After disembarking, we all headed towards the hotel that Tom and Jules had reserved a room in. As we were walking down the street, Jules ran in to one of her buddies from high school, Charlotte (British) whom was travelling with her boyfriend Simon (Irish). They decided to join the group hike with the rest of us. The hastal accomodations at the Patagonian Adventures Hostal were very cozy and at $8 per person a good value. When I returned to the dock, Jeff had gotten the bikes and we found out that we had to clear the bikes through customs. It seemed strange to me - going from Chile to Chile. Meanwhile, back at the ranch... the food committee was planning all of the four days' meals for eight people. When we arrived we stowed the bikes in the hotel's shed and the six of us set off on errands to buy food, do laundry, get money, buy cold weather gear, etc. It was a busy afternoon but we successfully acquired all of the things we needed for our trek and arranged for the 7 a.m. bus to pick us up. The round trip cost of the bus to the park entrance was $9. Since we were traveling as a group we were to leave the motorcycles at the hostel. By 11 we were all tucked snugly into our bunkbeds to rest up for the big adventure.

In the morning Tom had us all ready for our Torres del Paine backpacking adventure. To tell you the truth it was really nice having everything taken care of for a change. All we had to do was show up. The group dynamics shook out like this: Tom was Head Purser in charge of planning the meals, deciding where to go, what to see, making sure the rations were divided up evenly, etc. He even had our bowel movements scheduled out on a very strict timetable. Jules was the Assisstant to the Head Purser. She was a dependable backup whenever Tom's motions needed a second. We all secretly believed that Jules was the real brains behind the operation and that Tom was just some sort of diplomatic figurehead. Charlotte, a pediatrician by trade, was the Resident Physcian. Dee, a nurse by training, was naturally, the Head Nurse. The rest of us, including Simon - a management consultant and Jed - a teacher, added little to no value to the 'gang of eight' and were accordingly assigned the roles of pachiderms. We hauled in Tom's inordinant amount of food to be prepared from scratch every night. The grocery list included untold quantities of steak, potatoes, onions, cheeses, butter, honey, various luncheon meats and of course 8 liters of wine (Gato Negro in 1 liter boxes). When we were loaded up and on the trail we looked like those elephants crossing the Himylayas in one of those old Attilda the Hun movies. Also, as a corrollary position, I was the person designated to be injured so that the Resident Physcian and Head Nurse would have somehting to do. Our main objective was to hike "La W". A 4 day "tramp" starting with the Torres del Paine, then the Valle Frances and finally a visit to Glacier Grey. Watching Tom handle all the logistics with such ease and flair I eventually became conviced that he was, in actuality, Winston Churchill in a previous life. By the time we loaded the bus we were as readily prepared and highly motivated as any elite military unit known to the free world.

The first part of the two and half hour bus ride to the park was on a nice gravel road through unimaginative landscape, that is, of course, unless you're a prairie dog. But as we got closer to the park we passed through lakes full of flamingos, fields full of Guanacos (a relative of the Llama) and canyons housing Andean Condors. Even closer still we began to see the impressive granite spires that seemed to be on every postcard from Torres del Paine. When we approached the park entrance we found that the park office was smashed to bits (high winds?). Not to worry though a temporary office was erected to collect the $13 per person entry fee. Another $3 per person minivan connection later we were at our first campsite - Los Torres. The campsite was in a very nice location in the shadows of the granite towers and nestled against a dry riverbed. Cost; $4 per person. We arrived at our campsite just before noon and quickly set up our bivouac. When we took an inventory of all of our food stuffs we realized that we (Linda and Jeff) must have left our day pack and 'camel-backs' on the bus that dropped us off at the park entrance. Our day pack was crammed full of food and wine and our camel-backs held our water supply. We quickly asked the minibus driver if there was any way that he could check to see if they were back at the park entrance. He said not to worry, he would simply go back, get the bags and leave them in the lobby of the nearby hotel. I didn't have much hope that we would ever see them again but Linda was more optimistic. I knew that we wouldn't miss the food, we had plenty, and the day pack was replaceable but we would really miss the camel-backs. They saved our lives in Baja California when the temperature was over 100 degrees F. So we tied all of our layers around our waists and I carried the water filter in my pocket and set off to bag our first objective... a 3 hour trek to catch a glimpse of the park's namesake - the Torres del Paine.

