Tupiza to Atocha to Tupiza, 148 miles, all dirt
Which describes our second attempt at reaching Salar de Unuyi, the largest salt flat in the world, and Amie’s mental breakdown.
We woke up to Blue Skies, aching bodies, and a renewed desire to make another go at the salt flats. At least I did anyway. You see, the salt flats for me are one of the highlights of the whole trip: a surreal landscape of flat stark white with perfect puddles that reflect the blue sky and clouds…trees made of rocks, and lagoons of bright green, blue and red. The “highway” we were on yesterday led us past the flats close to the Argentina border, to reach them today we would have to backtrack northwest about 120miles. 120miles of more dirt. Amie agreed to make the trek because she knew this was something I really wanted to do, but her aching body and better judgement would have kept her at the hotel.
After a light breakfast we struck out around 9:30am. The weather was great and the scenary some of the best we had scene to date—really incredible rocks and mountains of red and green. I’m so glad we’re doing this I thought to myself. What a shame if we missed this. Curse those words!
120miles of dirt is a LONG way. We hit some incredible washboard patches that I thought would shake the fillings out of my teeth and the handlebars out of my hands. Yet we pressed on. The rock and gravel road turned to sand at about 50 miles in. I flailed all limbs in an effort to keep the bike up right, but we eventually crashed. Then came the tears. Amie was at the end of her rope, feeling trapped and forced on this misadventure.
We heaved the machine back upright after getting our composure and moved forward slowly and carefully. The sand dumped us into a river and I flailed with my legs and lugged first gear through the mud across. We tried to follow in wheel tracks of jeeps and things, but there was really no road to follow, just ride down the river of mud, water and sand. We got stuck in the mud. Half of the rear sprocket was below the surface. With alot of effort on both our parts we were able to get it out and rolling again, but not for long. More of this went on for about 30 minutes before we saw a town on the mountainside, the river running around it.
The river dried up a bit, and soon became a dump of garbage and pig shit. Where the water ran, Amie chose to walk. She lost it again as she started to sink in the mud, sourounded by wallowing pigs and garbage.
The bike got stuck again and we asked ourselves if we were on the “road.” Some folks from the town said we were, but we doubted it. We pressed on with the hopes that we would soon ride off the riverbed back onto gravel. Up on the side of the mountain there appeared to be a road, and shortly there after a bus passed on it. SHOOT! That’s where we should be! We turned around, and just as we did, a bus came bumbling down the river bed towards us with a Uyni sign across the front. I tried to flag him down to confirm this was the only road, but he didn’t stop.
Defeated, we gave up. Amie had been crying for the last 2 hours pretty much continuously and I physically could not continue wrestling the bike through the mud. We began the long way back. First passed the pigs and garbage, through the rivers, and through the sand, careful as can be not to crash again.
Anxious to get back, I road faster, but the cursed-washboard patches just about tossed me off the road. Then the rain came. I wanted to cry too, but boys don’t get to.
To sum it up, we are back at the same hotel as last night, in the same room. We could have just hung out by the pool as Amie so aptly pointed out. The bike is worked and filthy for nothing. I need to go over it and tighten every bolt as things are starting to fall off. Its 8pm and time for our second meal of the day. Some days are easier than others.
We woke up to Blue Skies, aching bodies, and a renewed desire to make another go at the salt flats. At least I did anyway. You see, the salt flats for me are one of the highlights of the whole trip: a surreal landscape of flat stark white with perfect puddles that reflect the blue sky and clouds…trees made of rocks, and lagoons of bright green, blue and red. The “highway” we were on yesterday led us past the flats close to the Argentina border, to reach them today we would have to backtrack northwest about 120miles. 120miles of more dirt. Amie agreed to make the trek because she knew this was something I really wanted to do, but her aching body and better judgement would have kept her at the hotel.
After a light breakfast we struck out around 9:30am. The weather was great and the scenary some of the best we had scene to date—really incredible rocks and mountains of red and green. I’m so glad we’re doing this I thought to myself. What a shame if we missed this. Curse those words!
120miles of dirt is a LONG way. We hit some incredible washboard patches that I thought would shake the fillings out of my teeth and the handlebars out of my hands. Yet we pressed on. The rock and gravel road turned to sand at about 50 miles in. I flailed all limbs in an effort to keep the bike up right, but we eventually crashed. Then came the tears. Amie was at the end of her rope, feeling trapped and forced on this misadventure.
We heaved the machine back upright after getting our composure and moved forward slowly and carefully. The sand dumped us into a river and I flailed with my legs and lugged first gear through the mud across. We tried to follow in wheel tracks of jeeps and things, but there was really no road to follow, just ride down the river of mud, water and sand. We got stuck in the mud. Half of the rear sprocket was below the surface. With alot of effort on both our parts we were able to get it out and rolling again, but not for long. More of this went on for about 30 minutes before we saw a town on the mountainside, the river running around it.
The river dried up a bit, and soon became a dump of garbage and pig shit. Where the water ran, Amie chose to walk. She lost it again as she started to sink in the mud, sourounded by wallowing pigs and garbage.
The bike got stuck again and we asked ourselves if we were on the “road.” Some folks from the town said we were, but we doubted it. We pressed on with the hopes that we would soon ride off the riverbed back onto gravel. Up on the side of the mountain there appeared to be a road, and shortly there after a bus passed on it. SHOOT! That’s where we should be! We turned around, and just as we did, a bus came bumbling down the river bed towards us with a Uyni sign across the front. I tried to flag him down to confirm this was the only road, but he didn’t stop.
Defeated, we gave up. Amie had been crying for the last 2 hours pretty much continuously and I physically could not continue wrestling the bike through the mud. We began the long way back. First passed the pigs and garbage, through the rivers, and through the sand, careful as can be not to crash again.
Anxious to get back, I road faster, but the cursed-washboard patches just about tossed me off the road. Then the rain came. I wanted to cry too, but boys don’t get to.
To sum it up, we are back at the same hotel as last night, in the same room. We could have just hung out by the pool as Amie so aptly pointed out. The bike is worked and filthy for nothing. I need to go over it and tighten every bolt as things are starting to fall off. Its 8pm and time for our second meal of the day. Some days are easier than others.
With scenery like this, we felt good about our decision
Ooooo....
Ahhhhh....
Oh. Sand. Shoot.
Sand? Now mud? What next?
We weren't even stuck here. This was just a break! Mud got thicker!
The worst moments were not photographed. Here is us racing back before the storm.
posted by Pedro and Maria at 3:06 PM
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