A selection from Karl’s journals that cover CHILE

Friday, 12th March 1999.------ continued.

I stopped at the top, soaked in sweat, aching like hell, physically and mentally exhausted. A group of Argentinian workers had their photograph taken with me, and a group of Chilian student's gave me some crackers and a tin of fish, (friends for life). I did not stay long but pushed on, extremely happy to be in Chile and more importantly on a smooth road. There were roadworks on the Chilian side but these were improving the road surface. It was a good road, they had their act together. It was now downhill, down a very steep gradient. Unlike the Argentinian roads which would 'zig-zag' up the hill, the Chilian roads were straight down and up. I had a hard time trying to stop the beast from pushing me downhill and this caused me some fair wear and tear on my knees and ankles, which became very sore. My toes were crushed into the front of my boots as I 'braked', taking the weight of the trailer.

I kept on dropping like a stone, losing a lot of altitude. I had lost so much water last night that I had a run out, so had to find some more, but now all the decent water was at the bottom of deep ravines, under a very dense forest that looked like jungle. There was a very high canopy and below that a gap where vines grew, then a layer of dense undergrowth just above head height. At ground level it was nearly clear, with just patches of moss and lichen in some places. It was extremely dark as little light got through. There was also something I had not seen for quite some time,-- soil, not sand, real mud. There were lots of flowers, with multitudes of hummingbirds darting between them, flashes of silvery green. Above the top canopy eagles patrolled. There was the sound of frogs high pitched croaks from pools of murky water along the roadside and of course the smell of the jungle, decaying vegetation. It was far more tropical than I expected. I came across the bodies of tarantula spiders at the side of the road. One of them was as big as my hand. I wasn't expecting the sort of thing till Ecuador.

All this time I kept going down and down through this forest. Through gaps in the trees I could see out across the top of a layer of cloud which concealed the valley below. It was like looking out of an aircraft window. Still downwards, and by now my knees were throbbing. I wanted to stop but couldn't get off the road, pinned on by storm drains and forest. It was 18:38 and 22 kilometres before I finally found myself at the checkpoint. I was greeted with interest by coach load of German tourists, who had passed me on the way down. I was told if I needed to extend my visa beyond three months I would have to visit a city on my way north. Outside an inspection of my trailer was revealing items of interest. I had cut some bamboo to make arrows, and even try and make a bow from a number of bamboo canes. I was told I could not bring these into Chile. They then found a feather I had picked up to make fletchings for my wouldbe arrows, this also was a 'no no', so now they started to unpack the trailer. I then remembered I had apples on board but said nothing. They started to route through my food bag. Bread, oat's and pasta, this kind of thing was OK but not fresh food. Having told that I had nothing more to declare I held my breath as they probed my food bag, however they missed my apples, thank God.----I was on my way!

A few kilometres down the road I found a viewing point overlooking a waterfall, very nice, and there was a patch of grass so I pitched my tent. It was now late and it had been a long day again. I was very tired. Tonight I had lashings of 'Bramble El Bolson'. There was fruit everywhere down here.

Sunday, 14th March 1999.

A bright sunny day, and from my surroundings, I could be walking on any English country road. Even the smells are the same, it's a carbon copy of what I left behind. It all reminds me greatly of the time I walked from Hull to Chatham to see Emma,-- and how I wish it didn't. I was falling behind with my notes so I decided to stop for a while at a small town called 'Entrelagos'. I found a small grotty looking truckers cafe, to make it as cheap as possible. I was pleased to find a coffee costs the equivalent of less than 20p. I sat with my coffee, glad of the rest. It was now 15:00 hours, and as I scribbled in my notebook, a group of Argentinian's sat next to me were filling their faces with it a meat feast fry up, which was a bit of a heart breaker.

