Our tent was gone. With the poles still buried in Brian's backpack, the tent were pretty much useless.
Why someone wanted an old, wet, stinky tent that could not even stand up, I don't understand.
Staff in the hostel, after hearing our story, suggested us to make an announcement through the local
radio station. A friendly guest, Alex who speaks pretty good English, helped us wrote down a message.
Brian rode to the shabby radio station and within half hour, we heard something like this on the
"Two travellers lost their tent last night in front of xxxx hostel. It is yellow and in a blue bag.
A reward would be given to anyone with any information. They need the tent for their journey."
Brian was hopeful someone might return it. I was not.
It was a gorgeous sunny day, as if the Mildon was teasing us once again for making an epic on
ourselves last night for absolutely no reasonable purpose.
We asked the staff where we could find bolts and bike parts. Hardware store, in the Mercado.
And how about food, Mercado. Tent, Mercado. Well, indeed, the Mercado has everything: Fresh fruit
and vegetable, bread, numerous kind of cookies, bike frames, nail guns, wood burning stoves,
centrifuge dryer, horse shoes, saddles, sheep fleece chaps with matching spurs ...
Everything except bike tire and the glueless patch they sell is not only glueless but also
Brian needed to find someone who can extracted the rest of the bolt out of his bike frame
so he proceeded to the sunny streets while I strolled the Mercado. He didn't find anybody
except Graham. After losing his wallet in Punta Arenas and chiseling his way north, Graham
finally got his money. We planned to meet for a beer at night.
In a small town like Cochrane where there is no barbar shops and laundromat, you have to make-do
with a lot of things. With a rusty saw-blade, a pair of small needle-nose pliers, and quite
some handy-work, Brian got the bolt out and his bike was strap and webbing free again. Graham
offered to lend his patch-kit in case Brian found more holes on his tube.
On our way to meet Graham, we ran into Chris and Gabi who just came in to town. (Did I say Cochrane
was a small town.) We found the only pub open in town, had a beer or two, and exchanged road-side
stories before the pub owner dimmed the light at 11PM.
We followed Graham to his hostel and got his patch-kit. Back to our room, Brian's back tire was