I’m currently crouched over a small concrete table in the municipal campsite South of Salta’s Centro.

What an incredible ride here. In spite of nursing Tinkerbelle the ride was staggeringly beautiful. Great twisty asphalt snaked its way through one of the most wonderful landscapes either of us have seen. Layered multi-coloured rock made up mountains of staggering proportions on both sides of us. Giant bright orange rock formations dwarfed most of the surroundings. Our riding was appalling, we were to busy rubber necking the countryside. Oranges, fiery reds and dusty white mountains jostled for position in amongst the chocolate and cream cake layered hillsides. It just went on. Martian like rock shapes crested tall peaks cut and milled by eons of biting wind and in some forgotten age, fast flowing water.

Enough of the desriptives, which all fall short, just check out some of the pictures.

With the help of Mathius and Enrique from ‘the Bar’ in Cafayete we’ve come to Salta armed with a few names and addresses of businesses that may be able to help with our camera crisis.

Talk more tomorrow.

With easy directions we’d ridden into Salta’s centre and found the camera shop we’d been told about ‘Marc Chagall’. Some 15 minutes later and I had Alberto’s attention and was showing him the fuji and its problem. I pulled the camera up to the table and firmly pressed the on button and showed Alberto the screen, which I was confident would show him the error message ‘ZOOM ERROR’. Sod’s law being what it is, the dam thing came right on first time and worked perfectly. Well, we’ve made the effort to get here we may as well get the camera serviced and cleaned. Little did we know then that we’d not see the camera again for almost 3 weeks?

We’d made our new home the municipal campsite 3 km from Saltas centre and home to the largest outdoor swimming pool in the Southern hemisphere. Right now it was empty but still impressive. To fill it takes over 1 month with water pouring in 24/7…that’s a lot of water? As we’d entered the gates we’d spotted the black Suzuki complete with its heavy looking Touratech Zega cases and had made ourselves its new neighbours. Dietmar was from Germany and had shipped into Buenos Aires a few months earlier and was now waiting for a friend to join him. We’ve met so few other over-land motorcyclist since our journey began to be able to compare notes, thoughts and ideas was wonderful.

The first week slowly rolled by and we naively looked forward to getting back on the road. Alberto had told us the camera would be ready in about 5 days. We’d strolled about in the ‘Plaza de 9th de Julio’ and spent a fair bit of time working on Tinkerbelle in the hopes of sorting out this stuttering fuel issue. Nothing had raised its head as an obvious problem. By the end of week one I’d still not tracked down an emissions tester. Without a Lambda sesor on the 1100GS to automatically regulate the fuel air mix, I have to do it manually by setting the CO2 emisson at around 2.5%. The small screw makes it a simple enough job, but without an emission tester to stuff down the exhaust pipe I can do nothing. With my engine issue unresolved I set my mind to another urgent task…the two deep fractures on both sides of my rear sub-frame. With advice taken I’d snaked my way through the down-town traffic and had found Mario and ex-motocross racer, who apparently also had one of the best reputations in town for welding. I needed someone who knew what they were doing. There was no way I could afford the frame to give again in say, Bolivia at 16,000 ft (5,000 metres +) at -20.

Mario cast his eye over the breaks and confirmed the worst; there was no way he could do a decent job with the frame still inplace, even if I managed to lift the rear of the frame skyward. The entire rear sub-frame was going to have to come off. I promised Mario I’d get it done and bring back the frame tomorrow. The fun begins…with a cold early start the following day, by 10:00am I’d stripped back most of the cables, leads, zip-ties and main nuts and bolts and with Lisa’s help had started to lift the sub-frame from the bike. It had taken me longer than I’d wanted but not as long as it could have. With the sub-frame attached to the back of Lisa’s bike with a selection of tie-down straps. I headed off to Marios with my metal cage trophy. There was no hanging about. By the time I’d de-strapped the frame Mario was already wheeling out his new £5,000 welding machine and within 15 minutes had charged it and was already hard at work soldering my frame. This was unexpected, I’d guessed it would be a few days, but looking at Mario now there was a very strong chance that he’d get it done whilst I waited. The idea of getting it welded and back on the bike in the same day hadn’t even crossed my mind. Two hours later my newly repaired frame I were heading back to the campsite. Afternoon turned to early evening, which in turn became night. By 10:00pm Tinkerbelle was back together and the tools were going away. Talk about relieved, I’d had no silly problems to overcome and things had gone smoothly. That’s a big job off the to-do list.

