Ben Coombs gets his latest road trip underway, with a South American take on the Cannonball Run…

Every road trip is special. From the Sunday afternoon run-out to a country pub, to the European tour; from a holiday fly-drive to a lap of the NC500, they all create the kind of memories which us petrolheads truly cherish. But the bigger the challenge, and the more effort it takes to make it happen, then the stronger the memories which result.

The first leg of my latest driving adventure had the potential to stick in the mind for many years to come, and it certainly didn’t disappoint. Because let’s face it, crossing South America in a supercharged classic Mini was always going to be pretty special. But while it’s the landscapes of Uruguay, Argentina and Chile which provided the backdrop for the adventure, the drive actually began six weeks earlier, with a journey across the UK, from Plymouth to the port of Felixstowe.

Why such a mundane start? Well, to make this dream a reality, we first had to ship the Mini and its classic Range Rover travelling companion from the UK to South America. While at first glance this may seem a somewhat intimidating undertaking, the reality of doing so is actually fairly straightforward, if not exactly cheap. Firstly, we engaged the services of a vehicle shipping company, who assisted us in booking a container to transport the cars, and handled most of the paperwork, such as communicating with the Maersk shipping line, and putting together a bill of lading. We then dropped the cars off at the port, where we loaded them into the container, witnessed them being secured, and then saw that the container was sealed, ready for shipping. After a few hours at the port, the cars were all set to go, and we said goodbye to them for the six weeks which would pass until we saw them again in Montevideo.

After taking the cheapest flight we could find down to Uruguay, we set about getting on the road. In total, this took less than two days, with a local shipping agent handling much of the paperwork and liaising with the port and customs officers, before we completed the final ‘Temporary Import Permit’ paperwork, obtained South American insurance and were all set to hit the road. And so we rolled out onto the baking streets of Uruguay in brilliant sunlight, just as the winter snows hit the UK. Pretty good timing, if I say so myself.

The first leg of our South American odyssey was classic overlanding stuff – from the Atlantic to the Pacific, by whatever route we fancied. So, from Montevideo we headed across Uruguay through scenery reminiscent of France, towards the town of Fray Bentos, a nondescript settlement near the Argentinean border which is responsible for one of Uruguay’s most famous exports – for British folk, anyway.

Crossing the border was incredibly simple, with the usual thumbing of passports being accompanied by a perusal of the car documents and the issuing of a permit to take the car into Argentina. Total time? Half an hour. Cost? Nothing at all. If only Dover was always so efficient.

Argentina is a country of many vistas, from the windswept summits of Patagonia to the south, to the high deserts of the north. Our route on this leg of the journey took us across the central grasslands, in which Argentina’s most productive lands are situated. For two days we rolled on through this empty landscape of green, the mottled, imperfect tarmac stretching away beneath a huge domed sky. Life in the Mini wasn’t exactly comfortable, but at least its original 1970s seats and awkward driving position meant that falling asleep was never a risk. So, for hour after hour we droned on, cruising at 50mph, as the car’s very low gearing made cruising any faster feel like an abuse of machinery.

Three days on the road saw us 900 miles into the trip, in the town of Mendoza, gateway to Aconcagua – the highest mountain in South America. But to motorists such as ourselves, while such a mountain makes for a fine backdrop, it’s the roads leading past it which are the real draw. In this case, the road which crosses the Andes in its shadow, rising to 3,220 metres and linking Argentina to Chile, and going by the stirring name of Paso de los Libertadores.

The Mini took the climb in its stride, and while the thinner air of altitude certainly made itself felt, the supercharged A-series engine packed enough punch to power our little ’74 Mini along quickly enough – just as quickly as the V8-powered Range Rover, in fact. Not that you’d want to rush the drive, for two reasons. Firstly, the concrete road surface was pretty broken in places, requiring care to be taken in a steed as delicate as a Mini, and secondly, there’s the scenery. The Andes towered around us as we drove, mountains of bare rock and snow, with the sky-scraping summit of Aconcagua providing the greatest sight. This day on the road definitely provided us with the high point of our drive from coast to coast, in more ways than one.

After several hours of sweeping through the mountains, on a col over three kilometres up, we rolled into the border post which marks the Chilean border. Again, procedures were fairly smooth, and we were on our way after an hour of paperwork and customs checks, dropping down into Chile, Pacific bound. It is on the Chilean side of the Paso de los Libertadores where the road reveals its best side. Stacked hairpins plummet away out of sight, shedding altitude in a headlong rush towards the thinner air below. The choice of whether to press on and enjoy the drive, or stop to take photos of its spectacular location, is rarely so difficult.

As the Andes fell behind us and the smooth tarmac of Chile beckoned us on, there was only one thing to do. We carried on west through more modest hills, meeting the pacific after five days and 1,300 miles of driving. There, we set up camp on the beach at the town of Guanaqueros, where the pelicans were playing amongst the surf.

Our Mini and Range Rover had crossed the continent, and memories had been made. Pretty awesome memories, the truth be told. But this was only the start of our South American adventure. and so it’s only the start of the memories, too.

Words & Photography Ben Coombs Twitter/X | Instagram