Trip Report Nine:
Salares
April 26 - May 6
see pictures from this trip report
Trip Report Nine:
see pictures from this trip report
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April 26 - I waste the day doing email,
buying supplies, and packing and repacking my immensely heavy and unwieldy
bob trailer. I leave at four in the afternoon and ride only as far as
Chiu Chiu, an oasis town with a 400 year-old church. It feels good to
be on the road again. I camp under the stars. Total distance biked 40
kilometers.
April 27 - I begin biking early, relishing
the last 30 kilometers of pavement before the next 600 kilometers of
non-asphault. The transition to gravel road occurs at the Conchi bridge
where Chilean soldiers are training in a sort of boot camp. An officer
yells at me for biking across their firing range, but I have no other
option for getting back onto the international road. Once clear of the
firing range, I tackle long climbs up low-angle grades into the cordillera
as the afternoon turns into evening. The lighting is beautiful, the
road is in moderately good shape, and there are zero cars all afternoon.
I camp at 3800 meters beneath San Pedro Volcano. Total distance biked
80 kilometers.
April 28 - I cross the Ascotan pass
and descend towards the Salar of Ascotan. It is my first salt flat crossing
and the novelty of riding over compacted flat salt roads keeps me energized
for a little while. Wildlife is prevalent and I enjoy making the flamingoes
and guanacos flee as I cruise towards them. After 25 kilometers of flatness
(starting to get old now), I climb over a small pass and descend into
another salt pan which takes a mere 20 kilometers to traverse. There
is one more small pass to surmount before I descend into the Salar de
Ollague (elevation 3640 meters). For the next 250 kilometers of my route,
the flatness will be extreme and my altimeter will change by no more
than +/- 20 meters. I arrive at the town of Ollague (the end of Chile
and perhaps the earth) as night approaches. Total distance biked 90
kilometers.
April 29 - I cross into Bolivia first
thing in the morning and try to find a Bolivian immigration officer
to stamp my passport. Apparently they don't work on the weekends, so
I am told to get the stamp in Uyuni (205 kilometers distant). My map
tells me there is a road which leads from the Chile/Bolivia border all
the way to Uyuni, but it disappears after a few kilometers. I head east,
following the railroad tracks and my compass. At the military post of
Chiguana (30 kilomers from the border), I ask for directions and information
about the road (or lack of road). As I am talking to the poor soldiers
dressed in tattered fatigues, I can't help but notice their toes are
peeking out through the holes in their army boots (and its cold in the
altiplano). Though the soldiers are very friendly, they don't really
know where they are stationed and are of very little practical help
aside from letting me know that I can expect a vehicle to cross the
route about once every three days. The soldiers also tell me that their
weekly food supply (delivered by train) hasnīt come for two weeks. I
leave the military post and continue biking to the east over hard-packed
salt planes, trying to keep the railroad tracks within site. With a
friendly tail wind I am able to obtain velocities in excess of 35 kilometers
per hour which is exactly the speed I am traveling when the salt flat
abruptly turns into a mud flat. My bike ejects me over the handlebars
for the first time in my entire South American odyssey. Fortunately
the muddy landing is soft and dirty. I intend to find lunch in the little
town of San Juan which is plainly marked on my 1:4000000 South American
continent map, but I somehow manage to bypass the entire community without
ever seeing it. Finally I arrive at my first Bolivian pueblo, Juliaca,
a windswept rail stop with a small and elusive population. I manage
to corner two old men and ask them where it might be possible to obtain
bread. They indicate that it is not possible and quickly turn away in
shyness. A few minutes later I spy another resident and accost her as
she and her runny-nosed toddlers are trying to hide behind their front
door. Reluctantly she tells me where I can fill my water bottles. After
topping off the water jugs (and iodizing them to be sure) I continue
riding towards the east. I camp as it is getting dark after biking roadless
salt flats for 90 percent of the day. Total distance biked 110 kilometers.
April 30 - It is 13 kilometers from
my campsite to the town of Rio Grande, but I have to walk more than
a kilometer of it because the sand is so soft. The population in Rio
Grande is much less shy than in Juliaca and I am able to find bread
and soft drinks. I meet the local primary school teacher and let him
invite me to talk to his class, giving a brief geography spiel to about
50 children. The classroom is bilingual (Quechua / Spanish), but I opt
to give my talk in Spanish. Departing from Rio Grande I have the option
of taking a 120 kilometer roundabout road to Uyuni or traveling straight
there along the rail tracks. I choose the rail track and only regret
my decision after perhaps losing my ability to father children... In
the stretch between Rio Grande and Uyuni I count approximately 35 individual
rail bridges which are a few meters high and extend ten to a hundred
meters. Unfortunately, they are constructed of rail ties with a spacing
that is not conducive to passing a bicycle with bob trailer. For about
half the bridges it is possible to ride down into the salt flat and
cross a mostly dry drainage without ever dismounting. For another ten
drainages, it is possible (though exhausting) to drag bike and trailer
through the muddy flats. But for the remainder of the bridges, the quicksand
is too evil to contemplate. For these crossings, I must separate my
bike and trailer and carry them across individually, all the while keeping
a wary eye keened on the railroad tracks (it would be just my luck to
be caught on a bridge when the once-weekly passenger train decides to
pass). I am crossing perhaps my eighth railroad bridge when I glance
over my shoulder and suddenly the railroad tie beneath my left foot
gives out. With bob trailer in both hands, I plunge downwards, stopping
only when my crotch crashes to a stop on the remnants of the shattered
train tie. For a moment I think that my left nut may have exploded,
but it shares the brunt of the impact with my left hip and left butt
cheek. As I examine myself, I realize I am bruised and bleeding from
the very places which come into direct contact with my bike seat. After
some serious downtime and cursing, I continue biking to Uyuni trying
hard to avoid any bumps (difficult to do over roadless terrain). I finally
arrive in Uyuni, three hours after dark, and locate a bed in a gringo
hotel. Before sleeping I eat a llama steak dinner and then a cow steak
dinner. Total distance biked 95 kilometers.
