Tierra del Fuego is just about as far South as you can get in the world, without jumping on a boat to Antarctica that is. It’s the large island that makes up the foot of Argentina and it’s here that our South American journey starts.

I’ve always thought that Tierra del Fuego, which means land of fire, is a strange name for somewhere that is clearly much more cold than hot, but now I understand. Fuego doesn’t relate to the fire in the sense of the heat, but in relation to the roaring, all consuming noise curtosey of the unrelenting wind. Everyone knows that Patagonia is windy, and we’d been warned by many that cycling from the South to the North would make things more difficult, but in the scheme of our whole trip, travelling in the opposite direction just wouldn’t work for us – plus of course we like to be different.

After flying to Ushuaia and miraculously arriving with all our bags and bikes intact (cudos to Aeolinas Argentina for doing what most airlines are unable to achieve!) we enjoyed a few days around Ushuaia. We were welcomed there by the warmth and hospitality of Rosendo, a fantastic local WarmShowers host (check out his YouTube channel about cycle tourists in Ushuaia where we make our debute YouTube appearance!). We mainly spent our days resting, as Ted had managed to pick up some kind of lurgy on the plane – Man flu (you know the worst kind of flu known to man, only a man!). But we did manage to squish in a short day ride and a hike to enjoy the beautiful surrounding area, the Fin del Mundo – The end of the Earth. Ted also had his first taste of Dulche de Leche, an Argentinian caramel sauce that is eaten here at breakfast, lunch and dinner  – Think Nutella, but caramel instead of chocolate, and no hazelnuts, so not even containing the one ‘healthy’ ingredient! This made him feel a little better.

It felt strange to have jumped from European Autumn/ Winter to Argentinian Spring. The temperature was a freezing 2 degrees the day we arrived, but it quickly changed to a balmy 11 degrees (the arctic winds obviously remained!). The mountain tops were/are all still snow capped, but there are dandelions and spring flowers out, making it a magical time of year to be here.

We also spent a big chunk of time in Ushuaia preparing for the next section of our trip – the crossing of Tierra del Fuego. It meant sourcing new SIM cards, finding cash (much harder than you think in a country where inflation is such a huge problem and means you end up walking about with bags full of bank notes!) final route planning, gear sorting / maintenance, as well as stocking up on food and ensuring we had all water points marked on our maps. With such huge distances between resupply points it’s important to know where your next food and water is coming from. Throughout all of this we just kept saying to one another ‘can you believe we’re doing this’ – It somehow feels very different to when we were in Europe. We knew that once we’d set out from the small, touristy cocoon that is Ushuaia and got beyond the incredible mountains that create it’s magnificent backdrop, we’d be setting out into the unknown, well, unknown for us at least, it’s not like we’re charting new maps or anything. Nonetheless it felt like a big step.

Leaving Ushuaia (on the one road in/out!) we were blessed with good weather and hardly any wind, which was needed as Ted really wasn’t feeling great. The landscape was amazing, such beautiful mountains, capped with snow, with glaciers in between the peaks. We soon got used to the trucks whizzing by. We were also really hearted to experience the encouragement and respect from the motorbikers who all seemed to wave, give you the peace sign or toot their horns as they passed in either direction (it’s not something we’ve ever experienced from the motorbike community before). It brought the hugest smile to my face every time it happened and earned them a Forrest-Gump-esk wave in return from me – it even made Ted’s frown reduce slightly on a few occasions too.

After a couple of days we also enjoyed a lock-in at a bakery, yes you read that right and yes that’s a thing – A thing of dreams for a hungry cyclist! There is a legendary bakery among the cycle community that allows weary cyclists to sleep in one of it’s back rooms to shelter from the weather. We arrived there mid-afternoon and although the weather wasn’t bad, Ted really wasn’t feeling great and we were very thankful to be offered the room. We took the opportunity to make the most of both the delicious bakery products and an early night, so thank you La Union.

But after the bakery is where the adventure really started for us. We had a couple of days of riding on gravel roads, which was pretty easy going and it was our first taste of being in the huge expansive wilderness of the plains here in Argentina. The views so huge they are hard to take in. We saw our first heards of Guanacos (like skinny Llamas!) and met lots of curious fuzzy foxes. 

