“Uh-Oh, Better Call Elvis”

For the third time in the trip we had removed the camper from the truck to allow speedier, unfettered travel.     

We were deep into El Parque National Monte Leon. At a parking lot we had arrived hours earlier, alone, we were suddenly boxed in by vehicles. Lynnette got out of the vehicle to back me out of the tight spot. As the truck was freed and facing her, she motioned me out. 

The truck bumper was sagging forward, badly, on one side. A weld had broken where the aftermarket winch section attached by a bracket to the painted side panels. We popped the hood, grabbed a ratchet strap from the emergency kit, wound it twice around the sagging section and, using the tension of the ratchet, drew the bumper back into place. 

The truck was due for its 10,000 km inspection. We’d have to make due and be careful until we could find a Toyota dealer.  We also considered that since the broken part was not Toyota we could find a welding shop and have a crackerjack perform the repair. 

We made our way into Puerto Deseado, an old fishing port on the Atlantic coast.  Icons for water, food, fuel and repairs popped up on the GPS screen. Being late in the day, We made a camp on the beach, just outside of town and discussed our strategy for the morrow   

The GPS, called The Overlander by Garmin, is uploaded with a database called iOverlander, which has been giving us great information along the way about highway navigation, wilderness roads, potential campsites, fuel stops, laundries, groceries and potable water sources. A mechanic will show as an icon of a hammer crossed with a wrench.

We tapped all the wrench icons in Puerto Deseado and read their subscriber-uploaded stories & recommendations, or cautions. One story told of a difficult repair to a suspension incorporating a welder named Elvis that was handled quickly, competently and inexpensively. 

We found the mechanic shop and inquired. We showed them the bumper and said we needed a welder.  The two mechanics looked at the bumper, looked at one another, nodded and said: “Elvis.”

One mechanic motioned me to follow his car. Two blocks later we came to the door of a shop with fresh steel blanks laid out in front of it.  Upon sliding the door open, a large man stopped welding and lifted his welding hood to reveal a broad, smiling face resembling the late Earnest Borgnine (kids, Google him). He extended a dirty paw the size of a Grizzly Bears and introduced himself as Elvis. 

A quick assessment later and the garage door was slid open then the truck pulled inside.   Elvis and Juan, the man who’d escorted us, disconnected the battery, discussed the repair strategy then pulled everything apart. 

The bracket was tig welded and everything bolted back together within 45 minutes of the time we first pulled in.  

Elvis has a face that our friend, Karl (one of the funniest people we’ve met in life) would describe as that of a “zany, rubber-faced sidekick”.  Elvis would have a look of intense concentration on his face while working on the bumper then, noticing me watching him, his face would light up in a cheery smile, his eyebrows arching high. 

Job finished,  Elvis asked if we were German. No, we said, from Alaska, the United States. “Ah, Alaska! Very cold!” (the typical response). Elvis then launched into the exact story we’d read on iOverlander about the people limping into town with a very bad suspension problem and Elvis coming to the rescue. I plucked the GPS from its mount, opened the story, explained he was telling me that exact story and scrolled-down to show his name. “Su es famoso del todo mundo!” I explained (you are world famous).  

Elvis beamed with pride as we took his picture. “Wait”, he said “I want a photo, too!”  Elvis left the building (sorry) and returned with his teenage son, Sylvan, who took a photo on his iPhonej of all of us together, in front of the truck. “My Alaskan Friends”, he said. 

I then got down to business and asked how much we owed, handing Elvis my iPhone, calculator open. He brushed aside the iPhone, picked-out his wallet and withdrew 700 pesos from it. “This much”, he said.  That equaled US$10. I handed him a 1000-peso note and made him promise to buy beer for Juan, the mechanic. Juan had escorted us there,  helped with the work (during his siesta) and then quietly slipped-out the door before we could thank him. That was yet another example of the excellent treatment we’ve received by local people encountered on this journey. 

While we haven’t been imprudent, reckless or careless (to excessive degrees) we have consistently found people on this journey who, in our dealings, are over-the-top helpful, trusting and unfailingly honest. The only times we felt taken advantage were in the tourist towns where we paid inflated prices. Yet, the prices were right-there, upfront & disclosed in advance. 

Thus, we have sought the paths less traveled to find the rural & small-town Argentines and Chileans to be awesome.  The prices, in Argentina, anyway, have allowed us to be generous while having a surprisingly inexpensive vacation. 

P.S. Karl, stay with us. The world is a much better place with you in it. Credit to the tribe