Date : Tue, 31 Jul 2001
Dear friends: Since my last update, I`ve received many positive answers, thank you all for your kind words, and excuse me if I can not reply inmediately, but I will eventualy. My good firiend Bernd Tesch, form Germany, sugested to include dates of my intinerary and even though it would take even more time and work, I think is a good idea so I will include and intineray section from now on; July 14: entering Bolivia, La Quiaca 1.July 15/17: Salar de Uyuni, Part 1 July 18/22: Potosi, Sucre July 23/26: Salar de Uyuni, Part 2 July 27/ 29: Potosi, Sucre, Cochabamba July 30/?: La Paz ---------------------------------------------------
I leave the border town of Tupiza, in south-western Bolivia. The dirt road kingdom begins. It takes me a few kilometers to adjust to riding on dirt, but after a while I`m feeling pretty comfortable. Of course, riding alone makes you take a bit of precaution. This is not like it was at the beginning of the year, flying on all kinds of dirt roads with my friends from Colorado, Ed Tarleton and Matt Stakpole. Riding with a couple of good friends and excellent riders make you feel a lot more safe, that`s for sure. I`m taking it easy, with a steady rhythm and watching it. The road is climbing in altitude. The engine of the bike is felling the lack of oxygen, I open up a bit the air screw on the carb and she picks up speed pretty decently. The rider is also feeling some lack of air, I have to bread deeply to get my brain going. I`m feeling a small headache coming up. Altitude sickness? I don`t think so, after all I was born in Quito, a high altitude city.
It should take me some 3 hours to cover the about 100 clicks to the first major town, Atocha, which is halfway to Uyuni. The scenery is gorgeous and I`m feeling so happy to be riding in Bolivia, a country I wanted to explore for so long. The road descends a bit and then ends altogether inside a wide, although shallow river. What the hell is this? There is some kind of building across the river, but I would have to cross that wet, icy and muddy thing to get there. No way. There are many tracks leading directly into it though. Some are going to the building, but others are going directly downstream. What to do? There is nobody to ask to, since I went out of Tupiza, I have not seen one single car or truck. A couple of jeeps go down from the building in the other side of the river and head downstream, following the bank. I walk around deciding my way. The town should not be that far, since I`ve done 100 kms. already. This looks bad!! Breathing hard, I hit the throttle and cross the first stream. The engine dies on me. What the hell? Oh. No. It`s her and the water problem again. Remember? I don`t believe it, not now please! I`m in deep trouble, I still have to cross the wider part of the river. Accelerating hard, and abusing the clutch to not let her die, I go for it, we reach the bank and head downstream. The road heads back into the water again. Dam it! Where is that god dam town anyway?
The Pirellys track the mud crunching the ice and getting me out of trouble in the sand and finally, after a huge water crossing, that get my Sidi boots and Aerostich pants completely wet, I see the dam town. The tire tracks keep following the river banks but I head straight out, crossing some railway tracks and a walking bridge directly into the humble town. I ask the first person I see for the gas station. The stupid building across the river, that was the gas station, and I am not going back! I think I can make to Uyuni with the half tank I have left. I ride through the really narrow pathways of the small town, down to the train tracks again and find the way out of town, where I manage to get a gallon of gas, just to be in the safe side. Its incredible, but inside my wet gear, I`m totally dry.
When I ask for directions, they point me into the river again. No way, this can?t be true. The ?road? keeps criss-crossing the icy, muddy, thank God, shallow water again and again, from one sandy bank to the other as it enters a canyon with step stony walls on both sides. I´ve been riding for about an hour, am I going in the right direction here? Fortunately, and old bus full of indigenous people, shows up going up-stream and I get assured to keep going. Every time the way heads up and out of the river bed, I think the torture is finally over, but every time, it dives into it again. Mud, water, ice, sand, endlessly.
The multiple tracks, finally head into a drier canyon, and when I think the fun is over, we get into a nice set of deep sand washes. No problem, just hit the gas hard, right? Sure. After a wide, heavily sand-washed turn, we are suddenly out of the canyon and on a real road again, where I can see the railway tracks running along, assuring me I`m not lost. It`s climbing up again, turn after turn, hairpin after hairpin into a huge plain where the view is just amazing. 4000 meters up high here. Far in the immense distance, there is a few big snow capped summits, surrounded by lower, green mountains. There is a particular one, with a large flat top, resembling a medieval fortress with white roofs. In any direction I see, there are mountains and more mountains. This is the Bolivia altiplano.