The hike was an easy grade along the Rio Ascencio valley. Spirits were high and it was easy to tell everybody was excited to finally be on the trail after 4 days of sitting on the boat. The valley was beautiful and it was immediately evident why Patagonia is renowned for its stunning backdrops. Now I know why the Patagonia adventure wear is so expensive. A little past the halfway point the trail followed close to the river for a while. I quickly pulled out my PUR water purifier and quickly replenished everyones' water supply. The next four days would provide an excellent test our all of our light-weight, high-speed camping gear that we lugged on the back of The Green Hornet for all those miles. Another hour later we emerged from a thickly forested section of the trail to be confronted with large boulders that would lead us to the towers. Feeling the need to elevate my heart rate past an acceptable level I excused myself from the troop and quickly scampered up the boulders to the viewing point. The sheer scale of the towers, glacier, lake and mini-waterfalls was awesome. We took all the requisite photos and sat for awhile in quiet contemplation. After awhile we started our descent back to camp and within two hours we reached the Hotel near the campgrounds. I stopped in to see if, by some miracle, our daypack and camel backs ever showed up. When I asked the receptionist at the front desk she said, "Ahh las bolsas de Agua, si tenemos!" (Oh those bags of water, yes we have them.) Hooray, they're back and with everything intact. It was now time to prepare our steak and potatoes campfire dinner. It was just starting to get dark and what was once a windless day became quite stormy. We got the fire going but the wind was so strong it was difficult to get the flame close enough to the grill. We finally manufactured a sufficient wind block and within no time the steaks were grilling away. We needed another stove to boil water for the first course. No problem, I'll just pull out my trusty, light-weight, high-speed MSR backpacking stove with flame adjuster. First try, a large flame out, second try, some sputtering fuel...eigth try, nothing. Can't get the dang thing to fire up. Meanwhile the troops had moved on without me and had freed up another stove to boil the water. I was very dissappointed and perplexed. Maybe the white gas I bought in Santiago was too dirty to work. Hmmmm. A very inauspicious start for our gear. The meal was delicious though and even the Gato Negro, which affectionately became known simply as "The Cat" tasted great. There may be something to this Attila the Hun way of backpacking.

The next morning the winds died down and we were greeted by beautiful blue skies. Today was to be the hardest day of the trip. We were to carry the packs for 8 hours to Camp Italiano. We left bright and early (around 10 a.m.) and within a couple hours promptly lost the trail. No problem, a quick short cut across a small river and we were back in business. We found that the trail was not very well marked but it was all in the same direction between the aqua marine lakes and sheer mountain cliffs. At times it felt like we were the only people on the trail and other times it felt as though we were backpacking through Europe. The scenery slowly changed from grass plains to forested slopes. There were several steep sections broken up by boulder strewn river beds. As we were walking along Tom and Jules recognized some old Amigos that they met way back in Mexico. Ian, from England and Lee, from Australia were riding an R100GS and F650, respectively, down from Alaska. We immediately struck up a conversation, talking about all the things that motorcycle riders talk about, aluminum panniers, chain life, air filters, nasty roads, sheep skin seat covers, etc. The rest of the crew was moving on so we made plans to meet them back at the Hostal in 3 days. On we trudged, hour after hour, with every step the 2 liters of Cat I was carrying grew heavier and heavier. We finally arrived at a beautiful lake front refugio that was to be our lunch spot. The refugio was nicely constructed and blended in well with the surrounding area. It was just a shame that the sewer system had the same lake front view as the picnic tables. But we were way too hungry and tired to care about the smell. ln no time we were enjoying an excellent lunch of ham, cheese & tomato sandwiches. And not a moment too soon, I was becoming weak from hunger. After lunch I was feeling reinvigorated from the sustenance and decided to press on ahead of the group. I have a real hard time staying areobic for some reason. I really prefer maintaining a steady heart rate of at least 150 beats per minute versus anything lower. Must be from all those years of running. So on I pressed up a long steep grade, focusing on breathing and relaxing as I pushed the pace. It was then when I first noticed that someone was behind me.

