why is it such a long break? She just smiled and shrugged her shoulders. Apparantly, these Argentinians take their lunch breaks seriously! I reported the good news that I found a mechanic and the bad news that we had to wait 4 hours to Linda. It was now raining much harder and I was shocked that it hadn't yet turned to snow. We put all of our gear in the community center at the campground and went off in search of a drier place to stay. First, though, we doubled up on TGH and rode in the downpour with Uto to have lunch at the little family restaurant on the hill. The little hooligans were in full battle dress and the poor little kitten never knew what hit him. The father proudly displayed his three little boys' heads and we all marvelled at how round they all were. There is no doubt in my mind that in a couple more years these kids will leave their mark on this sleeply little resort town.

Anyway we finished lunch, tried our best to protect the kitten, said our goodbyes to Uto, the hooligans, the beaming father and the exhausted looking mother and reported to the tourist information office. She mentioned a little old lady who ran a small residenciales for $10 per person just down the road. I stopped by the garage to see if Norman was in. He wasn't, but the lady who lives in the house took us over to meet Isolina. Isolina was incredibly sweet, the room was really nice and best of all it was right next door to the garage. We returned back up the hill to the campground, repacked the bikes and while Linda coasted downhill towards the town center I followed her. Just as she rolled up to the garage I saw that Norman was back from his siesta. In Spanish I asked him if he could take a look at Suzi and explained all my theories as to why she wouldn't start. He gave me a quizzical look and said "Do you speak English? "I hope so because I'm not sure I understand your Spanish." He went on to say that he didn't think there would be a problem and guaranteed that he would have her purring like a kitten by early tomorrow morning. He was more interested in our trip. He seemed really knowledgeable, was a former motocross rider, as well as ski instructor and world traveller. All the necessary ingredients for a competant mechanic. Besides his shop was jammed full with car and motorcycle bits and pieces. I was very relieved when I returned back to the hostal. Linda had moved everything into the room and was busy bonding with Isolina. It was still raining extremely hard so Linda and I set off in search of a local gym. We ended up at the city's gymnasium. I asked how much it was to do a workout. The reply was that, since it was a city gym, it was free. That's a good price. After the workout we bought some provisions at a grocery store and fixed dinner in the hostal's kitchen. For the day starting out so difficult things were really starting to come together.

The next morning we met our fellow hostalites from 9 de Julio, just outside Buenas Aires, Maria Jose (Mary Jo) and Fernando. They were alot of fun and we quickly became friends. Fernando was teaching me the ins and outs of how to prepare the national drink of Argentina; Mate. We sat for hours having a little "Matecito" until it was time for me to go over to the bike shop. I was going to spend the day at the shop helping Norman with Suzi and Linda was going to hike up to a scenic overlook with Mary Jo and Fernando.

When I arrived at the shop Norman had already cleaned about an inch of gook out of Suzi's carburetor. Definitely the cause of all of her problems. But when we put her back together and cranked her up he noticed that the exhaust pipe was turning red from the heat. "Valves out of adjustment" he said sternly. So we took Suzi back apart and found out that one intake and one exhaust valve did not have enough clearance, which reduced the airflow, thus generating too much heat. The adjustment was quickly made and Suzi hadn't sounded this good in a long time. I spent the next several hours just hanging out in Norman's garage shooting the breeze about motorcycles and sipping mate. I asked him if he could take a look at the Green Hornet later that day or the next morning and he said tomorrow would be better because he had a couple of projects on the back burner. So now came the moment of truth. How much did I owe him for a fabulous job? If it was over $120 I was going to see if he could cut me a break. "Why don't you just give me $40 and we'll call it even." I protested by saying that he had to have spent several hours working on the bike and all he wanted was $40? He told me not to worry about it and just bring my bike by tomorrow afternoon and he'd be glad to take a look at it. I told him that after we took a look at my bike tomorrow that I'd take him out for some beers at the local watering hole.

While Jeff was playing Mister Mechanic, I was going to do laundry at Isolina's and then go hiking. Maria Jose and Fernando had invited me to hike with them but I told them I would just catch up as we were in desperate need of clean clothes. So about an hour and a half after they left, I was ready. I stopped by Norman's to tell Jeff I was leaving and Norman told me that my intended hike would take hours so I decided I better check with the tourist office. The office said it should be 3 - 4 hours round trip, so off I went. I walked very rapidly up the road until I found the sign to the Mirador. There was meant to be an offshoot trail to some waterfalls on the way up but I decided I should go to the top and then hit the falls if I had time.

I walked as fast as I could but was still very surprised to find myself at the top within 45 minutes. As I huffed and puffed and recovered, I noticed the top of some heads near some bushes. As I approached, I realized it was Maria Jose and Fernando. "Hola amigos!", I exclaimed. They were enjoying a little mate and I joined them for some snacks. We then agreed to hike down to the waterfall together. It took about three times as long to go to the falls and get back as we were now talking rapidly and walking slowly. It was a very enjoyable afternoon and the weather was gorgeous which allowed us spectacular views of the surrounding lakes and mountain tops. I was really enjoying the company of Maria Jose and Fernando as well and it was great Spanish practice. We parted company close to town as I was going to see what Jeff was doing and they were headed off to get some lunch. We agreed to meet up later for dinner.

