Wild Horses to The End of the Earth

Day 330 of our adventure to the End of the Earth.

We woke to our wild horse neighbours quietly grazing around camp. Heads down. Calm. Present.

Our thoughts felt much the same.

Today was the day. Ushuaia.

We pedalled slowly, deliberately, like we didn’t want to rush the ending. The riding felt eerily familiar, like Nelson Lakes National Park, but scaled up, stretched wider, grander. Granite walls. Clinging bush. Big, breathing landscapes.

When I hit the Welcome to Ushuaia road sign, I stopped and waited for Maree. We’d already decided the true finish line would be the big Ushuaia tourist letter sign down on the waterfront. Apparently that’s the official “End of the Earth.” Who are we to argue.

First though, supermarket. Celebratory beers don’t buy themselves.

Ushuaia was bigger than I’d imagined. Busy. Bustling. A proper port city, thick with tourists, ships, traffic, noise. It felt strange ending something so vast and wild by navigating intersections and footpaths. The harbour even reminded me of Wellington, a smaller cousin, tucked into the mountains.

We rolled slowly along the promenade toward the sign. I expected tears. Big ones. But instead, calm. A deep, settled calm. I think I’d already done most of my emotional processing over the last hard, windy, reflective month.

We leaned our bikes against the sign, roped in a passing tourist for a photo, and cracked our beers.

"Cheers, babe".

That first long swig tasted unreal. We sat there overlooking the harbour, eating lunch, breathing it all in. Surreal doesn’t quite cut it.

Then Maree decided her way of celebrating was to find a dentist, her dodgy Peruvian root canal had started kicking off. She left me content at the turismo office with free WiFi while she “popped out.”

Two hours later my dad video-called me. Sharing that moment with him felt huge. He asked where Maree was. That’s when it hit me… she’d been gone a long time. Dad made me promise to message when I found her.

Just after 5pm, Maree finally reappeared, Eight hundred dollars lighter!

“It’s infected. I’ve got antibiotics, painkillers… and a mortgage.”

By now I was hangry, tired, overstimulated, and very done. Not a great combo.

We still had to ride 10km out of town to the municipal campground , via the supermarket for camp supplies. Then we got lost. Of course we did.

By the time we rolled into camp it was after 8pm. A very long day. One that wasn’t meant to be.

We celebrated Kiwi-style: BBQ sausages drowned in sauce, white bread, and more beer.

What a ride.

Today is our first day off the quest.

The quest is over!

We are at the End of the Earth.

While Maree heads back into town to settle dentist business, I do absolutely nothing. And I mean nothing.

I sit by the river outside our tent.

I listen.

I breathe.

I let the stillness catch up with me.

No maps.

No mileage.

No finish line chasing.

Just being.

I woke today with no purpose.

No kilometres to tick off.

No destination pulling me forward.

No “end of the world” left to reach.

It’s an odd feeling.

I like purpose. I thrive on it. I like challenge, discomfort, movement. Adventure sharpens me.

Now… well. What now?

We’ve got 20 days until our flight out of Ushuaia. The idea of doing touristy things just to fill time doesn’t sit right with me. It’s not my cuppa tea.

We thought about heading into the national park, until we saw the price tag. Instead, a better idea formed. Head back out of Ushuaia. Ride to the coast. About 100km each way. Camp for a week. Go slow. Go looking.

Dolphins.

Penguins.

Seals.

Maybe whales.

That feels more like us.

Today though, we chill. Literally.

One thing I love about Argentinians, they commit to a BBQ. Proper wood fires, no matter the weather. It’s Saturday night, freezing cold, and this campground is full of families and mates gathered around smoking grills. The smell of meat hangs in the air. No one looks rushed. Everyone looks content.

So here I sit, wrapped up to the eyeballs, watching it all unfold.

And then… the unfolding starts right beside us.

Argentinians love late dinners. They love loud music. They love a good party.

Apparently… they also love holding it right beside our tent!

