| Waiting for my "blind" motorcycle guide to take me on | | | | seen. It's a mix of Arizona and the Swiss Alps, with |
| a ride through the Andes is very stressful. It's not that | | | | metres-high, oddly shaped cacti along the side of the |
| my guide cannot see, as that would come with some | | | | road and snow-capped jagged peaks hiding behind |
| serious stresses of its own, it's that we have never | | | | more jagged peaks. The valley we travel through on |
| met and there is a slight possibility he is a murderer. | | | | our hour-long ride is other-planetly - hot, dry, remote, |
| Wolfgang, a German friend of mine who tests | | | | silent, almost all grey and brown. An occasional brave |
| prototype BMW bikes for a living, told me that "Ricardo | | | | cyclist or local villager on a horse passes by.We glide |
| from Santiago" would be happy to take me for a | | | | through turn after turn, the old Coyote reminding me of |
| motorcycle ride while I was in town.My family, | | | | how bikes used to sound, the glaring sun reminding me |
| however, was convinced that "taking me for a ride" | | | | that I am still wearing layers like a fool. And as we ride, |
| was really code for killing me, so I asked Wolfgang | | | | I quietly melt inside my windbreaker. |
| whether his friend was a murderer. He rather angrily | | | | Ricardo pulls the bike over into a sandy lot. He tells me |
| replied that Ricardo could not be a bad guy because | | | | the road ends here because it becomes private land, |
| he often lets out-oftown motorcyclists stay at his | | | | used for electricity. I see a guard of sorts sitting in a |
| apartment. Apparently, killers cannot also be good | | | | hut watching the road. I had seen small villages during |
| hosts. | | | | our ride and wondered if there was a café |
| In the meantime, Ricardo is 45 minutes late for our ride. | | | | nearby where we could take a break, giving me the |
| And as I sit outside my Santiago hotel, I am convinced | | | | chance to remove my layers. Ricardo tells me there is |
| that every 50cc scooter that passes by is his. I am on | | | | nothing here but desert, so I sit on the sand, pour water |
| a corner of two busy streets and there is no shortage | | | | over my head, lather on the suntan lotion and finally, |
| of motorcycle traffic in this city of six million, especially | | | | gratefully, peel off my clothes, much to the delight of |
| since it is summer and 34 degrees hot. At one point, a | | | | the guard, who presumably does not see too many |
| very heavy man pulls up to the hotel on a 250cc | | | | foreign stripteases in the course of his day. We turn |
| scooter and I think, "We are never going to make it up | | | | around, me happily able to breathe in my T-shirt, |
| a mountain." Moments later, a shiny red bike, long used | | | | Ricardo grumbling about being hungry. We ride out, |
| but proud in character, pulls up. A man wearing a | | | | taking the time to stop and pose with cacti along the |
| bandana, sunglasses and a five o'clock shadow even | | | | way. |
| though it is barely noon, shuts off the engine and holds | | | | Once we leave the valley, Ricardo starts reading the |
| a helmet out for me. "Ready?" he says, not mentioning | | | | signs along the road out loud. I have no idea what he is |
| his tardiness. "Definitely," I say, and climb aboard his | | | | looking for but I sure do know when he finds it: we |
| 1992 600cc Honda Shadow, hoping it is not a dumb | | | | swerve off the side of the road, kick up sand, make a |
| decision. | | | | hasty U-turn and pull into the lot of a barely visible |
| Ricardo is wearing a T-shirt and jeans and I am | | | | restaurant. He's found what he's looking for, and it |
| dressed for the ski slopes. I knew it was plenty hot in | | | | includes corn, eggs, chickens, a dog and a cat. We |
| the city, but once we reached the Andes, I was certain | | | | walk through the restaurant, where only a few people |
| I would need a sweater and a windbreaker. Truth is, I | | | | are dining on the back porch, and take a seat in the |
| didn't need either - a lesson I would only learn once I | | | | open back area, surrounded by greenery. A young |
| stopped breathing due to heat exhaustion. Until then, | | | | man is sitting on the porch playing classical guitar, |
| me, Ricardo and my layers of clothing head off | | | | singing love songs to himself. The owner comes out, |
| toward Santiago's mountain playground, Cajón | | | | exchanges chit-chat with Ricardo. There is no need |
| del Maipo. With me firmly anchored on the back of the | | | | for a menu, says Ricardo. He knows exactly what he |
| Shadow he calls Coyote, we are stuck in long | | | | wants and he proudly orders one for us to share. He |
| weekend traffic but happily immersed in conversation. | | | | tries to explain to me what is in the dish: "It is pastel de |
| We ride through wealthy suburbs where the hired help | | | | choclo, perhaps translated as 'cake corn' in English." He |
| walks the dogs, and poorer neighbourhoods where the | | | | tells me you can only eat this meal in the summer |
| dogs walk themselves. Ricardo tells me he has been | | | | because that is when the corn is ready. |
| riding for 11 years. He bought this bike last year | | | | When the dish arrives, it looks a lot like onion soup |
| because the model suits his style, which I am guessing | | | | (yum!) or a cheese soufflé (delicious!), but it is |
| by the bandana and the tardiness is laid-back. As we | | | | actually a national treasure, a dish made of corn and |
| head out of town, the traffic builds. It is New Year's | | | | chicken and eggs (really not delicious!). I have to find a |
| weekend and everyone is leaving the steam of the | | | | polite way to refuse this honourable dish. Adding to my |
| city. In Chile, due to its geographic slimness, people can | | | | troubles are a large dog and a cat, both of which are |
| make a quick escape to the sea or to the mountains, | | | | stalking our table, placing a particular emphasis on the |
| both within an easy drive of everywhere in the | | | | dish. Even fluffy dogs want a taste. But I don't, so I |
| country. | | | | smile, speak quickly, sip my Coke with vigour and |
| We are heading to the Cajón, about 60 | | | | watch while Ricardo consumes the whole thing. The |
| kilometres from Santiago, an area where wealthier | | | | guitar player comes up and asks us for money. I think |
| Chileans keep second homes. While we stop and start | | | | he's terrific and give him the equivalent of $2. Ricardo |
| and weave our way through traffic, Ricardo asks me | | | | tells me it's the norm to give 25 cents and that I have |
| why I chose not to ride my own bike. It is a fair | | | | likely made his week by giving him two bucks. Making |
| question since I have been riding motorcycles for a | | | | someone happy for that price seems like a bargain. |
| few decades. As I get older, I find the concentration | | | | After an hour or so we get back on the bike to head |
| required to negotiate unfamiliar mountain passes | | | | home. Along the way, Ricardo asks if I would like to try |
| exhausting. And then there is my overall riding problem. | | | | another national "something" and I say yes, really |
| One European tour leader gave me the nickname | | | | meaning no. |
| "Cappuccino," and not because I am speedy. He told | | | | A few minutes later we stop at an ordinary roadside |
| me that I ride so slowly, it's as if I were sitting on a | | | | stall, except this one has tables set up steps from the |
| terrasse enjoying a coffee. As I am telling Ricardo this | | | | busy road and it is absolutely packed. As far as I can |
| story, two motorcycle policemen pull up behind us. I | | | | tell, every single person here is sipping from a large |
| continue to chat and point and snap photos, but almost | | | | cup and then digging into the same cup with a spoon. I |
| fall off the bike when the police sirens come on. One | | | | am secretly hoping this is a popular Chilean milkshake |
| bike stays behind us with his lights and sirens blaring | | | | stand, but of course that is not the case. Ricardo tells |
| while the other comes up beside us. The policeman | | | | me the name of the drink is mote con huesillos, with |
| waves and shouts something at Ricardo, who listens | | | | "small peaches, boiled wheat and juice," but |
| and then nods. Once he does, the sirens stop. I ask him | | | | unfortunately all I hear is "corn and chicken and eggs." I |
| what that was all about and he says, without any irony | | | | smile, pretend to take a sip and then smile some more. |
| at all, we were travelling too slowly and the police | | | | The ride back is quiet until we hit the Santiago traffic |
| wanted him to speed up. It seems my | | | | once again. We have been on the road for six hours |
| cappuccino-ness extends to the passenger seat as | | | | and Ricardo, having practised a whole lot of English, is |
| well. | | | | probably happy to get home. He weaves between |
| In the Cajón del Maipo area, you can rock | | | | cars using my legs as buffer. I had told him I would |
| climb, horseback ride, hike, bike and jump into a hot | | | | smack his helmet every time he went in between the |
| spring, but all I see are mountains. We are on a paved | | | | cars. So for the better part of an hour there is a lot of |
| road and this Cappuccino Gal is sitting back and | | | | smacking going on. And a lot of laughing.We take |
| relaxing, taking in the view, camera in hand. I am | | | | self-timer shots as we ride through the city. He points |
| already in awe as we ride along, but when we turn | | | | out areas of interest and I sit back in my cappuccino |
| onto El Alfalfal road, the beauty really begins. The | | | | manner and enjoy the ride. If Ricardo is a murderer, at |
| scenery here is different than anything I have ever | | | | least I will go out with a smile. |