"The Salar"

UPDATED with Zane Beck's personal story.

I'm going to condense the last few days into one, huge Blog post, as a lot went on and I wanted to get it down as quickly as possible before I forget some of the details.    It was a roller coaster few days of ultimate lows and finally some great highs.

It may have been the most unforgettable days of riding and adventure I have ever done.  

Here is the story:

We left Potosi for Uyuni, now riding with Zane, Vanessa on the back with me.

The road to Uyuni dipped and twisted through amazing canyons filled with all manner of rock formations.   There was a lot of bridge construction, so we took many bypasses through sandy, gravel roads.  This was my first experience riding sand with Vanessa and full gear on the bike, and it is not a stable or fun experience.  If I fall off the motorcycle, I only have myself to worry about, but with Vanessa on the back, I have the huge responsibility of making sure she is never hurt.  For this reason, we took it very slow on the sandy sections.

We got to Uyuni, and booked into a nice Hotel with a great Pizza restaurant run by a guy from Boston.  Spent a full day there, met up with an American and a Argentinian riding a KLR and an Africa Twin.

The Argentinian had fallen coming up from Chile and had sprained his leg bad.  He was on crutches.  They both agreed the road was very hard, and they had both fallen many, many times.  Over 10 times.

We took a trip out to the Train Graveyard, just outside town with Dave, the American, who is a great guy.  The trains were abandoned outside Uyuni sometime in the 1920's, when they became too expensive to repair.  Since then, they have been slowly rusting away.  There have been plans over the years to create a museum, but it has never happened.

Uyuni sits on the edge of "The Salar", the worlds largest salt flat that stretches as far as the eye can see in all directions.  The Salar is 25 times larger than the Bonnyville salt flat in the United States.

From Wikipedia:

Salar de Uyuni is the world's largest salt flat at 10,582 square kilometers (4,086 sq mi). It is located in the Potosí and Oruro departments in southwest Bolivia, near the crest of the Andes, and is elevated 3,656 meters (11,995 ft) above the mean sea level.  The Salar was formed as a result of transformations between several prehistoric lakes. It is covered by a few meters of salt crust, which has an extraordinary flatness with the average altitude variations within one meter over the entire area of the Salar. The crust serves as a source of salt and covers a pool of brine, which is exceptionally rich in lithium. It contains 50 to 70% of the world's lithium reserves, which is in the process of being extracted. The large area, clear skies and exceptional surface flatness make the Salar an ideal object for calibrating the altimeters of the Earth observation satellites

We booked our trip through the Salar with the same tour agency that Troy used, but we didn't get the same guide.  Our guide was always in a hurry.  Since the road we would be travelling is very difficult, we loaded Vanessa into a 4x4 the next morning, along with 5 other tourists,  and followed the guide and 4x4 through town. At the checkpoint to the Salar, we found out he was not interested in waiting for the bikes.  He left us at the checkpoint.  After we paid a small access fee of a few dollars, we rode out into the Salar, all the while looking for Vanessa and our 4x4.

Since the salt is almost perfectly flat and hard, the traction is good, the ride is very smooth.  We had heard from another biker that when he rode across it, he closed his eyes for 18 seconds.  Zane tried the same thing and did it for 30 seconds.  Since there is nothing to ride "into" and you can't go off course, you could literally ride blindfolded for hours.

Our first goal is the first salt hotel and museum, where we took some pictures, then along came Vanessa and the 4x4 after about 30 minutes.  Seems they had taken a different turn, and had stopped for some pictures a ways back.  No problem, we were all together again.

Our goal for lunch time was Inkahuasi or Inkawasi (Quechua, meaning "Inca house"), also Isla del Pescado.  It is an island in the middle of Salar de Uyuni,  The total area of the island is 24.62 ha, the terrain is harsh.  The island contains gigantic cacti (Trichocereus pasacana) and a tourist center.

The local guides claim that the island took the name Isla del Pescado ("Island of the Fish") because when viewed from distance it looks like a fish

We got there at about noon, had some lunch and walked around the island.  The massive cactus and giant salt ocean around make it look like something from outer space.

We left the island and rode towards the side of the salt flat, to a Salt Hotel where we will stay the night. As we ride, the surface of the salt, till this point completely dry, begins to show pockets of water, until we are riding in water about a foot deep through the salt.  This is NOT good for the bikes!