"Surely there couldn't be anyone catching me", I thought to myself, "no reasonable person would try to hike up this hill, with a backpack, at this pace." I took a look over my shoulder and sure enough, a young, wiry looking fella was not only keeping pace, he was actually gaining on me. So I put the hammer down hoping to drop him on the last section of the hill but to no avail. Rodrigo, as I later came to learn his name, seemed intent on catching me. And catch me he did. Well he may have caught me but he's not going to pass me. So there we were, Rodrigo and myself locked in some sort of twisted combat, practically running with our backpacks through some of the most scenic terra firma on Earth. But I was paying little attention to that as I was trying to detect a change in Rodrigo's breathing patterns. Was he starting to crack or was he just getting started? There was only one way to find out. I employed an old racing tactic; ask a leading question that requires a long winded answer. If he gives me an abbrieviated response then he's tapped out, if he tells me his life story I'm in for a battle. "So Rodrigo you say that you're Argentinian but you have an American accent, why is that?" Perfect he's going to fall for my little trap. As soon as I finished asking the question we started another steep ascent. "Well, I was born in Buenas Aires but my parents moved to the States when I was four. You see..." Rodrigo's life story reverberated in my ears as my heart rate skyrocketed way past the generally accepted maximum heart rate for 39 year old CPA's. Rodrigo was to be a worthy adversary. I couldn't believe that he could still carry on a conversation during our ascent up this steep pitch. I keep baiting him with brief remarks. Finally as we got closer to the crest of the hill we both became very quiet. I was pressing as hard as I could and he stayed right on my heels. As we crested the top I stepped aside and asked if he wanted to pass. "No that's OK you're keeping a pretty good pace." What did he mean by "pretty good"? I almost blew a heart valve on that last section and all he can say is that this is a "pretty good pace"? Was this kid trying to play 'reindeer games' with Santa Claus? This was no longer an innocent game of 'drop the backpacker' it was now the timeless struggle of age versus youth. I was the wily veteran, a little long in the tooth, who may have lost a step or two over the years. Rodrigo was the brash upstart, still wet behind the ears, full of life and vigor, ready to challenge the 'old man'. I know it's a losing battle, youth always wins in contests such as these but if I could just be the first one into camp then I could slow the clock down a little bit. So on we went, flying down the trail, jumping small creeks, hopping over felled trees, blowing past the numerous German backpackers on the trail. A couple of them even tried to stay with us for a while but soon gave up when they realized the seriousness of the situation. Finally Camp Italiano was in sight and just as I was mentally preparing for the final push Rodrigo eased off a little bit. I gladly reciprocated and we spent the last 400 meters discussing the days hike and the fabulous scenery. After we arrived at the campsite Rodrigo calmly said "Nice walk" and set off to find a campsite. Come on Rodrigo, I know you must have thought that it was a difficult test of human endurance, didn't you? Rodrigo...?

Oh well maybe it wasn't a metaphor for the passing of time but it sure was fun. It reminded me of my old running and racing days. My head was buzzing from all the endorphines that was releasing into my brain. My theory on the reason that there is a chemical release of endorphines (e.g. dopamine) after intense physical activity is because your body thought that, in order for you to have placed so much stress on your body, you must have been escaping from some kind of life-threatening situation, like a sabretoothed tiger. Afterwards, when you cool down, your body recognizes the fact that you're still alive and releases the endorphines as a reward for getting away. Many mind altering drugs, like heroine for instance, allow for the unregulated release of dopamine into the brain. It is what creates the "high". It would be much healthier and cheaper if all those drug addicts just took up jogging or Tai Bo or some other exercise routine rigourous enough to evoke the "fight or flight" response. But I digress...now where was I? Oh yeah Camp Italiano. Anyway I set up the tent, put the beers that we bought at the refugio into the glacial stream and found a riverside seat. Directly in front of me the sun had lit up the granite face of the Cuernos mountains. The view was spectacular. As I listened to the thunderous avalanches I attempted to figure out why I should be so lucky to experience a day like today. What did I do to deserve such an experience. I sat there in awe and for one of those special moments in time the whole world stood still. It was a perfect moment capped off when Linda came out to the riverbed to meet me. Her cheeks still flushed from the effort of the hike. She was radiant and for that one moment in time everything was perfect in the world.

It soon became time to re-enter the real world. The weather got much colder when the sun finally set behind the mountains, there was dinner to be cooked and I could hardly bend my knees when I walked back to the campsite. Just after 1 day the 'gang of eight' had become a well oiled cooking machine. Water was a'boilin, rice was a'cookin and in no time we all were a'eatin. Afterwards I went back down to the river to purify some drinking water. By now my knees were so stiff that I couldn't even bend them. This was quickly becoming the Tour of Pain. I knew right then that I would need to pay a visit to the infirmary. But I still needed to purify some water for tomorrow's hike. As I started to pump water through the filter I noticed that it was very difficult to pump. It took a lot of force to just get a small trickle. Then the filter stopped pumping water altogether. Great! Another high-speed, light-weight gadget goes kaput. I peg-legged it back to camp and immediately reported to the Resident Physcian and Head Nurse. They quickly prescibed rest, some killer anti-inflamatory drugs and a little less "racing" kids half my age. The next day was going to be another tough day with a 5 hour hike up the Valle de Frances and then return to the camp and pack in our gear over to the next campsite, two and a half hours away. It appeared to be getting late so as we prepared for bed I took a look at my Nike watch to see what time it was. Wouldn't you know it my watch face was blank. The battery must have died. I went to sleep that night in our sleeping sacks that didn't provide an ounce of warmth afraid of what would break tomorrow.

