That’s us at the blue dot on the east coast. Heading for Buenos Aires which is the teal coloured dot just below Uruguay.

Nearly there.

Oo-swy-a (as they say).

Ushuaia, the most southerly town in the world, was founded by British missionaries around 1870. It’s a pleasant enough place visited largely by old aged tourists on Antarctic cruises, smelly bikers on trips down South America and young backpackers with oversized rucksacks. It’s an eclectic mix.

Ushuaia is the Argentine capital for this place 👇 and I’m not even going to start a discussion on this matter.

So what about our accommodation? Well you won’t be surprised to know I’ve just gone and delivered again for Susan. I’m the man that keeps on giving. Take a look at the view from our apartment.

An outlook right out to the Beagle Channel named, of course, after the good ship Beagle on it’s first voyage to the region. No, not the voyage of Charles Darwin and Fitz Roy – that was the second Beagle voyage.

I know you’re thinking ‘magnificent view’ but that’s not the selling point! Oh no! Just take a look at the bottom right of the photo – I’ve only gone and delivered Susan a view overlooking a graveyard!

I’m quite sure international travellers like yourselves appreciate how graveyards are right up there in terms of tourist attractions. Well Susan can pull up a chair and tour the graveyard from her living room. Creepy nice.

That’s not all the man that keeps on giving gave – how about a trip to see penguins! Yup, despite my lack of interest in birds that can’t even fly, I booked Susan and me onto a five hour boat trip along the Beagle Channel to see the little blighters.

On the way we sailed passed a lighthouse. The Argentines say its famous but it’s not really.

We arrived at the penguin island and, unfortunately, this isn’t Disney where everything happens on cue.

Today, the little blighters were busy sitting on nests and wouldn’t budge for the tourists. We could see them in the distance but they were quite happy sitting nesting. Selfish little blighters when there’s tourists waiting to take awesome photographs.

Thankfully one little blighter wandered down the beach and was joined by another little blighter. Two little blighters! Here’s a pretty poor photo one of them – the other just looked the same.

Later, I tried to make up for the little blighter debacle with some humour. After all they say the way to a woman’s heart is through humour (or a big bank balance).

Now I hear you say – you’ve delivered again Clif. Susan wanted to see little blighters and you gave her two little blighters. You also gave her humour and two plastic blighters. Mission accomplished surely?

Yes, I acknowledge your support and you make a strong argument but I’m the man that keeps on giving and, in my heart, I knew I had to give some more. Susan loves little blighters so I knew the man that keeps on giving had to give some more.

In the meantime, we had to move on. We had nearly 2000 miles to travel north to Buenos Aires. The job was not yet done.

After four nights in Oo-swy-a we set off again. Unfortunately, between Oo-swy-a and Buenos Aires there’s nothing much to see. Ruta 3 and a strong westerly wind would be our companions.

On the morning of the second day we crossed the Argentina – Chile border, grabbed a ferry and then crossed the Chile – Argentina border.

I took a photo from the deck after witnessing something strange. Let me tell you. We were in the lounge, which was devoid of people, looking for a coffee as we were chilled to the bone by the wind.

Nothing was happening at the coffee counter. It was closed. Then a guy, dressed like a cross between Adam Ant and Puff Daddy, appeared behind the counter. He had a kind of uniform jacket like Adam Ant with hugely baggy trousers like Puff. On his chest he had a badge that looked like he’d made it himself.

Anyway, as he’s behind the counter getting his own drink, he takes a handgun and stuffs it in his trouser waistband. Yup you’ve got it – we’re in the middle of the Magellan Strait and I’ve got Adam Puff Ant with a handgun in his pants!

Now we see a lot of security people with guns in South America. Even McDonald’s has a man with a gun. However, they’re all dressed like would be ninja commandos and they don’t stuff guns in their pants.

So what would you do in these circumstances?

I did what I often do until Susan gives me a row – ‘will you stop staring!’

I was standing about 20 feet away and I stared at him. Thankfully Susan was unaware. Yes I could have advised her to a potential danger but it would also guarantee a row for me staring. I thought discretion was best.

