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Unfortunately, sailing times on the internet were out of date and we arrived at the port 90 minutes early for the 1pm ferry to find out it sailed at 7pm.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

• South America