Chile is a long, skinny country, approximately two thousand six hundred miles south to north. By comparison, Los Angeles to New York is around two thousand two hundred and mainland Scotland is a fraction of these at about two hundred and twenty miles.

As I said in our previous blog, maybe we've bitten off more than we can chew. At least, that's what our backsides are saying.

We landed in Puerto Varas, where last February we ended our last attempt at motor biking Patagonia. Compared to the sunshine and packed beaches back then, the town was cold and wet with a minor hurricane blowing. And at between three and six degrees centigrade, it was decidedly chilly.

The original plan had been to head due east and nip up the mountains to the border into the lee of the Andes where the temperature was forecast to be a good ten degrees warmer. However, the border crossing is at over three thousand metres. With a skidoo that might have been possible. On two wheels, not so easy. I suppose the clue was in the folks carrying skis at the airport.

And so, the plan to cross the Andes was scratched and we decided to head strait north.

Looking at the forecasts, we began to picture Chile as a thermometer. Freezing in the south and warm, even hot in the north - so north we went, keeping going until we could finally switch off our twelve volt, heated underwear.

After two thousand, eight hundred and something kilometres, the heated underwear is still fired up. Yes, we're much farther north but, we're also two and a half thousand metres up on the altiplano, sunning ourselves in the blazing sunshine of San Pedro De Atacama, but, step out of the sunshine and, again, it's decidedly chilly.

Tomorrow, we've been talked into going for a swim in the Laguna Cerca. I believe they're at 10c.

Oh joy.