As soon as the road straightens up a bit, the corrugations start. First, they shake the bike and myself mercifully, brutally. Then, I find the right riding position, standing up, lightening the front end and shifting my weight backwards, kind of sitting on top of the backpack I carry on the back seat. Anyway, the rear end is suffering a brutal pounding, all the weight, you know, the back pack with the camping gear, the hard case carrying clothes, tools and spares, and the extra tire are a huge load to carry for a 650 cc. bike.
I spot many tracks running alongside the main road. They seems to be of a smoother surface, but I tell myself: "stay on the main road, you don´t want to get lost out here". The rear suspension is suffering too much, I go for one of the side tracks. Oh, it`s so smooth out here! There are plenty of tracks heading in all directions, so I keep riding on the one following the main road, even though is a bit sandy and once in a while I get totally out of shape, kicking desperately both side berms to stay on the bike. After a few good scares I order myself to go back on the main road and suffer the corrugations. Oh no, this is too much for the bike. Jump back into the side tracks. More scares, more kicking, back into the main one, And so on, so on. The road deepens into a terrible sand pit. No way! On one of the side tracks, I see a small bus stuck in the sand. I turn around and manage to drop the bike. Try to pick it up with, no way, too heavy, too little air to breath. I make hand signs to the people in the bus. A small guy comes running and helps me pick it up, he´s an amazingly strong "cholo", saving me the unloading in order to get the bike up. Thank you, muchas gracias amigo! When I`m beginning to ask myself where the hell is that Uyuni town, the shinning roofs of a medium size village, greet me in the middle of this lonely wilderness. After a very welcome supper of pasta, badly needed carbohydrates, I go find me a decent place to rest, only to feel my front end kind of heavy, front tire going flat. It is a Sunday today, so I go searching for tire replace place before having to fix it myself. I do find one, but when the wheel is off, the electricity goes out. The guys manages to fix the flat using a torch and I fill the air up with my hand held air pump. It already dark when I`m lying on the bed of a cheap hotel, trembling. It so cold I can not sleep. I have six, read six blankets on me, I`m wearing double sweat pants, a sweater and my Aersotich inner jacket, and still this room fells like a f?? freezer. Outside, it`s 10 degrees below cero.
I´m off to the Salar after sleepless night. I decide not to join any organized tour. Lets tempt adventure. The wide corrugated dirt road heads out of town, northbound. A few km. later, to the west, the snow white flat surface of the salt plain appears, with all its inmensity shinning under the bright sun of the cool morning. 12 million square kilometers, more that 10 billion tons of salt. I yell out of excitement and my left thumb goes up to the blue sky in a sign of victory.
I ride some sidetracks to get close to the edge of the Salar, to take the first photos to look around and just to feel it. Through my binoculars, I can spot many strange sights. Its, so beautiful out here! Right across the shinning huge white surface, there are many oddly shaped elevations, one of which looks like a fairy tale icy castle. To the south, there are more, isolated green mountains, and at the end of that range, an inmense snowy mountain, probably in Argentinean or Chilean territory.
I keep riding slowly, as close as possible to the edge of the Salar, gazing at amazing, ever changing views. Every now and then I spot moving dark points far away in the distance, which through the binoculars appear either as jeeps, trucks or small buildings. I get to Chilcani, a little village that stands at the entrance to the Salar de Uyuni. The salt powder is gathered in piles that are loaded on big trucks, while smaler, older trucks are coming out from the Salar loaded with the white mineral.
I ask for directions and ride directly to the entry point, marked by a abandoned clay brick hut and a cement sign, where a hand painted ?map? of the place welcomes the tourists. A little farther down the road, a huge lagoon of shallow blue water has to be crossed to keep advancing. I stop to enjoy the magnificence of the spot and to decide which way to take, then think to better wait for other vehicles to show and see where they cross the water. Meanwhile, I walk around, the salt surface seems to be pretty hard, I don´t think I´ll have trouble riding on it. Soon enough, a tour company Toyota Land Cruiser, loaded with a bunch of ?adventure tourists?, cruises by and stops. I ask the driver, a though and ugly looking Bolivian "cholo", which is the right way to the famous Salt Hotel. He points to the middle of the huge lagoon. I decide to let him cross first, then follow, but then, as I´m getting on the bike, I spot some tire tracks circling around the water, to the left, where the lagoon ends and where only a few poodles of water seem to be on the way.
I go for it. Bad mistake. After a few meters, the salt crust breaks and I get completely stuck in salty mud. I look back and see all the tourist and the driver staring in amusement. This is embarasing, man! I click second gear, hit the throtle and pushing the bike with my feet, manage to make a desperate U-turn, till my boots get completely stuck in the mud and the bike starts to make an ugly clanky noise repeatedly. I get off the bike, she´s standing all by herself, stuck up to the axles, deep in the salty muddy shake.
