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Published: November 30th 2009
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We are now on the home stretch, with an estimated 450 Kms to go.
Uyuni was reasonably fun, though our journey out was abismal. We thought we should take a slight detour to the train cemetary not far from the city, and what we thought was on the way. I think if we had not arrived there by bikes, it would not have been worth it. It was a very odd place and not surprisingly full of large old rusty trains. But that was it, other than about 15 4x4s and a host of tourists like ourselves. From there we took a dirt road in the vague direction we wanted to head. After a couple of sand ridden kms, we realised that once again, the road was leading nowhere. Another scouting mission by Ross resulted in a dismal session of pushing through more desert-like wasteland. A morning completely wasted zig-zagging our way onto the right road was all we had to show for our energy-sapped bodies. Disappointed with our lack of progress, we soldiered on after lunch and continued to be taken to pieces by the now more defined wash board road we came across, which did not help
Ross´s delicate bowel situation. Our average speed was not only hampered by the bad road, but we also had a familiar foe in the form of a head wind for most of the afternoon. At least the road was flat, but we had another problem looming, and that was another water shortage; silly, as we had only just left a big town, but we had anticipated better progress and so did not load ourselves with more than a days supply. Fortunately, late in the day we came across a deserted cluster of houses and found another well which meant that we could be ´happy campers´, and not be stingy on water usage for cooking, or perhaps some tea or hot chocolate. We camped just beyond this town in what was a very bizarre landscape. Lots of small windswept sand dunes surrounded in the distance by mountainous walls. Camping, we have learnt is all about the finer details, so with this in mind, we left Uyuni armed with a bottle of red wine. This, coupled with a delicious meal of pasta and a tasty spicy sauce that we had created improved morale no end and with little threat of stormy weather,
we had another undisturbed tentless night under the clear starlit sky.
We anticipated slow progress on this stretch of the journey, but we did not realise it was to be this slow and painful. We aimed for a town called Atocha the following day but despite the hours of pedal power we applied, we did not make it. The threat of rain was apparent all day and the wind continued to taunt us. The road was not surprisingly no better. This was a particularly tough day as there was also plenty of gradual uphill to enjoy. Perhaps the only thing that was keeping our heads above water, was the knowledge we acquired from our guide book that very soon the road would plummet off the altiplano and descend into a place of dramatic canyons then mineral rich, colourful mountainous scenery. The guide book thankfully was not lying and after hours of seemingly fruitless toil, we rumbled down hill through an area strewn with steep sandy cliffs. This would be a perfect place to camp we thought, and it soon became clear that none of us wanted to continue cycling to Atotcha today. Our initial thoughts read ´lets not put
the tent up, as we cant be bothered to disassemble it in the morning´ but the thought process was swiftly reversed as some very gloomy looking clouds rolled over the steep hill behind us and reminded us that it was the beginning of the rainy season in these parts. Fortunately we erected the tent moments before our quaint camping spot was engulfed in powerful gusts of wind and thick droplets of rain. Much to Ross´ great agony and misfortune his bowels had been pounded by the longevity of poor roads, and this was perhaps why we were initially reluctant to sleep in a small tent.