We arrived at the end of the Salt lake.  Zane got stuck coming up out of the brine, so I park my bike to help.  We get Zane unstuck, and I go to start my bike....

Nothing.

No power.
Battery is fine.
Electrical issue.

Its starting to get dark, so the 4x4 continues to the hotel.  I'm only about 2 km from the hotel, but the bike is dead, and nothing I do is making a difference.

Zane goes to the hotel to get my panniers and some tools from the 4x4 as I try all the tricks I know to get power.

Nothing.

Zane comes back with the tools, and when I try the bike for the 251st time, after 250 times of nothing, the bike fires up.

 Joy!

Zane and I ride to the Salt hotel, then spend 1 hour hand washing the salt off the bikes, before having a nice supper.  The entire hotel is made of salt blocks, the floor is salt, and the roof is a combinations of salt and tin.  It is about 25 degrees warmer inside than outside.

After a fitful nights sleep listening to the other people in the room snore (its 6 beds per room here), we got up the next morning at 5:30 am and had tea and breakfast.

At 7:00 am, we head off from the hotel, leaving the Salar behind and head to the Eduardo Avaroa National Reserve of Andean Fauna, a massive protected high desert area full of amazing, awesome and fantastic mountains, volcanos, and features. (Please go re-read Troys description of the area, it's spot on)

As we ride into this epic landscape, the "roads" become worse and worse.  Sand, rocks, hills, gravel all tend to make the going very, very hard.  It is for this reason that we put Vanessa and most of our gear into the 4x4 in the first place.  A ride though here on a loaded bike with Vanessa on the back would not be possible.

As we progress slowly through the amazing vistas, it was difficult to keep everyone in sight.  I was slightly faster than the 4x4, and Zane was slightly slower due to his bike suspension being not as well set up for the bumpy conditions.  For this reason, I lost sight of Zane.

We rode about 1 hour.  Stop.  No Zane.
We wait for 20 minutes.  No Zane.
The 4x4 drives about 10 minutes to a picture spot.
I wait at the top of a hill.  10 minutes.. 20 minutes.. 30 minutes... No Zane.
I ride over to the 4x4.  The other people in the 4x4 are upset about waiting.
I tell the driver to wait 5 more minutes I will go look for him.
I ride back through the valley... no Zane.
I continue... another 45 minutes, almost back to where I last saw him.
I stop a couple trucks along the way. No one has seen Zane.
I turn around, worried, and ride hard back 45 minutes along the path again, no Zane, no 4x4, and now no Vanessa.
Continue along the many paths.  Come to a fork.  No 4x4.  No Zane.
I choose to go left, continue at 110 km/h, punishing myself and the bike.
Very Worried for Zane.  No Vanessa.  No Trucks in sight.

I hope I am on the right road.

I ride for 1 hour in the fading light, crashing twice in the sand.
I break off my mirror and guard for my Brake reservoir, but am not hurt.
Hammering the bike on the washboards.  90-110km/h.  No Vanessa.  No Zane.

I finally come to a feature called the "Rock Tree".

Vanessa is there with the 4x4.  She's worried and crying, but elated to see me.  No Zane.

We decide to continue to the hotel (about 20km) drop off the other people in the 4x4, and come back to search for Zane.

Riding towards the Hotel, the 4x4 is about 1/2 km ahead of me, we are doing about 70km/hour.

Suddenly and without warning, the rear shock bolt that I just repaired in Peru shears, the bike skids and I come to stop with a slight tumble.

The bike is broken, and the 4x4 is fading into the distance as I frantically and hopelessly wave my hands for them to stop.

They don't see me.

I am now stranded, Zane is missing, Vanessa is km's away, the sun is fading in the sky, and the forecast is for -20 degrees in the night.

I roll the bike to side of road and assess the damage. The final drive housing looks ok, the bolt is sheared, but the shock looks ok.

If it wasn't for the approaching freezing night, the amazing vistas, and beautiful sky would have captured my attention, but I was to preoccupied in getting my bike looked after, and finding Zane and Vanessa.

About 10 minutes later I flagged a truck, they take me to the hotel where I explain the problem to the driver and a very relieved Vanessa.

