Back To The Desert

Waking up in a mechanic’s yard is not as joyous as it might first appear; but it has its compensations. 

Theoretically we should be in good shape to roll for a while now and enjoy being bums.  Mark opened the gates for us and we promised to come by next year on our way north. He charged $100 for everything which seemed a bit low to me but he was happy. 

He used to be a mining engineer traveling all over northern Chile to the many and various mines in the desert. Then he dropped out, took up living in his compound with his rescue dogs doing carpentry, fixing mining equipment like the bulldozer behind him, and enjoying life. His most recent rescue was a mother and her litter he found beside the highway, too scared to show herself but safe in a fenced corner of his compound in a kennel he made her himself. He’s a man after my own heart. 

IOverlander will show you how to find his shop where he has a cold shower, an asado grill and shade if you come in summer. And his dogs. Lovely man. 

Food shopping required so we did a quick stop at Lider which is Walmart and got some supplies. Crappy bananas and excellent apples, bicarbonate of soda for toilet odor control and Pad Thai sauce and pretzels. On the road you do sometimes need the familiar in the privacy of your home to offset the barrage of weird cultural stimuli you  get snowed under by in the outside world. 

As we hope to be back in Peru in a few days where Lider (“leader”) doesn’t exist she is stocking up. In Arica where we will get Rusty’s exit papers she will pay a last visit to her favorite supermarket called Jumbo. I will be getting ready to miss Chile for the next year.  

Even in the bowels of corporate civilization the Atacama Desert is never far away. “Automac” is the drive through. 

Those slashes in the hillside are the way out of here to the PanAmerican Highway 35 miles away.  

Iquique (“ee-key-kay”) consists of a long thing curve of waterfront maybe ten miles long filled with skyscrapers and jobs in this tax exempt region. 

We met people all over town who came here from somewhere else. Refugees from the cold down south, people nostalgic for rain and greenery, they live here to make a living.  

And because the seasons are reversed in the southern hemisphere this I am told is as cold as it gets in July, 65 by day and 55 by night. And never any rain.  

Glad to be on our way from this useful stop. 

The PanAmerican Highway 180 mules due north to Arica and Peru. 

Team Lost was hunting for a wild camp as the sun went down and we misread the directions in iOverlander and went too far down a side road to a mine. Bit tricky that as the road was too narrow to turn around on and we had to keep going trying to beat the dark. 

It was beautifully remote down the canyon but we didn’t really appreciate that until we found a side road where I could make an 18 point turn without getting stuck in the soft sandy lunar surface either side of the paved road. 

It was past time to find a spot to park for the night. What people in Britain call “a park up” which sounds weird to me. We just call it a place to park, not up or down. 

It is spectacular to my eyes if rather dry. Webb Chiles is fond of pointing out the southern hemisphere has just 9% of the worlds population and you can feel that statistic here. 

We stumbled into the easily accessible vista point (“mirador”) near the highway. GANNET2 is well enough insulated the occasional passing truck didn’t bother us. Nighttime traffic even in the highway is almost zero. People around here like to sleep at night, not work. 

I tried to ignore the suspicious looking bone in the foreground but I couldn’t help but think this would be a great area to bury your enemies if you have any. 

On a less macabre note toasted ham and cheese sandwiches for dinner with an ice cold Patagonia beer and bed. Much snoring. 

Working Out In Iquique

Someone on the WhatsApp Chilean chat group told Layne there was a carpenter in Iquique who could fix our recalcitrant drawer. The sliders broke some time ago and efforts to fix it have failed as the box is huge and slightly out of true. 

We had spent the night at Playa Blanca ten minutes from Mark’s shop, a beach where, I am told, people displaced by the Covid epidemic came to live for free by throwing up shacks on the beach and bringing packs of dogs. Rusty met them, the dogs, and to my horror waded out into their midst despite my efforts to stop him.  

But he knows when to hold ‘em and when to cut and run. He stared  them down and snarled a couple of times and they milled around and said oh well if that’s how you feel…and wandered off back home. From then on he owned the beach. Good dog. 

