Manhandling the bags down to the small lobby using the smallest elevator I’d ever seen was proving to be a mission. My cut finger was swollen and painful from yesterdays riding. The heavy rain we’d heard last night had stopped but we were still going to have to be careful, the roads looked treacherously slippery. Hotel bill paid and bikes finally loaded we were ready for the off; that wasn’t going to happen just yet. “How much longer will you be in Neuquen, I’m from radio ‘Motocyclismo FM’, can we have an interview”? Daniel asked in one long, fast question. It took me a second to get my head around his fast and out of the blue Spanish. Seconds later and Daniel had made a rush of cell phone calls and confirmed that an interviewer would be here in 10 mins. Without breaking for breath he asked…”your coffee, solo or con leche”? Wow, this guys good. I haven’t even said we could do it and he’d thrown in a free coffee. Never let it be said we’re not cheap…’cause we are. A few minutes later and Lisa has joined us, I’d introduced our new excited companion and we’d grabbed a table at a small café. Right on cue Coqui turned up, digital recorder set and ready to go.

20 minutes later and we’d somehow managed to muddle through an entire interview in Spanish, although on reflection we’re both pretty sure that we were asked about what motivated us to start our journey and we’d answered…”Polar bears and prostitutes making raspberry jam in Wimbledon”??? …or something to that effect??? Ah, the embarrassment of hindsight.

Well, it was an interesting start to our day. By the time we’d said adios to our interviewers, fuelled up, taken two wrong turns and finally found the right road out of town, it was 1:00am. Like yesterday, we were going to have to get a move on if we were to reach San Rafael by nightfall.

The 151 North is one long straight, straight, very straight, straight as a straight ‘thing’…road. Did I mention it was straight? We’d been cruising along at 75-80 mph for what seemed like hours but everywhere was still looking the same and the GPS kept telling me we’d only covered 90 miles…ahhhhhh! The frantic flashing and waiving of the oncoming truck drivers told us two things…one, they were happy to see to nutters freezing their asses off on bikes and two, they were also really, really bored. By late afternoon we were finally coming to the end of our relationship with 151 and swapping her for her far more interesting and curvaceous friend Sr. 143…heeeeello baby! 151 should have seen the end in sight, we’d given her all the right signals, we’d indicated and…everything. With a final long look over our shoulders we bid her farewell and slung a left. Adios it was fun whilst it lasted…nope that’s a lie, it was dull flat and pretty disinteresting…Mmm, I know there’s an old girlfriend joke in there somewhere?

By the time we’d stopped for gas and reached the town of General Alvear it was dark. We’d really hoped not to have to ride into San Rafael at night. Ah, well, the best laid plans and all that.

We’d played dodgems with a couple of the local race boys who’d been determined to kill either themselves or us and finally pulled up in front of the ‘Apart Hotel. It had just gone 8:15 am. At £19 it was way more than we wanted to pay but the campsites were on the other side of town and we had no assurances that any of them would be open at this time of year…besides where the hell could you stay in the UK for £19? So here we are, tucked up warm, clean and showered and using every expletive I know as I mssi-tpye the same words over and over again becausuase I can’t feel past the middle joint of my middle finger and typing is proving to be a real mission.

Night, night.

“Everything is ready for tomorrow and all is good”, explained Natalia. “How many are coming”? I asked. To be honest we were expecting maybe 15-25 people, Mendoza’s not a big place and BMW riders are few and far between. Needless to say when Natalia anwered that she had 60-70 confirmed bookings from an advertisement she had placed in the Mendozan news papers, we were delighted but amazed. “Shit, we’d better be good”, we told Natalia, grinning.

With details for tomorrow confirmed we needed to sort out a place to stay. We headed for the large tourism office in Avenida San Martin. We’d pulled over about to park up when Juan had approached us. “You need somewhere to stay”? he asked. 5 minutes later and he’d flipped open his plastic folder and shown us several self contained apartments, one of which was in his back garden. It was only going to be for two nights so we agreed a price of 50 Pesos (£9) and with good directions given had found his home some 15 minutes later. Set in his back garden, behind a set of substantial gates at least the bikes would be secure.

We’d wheeled the bikes into the large glass showroom and parked them up to the left of where we’d been told the white screen would be positioned. It was 8:30am, we’d confirmed a start time of 9:30am but c’mon this is Argentina that meant in reality we’d kick off around 10-10:30am at the earliest.