After parting ways with Maria Jose and Fernando, I found Jeff riding around on Suzi, elated about all the motorcycle maintenance he'd learned. Seeing as the day was spectacular and we were starving, we went to a little outdoor cafe for some lunch. We walked back to Isolina's for a rest and for Jeff to work on the bikes some more. We had arranged with Isolina, Maria Jose and Fernando that we would have a nice dinner together and share some of the salmon we bought in Chiloe, Chile.

Around 8:00 all the troops were rounded up and we decided we needed some supplements for the salmon so the four of us went to the grocery store. Fernando decided he was going to make drunk chicken or chicken cooked in wine. I could already tell this was going to be a big dinner and as it was already close to 9:00, a late one too. When we got back we all (including Isolina) hung out in the kitchen chatting and cooking and eventually sat down to eat about 11:00. By the time we finished it was after midnight. Our three Argentinian friends explained that this was a normal time to eat every night. We marvelled at what it would be like to live like this on a daily basis. It was close to 2:00 by the time we got to bed.

The next morning the rains had returned so we slept in as long as was justifiable. By the time we made it down to the breakfast table Fernando and Mary Jo were enjoying a little Matecito. They swear they aren't addicted to it but I have yet to see them without it. We sat around the table with Isolina talking for hours. It really is amazing the differences in the dialect between Argentina and Chile. The only real difference that I can ascertain between the spansih we learned and Argentinian spanish is that they use a "g" sound on words with "ll" instead of a "y". Aside from that it is Spanish that is much easily understood versus Chilean spanish. We just hung out most of the day until it was time to take my bike over to see Norman. He was still busy changing the clutch in a Fiat truck. Over a little matecito I asked him if there was anything that he didn't work on. He said that when you live in a small town like Villa la Angostura it doesn't pay to be too picky. He didn't care if it was a refrigerator, if it had a motor he could fix it. I told him I'd be back around 6 p.m. The rain was brutal and neverending. We spent the rest of the afternoon comiserating with Fernando and Mary Jo. They were on a week's vacation and most of it looked like it was going to be rained out. But it was nothing that a little matecito couldn't fix. Linda gave me that wierd look like "Are you getting addicted to it also?" All three of us launched into all the explanations about Mate not being addictive. It's just a social drink. Not sure Linda was buying any of it but soon her protests were drowned out by the slurping noise of the bombilla.

I returned to the shop and started to take The Green Hornet apart right around sunset. At first I wanted Norman to take a look at the carberator also. When I took the seat off I was surprised to see a more pressing problem. One of the top frame bolts had snapped in two. Since the frame was not secured the spot weld for the bridge that secured the gas tank had also snapped. Norman once again said no problem because he used to be a welder for several years also. Great, this would probably be a good time to tell him that when I was adjusting Linda's hand guards and clutch I snapped a bolt off. Within 3 hours Norman had both bolts replaced and re-welded the bridge to secure the gas tank. I tried to give him $40 but he would only take $20. We made plans to meet up at a pub around 11 p.m. to look at photos and have a beer or three. I returned to the hostal feeling very fortunate to have found this guy. This type of work back in the States would have cost a small fortune. It was also an added bonus to be able to just hang out at the shop talking motorcycles and sipping Mate.

That night Linda and I finished off the leftovers from the night before. Around 11 p.m. I went over to the local pub to meet Norman. He finally showed a little before midnight carrying several photo albums under his arm. I figured out why Argentinians take such long breaks at lunch. Its because they don't even bother going out until midnight. Norman was a little late in meeting me because he had to wait for his wife, who is 5 months pregnant, to fall asleep. We kept the bar open til 3 a.m. swapping stories and looking at photos. It was a great time and made me fantasize about moving to Villa la Angustura and becoming a motorcycle mechanic in the summers and a ski instructor in the winter. Ahhhh that would be the life. But I had my wife, who is hopefully not pregnant, and another life to return to so we swapped addresses and went our seperate ways. When in VLA definitely look Norman up. An excellant mechanic and really nice guy.

After sharing our final morning matecito with Fernando, Mary Jo and Isolina we had the bikes packed up by 11 a.m. We said our goodbyes and started out the days ride under a steady downpour. This rain has been hounding us ever since the Carreterra Austral. We made a quick stop by Norman's shop to pay our respects and to see if he made it to work. A couple of km's down the road we made the turn off to the 7 Lakes drive. Once again I bet this is a really nice ride when it isn't raining, but it was, so most of the time while we were trying to keep the bikes upright in the mud. About 40 km down the road we were greeted by an Argentinian couple heading the other way in a car. He was very excited to meet a couple of moto tourers. He has several motorcycles and races every now and then. His wife would just rolled her eyes and said that he is a motorcycle fanatic. Once again a charming couple and exceedingly nice. We gave him our website address and continued on. Both Linda and I have noticed a very significant difference from the Chilenos and the Argentinians already. Where the Chilenos were standoffish, the Argentinians are very outgoing. They actively engage you in conversation and are extremely friendly. They reminded me of the Colombian people. The Chilenos on the other hand pretty much kept to themselves and if you tried to talk with them they seemed bothered.

