The world is big. The map of Africa lies sorted out on the floor, the bikes are packed in cartons and the panniers are just waiting for the final protective cover of waste bags and packing tape. Ready for the onward journey, but where?

Plans   On a scrap of paper we draw a seasons table, scribble the various ideas and variations on. September to March... New Zealand? When is actually the best time to ride the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route in the United States? Or shall we start end of February at the edge of the Arctic Ocean southward on a few ice roads? It would be the last opportunity, because until in 2016, the all-weather road to the McKenzie River Delta is to be completed. But what do we do until then? At the end we make the decision spontaneously. A cheap flight to South America - finally realize our Andean main ridge route, which we bear in mind since our trip to South America, ten years ago. And a journey through the Patagonian winter would be nice too.

Landscapes   We spend a sunny day at the Perito Moreno and get to see what we missed ten years ago: Deep blue sky and almost alone on the catwalks, which are leading along the edge of the huge glacier. While we listen to the crunch of the ice, admiring its deep blue and an icy wind whistles us around the ears, we quickly agree: We have made the right decision.

From El Calafate we head out into the Pampa. Ten years ago and after 1500 km pot flat landscape, our cycle fright, but today and after the long straight stretches in Africa we perceive it as not so bad. Whoosh - and already we find ourselves at the foot of the Andes.

We ride through fresh snowy mountains. The path is lonely, hardly anyone gets lost in the wild borderlands at Paso Raballos. Winter silence, a sugary fairytale, a world out of Narnia. We love it.

People   We camp in the lee of a road worker's house. For cooking and eating we are allowed in the well-heated kitchen of José, who is spending here his four-week shift. While we chop the onion, he sucks at his silvery drinking straw from the Mate cup. He wants to know how we like it in Argentina. We not only have to report positive things and José said: "Yes, Argentina has actually everything, gas, petroleum, food to feed the whole country, water, tourism - solo falta el cerebro - only we miss the brain." Here he alludes to the lopsided economic situation, the corruption that drives the country into the abyss. "I earn 1,500 US$ a month, with this I have to provide my wife and three children." He continuous indignantly, "that is barely enough to live!" Later we talk about our trip, the living in Asia and Africa. We tell of the many people, that we have sometimes missed the solitude in Central Africa and José laughs: "Yes, with this you will have no problem in Patagonia, aqui falta gente!"

José's right. We encounter hardly any people. Who, indeed, dares to defy this inhospitable climate, has the ability to wrest the barren land enough to survive? Only occasionally we see simple wooden roadside signs, daubed with inscriptions: "Estancia La Soledad - 5km", "Estancia El peligro lugar - 8km," "Estancia El Ultimo Rincon - 15km". Two riders with a pack of dogs in the distance, a rickety Ford stopping in a snowstorm: "Lindo dia para andar en bici ..." Mischief flashed from the eyes of the driver, a weather-beaten face, a plaid scarf. The black beret sits crooked on his head. Gauchos like out of a storybook.

Countries   Between Argentina and Chile there is aversion and competition. Suspiciously, José has asked us whether we would go to Chile as well. "Sure", we replied, and promptly caught a lecture about how tiny and insignificant Chile (the window frame) as compared to large, superior Argentina (the whole window pane) is. And yet, the window frame seems to stand fare more solid as the glass pane. While we feel in Argentina, that everything decays slowly, that prices bear no relation to the service, that people have shown more joie de vivre and were friendlier ten years ago, we see in Chile progress. "Chile mejor - Chile is better", proclaim the state posters on every corner. And although in this country much is going wrong, we need to agree privily with the propaganda.

Roads   We are happy to ride it again, the Carretera Austral. Dream road in the Patagonian south, flagship project of the Chilean governement. Meanwhile it is almost everywhere tarred, has become faster and trafficked, has lost its character in many places. But along the Lago General Carrera they still exist, the gruff narrow gravel road, the steep slopes, the breathtaking views. For how much longer?

In Parque Nacional Los Alerces we follow another memory of the Carretera. A winding path, along clear lakes and frozen waterfalls, through dense larch forests. Giant trees, knobby and old. The wind shakes the fresh snow load of the tops. It rustles in the branches.

Along the Rio Aluminé a narrow dirt road leads to the pass of Pino Hachado. Lined with Araucaria, the Tree of Life of the Mapuche. Prickly leaves, curved branches, rough scaly trunks. The evening sun casts their shadows in front of our wheels. No car in sight. We camp in a curve. Later, when we brush teeth and look in the starry night sky, the black tree silhouettes remember us a lonely palm beach.

Ruta 40, we hate you. Too well we know how boring your often dead-straight kilometers from Bolivia to Tierra del Fuego can be. But this time we are wrong in you. Instead of traversing tediously the province of Neuquen, you choose your way through black lava fields, around snow-capped volcanoes and along emerald rivers. A primeval world of basalt rocks, sand and stone, rust, silvery gray, sulfur yellow, crowned by the recent snow remains. Ruta 40, so you please us.

Things   We have slimmed out increasingly our equipment during the last two years. But there are things that greatly simplify the cyclists life and that we can not do without. A stable tent, a good sleeping bag, our stove. But then there are also inconspicuous items that year in, year out, perform their duty in a quite unspectacular, but reliably way. One of this is our pot handle. It dates back to the baggage of Ivo's parents, is already almost forty years in use, and yet he has never failed. On the inside of the handle is the brand name Marco. That's why we call him this way. In fact, it happens that we forget to pack Marco one morning after we camped wild. We notice it only in the evening, one hundred kilometers later. The loss in value would be only 5 US$, but Marco is the only travel kit, which was always with us without a replacement, a total of six years and over 80,000 km of our travel history. Dead certain he is lying extremly sad on he banks of the river. We must get him. In three hours we hitchhike back - and he's really still there. What luck, Marco will continue his journey with us!

Cyclists   Over the Paso Los Libertadores it goes from Mendoza back to Chile. This time of year the passes north and south are still closed due to snow and even these main crossing is often closed arbitrarily, depending on the weather or political whim.

We stuck two days on the approach and slowly a small group of cyclists accumulates. When we stay in the dormitory at Puente del Inca, we are five. A French couple, cycling from Colombia to Ushuaia, with sponsored equipment and printed travel logo on their clothes, which speaks of its "expedition" and rides according to a strict timetable. And Klaus, an Austrian living artist who brings the authorities at home up the wall, by register in as a free vagabond with residing adress „into the woods“. He has started fourteen months ago with a simple, self-painted and from his former boss donated bike in the USA and will end his journey in a few days in Santiago. Never before we have met such different cyclists.

The next morning, the two Frenchmen grab a 4x4 Pick Up to not remain stucked again in front of a closed pass, while Klaus and we decide to cycle the remaining kilometers to the tunnel. Soon it starts storming and snowing, trucks jackknifed on the icy road and the last three kilometers we brace ourselves against a whiteout, which sweeps us from the bike. After two hours, we finally find a transport that takes us through the international tunnel and then we roll the switchbacks down into spring.