Wow, Natalia had really pulled out all the stops on this one. A selection of 2 and 3 seater stools and armchairs had been hired and brought in, each one covered in a white throw-over tailored to the shape of the furniture it was covering. Low wooden tables had been placed carefully in-between, with a selection of fresh flowers placed neatly in the centre and now the caterers were setting up two large tables and laying out breakfast, coffee, media Lunas (croissant type pastries) and a selection of other morning goodies.

The multi-media guy was scurrying around and had already set up the white screen and was now placing the speakers and doing his sound check. For once we’d managed to connect the computer and get our software set up without even the slightest sign of a hitch. Now our only real concern was the ambient light. Genco’s showroom is traditional modern BMW silver, white and glass. We were a little dubious as to whether the projector was going to be strong enough to really show the slides with enough clarity and colour. There was no way we could darken the showroom.

People and bikes were now turning up thick and fast. Throttles were being blipped outside as riders jostled for the best position to show off their beloved shiny toys. BMW’s old and new, Honda’s, Yamahas all lined up neatly…pretty cool. True to Natalia’s prediction by 10:30am around 60 riders had found a comfy spot in the awaiting chairs, had downed a few strong coffees and made themselves comfortable. It was ‘kick-off’ time.

Daniel (the new sales excec’) had worked in the USA for many years, again selling bikes and we’d gratefully accepted his kind offer to translate for us. With a translation as part of the presentation we were going to have to speed things up and cut short a few of the details we’d normally share with some of the slides, to allow for the extra time Daniel would need. Presentations that last longer than about 1 hour 20 mins start to go bad, people start to fidget and then you loose their interest.

An hour and 15 mins later and we’d finished to resounding applause. It hadn’t been the easiest of presentations and to be honest we’d felt it lacked a lot. Daniel had been great but our Spanish simply wasn’t up to getting across to our audience much of the emotion and sentiment we normally want to convey. Obviously for Daniel it had been difficult to get across those sentiments and emotions, simply because he hadn’t been there. We didn’t feel we’d connected. That said Jorge, Genco (the dealership) and ourselves, had been approached and thanked and all had confirmed how much they’d enjoyed it. Maybe we’re judging ourselves harshly but then that’s not a bad thing.

“Vamous, Vamous”, shouted Jorge, whilst clapping his hands. We’d been invited to join the ride out, into one of the mountains and then for lunch at a pre-chosen restaurant. Jorge was keen to make a move.

Without our usual heavy bags we’d sped up into the mountains. Fast twisty asphalt made it easy going and an hour later we’d found the restaurant and had been seated.

Jorge had ridden up on Genco’s, shiny new hp2 demo bike. I’d already asked earlier if I’d have the chance to ride BMW’s new light-weight off-road toy. And so with lunch over Jorge had simply grinned and handed me the keys. I was like a kid at Christmas exited about the toy I’d asked for and now was getting.

My cut and now swollen finger had been troublesome for the last few days buy the new hydraulic clutch on the hp2 seem to move easily enough and was only making me wince a little. As I revved the engine and released the clutch the back wheel spun furiously…Oooooh yeah!!!! The bike launched its way up the gravel sand tracked we’d ridden down to reach the restaurant. The longer travel suspension was soaking up the ruts and the non-ABS brakes were sharp and powerful. I was getting carried away. I’d ridden the track a few times, been up to the tar and grinned as the front wheel lifted easily as I twisted the throttle. Back at the restaurant I’d pulled up and blurted my excitement to Daniel, who’d come out to check on the bike. Time to head back up the hill. I was having too much fun.

Stood up and taking the easy bend I’d pulled in the clutch about to find 3rd…it was about to go wrong! A sudden spasm shot through my left hand and up through my middle finger. Without warning my clutch fingers and shot out straight and by default I’d released the clutch lever completely. The full power of the throttle I’d been using was transferred to the rear wheels, which span and slid out furiously. In a mili-second the rear end had spat out, the bike had gone sideways and had done a 180 turn and now both the bike and I were lying on the ground. Fresh blood was pouring from my finger, covering my hand and was now oozing down my arm onto my shirt. Shit, shit, shit!!! At the time I was more concerned about the fact that I’d just dumped a $32,000.00 motorbike and the subsequent embarrassment than my finger, although I was pretty sure I’d torn out the stitches.