Just after we left the Argentinian couple the rain really started to come down. The dirt road was now becoming a mud bath and the going was very slow. For the most part we were relegated to 15 mph, trying to stay in the tire tracks for better traction. We finally emerged from the mud and found that there is a paving project in progress to pave the Siete Lagos drive. In two years I'll be able to retrace the route we've taken on a sport bike. It seems they are in process of paving the entire continent. But you can't stop progress. Oh well there are plenty of alternative routes that may never get paved so enduro heads don't you fret. It was good to get out of the mud bath but unfortunately we hopped right into a tar pit. It would seem that the road was recently tarred with a thin layer of sand over the top. This resulted in black, sticky blotches of tar flinging everywhere. And when it stuck to the bike or us there was no getting it off. Nasty. Thank goodness that it was only about 20 km of the nasty stuff that we had to ride in. Just as we finally got to real pavement the rains stopped. The final ride into San Martin de los Andes was beautiful. We were originally going to just pass through SMdlA but the town was one of the nicest towns that we've been to on this trip. Beautiful wood inlays accented most of the buildings and it was right on a lake snuggled in the mountains. It definitely gets my vote for best small town. We quickly found the tourist information office who directed us to The Puma IYH. At $11 per person it was the cheapest in town. Aside from the Banff, BC youth Hostal this was the nicest hostal that I've had the priviledge of sleeping in. It couldn't have been more than a couple years old and was made of brick and pine. Very nice place. After getting situated we went off in search of the ever elusive Calcomanias (stickers) with the flag of Argentina. I thought that Peru was a difficult place to find stickers, forget it, Argentina wins hands down. There were none, but as usually happens when we go in search of calcomanias, we walked all over the city. After some snacks we headed off to the local gym to pump a little pig iron. Then it was time to splurge on dinner. We found a drop dead gorgeous restaurant with hundreds of wine bottles held in elaborate wood paneled containers stretching from the floor to the ceiling. Linda picked wild boar and I had pan fried garlic trout. We also had a very tasty Argentinian wine to go with it. I've decided that Argentinian wines are much richer than their Chilean counterparts. This sumptuous meal was had for $50. Substantially more than we are allowed to spend. Oh well, we deserved a little extravegance after the ordeal in the mud and tar pits. Besides it was great to be on the road again.

When we retired to our hostal I was accosted by 3 Argentinian youth who wanted to hear all about our trip. Linda excused herself and I ended up spending a couple of hours showing them pictures on the hand held while we drank about a gallon of mate. I'm already trying to figure out a way to distribute mate to the good ole US of A.

In the morning we got up and started packing for the 10:30 checkout time at the youth hostel. Before leaving we sat down to have some breakfast in the communal kitchen and were joined by two Argentinians. The majority of the conversation revolved around mate and how to make it just right. This mate thing is really getting to be too much. Right around checkout time, we bade our friends goodbye and hit the road. Everyone had advised us that we must take Ruta 40 up and that it was paved so that's the way we headed. It was still chilly out but the skies to the north looked really good. We passed through gently winding curves, ever-flanked by the Andes to the left. The day shaped up beautifully and we had a lovely ride through easy terrain. It was about this time that Jeff motioned for me to pull over. He just realized that he had forgot to pay the hostal for our night's stay in San Martin. Bummer, we felt bad about it because we love the idea of travellers' hostals. We'll have to try and make up for it further down the road. We were planning to get as close to Mendoza as possible but when we got to little Chos Malal, it was already about 4:30 and we decided to call it quits. There are so many police checkpoints in Argentina that it makes for slow going. However, the fellas at the checkpoint just outside Chos Malal gave us the scoop on the Municipal Campground.

We rode through the town to the main plaza and asked directions to the campground. Just up the road we pulled into the nearly empty place and a woman came out of the caretaker's house to inform us that the cost was $3 and that there were hot showers. Great! It was nice and warm and we picked what we thought to be the best spot, on a patch of grass. The campground was nothing to write home about (even though I'm doing it) but it had a gorgeous view of the surrounding red, clay hills. So we started unpacking. Jeff started up the pasta dinner while I walked to the store to augment our food supply. Upon my return, I found Jeff surrounded by about 6 very dirty little children whom apparantly lived in the only other tent in the campground. As we cooked and set out our dinner, the kids followed our every move. If we stood up, they stood up. If we walked ten feet, they walked ten feet. I felt really sorry for them as I knew they were hungry but at the same time, they were driving me bonkers. Anyway, we stuffed our left-overs into a bag and handed them over. The oldest one grabbed it away and went off on her own. Meanwhile, we spent the next hour or so trying to talk with all these little eyes watching us. Finally, I escaped to the shower while Jeff entertained them. After cleaning up and saying goodnight to our little amigos we packed ourselves into our tent to rest up for another long ride the next day.

The next morning we got up around 7:00 and started packing. It wasn't until we cranked up the bikes to warm them up that the neighboring brood re-appeared to say goodbye and then we were off to Mendoza. We wound our way to a little mountain pass and then back down to find more desert. And our old friend, the wind was there to greet us too. Today the road was basically just a cart path that consisted of much tighter turns and we knew that we would have two sections of dirt as well.

We weren't making great time when we got to the police checkpoint before the dirt section. The dirt was in decent shape but with lots of bends. It was also really dusty. With the angle of the sun it was hard to tell, at times, what was the road in front of you. Finally though, we reached pavement again. We had now been riding for 5 hours and had only covered 200 miles. Twenty miles per hour slower than the day before average. We stopped for a few bananas and planned our lunch break in Malargue. From there we hugged a red canyon wall and to our right side were brilliant blue-green lakes. The colors were spectacular in the afternoon sun.