The pick up truck arrived about the same time as us, an American looking rig, a Ram 2500 with camper shell but Swiss registration. Like any socially inept traveler meeting in the middle of nowhere we neither of us chose to communicate. These camping places are on the iOverlander app, obviously spots to gather outside Iquique (“ee-key-kay”) and these were the first foreigners we’d seen in a while but they drove past us without stopping and we didn’t chase them down. Oh well they probably have no interesting stories to tell I convince myself. 

Mark fixed the drawer and made it useable with runners underneath and sliders on the side and some reinforcement so at last Layne can use it without breaking her back. Excellent.

I also figured it was time to change the engine oil and then discovered another issue. Boy howdy. 

I checked the tire pressure (perfect) and got out my grease gun to lubricate the zerk fittings of my aftermarket heavy duty cv joints on our front wheel drive van. Wasn’t I delighted to see transmission fluid dripping from the skid plate. It’s like nothing gets done once. Our recent transmission fluid and filter change in La Serena skimped on the gasket goop on the transmission pan and four weeks later it’s leaking. Grr. 

So Mark’s assistant Ruben took off the pan, cleaned it and gooped it and loosely reattached it. That’s so the goop can dry and become a gasket before tightening which is what should have happened in La Serena but they tried to be helpful and did the job in a hurry. Live and learn; meanwhile I got a ride into town to buy automatic transmission fluid and engine oil as it’s also time for an oil change. 

Friends of Mark took me across town, a half hour ride to the lubricant shop where they had 5W 20 synthetic in stock. I change the oil, 6 quarts of it every 5,000 miles and we just hit 115,000 on the odometer. Thats why I keep it in miles as it’s an easy way to remember when to do the maintenance.  

$102 later we were on our way back. Our weight of oil is not common and therefore it isn’t cheap. They asked me if I was sure I wanted to go ahead but vehicle maintenance I don’t cheap out on. Cutting corners leads to more problems and not cutting corners sometimes doesn’t help either. 

Were we putting GANNET2 on a ship home like many overlanders do after reaching Ushuaia we’d have taken care of maintenance at home but because we are planning a long difficult drive across Brazil I want to keep on top of all this stuff. Not every oil change shop in Iquique is busy: 

Bruce asked for a map of our planned travels so here it is: 

I plan to get a new passport at the US Consulate in Cusco so that will hold us up several weeks in Peru and my sister in Scotland is getting married in October so I will be flying to Europe possibly from French Guiana or Suriname. I’m trying not to stress about all this planning and about walking her down the aisle as I hate these kinds of social gatherings but she’s worth it so I have to be brave.  Meanwhile exciting vehicle maintenance.

Ruben is from Argentina, a retired head mechanic for Toyota and Hyundai, divorced with three grown successful children in Ushuaia he quit work and take to the road alone and tour South America on his terms. He had a heart attack, survived it and that pushed him to change his life. He was a keen motorcyclist and is well known in Argentina for riding a classic Argentine built motorcycle from Ushuaia to Bolivia, the length of Ruta 40 on a 98cc 1958 Puma, 3,000 miles in three months. They made a film about him. 

Nowadays he travels, works when and where he wants to, buys wrecked cars, fixes them, tours with them with a tent and sells them before moving on to another country. He flies home to Ushuaia from time to time to see his grandkids and occasionally he goes to Mendoza where he grew up to ride motorcycles with friends among the vineyards but right now he’s looking forward to Peru in a few weeks. Not a bad way to live. He likes dogs and cooking and fishing but is not looking for any permanent attachments so don’t ask. 

A couple of friends came by in their Ford pick up and dropped off some fish they’d caught while Mark lit the barbecue. 

He was curious about the van of course and we gave him the nickel tour. He was pretty fascinated by our ability to stop and sleep anywhere. The evening sank into grilled fished, beer and orange flames to keep us warm.  Not your average mechanical evening. 

I am sure there will be more scenery to come.