The soul destroying Ruta 40

'Is it straight on do you think Mike?'

Andreas and Kristina, a German couple we met in El Chalten who are two up on an African Twin are now travelling with us. We head off to Bajo Caracoles, over 300km of Ruta 40 on ripio. It was going to be a hard day's riding.We fill up with petrol at Tres Lagos and then head off.
My god, the wind. It's hard enough trying to keep the bike upright on the ripio as it is but add to the equation, the inssesent winds battering you from the side and front and its just not fun. After two hours and meeting a fellow biker (German of course) travelling the other direction, we stop for lunch - in a rare hollow of landscape to avoid getting dirt blown into our sandwiches. It's here that we look at the Ruta Argentina (Argentinian Road Atlas) and decide to head to Gregores Gobernador. We should be able to get some cash out, no point in turning up at the next pertol station 300km away, only to find that they don't take Visa. And also the Ruta Argentinas indicates that this route should be a better road. It means a 60km detour.

'Lunch time, keeping low!'

So much for a better road.
Mike was in front, me in the middle and Adreas and Kristina following. The road was dead straight as it had been for the last 60km or so. The track isn't too bad but it is a track rather than a road. We're making steady progress. That is, until we hit a patch of deep large gravel. Mike makes it through but I think I was somewhat tired and didn't notice his brake lights or the very slight change in colour of the track. The KLR and I don't make it through. It's the first time I've dropped my bike on the trip and as well as being a bit sore, I'm gutted. I was really hoping not to drop it at all. Oh well, that was probably wishful thinking.
The spill has broken the KLR's windscreen and headlight protector but other than that she is fine. I'm a little in shock, annoyed at myself for obvioulsy not paying enough attention to the road. A lesson learnt. After a bit we continue the last 30km into town, find a nice cabaña and stay the night, out of the wind.
I really don't understand how people could live here. But the laundry guy comments 'Mucho viento' (Much wind) so maybe it is uncommon.

At an average speed of 42km/hr we weren't getting anywhere fast. We pass another German motorcylist and then a German couple in a landcruiser and Swiss in a overlander truck. How much would I have paid to be in that Landcrusier! Warm, out of the wind and easier to drive than ride on the gravel roads. You could listen to music, chat to your travelling companions, maybe even have a nice warm cup of coffee on the go. Anything to pass the monotany of driving for 100kms on bad roads, in a straight line, whilst being buffeted by the wind.

After the hardest day of riding yet, I'm miserable. I'm shattered, sore and the thought riding in wind like we have been makes me want to cry. This is no holiday. Where's the beach?