Leave Tomorrow – Guest Post 2

My time in Chile went by fast, and it was almost time to say goodbye. I spent about three weeks on the Carretera Austral in southern Chile.

As I rode into Chile Chico, located on the border with Argentina, I finally hit real asphalt. Riding on asphalt felt strange after two weeks of riding on gravel and mud. As I hit Argentina, I also hit wind.

It wasn’t long before I was missing the rain and the mud.

TRAVEL TIP: Always use at least “dual sport” tires on the gravel roads in Chile. Street tires on your motorcycle won’t work. The roads in Chile consist of loose gravel and not much asphalt. I used Continental tires, a personal preference, but there are other good brands also available. In Santiago, I replaced my tires.

The Andes mountain range starts in Peru and reaches 23,000 feet above sea level. For comparison, the highest mountain peaks in Colorado reach about 14,000 feet above sea level.

By the time the Andes mountain range reaches the tip of Chile, they’ve been reduced to almost sea level. This mountain range, as I discovered, blocks the wind and keeps the rain and cold air in Chile. The Andes run the length of Chile and Argentina.

I thought I’d take a shortcut through the National Forest, a thirty-mile stretch of nothing.

About halfway into the National Forest, I started riding up a hill—almost straight up. As I climbed higher, the road worsened until it wasn’t a road, but deep ruts in mud, peppered with large rocks instead. On one side was a forty-foot drop-off, and on the other side, which hugged the mountain, deep ruts.

In quick-decision mode, I chose the mountain- hugging side. I knew I couldn’t slow down and had to keep plowing over the rocks and through the ruts. There was no time to lament about the size of my motorcycle or about my abilities as an off-road rider.

The other side of the road, inches from the cliff and the forty-foot drop-off, had a nice trail. Seemed everyone chose to hug the mountain. Always take the road less traveled, right?

I saw an opening and went for it. I rode along for a few yards until my front tire hit a softball-sized rock, and down we went. I was probably going too slow. When I regained my senses, the wheels were pointing uphill, and the motorcycle was on my leg. Luckily, my leg was in the rut, so it wasn’t crushed.

After fifteen minutes of wiggling about, I retrieved my leg from under the fallen Iron Horse. Now, to set the Iron Horse on its wheels.

I hadn’t seen a car since I entered the park, but if one was coming from the bottom, they’d have to get a running start. A car couldn’t make it, but a big truck might be able to. I had a strap in my bag, but it wasn’t a ratchet strap. Always carry a ratchet strap, by the way. There was no way I was going to lift an 800- pound motorcycle uphill.

After two hours of trying to figure out what to do, I decided to hike out. I had just four hours of daylight remaining and about fifteen miles to hike. And I had no intentions of camping on the mountain. Too many things can happen, and none of them good.

I piled rocks in the road on the uphill and downhill side of the Iron Horse—to warn other motorists, and as a kind of memorial. After pausing to survey the surreal burial site, I said goodbye, grabbed my backpack full of important documents, and headed down the road.

Of course, I asked and pleaded for a little providential help.

I hadn’t ventured a hundred yards around the bend, and my prayer was answered. Two small children, followed by two families with teenage children, were on the road. It required everyone working together, but we stood the bike up and turned it around. Felipe, Carlos, and their families were lifesavers. All natives of Chile, they had moved to Australia and were home for a visit.

Felipe’s wife asked if I’d seen a sign a few miles back that read, “Carretera Cerrada.”

“Oh, I thought that was a salad,” I replied. Now I know it means, “Road Closed.” Just before seeing me trimming down the road,

Felipe’s wife asked him, “Why on earth do you think it’s a good idea to hike up this hill?”

Now we know.

I was going to wax poetic about God’s providence when Felipe spoke up, “It was to save the dumb gringo who can’t read a sign!”