He appeared quite calm for a person with an old guy staring at him. I could tell he was slightly uncomfortable because he looked up frequently at me staring. However, he just went about whatever he was doing seemingly unconcerned.

Now that’s not the behaviour of a guilty person? I thought I might get a reaction but I didn’t. Well that’s my reasoning anyway and so he passed the old guy staring test and as Susan had no idea what was happening I didn’t get a row. That’s a double result in my books.

Coming off the ferry, Susan has to walk whilst I ride the bike. That’s ferry rules. As Susan is waiting on land she said, over the intercom, that she would take a video of me coming off the ferry ramp.

Great I thought. So I made sure all my buttons and zips were done and I got ready for Le Grand Depart. I decided I would stand on the footpegs to make me look more heroic and I cued Susan as I was rolling along the car deck.

Susan set the iPhone camera rolling.

Now if you’re sharp you may notice something odd about this video. If you’re not sharp have another look.

It’s not bloody me!!

If you look at the very start of the video you will see a bike with yellow lights. That’s me! Looking good and slowly moving forward waiting for the camera operator to focus on my best side.

‘Susan, Susan I’m coming off now’. ‘Yes I know’.

(camera operator not looking at subject)

‘Susan, Susan, now, quick, now’ (old bike man ready for action)

(camera operator looking in the opposite direction of old bike man)

‘Susan, Susan I’m on the ramp’ (slightly irritated) ‘Yes I know’ (slightly irritated)

(camera operator clearly filming the guy in front)

Susan, Susan, that’s not me! (more than a bit irritated)

(silence from the camera operator)

(old bike man disembarks with no rolling cameras)

‘Well he looks like you’ (camera operator doesn’t really care)

You will appreciate this was a one off opportunity. I really couldn’t see the ferry operators allowing me to reboard the ferry for the camera operator to have another chance. This wasn’t Hollywood.

So I don’t have a heroic video of me leaving the ferry but if I did I would look exactly like the guy who looked like me. So please use your imagination. Didn’t I look good?

After the ferry, for the next two days, we travelled Ruta 3 with the most extraordinarily strong wind. This wind roared in our ears and pushed us all over the narrow single carriageway road. I struggled.

When the wind became more ferocious, we dropped our speed to 30mph which made the journey longer. By the end of the second day I was totally and utterly exhausted.

Even though I was at the end of all my energy, the man that keeps on giving, gave again. Sometimes I’m just remarkable.

So please, please, don’t show the next photo to your partner for they will be very jealous saying ‘why can’t you give me a hotel room with a pool table like Clif gives Susan?’

Yes a bloodypooltable and you’re also looking at chandabloodylier lighting.

In the background is a fully equipped kitchen with indoor BBQ. Off to the left is the master bedroom with outside patio and directly behind the photographer are two single beds for friends. The man that keeps giving had just delivered again. Remarkable.

And what was the house called? Sweet Home Patagonia. That whole top floor was our ‘pool suite’. Sweet.

The howling wind woke us up several times throughout the night and the wind was back with us in the morning.

I really wanted to delay our journey but the seven day outlook was ‘very windy’ so we just got in with it. A couple of times we were so nearly blown off the road into the Patagonian scrubland with sustained gusts. I fought for control of the bike and kept it on the road. Just. Scariest moments of the trip? Yes probably. Certainly even scarier than Susan’s spinach ravioli.

That night, after four days struggling with the Patagonian wind, we arrived at Puerto Madryn. We had three days rest as we were a bit ahead of schedule.

Why here and why three days I hear you ask?

Well I can tell you – the man who keeps on giving was here to give.

He was here to deliver some little blighters and he was about to deliver the largest little blighter colony outside the Antarctic!

What a remarkable big blighter I am.

‘On a tour of one night stands’

‘And every stop is neatly planned’

To recap. Blue dot at the top is Bogota. From there we headed north to Cartagena and that’s where the long road south began through Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Chile and Argentina.

The blue dot at the bottom is Ushuaia, the end of the world.

8,365 miles or, to say in another way, one third of the circumference of the earth around the equator.

