Crossing to Argentina.
The Andes were spectacular. The moment we got to the other side, we could feel the difference in climate. It was dry. The thick temperate jungle of Chile vanished to rolling plains. The humidity that the ocean breezes dump on the western side of the mountains had vanished. Our noses felt dry.
The classy newly built Chilean immigration office was a stark contrast to the quaint, tired, internet-less building on the Argentinian side. The paved road stops in Chile.
As the sun was setting and we were marveling at the golden views, we hit a stone in the path. We heard the thud and stopped to see that we were punctured. In the middle of nowhere. With a flat tire that wouldn't budge from the axle. It was getting cold. Pablo was huffing and puffing to get the thing off. I took pictures.
Eventually they came up with an ingenious way to remove the flat tire. At least a bunch of scientists are good for something. When in doubt, loosely replace the lug nuts. Remove the jack. Drive a few feet. The pressure should release the wheel. Stop immediately before the wheel falls off. Replace the jack. Change the tire. You will arrive to your destination covered in dirt and smelling of grease, but you will arrive safely, by car.