Breakfast at Hosteria Angelina has a certain something Italian about it, while the neomelodic music in the background and the home-made pastries bring a sincere patriotism to our goodbyes with the proprietor. Today’s itinerary isn’t a particularly long one, but contains several stretches across dirt roads which will require extra care and concentration while riding. At the beginning, the road unfurls in a series of curves, perfectly tarmacked and offering interesting trajectories. We’re able to ride with a clean style, really letting the motorcycles run around curves that offer some pretty intense leans: hands holding steadily onto the gas throttle, eyes flickering back and forth, faster and faster, between the road and the landscape. A wave of the left hand, a gentle touch of the horn or a brief flash of the headlight become our ways of communicating with those on the other side of the road, intent on their own destinations.
The entrance to the Los Alerces National Park appears before us almost without warning. We make our way across the park along dirt roads and, after a brief pause on the shores of Futalaufquen Lake, find ourselves at our pre-arranged lunch stop. A rustic wooden building with a veranda, it soon turns out to be everything you could wish for a short afternoon break. From comfortable cloth hammocks, we look back at our dust-covered motorcycles with a feeling of respect. Though we might be a little too relaxed by the time we get back in the saddle, the stones that form an integral part of the road here soon remind us to focus on our riding. The road is particularly uneven in parts, obliging us to keep our balance by standing up on the footpegs and pressing our legs against the sides of the tank to hold on. A technique from the world of off-road biking, of course, but which allows us to ride with much more confidence under these circumstances too. In fact, it’s possible to keep the skidding of the rear wheel under control using leg power only, without subjecting your whole body to every single twist and jerk of the motorcycle. The increasingly dusty and dilapidated road takes us all the way to the suspended bridge across the Rio Arrayanes. We make the crossing on foot, taking the opportunity to take pictures of a particularly lively moment of our journey. We reach the village of El Bolsón in the late afternoon, parking the motorcycles underneath a large canopy as a precaution: the reports we’ve seen forecast the arrival of bad weather in the near future. El Bolsón, located in the centre of a valley, has a long-standing hippie tradition; in fact, on the evening we arrive, a surprise party has been organised in the main square.