Now we turn and head for home.

That means we head north to Buenos Aires (green flag on the east coast). That’s 2,000 miles. From there we can courier the bike to Edinburgh.

There’s not a lot going on between Ushuaia and Buenos Aires apart from a few days stop at Puerto Madryn which is about the half way distance. So essentially its head down and get the miles done. Head down is quite appropriate because it’s a pretty windy journey for the first week then the winds should ease off as we clear this region.

How long will it take us to get to Buenos Aires?

‘The answer my friend, is blowin’ in the wind’

‘The answer is blowin’ in the wind’

Honestly, I sometimes marvel at myself and how I’m able to sledgehammer song references into this blog.

‘I’m the lyrical gangster’.

So I will update the blog when we break in Puerto Madryn. Until that time ..

‘So long, farewell, auf Weidersehen, adieu’

‘Adieu, adieu, to yieu and yieu and yieu’

Where will we go next? After a few days in El Calafate it was time to head south again.

On the one hand we could detour to Puerto Natales and see more Andes mountains. On the other hand we could head toward Ushuaia, our southerly destination.

Well, we’ve actually followed the Andes for the last three months and crossed them more times than we can count. We could live without more mountains. So Ushuaia it was.

And so it was 190 miles across country to Rio Gallegos then up early the following morning for a 7am start. We made the border for opening time at 8am. Yup, we were crossing from Argentina to Chile again.

Then it was a short run down to the port to catch a ferry across the Strait of Magellan to Tierra del Fuego, the land of fire.

Our bike is hidden at the back and the other two bikes are from Brazil. Interestingly we’re all two up. Lovely people.

We compared stories of crossing the sandy ‘road’ on the way to El Chalten. Unfortunately, one of the lady pillion passengers landed in the mud when their bike fell and she hitched a lift by holding onto the wing mirror of a passing lorry. She proudly showed us the photos. Stay strong biker girl 💪

We landed in Terra del Fuego and headed for the border. No I’m not losing the place, we were heading back to Argentina – it’s not me that’s mad it’s the lines of the border that’s mad. I would show you a map but if you’re really interested you will look yourself.

Two hours later, we were back into Argentina and it was early afternoon. We had the chance of accommodation at a petrol station and Susan made a persuasive argument to stay.

‘I know it’s very basic but we can get an early finish and snacks for dinner from the garage’. ‘Snacks for dinner’ wasn’t a persuasive argument when I had ‘beers in Ushuaia’ as the counter proposal.

We both knew, however, that we had a problem and this was in Susan’s mind when she suggested an early finish – wind. No, no I’m not talking about Susan having wind. I’m referring to real wind, the blowy kind.

I’ve mentioned before the wind in this part of South America is notorious. It comes right off the Pacific Ocean and, generally, the rule is it gets worse in the afternoon. Second rule is dont ride if it’s over 70 kph as the gusts will be unbelievable and take you over the other side of the road. It’s not pleasant.

Today the wind was devilishly bad by early afternoon. We feared it may get worse as the afternoon progressed. There were a couple of moments when I thought Susan’s judgement was right and we would have to turn back and shelter in the garage with ‘snacks’.

We pushed on. It was nature versus man going for beer. Nature really didn’t stand a bloody chance!

Now the Andes mountains run north south all the way down South America until they get to Tierra del Fuego where they turn east west due to tetonic plate movement. So as we later turned west towards Ushuaia we were sheltered from the wind by the Andes. Thanks tetonic plate movement. You’ve made an old man happy.

We even had time for a photo or two.

That’s Susan looking fresh after 360 miles on the bike. Still smiling. Remarkably as we rode into town Susan said ‘I’ve really enjoyed today on the bike’. Ten hours riding with one break, absolutely battered by wind, no breakfast, couple of empenadas for late lunch, two border crossings and a ferry, potholed roads and she ‘enjoyed it’. Stay strong biker girl 💪

A few miles later we reached Ushuaia. The end of the world. Fin del Mundo.

How did we feel?

To be honest, probably more emotional than our cycles across Canada, Australia and the USA. This was different.