The beast was tethered just outside the window and had a small group of curious locals peering at it. The well fed group next to me asked what I was up to. They were carpenters from Mendoza, and as we talked they ordered an extra plate, inviting me to join them. My plate was piled high with steak, potatoes and bread, plus a glass of wine. I could not believe my luck, and after I had finished --there was more. We talked for while and as they only spoke Spanish I did my best. They asked for a photograph with me and I duly posed outside with them. They even wanted my autograph. They went on their way and I sat with a big smile on my face and decided to have a second coffee while I would attempt to catch-up with my notes.

No sooner had I settled to my task, than a family came in. They were heading back towards Argentina from a few days holiday in Puerto Montt. As they came in they were all smiles and waves, as though as I was the boy next-door. They sat at the table next to me and I could make out that they were talking about me, but I didn't let on. Along with the parents there were a teenage girl and boy, a younger brother and a two-year old girl. They were trying to work out how to say 'hello' and introduce themselves in English. It appeared the girl had the basics from school. In the end I saved them the bother and said "Hello, how you". Before I knew it, I had been invited to join them for a meal.------- It occurred to me that I may have actually died and gone to heaven!

Once again they ordered a large meat feast. A tray of steak, sausages, pork with fried onions, tomatoes and potatoes. My meter was now showing full, however I kept ramming food into the slot. It turns out they had seen me on TV in Esquel, where they lived. TV--- that was indeed news to me. We ate and talked for some time, and again I gave them my autograph. I think this shows just how a little publicity can work wonders, it's just a shame it working behind me and not in front. It also makes me realise it's the beast that's the real star here and makes a lot of the publicity possible. I waltzed off down the road with all those little cartoon birds and animals frolicking around me. "Zippidee Do Da, Zippidee Hay, Wonderful feeling , Wonderful day ".

Wednesday, 14th April 1999.

It rained for most of the night and it was still raining as I packed however it then stopped and remained dry for the rest of the day. A much cooler day and cloudy.

At thirteen kilometres from Los Angeles a second bubble of inner tube appeared from my rapidly decaying tyre. I patched it in a similar way to the first one, but after a while the patch was ripped off by the bad road surface that also punctured the inner tube. I leapt upon it straight away with my last drops of super glue in an attempt, if possible, to capture the remaining air. It was a mass of rubber and super glue, but it seemed to work, well mostly, the air was still leaking out very slowly. I still did not have a pump that worked and could now find myself immobile eight kilometres out of town. I set off at a 'P' Company pace, a race against the escaping air. I still had to stop from time to time to tighten up the wheels, (definitely something wrong there), and hope to God the patches held. It was a remake of Apollo 13, with me limping at best speed to safety, while leaking air into space. Would I make it? Oh, the suspense! I tabbed on, fingers crossed and holding my breath. It must have worked, because there was just enough air in my tyre to get me to town.

I left the beast, with it's now flat tyre, at the police station whilst I went off to seek a bike shop. The information office were as helpful as a major organ failure, but as I stepped out I bumped into an old lady with more gold displayed in her mouth than you'd get hanging around a queer's neck. She pointed me in the right direction and not long after I lashed out on a new tyre, a new pump and new ball bearings, and don't forget the new inner tube, Ouch! I went and collected the beast and took it into the Plaza where I flipped it onto its back and stripped out the wheels and axle. To my surprise I found one of my wheel spindles was badly bent, yet I had not seen this when looking at the trailer when it was upright. There had to be a good chance that this was what had been causing the problems, why my tyre became worn so quickly and the axle coming apart.

As I continued the rebuild I found myself being swamped by schoolgirls. They hung around for some time before leaving, (after I had signed some autographs). A group of older girls then moved in. This was harder work as they were good lookers, and I was interrogated for while. I finished working on the trailer and sat with the girls for while. Christ! the smell of the perfume and those big brown eyes, to hell and back in half an hour. They brought me some packets of biscuits and then time dragged them away and left me on my own. I tried to get some e-mail addresses for the newspapers north of me so that the people at home could contact them prior to my arrival, however I had no success there, and it was getting late.

I made a move and got out of town picking up some onions and bread. For some reason I'm eating as if I'm still in the desert, with dry food only. My diet has been veg free for five months, so I'll make a change and get some greens down me. I can afford to eat fresh food now.

