Caleb warming up his hands on his motor.
Okay so the last journal entry that I left said that we would get Liz’s bike back the next day and then off to Bolivia. Well it’s about a week later and Liz’s bike is still with the mechanic. The ¨brain¨ to Liz’s bike or the little black box is fried. Liz is riding a Super Surpa sold only in Canada so needless to say the part was not readily available. With a bit of help from the Good Time Centre in Ottawa, and my parents the part has been shipped and should arrive tomorrow. Liz and I had to go back to Chile to pick up the package that we were waiting for. It was about a 1500km round trip so we figured two days there and two days back. Liz’s bike was not working so I took the roles off of my bike and left them with our local gas station (the gas station that has the amazing employees). We were off, Liz on the back, no cloths (4 day trip who needs cloths), full tank of fuel and the dredged beautiful Paso de Jama. The first day went smoothly, the bike handled well and we did not go that high up so it wasn’t to cold. The second day was a different story. First it started to rain, and it was cold almost instantly. We are driving along, on corrugated pavement, in the pouring rain, at nearly 5000 meters and Liz’s says to me ¨see how fast you can go with me on it¨ It didn’t seem like the best place or time to test it but I am a guy and for some reason I think girls are impressed with stupid stuff like that. So I pulled my clutch, kicked it down into fourth gear, and rolled the throttle as far as it would go. The bike screamed (not cool like a sports bike but more like a desperate over loaded dual purpose bike at 5000 meters) but it started to pick up speed. I hit about a 130km and kicked it up into fifth gear and once again just hammered on my throttle. To my astonishment it kept picking up speed, we quickly hit 140km and then 150km and still going. It was windy and the rain at this speed feels like little a million little needles piercing every exposed area on your body. But it we were still picking up speed, you could feel the bike following every line on the corrugated pavement, violently jerking back and fourth, I was just amazed that my bike was still picking up speed. 155…160…162km It was amazing how stable the bike was, then I realized that I had my girlfriend on the back of my bike as it screamed down the road in the rain, on corrugated pavement over 160km per hour and I thought of Liz’s mom… I quickly eased off the accelerator and brought it down to a comfortable, safe, mother’s approval speed off a 120km. Liz and I carried on our journey but I couldn’t help but just think how fast we could make it to Chile at that speed. I would speed up a little then remember and slow back down. Liz’s bike can’t go faster then 130km per hour so I have had very little opportunity to really get my bike going, and it is amazingly addictive. So we made it to San Pedro de Atacama, Chile. The packaged arrived the next morning 11 days late (FedEx). Liz and I still had fresh memories of how cold the Paso was so we figured if we waited one more day in Chile we might forget the cold and not mind going back over again. That’s what we did, but we didn’t forget and even if we would have it only takes about 30 minutes from the blistering hot desert to the freezing cold mountains. We were chugging along up the mountain and my bike was sounding rough, we were going up so steep that my bike developed a bit of an attitude. He would chug, then hesitate, then reluctantly continue. I was proud of my bike for doing well but on one of the final really steep sections he just quit. It was funny at about 50km an hour he just died, shut off and we slowly rolled to a stop. I was really concerned but understood and almost sided with my bike. I wanted to give up and I was just sitting on the bike. We stopped and smoked cigarettes and then I have him a little encouraging pat on his gas tank and he fired right up and took us the rest of the way back to Argentina. On the way we passed through the Salt flats again and figured that it would be fun to go for a ride on them. It’s amazing you can just get the bike flying along and it’s perfectly smooth, you feel like you are riding on snow and it just goes on and on. When we got back on the road we realized how bad the bike was covered in salt. I mean it was just completely covered from tire to tire. As soon as we made it back to Salta that night we went on a hunt to find a washing bay. It took a while because it was late but I was determined to get the evil corroding salt off my bike as soon as possible. The determination paid off, we found a 24 hour washing centre. Three guys worked on my bike for nearly an hour, soaking, soaping, scrubbing, pressure washing and hand drying my bike. While this was going on it grabbed the attention of a few motorcycle police. We spent the time talking about bikes with the police, comparing and talking about our travels. Liz speaks nearly fluent at Spanish at this point (I am still struggling but making slow progress). I went into pay and asked the man how much he hesitated before giving me the price so I knew I was getting the ¨gringo¨ price. The ¨gringo¨ price for three guys to work on my bike was 10 pesos that works out to be just under four dollars and I was happy with this price so I didn’t argue. One of the guys ran into the office and I could hear him arguing with the guy I had paid and he ran out and handed me back five pesos. I thought this guy was really nice but I think it had to do more with the fact that we had spent the last hour laughing and talking with the police. So, we are just waiting here for the part to arrive and get back on the road. Sounds like I say that a lot. Guess that’s why it’s been five months and we are still in Argentina half way around the world.
-Caleb Dykstra
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