The next morning, we woke around 7:30, all discussing how down-right cold it had been the night before. Our partners in crime noted how glad they were that they didn't have our high-speed-light-weight sleeping sacks. Those things may have worked fine in Mexico and Central America but down here they're pretty much worthless. What was my 'lovely and talented' husband thinking when he bought those things anyway. It wasn't long before Dee and Jed had our bellies warmed with what (apparantly) every English speaking country in the world, excepting the US, calls porridge - oatmeal to us yanks. They had soaked it over night and all it required was heating. Deanna had lots of wisdom regarding these little things like how to speed up the cooking of slow-cook oatmeal. She grew up on a sheep station in Australia and didn't always have 24-hour refrigeration so used many non-perishables. So a little coffee and tea later we started up the Valle de Frances. I assumed the 7th position and Jeff the 8th. It was immediately apparent to me that Jeff was in no condition to hike. He couldn't bend his knees and was trying to 'peg-leg' it. After about 10 minutes Jeff was really falling behind. I knew his knees were killing him. We trudged on a bit more before he agreed that a long uphill/downhill hike plus two more hours hiking with the pack wasn't a good idea. I told him to hold still while I ran off to catch the others, whom were (thankfully) waiting up ahead for us. I told them we were going to turn back and that we would go set up camp at our next destination. Everyone was concerned and told me to leave some heavy things behind for them to soak up in their already very heavy packs. Of course Jeff would have none of that, I think he would rather cut his legs off above the knee before anyone had to carry his stuff. Charlotte handed over her high-speed-light-weight (and it actually worked) walking stick for Jeff to use. With that I was off down the hill, only to find that Jeff was sitting where I had left him. Uh oh. Now I was worried. I assumed he would have headed back to camp. Hopefully we would be able to get to the next camp without really blowing out his knees.

I gave Jeff the little blue and white magic pills that Charlotte had given me and we snapped a few photos and went back to camp to pack up. Jeff soaked his knees in the ice cold river while I packed. Around noon we headed off for our next camp site. This would be our last hike with the packs. I hoped for moderate terrain and was thus granted it. We carefully picked our way down the trail through the boggy brush. After about a half hour, Jeff said his knees were feeling better and we started moving a little quicker. The sun was warm and we were protected from the wind and we shed our clothes down to shorts and tee shirts. I also had a huge blood blister on the back of one heel that was really hurting so I wasn't altogether heart broken to be missing the other part of the hike. And it was nice just to be taking care of my hubby and, for once, just chatting on easier terrain instead of trying to set some land speed record. I kept thinking the surroundings looked like a cranberry bog, although I have never seen one. There were lots of little wooden bridges connecting breaks in the trail. We were still following alongside the lake that had flanked our left side the day before.

We stopped for a few short breaks to eat some snacks but basically just walked straight on through. After an hour and a half the scenery began to change to a more scrubby grass with little to no shrubbery. As we entered this more barren area, a fierce glacial wind greeted us. We climbed a slight hill and I figured the camp would be just over the top. Not quite there and the wind didn't appear to be dying down. We stopped to put back on all of our clothes, including our Bolivian hats. We wound around the side of the hill and the path began to head off toward what appeared to be a big pasture. The further round the bend I got I was able to spot the Chilean flag waving in the wind above the refugio. "We're here!", I cried. I scurried off to the camp site and began searching for a protected area for 4 tents. Jeff immediately left his pack and walked into the freezing waters of the lake to "ice" his knees. The grounds contained some sites with wind screens (which were all taken) but they were in the most barren patches anyway. I scouted out the whole site and decided upon the best of them. Jeff and I set up our tent in a little nook protected by short trees and shrubs. We set markers in the other three sites for the others who should be showing up in a couple hours.

After getting set up we headed over to the refugio for a hot shower and some food. We ran in to an American guy from the Puerto Montt ferry and chatted with him while we ate and he waited on the afternoon launch. Eventually we headed back to the tent for a little nap and by about 5:30, the other six had arrived. We all purchased some beer from the little refugio store and put it in the lake to chill down while the remaining tents were set up. The wind was really howling and we were contemplating how we were going to cook our dinner. Jeff decided to bring the stoves in to our vestibule which is really big. Seemed to be the perfect solution. While the others took turns heading to the showers and getting themselves situated, Jeff began the "cooking tent". I don't think Deanna trusted Jeff's cooking skills so she entered the cooking tent to supervise the operations. Soon the soup was boiling and the beer in the lake was cold. One by one, the group entered the cooking tent to drink their soup until I found that I was the only one outside. I had been functioning as the water shuttle service to fuel the pasta kitchen that was now in the works. Those guys had done a lot more walking than we had and we had basically done very little to help in previous meals so it was nice get everything taken care of. Finally I entered the cooking tent to make the total 8. It was so warm and cozy in there. By now the cat was being passed around and everyone's faces were looking pretty rosy. I'm not sure I would have believed that we could have fit 8 people into a 3-man tent before this but it really didn't seem all that crowded. We spent a nice evening story-telling and hit the hay about eleven.