We ask around, and after a time, he finds me a guy with a broken down old truck, who agrees to drive the 15 km back to my bike to retrieve it.  I spent about 10 minutes telling him that it is a VERY LARGE motorcycle, and he will need 3 or 4 people and a ramp to load it into the truck.

As he is getting the truck ready, I pay our guide 200 bolivianos and buy him 30 litres of gas, and he and another guy head back into the park to go look for Zane.

As I am getting all my cold weather gear on, I hear the truck start up, and drive off into the park.  I run out, but helplessly watch as it disappears into the twighlight.  I have no idea how this guys thinks he can get my bike into the truck by himself.

Vanessa and I are now almost sick with worry for Zane.  We have not heard a thing.  We sit down to a terrible meal, unable to eat thinking about Zane out alone in the desert, with the temperature falling with the darkness.

3 hours later...

The truck comes back with my bike in the back.  Seems the guy we hired thought we had left with the 4x4 which was out searching for Zane.  So he rode to my bike alone, but managed to find a couple guys he knew coming the other way to help him wrestle my bike into the back.

I didn't care about that, my bike was back, relatively safe at the hotel, but Zane was still missing.

About 45 minutes after that our guide and 4x4 comes into view, with Zane on his bike right behind.

Zane is exhausted.  Vanessa and I are happy and relieved he is OK.

We help him get his bike indoors (its rapidly approaching -20 in the darkness), and unload all his gear.

I heat up some soup, make some tea, and sit down to hear his story:

Zane's Story by Zane Beck  

We came across another lake... A huge lake. I could see Tim and the jeep up ahead where they'd stopped to take in the view. As I came up over a small hill I sped up only to find a huge sand pit on the other side. I slid side to side, struggling to keep the bike from going down in the sand. I might have made through if it wasn't for the half meter embankment on my left. I hit it and went down. I felt my ankle, the same ankle from the last fall, twist and get caught under the bike. This time I couldn't get up right away. The pain in my ankle was too much. Also my left shoulder, which is still recovering from my fall hitting a pig in Nicaragua in January, was aching and feeling like ligament had been torn again. I just laid there, exhausted, and waiting for the pain to subside. 


Tim saw all this and came racing down on his bike, with the others just behind. We picked up the bike and I tried walking... I could walk fine, but my ankle was killing me, and felt like it was swelling. I didn't want to hold everyone up so I climbed back on and we kept going. We needed to reach our accommodation before dark. Unfortunately I needed to stand up most of the time due to the corrugations that sent so much vibration into the bike it would cause the bike to shudder... so much so that it would slow the bike right down, no matter how much throttle I gave it. My ankle wasn't enjoying this at all.


We crossed a dried up lake that was incredibly vast and surrounded by beautiful mountains. There was ice on its surface in parts so I kept a I tight grip fearing it might take me down. It's often like this on the bike... You're riding between your fear of the danger and your love of the surrounding beauty. The senses are always wide awake and buzzing.


Further along I hit a wide patch of deep grey sand. It was causing me to slide all over the place. Tim and the jeep were out of sight so I was trying to catch up. But the sand wouldn't have it. I nearly came off, came to a stop, tried to get going again and the back wheel dug a hole for itself. I was stuck... axle deep and exhausted. 


Two jeeps came by and a couple of guys helped me lift the bike out. They left and I tried riding up the very edge of the sand where there's some harder red dirt, or so it seemed. I lost control and the bike spun around and was left facing up hill. I got off and pulled it backward and had no choice but to back it into a ditch that water had worn. I gave the bike some throttle and slowly moved forward, back wheel spinning and throwing sand everywhere. I started getting traction and moving again, keeping to the very side of this 100m wide sand pit posing as a road. Up ahead there was more of this deep sand winding through the next valley.


Then to my left I spotted tire tracks heading up a small valley between the surrounding red hills. I was still fighting the sand to stay upright and feeling defeated, so I turned left and got up as much speed as I could and headed up the track. It was just tire tracks from a 4WD, but in a split second I thought to myself that a local or one of the tour jeep drivers must know a bypass to get around this shitty patch of road.


