In 1998 when Greg rode his motorcycle to Ushuaia he stopped between kilometer 2094 and 2095 (kilometers south on Route 3 from Buenos Aires) and constructed a stone monument.  Inside he hid a plastic box for other motorcyclists riding by to leave a business card or something similar.  When he returned to the site on this trip he found that much of it had been dissembled and used to build a campfire ring.  The plastic box was gone. 

     They spent an hour rebuilding it bigger than before.  To fool those that might want to again use it for an evening fire they made it look like a crash memorial by leaving several bottles at the base.  Again there was left a secret plastic box which had been described in Greg’s book RIDING SOUTH: MEXICO CENTRAL AND SOUTH AMERICA BY MOTORCYCLE.  They dedicated the stone structure to the memory of a friend of Greg’s who was tragically killed two weeks earlier in a motorcycle crash in Mexico.  The friend had tried some years earlier to reach Ushuaia by motorcycle but had to turn back. Donna-Rae thought it a fitting memorial for a fellow motorcycle traveler who Greg had ridden with thousands of miles and in numerous countries.  

     Donna-Rae took this photograph of Greg taking a photograph of their hard work to build the rock monument.  It was hot sweaty work to complete the structure.  Some day the builders would like to return to see it still there, or get reports from motorcyclists passing by that they found it and left a card after finding Donna-Rae and Greg’s.

     They rode day after day through the sparse and wind blown pampas of southern Argentina.  The mornings were cold and the 70-100 mile per hour side winds would suck the warmth out of their riding suits.  Sometimes the winds blew so hard they were nearly forced off the road.  After six to eight hours of riding they would be exhausted.  Fortunately that would be about the time they would arrive at one of the few towns spaced along the expanses of nothingness.  There they would hunt for an inexpensive hotel, sometimes having to settle for run down sleeping rooms used by truck drivers or other working men.  The inexpensive rooms would fit their budget but not their desire for clean sheets without bugs or the lack of the smell of cigarettes.  Greg would compensate by having a few drinks with dinner.  Donna-Rae was often too tired to care, falling asleep in her clothes on top of the bed.  One night Greg took a picture of her in that condition but Donna-Rae deleted it before he could send it to the website.  Donna-Rae said the photo was “not very flattering.”  Greg claimed it was a good reflection of her physical state of travel, his “tired little riding pal.”

      Other vehicles and occasional wild guanacos like these would occasionally break up the mile after mile of wind-blown emptiness across the pampas.  The guanacos would easily jump over fences and run across the road in front of the motorcycle, often forcing Greg to brake hard or crash into them.  While the lama-like animals looked friendly enough their erratic movements made them as dangerous as deer.