As we approached Malargue, the wind started whipping. Thankfully we were about to sit down and have a rest and some much-needed lunch. Seeing as it was already 3:30 and we wouldn't get back on the road until 4:30, we decided that we would stop for the night in San Rafael, which was supposed to be the beginning of the Argentinian wine country. We asked the woman in the restaurant how the ride was and she said it was flat and in very good condition. That was good news, maybe we could make good time the rest of the way. We also took note of where we would take the turn to head east which would put the wind at our back.

Nice and full, we headed off into the wind and were happy to find that we had tree block for about 7 miles. The highway was flanked by a row of shady, leafy trees. We began to see groups of horses out in the pastures as well. Not far down the road we passed the largest group of running horses I have ever seen. There must have been more than fifty and it was a beautiful sight to see them running freely in open countryside. We have noticed over and over again that the horses in Chile and Argentina are big, fat and healthy and just gorgeous. I hoped that I could go for a ride before we left Argentina. Maybe in Mendoza. Anyway, as we continued towards San Rafael, we began to see fields of produce and more and more trees. A nice change from the barren landscape of the last two days. Just before entering the final stretch we saw a sign indicating a twisty road. Well, how twisty could it be after an hour and a half without a bend? Very actually. When we got through the short section Jeff was waiting for me. "How was that?", he asked. "Fine. Why?", I replied. He proceeded to tell me that the turns were much tighter than he had anticipated and that he had nearly lost it. We had also run across about 10 motorcross riders heading off through a canyon that branched out from the twisty section. That might be a good sign that Jeff could get some new gloves.

We drove the last few miles through vineyards and fruit groves and on the outskirts of town where we spotted a campground but decided to head into town instead. Upon arrival I noticed some motorcycle shops as we approached the city center. Right about that time we heard the sound of sirens and turned around to find a bicycle race proceeding towards us. Jeff indicated to follow as the lead pack and support vehicles passed. We jumped on the back and blew through all the lights, honking our horns as if we were one of the support vehicles. These guys were serious riders maintaining 35 mph into the final sprint. It was a kick. We pulled over and watched as the following packs came through.

After the excitement was over, we headed back to the tourist office and Jeff went across the street to the motorcycle shop for new gloves. I got the scoop on accomodations and with new gloves in hand, we headed down the road to find the Sports Club campground and hostel. We arrived to find a lovely, grassy field with numerous trees, outdoor sinks, lots of chairs and a very nice caretaker. They also had dorm rooms for $8 each. The camping was $8 for both of us. Despite my desire to sleep in a bed, Jeff talked me into camping. The caretaker informed us that we could use the kitchen and the hot showers and they sold cold beer and sodas. He kept us company as we pulled out all of our gear and set it up. Eventually we all went inside for cold drinks and hot showers.

At the end of the caretaker's shift, the second crew came around which turned out to be the son of the owner and his girlfriend from Buenos Aires. We spent the remainder of the evening hanging out with them, talking about our trip and showing them pictures. They spent the evening trying to convince us that we should stay in San Rafael doing some tourist things and that it was nicer than Mendoza. We told them we'd think it over and decide in the morning. It was a really comfy place to stay after all and the weather was the most agreeable camping weather we'd had to date. We'd just have to decide what we wanted to do in the morning.

It was an easy Sunday morning lazy ride to Mendoza (we decided to forgo another day in San Rafael). The tree lined road was straight as an arrow. Along the way we saw numerous families enjoying a barbeque, sometimes in the most unlikely of places. But that's the beauty of the Argentinian people. It doesn't seem to matter where you are or what you do, you're going to make the most of it and have a good time. I can't say enough about the reception we've received in Argentina. It is really funny (funny ironic) about the preconceptions that I had before we started this trip. I assumed that I would like Chile the best of all the South American countries and Argentina the least. I definitely did not have any justification for such thoughts. But it turns out that almost the opposite is true. Argentina is such a fun place to be and if the gas wasn't $1.10 per liter and the phone calls $1.10 per minute we would definitely spend more time here. Oh well, as long as we're not riding we're saving money. In the South of Argentina the gas is subsidized by the government and ONLY cost about $ .67 per liter ($2.54 per gallon). The demarkation line is just north of San Martin de los Andes. After that the price jumps to $1.10 per liter ($4.17 per gallon). So we've been spending in excess of $40 per travel day on gasoline. But having said that I still think that the U.S. should tax the crap out of gasoline. That way we could develop more of a motorcycle culture in the U.S. like they have here in Argentina. I guarantee that if some of those yahoos had to ride a motorcycle instead of one of those monster trucks for transportation (because gas prices were so high), everybody would be able to just get along instead of hiding behind a ton of steel. But I digress, where was I...oh yeah, horrendous gas prices.

