Motorcycle Explorer October 2014 Issue 2 | Page 86

A
day later and I’m back in the hotel diner,
being dismantled. The Mexicans came to our
rescue and helped return us to this oasis of
civilization in some place called Patagonia; I
made it back under my own steam, ridden by
one of them. I didn’t feel too bad, just a little
bent, stiff and busted. Mags went off some
place and came back with her arm encased in a
hard, white, protective cocoon. My bits they
removed were taken some place; I heard the
word ‘El Mecanico’ mentioned, where they
were all straightened out. I was pleased to hear
the other fella donated some of his bits for
comparison, so we could see what was right.
"Mags also sourced a tat in one
of the local shops; ‘Rio Mayo,
Argentina’ to mark the occasion
and further bandage the
wound"
M
ost visible evidence of it all was a big crack
on my right-hand side. They tried to glue it but
it just flexed and broke again. Then Teresa, the
lady who owned the hotel, appeared with some
pliers, a hot nail and some parcel cord and they
stitched me up. ‘Still bear that mark to this
very day; my first trail-wound. Mags also
sourced a tat in one of the local shops; ‘Rio
Mayo, Argentina’ to mark the occasion and
further bandage the wound.
S
o there I was abandoned in the hotel diner.
Teresa came by, put some blankets over me,
but it seems Mags would take longer to
straighten out than I did. The other fella was
left with me as Mags set off south for a four-
week recuperation. The pair of us, well we
were certainly bent but definitely unbroken
and we had a long and winding road ahead. If
all this just happened in the first twenty days,
what would the rest of the fifteen months
bring?