Motorcycle Explorer December 2014 Issue 3 | Page 137

The late morning had passed on a dusty gravel trail which seemed to wind aimlessly through hills of the Argentinian desert. I saw no one on the road, and nothing passed me the whole first day on the 40. Why would they? There is a perfectly good road going somewhere good, as opposed to the 40 which mostly seems to go nowhere. I kept asking myself, “Why did they build it?” The answer to that for at least this section of the road was to service the mining industry in Santa Catalina, but that had long since dried up. In this part of Argentina, the 40 is not even a graded road, this is just the way the wagons used to come, most of the road looked like it hadn’t ever been upgraded. Later in the day I hit a riveted section of the road, which is about as much fun to drive on as setting fire to your goolies. Bottom line if you don’t keep you teeth clenched together you’ll be missing all your fillings by the end of it. It’s also a good idea to wear something like a pair of swimming togs while riding on them, you don’t want balls rattling around like a set of maracas. As the day wore on the heat rose and the effort to keep the bike moving through the crappy conditions increased. It seemed like the world was conspiring against me. The hotter and more tired I became, the tougher the road conditions became. I spent the rest of the day sweating like a whore in confession as myself and Sam Gamgee II were slowly shook to bits. I could smell the adrenaline and testosterone mixed with sweat wafting up into my helmet from my suit as I rode along, I was 33