Jeff and I had agreed that if he couldn't hike the next day, we would pack up and take the launch back. However, with the new day came new healing for his knees and he was feeling pretty good. We decided to give it a go. We ate some more delicious porridge and everyone complained about the dust that had filled their rented tents during the night. Forntunately, our tent doesn't have mesh sides so we didn't have the same problem. Anyway, the eight of us set off for Glacier Grey. We walked through the valley of an old river bed, hugged on both sides by low-lying mountains. The weather was variably grey and sunny but looked like we'd stay dry. We stopped about every half hour on our way to the first mirador. Everyone was a bit tired from the previous three days. Jules's knees were hurting and Charlotte was not feeling 100%. We continued on slowly and finally got up to the first view of the glacier. It was really pretty and we all broke out the cameras. As we prepared to continue on, Charlotte and Simon decided that they had to turn back as she was feeling pretty badly.

After the view point, the map indicated a long, steep decline and I was a little worried about Jeff's knees. Down and down we went and eventually wound up in a very protected little valley with views of the high mountain glaciers up above. Jeff's knees seemed to be holding out just fine and it wasn't long before we found ourselves at Refugio Grey. Strangely though, there was no view of the glacier there. There was a beautiful glacial fed lake and the camp ground was on the shore. We inquired how far the mirador to the glacier was. 15 minutes. We decided to go there for lunch. The view of the glacier was spectacular! We found a good viewing spot and plopped down to prepare our lunch. Tom broke out a can of salmon to mix with our leftover pasta and created a delicious salmon salad. Sharing our meal for 8 between 6 meant that we all ate really well and we were giddy with getting to stuff ourselves. Everybody wanted to climb out onto a rocky outcropping to get a closer look at the glacier so I agreed to head back to the refugio to fill up our empty water canisters. We agreed to meet back in about 45 minutes.

After lunch, Jeff was feeling really good. On the other hand, Jules's knees were really hurting. So, this time Jeff passed the walking stick to Jules. Once again feeling the need for speed Jeff decided to move on ahead of the group. Dee, Jed and I took the mid-pack stance and Tom and Jules slowed up a bit to baby the knees a bit. It was a really nice afternoon walk we returned to the campsite in about 3 hours, trailing Jeff by a little over an hour. So, now we were done with the hiking and it was time to relax. We bought some beer and when we got back to the tents, Jeff informed us that Charlotte and Simon had taken the launch back. We would have to catch back up with them in Puerto Natales. So, it was time to get the cooking tent into production while everyone took turns taking showers. Tom headed off for water shuttle service and turned up with Uta from Eastern Germany, whom was in need of a stove to heat up the can of soup that she had. We spent the evening talking about the years that Tom and Jules lived in Russia and laughing about the differences in the way we all speak the same language.

The next morning we planned for the 9:30 ferry. We got up, fired up the cooking tent and had one last go of cramming six people inside. We hurriedly packed up and walked over to the refugio to wait for the boat. Soon the big catamaran pulled in where we coughed up $15 each for a half hour ride to the other side. We were almost too tired to care, almost. On board they had complimentary coffee and tea where I told everyone to drink as much as they could get down to try to get the most of our $15. So when the boat landed, we were all in a caffeine haze and stumbled off the boat and down the path to catch the bus. But hey, where's the bus? All we saw were taxis. Feeling a little confused, we asked the taxis what was going on. They said there was no bus to meet this launch. It would meet the 12:00 boat. Ok, sure, that makes sense. He wanted $4 each to shuttle us back to the park entrance. Thanks, but no thanks. So, we walked over to the small, primitive refugio that had a small kitchen and bunk beds but no staff and was a little rough. We took over the kitchen table and broke out the cards. Those crazy Brits and Aussies wanted some more tea so they put a kettle on while Jeff gave instructions in playing Horse, a six person derivative of Euker, the game of his family reunions. We had about 2 hours to kill but it passed quickly with the cards. At one point a large bus pulled up and loads of older Israeli tourists poured out. They walked around snapping photos and eventually walked in to the refugio and found us playing cards and drinking tea. They asked if they could take our picture. We didn't have the hearts to tell them that we weren't staying there. I think they thought that's where the real hiker's stayed. We got a good chuckle out of it anyway and before long our bus arrived. We ran to greet it and stake out our seats.