It was after Rio Grande (a run-down industrial town on the East coast) that we had our true baptism of fire. The area between Rio Grande and the border with Chile is just under 100km and is well known for being an exposed steppe which offers no protection from the elements and very few signs of civilisation. Getting caught out here can be serious business. Looking at the weather forecast we knew we would be cycling into a headwind all day, with gusts of up to 60km/h but we were keen to press on and figured we could hitchhike or find shelter if things got bad. But in this area, on the plains (or pampa as it’s known here) there are no mountains or hills to break up the wind, no undulations in the landscape, and the wind whips across the environment gathering speed as it reaches the coast (right where we were!).

Leaving town, looking out across the South Atlantic Ocean it wasn’t too bad, but 15km along the highway we were already starting to feel it. The first thing you notice is the noise. It is so loud. Like white noise (you know, the noise they use in torture training!) And it roars. All. The. Time. There is no escaping it, even with a snood pulled up to protect your ears and face, even with a hat on, and a helmet and a hood – you still hear it roaring. Soon enough we were battling to keep moving forward. Every pedal stroke feeling like you were in treacle. Changing into an easier and easier gear in the vain hope that it would help, but it didn’t.

We decided to try and hitchhike, recognising that we were not going to make it very far. Finding ourselves on an exposed steppe overnight would not be a wise move. So we stood with our thumb out, ate some food with our thumb out, drank some tea (thank heavens for my tea flask!) with my thumb out, and finally a french campervan stopped. But excitedly cycling up to it, it became clear that it was too small to fit us in. Disheartened and deflated, we stood and watched them drive away, hopeful that something bigger would come along soon. By this point we were getting cold, and Ted was getting annoyed and grumpy at the situation, so we decided to ride on a little. I optimistically kept looking over my shoulder and kept sticking my thumb out.

Crawling on, we could see the sky darkening in front of us, the clouds creating an ominous black pattern across an otherwise grey white sky. We could see the white haze of hail falling and heading straight towards us. Then we watched as a twist of cloud spun out of the black, creating a tornado which hit the ground. Suddenly feeling very small and vulnerable we head towards the only shelter around – a local guard weigh station for trucks. Sadly the guards explained that we weren’t allowed into their glowing, toasty warm, sofa filled, empty back room, because it would require walking through their office which was confidential – so instead we took what comfort we could in standing against the walls of the building, looking into the glowing warmth of their empty, sofa filled back room, putting on more and more layers of clothes until the storm passed.

As the afternoon went on the wind became ferrocious, every gust of wind was like a punch in the face and chest, every truck that came by would create a wave of wind that would knock you off the road and require your whole body weight to brace the handlebars and counteract the force. It was brutal. It soon became quicker to walk and push the bikes, but even this was hard work. The wind kept trying to tear the bikes from our hands at every opportunity. It felt like being caught in the white horses of the sea, one barrelling wave after another, tumbling over and over.

It was demoralising and exhausting in a way we have never experienced before. The road was so straight, blurry mirages and shapes would appear in the distance, a signpost? a person? a truck? And it would take you hours to reach it. In all honesty it was probably more of a mental challenge than a physical one. We both recognised that only we could get ourselves out of the situation and that by slowly chipping away at it we would get there, eventually. But being very different characters we both dealt with it in different ways. Ted struggled. Ted has always had a hatred of the wind – I think it’s his kryptonite (although he’s no superman!). Getting really angry at the wind and shouting at the top of his voice, but with no one to hear above the roaring noise. He was deflated and mentally exhausted. I probably coped a bit better, I put on my own internal jukebox of songs (which for some bizarre reason kept getting stuck on Billy Ocean’s ‘Going Gets Tough’ song, I tried to find other, cooler motivational songs but stupidly my mind kept skipping back to Billy). I spent some time appreciating the vastness of the sky and looked for shapes in the clouds – all great distraction techniques, but then one glance at the Kms we’d covered would bring me back down to Earth with a bump.

By 9pm, we’d done about 50km, and looking ahead we could see the mirage outline of an Estancia (farm). It would be the only place that could offer our tent any protection from the relentless wind and the only chance we’d have of a safe night. So we set our sights on reaching it before it got dark at 10:30pm. It took us an hour to cover the additional 5km. On approaching the driveway the name read ‘Estancia Sara’ – I forgave them immediately for missing off the ‘h’ and saw it as a positive sign from the universe. Thankfully they let us pitch our tent outside their office building, which provided us with some shelter.

