My hands were black from grease and gasolina residue, and my nails were full of dirt. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. The Safari started to drive more unevenly than usual on the rutted gravel – or rather, large stones – of Argentina’s Ruta 40.

The kilometer marker was around 1400km; 600km or so since we had left the beautiful resort town of Bariloche on a lake among mountains, about halfway down Argentina’s western frontier.

We had now dropped onto the Patagonian steppe and were following the western edge of these wild plains where they meet the Andes. Jono rolled down his window and looked back at the wheels. “It’s completely flat and you’re cutting it” he confirmed. I pulled off the road and we emerged into the fierce wind to check out the tire.

Fortunately, the last Peruvian mechanic who had been working on our car used a manual wrench to put the wheels back on, so we had none of the trouble taking the bolts off as we had earlier.

Unfortunately, the old tire had gotten completely destroyed and needed to be replaced. “We need a tire and we’re selling a broken tire” reads the inscription Jono wrote on the rear window. (We also saw signs that said “No quemar llantas en la pista” – “Don’t burn tires on the roadway” so we decided not to douse our old tire in gasoline right on the spot)

With our compact spare tire on, we looked at the map. We were about halfway between Rio Mayo and Perito Moreno, 135km/75 miles apart. Both were dusty ranching towns with official populations of 3500 people. Within a 500km radius there was no town any bigger, and only a few of this size.

We took it easy and managed to roll into Perito Moreno after an hour and a half on our spare. It was about 7pm, and we asked around for tires. There was one tire-repair shop and one hardware store, which sold tires. None of the six models of tire they had on hand were the right size for our car. “You drive something other than a Toyota Hilux pickup truck?” Nobody seemed to have any used tires of this size lying around either.

“There’s a guy with a tire repair shop 200km north of here who has lots of used tires, maybe you want to try him?”

“Perhaps you might find something in Rio Mayo (which we had passed 135km north) or Chile Chico”

Back in our semi-disabled Safari, we again looked at our maps. Chile Chico was the biggest town in the vicinity – population 4000! It was also only 80km away, and down a paved road going west off Ruta 40. The only trouble was that it was in Chile, so we would have to cross a border just to go look for a tire in another small town where we were not at all guaranteed to find one. With no other reasonable options, we rolled west towards the Chilean border along the windswept shore of Lago Buenos Aires (which also happens to be South America’s largest lake).

Right at the border of Chile there is also a small town on the Argentinian side called Los Antiguos, where we would have to pass the night before being able to cross the border the next morning. Getting into town we saw a tire repair shop. By that we mean a house with a tire on a lawn with “Gomeria” spray-painted on it. We stopped by and inquired, then proceeded to look around the random piles of tires in the backyard… (note the barefoot mechanic)

We found sort of what we were looking for – a used tire of just the right size. The only trouble was that it was also well-worn. For 120 pesos ($30 USD) though it was definitely the cheapest solution to our problem, and actually the only one available at the time. (Note: we did later change this tire in Punta Arenas, farther south)

We spent the night camped out on the top of a hill overlooking the town and the lake, and ate some more steak, along with large amounts of avocado (as do the locals).

The next day, we dropped the girls and our food stash (which wasn’t allowed to cross the border) at the lake, and Jono and I crossed into Chile.

We investigated all two hardware stores (one of which was in the lobby of a small hotel!) and the one tire repair shop in Chile Chico, and found nothing. Fortunately the border crossing was a very small post and not busy at all, so it didn’t slow us down too much. We came back to Los Antiguos and put on the one tire we had found the day before. After an excellent steak at Los Antiguos’ best steakhouse, we checked the new tire and it still had air in it, so we got back on Ruta 40 south.