The bus rolled off through the winding roads towards the park entrance and we all gazed out the window at the numerous herds of guanacos roaming the pampa. We also spied some grey foxes and flamingos. We were all feeling pretty happy to be moving while our feet were still. It was right about this time that the little girl in the seat in front of us got car sick and threw up. Whew! The sour smell wafted all through the heated, closed-windowed bus and we all got the gag reflex. Ugh. A few minutes later we arrived at the park entrance to pick up more passengers and we all tumbled off the bus to get some fresh air. We got back on the bus and eventually got to Puerto Natales around 6:00 p.m., much later than expected.

We all went out for dinner that night to congratulate ourselves for a job well done and spent the rest of the evening sitting around the kitchen table in our hostel. Charlotte and Simon were there too and before going to bed we all said our goodbyes and hoped that we might meet up again in Ushuaia. Charlotte and Simon would heading the other way so hopefully we'll pay them a visit in their neck of the woods some day!

Ian and Lee, the motorcyclists, came out to see us off. We talked while Linda and myself packed up the bikes. They had taken pretty much the same route as us, except they left from Alaska in late May. In Colombia they were held up for 5 days during a farmers strike that shut down the PanAmerican highway. They also really enjoyed riding in Colombia. Anyways we were taking our time since we only had about 150 miles to ride today. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and the winds didn't seem to be all that strong. After saying our goodbyes we left town down a very nicely paved road. It was all farm land with gently rolling hills. We stopped after about 60 miles for a lunch break at the only restaurant we saw the whole way. As we approached Punta Arenas we turned more South and were immediately greeted with a pretty fierce side wind. We could still maintain 50 mph but we were getting buffeted all over the lane.

Punta Arenas isn't what I would call an attractive town but it does have a great personality. It is a small town of 110,000 and was easy to navigate through the city streets. We literally checked out 6 or 7 hotels before we finally settled on a homey "bed & breakfast" for 10,000 pesos or $20 a night. It had secure and covered motorcycle parking and we could use the kitchen. Linda wasn't feeling all that great so I went to the grocery store and bought some soup and juice. We spent a nice quiet evening at home recuperating from all the hiking we did in Torres del Paine.

The next morning our mission was to mail the worthless brakepads that I was carrying around with me, try to find some better waterproof riding gloves and buy our ferry tickets to Porvenir. Additionally, I wanted to change the oil to a lighter grade. We still had 20W50 from Lima, Peru and I wanted to see if changing to 10W30 would help Suzi start up a little easier. I ususally find that in cold weather a lighter grade oil helps. That is assuming that the battery is ok, the plugs are fine, the valves don't need adjusting, the carbuerator is not clogged from some of the nasty gas we've been using and whatever else could cause the problem. Because we've been doing so much riding or staying in places not suitable for motorcycle maitenance I just haven't taken a real good look at the bikes yet. All I've done to date is change the oil and clean the air filters on a regular basis. But when we get to Ushuaia all that will change. So off to do our tasks. It cost us $24 to ship home a 8 lb package. Those brake pads weighed a combined 7 lbs! I still can't believe that I carried them all the way from Portland to Punta Arenas. After sending the mail we went to the duty free zone just outside of town. I bought some 30 weight oil and some neoprene fishing gloves. They didn't have any in Linda's size. We then went to the ferry office and bought two tickets to Porvenir on the next morning's ferry. Price $10,000 pesos per motocycle and rider. It left the next moring at 9 a.m. I dropped Linda off at the hotel so she could rest and I found a bike shop to change the oil. I talked with the store owner for a while then some of the customers who were asking about the bike. I assumed that there would be a small charge to change the oil in his shop. After all I had my own oil and I even loosened the bolts. After changing my oil I went to get Linda's bike and I changed her oil. I asked how much I owed thinking it would be a couple of bucks. 3,500 pesos ($7) for each bike was the reply! "Oh," I said smiling, "there must be some kind of mistake, I brought my own oil." The owner's grim face told me all I needed to know. He was going to rip me off because I was stupid enough not to settle the price before I changed the oil. Call me naive but I thought that, since he was a motorcyle enthusiast, he would deal with me in an honest manner. I very begrudgingly paid him the money, griping about what a rip-off it was (in Spanish - and it probably made no sense to him). Said goodbye to the other guys in the shop, told them that his buddy just ripped me off and I left in a huff. I hate when that happens. I finally made it back to the hotel only to find Tom and Jules were staying upstairs. After making our respective dinners, theirs was a lot better than ours, we sat down in the TV room and discussed the affairs of the day. They were also heading to Ushuaia tomorrow on the bus. We planned to meet up once we got there.