The magnitude of multiple countries, the stunning but challenging landscapes, wilderness and the magnificent Andes mountains challenged our confidence daily. Every day there’s a slight nervousness as we began each journey. We both feel it. It’s the uncertainty of what lies ahead that particular day. Once we’re moving we’re fine.

Then there was the always present mechanical uncertainty of the bike. Our progress depended on the bike and the mechanics of the bike was something outwith my control. Of course, it’s carried two lardy llamas the length of a continent without fail but if anything was to fail I would have been like a baby with a spanner – the best I could do was hit something!

Cycling on the tandem journeys taught us how to be strong and resilience is perhaps our greatest strength. We just know how to keep on going. The tandem journeys were immensely tiring and this motorcycle trip was no picnic either. We would do all of these journeys again in a heartbeat and we look back on them as amongst the best days of our lives.

After the obligatory Ushuaia photos we headed into town towards a nice craft beer establishment. The town was reasonably quiet and I didn’t want to sit in an empty bar so I did a reconnoitre and peaked through the windows.

One barman polishing glasses, an old local with a beer and a big black stray dog wandering about the tables. I kid you not. My heart sank – tonight I needed somewhere with a bit of life so we headed off to my reserve.

Yep it was a feckin Irish bar, The Dublin.

It’s actually the best bar in town and we managed to get the last table. They had their own draft beer and I had a few lovely New England IPAs. Susan was on pints of rubia and we had langoustines for dinner.

And guess who we sat beside? Only a feckin Irish lad from County Kerry with his Mexican wife. What a wonderful small world we live in.

Thank you Irish Argentinians. Without you our celebration in Ushuaia would have been Susan, me and a black dog.

Then again that’s not so bad is it?

Mori memorias non somnia.

We had a choice.

Two days around Lake General Carrera including over 200km of unpaved potholed roads or cross the lake on a ferry in two hours.

It wasn’t much of a choice and we headed for the ferry. It was a fantastic motorcycling road over another mountain pass.

Unfortunately, sailing times on the internet were out of date and we arrived at the port 90 minutes early for the 1pm ferry to find out it sailed at 7pm. We sat on the ground for the next 7 hours.

We had a short crossing as dusk descended over the lake.

It was 9.30pm when we landed and we went to one of the few hotels in town. Now please, please don’t show this photo to your partner or they will complain ‘why don’t you take me to hotels like Clif takes Susan where you have all your luggage conveniently to hand when you’re lying in bed’. There’s Susan giving a nice wave to say I’m so happy in my convenience bed.

The following day we crossed the border from Chile back into Argentina. Luckily we filled the petrol tank in Chile because the first few towns in Argentina were dry and petrol stations closed.

For an old boy like me it’s sometimes difficult to know what country I’m in at times. A good clue as we motorbike along are the repeated signs declaring ‘Islas Malvenas, Argentina’. They’re everywhere. Then there’s the Islas Malvenas monuments at roundabouts and many main streets in towns are called Belgrano. Thank goodness I am able to say I wasn’t born at the time of the conflict.

Here’s an example of such a sign.

The border crossing itself took longer than it should. We were there for opening at 8am but the Argentine customs lady got the bike import form wrong and listed my country as Ireland. Thankfully, after our experience entering Peru, we rigourously check all our forms and I’m back to being a UK citizen. Thank feck as the Irish would say.

We stopped at a ‘famous’ petrol station at Bajo Caracoles in the middle of nowhere. Yes so ‘famous’ you’ve never heard of it. But it’s a stop for every adventure biker in this part of the world and the old pumps are covered in their stickers.

We filled up the bike, had coffee and fried bread as a snack and headed on. Yes it’s bread and it’s deep fried. Tastes a bit like whatever was in the fryer previously. Nice. Even Susan eats it.

No time to ponder though as we had 270 miles to do that day plus the delay at the border crossing because I wasn’t Irish. Feck. That said, we made it easy to our destination and that night we rested at a nice hotel in Gobernador Gregores. Our only upset that evening was being recommended a restaurant over the road with 5 star reviews and the two girls couldn’t heat up a frozen pizza properly. Life on the road.