As we were finally off the Altiplano, for now at least, we half expected the remainder of Bolivia to be downhill, which was clearly irrational and not correct. The morning was a hilly one, though the scenery did indeed consist of impossibly colourful, mineral rich mounds of rock, the formations of which would certainly have excited any keen geographer. The morning was again marred by more problems. My chain broke, twice. For some reason the chain was weakened a long time ago and ever since has been inexplicably irritating. Angry with the road once
more and frustrated with the bike, we made a brief, sharp descent to Atocha and bought some more supplies whilst also indulging in some local street food for a late breakfast. A pasty filled with vegetables and traces of mince along with the best milkshake we have had. The air became stormy and we hastily though reluctantly plodded on, only to find a sharp climb just beyond the town. This involved some pushing, cursing, a measure of head wind (obviously) and a spatter of rain. On reaching the flat, we had had enough. The coats came out and we sought refuge in a ditch, covered ourselves with the bivvy and sat out the worst of the lashing rain. About half an hour later we continued, miserably wet, and after more ups and downs soon came across a couple of Dutch couples driving in the opposite direction. They kindly congratulated us and warned us of the route ahead...It was like being back in Peru...The familiar sight of an horizon of hills to aim for, then beyond them yet more hills to battle with. The short climbs were now becoming worse and unfortunately the ever increasing intrigue of the scenery was not
enough to lift us. The camp spot we found was though. We stopped by a dry river after a nice descent just shy of a very very horrible looking road disappearing up the valley in a rather steep fashion. This was to be our special treat the following morning. We thought it rude not to camp here as we found a mud hut just off the road which appeared to have been a hastily built miners shed. On closer inspection of the surrounding area, we found several inrodes into the dense rock, one of which was very bizarre. At the entrance to the mine was a well, covered with barely walkable planks. The mine went further but unfortunately, possibly due to poor Bolivian engineering, we could not follow it, as there was a large gap in the floor of about 5 metres. No idea what they were intending to mine there, but out of about 6 attempted mines, none seemed very effective so perhaps they were merely probing the landscape in the hope they would come across something good. We were glad they tried however, otherwise we would not have had a roof over our heads. Raphael bravely opted to
endure the elements however and slept in his sleeping bag outside. Our supper, by the way, was by far our best achievement of the day. We opted to buy some mince meat in Atotcha, at a very reasonable price, and made some amazing bolognese sauce to go with the otherwise tedious pasta. The night was a reasonably quiet one, apart from an unwelcome intruder which was heard frantically polishing off our tin of condensed milk. None of us could be bothered to inspect the crime scene at the time, but it was probably something boring like a wild cat.
The first twenty minutes of cycling the next day was, as expected, really bad. At the top, Ross had a flat. It was a tiny puncture and took the best part of an hour to find, repair, and discover what had caused it; a small spike embedded somewhere in the tyre. We could see the road below us disappearing behind some more hills and were relieved that we had some downhill to enjoy. We knew we had a big descent at some point during the day, as our altitude was just over 4000m, and a mere 70km away was the
town of Tupiza, sitting in a canyon around 2900m. The descent did not come until the end of the day so we spent most of the day cautiously travelling downhill only to arduously cycle back up. We soon came to some incredible views. We sensed that we were nearing our hard-earned descent as we could see a large valley in the distance which we assumed was location of Tupiza. What ensued however was a dramatic storm all around us. We only received a brief dose of rain before the storm shifted off us slightly and started prodding the valley below us with shattering lightening moments away from us. It was a bizarre and slightly terrifying experience cycling along the ridge of the mountains whilst this storm was going on, but it was so entertaining that it made some of the final ascents slightly more bearable. Then we started cruising downhill, excited about the prospect of being in Tupiza by night, still surrounded by relentless lightening displays and sweeping columns of rain in the distance. Then, disaster struck... My bike became unridable as two of the spokes on the back wheel popped out through cracked holes in the rim. Unfortunately there
was no quick roadside fix for this problem and I was fortunately picked up by a miner´s truck. They took us the rest of the way to Tupiza, which was about 25km through probably the best scenery we have come across. Just our luck that we could not experience this on bikes, but shot through it on the back of a small truck. We arrived in Tupiza downhearted and slightly concerned about the bike. Ross inspected his bike when we arrived and discovered several similar crack to his rim, though not as far gone as mine. Finally the weight of the load on the back wheels and the rubbish road conditions has taken its toll on our otherwise trusty steeds. The last two days have been spent hammering back the protruding rim on my wheel, and respoking both our wheels in order to swap the back with the front, thus giving it less weight to bear. Fortunately the hotel is awesome, so we´re not too disappointed about staying here three nights. It has a pool! And there is loo roll in the loo, which is a sure sign the hotel means business. There are also well maintained gardens and flower
pots everywhere. We even saw a humming bird dipping its beak into one of the flowers. This is by far the best place we have stayed and it is really cheap. We leave tomorrow and anticipate reaching Argy in two days, though at some point we have to climb 500m. We are also desperately hoping the bikes will make it to Argentina, where they will have some well deserved respite from the Bolivian roads and treated to some good old fashioned tarmac. Off for a swim now.
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eddie
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Max folkes
Good to hear you boys aren't dead yet (going to lose a few bets here i think!) - ross, looks like your morphed into folkes in that picture above as well!! keep on trucking, get back safe! ps, dont think i will ever stop laughing if your bike doesnt make it bill!!