Ruta 40

Everyone knows about Route 66 across the US and Europeans love to boast about driving the mythical highway when they visit on vacation. It’s an industry. But Ruta 40? 

We did the bottom bit when we went to visit the penguins with Konstantin and Julia from Seattle in their Sprinter. 

A delightful 65 miles of rough bumpy gravel to get to a glorious penguin colony and buy an “end of the road” sticker not unlike US One in Key West. 

Now we are driving another chunk of this road, perversely going south (there’s a reason) as we explore another piece of vast Argentina. This section is paved, as is most of it except in the uttermost remote areas, but pavement on Ruta 40 (“quarenta”) is a mixed bag. 

But at least you do get some warning on the worst bits. “Deteriorated pavement.” You could call it that. 

A 9400 pound Promaster bounces and lurches horribly on these feeble patches and rippled asphalt. How we haven’t dented a rim or broken some obscure piece of the suspension I don’t know. Actually it’s probably because I drive slowly and do my best to slalom. It’s stressful and agonizing worrying about GANNET2’s integrity. 

And yet this extraordinary highway, the main and only road up the western side of the country, usually within sight of the Andes can be spectacular. 

And isolated. This road exemplifies the loneliness of the open road, all 3228 miles of it.

We will undoubtedly drive more of it when we cross back from the beaches of the Atlantic Coast to enjoy Fall among the wineries of the city of Mendoza back near the border with Chile. It’s currently over 100 degrees in wine country so we decided to enjoy the coast in this part of summer hence our slight deviation to the south to reach a highway crossing these vast plains of Patagonia. Red is Highwsy 40 and Black is Highway 25. 

We traveled for a while with Florian and Cora whom we first met in Ecuador, a young German couple in a VW Eurovan that gave them lots of problems and ultimately had to be towed to the container shipping it back to Europe. 

We took the four day ferry south to Tierra Del Fuego while they, running out of time, turned to Argentina and sent us a message I never quite forgot. They were not fond of Ruta 40 down here. 

We laughed at the time and now here we are.

But it’s not all bad pavement and the scenery is what you come to enjoy. So we enjoyed it as we drove on the bumps and patches of sections of this highway.

The steppes of Argentina:

And then we came to Esquel where we had the tires rotated but they couldn’t align the wheels on our huge heavy van and had no time to change the oil so on we went. 

Esquel you will be happy to learn is a nuclear free city:

Summer fashion sale, autumn beckons in Patagonia. 

Setting up a weekend street fair, glimpsed as we left town Saturday evening. 

The tracks of an ancient narrow gauge railway still cross the plains. 

Those pesky Falkland Islands still don’t want to join Argentina. 

We spent the night in a small municipal campground in Tecka. 

Never heard of Tecka? Me neither but I’ve spent a night there now, in Patagonia. I’m not sure it’s as romantic as Route 66, the road they’ve written songs about, but it’s what we’ve got south of the equator.  

Butch And Sundance And Me

Google Maps said it was  thirty minutes away so what would you do?

So we drove there of course though because we are Team Lost we did overshoot the final approach a little. Not surprising really when you do finally notice the entrance sign.

200 meters, leave the gate closed, thanks. And we never saw a human being while we checked the place out. Pretty cool eh? Maybe not but I enjoy this stuff. Layne likes stopping at roadside stands and shopping and luckily we got to do that after we left the campground. It was a pretty spot with hot showers if you got in early  I got into the shower late in the evening and it was ice cold but luckily the climate is mild here and I was desperate to feel clean. 

I have to say this part of the world is pretty astonishing to look at.  

Here we were at a modest rural campground and all around us were these massive peaks that keep reminding me of a place like Colorado except taller and more vast. 

Three dogs is two too many for my old grump. The two campground dogs were lovely but Rusty barely tolerated them. His jealousy is rather touching I find after all these years. 

Back to Highway 40 south. 

In the wilderness we came across a small village, a tourism office (closed). Oh and a shop.  

