Andrea and I left El Calafate, Argentina, and crossed into Chile. The road signs said we were on Ruta del Fin de Mundo, the End of the World Route. We reached the entrance to Torres del Paine National Park, and I could already see the massive granite towers in the distance. The wind was sharp and biting, but the sun was welcoming.
We came across a mother puma with her two cubs playing in the tall, dry grass. As we watched them, a van pulled up next to us. An older, heavyset man wearing flip-flops and shorts hopped out. "Hi, my name’s Tom," his southern accent sounded like it was from Alabama. "This is my wife and two daughters. That’s Olivia, and that’s Emily.” Andrea and I both said “Hi” in unison. Tom walked toward me, then looked down and noticed my license plate. "You drove that thing here?" he asked. “Yeah, all the way from Kentucky,” I replied, sheepishly grinning. "Is that right? Cool," he said. His response made me realize, for the first time, how far from home I really was.
Andrea and I explored as much of the park as we could over the next few days, but our time was running out, Andrea’s return flight was booked out of Ushuaia, Argentina. Again we were on the road and heading south. We rolled into Punta Arenas, a town built mostly out of concrete, it lies on the rugged shores of the Strait of Magellan. We opted to spend some money on a warm room and hot shower for the night. Andrea found a French-inspired stone and glass palace called Palacio Sara Braun, with twenty-foot-tall ceilings, a massive bed, ornate moldings, and decorative carpet. It was quite a change from sleeping in the truck.
The morning was cold and foggy as we boarded the ferry to cross the Strait of Magellan, famous for its unpredictable weather. Today, the waters were choppy enough that I had to steady myself by placing a hand on the wall while walking around the boat. Throughout the ride, Andrea fought the wind on deck, hoping for a glimpse of a whale or dolphin, but saw nothing. We got off in Porvenir and took the dusty coastal road out of town. Eventually, we reconnected with the main road and reached another border crossing, San Sebastián, Argentina. Our destination was so close—Ushuaia, the southernmost city in the world. We had made it to the City at the End of the World, and to the end of Andrea's journey. This was our final night together.
I dropped Andrea off at the Ushuaia airport, and just like that, I was a solo traveler again.
I dropped Andrea off at the Ushuaia airport, and just like that, I was a solo traveler again. I now had to figure out how to get both myself and my truck back to Kentucky. Based on recommendations from other travelers, I reached out to a shipping company in Montevideo, Uruguay. At first, the idea of heading all the way to Uruguay seemed a ridiculous detour, but it was by far my best option. I was adding 2,000 miles and a new country to my trip.
The drive to the Port of Montevideo took five very long days. The landscape blurred as I focused solely on getting my truck there safely. By the time I arrived, I felt a mix of relief and unease. The truck would be strapped into a container and shipped off to Houston, Texas, where I would eventuqlly be reunited with it. But for now, I had to trust the process. I handed over my keys, packed everything I thought I needed into a backpack, and walked into town to find a hotel for the night. I flew back to Kentucky that same week. It would take three months before the truck arrived in the United States.
I returned to the familiarity of life back home. People asked me how the trip went, they’d ask was it worth it? To be honest, I felt incomplete. I couldn’t shake the fact that I hadn’t finished the entire Pan-American Highway. Back in 2019, when I was in Alaska in the bus, I turned around just after crossing the Arctic Circle. I hadn’t completed the stretch of the highway that ends in Prudhoe Bay, Alaska. It bothered me, like a puzzle missing a piece. After only a few of weeks at home, I began planning my return to Alaska.
