Motorbike RTW: Argentina. Violent Land, Compassionate People

WARNING: Contains graphic details intended to inform other travellers, not to alarm family and friends.

It's already 27 degrees when we load the bike and leave Mendoza early on Sunday morning. After a few confusing turns we find Ruta 40 heading South for 150kms. There's a fork in the road where the 40 goes right and the 143 is left. On the map it shows a thin orange line which then turns into a dotted thin orange line. Mmm, secondary tarmac road, then construction, and another branch onto a thin green line which indicates gravel. No gravelly green lines for us! We start down the tarmac, spot a sign reading 'asphaldo fin 65kms'. So we turn around and head down the 143 to San Rafael. The altitude climbs rapidly from 700 to 1400m above sea level on this vast plateau. The summer temperature drops rapidly to 22⁰ then17⁰ then 14⁰ then 10⁰ in a matter of minutes. The wind chill factor increases and a very low snow cloud blankets the flat landscape. We stop, don balaclavas, inner jackets, zip up air flaps on our summer wear, and climb into our babygro rain suits. Instead of coffee we use the hot water from our flask for a cup-of-soup sachet. Warming up we start again. By the time we get to San Rafael its a balmy 25 degrees, altitude 1000 and we are sweltering. Such a weird experience. The coffee machine at the lunch stop is broken so we are brought hot water and use our own coffee. An American couple tell us about the Ville Grande to search for a campsite and as we're going that way we feel confident about our sleep tonight. It’s a scenic route through vineyards, canalised irrigation and tree-lined avenues. Sure enough we found a campsite easily and enjoyed the peace and quiet of Ville Grande.

NO GO ,we chose the double orange line

for Dave Smoothy

heading towards the mountains separating Argentina and Chile

homestead in the middle of nowhere

for Hans vV and Andre G

A sunny warm Monday sees us riding to Malargue through more flat lands, a few mountain passes with craggy drops and advertisements for 4x4 adventures. Snowy mountains appear on the horizon and the thin orange line 40 which should emerge to join the 144 never does. Glad we didn’t take that one as it is still being built. There's a section where mechanical donkeys are pumping oil and then vast pans of salt crystals shimmering under the blue sky. The foothills are a bright green with new grass and fans of yellow rushes line the motorway. It’s a beautiful day as we ride into town for a lunch of empanadas and Argentinian tea. More 4x4's drive past. The map shows a dotted double orange line and a double green line indicating major road/tarmac under construction and major road/ribbed. The abundance of 4x4’s should have been a signal, however our bike is designed to ride off road (but maybe not 2up and under load.)

oil pumps

We leave Malargue and have a pleasant ride to Bardas Blancas where we decide to set up camp before tackling the next 206 kms that Ruta 40 has to offer. Except that Bardas (Badass?) Blancas is just a name on the map and a patch of shade under a tree. We start the 206 kms, at about 2pm, to Barrancas on a newly constructed tar road with traffic control and cones. 60 kms further on more and more short sections of dirt road appear in between the tar sections and lots of constructions trucks. Then the construction part finished and the road was dirt road, ‘Main Consolidated’ as indicated on the map. We are riding in the Valley of the Rio Grande with high hills on both sides, twisting and winding alongside the very wide river bed. The bike is handling the dirt section very nicely with its redistributed load. Until, suddenly a patch of river pebbles appeared in the road and with the better handling of the bike B decided to increase the speed to ride it out. The theory goes that the faster you ride over sand and pebbles the more stable the bike becomes. B increased the speed from 50 to 70kms, without realising the heavy trucks had forced these pebbles into deep grooves. Surface pebbles would have scattered. It is a bit like hitting the wake behind a speed boat, whilst waterskiing. This set up a speed wobble and snaking action that became uncontrollable. The bike highended doing a 180 degree roly-poly and landed on its handlebars, tank bag and soft back bag with wheels skywards. The windscreen got flattened and the spare parts flew out of the now-opened front box. We hit the deep marbles, I slid and B took an impact on his head and chest. I whipped off my gloves and helmet to get to B who was by now on all fours choking. I took off his helmet and he gulped deeply to get air as he was totally winded. B shouted 'take a photo' which I did but the SD card had become dislodged in my camera and there is no record!!. Such an impressive shot, not. We are in a hurry to get the bike back on its ‘feet’ because of petrol, oil and battery acid leaks. There was a lot of traffic on this road and within a minute two girls stopped their car to attend to us and we pushed the bike back through 180 degrees in an upright position. The only thing that leaked was the now topless, Extra virgin olive oil strapped onto the aluminium pannier shelf. Another car pulled up as well to help. The second car, occupied by Carlos, his wife Sally and 8year old Jago offered to put me and the luggage in their car and accompany B who declared himself fit enough to go the remainder of the way solo and no load. He zoomed off, skimming over the corrugations. With the lighter load, the shaking became exaggerated because the bike's suspension is set up to carry a heavy load. We met many other weary dusty bikers coming the other way, all keen to find out how good/bad the road was. Breathlessly B explained our situation, and re-assured them that it’s OK one up, light load. “Stay in the middle, away from the trucks and the sloping pebbled run-offs.” We trundle along in the car, bouncing around through every rise and trough. Carlos explains that this valley forms part of the place where the Atlantic and Pacific plates meet. The scenery is monumental and we are surrounded by jagged peaks, washaways, volcanic debris and landslides. I don’t believe they can complete the road through here. The land is too violent and will beat the construction at every turn.