Five meters into the track I realised what a big mistake I had made... What looked like hard, red dirt was actually soft, powdery dust. My back wheel started spinning overtime to keep me moving and both wheels had sunk 20cm into it. Wrestling the handlebar, while the front wheel slid all over the place, I held the throttle on and ploughed my way up the valley. I couldn't stop or I would get bogged, so I thought it best to power up the valley to the top of the hill and turn around at the top and return to the original path. Big mistake!!!...


This red Mars-like dust was worse than the grey sand I was trying to avoid. As I reached the top of the range I steered slowly to the right thinking I could ride down the next red valley, get back to the road and hopefully miss all the sand. But as I descended into the next valley it looked daunting... steep, slippery and a possible trap for the bike. So I veered left and headed over the next hill... same thing there.... I did this another 3 times before realising I was just getting myself lost. There was no way back to the road from here.




I steered left to make an effort to turn around... very gradually... The red, powdery hills were so soft I needed to make a huge turning circle that needed maybe 5 minutes just to turn around and start heading the opposite direction. What made things more difficult was change in terrain... There were now thousands of grassy, cow-pat like clusters with maybe just 40cm between them. So now I was trying (but failing) to dodge these tufts of grass that were bouncing me all over the place and making staying upright much harder than it already was. Add the fact that I had to keep throwing my feet down into the dust to maintain this ridiculously unsteady uprightness, with pain shooting through my left ankle each time it hit the ground, and you have one very unhappy rider. 

I was fighting like this for over an hour, desperate to get back. If I came off or stopped for any reason there was no way I'd get moving again. I really don't know how I didn't come off. I was getting thrown into the air by each tuft of grass I hit and the front wheel was sliding around each time I landed in sand again. 

By now I'm getting really freaked out... I'm trying to retrace my tracks, but I can't see any. And I have no idea where I am. It all looks the same. 

I glance at the sun... it's mid afternoon and the sun is getting low. With the huge desert mountains here the sun will set on that mountain soon in the distance and the night time temperature here will drop to -25 degrees celsius. 

Completely exhausted, every muscle in my arms aching, ankle throbbing, and with panic starting to creep in, I stop... I kick a rock under the stand and get off the bike, breathing fast and feeling light headed. The sun is dropping and getting very close to setting. If I can find my way back to the road on foot I might be able to flag down a jeep and at least save my self from freezing to death out here. 

Then I remember that all the tour jeeps are on the same time frame, departing Uyuni at 10.30am and arriving in Lago Colorado by 5pm. If there are no more passing jeeps it could take hours to get there by foot. If our driver decides I'm not his problem, or if the nagging English tourist gets her way, there won't be a jeep out looking for me. If Tim rides back to look for me, which I'm sure he will, he could come off in the dark on these dangerous roads, or even get lost himself on the many tracks that spread out everywhere through these parts. 

I am talking to myself by now... trying to keep myself calm. I am starting to freak out and feeling delirious... more than I have ever known in my life. 

Facing the idea of trying to survive 25 below zero in a desert was scaring the shit out of me.

I take just my tank bag, some snacks, water and anything warm I can wear... everything else I leave with the bike on top of the range. I'm still talking aloud to keep myself calm, telling myself it'll be ok... I'll be rescued. But a voice in my heard is screaming at me, telling me I should not have turned off, I should not leave the bike, I should leave the bike, start looking for a cave in the rocks, don't look for a cave just keep walking... Head West, you headed East... Or did you? You must have... the sun is setting up ahead and we were all traveling South... Where are my tracks? Is this the right way?

The last few minutes of the sun's rays are stinging my face and drying my mouth... I'm dehydrated and I know it... But somehow I don't have the energy or mindspace for anything other than to keep walking. I'm mumbling to myself and stumbling in the sand. I'm thinking to myself that this is my last day alive... This is how it ends... I die out here and my family and friends and other riders hear about this Australian guy who got lost in the Bolivian desert and froze to death... The reality of the dangers of this kind of travel, in this kind of country, at this time of year, was clearer than ever.

The sun drops and so does the temperature. I look at the silhoutting mountain ranges ahead and wonder if I need to cross over the next range... or the next. And still unsure about whether I'm heading in the right direction... Maybe I'm just getting even more lost.

After 30m minutes I reach the bottom of the valley and the grey sand pit I was wrestling earlier comes into view... I've never been so happy to see an enemy in all my life. I laugh like the crazy man I am and pick up pace... Kinda like a robot with no knees... running in sand.