The weather was perfect, the sun was shining, the gas prices were incredibly high and the bikes were purring. For most of the ride we were heading straight for the Andes. If we were traveling at the speed of sound we would have run smack dab into them. But as luck would have it we were only zipping along at a 70 mph clip. We eventually made a right hand turn and made our way to Mendoza, home to most of Argentina's wine growing region. You know a country has it right when the wine is as inexpensive as the gas is expensive. Mendoza is an extremely attractive city and after getting lost a couple of times we finally found the tourist information office. The inebriated attendant (maybe the wine is a little too cheap) pointed us to the cheapest hotel in the city center. The Hotel Galicia was a nice little place with secure motorcycle parking for $25. The owner proudly noted that at one time he had fit 4 BMW motorbikes in the hotel lobby. Now that's my kind of owner. After check-in we went on a wonderful walking tour of the city. If San Martin de los Andes gets the nod for best small town then Mendoza gets the vote for niciest big city. The downtown streets all are tree lined and shaded with wide streets and sidewalks. We picked an outdoor cafe and had a very nice dinner of Mendozian wine and steak. The central park was a hubbub of activity. Street vendors, performers and urchins all vied for one's attention. In the midst of it all I found a guy who sold Mate cups and bombillas made out of pumpkin and bamboo, respectively. I quickly picked out a matching set and because I was already paying Gringo prices he engraved the "Millenium Motorcycle Tour" on the back of the Mate for free. Cool. Now I had three Mate cups which will be absolutely worthless back in the States unless I can somehow mange to smuggle some Yerba Mate back home too. On our way home we saw a group of people dancing the Argentinian Blues dance; the Tango, in a very romanesque gazebo. These Argentinians take their night life seriously.

The next morning we got up late, found a little breakfast nook and then went off in search of a place to rent mountain bikes. We were pointed to a very nice bike shop about 10 blocks from our hotel. The Stylo Cicles bike shop was very busy but in no time we had our trusty steeds for the half day price of $5 each. The owner was an elderly lady and when we told her of our plans to mountain bike around the public park just beyond the city center, she seemed concerned. "The police are riding up there tomorrow morning. Why don't you just wait and go with them? You know there are a lot of problems with thieves in that park." "Yes, ma'am we'll try to be careful", I told her in my most reassuring Spanish voice. I had a real hard time believing that anything here could be very dangerous. The people were too nice to feel threatened. So off we sped through the canopied streets of Mendoza. It's always good to be under your own power. Not to take anything away from the motos, but the perfect trip would be to ride bicycles from Alaska to Ushuaia in 2 years or so. But we really didn't have the time. It's hard enough just taking several months off. Anyway, today's mission was to check out the motorcycle shops and then ride to the top of the Cerro de la Gloria, a large statue on top of a small hill overlooking the city. We pedalled along the street finding the going a little difficult. There is no doubt that we are in the worst phsysical conditioning of our lives but it shouldn't be this hard. We marveled at the effort needed just to propell the bikes forward. Fortunately before we became totally despondant from our lack of conditioning, we arrived at a recomended motorcycle shop. Linda was looking for cold weather, water proof riding gloves and any other nick nacks that we thought that we could use for the cold Bolivian Altiplano. We found nothing. The guys at the bike shop were very freindly and I priced out the KLR's and other bikes they were selling. A new KLR in Argentina went for about $7,000, Trans Alps were selling for $10,000 and a new African Twin 750 cc was around $12,000. Unbelievable prices. It makes my dream bike, a Honda VFR, seem like a bargain at $10,000. We re-mounted the bicycles and headed back towards town. Ah, no wonder we felt so bad on the way out. It was uphill. It's funny how the mind can so easily overcome rationale by sneaking in feelings of self doubt. We celebrated the fact that maybe we weren't in as bad of shape as we previously thought by eating lunch at MacDonalds. After lunch we sped through the town center and into the large city park. Once inside we stopped at the tourist information office to get a map and figure out our route to the Cerro. The lady at the tourist office carefully warned us about the road to the mountain top. Oh yeah, its full of thieves, we said. She looked puzzled, "No, but the traffic makes it very dangerous for bicycle riders." "Yes, ma'am we'll try to be careful", I told her in my most reassuring Spanish voice. Off we sped through the large tree lined streets, by the rowing lake, near the golf course, past the zoo and finally to the top of the Cerro. The statue, commemorating some type of glorious war, was proudly casting a shadow over the entire city. Then it was downhill all the way back to town. All in all I'd say we rode about 25 miles. A pretty good day. When the hotel owner saw us walk in with the bicycles, he asked what was wrong with our motorcycles. We said nothing was wrong with them and that we just needed a little exercise. He said that if he had motorcycles like ours he'd never ride a bike again. Hmmm, it's hard to argue with that logic so we just nodded our heads and got ready to return the bikes to the bikeshop.

On the way back to our hotel we literally asked about 30 little tourist shops if they had a sticker with the Argentinian flag on it. No one did and when we told the shop owners of our predicament they just laughed and said tongue-in-cheek, "Maybe we Argentinians are not very patriotic." Back at the bike shop the owner seemed relieved that we were still alive after riding through the dangerous city park. We showed everyone in the bike shop the photos we took on the digital camera and talked about our trip. When the owner heard that we couldn't find stickers with the Argentinian flag she told us to wait a moment and she went in back to look. Nope, she couldn't find any either but she did return with a beautiful Mendoza cycling jersey that had the flag on it. She gave it to Linda as a present. Then she gave us a couple of the bike shop t-shirts also. We profusely thanked her and said that we wished we had presents for them. She said that we were the visitors and the presents were so that we would leave with good memories of Mendoza and Argentina. She's too late there because everyday we find something else to fall in love with in Argentina. Mendoza doesn't need much help either, its a fabulous city. Traveling at our pace is always a bit melancholy. On one hand we always wish that we could stay longer and on the other hand we always look forward to moving on. This was our frame of mind as we took care of some chores and returned to the hotel to pack for tomorrow's ride.

