On Tierra del Fuego, the American continent ends at Cape Horn. After all the hype and the marketing; ‘Ushuaia, the southernmost city in the world!’ and paying 12 pesos park entrance fee to be able to follow the road to the end, I expect to find something special but there’s only a sign with a sagging roof over it. Disappointed, I talk to Rodrigo, a young Argentinean who is very interested in what I do because he too is a traveller. He has already covered more than 4,000 kilometres on his 50cc Zanella and wants to make his way to Mexico, working as he goes. Perhaps even further if he can rustle up the necessary visas, but he has the misfortune to have been born in a Third World country. Full of admiration, I press a ten pesos note into his hand.
From Tierra del Fuego I ride, cold and with wet feet, wrestling with the strong wind, towards Punta Arenas in Chile, which is a little further away from the South Pole. I’ve been on the road for exactly two years and I’m sitting in a backpacker warming up by the stove, when the alarm goes off on my bike.