I couldn't believe that I was calmly discussing plans of meeting up in Ushuaia (pronounced "ush-why-ah" means "Bay at the End" in Fuegian Indian language). I never dared assume that it was a foregone conclusion that we would make it. The closer we got to Ushuaia the more enamored I became with the idea of making it. You know it's all really very funny (not funny haw-haw but funny ironic) that everyone has this goal of making it to Ushuaia. It's such an arbitrary place. They call it the Southern-Most City in the World but in reality there are other cities further south. There was a time when Punta Arenas was the Southern-Most settlement in the modern world. And I'm sure there were people striving to get there as well. Meanwhile there were thousands of indigenous people living in Tierra del Fuego long before all of the 'Southern-Most' titles were bestowed upon Ushuaia. No, the value of getting to Ushuaia is not to reach the Southern Most Settlement in the World. The real value of the place is all the sacrifices that must be made, all the hardships endured, and all the experiences garnered just to get there. I recalled the moment when we first pulled out of our driveway back home in Portland. We were full of apprehension. There were so many questions to be answered, so many unknowns, so much we had to learn about ourselves-both individually and as husband and wife. Slowly, as we made our way down, we answered all of the questions and more. I was so full of pride and accomplishment and we hadn't even made it yet. I was trying desperately not to count my chickens before they hatched for fear of jinxing ourselves, but I couldn't help but feel that nothing was going to stop us now. Ushuaia, ready or not here we come!

Wow! What a ride. Today was another one of those epic rides that will definitely make it in the Top 10 list of all time. We started out by catching the 2 1/2 hour ferry ride to Porvenir. During the ferry ride all the TV's were covering the return of General Pinochet. He was being released by the British government after what seemed like a year in captivity. The official reason was that, due to his advanced years and poor health, he was unfit to stand trial. But in reality they just couldn't figure out what to do with him. I suppose England felt a little pressure to release Pinochet for fear of ostracizing the whole of Southern South America. England already has Argentina upset because they steadfastly hold onto the Malvinas Islands (Falkland Islands) in spite of Argentina's repeated request for them to be turned over. Why England continues to hold onto those tiny islands off the southern coast of Argentina is well beyond my comprehension. Maybe to use it as a rallying cry to unite the masses, you know something like, "Yeah, we may have lost the Empire but we still have the Falklands!" If they would have tried Pinochet they had a real opportunty to piss off Chile as well. But Pinochet is now back safe and sound in his native land. He is being welcomed back as a patriotic hero to some and a mass murderer to others. We may never know the extent of the crimes committed against the Chilean people at the hands of the Generalisimo.

We disembarked in the bleak town of Porvenir and immediately followed the rest of the collectivos to the outskirts of town and started our journey to the promised land. The gravel road was in great shape and soon we were cruising over the gently rolling hills at a robust 60 to 65 mph. The treeless terrain was Patagonian Pampas at its best. The roadway followed the coastline for a while where we spotted a pod of dolphins lingering just beyond the shore break. We also saw herds of Guanacos, gaggles of geese, flocks of ibises, flurries of flamingos and a frenzy of foxes. Not sure how legitimate those descriptions of the animals were but suffice it to say it was easily the most wildlife we've seen on the trip so far. The Guanacos were particularly impressive. As we approached them they would scurry off elegantly jumping the 5ft high fences lining the roadway.

Just as the famous Patagonian winds were starting to pick up speed we made the turn Eastward and it was to our back pushing us along. At one point I stopped to take a picture and motioned to Linda to continue on. It took me over 20 miles at 70 mph just to catch her. It's hard to believe that she feels so comfortable on gravel when she's still such a chicken on the twisties.

We continued to head inland towards the Chile/Argentina border. The wind was now becoming very strong but fortunately still to our backs. Just as we pulled in to clear the Chilean border a bus load of people were already standing in line. Tom and Jules were amongst them. They had left that morning at 7 a.m. and took the overland route a little more North. We chatted while we waited in line. Tierra del Fuego is a peculiar place. It is impossible to get there from Argentina without first crossing into Chile and then re-entering Argentina. Fortunately the border crossings are very easy and only take about 20 minutes of filling out paperwork. That is unless you get stuck behind a bus or a bunch of truckers. After we cleared immigracion we once again bid Tom and Jules adieu and quickly raced the 10 km to the Argentina border to get ahead of their bus. Another 30 minutes later later we were on our way. Now we had turned South and the wind was a bothersome sidewind. Because we didn't have any Argentinian currency we proceeded on towards Rio Grande in hopes of finding an ATM. As we put more distance between ourselves and the border, we caught a glimpse of the Atlantic Ocean for the first time since Honduras. Maybe it's just me, but the water looks totally different from the Pacific. I grew up in and round these waters and the look and smell of the Ocean seemed very familiar. Many memories of the Florida Keys, lifeguard competitions in Boca Raton and triathlons in Key Biscayne came rushing back. It was good to be back. We've been following along the Pacific Ocean for so many months it was a welcomed change.