We’d had a few emails from Mike and John a great couple of guys who’d been travelling for 17 months down from Alaska nad had been posting the stories in the GSClubUK website. They were on the way to Salta. There was no way we were going to miss the chance of meeting up. With a few more messages sent and received we arranged to meet up in the main plaza. A few days later and we were swopping stories over coffee in the Plaza de 9th de Julio. This may sound daft but we loved it. We’ve met so few other motorcyclists travelling and to be able to share our enthusiasm in our mother-tongue was liberating. Remember, we’ve been speaking (very badly) other languages for 3 –years and falling back to English only in desperation when our limited linguistic skills fall short. The problem with this is that every thing you say from answering the simplest of questiosn to the most profound, ends up being a compromise of what you actually want to say due to a limited vocabualy. Ideas or thoughts than need considered words or carefully selected tones to express get left to one side.

So, to be able to share our enthusiasm with a couple of English guys who’d been on the road a while, for us was fantastic. Mike and John thankyou so much.

Our numbers were swelling back at the campsite. The familiar rumble of two BMW’s cruising into the site had caught my attention. Ralph and Katrin had arrived. Mike and John and told us of friends that were heading down here, we’d just not expected for them to arrive whilst we were still here. Katrin had jumped off her F650GS and greeted us like old friends. It took us 5 minutes to realise these guys weren’t the stangers we’d thought. We’d been emailed months ago by a German couple looking for advice about shipping to Africa and touring. Lisa had been emailing back with any advice she could. It had been Ralph and Katrin we’d been talking to all this time. It’s a small world!

By late afternoon two more heavily burdonned bikes had parked up and Matthius and Mary had introduced themselves. This was turning into an international bikers meeting. We’d met more over-land bikers in the last few days than we have in over 3-years of travelling.

Jobs that should have been simple were all taking longer than they really should and Saltas vast laberynth of one-way-streets was’nt helping but then neither was Saltas exaggerated siesta. Don’t get me wrong I’m all in favour of a decent siesta but Salta literally goes to sleep and shops close down from 12:30pm to 5:30pm. Logistically it’s a nightmare.

Between the camera, bike bits and other jobs our Argentinian Visa was running dangerously low…we needed to extend. And so with an early start mid week we found the immigration office filled out dozens of forms and paid 100 Pesos each for a 3-month extension. Our to-do list was growing shorter. We’d been back to Marc Chaggals to inquire about the camera which was now well over due. The zoom error had shown up again and needed repairing and the cleaning neccersary was extensive. We had a sobering decision to make. Alberto had expressed serious doubts of the cameras reliability due to wear and tear, even with this new repair. Did we dare venture into one of the highest and demanding regions in South America without a decent camera? Our problem is simple we don’t have the money for a new camera. Right now we’re struggling to get by to find enough money to get us gas and food so we can reach North America. The problem worsens…no camera…no photos, which means that any magazine inerested in a story won’t publish. Well, they’re just not interested if they haven’t got strong images to go with a story written. The Nikon D70s DSLR in Marc Chaggals window had caught my attention. I heard so many good things about the Nikon’s especially the D70, the D70s predesesor. We were stuck, there was simply no money. Back at the internet Lisa’s parents had made an incredible offer and offered to cash in a policy and lend us the money until our house in the UK sells. It still took us 3 days to make the decision. It took us 5 days to draw the cash needed from ATC machines with low daily limits, but here we are the proud new owners of a Nikon D70s DSLR and new 18-70 zoom lens and and 80-300 high zoom lens. We’d pushed Alberto hard for a good deal amd so paid no tax and had thrown into the package an additional 512 compact flash card, car charger, circa-polorizing lens and a decent camera bag. The early results are fantastic. We’ll use the Fuji as an additional lens as we travel.