Getting both in and out of Los Angeles with its traffic was an absolute epic. Trying to avoid vehicles, people and very bad road conditions sent my blood pressure rocketing.

Friday, 23rd April 1999. Chillan.

Jimmy was the guy who spoke a little English, and I slept the night on a mattress in his room. The house was a standard suburban house, co-located with a car repair garage, which he and two of his six brothers worked. Last night he worked as a deep-sea engineer / welder, but like me, when I'm not walking, I'm a test pilot for Nasa's re-entry vehicles. The house was occupied by Jimmy, two of his brothers, a sister and his parents. Breakfast was cooked for me while I showered.

Jimmy drove me down to the police station, where I collected the beast. The coppers took the piss a bit with the Pinochet business, but they where a good bunch. I like the Carabineros, a very smart outfit and always good for a laugh. Spent the rest of the day wandering around town looking for a shamag, or something similar, but no luck. The problem with this is every now and then you stop for a coffee and don't realise just how much you've spent. As I'm sat writing this, a group of men are sat outside with a copy of the local newspaper. On the back page there's an article about me and the expedition. I could see them pointing at me and the paper. I'll send you a copy home. They've just brought a copy of the newspaper into the cafe for me, "Look, it’s you", they're all saying. Now the cafe staff want to read it. You see, you do get benefits from being in print--- you get a free newspaper five minutes after you've just bloody well bought one.

Back at Jimmy's place I found he had gone to Concepcion, so I hung around in the kitchen with his sister. She was a student, studying Veterinary practices, with the aim of becoming a vet. She was 31 and spoke a little English, better than Jimmy in fact. We spoke of many topics, and at one point she asked me what I intended to do about a girlfriend. A simple question with many simple answers like 'It will sort itself out', or "I don't have time for these things", now there was a long silence..........

This was something that had been weighing heavily on my mind for some time. It wasn't the fact that it had been five months since I'd been involved with a woman, anyone could hold their breath for that long, or longer. It wasn't a purely physical thing, this ran a bit deeper. This was to do with time and distances that seemed to have no end. I had found it difficult now to form any kind of relationship with women, and there seemed no way of resolving the problem, here today- gone tomorrow. One night flings were always on the cards, but this was not what it was about. On the face of it there did not seem to be room for love in my life. Was this the price I had to pay for living my dream. I know this is not a realistic view, it's not how I expect it to be. Love, like life, will find a way. Being lonely and without love may be the lesser of three evils. Were love to come it would bring such conflict into my life. Living life alone is a constant dull ache. To find love then be forced to part would be like being skinned alive, however, living with love and having to give up my dream would mean a lifelong torment. What's it to be then, the rock or the hard place? Aren't we forgetting something though--- hope. Who knows what the magic box of chocolates holds for tomorrow. Prediction is a fool's game. ..........

I just looked at her and shrugged my shoulders.

Monday, 7th June 1999. 71 degrees in 17 minutes west, 32 degrees 28 minutes south.

Last night was very quiet, not a sound, except for the cry of hawks soaring about the valley before me. I'm at a high altitude at the moment. Again a very foggy, wet start to the day. Everything was grey, and I was expecting rain, however I was to find out later that it hasn't rained, (or at least there has been very little rain here) for the past three years. All the moisture the land receives is from the fog.

I also discovered that I wasn't actually at the highest point and again climbed a steep winding road to the top of the pass. There was a view point there and I'm sure had it not been foggy the view would have been something else, however I could just about make out Route 5. From there it was down, down to rejoin the main road which had cut under the hills in a very long tunnel. I was stopped by some guy brandishing a copy of the magazine. We spoke a little and he gave me 5000 mil, about $10, and a copy of the magazine,--- sporting chap! On the main road you could tell which people had read the magazine and which one's hadn't.