The following morning we set off early. We knew what was ahead – nearly 80 km of ripio over a mountain pass. Feck.

Actually it’s inaccurate to even call it ripio. It was really just a track over a mountain. Unbelievable that a major road is this poor. Believe me if there was an alternative we would have taken it. There’s just this bit in Patagonia where the north isn’t joined to the south by paved road. The road is fine for 4×4 trucks but not two lardy llamas on a lardy motorcycle.

It started off bearable and within my skill level. It wasn’t long before I was in over my head. I try not to cry as it would sap the confidence of my precious cargo. I pretend I am capable and know what I’m doing. Honestly, I feckin’ deserve a Bafta!

The road was essentially sand. Sometimes reasonably firm sand but it’s still feckin’ sand. Cars and trucks make tracks with ridged sand sides. Every time I changed tracks the bike slipped.

The weight on the rear wheel is considerable and it struggled in the soft sand. Our pace was 15mph. I reckoned at that speed it wouldn’t be so bad when we fell. Any time I went faster I just got us faster into trouble.

We had a big moment when we nearly went down. The front and back wheels slide, I jiggle about like I’m dancing to ‘saturday night fever’ and, miraculously, the bike stays upright and we keep moving.

Susan is great and doesn’t say anything but obviously she feels what’s happened. She lets me fully concentrate on my panic attack. A minute or so later, we speak when I’m ready to speak, after I’ve processed what’s happened.

Soon after that very wobbly moment I stopped before soft damp sand. It was too soon for a wobbly repeat. So the precious cargo got off and walked and I went on with the bike. Yes I got stuck. Bedded down. A dozen stalls of the engine later I managed to get it out. It was touch and go. I was so nearly back to being that guy ‘up to his arse in trouble’.

‘Stranded at the drivin’

‘Branded a fool’

‘What will they say Monday Monday at school?’

This road is in the middle of nowhere, about 20 miles from civilisation but at least every 20 minutes someone would pass in the opposite direction. So there was always potential help arriving if the bike got stuck.

Time for a photo. This is nice sand. We can’t stop in the bad sand. As you can see it’s an absolute wilderness. It really is beautiful. Not as beautiful as the deep fried bread but beautiful in a different way.

Yup the adventure motorcycle sticker boys have been here as well.

And here’s Susan sitting in the desert.

‘I sit, I wonder why’

‘Oh why you left me’

‘Oh Sandy’

‘Sandy, Sandy’

‘Why?

I always know things are tough when Susan sits on the ground. It’s a habit she picked up on our tandem cycles.

Now that’s a bit of retro memories.

The road was absolutely dreadful but at least it was sunny, largely dry and we coped. Most of the time I spent riding on the wrong side of the road as that’s where the best track was. Trucks coming the other way understood and were happy to give us the right of way.

After nearly 72km, in the distance, we saw the sand change to gravel and then tarmac. Oh, what joy!

Within 100 feet of glorious tarmac the gravel got deeper. The bike was unsteady. We were on a downhill so I gently braked. The bike was having none of it. It just skidded over the gravel. So I let it run. Then the gravel was deeper. Then the steering went. It was just like the roadworks in Peru when we went down hard. Almost a carbon copy. Feck.

The front wheel felt like it was on ice and I was, in that split second, certain we were going down within six feet of the tarmac. Unbelievable. After all that to fail right at the end.

But fortune was on our side and my dancing like John Travolta on the steering worked. We stayed upright. I think it’s called natural talent – though to be fair that’s not how people describe my dancing.

The gravel had just enough firmness to support us and, just as we were about to go down, the front wheel bumped up onto the tarmac, we got some stability and we made it. Feck that was close.

We stopped for a break and a chicken empenada at the first village, Tres Lagos. Here’s Susan in the outside dining area talking to the owner.

We travelled on heading for El Chalten. This was a last minute 180 mile change of route to see Fitz Roy, a famous Patagonian mountain. The weather was clear, sunny and it was too good an opportunity to miss.

And here’s the mountain. It’s stunning and motorcycling along the route is breathtaking.

