We've learned a few things ourselves.
For example, there's another alternative to a broken windshield which
Guilló taught us. You can get a thin, flexible sheet of plastic
(called polycarbonato in Argentina) cut to fit around your windshield,
about 1 cm larger all around than the glass. Glue small pieces of dense
foam rubber (1 cm thick) across the glass, in a cross shape, to hold
the plastic away from the glass. Duct tape (Sorry, West Virginia chrome)
the plastic over the windshield. When rocks hit the flexible plastic,
they bounce off. There are two problems with this method: My first crack
happened almost simultaneously with crossing the border into Brazil.
You would have to have the thing on there for the whole trip. Lamentablemente,
the stuff scratches very badly and soon becomes impossible to see through.
The other problem is that, if the tape separates slightly in the Patagonia
wind, the whole thing will come off and whirl madly to someplace very
far from where you are standing, scratching your head in amazement.
We heard about 2 other tricks in Ushuaia. Strangely
enough, it's the cars coming toward you that throw
rocks at your windshield. When a car approaches, if
you press your hand lightly on the inside of the
glass, it seems to provide enough pressure to repel
the rocks without cracking the glass. We saw many
people approaching us in Patagonia with hands pressed
against the glass. The other idea I heard, from a guy
who had hitchhiked all over the world, was to turn the
windshield washer on. He said it had the same effect
as pressing from the rear.
Nevertheless, Tyler caught a big rock a couple of days
ago and has a new crack.
Regarding propane tank filling: I just learned the hard way that the
propane tanks that we refill our tanks from in South America are frequently
filled with crud. We had witnessed, while filling our tanks with the
Other Caravana, that sometimes the valves stuck open and the propane
spewed out everywhere, polluting the atmosphere and terrifying everybody
within sight or smell of the gas. Well, it happened to me in Tarija.
A guy with a propane car came into the yard and looked at my still-spewing
tank and said "It's a dirty valve. Follow me to the best valve
guy in town." So off we went. The valve guy took the valve apart,
cleaned it (It was indeed filthy.), and went back with me to the propane
yard to refill it. Amazing. Up to this point, filling the tank seemed
to take forever. This time it took only a couple of minutes and behaved
exactly like it had in the US when I had it filled from the big tanks,
taking only slightly longer.
Another thing we have learned in the last few days:
Patagonia does not have the worst possible roads.
That dubious distinction MUST go to Bolivia. We
forded at least 3 rivers and countless lesser streams
today, drove through axle deep mud, climbed 13,000
feet in first gear and never saw anything remotely
resembling asphalt. It took us more than 16 hours to
drive from Tarija to Potos� (with a stop in Camargo
for the night) and we consumed less than a tank of
gas. We were grateful when, occasionally, we could
get up to 25 or 30 miles per hour.
I bet there's more we've learned if we put our minds
to it. This was a good idea of Larry's. Sometimes we
forget that some people are reading this for advice
and not just vicariously going along for the ride.
(I'll post something separately about the joyride.)
Jeanne
