Odyssey to Ushuaia. A Motorcycling Adventure from New York to Tierra del Fuego

319 Pages·2002·3.86 MB·English

by  Andrés Carlstein

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Carlstein, Andrés, 1974— Odyssey to Ushuaia : a motorcycling adventure from New York to Tierra del
Fuego / Andrés Carlstein.— 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 1-55652-440-4
1. Carlstein, Andrés, 1974—Journeys—North America. 2. Carlstein, Andrés, 1974—Journeys—South
America. 3. Motorcycling. 4. North America—Description and travel. 5. South America—Description
and travel. I. Title.
G465.C296 2002
918.04’39—dc21
2002000573
Cover and interior design:
Monica Baziuk Cover photograph: Peter Santa-Maria
©2002 by Andrés Carlstein All rights reserved First edition Published by Chicago Review Press,
Incorporated 814 North Franklin Street Chicago, Illinois 60610
ISBN 1-55652-440-4
Printed in the United States of America 5 4 3 2 1
This book is dedicated to fathers and sons. I offer it in memory of my father,
Dr. Rudolf G. Carlstein-Reyes, and to Charlie Stewart, formerly of Bethel, Alaska.
Wherever you are now, Charlie, I hope you’ve reunited with your son.
Contents
Acknowledgments
1. To Boldly Go Where Other People Already Live
2. The Welding Prodigy
3. Attack of the Flesh-Eating Minnows
4. Moto Monks and Border Bastards
5. Tramitadores in the Mist
6. Riding the Whore of Babylon
7. The Quest for the Kawasaki Dealer
8. Beauty and Bogotá
9. How Peter and Robert Plunged into a Volcanic Crater
10. The Desecrator of Chan Chan
11. Zen and the Art of the Inelastic Collision
12. Beware of Falling Tourists
13. The World’s Most Dangerous Road
14. The World’s Saltiest Hotel
15. The Place Where Bikes Go to Heal
16. Bad News in Buenos Aires
17. The End of the Road
Appendix I: Detailed Trip Lists
Appendix II: Evaluation of Equipment
Epilogue
Index
Acknowledgments
I SIMPLY COULDN’T HAVE done this trip alone. There were far too many people
that helped me along the way to list them all, but there are several who merit
specific thanks. I would like to thank first my family, particularly my mother,
Ann Furlong, and my sister, Astrid Baker, who handled my stateside business
while I was away. I’d like to thank Carl Williamson, Paul Morroni, Mark Van
Horn, and all the friends who helped prepare me for, and shared in, the journey.
I extend a very special thanks to my writing mentor and friend, Robert
Gannon, without whom this book wouldn’t have been written.
My warmest appreciation also goes to Robert and Peter, my fellow rum
riders, for their time, effort, dedication, energy, patience, and for being who they
are. Luckily for me we didn’t always get along, otherwise the trip would’ve been
infinitely less entertaining. Thanks, guys.
I’d like to also thank the following trip sponsors and their representatives:
Sheryl Bussard and Kawasaki USA; Larry Langley and Progressive Suspension;
Paul Collins and Givi, USA; Carl Williamson and Williamson Sports Motors; Pat
Widder and Widder Enterprises; Craig Stenger and Clearview Windscreens;
Andy Goldfine and Aerostich, Inc.; Sandra Blackmer and Russell Performance,
Inc.; Mike, Doug, and Juan at Corbin Saddles; Doug Flagg and Kershaw Knives;
Max Martin and Avon Tyres; and Rob Hart and Walter Goldstein at Crazy Creek
Products.

1
To Boldly Go/Where Other People Already Live
MY SUNGLASSES HAD BEEN STOLEN from my pocket in a Peruvian coat-check, so
I had to keep the tinted visor on my helmet down to curb the tremendous glare.
Salt, pure and blazingly white, lay in all directions. There was enough salt to kill
every last slug on the planet. Aside from the mountains visible to the southwest,
there was no earth nearby. All around me lay a flat white desert of salt where not
a creature could live. I wasn’t taking any chances—the crusty white lake bed we
rode on reflected the bold midday sun, sending rays into my eyes from all
directions and threatening to cause a kind of snow blindness, even though there
wasn’t any snow in sight. Temporary blindness, no matter what the cause, was a
condition that would make riding my motorcycle off the salt impossible. This
was the Salar de Uyuni, a 7,500-square-mile dried lake at 12,000 feet, formed
when a huge bowl of ocean water was driven skyward with the rising continent
millennia ago. And we were stuck on it.
My two companions and I were unsure how to proceed. “I think we need to
go southeast,” I finally said. “That travel agent said there was a road down there,
and we haven’t crossed it yet. I’m sure that’s the way.”