Thunder & Sunshine

By Alastair Humphreys

Eye Books Ltd

Copyright © 2007 Alastair Humphreys
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-903070-54-3

Contents

Foreword,
Prologue,
THE AMERICAS,
Gone to Patagonia,
New beginnings,
My road,
Here or there,
Feeling and understanding,
The sound of your wheels,
The last time for first times,
Imaginings of fear,
Throwing off the bow line,
Closer now,
Large and in charge,
Coming alive,
By paddle and track,
A little while longer,
ASIA,
A road in the forest,
Heaven and hell,
The records of a travel-worn satchel,
I like Chinese,
The middle of nowhere,
The centre of civilisation,
The golden road at last,
Dancing my way through,
Back to the end,
Getting on with it,
My penguin’s egg,
To be continued …,
Recipes from the road,
Kit List,
The Magic Letter,
A List of ‘-ests’,
Acknowledgments,
A Carbon Neutral Book,
Hope and Homes for Children,
About this Author,

CHAPTER 1

Gone to Patagonia

Dreams have only one owner at a time. That’s why dreamers are lonely.

– Erma Bombeck

At home, above the fireplace, since I was a child, hung a painting. A maelstrom of slate green waves and leaden troughs, a wild and savage ocean, heaved and pounded and shattered. In the thick of the fury, unmoved and constant, the rain-shrouded, craggy black outcrop of Cape Horn looms, the southernmost tip of South America and, amongst sailors, the most feared and revered spot on our planet. Incredibly, ludicrously, alone in the midst of such power and fury, is a little boat. Just 53 feet of mahogany, sailed by one man. This painting of the yacht Gipsy Moth IV, sailed by Francis Chichester, was my first introduction to Patagonia and the deep south of the world, 50 degrees below the equator, past the ‘Roaring 40s’ and into the ‘Screaming 50s.’ Sailors said, “Below 40 degrees, there is no law. Below 50 degrees, there is no God.”

Patagonia, spans both Argentina and Chile. Mountains plateau and plains taper down to the rocky southern tip. South across the Straits of Magellan is the island of Tierra del Fuego, and at the far tip of that island, Ushuaia, the most southern town on the planet.

The names, Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego and Ushuaia, had thrilled and lured me for years. As I stepped off the bus in Ushuaia, I discovered that my yearning for el fin del mundo was not particularly original. A six-foot tall fluffy penguin demanded two pesos to pose for a picture with me to celebrate my arrival among the tourists at the remote end of the world. Ushuaia is a colourful hotchpotch of pink, blue, green and orange corrugated metal buildings in the lee of dark mountains on the tranquil shore of the Beagle Channel.

Tourism flourishes in Ushuaia, but probably not for the guided city tour, highlights of which included the old house of Mr. Pastoriza’s, who worked in a sardine canning company. The project failed because the sardines never appeared. Or Mr. Solomon’s General Goods store which became famous for the variety of its products, and which closed in 1970. No. People went to enjoy the beautiful ruggedness of Patagonia, to look out to sea, knowing that only Antarctica lay beyond the horizon. I looked in the opposite direction. I looked north, up the road I meant to follow to its very end, in Alaska.

The morning I began riding, I found it even harder than usual to get up. How do you persuade yourself to leave a nic