Facing the Elements: Our cold motorcycle journey through Chile

Since arriving in Chile early September, my mind has been filled with ideas for this blog, though my hands have been too cold to write them down. Even now, sitting in a small cabin (cabaña) on Chiloé Island, heated by a wood-burning stove, warm is not what I’ve known it to be. But let’s start at the beginning.

We arrived in Santiago at the end of the Chilean winter and traveled on to Valparaiso to wait for our motorbikes to arrive onboard the JPO Pisces. Back then, we were still under an illusion of what being cold really meant. Most days were beautiful and sunny. Evenings were filled with endless sunset colors hovering above bustling city life. Nights were cold, but were spent indoors, as our host recommended for safety reasons.

After a week of waiting and acclimatising to a new way of life, our motorcycles arrived, and we were ready to hit the road. Of course, there were the necessary motorcycle struggles in the beginning, but doesn’t every transition happen with a little strive?

Slowly, we started to zig-zag south, across the wine region, spotting the first snowy mountains, into the rainy lake district, and finally on to the entrance of Chilean Patagonia: Osorno Volcano. The farther south we went, the colder and wetter it got. What felt cold when we left Valparaiso now felt nice and warm. We weren’t aware of how much we were getting used to the cold, until a few days ago, when we agreed it was a pretty warm day, only to realize it was 8°C. We also quickly learned that such temperatures are bearable when it’s dry, but once it starts pouring down for days on end, it’s a completely different story. Wet gear in the evening when pitching our tent meant that in the morning it was exactly that, nicely moist with a hint of very cold.

The cold has been more exhausting than we anticipated, but every snowy mountain peak, every gravel track, and every kind interaction with the Chilean people momentarily makes us forget about it.

We decided to travel to the south of Chile at the end of winter, into the first days of spring. We were prepared for cold, yet the many incredible experiences aren’t something we could have prepared for. On days when the rain got the best of us, we went looking for a campsite. Unsurprisingly, most (if not all) campsites were very much closed. Nonetheless, after a phone call in our proficient Spanglish, we were allowed in. Sometimes we were offered a small room to sleep inside, and sometimes they went above and beyond to provide us with a roof so we could pitch our tent and have dinner sheltered from the rain.

Every stop along the road, people approached us with tips on where to go. In little restaurants, we were handed notes with information on what places to visit. During Fiestas Patrias, we were invited into a closed restaurant to share some food. When our Adventure Spec windshield decided to crack right off, a whole network of people was set in motion to get it fixed. I have a rather general distrust of human beings, but traveling here has reminded me of how much good remains in this world. Maybe we should ask the news to advertise this a little more?

Now, back to our little cabin on Chiloé Island. Finally, I sit inside with nothing to do apart from write, keep the fire going, and take a break now and then to eat something. We are far away from city life, surrounded by misty clouds of rain. Google had warned us of 81mm of rain today, so we saw the perfect opportunity to get some washing and drying done before hitting the Carretera Austral. Moreover, it just feels good to stay put for a day or two. When on the move, there are so many new impressions and so many tiny daily tasks (packing up camp, washing dishes with limited water, finding a place to stay, putting camp back up, buying food, or cooking on a tiny gas stove) that it feels good to take some time to look back and reflect on how this journey keeps molding us into slightly different versions of the us we were before we hit the road. Our rhythm has become less dominated by the clock and more by the daily circumstances. It has become easier to accept that today might not be the best of days. Some mornings are spent laughing in the rain, while others are spent dreading the moment we have to get out of the tent, and all those experiences are okay. It’s okay to feel happy, tired, or sad, and that acceptance has brought an unbeatable feeling of peace. It’s all part of life, and it’s exactly by accepting the bad that the beautiful becomes so much more worth it.

P.S. Have you noticed how much I’ve been talking about the weather? I could say this is just to make some socially acceptable chit-chat, but the truth is, when living mostly outdoors, the weather becomes a non-negligible topic of discussion in every decision you make. So, if you’re sitting indoors with a nice, cozy heater, don’t forget to appreciate it to the fullest!