Sitting in the tent, our ears reverberating, it felt like someone had finally turned off the roaring white noise for the first time in 12 hours. We were exhausted, a little shaken, humbled by nature’s power, but finally safe and cosy warm wrapped in our sleeping bags. We fell straight to sleep trying not to think about the fact that the following day would have to be a repetition of the same.

The following day, the wind was very much the same, if not actually worse, but at least this time we knew what we were letting ourselves in for. It was 30km to the Argentinian border and a small overpriced cafe, but the draw of a fresh coffee was strong and by mid-afternoon we’d made it. We sat in the cafe head in hands still feeling the ghost of the reverberation of the wind around our ears. We uummed and aaahed for a while about what to do,  long enough to have some hot food and hot drinks and pudding (always pudding!) – feeling a little more human, we decided to be brave and push on through the border and across the 10km of ‘no man’s land’ to Chile.

Riding out of the Chilean border post around 5pm, the wind was still howling, but less so than earlier in the day, and the more we rode, the more the wind dropped. The road became more undulating, twisting and turning. We could see a sliver of blue grey sunset over the mountains as we rode towards it and the traffic became less and less.  Before we knew it the wind has disappeared all together and finally we were left to enjoy the evenings riding without it being a battle. It was just us and the heards of Guanacos and an Armadillo – a real life Armadillo – scurrying about in the fields alongside the road. As light was fading we needed shelter for the night. We knew that there was one road junction about 30km away, and that road junctions often have small refugios for bus stops (and cycle tourists!) so we aimed for there in the hope our intuition was right. But the rain rolled in and brought the wind back with it, just as the last of the daylight faded and our already cold fingers and faces became soaked too.

By around 11pm, cresting the brow of a hill just before the junction on the map, there was nothing to see, no refugio in sight. My heart sank. I could have cried. But then turning the final corner it appeared – not a mirage, a real life refugio hut. I’ve never been so pleased to see a refugio in all my life – and we’ve stayed in a lot of them! Soaked through, freezing, in the dark, in the remote and exposed Chilean pampa that little black hut was such a life saver for us. It even had all its windows intact and was free from piles of rubbish (a combination that’s a pretty rare occurrence and therefore a great luxury!). The wind continued to howl all night, shaking the little refugio and making me fear it might take off with us in it, but I was too tired to worry too much about that and was asleep in no time.

We didn’t wake up until midday the following day –   An indicator of just how hard the previous few days has been. The wind was still blowing a hoolie, so we decided to sit it out, and wait until it calmed. By 10pm that evening it has finally subsided and looked to be calm all night until around 11am the following day. We had about 100km to reach the next town, Porvenir, so decided to stay a second night in the refugio then leave before dawn start to make the most of the morning calm.

A 4am alarm is never easy, but on realising the forecast had been correct and there was still no wind, we were out of the door in no time. It was freezing, bikes were frozen over and fingers were numb, but watching the sun rise over the horizon was pretty special. The ride to Porvenir was long,  but the views to the snow capped mountains and the sea were hard to tear your eyes away from. We cycled passed small fishing villages with cheery bright boats, and saw whales blowholes travelling alongside us in the sea. We stopped for lunch on a pebbled beach, taking shelter behind a large pile of stones, and watched as two seals twist through the kelp forest in the bay, and dolphins played a little further out. Such a magical experience to be part of whilst munching through a whole packet of biscuits!

The final afternoon push to Porvenir was hard going as the head wind had returned, as predicted, but we knew we could find lodging and, more importantly, a bakery, in Porvenir so we managed to find the motivation to get there. It was such a relief to roll into the small ramshackled fishing town, which in reality is a bit of a nowhere kinda place, but for us it was the beacon at the end of our crossing of Tierra del Fuego.

We had definitely played with fire and, like they teach you at school, we’d got burnt (mainly wind burn to my face!) but we’re really proud to have managed to complete the crossing of Tierra del Fuego. Our experiences with all the incredible scenery and the wildlife are beyond what we could have imagined (already!). On reflection, one of the reasons the few days had been so difficult was because we worried the whole of South America would be one giant battle with the headwind in this same way, but now that we’re out the other side of it we know that’s not the case. It’s now all behind us and we hope the wind stays that way too!