That afternoon I was joined by Viviona and her family. They had driven for five hours from Talca just see me, and I was glad to see my friends. We found a spot by the side of the road and they unpacked a table, chairs, a gas cooker and numerous carrier bags of food. " Oh Christ !" I thought, "I'm in for a real pasting here." I was force-fed one plateful after another. Beef steaks, cakes, eggs, soup, beans, bread and fruit, it just kept coming. I did my best until I was in genuine pain and had to cry "Please, no more!" While we were eating a couple pulled up in a car having recognised me and I was invited to stay the night at their place, an offer that my 'mother' Irma, insisted I take them up on.

The house was nearby, in the village where we had stopped. I had seen it from the road, a really large place that I believed was a hotel. However just one family lived there, the couple and their five children, not forgetting the dogs. Viviona and the crew went through a handing over ceremony, making sure I had somewhere to sleep, passing on what I liked and did not like etc. I almost expected to see the new people signing for me. We said our goodbyes and Viviona got the phone number so they could check up on me later. They left me a mountain of food that I just couldn't find any room for in my kit.

I sat in the dining room with Jose's family and we got acquainted. They had five children ranging from 18 years to four. The house was over a hundred years old and under extensive repair. Again, that evening I was force-fed, given a bed for the night, as well as a bath, and my clothes and kit was machine washed. I am in a small village on a junction, just south of La Ligua.

Thursday, 17th June 1999. 71 degrees 35 minutes west, 31 degrees 06 minutes south.

A sunny day and straight into it, a steep long climb. I'd only been on the road about an hour and the inner tube blew again. This time it took me one hour, five minutes to re-layer the inside of the tyre with more rubber, all that I had.

All day people stopped to talk to me. More food, more drink ( I now had four litres of Coke). At the top of one hill I met a Topographer, working for the road construction people. He had seen me in the paper and was impressed by the plan. As I stood there dripping with sweat, he informed me that basically the road undulated in this manner for the next 2000 kilometres. Well you're just a bundle of good news! But I guess I knew this anyway. So it appears I'm destined to spend the rest of my time in South America doing hill reps whilst pulling a tank with its brakes on.

Today was hard work. My tyre began to rapidly disintegrate and I now had to find a more rubber, very quickly. Luckily I found a small piece and as I was cutting it into strips and applying it to my wheel, a young guy stopped to talk. He had no idea who I was, he just thought it looked interesting. Very smart, well dressed, nice flashy car and spoke good English. He was a lawyer and seemed a very nice bloke. We had a chat while I did what I could to salvage my wheel. It was looking bad. I was afraid it wouldn't make it to the end of the day. I pushed on frantically, looking for any rubber at all,-- nothing. I expected the worst at any moment. On the way up a belter of a hill I came across a small town, Mantos de Hornillos, and stopped for a map check. A large truck pulled in on the other side of the road and two men began waving at me from the cab. I waved back and continued to study my map. They then came over and handed me an envelope which read:

‘Mrs Karl Bushby--Present.’ How bizarre! I looked at them and they just stood grinning at me. They also had a letter for me that read:

Dear Sir,

Bavaria Restaurants chain invites you to enjoy one hot meal in each of the northern cities you expect to stop in. We have food services in seven northern towns, so some of our lorry drivers will stop you on the road to give you the invitation tickets, please accept them.

Yours sincerely, Christian Kast.

Well well ! Inside the envelope were seven tickets for restaurants in La Serena, Valienar, Copiapo, Antofagasta, Tocopilla, Iquique and Arica, all towns I had planned to visit. There was also a letter explaining how the owner of the Bavaria restaurants in Chile, Christian Kast, had read about me in 'The Mercury' and wanted to help. It just keeps coming.

Struggling on to the top of the hill I was met by my lawyer friend. He handed me a bottle of Coke and a cake, saying " I have something for you ". He opened the boot of his car and pulled out a whopping big truck inner tube.

" For you my friend".

" You are the man, you are the man!!

He also had a new inner tube (albeit a few sizes too small), some more glue and a few inner tube patches,--- what a guy!! It was now 17:15, so I quickly cut some strips and lashed them to my wheel, my new friend helping,.... top bloke.

