Ride2Tale — crashes, a sprain, and a mechanic who saves everything

"It's not the road that breaks you. It's believing it should be easy."

Three weeks. One bad crash and a fracture. A mechanic who forgot to put the screws back on the fork legs. And at the end of the tunnel, a mechanic in Constitución who sorted everything out in two days. Between Puerto Varas and the Pacific coast, Chile didn't let us go — for better and for worse.

The mechanic who did nothing

Five days waiting in Puerto Varas to change the tyres on the AJP and check both bikes. Five days without a word from Alejandro — though in fairness, we did arrive on a Thursday evening… but we'd made an appointment in advance and warned him we needed the bikes back at the start of the week. When we show up at his workshop around eleven on Tuesday, the bikes aren't ready. And we had plans to go to Puerto Montt that very evening for a kendo session. So there we are, moving all our gear to the garage to free up our hostel room, packing a makeshift day bag and catching a bus to Puerto Montt.

Thankfully, to make up for the day, we have a great evening with the kendo club in Puerto Montt. The dojo isn't very big — maybe ten practitioners — but we have a wonderful time. To top it off, we share a beer after class and end up in deep conversation about life in Chile and Latin America: exactly what we love. In bed by 12:30 in a comfortable bed. The small pleasures matter.

The next day we're back at the garage — good news: Thomas's AJP is ready. The bill is steep, but with €500 for tyres (that's what a pair of Motoz Adventure costs in Chile), we expected it. Adeline's Himalayan, on the other hand, hasn't been touched: the plate is still loose, the additional lights still don't work, and it still squeaks as much as before. Adeline is fuming… We pay for the new tyres anyway, load up the bikes and hit the road. We'll deal with the rest later.

Pucon: a rally and missing screws

Heading to Pucon for a stage of the Trail Trophy rally, organised by Carlos, the official AJP importer in Chile. Thomas can't wait to meet him!

On the way we pass several participants who, spotting our bikes, wave at us going "hey, you're going the wrong way!" — looks like we're on the same track as the rally, just riding in the opposite direction. It gives us a good laugh.

We reach Parque Nacional Villarrica and the trail gets serious. A rider on an AJP PR7 stops us and advises against continuing with our loaded bikes. We follow his advice — which adds a 100 km detour on top of the planned 31 km. We finally roll into Pucon around 7:30 pm, where we learn that the rider in question was none other than Carlos himself, riding sweep.

The rally village has a great atmosphere. We chat with Carlos and a few other riders and eventually decide to stay two nights for the prize-giving the next day. But that evening, as Thomas goes to put on the lock, he discovers that Alejandro forgot to put the screws back on his fork legs. We'd ridden 400 km like that — seriously dangerous. Thomas writes to both Alejandro and Carlos. Alejandro offers to send the parts by Tuesday. No way. Nerves are frayed, but there are plenty of AJP riders and mechanics here — we'll find a solution.

The next day, KTM Pucon takes us in despite a full schedule. They check the front wheel and fork alignment, fit new screws and — todo bien. In the end, more scare than harm. We breathe again, and we'll head off with a clear head.

The law of series.

On a wet, wooded track, Thomas spots a rock and a hole, grabs the rear brake and the bike slides sideways. Normally no problem — but with the load, the front washes out and bam! He picks himself up and immediately says he's hurt. The foot swells fast, too fast. We skip Cunco and head straight to Temuco to get it checked.

The next day, on the advice of Jessy, a Frenchman living here, we go to a private clinic. The intake is quick. Thomas gets an X-ray — the verdict is clear: sprain with avulsion fracture. We'd hoped for a simple sprain, but the fracture is there alright. Back in January, in the Payunia reserve, Thomas had heard a crack. We hadn't wanted to stop, hadn't wanted to miss Ushuaïa. This time, no more burying our heads in the sand. Orthopedic boot and total rest. We refuse crutches — too complicated to carry. We decide to be sensible, but we make our choices.

That evening, the blow is hard. We digest it without saying much.

A forced stop and a great encounter with Barbara

Two weeks of immobility between Temuco and Concepción. Thomas rests, works on a new app project, tries to keep busy — which isn't always easy, especially when the accommodations we book don't have wifi. Oops. Adeline tries to keep up a rhythm: she walks around, does the shopping, and handles outstanding tasks like getting her motorcycle trousers repaired.

In Temuco, it's Barbara — the dojo sensei — who changes the game. She offers to be Adeline's guide: a tour of the city and its markets, as well as Cerro Nielol. She takes her to corners we'd probably never have explored alone. It was wonderful.

Throughout this break, kendo remains our social anchor. Temuco, Concepción — we show up at the dojos, we train, we share good moments over a beer. It does wonders for morale. And you can always count on the kenshis for that kind of support. One evening, while Adeline had gone to kendo alone, Barbara decided to buy Thomas a beer to cheer him up — she'd noticed he looked sad the day before! In Concepción, Adeline has a 2.5-hour session: katas, suburis, kihons, keikos, the full works with very precise explanations from the instructor. Thomas watches with admiration and no small amount of self-criticism. That's kendo too — the constant questioning of yourself.

This pause also gives us time to reflect on how we travel. You often hear about slow tourism — people who really slow down, who aren't trying to see everything and can stop for several days or even weeks in a city because they've fallen for it. For us, we try not to chain the kilometres, to take time to discover each country — but stopping dead for two weeks? This time, fate decided for us. So we take the time, we observe. It's not always breathtaking, but we discover what life in Chile is actually like.

Pullay: fog and sea lions

After visiting the kendo dojos, we head for the coast. The road to Pullay starts badly: the GPS sends us onto unexpected ripio while we're trying to protect Thomas's ankle. We also end up crawling behind construction equipment on deep fresh earth. We make it through, but Adeline is grumbling.

The coast is stunning — but as we arrive, the Pacific fog rolls in all at once and we can't see a thing. Luckily it clears a bit by the time we reach Pullay. We've taken a room with a sea view in a wild setting. A little surfer's paradise, the place is magnificent. Perfect for a few days of rest.

Teo and the bikes finally fixed.

Constitución. We spend three days there to see the waterfront and, above all, to entrust the AJP to someone we can trust: Teo Pinto, mechanic and AJP PR7 rider. We'd crossed paths at the Pucon rally, where he'd offered to look after the bikes after our bad experience in Puerto Varas. He keeps his word. First thing Monday morning, we drop off both machines. His eye is expert — you feel it immediately. He sends photos as the work progresses, keeping us informed of every step. Adeline's Himalayan no longer squeaks, the additional lights work, Thomas's AJP is checked and top condition!

Tuesday evening, we suggest meeting up for burgers and a beer. He comes to pick us up and suddenly two of us are squeezed onto his passenger seat — no problemo. We spend a good chunk of the evening talking bikes and travel, obviously. Constitución will stay a fond memory, even with the dogs howling all through the first night. "Oh, this is Latin America…" says the hotel owner, philosophically.