We didn't get packed up until about 9:30 and it was a little chilly outside but looked like we'd have a nice day. We asked the hotel owner for directions north and headed out of town. We stopped about 50 miles down the road to fill up with gas. I went to the restroom while Jeff got the bikes filled and pushed them out of the way. When I returned we got some cokes and talked to the friendly attendants for a while. Just before pushing off and after the fellows had returned to work, Jeff looked bothered. He told me they had undercharged him by ten bucks for the gas. The guy had cleared the machine and started filling another car before he told Jeff the price. Where have the ethics gone? Well, it would have been hard to explain anyway that we wanted to pay ten dollars more than what they had already charged us. Besides when we're paying $1.10 per liter of gas its hard to be to argue with a discount every now and then. So, we set off down the road with bothered consciences.

The road to La Rioja was basically straight through barren terrain. We passed through scrubby, desert plains which periodically blasted us with wind. There were also numerous police checkpoints which kept our 60 to 70 mph driving speed at a lower average. It seemed that there was a police check point in every town. Jeff says that they always ask him for his license, registration and insurance. It's always a little nerve wracking because we don't have insurance and we're not sure what we'd do if they insisted on seeing proof of it. Anyway, we stopped for lunch at a YPF gas station and also filled up with gas. It was here that I told Jeff how much I loved YPF stations because they always had clean bathrooms, good stores and often times, good sandwiches. I think he thought that the boring desert terrain had zapped my mind and that I too was surely going insane. Oh well, I really did like them. Anyway, we pushed on weerily towards La Rioja and approached the town in search of a campground. We stopped at a gas station for directions to one but it sounded a long way from town, expensive and we had no food so we opted to look for a hotel. The guys at the station said that there was a cheapy around the corner but we couldn't find it so we headed towards the center.

We spied another YPF on one of the pretty plazas in the center and pulled in for directions to the tourist office. The Argentine Auto Club was there so Jeff asked them about stickers and directions. He came back with some AAC stickers but no flag. Turns out that the tourist information office was just blocks away. We found the office situated right next to a motorcycle shop. I got hotel scoop and Jeff looked for stickers and moto stuff in the shop. He bought some filter oil and while in there they managed to round up just one sticker. They gave it to him so that he would have fond memories of Argentina. This seems to be a recurring theme. Meanwhile, the tourist office gave some info on hotels and rooms in family houses. While we were outside with the bikes we were approached by a couple Mormons on their two year mission. They were excited to see other Americans as we were the first they've seen in over 18 months. They spoke really good Spanish and we had a nice conversation (in Spanish) talking about our trip. Afterwards they asked if we wanted to hear about Mormonism. Maybe after we found a hotel we replied. Must be a hard sell for these missionaries here in Catholic country. We checked out three places but found they were either too expensive, dumps or had no parking. It was now nearly 9:00 pm. We decided to try one more place. We finally found the dumpy Hotel San Jose, which had a double bed with private bath for $20 and said we could put the bikes in the courtyard.

We unpacked and set off for an ATM and a grocery store. We had a nice walk around the shady plazas and picked up a baguette and salmon spread for dinner, which we enjoyed in our room. Finally it was off to sleep to rest up for another long ride in Argentina.

The previous night we had decided to leave the backpacks on the bikes to save time in the morning. This was a good thing as we didn't wake until nine-ish anyway. We weerily mounted the bikes and set off through wine country. We weren't really expecting more wine country and it was quite a treat. We even took a slightly wrong road and found ourselves riding through field after field of grapes. It was really nice. The only vehicles we saw on the road were trucks filled with grapes, on route to the wine processing plant. The road eventually rejoined the main highway and we stopped to fill up with gas at the last town of any size before Tucuman. We had some snacks at the nice YPF, asked for directions and started up again. Upon leaving Catamarca, the road began to wind uphill. On the higher speed turns at the beginning, everything seemed fine but when we went through a tighter section where I had to change gears a lot, I noticed a funny feeling when I downshifted. It felt that my backend was slipping out, especially in the really low gears. As we came out of the turns we came to a police stop where we were informed that the main highway was inaccessable due to a bridge washout and that we would have to take an alternate route. I took this time to tell Jeff that there was something seriously wrong with my bike. We pulled over and he took Suzi out for a spin. He said he thought that the problem was with my chain. He got off the bike and bent over to look at the chain. Wow! Look at this. The chain was really loose. He got out the tools and said he could just tighten it up. He tightened the chain and gave it another once over and noticed what appeared to be oil all over my cylinder head. Hmmm... not good. He took it out for another spin to check the chain and listen to the engine. The engine seemed fine and there was no smoke coming out of the exhaust either. Everything seemed fine but we decided we probably should get the bike looked at in Tucuman.