Once the work was done I found somewhere on the top to get my head down. Today on the road, I received Coke, sandwiches, sweets and a bottle of amino acid body building pills! Considering I'm doing seven hours PT every day, they may just come in handy. Just to add to the list, this morning when I stopped at the house to fill up with water I was also fed a plate of rice and beans.

Saturday, 14th August 1999. 34 kilometres. 16 degrees C. 70 degrees 37 minutes west, 26 degrees 20 minutes south. Chanaral.

I woke at 04:00 with a burning sensation on my hands and face. I was driven crazy by the itching, yet it took me a while to come around and realise I was being eaten alive by mosquitoes. My tent was full of them, I had fallen asleep and left the inner tent open. I didn't sleep a lot after that so I was on the road early.

Yet another clouded day, dull and cool, excellent for walking. I got stopped twice today, firstly by the two geologists I met back near Vallena and then by some guy who had read about me. He gave me the equivalent of 10 US dollars, which was a serious relief for it means I can afford to eat well in Chanaral and buy more food and fuel for the 400 kilometre push. The road atlas said Chanaral was at 959 kilometres. The road sign puts Chanaral 969 kilometres. I finally got there on the 974 kilometre mark. Well less than impressed. Being very tired I was playing the "It's just around the corner!" "No! It's just around the next corner, or maybe the next." "No, it's just got to be the next!"

Since Vellena I've cut back on coffee and started drinking tea in the hope this will aid sleeping better, by cutting back on my caffeine intake. I was drinking a lot of coffee, you drink when you're bored or hungry. It would be nice to wake with the alarm one morning rather than waking hours before and just waiting for it. Spent all Saturday evening sat in an Esso station on the outskirts of town. This had a TV so I was in luck. I could catch up on my Chilian soaps. There's nothing like a good South American soap,--nothing at all. I pitched tent on some waste ground nearby, but this turned out to be a mistake as it was used by the locals as a short cut to the gas station and cafe. Being a 24 hour station and also Saturday night, between 04:00 and 06:00 all the drunks in the universe came stumbling past my tent, which kept me awake and in 'standby' mode all night.

The next day I did very little, catching up on some sleep. I got a shower at the Esso station and watched some more TV. That evening I moved down towards the beach to find somewhere to sleep, and just as I thought I had found the perfect spot I stumbled across some one sleeping out under some blankets. He turned out to be an Indian with no legs and a wheelchair who was bumming his way around the country. We had a long talk and he was glad to have me as his neighbour I believe. In fact I know he was because he then scrounged half my meal. He was looking a bit rough, and would walk around on his hands. Kind of reminded me of R2D2. Slept well for a change!

Monday, 27th September 1999. 42 kilometres. 70 degrees 07 minutes west , 21 degrees 38 minutes south.

A very early start. We began the day, with a trip through a long tunnel of about 700 metres. It was without lighting and very tight, but luckily there was very little traffic. In the centre it was pitch black and I found myself bouncing off the walls. It turned into a hot day and I decided to make it a long one. It's amazing just how much difference adding 10 kilometres to the walk can make. I was extremely tired by the end of the day. I made the distance just before sunset and after dragging the beast off the road for some way, I dropped and sat watching the sunset. The hour of the long shadows. I pulled my map from the jacket pocket and tried to pinpoint my location using the coastal land features and my known distances. This is helped by markers on the roadside indicating every five kilometres. As I sat I began to trace my route back down my map, flicking back through the pages. I saw all those places and so many faces, all the way down to Punta Arenas. I saw that moon rise out of the utter darkness over the distant snow-capped mountains and a single hummingbird flash green, red and gold deep in the dark undergrowth, being illuminated by a single shaft of sunlight that had managed to penetrate the forest canopy. That 10 kilometre wide desert valley in Patagonia. Endless roads. I saw myself leaving the door of a C 130 and the long trail of worn and weathered faces of paratroopers as they tabbed for days through the deserts of Kenya. The tense, strained faces of those that had watched like coiled springs that smoking 'Thunder Flash' that would signal the start of the log race at 'P company'. Family, friends, Belfast, Adam's birth--- and Tara looking back through the crowd.