When I arrived last night, into Uyuni, I felt the impulse to buy a few meters of rope, just in case, you know. What a wise urge it was. I´ve been making a case to always follow my instincts, and when you are out alone, into the wilderness, your instinct becomes your best friend. And my father used to acuse me of being "impulsive". See, dad!
I walk and humbly ask the jeep driver to pull me out. The jeep pulls back and I hook the rope between the two vehicles, only to see the jeep get stuck too. And the driver is blaming me! The tourists push the jeep free and jump in leaving me stranded. Hey, thank you guys, thank you very much. Another jeep shows up, this time the driver turns around, looks for harder ground and pulls me out, not before I drop the bike and get my left foot stuck underneath the heavy weight of the luggage rack. What a show must be for the "spectators". They help me up, and a last pull of the jeep sets me free. I thank them and distribute Around the World for Peace stickers among everybody.
Ok, lets check the bike. She´s splatered with dark mud, the harmfull salt is all over her and won´t roll on neutral. I manage to clean some of the stuff from the chain and sprockets using warm water from my thermus. The chain has stretched and is hard stuck on the rear sprocket. Using penetrating oil and some pounding it sits back in place. While I let the oil work, I sit next to the clay brick hut, take my boots out to let them dry and get a dry pair of socks. Sipping some tea, I think what a terrible thing it would be to come all the way out here and not being able to see the Salar, "from the insight". I still have a long way to go to get back home, I need to get that salt off the bike. I get ready to go, but still insist on riding into the salt plain. I cross the first pudlle of salty water, the engine dies on me. This is it, totally resignated, I´m turning back.
I´m riding the side tracks back to the town of Uyuni. A deep feeling of frustration invades me. Well, I could always join one of the ?adventure? jeep tours to see the Salar. I could unload the bike, try to waterproofed it, and ride in again, risking my electrics to get fried by the high conductivity of the salty water. We´ll see, while there are choices, there are ways to do things. While I thinking about my next moves, the front tire locks catching a huge sand berm and I crash heavely, getting my foot stuck again underneath the bike, only this time, there is nobody in sight to help me out. I try desperately to free myself off the weight, only to let all the scarce oxygen exhaust from my lungs, rendering me powerless. I´m laying on the sandy track, with the bike on top of me, and feeling all the weight of failure.
After catching my breath, with my free hand I dig the sand around my stuck foot, manage a weird contortion with my stiff body and, somehow, by pushing the bike with my right foot, am able to get free of the sand lock. I have to unload the bike in order to get it to the upright position. Load it back and ride into town to find a place to wash her out of the mess. Another sleeples night. I had 9 blankets on top of me, the cold was so intense that I couldn´t fell asleep, even if I was exhausted. I´m out of here. Even if I would really like to explore more of this region, there is no way I´ll have the energy if I can´t sleep. I´m waiting at the gas station long line of vehicles, waiting for the gasoline to arrive. They hope the gas will be here by noon.
Its 12:45. No gas. I have little more than half a tank, good for about 140 km. I suppose I can get gas at one of the little town along the way. I´m off. As I climb the mountains surrounding this part of the altiplano, the inmensity of the Salar comes into full view. It is a breathtaking scennery, one that no human being can ever forget. The shinny huge white surface glowns under the midday sun. Not one cloud on the Andean sky. The hole plane is surrounded by ranges of the most diverses shaped mountains, most of them crowned by ethernal glacial ice. In the middle of the Salar, a few lower , snowless elevations, are scatered as patches on a white mantle, contrasting with other deep blue patches of salty water. Is this the closest sight of celestial paradise on earth?
The way from Uyuni to the even more higher lands of Potosi, is a rolling, blindfolding, twisty piece of dirt road. It climbs from the 3700 meters of altitude of the Salar region to above 4500 meters, then drops down to a series of low dry valleys, then heads up again to the ?highest city of the world?. I´m about midway when the reserve of the gas tank has to come on. I haven´t had luck to get gas in the previous small towns. I´m entering G.S.R., (gas saving riding mode). Not much fun. There´s is a town coming up. I see a few bus stops in the form of humble huts that act as restaurants and food markets. I also see, with relieve, a sign telling they sell gas. Stop, dimount and order gas. Sorry, no gas. (the "sorry" is just a matter of speach, it seems that this particuar word was erased from the diccionary in this country). I´m ready to beg for some gas, and actually I do. The lady says, no way. Her husband says, no way. I see a small motorcycle parked inside the hut. I bug them, make jokes, smile, ask, beg for them to give me a little gas from the tank of that bike. They decline unpolitely. Sh...! Finnaly, the buses leave taking all the restaurant customers with them. The place is empty as my gas tank is. The owner comes out of the kitchen holding a 2 liter soda bottle. "How you dare asking me in front of all that people to steal gas for you". Oh, I´m sorry, I´m sorry. Then, he ?milks? a couple of liters of precious gas from the small bike. Thank you, thank you, God bless you. How much. Ten Bolivianos. (about dollar and a half).