The remainder of the ride to Tucuman was through farm country. The road on this alternate route was not in the greatest of condition but the scenery was nice. At one point, we approached a small town that looked terribly poor and markedly worse than the average Argentinian standard of living. Up ahead we spied some large animal by the side of the road and as we got closer, it appeared to have been skinned. I still don't know what it was but it appeared that it may have been some sort of protest as there were people all around. It was quite strange. Anyway, we stopped for one more break about thirty miles from town. It looked like it might rain as well so we covered up a few exposed things and also checked out the hotel listings in the LP. We set off towards town and upon arrival went to the main square where the tourist office was situated. I inquired about hotels but didn't get much info so we went with the guide book recommendations and wound up at the Hotel Miami which also has youth hostel rooms. We didn't have hostel cards but wound up with a nice room with ac, cable, great bathroom and breakfast for $30. It was expensive but a nice splurge. We had also noticed a swanky gym across the street.

We unpacked and I went to check out the gym and get some snacks. The gym looked great so we headed over and had a really good workout. Afterwards we looked for some takeout food. We found a little store on the corner that made sandwiches and that also had homemade tamales. Jeff got a sandwich and I got two tamales. They turned out to be the most delicious tamales we'd had the whole trip. We already knew what we'd be eating the next day! Anyway, we spent the evening devouring cable movies and typing.

The next morning it was hard to drag ourselves out of bed, partly due to the long riding days and partly because Jeff had watched TV 'til three a.m. Anyway, he found a mechanic just around the corner and we took both bikes over. We spent the afternoon typing and getting a journal entry ready. Jeff finally went back to the bike shop and I went to update the web site and get e-mail. When I returned to the shop, we wound up chatting with the owners and their son about our trip. They also told me about a sticker shop. While they finished up on the bikes I went to the sticker place where the guy said he could make a sticker for $3. Expensive but I was desperate for my Argentina sticker so I agreed to come back later to pick it up. Back at the shop the mechanic said I had melted tar on my cylinder head and there was no engine problem. They were extremely helpful and only charged us for the oil and the filter. They didn't charge us labor. It was a present from them so that, you guessed it, we'd have fond memories of Argentina. After chatting at length with the owners, we finally said good-bye and went back to the hotel for more tamales and cable movies.

We checked out of the hotel around 10 a.m. I kissed the cable T.V. goodbye and headed south towards the road to Cafayate. The highway south was kinda nasty and there was really nothing too appealing about the few towns that we passed through. After about 40 miles we turned west towards the mountains. Just as we got up to speed we were met by another police checkpoint. But these guys were different. They were dressed in black and seemed much more serious than all the other stops. After looking at our licenses and paperwork they asked where was our proof of insurance. He seemed insistant. As I fumbled around in my tank bag trying to buy some time to figure a way out of this predicament he asked, "You do have insurance, don't you?" "Of course we have insurance" was my reply and then I babbled on about how dangerous the roads were and that we would be crazy not to have some etc., etc. He wasn't buying it. I asked Linda to see if she could find our long since expired US motorcycle insurance card in her boxes. As she fumbled around I told the cop that we couldn't have crossed all the borders without insurance. This seemed to reassure him and he said to go ahead, but next time we should have proof of insurance ready for inspection. Whew, that was a close one. Next time I will definitely type up some kind of insurance card for these type of situations. We merrily zipped down the progressively windy roads. The scenery was becoming more and more mountainous. As I sped ahead through the twisty mountain roads the engine started to sputter. Oops, I forgot that I was already on reserve and now I was out of gas at only 270 miles. Linda eventually showed up and we poured her half gallon reserve bottle into TGH. We continued on in hopes that a gas station would somehow appear on this desolate road. 15 miles later we found one. We were now up on top of the Argentinian Altiplano. We stopped at the mountain town of Tafi del Valle for some lunch. At the restaurant I asked if they could fill my mate kettle with hot water for a little matecito. The Argentinos seemed to derive great pleasure in seeing Gringos enjoying their national drink. After lunch we climbed up out of the high valley to a 10,000 ft mountain pass. The views were sensational. We were now descending into another vast valley split by an equally large glacial stream. Because the scenery was so big it made us feel like tiny specs blowing by. This was a valley rich in history. Many indiginous people inhabited this valley for thousands of years. It was easy to see why. We noticed a sign that pointed toward an ancient settlement. The Quilmes ruins were pressed up against the Andean foothills and were strikingly beautiful. As we walked through the ruins and soaked in the views we both decided that this must have been a city of great wealth and beauty. Even now it would be a great place to live. We now were getting closer and closer to Cafayate. The altiplano followed the river and once again we found ourselves in wine country. The many vineyards accompanied us all the way into a surprisingly quaint town. We quickly found a comfy residenciales for $16. After doing a couple of loops around the town square we settled on a cozy little restaurant for some mutton and red wine. On our way back we talked with numerous shop owners who gushed on and on about the road north to Salta. We finally stopped at an ice cream shop to top off dinner. After ordering a couple of cones we found ourselves talking with the store owner about every concievable topic known to man. She was very patient with our Spanish and before we knew it we had been taking for almost 3 hours. This is what I find to be the special charm of the Argentinian people. They love social interaction and conversation. I find it amazing that we have yet to meet anyone who hasn't seemed really interested in getting to know us and hear stories about our trip. We finally hit the hay looking forward to tomorrows ride through, what everyone seemed to say, was the most beautiful road in Argentina. A little FYI: If you're thinking of buying wine from the Cafayate region go with the white wines, they're delicious. And I'm not much of a white wine fan.