We needed to work out how to carry our new camera gear. The ideal place for ease and protection was my tank bag. With help we’d tracked down a local seamstress who worked with handbags and handed her my tankbag and new camera bag (rucksack style) 4 nights later and for 40 Pesos she completely remodelled the rucksack to now fit perfectly into my tank bag and yet it could still be lifted and used externally. These countries full of overy-skilled but underpaid crafts people.

At the internet café the small email simply read ‘Hi my name is Jeremy I’m living in Salta with my Argentinian wife and two kids. If you fancy a bed or just a good home cooked meal then drop us a line on…take care’. A few days later we’d parked ourselves at the same small café and were watching the world. The hand on my shoulder had caught my attention. “Hiya, you’re still here then…hows it going”. You’ve got to be Jeremy I asked. The broad grin was conformation enough. 30 minutes later and Jeremy’s easy but upbeat charm has us all still talking. Sandra, his wife was being interviewed for job 4 doors down from the café and Jeremy was picking her up…Talking with us he’d forgotten? That was the start of our friendship. Interview over and a little time later Sandra had joined us and we’d accepted an offer to join them for dinner.

We’d still not found someone wiling to remake Lisa’s tool canister, the one that she’d lost enroute. Back at Jeremies family home only 5 minutes from the campsite the back yard was a cacophony of grating noise and sparks flying. Sandra’s brother owned the welding yard…Mmm, now that’s conveniant I joked with Sandra. 5 dyas later and we‘d found some aluminium pipe (from an old chimney flew) baught a couple of hinges and had fabricated two new cylindrical tool boxes and had welded holding brackets to Lisa’s bike. We’d found space (not much) up under the exhaust ports on both sides of the F650GS, on the inside of Lisa’s panniers. With extremely carefull placement they are clear of hitting anything on her swing arm, even if it comprersses fully.

We could at last think about getting back on the road. We’d been in Salta much, much longer than we’d dreamt but our time had been worthwhile. I’d even managed to find an emission tester at a local governmental testing staion and blagged them into lending me the device. With the mixture corrected and new spark plugs replaceing the carbon fouled ones Tinkerbelle was atlast sounding healthier.

Mike and John headed off a few days ago and Katrin and Rolph made there move yesterday afternoon. We’ve accepted a kind offer to spend our last night in Salta at Jeremy’s and Sandras. We’ve spent a good part of most days over the last week with them and there kids Obe and Jess…no sorry that won’t do Obe’s is 5 and you’ve got to hear his full name, this is wonderful…’Obelix Batizar Monkhouse’. Obe One Kanobbe to his friends.

We’re looking forward to hitting the road tomorrow.

With a fond farewell to Jeremy, Sandra, Obe and Jess we wound our way through the Saltanian traffic for the last time. By mid-day we’d found the Ruta 9 North and were finally making gains towards Purmamarca in the Jujuy province...the last one we shall visit in Argentina. It will be a sad farwell to a country that has been by any account spectaculaur. From the Perito Moreno Glaciar in the South, to theCondor laiden mountain sides of the Andean foothills outside Mendoza. Our trials and tribulations on the Ruta 40 and the remarkable individuals and families who’ve befriended to stray British bikers, often when we’ve needed help the most. With out question Argentina has left it’s mark on us, we’ll return someday.