On my way, G.S.M. (gas saving mode). Long, long uphills, Shut engine down on downhills. Not fun. This is a road to haul ass. Mental calculations: I must be down to nothing. I pass a couple of travelers on bycicles., wave and think how crazy they are. Take a wide turn going as fast as the momentum is carrying me. I see a couple of nice blonde girls, resting next to their bycicles by the shores of a small blue lagoon. Wow, good looking, wow, the bike goes sideways, corection kick, hard on the gas, what a turn! My body wants to stop to say hi to those cuties, but the mind orders: go ahead, no gas, remember? Long flat straight. Pluf, pluf. Pluf, merde, out of gas!
Laying the bike on its left side, I manage to get the last drops of precious fuel, and make it to town. They have 5 litters of it. While I´m fueling, the blonde girls ride in. They are from Sweden and think I´m crazy, to ride that hard on this kind of road. They are waiting for their boyfriends who are hauling the heavy weight of the camping gear and should be here any moment. Oh darn, and I thought my bad luck was about to run out! Well, good luck, see you later. Finnaly I find plenty of gas on the way out of town. I even get some coca leaves to add to my tea so I can spare lunch.
The heavy climb to Potosi starts. The engine heavy misfares also starts. They should´ve sold me bad gas. The bike tries really hard to carry me up hill, but the lack of oxygen and the bad gas are working her out pretty good. After a long, long time uphill, we arrive into full view of the colonial town of Potosi, with the background of Cerro Rico (Rich Hill), the mountain full of silver and other metals that made the Spanisch crown even richer.
I spend a day fixing the bike and sightseeing, including a tortorous tour to the silver mines, where 8 million indian and black slaves died under the Spanish colonialism, and where, today, modern slavery dictates that hundreds of miners still work under trecherous conditions. I didn´t get bad gas. It was the "hair" on the main get that came loose. You see, here in the undeveloped countries, where motorcycle parts are expensive and hard to get, we have to use inventiveness to sort things out. So insted of instaling a leaner main jet, we just poke a fine cooper wire through the main jet hole, securing it on the jets theads. Maybe its not inventiveness at all, maybe it is plain laziness. Anyway, the bike is perfect now.
To my surprise, the road betwen the cities of Potosi and Sucre is paved and well signaled, and twisty and curvy. Lots of fun Sucre, is definetevely Bolivian prettiest city, cozy, mellow, romantic (!?!) I´m walking out of the hotel. Around the corner, is the University Archeological and Ethnical Museum. Mmhhh, much interesting. A strange feeling won´t let me go in, right now. I walk towards the main plaza. I´m turning around the corner into the square. A "red tornado" blows by, almost knocking me off. A fantastic looking, red hair woman, rushes by and is walking in front of me. Hipnotized, I follow her into the Tourist Info Center.
She´s asking for info about the city museums. I can not keep my eyes off her. Somehow, I get the courage to ask if I can listen too. She turns around. looks at me with deep and gorgeus blue eyes, smiles and offers the seat next to her. She is soooo beautifull that I´m not really listening to the explanation off the desk lady. Information provided, the desk lady asks us to complete a registration from. I take a quick peek. Her name is Catherine. While she walks out saying "bye" and is my turn to fill the form, the desk lady says: "She was talking to you, sir". I look up, whinkle, leave the form unfinished and run out of the place. I look up and down the street, locating her entering the next building, where there is a museum, and follow her in again. She´s paying the entrance and filling another form. I stand behind her, trying not too look to obvious, take another peek, she´s fench, but lives in Buenos Aires. What a perfect combination!
I´m wandering around the museum. There are stuffed animals and archeological things. I´m not really interested in the exhibitions, I´m disimulatedely looking all over for her, but she seems to be gone! I walk towards the back of the exhibits and see a door going to a back courtyard. I open the door and walk out, in front of me, the woman apperas in all her splendor. Erhhhh. Hi Catherine, my name is Ricardo Rocco, from Ecuador............
Ricardo Rocco Paz Alrededor del Mundo por la PAZ Around the World for PEACE www.andesmoto-tours.com PHOTOS and PRESS in: http://communities.msn.com/AroundtheWorldforPeacePhotos
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