A long story sideways…No damage had been done to the hp2 but after a slow and painful ride back to Mendoza I’d visited another hospital, yep, another friggin', fudging, sodding hospital and found the problem. With the blood cleared away and with what was left of the stitches taken out, the problem was clear. The deep cut hadn’t healed well and was in-fact badly infected. The infection had erupted and the spasm I’d experienced earlier was the infection bursting from the inside on my finger. Not a pleasant thought. With the finger infected it was impossible to re-stitch. The attending doctor could only clean it thoroughly…which, really, really hurt and then the biggest, hairiest, ugliest nurse I’d ever seen asked me to bend over, drop my pants, whilst she stuck two sodding big needles into my ass. “I want my Muuummmyyyyyyyyy”!!!

On the up side it was actually pretty lucky. Had we ridden off and left Mendoza the infection would have only have become worse. Discovering the problem in Bolivia in the middle of nowhere could have had dire consequences. The concern is that the infection must be stopped, as if it’s left to fester it can affect the knuckle joint and then the tendon, in which case there’s a strong chance of loosing the finger. Mmm, now that just sounds really bad!

We’ve moved accommodation a few days ago, really for a change as much as because we’d originally only counted on staying two night and justifying the 50 Pesos per night. That and the fact that although it was pleasant enough it was kind of dark. The ‘Hostel Independencia’ was a good move. Spacious, a little cheaper and the free internet access was a bonus. That said, you’d have to get up pretty earlier to get anywhere near the computer. The American backpackers that moved in at the same time seem to live on it.

You’d have to be deaf, dumb, mute and colossally stupid not to realise the World Cups on. Mendoza’s been a dazzling display of white and blue madness since the start of the World Cup. This country is football crazy. As soon as Argentina gets anywhere near a ball every car in the street has two huge flags flowing from its rear windows. The horn honking is deafening.

We’ve decided that if my some miracle England and Argentina meet and England win, the chance of us getting out of the country alive is slim to none.

With so much football fever in the air we’d thought we’d join in yesterday and found a local bar to watch the Argentina and …? Shit, we can’t even remember who they were playing. Ah, well it doesn’t matter Argentina won. But what an experience. The atmosphere in the café was electric. 90 minutes of “Oooooohhh,,, Ahhhhhh….si, si, si….tu puta and finally…Gooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllllllllllllllllll”.

The cheering, the atmosphere, the arm waiving and the emotion was infectious. Thank God Argentina won.

After our presentation we’d accepted a kind offer from Carlos to have some lunch and a few hours of wine tasting at ‘Bodega Rural’. We’d expected to tag along with one of the pre-booked tours and to later pick at one of the finger food buffets which often accompany this type of thing, to be honest we’d have been more than happy. A lovely gesture and a fun way to spend an afternoon.

What we actually experienced was so unexpected and truly a pleasure.

We’d found the Bodega easily enough, only 12-15 km from the centre of Mendoza, and soon after arriving had been greeted by ‘Sol’. Her business card read ‘Head of public relations’. She fitted the bill perfectly, with an effervescent charm and easy personality, and thankfully some English.

10 minutes later and we’d been escorted to Carlos’s office. We had no idea he was the ‘financial Director’ for the Bodega. We’d been greeted like old friends with a warmth and sincerity that we’ve truly come to appreciate in South America.

With greetings exchanged we accompanied Carlos and Sol back to the main building. “Are you hungry”? Sol had asked. There wasn’t a finger buffet in sight. The private room and beautifully laid dinning room was ready for 4. This was too good to be true. Conversation was moving at an easy but enthusiastic pace. Young girls came and went with an assortment of entrees. This was so unexpected.

Lunch was served and the four of us were seated. Each place had been set with 5 glasses, for 5 different tastings. We weren’t going to have any of this silly swilling and spitting stuff, no, no, no. This stuff was fantastic and had to be drunk. Mmm, riding back will be interesting?

Lunch was picture perfect. A perfectly cooked piece of beef atop of pureed vegetables. With a light jus. Two hours later we’d savoured our main courses, drooled over desert and sipped slowly on 5 very different wines, each one exquisite. We were in our element. Conversation had flowed easily enough with a mixture of English and Spanish. Time was flying by. We’d spent so much time eating and drinking that our tour of the Bodega would have to wait for another day and Carlos had missed his meeting with the tax inspector. He didn’t seem terribly troubled about this.

So, to Sol and Carlos thank you for a truly memorable experience, for your incredible hospitality and generosity.

In the mean time we’ve contacted Javier and Sandra and asked them to transport over 4 Conti’ TKC80’s form our stash that Mariano had given to us. Yet again Mariano, Javier and Sandra save the day.