Tierra del Fuego - Fin del MundoSo we have reached journey's end here in Ushuaia.
The final stage saw us camp in another rodeo arena, with the cook setting up camp kitchen in a hastily mucked-out horse stall. In the morning we set off for Punta Arenas, a flat but windy 100k all on road. It is 3 degrees when we set out. It is like an African plain, and we are on a morning game drive. The flat scrubby plain has watering holes and dried up pans. In one watering hole, a flock of pink flamingos stands, close to the road. There are guanacos dotted around, one lies lazily in a ditch by the road, it's long neck and head keeping a watch on the road like a periscope. There are Rheas in small groups of ones and twos, one has a brood of a dozen or so large chicks chasing it.
I come across a minefield, a reminder of the historic tensions between Chile and Argentina around this border. In time, I see a line of radar domes on the skyline. Cresting the rise, the sea is before me: the Strait of Magellan, which separates mainland South America from Tierra del Fuego, which is visible beyond.
The town of Punta Arenas is a busy port town, serving the southern part of this country. Tomorrow, we cross the Straits for the final push down through Tierra del Fuego.
We catch the first ferry out of Punto Arenas, crossing the Magellan Straits to land on Tierra del Fuego, the land of fire. The name derives from early European explorers who saw fires on the far shores and were afraid to cross the straits. I'm less sure about the name; I saw no fire, but the other elements seemed over-represented: gravel, wind and rain.
There was 100k of gravel road before camp, following a wild coastline of headlands and shingle bays, the sea crashing against the shoreline driven by the endless wind. Wind-blasted trees show the direction of the prevailing wind! On this occasion, the wind was on our backs, pushing us towards our camp, which was a wild bush camp with no facilities. Shovels were deployed!
It has been cold overnight, there is a layer of ice covering the washing-up basins. We waste no time, and set off with the wind still on our backs. I see a herd of guanacos on a hillside: two are stood one in front of the other, facing in opposite directions. From my point of view, they seem to be a single creature: a pushme-pullyou!
We come to the final border crossing of the trip, a land border back into Argentina. At the Chilean exit post, I cause a minor diplomatic incident. I do not have the carnet I was given when I imported my bicycle. The border post has a resident cat, and sensing some irregularity it comes to inspect me. I scratch it's head behind the ears, and it pushes back against me, purring gently. I am let off with a roll of the eyes, and the diplomatic incident is averted. Trial by cat.
The road from the border climbs slightly, gaining a low headland. Then I see it: the sea. This is the Atlantic Ocean, which I last saw in Buenos Aires, some 5000km ago. We have re-crossed the continent. The Atlantic seems a different colour to the Pacific. Greys and blues replace the greens of the Pacific.
We reach camp at the town of Rio Grande, a large town, in the early afternoon. It claims the title of International Capital of Trout. And why not, I guess somewhere needs to be. The campsite cats are over-familiar, taking up residence in any tent left open!
The next town of Tolhuin is home to the wonderful La Unión bakery, where we all stop for excellent coffee and pastries before continuing to the campsite a short distance away. The campsite is best described as 'quirky', with scrap metal arranged here and there, some welded into makeshift sculptures. It reminds me very much of a place called Roys Rest Camp near Grootfontein in rural Namibia.
This is our final camp dinner, and Mark the cook has pulled out all the stops, producing a magnificent feast, and there is even an indoor dining room with tables and chairs!
And so we come to our final day of riding. It has rained on and off all night, and we pack up wet tents for the final 100k to Ushuaia. The route takes us along the lakeside, but ahead of us lies one final range of hills before we reach Ushuaia. The road has been cut into a steep hillside to gain the Paso Garibaldi, overlooking the lake far below. The road feels precarious, a vertical wall to my left and a precipitous drop to my right. It gives me the heebie jeebies just to be within a metre of the edge.
We ride on and over a low headland, and there before us is the sea: the Beagle Channel, leading to the Southern Ocean. Ahead of us the town of Ushuaia, built on the side of a steep hill overlooking the harbour. This busy tourist town is the port which serves the Antarctic cruises. Here, a sign marks the End of the World, and it is the end of our journey too.
And so here on the shores of the Southern Ocean, our adventure comes to an end as all adventures must. We have riden over 5200km, crossed the Andes and crossed the continent twice. We have visited the Perito Moreno Glacier and Torres del Paine. We have stayed in hotels, hostels and cabañas, and campsites that ranged from resorts to municipal rubbish dumps. Some even had functioning toilets.
Our attention must now turn to the mundane: bikes and kit to be packed, taxis ordered and airports negotiated. All being well, we will be home for Christmas.
There's tracklogs, photos, and more detailed day-by-day write-ups on Strava:
Day 50: Villa Tehuelches to Punta ArenasDay 51: Punta Arenas to Tierra del Fuego bush campDay 52: Tierra del Fuego bush camp to Rio GrandeDay 53: Rio Grande to Lake FagnanoDay 54: Lake Fagnano to Ushuaia
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