By now I had simply rolled over in the sand and fallen asleep. I woke in the darkness, cold. I made something to eat, pulled my sleeping bag from the trailer and then continued the motion.

Today I have crossed from Region 2 into Region 1, their first and my last Region in Chile.

Sunday, 24th October 1999. 33 kilometres. 34 degrees C. 69 degrees 57 minutes west, 19 degrees 39 minutes south.

At dawn when the rest of the world was so quiet it sounded as though I was in the middle of a beehive. The air was vibrating, with a deep humming sound as millions of bees filled the air, being drawn to the flowers on the trees. The ground surface seems to be made of salt and sand. Large plates of this salt were churned up like sheets of ice and as the morning sun heated them they would crack and creek just like ice on the move. Salt was king in this area and I've passed lots of salt mines. Apart from the bees there are some large lizards, which probably fed on the bees.

The road continued in a flat straight endless line for most of the day. There's very little traffic on the road now that gives long periods of nothing but a hot silence. During these periods the external senses seem to switch off and its possible to almost leave the real world behind. You don't feel the pain in your feet or the weight on your hips and shoulders, plus you lose the sense of time. It's the time of the waking dream and the hours just fly by. It's a rare and pleasant state to achieve and suddenly a sound will snap you back into the real world.

Just beyond my break point, I came across a small 'Postad', roadside cafe. A dark and dingy shack containing a few bare wooden tables. It was run by an old Indian and his wife. The indigenous people you meet now are a lot darker skinned and look quite different from those in the south. These are of Bolivian and Peruvian descent. They had no Coke, so I really must be out in the middle of nowhere, but they did have one or two bottles of some unknown drink. Are they cold? Don't be stupid! Still I can pretend.

By the end of the day the ground had changed, and I hit the first of a series of valleys I would have to cross. At the bottom was a piddling little stream that supported an intense wealth of plant life. The night was warm and very pleasant and tonight was a full moon. I've started to take note now of moon states, as they can make a lot of difference to my nights.

Wednesday, 27th October 1999. 32 kilometres. 70 degrees 02 minutes west, 18 degrees 58 minutes south.

A noisy night but I manage to get some sleep. After taking on more water I set off up 'the hill', but not before I had managed to convince the cops that I didn't want a lift. They had even stopped a truck for me. " But it's over 20 kilometres up that hill, then a second, and it's over 90 kilometres to Arica!" " Yep,-- and?"

They looked at each other. Gringos are obviously as stupid as they look!

And so it began. After only 100 metres I'd broken into a sweat. It's not that it's steep, but dragging this thing it didn't have to be. I'd managed to iron out most of the little problems with my Walkman and it seemed to be working well now, I'm glad to say, as today it would be a life-saver. I needed some distraction from the endless drudgery of the climb. Tara had been at on my mind a lot recently. It was still bugging me. It had to be those eyes as she looked back at me from that crowd. I kept the pace steady, short sharp steps, not that I could do much else. There was little or no wind and the heat hammered me. This was a major goods route and the road had been constructed at a regular gradient as the majority of the vehicles wouldn't make it up a steeper hill, certainly not 21 kilometres worth. As it was so many of the trucks were struggling to pass me, making terrible noises and belching black smoke.

Six hours later,-- well five hours & forty five minutes, I came across something that was probably 'the top', something I had long suspected was a myth. It had not been as demanding as I thought it would be. Probably all the stories I have heard had built it up in my estimation and I'd convinced myself it was a solid wall. Maybe it was just as well I'd heard those stories as I would have hated it to have been a surprise. Anyway I found myself in reasonably good nick and so I pushed out a further 10 kilometres. That, plus the approx 2 kilometres down in the valley before the actual start of the hill gave me about 32 kilometres.

Back to top