I reach the road and feel more than relieved to know I've gone the right direction. I stop to listen... As silent as a giant desert. The valley is in shadow and it's getting cold. I try to catch my breath so I can listen harder... nothing. Maybe Tim has ridden past already and is further back... maybe he's bogged, or crashed and hurt. 

I hear the faint sound of an engine... or is it? Maybe I'm imagining it. It slowly gets louder and a few minutes later a 4WD comes into view from the north. I'm so exhausted, and so out of my mind, that relief seems to barely surface in my torrent of crazed emotions and thoughts.

The jeep pulls up, I mumble something through the window and an old French couple get out to try make some sense of what I am saying and offer some food and water.

They clear room for me in the front of the jeep and I just slump with my head in my hands, taking another 15min to get normal breathing back. They take me to where they are staying the night just 8km down the road. My concern now, now that I'm safe, is for Tim. He's bound to be out looking for me and could get lost himself trying to find me in the dark. They assure me I will see him pass from the hotel. The hotel is 1km off the main route and I insist that the driver take me back to the road so I can spot Tim if he should pass. He says he will after he's unloaded all the bags and is in no way concerned about the situation. 

I give Martina, the French woman, all the info she needs to try and get in touch with the hotels near Lago Colorado and let them know what's going on. I know we were heading there, but I don't know which hotel.

I head to the main road, knowing that the driver is not in a hurry to ensure Tim doesn't go racing by. They insist that it's too cold and I should just try to phone. I tell them that if I'm not back in an hour to come and get me.

I wait up on the main road, pacing around to keep warm. An hour passes with no sign of Tim or our jeep. Another jeep with a local couple come down the hill from the hotel and stop to offer me a lift to Lago Colorado. It's 40min away apparently. I tell them ok, but I need to go back and tell the French couple what I'm doing and get my armour. They're not keen (to drive back just 30 seconds) and tell me "no mucho gasolina". Remembering how money cures laziness, I offer to pay 100 Bolivianos toward fuel, about $14. Laziness cured!

We get back to the hotel and the French couple have no news... There's no phone here and no radio. Turns out the jeeps don't even have radios. 

We head off and within 2 minutes we see a jeep with its hazard lights on in the distance coming toward us. It must be them! We meet up and the driver of our tour jeep and a old Bolivian tourist step out peering desperately into our jeep. I get out and we are very happy to see one another. Emilio, the old Bolivian guy, thought my throat had been cut(!). They tell me Tim had been out looking for me, broke his motorcycle and had to get carried back in a truck. WTF?! He was ok but his BMW's shock had broken off at the top. I'm not surprised... I was to later find out he'd been riding 110km/h through these roads, some of the worst in the world, in a desperate attempt to find me. 

We agree that it would be best to try and find my bike now for two reasons... 1. They have to keep the tour moving forward in the morning ('nagging selfish English girl happy to let people die in deserts so as not to ruin her tour' would ensure this happened)... and 2. I know little about the cooling system on my bike so I was worried that the -25 temperatures would freeze the coolant in my radiator and crack it. 

I jump into our tour jeep and we head north in the dark with an extremely poor low beam that shines maybe 5 meters ahead. I am edgy about Emilio's concern that my throat may have been cut and begin to ask questions about it... Our driver, Enrico, tells me that this remote and rugged road is a route for drug smugglers taking cocaine from Bolivia's south west into northern Chile and that no one should be traveling these parts with less than 3 or 4 people... I'm happy I didn't know this before I became lost.

We drive for half an hour through deep sand and then a narrow canyon that has ice lining a small stream running through it. It's damn cold out there. I spot the rocks I'd stacked as a marker to the entrance of the red valley leading up to my bike. We head up the valley and I'm leaning out the window into the freezing night air scanning the ridge to the right for a bike silhouette... Nothing... We drive a little further up... Still nothing. We reach the top and start out on foot in three different directions over the top of the ridge, leaving the hazard lights on so we can find the jeep again. It's so fricking cold I get the shivers and my teeth start chattering. My headlamp is not all that bright, so it's difficult to see more than 10m, and I'm kicking myself for not shelling out for the good gear.

