Bahia Inglesa - a day by the sea with some fellow bikers.

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After my little adventure into the Atacama I gave myself a good talking to. I had originally planned to ride up to Antofagasta and from there onto San Pedro de Atacama. San Pedro de Atacame is the tourist place to visit so I had set my heart on getting there. Although a coastal town Antofagasta is the capital of Atacama and would make a good stop off on the way to San Pedro de Atacama.

The problem was two fold. Firstly the distance. Each leg would be about half as far as I had ridden the previous day and that had taken me the best part of 6 hours. I could not count on there being enoough fuel stops and although I could perhaps buy a can, carrying it, with all my luggage would be tricky.

The second issue was the altitude. San Pedro de Atacama lies at the same height as the border post I had reached, about 4500 metres. I would have to stay two nights if I wanted to see the area and I was worried I wouldn't cope.

I also had to bear in mind I had to turn round and head south to join the others for the next leg of the trip. On leaving San Pedro de Atacama I would have an endless slog south, without much time to sight see.

It would be disappointing not to get to San Pedro de Atacama because it was on the border with Boliva and I could claim when I got home I had ridden the length of Chile. This claim was always a little dubious because north of San Pedro de Atacama lies more desert and the northern most border is in fact with Peru. My revised plan now meant I'll have to lie or say I rode most of the length of Chile, which at this point I hope will prove true.

Originally I had pallned to do this trip with my old friend Jimmy. It was his idea in fact. We planned to explore a bit of Chile and see some of the wine growing areas Chile is famous for. It was my idea to sneak in trip to Atacama, because I always fancied going there. San Pedro de Atacama only came into play when Jimmy decided he couldn't make it. I had actually not realy planned anything because it was always a possibility that it would prove I had biteen off more than I could chew. A change of plan now then would not be to much of a loss of face. I also worried about the folks back home, Lin and my Mum in particular, when they learnt I had come off, especially if I planned to carry on alone. They would worry themselves stupid and really I couldn't put them through that especially as I was perfectly OK.

I enjoyed the hotel so much in Capiapo, I decided to stay another night. The new "plan" then would be to ride out on c-35 along the Rio Copiapo valley, then head back the other way to the beach and visit the local mining museum in Copiapo in the afternoon. Despite being desert the Rio Copiapo valley is one of Chile's best wine growing areas and I thought Jimmy would be please if I went. After yesterday it would be a nice easy day.

As it turned out as I packed up for the morning I heard the distinct throaty roar of a BMW twin. I ran out into the yard thinking someone had just nicked the bike, but it was still there, together with an identical bike. The owner was packing up his machine and I gave him the obligatory biker's nod and said Hola ! (getting the hang of this Spanish me). It turned out he was an American, well originally from Canada, called Herb Anderson. Herb owns a BMW dealership in Cape Girardeau Missouri called Grass Roots BMW and he had ridden over the pass from Argentina along the same road I had taken the day before with his mate, Ron Ayres. It was Ron's bike I had heard fire up.

Ron runs Ayres Adventures and he and Herb we trying out a new route from Osorno up to Mendoza in Argentina and the back to Osorno through Chile. Their plan was to head to Bahia Inglesa, which is whee i had in mind. They were going to stop for lunch before going off road along the coast to the Llanos de Challe National Park, hoping to end the day in La Serena. Herb invited me to join them so I took hm up on his offer. I couldn't make it all the way to La Serena with them as I had already booked an extra night iat the hotel in Copiapo, so I said I would ride out to the beach, have lunch with them and we would go out seperate ways. And that more or less is what we did.

The road to Bahia Inglesa is uninspiring, flat motorway. Heading north out of Copiapo on Ruta 5 for about 70 or so kms before turnin off left just before the coastal town of Caldera. It was then just a short run down to a lovely little seaside town. Not very large and quite a tourist trap. It was very pleasant lying in a small bay with a white sand beach and sailing boats more just off the coast/. My guide book said it was Chile's most photographed beach. It was though a little cloudly. It was by now gone mid day and usually the fog had burnt off by now and so I assumed it was just a cloudly day. In fact it remained cloudly all day.

Along the sea fromt were the usually seaside bars and restuarants you would expect to see with the occassion place that seemed to sell or hire diving gear. There was also a few street sellers and small kiosk selling stuff you didn't want or need.

Herb, Ron and I pulled up outside a nice looking seafront resturant, took a few snaps and walked up and down the sea front, looking in the odd bar before returning to the one we had parked outside of. It did look good so we went in and took a table.

We agreed this would do and Ron announced that he had always the best resturant in town is always the one you can see your bike from! There speaks a seasoned traveller!

As both Herb and Ron spoke Spanish I had no problem ordering! Herb told some lame joke about the Brits not being able to speak any other lanaguage but their own. I can't remember it now but it was quite funny and saddly true. Ron had a nice plate of prawn, Herb a couple of ham & cheese empanadas and I choose a fish dish with a lovely green salad. All washed down with cold water and hot coffee.

Coffee, i thought quite surprisingly, was not as common a drink as I had thought it would be. When I found somewhere that did sell coffee it was always instant Nescafe. It was served black and if you asked for milk you got a huge jug of hot milk. I presume you were meant to drink it very milky so I just stuck to black.

Herb told me he was in the Guiness book of records, not becuase he was bragging it just cam out in a conversation of ride outs (where bikers met, go for a ride together and chew the cud). He had organised the largest single gather of BMW motobikes! And there was I thinking the yanks only ever rode Harleys! Good for him, but surely we can beat that? I'll have to check out his record.

I asked them about their trip over the border and explained the difficultly I had at the customs post and my concern with fuel. They had ridden 500 kms so how on earth did they manage it as they had no spare tank? They were simply lucky. In Argentina someone had told them about a guy who livied in the middle of nowhere who would sell them petrol. They said if you didn't know he was there you would have never have known. The man pour the petrol from a barrell into a bucket to fill the bikes.

When they got to the customs post they just sailed through. They had had the difficultly on the road I had but Ron's bike was quite badly damaged. He said that the other side of the customs post there was a diversion that took you where, in Ron's words, he had no business being and he had come off. He showed me a picutre. It looked much much worst than my little tumble. He was perfectly OK but there was to of them and I was convinced a day by the sea side was after all the right thing to do.

After our mean I said my good byes to Herb & Ron. We exchanged e-mail addresses and head our seprate ways. I had only know them a short while but they were great guys and if I was ever in Missouri or planning another adventure I think I would look them up.

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