Coffee at the spa. We need a break its hot. You have to pay to go into the spa, we speak with the gate keeper and explain we only want coffee and not to swim. In the back of his cabin he has a piece of red hot totty and is only too glad to wave us through.
All the spas are set out as a series of swiming pools, water is pumped in the top pool and then cascades down and eventually back into the river. Why they do not just sit in the river for free is beyond me.
The rivers although very very warm appear to be full of trout, no doubt a form of par-boiling before being cooked!!
All very pleasant but we need to be off, again the crowds drive us forward.
After some more rough miles we are back onto tarmac. In all we cover some 80 miles off road today and forty on. We pass through Lican Ray and into Villarrica both frontier type towns, a bit like plot lands or shanty towns. Then a total change.
On the road to Pucon some twenty five k in lenght we come across on the lakeside road nothing but bars, shops, camp sites, holiday camps, houses of all sorts, and most strange of all, furniture shops. Absolutley endless furniture shops. I have no idea how they all make a living but they must make something or they would not be there. The best I saw was Cids (Sids) Furniture.
Into Pucon. We have been told that it is beautiful, worth a visit. Well... thats according to taste. This is a very modern city and is full of shops, every name that can be thought of and its heaving.
We locate our hotel and it is paradise. This place is some ninety years old pre-dating the commercial explosion, its is right on the beach, its is right under the vulcano and it is so German. This place could be in the Black Forest. On walking in the walls have ceramic coffee grinders hanging on them, old wood saws, axes, antlers, and pictures from the twenties and thirties.
This place is popular with German tourists. The receptionist speaks German and the staff are dressed in traditional German costumes. The rooms are timber lined old and comfortable. A great stop.
We have wine and cheese on the terrace and watch the sun go down.
Next morning, back on the BM and re-trace our steps destination Valdivia. The traffic is dire so we get off the tarmac as soon as possible and pick up some excellent views on our way down to Panguipulli, I cannot say that but in means lions den or something. Remember, this is Puma country.
We stop for lunch and encounter an American lady who lives locally. She is part of an Eco group trying to preserve or restore rain forest here. So far they have some 4000 hectres ( a drop in the ocean ) where she lives with her dogs. She tells us there are Pumas here but in the last four years she has never seen one. The idea of her group is to stop the massive and endless deforestation taking place here. To us the countryside does not seem so bad but in fact later we see massive damage being done.
Then one of those weird coincidences. She ask where we are from. We explain.
This woman from Oregon has in fact worked in Esk Dale!!!! She was part of a dig in 1998 working on ruins at the back of Boot Mill. She stayed at the Woolpack and while working on the Fell she had an accident and was taken off the hill by mountain rescue with a broken ankle. She spent a week in Whitehaven Hospital, she said that although the treatment was good that the hospital was dire. She then spent time recuperating and went up and down on the railway and knew our house.
Remember. We are in Panguipulli, Chile.
On, ever on to Valdivia. We find our hotel which is well out of town on an industrial estate. Yes is does have river views but they are over the cement works. The hotel is very good, lovely gardens but the location...... There is nowhere to eat nearby so its back on the bike and into town. Town is a dump! Yes it has been flattened by an earthquake and terrible storms but it looks as if they have just nailed everything together, knotted the electric cables and said ´Well, its all working so thats it´ Yes there is developement here but its not a great place. 
We ride on down to the coast and then glorious. The Pacific Ocean. Stunning views north along the coast, endless bays each containing its own village. We ride down into one take the bike onto the beach and step into the Pacific. This is a real first. We watch the sun ease its way under the ocean rim and then eat fresh fish in a beach restuarant. Perfection.
Next day a really long ride down to the island of Chiloe. ( Chi low ee ). But a little spanner in the works that as time goes on becomes a bigger spanner. We need cash and fuel. Stop at the bank, in goes Christine.
Out comes Christine´Its swallowed my card´
In fairness its a Mastercard bank and we are Visa but there are no signs anywhere to say which it is. So into town, cash from my card and fill up with fuel.
On the road again. Really boring country around here. We get caught in roadworks on a number of occasions and in each wait as long as fifteen minutes. 15. People get out of cars, all this is quite normal. Vendors come along with fruit, coffee, newspapers. No one gets excited, except us of course!!
Progress again and onto the Pan American Highway. Just a little too early though.
We follow the signs for local traffic and us, two cars, and a truck all now find ourselves heading south on the north bound carriageway. ´
Whoo whi. Not good. We spin round and leave the others to there fate. Some sign post!!!
Really boring but just some asides.
You do not see many big bikes here normally people like us or from the States. We ride the BMs, they the Harleys, HDs.
You only see the Harleys on the Pan Am.
In a service station we meet Earl and Wilma. He in bandana, leather, studs, and love and hate written on the outside of his eyelids. She, blue rinse, leather and ´satans daughter´ in studs on the back of her leathers. They are retired, he was a dog doctor in Seattle and are life long members of the Seattle Chapter of the Hells Angles.
They are just taking a trip south having been to a telephone sanitisers convention in Mexico.
Wilma. ´Earl, why can´t we have one of those fast German bikes that keep passing us on the highway´
Earl. ´Wilma honey. I keep telling you Harleys are great, thats why they hav´nt changed the design in almost a hundred years. And I have told, its in the handbook. If you go over 55mph on a Harley you ears bleed!! Now shut up and get on the back´.