Feeling that I've gone too far along the ridge I'm now wondering if we're on the right ridge... Maybe it was one over. I was too delirious when I left the bike to be sure. 

Then I see something... a faint reflection. As I get closer it reveals itself to be the reflective marine tape I had stuck on the back of my helmet. I am so happy to see my bike... the good friend I had abandoned. I turn on the headlight and toot my horn for the others. Emilio comes over looking as pleased as I am and Enrico arrives in the jeep shortly after.

The bike is warmed up now and I follow them closely further up the ridge. The bike is revving hard to get traction, is sliding around and bouncing off grass tufts as before, but at least this time I will find my way out with the help of my new friends.

I follow them south to Lago Colorado, falling way behind many times, as the jeep keeps speeding up and repeating what had happened earlier today. At one point the road divides into dozens of sandy tracks that disappear over many hills and through different valleys and I see the jeep's lights drift a kilometer away to my left - which, on one hand, went a long way toward reassuring me that my decision earlier to deviate from the main track was a not such a foolish one... On the other, it was making it all the more obvious why we should stick together in this part of the world.

My aching back is screaming at me, my ankle is nagging, insisting that 11 hours on a bike is way too much and my fingers are so cold in my snowboarding gloves that I'm wondering how cold and numb is ok before I need to stop and do something about them. Meanwhile the bike shudders over endless corrugations and slides all over the place. If it wasn't for the good lunch I had, and the second coffee with it, I'd've collapsed and fallen asleep miles back. 

We pull into the lodge and I'm so happy that this ordeal is almost over I could cry. Tim comes out to meet us and there's almost nothing we can say... "You could die out there", was all I could manage. Tim gave me a friendly hug... and we kissed... ok the the kiss never happened, but we were happy to see each other alive and mostly well.

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We get up the next morning and said goodbye to the people in the 4x4.

The driver of the truck with my bike in it demanded $150 US Dollars to take us the 25 km to the welder and mechanic.

With no other options, I reluctantly pay him the money.

His truck is in such disrepair, it takes 4 hours to go 25 km.  We stop 10 times to fill the leaking radiator.

Top speed is 10 km/h.

Along the way, we pass some snow drifts in the high mountains.  It is the first time that Vanessa has ever seen snow.  The fist thing she does is bend down, pick some up, make a snowball and throw it at me.  :)

After 4 hours, we get to the plant, and wait 20 minutes to get permission to enter. The Jefe ("Boss") finally shows up, and we are allowed to enter the plant, and unload the bike and gear.

As I push the bike over to the shop, the shop foreman comes out, takes one look at my bike and says.

"NO, can't fix"

I run back to the truck to tell the driver that they won't fix my bike.

As I run back to the bike, I look over and see the truck driving away.

We realize we are now stuck at this plant, which is 100km from any town, it's 3:30 pm, we have 110 km to go to the border.

We also realize also the 5 litres of gas that was strapped to my bike is gone.

Neither Zane nor I have much gas.

I put on my smiliest face, and with the help of Vanessa, who is drawing a bit of a crowd at the all male plant in the middle of nowhere, we try and talk the shop foreman into fixing my bike.

He says he has no one to spare for the repairs, but that I can use some of the equipment.  Great.  No problem.  I know how to weld, just give me the welder.

As I start taking the bike apart to access the area, they roll out the welder, which was likely made in the 50's, but now their attitude is different, and everyone seems to want to help.  Their mechanic/welder is suddenly available and eager to help.

We spend 45 minutes repairing bike, all goes well, and the repair is completed.

It's now almost 4:30.  We have less than 2 hours daylight.  Neither Zane nor I think we have enough gas to get to the border.

We ask the foreman if they have any gas at the plant.  "No gas, just diesel."

We thank our helpers and pay the 50 Boliviano fee (about $7 US dollars) at the Administration building.  The guy insists on writing me out a receipt longhand.  I impatiently wait and scribble my signature as the light starts to fall.

We pack the gear, mount up and hurriedly ride to the gate where we ask for directions to the border from the gate guy.    He waves his hands in all directions, while speaking a version of spanish that Vanessa can't understand.  After about 5 minutes of gestures and arm waving, we think we need to go straight then keep right.  Maybe.