slippery tar droppings

good tarmac

busy construction section

B stops intermittently for us to catch up and got alarmed when he pee’d blood. I used Maps.Me (an offline app) to locate the nearest hospital which was at the end of the valley at Barrancas. It took 3 hours from tumble to hospital. In excruciating pain, exacerbated by the corrugated road jarring his chest, B exclaimed “ that felt just like my enduro days”. Really? What? The Pain or the Ride?

Fortunately the hospital is opposite the police station, so our bike and luggage were secured at the police station while B was taken into be assessed. We said farewell and a big thank you to Carlos and his family.

Barrancas is a small outpost hospital and after a thorough examination the Doctor and Eugenia, the nurse, concluded that B needed an xray. A 4x4 arrived to take us the 30kms to the next hospital in Buta Ranquil where another assessment, plus xray was conducted. No rib fracture seen. At this point I telephoned the 24hour Medical Insurance Company in France and registered the incident. They have ‘held our hand’ at every event, phoning, inquiring, translating and relaying information. The haematuria/blood in urine is still causing concern and an ultrasound was required, which is available at the next hospital 100 kms away. An ambulance arrived and B was stretchered into the back, accompanied by a pretty rosy cheeked doctor who held his hand the whole way to Chos Malal. I sat in the front and watched the glowing blue light reflect eerily off the dark rock faces as the driver expertly manoeuvred his powerful fast wagon through more mountain passes, this time all on tarmac. We arrived just before 11pm where re-assessment, re-xray and an abdominal ultrasound showed all OK. To clear out the potential kidney bruising, the drip was maintained for 24 hour observation and B was given pain relief. I was given a bed alongside.

Urine clear, rib pain and stiffness are causing B some grief, but it’s manageable. Somebody found some day clothes for me as my dusty bike gear was starting to get unpresentable.

In between doctor visits I have been wandering around town buying cooldrink, buying credit for our phone and mobile data, buying batteries for SPOT and generally amusing myself. I made friends with a family who run a corner store, by popping in every day for water, toothbrush, toothpaste, etc. We only have the clothes we are wearing and our passport/document folder. Our map has become a bit torn at the folds, but as they do not actually sell sellotape, they used their roll to mend the map and would receive no payment, but gave me a cake. B has been sleeping: pain killers and the drip keeping his kidneys flushed.

It is now Wednesday. We are free to go, but our bike and gear is 135kms away. The kind wonderful compassionate people in this remote part, between the violent plates, are sorting out a truck. By the time you get this I'm sure clothes, bike and us will be together again. Until then we stay in hospital.

The medical insurance company are dealing directly with the hospital administration. The Health service in Argentina is free and we have been told that there is no charge. The violent nature of this landscape here is in complete contrast to the kindness and compassion of their people.