Day 22 - Argentina 2025: Comodoro Rivadavia a Esquel

My prior to the last trip will take me across the "green" part of Patagonia. To start with I will follow the path of the former train from Comodoro Rivadavia to Sarmiento. The landscape changes significantly, following a broad canyon bound by dissected hills that remind me a lot of the landscape around Maricopa and Taft. It is a welcome change after the endless plains of scrub grass I have found to the south. The canyon itself has greener scrub grass and even some small clumps of trees. Sarmiento itself is located in a very broad portion of the valley, where the river has a very low gradient and plenty of meanders, ox bow lakes, and wetlands (in fact, I suspect that the main problem faced by the farmers is a very shallow water table). I didn't see ag per se, although I saw some very healthy steers, but there were plenty of signs advertising cherries.

Unbeknownst to me, Sarmiento is the home of a clever little devil who, upon seeing that I went down to one bar in the gas gage, whispered in my ear assuring me that I had enough gas to get to the next town, Facundes. Shortly after leaving Sarmiento the highway climbs out of the valley and--surprise, surprise--starts crossing the flat, endless landscape characteristic of the rest of the lowlands of Patagonia. I felt I was crossing the Mojave Desert, and felt the pinprick of fear in my scalp as I looked at the "low gas" light turn on. Well, only 30 kilometers to Facundes; I can make it. Facundes itself is 7 kilometers off the highway, down into another fertile valley. It looked quiet and very rural, and I didn't see the gas station entering the town. Hmm ... I drove around looking for it when I saw the police post. Surely they would know where it is. Then again, it was 8h30, and the place looked deserted. I crossed the street an walked into a driveway, where the always present dogs started barking, and that brought out a lady to whom I posed the question. "The gas station" ... "We don't have one here in town" ... "Oh, where is the nearest station? ... "Rio Mayo, 50 km from here".

Rats, could I go 50 km on the gas I had? Nothing to it but get going, so I went back to the highway, and there learnt that Rio Mayo was 65 km away! Goodness gracious, lady, details count here. So there I go, driving through the lonely desert floor, hoping against hope that there would be 4 or 5 liters of gas in the tank. I tried to remain calm, imagining that at some point the motor would quit and I would hitchhike my way to town, buy a gas can, pick up 5 liters, and come back to my dying steed. I anxiously saw the distance fall to 50 km, then 40, then 30. What is the point really? Whether I run out of gas 30 km, or 1 km, or 500 m from the gas station the end result would be exactly the same. I drove "sweetly", tried to make myself "light", and stolidly ignored the now flashing "you are completely out of gas" sign. By some sort of miracle I made it to Rio Mayo, navigated a tortuous left and right and left path and made it to the gas station! The gas tank holds 50 liters, and it took 53 liters to fill it up, which shows I was in an anti-volume parallel universe and once again my Guardian Angel had saved my bacon!

The remaining 300 km were uneventful, and I was happy to come into Esquel, which is a city I know and where I will be staying at the same place I stayed on my way down south. I am home.