We begin riding.  The road is ok, but there is a huge berm of sand piled in the middle of the lanes.  If I stray into it, Vanessa and I are going for a tumble.  I keep it in 1st gear most of the time, and my speed is under 30km/hour.

I am half hoping to come across the truck, so I can punch the driver in the face.

We never see him again.

For 1 hour, we follow the road as it travels South East.  We need to go South West.

We continue riding, as the road slowly tuns south west.

I stay in 1st or 2nd gear, terrified of falling and hurting Vanessa.

In the now twilight and dropping temperature, we come across a Restaurant.

Still 36 km from the border.  About 2 hours more on these roads.

Zane gets off his bike and asks if there are rooms.

"No".

He asks if we can set up a tent.

"No".

Dispair!

Zane asks if we can stay in the restaurant.

"Yes"  No problem.

Joy!

We ask if they have any gasoline?

"Yes"… as much as we want.

"How about some food"

"No Problem", when would you like it?

Then the icing on the cake:

"Also, did you know we have a 36 degree Thermal Hot Pool down by the lake?"

Really?  A hot pool?  Are you kidding us?

Pure Joy.!!!!!

Zane, Vanessa and I spontaneously embrace our host and do the happy dance!

We drop our gear, fill the bikes with gasoline, race to the lake and get in the most glorious natural volcanic spring you can imagine.

We soak for a couple hours, the sky is black, the stars amazing, and the moon is full.

We come back to the restaurant and get served a piping hot meal with all the trimmings.

The sky is black, the moon shining off the lake, and the temperature is -20.

We are safe, warm, fed and happy in our makeshift camp on the restaurant floor.

I bundle Vanessa into as many thermals as we have, make up a hot water bottle for her, and settle in to sleep.

We wake up at 5:00 am the next morning so we can pack the bikes, and clear the restaurant for the first tourist truck to arrive around 6:00 am.

It's too cold to ride early in the morning so we soak in the spring again for a couple hours.  Zane finds a 2nd natural spring about 50 meters away, and goes for a soak there.

We load up, ride through glorious epic vistas very carefully with Vanessa on the back.

Lots of sand.  Stressful for me.

We make it to the park boundary, and are told the border is 6 km ahead.

The Park Ranger asks if we stopped at the Aduana (Customs) 60 km back.

Huh!!!??!?! 60 km back!!! No!!!.

We are told:  "There is usually no customs at the border, only immigration, so you might have to go back 60 km and get you motorcycle papers stamped"

Just when we thought we were going to get out of Bolivia without any more problems, this comes up!

We decide to go to the border anyway.  As we approach, we see 6 military guys in full uniform standing outside the crossing, guarding the border.  We get off the bikes, smile, shake hands all around.  We go in, prepared to bluff or bribe our way out of Bolivia.

No way am I riding 60 km over crap roads to get a stamp, then 60 km back to the border.

The border official doesn't even ask for our Customs documents, but quickly stamps our passports with a smile.

We're officially out of Bolivia.

Pure Joy.

We Ride for about 5km on crumbling pavement, then turn on to the most perfect blacktop highway we've seen since leaving the US.  Zane drops to his knees and kisses the road.   In the 47 km to San Pedro de Atacama, we steadily drop from 4200 meters to 2500 meters, as the temperature rises to a beautiful 21 degrees by the time we roll into town.

Customs and passport stamps are done in 15 minutes.

We're officially in Chile.

We had 2 days that were likely the worst I have had travelling.  Worrying about Zane dying (possible) and them my bike breaking and being out of gas were the worst.

Finding the a place to sleep, gas, food and the thermal pool was maybe the best.

A roller coaster.  The Salar was beyond magnificent.   Bolivia was the best of times and the worst.

I'm exhausted.  Good night.

Tim Dzaman
10:30 pm, Tuesday, June 15, 2011

Riding to Uyuni, we went through a lot of construction.  They are building many bridges like this one.

Rafael, who we met in Uyuni.

At the Train Graveyard, just outside Uyuni

Vanessa and Zane

Dave, our friend from California on his KLR.

"The Salar"

Doing some perspective shots in the white salt.

:)

On the island in the middle of he salt.

Part of the Salar covered in water.

At the Salt Hotel.  Everything is made of salt.

Early in the morning, about 5:30 am.

Yoga in the mist. 

Wild foxes,

Adventure rider.