It started gently enough. A soft thrum of music drifting through the our tent walls around ten pm. The kind you can ignore if you roll onto your other side and pretend you’re asleep.

Then it got louder.

Then someone decided it was karaoke time, which, who am I to judge, went on forever.

Then the rain arrived, hammering down on our tent like it was trying to join in.

I remember thinking, Sweet. That’ll shut it down.

It didn’t.

They just turned it up.

Voices slurred. Songs butchered. Laughter exploding into the night. Rain, music, shouting, exhausts revving. All of it swirling together in a messy, sleepless soup.

And then around 8am, just like that, silence.

Cars gone. People gone. Music gone.

Maree and I were left behind. Wrecked. Hollow-eyed. Unimpressed.

We rose slowly. Like two elderly women, needing thier morning meds.

Today we were heading for the coast. But first, I we needed a fix of Tourismo Office free WiFi and to charge our phones.

While there, we bumped into an Aussie couple we’d met months earlier near Villa O’Higgins. They’d just finished Vancouver to Ushuaia.

Done! Finished! Flights home booked.

It landed quietly in my chest.

We could go home too.

Maree emailed Nics our friend and travel agent to see about changing our flights. We would have to wait for an answer. Not knowing what we wanted the answer to be or if we would be flying out soon we booked a few nights at Camping Ushuaia, campground.

Hot showers. Proper loos.

Civilisation.

And we sat with the strange feeling of being, maybe, going home.

Ushuaia Camp had its own rhythm.

Sleep in. Coffee first. Chat. No urgency.

We slid into it easily.

Today’s mission: find bike boxes.

Apparently, in the southernmost city in the world, bike boxes is more precious than gold.

One shop offered boxes… bundled with a full service. Clean. Pack. Transport. US$65 each. I nearly choked. No way.

So we wandered. Poked. Asked. Hoped Then in a shop that sold everything from fridges, microwaves, lawnmowers, cameras and bikes, we found them. Two boxes. AR15,000.

About ten US dollars. I swear angels sang. We arranged to pock them up in two days, we reckoned by then we would know if we were going home. On the way back to camp we spoke to men at the taxi stand, manged to sort the cost of getting to the airport with our two bike boxes. Too Easy.

All we had to do was clean our bikes ourselves, which, after a year of mud, dust and neglect, we are freakishly good at.

We walked back to camp grinning like thieves who’d just pulled off a heist. We werent born yesterday and felt like we had deflected being scammed and saved some money to boot.

Beer and chippies to celebrate. Victory tastes salty.

The rain arrived in the night and didn’t bother leaving. The wind that came with it slammed it into the tents and shoved hard at the walls. Gusts even came sideways, just to be rude.

Around us, tents collapsed. Pegs popped. Fabric flapped like wounded birds. People ran around frantically trying to salvage their tents.

We didn’t move. Our tent is bomb proof

and we know how to secure it, tame the beast you might say. We just lay there, listening to chaos, dry and smug.

By midday, the storm packed up and the sun appeared. Camp emptied, people had tourist stuff to do.

Us, we became lizards findingbpockets of warmth and soaked it in.

Then Nics replied.

Yes, flights could change.

But the cost we decided, it wasn’t worth it.

So side mission activated. End of the Earth doesn’t mean end of curiosity.

Toasties. Coffee. Slow morning.

Then: Operation Retrieve Cardboard.

Walking into town was easy. Walking back was warfare.

Two massive boxes. Tourists drifting randomly. Phones glued to faces. No spatial awareness. I swear I was going to accidently behead one as we negotiated our way through town.

And then came our old friend, wind, to give us a hand up the hill.

It Luke to play the game, gust randomly to see if it coukd throw me into the traffic. I wasn't that fond of this game.

Near camp we stopped at a butcher, and got a treat, four steaks. Red. Juicy. Perfect.

I stared at them like they were the love of my life.

That night: fire, meat, silence.

Our bodies sang.