Gambolling Guanchos in Argentina

The rolling hills of Argentina, gently undulating all the way to Zapala, the first fuel stop in Argentina.  As I was waiting in queue to fill up, 3 Chileans on GSs rolled in behind me.  So we chatted, of course.  They were on their way home after 4 days of riding the dirt along the spines of the Andes. As the bike was being filled, I suddenly realised that I'd neglected to obtain any Argeninian Pesos at the border!  Oops!  But one of the Chileans exchanged some of my emergency US dollar stash into Pesos, and saved my bacon.

The countryside was very pleasant, with good roads undulating to the horizon, as I rode towards Junin de Los Andes, the obvious overnight stop once I'd stopped at a junction and considered the availability of fuel in both directions. Junin was another great little town, although off the beaten path, as I had to backtrack 25 kms to the main road in the morning.

San Carlos de Bariloche is a large town, which looked quite pretty, what little I saw of it, as I only ventured as far in as the first fuel station, before heading off south again.  It was lovely through this area, lots of forests, rivers, secluded camping areas, mountains, vegetation.  The miles passed quickly, and I was soon in Esquel for the next refuel.

Still heading almost due south, I passed through Tecka then struck some pretty awful construction work, but thankfully, it wasn't too long, only a few kms, although the deviations cross from side to side of the highway.  On, on, through Gobenar Costa, where I didn't stop for fuel, thinking I'd get it at Jose de San Martin.  Off I went, to be faced with a junction, but I went to Jose anyway.  Silly move, as there was nothing except houses there, no shops, hotels, fuel or anything else.  So it was back to G. Costa to refuel and head off again.

I saw my first guanchos today.  They are larger than an alpaca or llama, are a chestnut colour with a blonde band from their flanks to round under their belly, a short stubby black tail and mane, and with black tips on their ears and face. They are feral, and roam the countryside, crossing the road often.  There were quite a few guancho roadkills along the way.  The first group of guanchos that I saw were playing, gambolling around in circles, kicking up their heels, although these may have been youngsters at play. 

I also saw my first kea.  This is another flightless bird, like its cousin, the Aussie emu. It is smaller, about two-thirds the size, and is a softer, paler grey, with indistinct, whitish patterning on the ends of the feathers.  Quite often, there is a family group of adults and a large number of chicks.

Another long day, my second 1000+km day, saw me pulling into Sarmiento for the night, having endured some of the infamous Patagonian winds along the way. At the hotel, I saw 2 Canadian 1200GSs, but never sighted their owners before I left.

I'd been heading south east most of the previous afternoon, and continued on this tack to the bypass around Comodoro Rivadiva, near the east coast, where I again headed south, having crossed the country of Argentina from the Andes to the coast. It was a good run down the coast on Hwy 3, although there were large sections of construction.  One of these proved a little more exciting than the others.  The deviations were crossing from side to side, as usual, over the partly constructed highway.  I came up behind a large semi trailer, and was following him until we got back onto the "highway", still unsealed at this stage.  However, there were large areas of water laying on this new surface.

Yep, the truck swerved out to the right to avoid a large "puddle", and the back end promptly sank to the axles, leaning precariously over to the right. After much spinning of wheels, burning of rubber, showering me with mud, etc, I thought it prudent to attempt a pass, before the driver got really upset and did something silly.  So I eyed off the puddle, and chose what looked to be the shallowest point, and eased into it, not knowing how deep it was. Luckily, I managed to get through without drama, as it apparently wasn't more than 6 inches deep.  I did feel sorry for the truckie, as we were miles from anywhere, although I suppose some of the road construction crews may have helped extricate him when they came upon him, as they were far away, out of sight.

Puerto San Julian was home for the night, which left me with one more day of riding in Argentina, before crossing back into the dogleg of Chile, then back into Argentina again for the final run to Ushuaia.