It was a strange reliefe to once again be on the road and heading North and we were more than a bit relieved that our journey was being made all the easier with warm good weather. By late afternoon we made good timePast San Salvador de JuyJuy and without any issue had taken the left hand turning onto the Ruta 16 West. It was only now for the first time since we’d left Salta that Tinkerbelle started to complain. This sputtering and missing I thought I’d dealt with in had made an unwelcome return. What the hell is it? We’ve still got the Pasa De Jama to cross and the altititude to deal with, the last thing I want is to go into these areas with a question mark hanging over my bikes realiability.

As the light began to fade we’d pulled off ther Ruta 16 and trundled down the dusty stone tourist laiden streets of Purmamarca, finding the small campsite on the other side of the main town market square and directly beneath the Cerro de Los Siete Colores (Mountains of seven colours). The warm ochre and oranges light bouncing off the mountain side gave a cozy relaxed feel to the town. Tomorrow mornings dawn should be quit a light show.

With a swift coffee downed and on the bikes we carefully made our way back to the Ruta 16 mindfully picking our route through the still sleepy tourist, who by now were all craning their necks to get a better view of the candy coloured mountain-sides or bartering for a good deal over a Llama knitted hat, sweater or poncho.

20 minutes outside of town and we were already starting to climb. The chocolate-cream hillsides were growing in stature as we wound back and forth and back and forth. Deep valleys and ravines could be seen way off into the distance and all the time we were still climbing.

The hours came and went and the altitude only increases. Even the bikes were now feeling the strain. We were changing down gears where normally we have no problems. By late afternoon we’d ridden out and onto a fairy tale landscape and burning Sun and glistening white…the Salar Salinas Grandes. A landscape of pure and painful crystallised white as far as the squinting eye could see. The small restaurant complete with tables and chairs all made from slat to good a reason not to stop. In every direction pure glistening white. 20 minutes later and we’d been quizzed by everyone as to how far? How long? How many countries? It was time to make a move.

The continueing theme for the day was…UP! And so we contined finally pulling in behind the small gas station at Susques at 3675 metres.

We’ve set up camp behind the small motel, at US$100 a room there was no way we could afford it.

We’ve decided to stay tomorrow to give me a chance to look at my bike. It been spluttering and stalling since we left Salta. To make matters worse I’ve no idea where to begin.

We’d slept fitfully, waking regularly due to aching bones and hip which were being stung by the freezing ground.

Ah well, the faster I start looking at the bike the faster I’ll finish. With a few stray but curios Llamas for company by 11:00am I’d put Tinkerbelle on centre stand, strip off the tank and had begun to dismantle the fuel pump assembly. Nothing was looking suspicious. No water in the fuel, no gummed up fuel filter. No obvious blockages in the fuel hoses…what the hell is it?

By mid-afternoon I was still none the wiser and had started putting the bike back together.

Spent the afternoon doing diary. Tomorrow we’ll get on the road and head into Chile. If I said I wasn’t nervous about crossing the Paso de Jama at 5,900 metres I’d be lying. To be honest I’m concerned not just about the bike but more importantly about Lisa. Neither of us have ever been that high outside of an aeroplane, let alone ridden a bike at that altitude.

With the softly fluttering Argentinean flag of the border hose in the distance we were again heading up. The country side was becoming more impressive by the minutes. It was taking all our discipline not to stop every 200 metres for photos.

Majestic ancient mountain side swept up from the road. Water worn valleys ran into the distance and all the time the road simply went up. By mid afternoon I was counting down the altitude every few minutes until we finally topped out at 15,900 feet. I was having to be extremely gently on the accelerator. Any moderately aggressive wrist action just made Tink’s cough and complain. ‘Just keep going, just keep going’ I was muttering under my breath.

By now even with the mid-day Sun the temperature was below freezing. The heated grips were seemingly ineffectual.

Snow capped volcanoes were laying off to the North as we slowly began our descent into San Pedro de Atacama. And Chilian border formalities.

We made camp at the other end of town. Camping and hostel ‘Takha Takha’, with European prices we won’t be staying long. That said I’ve got to look at my bike again. She’s not right.