So why is the mountain called Fitz Roy I hear you ask.

Well, let me tell you. In 1831 Captain Fitz Roy sailed the ship ‘Beagle’ on an expedition mapping the South American coast.

So what I hear you say. Well let me tell you who was the famous passenger on the ship. Yeah, yeah more famous than the petrol pumps with the stickers in the middle of bloody nowhere.

The passenger was a certain Charles Darwin who was employed as the ship’s naturalist. Darwin later called this five year voyage ‘by far the most important event in my life’ and his observations gave him the seeds of his theory that he would develop into his 1859 book ‘On the Origin of Species’. If it wasn’t for Darwin you wouldn’t be an ape.

Now back to Fitz Roy, the man, and a final interesting fact.

Fitz Roy was a pioneering meteorologist who made daily accurate weather predictions. What new name did he ‘invent’ for these predictions? He called them ‘forecasts’. And there you now know why we have weather ‘forecasts’ – what an information giving machine I am.

Oh, and finally, from the information machine that keeps on giving, in 1854, Fitzroy established what would later become the Met Office.

We spent a lovely couple of days in El Chalten under the shadow of the great mountain. Yes, yes another photo of Susan sitting down again.

That evening, I had the most magnificent pork and roasted vegetable dish. I asked the barmaid what cut of pork it was and she said something in Spanish and slapped her ass. Good enough for me I thought!

The restaurant was so busy we had to sit at the bar. I love eating sitting on a bar stool. Susan tolerates it because I love it. What a symbiotic relationship we have.

The following night we met up again with Baz and Nanja at the same place. I was back for another helping of ‘ass slapping’ pork. I know it’s got another name but it’s Spanish and you wouldn’t understand it anyway.

So if you’re ever in the Cerveceria in El Chalten just ask for the pork and slap your ass – the barmaid will know exactly what you want.

Now the last time we saw Baz and Nanja was on the 5th September at Cotopaxi in Ecuador. They’re travelling through South America by bus, plane and car. We’ve kept in touch over this time and it was great that, by coincidence, we were all in El Chalten at the same time. Things just happen when your unconscious mind is at play.

Okay I’m going too deep there. I appreciate you’re more comfortable with ‘ass slapping pork’ than my theories on unconscious decision making so let’s leave it there.

Good luck and have a great journey Baz and Nanja. You never know when our paths will cross again. The unconscious mind is already at work.

We didn’t want to leave Bariloche as we both decided we wanted to move permanently there. Well, to be honest, that wasn’t the only reason. The weather app wasn’t being nice to us. Bad weather app. Naughty little weather app.

We seriously considered staying onto the weekend in Bariloche to avoid travelling in the forthcoming weather. But we’re tough old buggers and so we decided to bugger off down the road.

Thursday was a good day before the weather closed in and we spent the night at Freddy’s Hostal in Esquel. What a lovely guy. Wish I could say the same about the accommodation but I suppose you can’t have everything.

We couldn’t fill up with petrol in Esquel because there’s a petrol shortage in Argentina and the petrol stations were closed. Why is there a petrol shortage? Apparently, oil companies are stockpiling until after the national elections in November when they expect inflation to go even more bananas than the 140% it currently is and they can make a killing. However, the Argentine Govt is now blackmailing the oil companies so it should get back to the ‘normal’ poor supply it usually is. I don’t mind a good bit of blackmail if it keeps us on the road.

Thankfully, we had enough left in the tank to make the 41 miles to the border. Yup, we were heading back to Chile where petrol is plentiful but double the price. That’s the way our route goes south – zig zagging across the Chile Argentina border. This is our eighth border crossing.

Our journey from Esquel was very windy as we crossed a high plateau and then it rained. After three months in South America we had our first rain. A new experience for Susan on the motorbike but it didn’t bother her one bit. She was probably recalling how much worse rain was when we cycle toured on the tandem.

We reached Futaleufu and our wonderful wooden hotel.

Inside it was an eclectic wooden palace.