We fought the fierce sidewind for another hour or so until we reached the surreal city of Rio Grande. The city has taken it upon itself to 'beautify' its parks and town center. For some reason they decided that 'beautify' means putting up all these iron posts along the roadway and painting them in very bright primary colors. The end result is that it looks like the world's largest kindergarten playground. Anyway, after much trouble we found an ATM and I pulled out $300 pesos or should I say 3 $100 peso bills. Fortunately for us Argentina doesn't suffer from the same affliction of its northern neighbors, the inability to make change of any kind. Several years ago when Argentina was submerged in economic turmoil they 'pegged' the Argentinian Peso to the US Dollar. Their economy has since stabilized and except for incredibly high prices the country seems no worse for wear. Ecuador take heart. It is much more expensive than the States though. Gas, South of Buenas Aires is about $2.50 per gallon and food in restaurants is out of our reach. We've heard that gas North of Buenas Aires is over $4.50 per gallon!

It was now almost 6 p.m. We had about 130 miles to go of which 60 miles was gravel road. But the sun was shining and the wind was manageable so we decided to go for it. About 25 miles outside of town we rounded a bend in the road and were greeted by a very large weather system. The sky was purple and we were headed right for it. Linda pulled over to the side of the road and wanted to turn around. She thought that we should stay the night in Rio Grande. I told her that there was no way we were going to turn around now that we were so close. It was going to have to be very, very nasty to keep us from making our appointed rounds. So on we went directly into the mouth of the storm. Thankfully the wind died down but it was raining pretty hard and it was extremely cold. Within a matter of minutes I couldn't feel my hands or feet. I was in heaven. It was poetic justice that the day started off so beautiful and the riding was easy. As we got closer and the weather turned it was almost as if Ushuaia was saying "You're going to have to earn the right to reach me!". Linda thought differently. She detests foul weather and difficult riding conditions. She also didn't see the need to make it all the way in one day. During another warm-up stop I launched into many of my tired speeches of how, "...nothing of value comes without effort", "...this is a great oppurtunity to face hardships and persevere", "...you can't have any Ying without any Yang", etc. Still wasn't helping the situation. I am continuously amazed at all the different levels of characteristics that Linda possesses. At one time she can be very brave and courageous and other times she can be my little "Gallina" (chicken). Other times she can maintain a positive mental attitude when the going gets tough and other times the smallest things can throw her off balance. It must be an amazing thing to be a female. I can't wait until virtual reality technology can make it possible to experience all the things females experience in the course of a day. I can't say that it would be very interesting to see what it is like to be a male. We basically just do what it takes to do stuff. Not very imaginative and a little too consistant to be of much interest. But I digress...where was I, oh yeah persevering when the weather got nasty.

It was raining pretty hard and the temperature was hovering around 40 degrees F. The scenery dramatically changed from barren pampas to mountainous terrain. Because the gravel road was in good shape we could still manage 50 to 60 mph. Now the problem was darkness. The sun was setting on the horizon and just before it plunged into the Pacific Ocean a glowing orange light illuminated the purple clouds, creating a striking scene. It was almost as if the city of Ushuaia was glowing. Lighting the way for us. I was loving every minute of the windy mountain roads, the intolerable temperatures and the wet conditions. It was motorcycling at its most difficult. But oops I forgot I'm not traveling alone. We stopped for another warm-up break and by now Linda was shivering uncontrollably. I tried to relieve her anguish by telling her that it could be worse, it could be snowing. This didn't seem to help but we only had about 30 miles left. I was a little worried about Linda riding the soaked gravel roads in the dark but what can you do? On we trudged, me with a grin, Linda with a grimace. After a little while longer we unexpectedly were greeted by a freshly paved highway. Argentina is in the process of paving the route from Tolhuin to Ushuaia. In less than a year it will be possible to get to Ushuaia without having to leave the warm embrace of asphalt. What a shame. The last 40 kms were in the dark on twisty mountainous roads. I was several minutes ahead of Linda when I first rolled into the outskirts of the city. A couple of anxious minutes later Linda came rolling up and together we motored into town. The crowning acheivement after 160 days and 13,397 miles of traveling. I was estatic and Linda was frozen to the bone. Oh well when she thaws out she'll come to appreciate the fact that after only a year (5,000 miles) of riding experience she made it all the way down to the End of the Road!