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were the hugs, kisses, and tears in front of those signs with the famous inscription. In reality, the road continued for another 30 kilometres on easy dirt road to Bahia Lapataia, where we found the wooden sign marking its end.
There we found a group of Americans, and the guide was just explaining that there were some " Crazy Travellers " who travelled the entire 17,848 km separating this place from Alaska on motorbikes. I couldn’ t keep quiet and I blurted out: " Here we are!"... they turned toward us, dressed as astronauts, dusty and tired, we were proof that those travellers existed. The looks became incredulous, and the flood of questions, selfies, and handshakes began. Rarely had we felt as proud and happy as we did standing in front of that sign.
In Ushuaia, a large port city rebuilt in 1948 by Genoese workers under Perón ' s urging, we took the time to service our motorbike, send postcards from the southernmost post office in the world, and take a cruise on the Beagle Channel to greet the sea lions and Magellanic penguins.
Then we set off again, with less enthusiasm, toward Montevideo to ship the motorcycle home. About 4,000 kilometres of pampas, with a stop in Buenos Aires, where we lost ourselves among tango dancers, historic buildings, and legendary neighborhoods like Boca, which still kept the legend of its most famous son alive. At the border with Uruguay, it felt like we were already home and I tried to slow down time so as not to be separated from our
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