Everything wooden in this photo was made by the owner, Silvano. There was a magnificent detailed model of a sailing ship (on the left of the photo) and even wooden WW1 planes hanging from the ceiling.

Silvano is Italian, once an architect in Milan and now a wooden hotel owner in the middle of nowhere. Well the middle of nowhere for everyone unless you are a salmon fisherman. Apparently, it is a salmon hotspot.

Silvano is also an expert flytier. He had thousands of his own flies and, on his wall, he even has a ‘Speyside fly’ that he picked up on his travels to Scotland.

Was that the limit to Silvano’s talents? No of course not! He’s Italian and he cooked the best damn pasta I’ve ever had, made from ingredients imported from Italy.

Then, after a few complimentary Italian aperitifs, we had a great night with Silvano and his fishing pals telling tall stories. The night ended with a photo with Pinocchio.

Now please go back and look at the photo properly! Susan is holding Pinocchio’s hand! Honestly it is!

The following day it rained and rained. And the road was terrible and terrible. They call these unpaved roads ‘ripio’ and it’s basically layers of gravel spread on the mud base. You want gravel to make the mud more solid but you don’t want gravel because the bike slips on the gravel.

Here’s the bike on a relatively good patch of ‘ripio’ road where the surface is relatively firm and there’s no loose gravel.

We spent that night in a cabin with a wood burning stove. Look how happy Susan is drying off her pants eating Ritz crackers that are never far from her side.

Susan was as happy as a toasted Llama sitting by that fire. Happy because she didn’t yet know what was to happen the following day.

You see the following day was Saturday and snow was forecast. When we woke in the morning we were delighted to see the ground was clear. It was raining heavily but we could cope with that.

The road started off paved. Nice. Then it was very poor ripio. Not so nice. Then we started climbing to go over a mountain pass. It wasn’t too high, about 3000 feet but the road was steep hairpin after steep hairpin on the way up.

Not such a long climb compared to what we had done over the Andes many times. This time, however, it was different. The road was mud and gravel with small streams running down it.

Starting at the top of the photo, the first few corners were tricky and I thought of Susan getting off. Too fast and you won’t make the turn around the hairpin. Too slow and the bike will slip on gravel, forward momentum is lost and over we go. The bike has great torque and pulling power in low gear but the balance is absolutely unforgiving at slow speed on this type of surface.

So we got through the first few hairpins and pushed on. Then we hit the snowline. Snow at the road side but that’s fine, the actual road was still clear.

We climbed higher around another hairpin to find some slush on the road. That’s fine we can cope with that. We climbed higher around another hairpin to find light snow on the road. That’s fine we can just cope with that. We climbed higher around another hairpin to find a couple of inches of snow on the road. ‘It’s time for you to get off Susan’.

Whenever we bike in difficult conditions there’s effectively three of us on the bike – me, Susan and Mrs Hip Replacement. I don’t need to tell you who I’m most concerned about.

Susan got off the bike like Olga Korbut and was standing on the road before I had actually finished my sentence.

‘You walk and I will take the bike up’ I said.

Susan was more than happy, almost laughing at the relief. ‘Yes that’s fine’ she replied.

I breathed a sigh of relief as Susan and Mrs Hip Replacement started walking. Just looking after our £16K investment.

Without the precious cargo I pushed on with the bike. With Susan walking the bike felt half the weight and I skidded on through a few more hairpins in the snow. Then Susan and I lost comms through the helmets as I went out of range. So I stopped. Bad mistake.

Well it was a bad mistake and in some respects it wasn’t.

It was bad because I lost all forward momemtum on a 25 degree hill. It was snowing and I was now standing in six inches of snow. I couldn’t put the stand down because the ground below was too uneven. I tried to start again and the rear wheel just spun and embedded itself.

On the other hand it was the right ‘mistake’ because I had to stop and keep in contact with Susan.

So there I was stuck and ‘up to my arse in trouble’. I couldn’t even get off the bike to walk down the hill to find Susan.

Thankfully, Susan walked into comms range and said she was fine. I started to think about a plan to get out of there. We had two options. Turn the bike around and return to our hotel and wait for a few days for the snow to clear. Second option was to ask the next vehicle coming over the hill about the conditions ahead. If not too bad Susan and Mrs Hip Replacement would continue their snowy forest hill walk and I would somehow get the bike going again.