For Layne these places are like catnip to a kitty. I hesitate to go in because I will spend far too much on stuff we don’t desperately need. 

We came away with a couple of cheeses and fresh bread and a box of weird salami flavored crackers. Never seen that before. 

I got chatting to the young woman behind the counter. I asked if she was Ve exiles and she looked shocked. In my defense I pointed out she didn’t have the statutory cup of Yerba Maté at her elbow. She laughed and said her boss was bringing the gear to make the national drink of Argentina. I confessed I don’t much like the stuff which to me tastes of wood. She said maté is good for the digestion and I should get the habit. Not convinced. 

And on we went. Making stops is part of the fun of being retired and having time. But now back to history. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid landed with Etta Place in Buenos Aires in 1901. A robbery in Montana had netted them$65,000 and they were ready to settle down. Here:

Harry Longabaugh, the Sundance Kid came here with Etta Place (below) and Robert Parker, known as Butch Cassidy after the Pinkerton Agency made life too hot for them in the US. 

We crossed paths with Robert LeRoy Parker at the Wyoming Territorial Jail Museum in Laramie before we came south and this was his mugshot:

You may not know this but up until they died in a siege in Bolivia (on my destination wishlist) these outlaws never shot anyone. They carried out successful robberies and annoyed rich businesspeople who owned banks and railroads. They tried to seek pardons but that wasn’t going to work so they came south to this cabin and 12,000 acres of ranch land. 

Lots of people were emigrating to Argentina at the time and land dealers were ready to find property for rich emigres to ranch. For four years they lived here in the foothills of the Andes not far from the Chilean border in the mountains. 

These are their actual cabins 120 years later which I have to say filled me with awe. Longabaugh was a social guy and made friends with locals in this sparsely populated region. Parker apparently kept more to himself but they were well liked.  

The story goes Pinkerton’s lost track of them but a series of robberies took place in the area in the style of the Wild Bunch drawing attention ton to the ranching gringos. 

I imagine it was quite possible ranching in this lovely place got boring for people used to robbery excitement. Eventually they sold their land to a neighbor and hiked off to Chile. The meet north to Bolivia to try their hand at mining but robbing mine payrolls was easier they found and managed to annoy influential people who set the army on them. 

They died in a siege when they got sloppy and tired and got caught. It’s believed one of them was injured in the firefight. The other finished him and then committed suicide. And that was that. 

Etta Place vanished possibly to a good marriage in Paraguay or maybe New York. Make your own guess. 

And these crumbling ruins abide, no fee no supervision and not much interest. 

We closed the gates behind us and I got stung by a wasp. 

I can’t explain the fascination but I admit I am fascinated. 

I had the same feelings when I saw the spot where Bonnie and Clyde were ambushed in Louisiana and where Pancho Villa was ambushed in Parral and so forth.

I wanted to come here when we were in Laramie in the summer of 2023. The old prison is a museum worth a visit if you are in the area. 

I don’t know if this is worth a visit but I liked being here by ourselves, free to wander. 

I stuck my camera through a window and got stung for my trouble. 

“Don’t scratch the cabins” in reference I think to graffiti. No trash no marks no nothing. 

Not a place to live in winter in my opinion. 

A long way from anywhere. 

We stopped in Esquel, a surprisingly busy little town with a modern well equipped Goodyear tire shop. They rotated our tires for six bucks but couldn’t change the oil but they did have our weird grade of oil so I bought six quarts. We need an oil change in about 600 miles and as we have an oil filter we are ready when we find a suitable shop. 

The town was shutting down for the weekend and we pressed on for another hour to the village of Tecka where they have a ten bucks a night campground. Rusty approved. 

We arrived at six pm on Friday and said Hi to the youngsters and their motorcycles and tents as they grilled their dinner Argentine style. 

We had sausages and relaxed with another drive planned for Saturday across the middle of Argentina. Our route from Epuyén with a detour to the cabin and then south to Esquel for the rotation and then to our campground: