After days of negotiation,
Andres, Guillermo and I had
convinced Valentino Gomez
to take us across the Andes from
Villa O'Higgins to the frontier with
Argentina-- but nobody could tell
us where we would be at once
we crossed the border.



Valentino somehow rigged all our
bikes and gear on two of the
horses and the next thing I knew,
I was bouncing along in my under-
sized wooden stirrups. Emphasis
on BOUNCING.

We followed a road that was un-
der construction until we got
to the end, and we kept going.

At nightfall, we stopped at a 're-
fugio,' a shelter in the wilderness
where anyone going from point
A to point B can find refuge for
the night.

The shelter was simple, with a
dirt floor and hole in the roof
where the smoke from the fire
we made in the middle of the room
could escape. Valentino enter-
tained us with cowboy stories into
the night.

On the way to the Refugio, we picked
up a new traveler, a half-starving,
lost puppy that Valentino adopted. The
pup could not belive his luck, and was quickly adopted by the other dogs.

The pup probably had the best sleep of his short life that night-- but I hardly slept a wink, between the narrow crate I was sleepin on, the snoring of my compadres, the unidentified critter that kept running around outside the walls of the refugio, and a growing nausea. Turned out all three of us touristas had a reaction to the spicy Chilean sausage we had indulged in the night before.

Nonetheless, I indulged in a break-
fast of 'harina tostada' -- toasted
flour-- with my refugio-mates that
morning, and was at the top of my
game before I was back in the saddle.
Harina tostada is eaten for breakfast when mixed with hot water-- or mixed with a glass of wine. It was an indulgement from the night before,
too.

That day we were on the horses
for at least 10 hours. "My ass,
I cannot esplain what dees eees
doing to my ass!" spoke Guille
toward the end of the day, and
I knew only too much of the
saddle sore condition he was
suffering from. But it was the
best day of the trip, filled with
rainbows, incredible vistas
and the yelps of a happy puppy.

I became quite attached to my nameless horse. On command, she was willing to gallop for me instead of trot,
which helped keep the saddle soreness
in check. At lunch time, we stopped at
a little ranch that Valentino owned in
the middle of the Andes, where we
boiled macaroni and drank mate ('matAY'), a kind of tea that is sipped through a metal straw from a gord. It has a strong, non-caffien, stimulant effect.

Valentino left the puppy in a pen
at his farm, and there was im-
mediate separation anxiety, the
poor pup thought his luck was up,
stuck as he was with the chickens
and the blind pig! Later, when we crossed a deep river and one of
the other dogs got washed down-
stream, I realized that Valentino
was protecting the new member
of his family. (The other dog
caught up with us eventually.
Valentino did not slow down for
him, but he kept looking back
with a concerned expression until
we were reunited.

As the sun was setting, we finally arrived at the remote Chilean border station,
and Velentino and his posse were on their way, in the darkness,back to his
farm. We could see Argentina now, but we had only the vaguest notion of
where we were headed.