May 1 - I have two breakfasts, procrastinating
heavily before departing towards the north. I know there is a paved
road 204 kilometers distant, but my rear is screaming at me even before
I mount my bike. I begin my ride by traversing sandy washboard road
at the east edge of the Salar de Uyuni. My butt quickly decides that
this is the appropriate time to test the therapeutic effects of the
coca leaves purchased in the Uyuni market (locals masticate coca to
relieve suffering from hunger, cold, sorroche, and maybe even saddle
sores). I stuff some leaves between my teeth and gums and begin to suck
hard as I bike northwards. Unfortunately the buzz is not nearly as strong
as I am hoping for and I keep stuffing more wads of leaves into my mouth.
Finally realize that I am effectively sucking on a tea bag (which is
not tasty) and I spit the sodden coca leaves out as I am starting to
feel nauseous. Fortunately the nausea compensates somewhat for the butt
pain. I bike past the small railroad settlements of Caracote and Chita,
and a bunch of abandoned rural homes before night mercifully falls and
forces me to camp. Not a single car has passed me (going my direction)
during the entire day. Total distance biked 70 kilometers.
May 2 - I vow that I will never again
complain about Chilean or Argentinian roads. My track leading to the
north is a pitiful excuse for a road. I prespire and swear as I struggle
across eroded four wheel drive tracks and expanses of soft sand. I walk
my bike across an estimated 7 kilometers of sand during the day. I arrive
in the town of Rio Mulatos, grab an almuerzo, and chastise two boys
for demanding sweets from me. As I turn my back to fill my large water
jug, they steal my bike water bottles and bolt. I learn a frustrating
lesson not to leave my bike unattended in Bolivia (and not to chastise
little candy-grubbers). As I cycle further north, the day improves somewhat.
A lone shepherder named John waves me to a stop and presents me with
an orange. Many other campesinos wave and clap as I pass the fields
where they are gathering their potatoes. And two locals returning home
aboard their own bicycles from an evangelical meeting invite me to sleep
in their home in the town of Sevaruyu. I decline their offer, preferring
the comfort of my fetid sleeping bag beneath the frost and the stars
to a possible chagra infested adobe hut. Total distance biked 85 kilometers.
May 3 - My anticipation of the pavement
is strong and I get an early start. I pass the town of Huari and meet
a Peace Corp worker in the central plaza. Cory is only two weeks into
his two-year altiplano stint and I sense that he is overwhelmed. After
swapping books with him, I cover 50 kilometers of moderately good gravel
road before finally arriving at the town of Challapata and the beginning
of the blessed pavement. My average speed jumps from 13 kilometers per
hour to 25 kilometers per hour. I get to the town to Paxnya where Cory
has told me that another Peace Corp worker resides. I knock on Natalie's
door and invite myself to spend the night in her garden or on a spare
bed if she has one. She and her fiance, a Bolivian named Herman, are
impressed by my boldness and provide me with much-anticipated bed and
food. The two of them operate a local radio staion (range of one to
three kilometers) and I spend the evening listening to them DJ to the
adolescents of Paxnya. Afterwards, the three of us talk until the wee
hours of the morning and I learn an immense amount about Bolivian politics
and culture. Total distance biked 82 kilometers.
May 4 - The road to Oruro is asphault and I thoroughly enjoy the day's short ride. The only downer is the periodic and relentless pursuit of degenerate Bolivian mongrel dogs. One of them in pursuit is not a problem, but the packs of three or more provide an adrenaline rush I can do without. Near Oruro I am pursued by a pack of five flea-infested beasts that are not at all put off by my pretending to throw rocks at them - I will return in a future life as a South American dog cathcer. The dogs relent after a kilometer-long sprint at 40 kilometers per hour. I spend the night in a hotel in Oruro. May 5 - It is about 240 kilometers to La Paz and I set off with the intention of covering the entire distance in one day. To accomplish this, I leave the bulk of my gear (including bob trailer) in the Oruro hotel. The entire distance is paved, but an incessant headwind keeps my progress down to about 18 kilometers per hour. The scenery is somewhat monotonous and it is cloudy, but Robert Plant and Jimmy Paige convince me to keep on going. A demonstration is in progress near the town of Patacamaya and those that are blocking the road wave to me and chant 'go gringo go'. They are protesting government neglect and corruption and a full-fledged nation-wide strike is scheduled for the near future. I arrive at El Alto (the satellite city the top of La Paz) at about 6:00 PM, after 13 hours of riding. Neither El Alto nor downtown La Paz is a great place to navigate by bicycle at night (or by day), so I take a taxi for the 10 kilometer downhill ride to downtown La Paz. I stay at the apartment of a Bolivian friend, a Cochabambina named Claudia whom I met during my last climbing trip to Bolivia. Total distance biked 235 kilometers. May 6 - I rest my butt and take the four hour night bus to Oruro to retrieve my bob trailer and gear. |