Then a miracle happened.

First, I heard Susan speaking to someone. It was obviously a truck coming up the hill. They must have found it bizarre to find a woman walking up the snowy mountain in motorcycle gear with no motorcycle.

I heard her saying she was fine and her ‘esposo’ (husband) was further up the hill on the motorcycle. I’m standing there listening to this conversation thinking I’m not fine, I’m stuck and ‘up to my arse in trouble’.

As I stood there straddled over the bike, four guys on motorcycles came around the hairpin below me and stopped. What a delightful sight – four German Gentlemen motorcyclists.

The German Gentlemen Guide at the front politely asked if I was okay. I could tell by his quizzical expression he thought I looked like a guy ‘up to his arse in trouble’.

‘I could do with a hand to push me out of this snow’ I asked as confidently as I could, pretending I wasn’t a guy ‘up to his arse in trouble’.

On the intercom I suggested Susan get in their truck (I still couldn’t see the truck as it was a few hairpins behind). Susan and Mrs Hip Replacement actually didn’t need this advice for she was already in the front passenger seat sitting on Big Martin’s lap.

With the precious cargo safe in the truck, the Gentleman German Guide gave the guy who was ‘up to his arse in trouble’ a push and, eventually, we got the bike back on track.

We were off, up the hill and the guy who was only a few minutes ago ‘up to his arse in trouble’ was happy to be moving.

Well, happy to be moving for around 30 seconds. Then his front wheel hit an icy pothole, slipped to the side, the bike went down and he was back ‘up to his arse in trouble’.

As he lay there at the side of the road looking upwards to the sky and snow flakes settled on his face, he could hear Susan over the intercom speaking to Big Martin.

‘Oh why have we stopped?’ I could tell by the easy conversion she and Mrs Hip Replacement were relaxed and comfortable. Well as comfortable as a woman can be sitting on Big Martin’s knee!

‘It’s me’ I said. ‘I’m down’ I said.

‘Ah okay’ she replied and continued chatting to Big Martin. There was no ‘are you alright’? No concern. Nichts.

So it was with help from a Gentleman German I got the bike upright again and we were off again. Tentatively. Very tentatively.

Oh you want to see a photo of the snow. Well I suppose it’s about time for a photo.

This is the Gentleman German Guide’s bike. By now we had passed the last hairpin and we were going over the summit. Gentelman German Gude and I were stopped because the other Gentlemen Germans behind were falling down like skittles.

Each time they fell down they got up again. What Chumbawamba German Gentlemen they were. ‘I get knocked down, but I get up again’.

Ich werde niedergeschlagen aber ich stehe wieder auf’.

I admit the lyrics are quite as catchy in German.

The road was treacherous but I managed to get the bike over the top and back onto tarmac without falling again.

Yes we were still riding on snow on tarmac but it was a lot easier than snow on ripio. I no longer was ‘up to my arse in trouble’. Oh what a nice feeling. Thank you Gentlemen Germans.

A few miles later, once we reached below snow level we all stopped and Big Martin then passed over the precious cargo.

Here’s the Gentlemen Germans further down the road.

We rode with these guys for another 50 miles over another mountain pass and through a blizzard. Thankfully, there was only a light coating of snow on the road. It was reassuring to have the support truck behind as we pushed on.

That night Susan informed me that her Apple watch gave her a critical alert for her heart rate. Now this watch gives you a warning when your heart rate is very high and it doesn’t detect you’re doing any exercise.

I obviously thought that moment was on the back of the bike when I was at the limits of my skills keeping the precious cargo safe as I negotiated a tortuously tortuous gravel hairpin.

‘I’ve worked it out’. she said. ‘It was 12.32pm’ she said. ‘That’s when I was sitting in the truck’.

‘Oh really, whilst sitting on Big Martin’s knee’ I exclaimed.

Susan didn’t reply as she pondered that thought.

Gentlemen Germans indeed! 😀