The road from Cafayate towards Salta was not a disappointment. The red rock terrain was heavily eroded by centuries of glacial melt. The resulting effect was a labyrinth of twisted rock formations. The asphalt seemed brand new. It was without a doubt the most interesting terrain that we've ridden through in all of South America. It was short lived though and after about 60 miles the topography returned to more of what we've seen near Tucuman. It was still a beautiful ride through the countryside. By the time we eventually arrived in the outskirts of Salta the skies opened up and it started to rain. We had planned to find a phone office in Salta to get e-mail but since it was Sunday we weren't able to find one open. We did take a nice tour through the city center on the motos though. Just outside of town we stopped at a roadside chicken and french fry stand to get our fix. Onward we pressed to JuJuy. Somehow we ended up on a tiny little one lane road that followed along a riverbed. It was definitley the scenic route. Not sure how we stumbled upon it but I was really glad we did. The sinewy road through the mountains was no bigger than a golf cart path and was a blast to ride through. A blast to ride through that is until I felt something funny (not funny ha ha, more like funny oh-shit) happening with my clutch. Just as we started into a very steep and twisty section my clutch cable snapped. As luck would have it I wasn't carrying a spare. So this was my predicament: We were about 50 miles from town and I was on the most curvy road in Argentina and, oh yeah, it was raining. Having no other viable alternative I made the command decision to just ride TGH into town without the use of a clutch. At first starting in 2nd gear was a bit tricky but I finally managed. So in the curvy sections I just left it in second gear and went Linda's speed in the turns. Not near as much fun as my usual speed. On the straight aways I shifted up to 5th gear. At street lights I either just ran them or, in the case of heavy traffic, just did little circles in 1st gear waiting for the light to change. We finally got into town and quickly found an area with a lot of mechanic shops. As I circled, Linda stopped to ask if anyone knew of a place to fix a motorcycle clutch. We finally found a guy who knew of a motorcycle shop. I pulled in out of the rain and cut the engine. After a couple hours and some tweaking of the clutch cable I bought at a nearby motorycle parts place we were back in business. I asked how much I owed the mechanic and he said nothing and that he was just glad he could help. This was becoming just as bad as Colombia. The Argentinians were just too nice. I gave him $5 despite his repeated protests. He pointed us to a nearby hotel that had secure parking and we pulled in, soaked to the bone and totally exhausted. That night we ate some sandwiches that we bought at a local stand and mused over the last couple of days. Our bikes are definitely feeling the mileage and wear and tear. We need new rear tires and definitely need to replace our chains and sprockets. We decided to push on to La Paz, Bolivia and look for a place to do much needed maintenance. Despite this they still are running great and remain our best friends.

Today was border crossing day. I always get excited on border crossing days. More than just formalities and paperwork, they signify the closing of one chapter and the opening of another. For me, I will definitely miss Argentina but I can't wait to get to know Bolivia. From the map, the road north to the Bolivian border was to be mostly paved with only about 100 km of dirt. We set out into the morning cold and rain praying for some sun. It must be said that riding a motorcycle with a clutch is much easier than riding without one. Now I can see why they invented clutches in the first place (whoever 'they' are). The highway was under construction, no surprise there, and slowly gained in elevation the entire way. We followed along a river valley with intermittant asphalt and gravel roadway. We were making our way to the famous Bolivian Altiplano, which had an average elevation of over 11,000 ft. We passed through what we would consider very un-Argentinian towns. There were more indiginous people living here than the whole of the south combined. The towns reminded us of Peruvian towns. Mud shacks with thatched roofs. But what these people lacked in housing they more than made up for in striking scenery. The mountains were of a beautiful red hue and looked much the same as the road north from Cafayate. The more we gained in elevation the clearer the skies became. Soon we were all alone bathed in sunshine and soaking up the sights. As we climbed even higher the vegetation eventually gave way to scrub bushes and rocks. The Argentinian government is about 75% finished with paving the road to the border but the part that has yet to be paved is a killer. Just past the lonely outpost town of Abra Pampa the asphalt ends and the washboard begins. It was only 50 km long but what it lacks in length it more than makes up for in difficulty. The ruts were very deep and it made riding more than 15 mph an impossibility. At times we would find a smoother section at the outer edges of the road and get up to 40 mph only to be met with the deep ruts again. The whole bike would rattle and jump violently until we reduced our speed. Easily the most difficult section of road that we've ridden to date. At one point I thought that my windshield would snap off from the shaking. At first I was very concerned for our Hepco Becker boxes but they came through with flying colors holding fast as if we were on asphalt. I can't say enough about the boxes, they are much sturdier than I first suspected and have performed above and beyond the call of duty. On many occassions they have save Suzi from body damage during Linda's momentary lapses (accidents).

It was with great relief that we arrived in the Argentinian border town of La Quiaca in one piece. After a couple of wrong turns we reached the bridge that spanned the river to the Bolivian town of Villazon. Within a matter of minutes we received our 6th Argentinian passport stamp and were on our way to Bolivia! What can I say except that Argentina is an incredible place that has it all; mountains, wine, pampas, Ushuaia and best of all, the friendliest people in all of the Americas. Ciao Argentina! Hasta Pronto!