PHUT phut phut. Off they go into the sunset.
I would just like to say a brief hello to all my ex American friends at this point.
This is a motorway like the M1/M6 but...
There are bus stops.
Two men on horses making their way down the hard shoulder with a pack of dogs on tow.
An ox cart. Empty.
Cyclist everywhere. The best on was in the outside lane riding towards us.WOW.
A local dodge. On approaching the tolls locals drive off the road and into the surrounding tundra. We go through the tolls and on the other side out of the tundra they come having gone around the problem. That is a really great one!!!.
Imagine that on the M6 at Cannock!!
Children and families everywhere, seems like they are out for a stroll.
Just a thought here. Cyclist. It seems a lot of people come down from the States to mountain bike here. I really am not happy with this. There they are in their lycra/spandex shorts and shirts. The rough roads we are normally on are deadly, you see groups, often with trailers in tow, riding on these really bads surfaces. They have to wear face masks because of the dust and goggles to protect their eyes. They cannot be seen in the clouds of dust and trucks and buses whizz by them very close. Often they are miles from anywhere and any form of medical care. Its too dangerous. Makes me queasy.
Into Puerto Montt for lunch, a good lunch, but the town is horrid and this is a main pick up point for tourist going south on cruise ships. Not a pretty sight, I was only saying earlier about the lack of graffiti but this place makes up for it. Not only the town but the surrounds are bad. This is not a terribly poor area but as we left town the surrounding countryside for a distance of up to some 10K has been devestated, piles of rubbish, concrete, spoil, cars, trucks, buses, abandoned houses, fire damage. Looks like a war has passed through and wrecked the land. This is the kind of problem the American lady was talking about earlier. This is a beautiful country but it should not be treated this way. The best I saw was a truck piled with rubbish being driven along a main road and a guy on the back throwing the bags out into the bushes/road side as he went along. Really sad!!!
More cheery matters. The ferry onto Chiloe. A really super service some ten boats back and forth all the time. Straight on with the bike and away.
Right into a gale.
This is only a twenty minute crossing and halfway over a gale come down the sound and hit us. Even the seals that were tagging the boat left. We were across the swell on a flat bottomed boat and we really did roll, sea sky, sea sky, held onto the bike and then the rain hit. Horizontal.
Fuel warning light on we creep in the rain to Ancud where there is one of only four fuel stations on the island.
Made it. Fill up and to hotel which is a massive alpine chalet on a hill overlooking the town. Only we cannot see the town. Miserable.
Next morning, sun is shinning, its stopped raining, kids are playing, mother father please, and so on.
We intend to leave our luggage and tour for the day, but, oh but.
Do you remember we lost a visa card in Valdivia, well we cannot find the other one now. MY ONE.
You had it, no you had it, oh no I DID NOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Have we not all been here.
Now you all know me, kind, easy going, soft in word and deed. ( If we could only see ourselves as others see us ).
Well like hell I am ´Where is that dammed card´
Like all men I leave HER to sort it out.
And she does so, quietly, without fuss. Its at the garage.
We ride down suitably reward the same lad that served us and are on our way.
This really a wonder ride, off the beaten track and into a paradise. Along the coast we dribble on and on, bay after empty bay. Stunning.
We go down really steep into one bay. The locals are on the beach collecting a seaweed crop which they dry and package for various markets.The only way they can get down here is on horseback and the horses are sunning themselves awaiting the return journey. The only car about fails to make the climb out of the bay because its so steep and has to be pushed out.
This place is like a little drop of paradise but I bet its tough here in winter. Oh yes.
We wind our way out and stop for lunch in a two tier wooden shack. It is packed with locals, some kind of fete.
The band is playing hard, tradtional music, we order what ever. Christine has stew and me, shell fish. This is the biggest pile of clams and mussels in the world. One mussel is the size of my hand and then, then, under this lot is a two inch thick gammon steak, a sausage that goes around the whole plate and two massive polenta cakes baked in the barbicue ashes. My goodness.
What a wonderful time.
Then the local Pumiahue WI arrive, all the girls dressed up to kill! They are in and away, First the singing, not Jerusalem, but with the band, then up on their feet, tables, chairs to one side. Then the dancing starts, feet twinkling as they have done for the last sixty years, hankys waving and seriously struttin` their stuff.
Heel stamping so the floor bounces and the coffee in my cup starts to spill. They are good, they dance, sing and are so happy
I stroll onto the beach for peace and quite and watch a boat builder at work. He tells me his name is Jose Parffito, a local artisan, one of only a few left. He demonstrates his skills. He is repairing a boat with a hole in the side in a traditional manner. He takes two one inch planks and with four inch nails and a massive hammer he wangs in a few dozen into the wood, bends the ends over and slaps on a coat of tar. ´There, that´ll last another hundred years´
Strangley this is very similar to the skills I have seen in use in France!!!!!
Back pick our luggage, ferry, Pan Am Highway and back to the start at Orsono to drop the bike in on Monday morning and fly out to Santiago.
WHAT A WEEK. SO CROWDED. WONDERFUL.
An aside again Christine now reckons after a week of this that she has buns like rock cakes. I thought buns were rock cakes!!
Think of all the money she would have spent in the gym firming them up. Ha ha.
