Uspallata - Mendoza - Troy

I arose in Uspallata and packed the bike despite being unable to breathe through my nose, I had made it my policy not to rise before the sun in such climes (ie 9:30am), though I had to to be able to leave early to make good time on "highway 31" to Mendoza.

Thus I rode out on "the road less travelled" towards Mendoza by 10:30. I had heard that it was mostly offroad and at times hairy... and that excited me. After the insanity of the Uyuni to San Pedro leg I was ready, nay I was itching for some nastiness. I had replaced my near bald tyre on the rear for a 40% off road 60% on (it was all I could get), yet I felt that myself and the Dingo were ready for any challenges, despite road conditions.

The only problem was that I had a constantly running nose and felt like shit. Anyways I put my french lessons on full volume and hit the road. It was ashphalt lined with beautiful autumnal trees sprinkling soft leaves for the first bit, then became more asphalt progressing through incredible soft mountains, then patchy ashphalt moving into a rolling lansdscape of nothingness.

Then nothingness. The road became a gravel mass of nastiness, though surrounded by the most incredible mountains (at over 6000 m) imaginable. I had recently decided that my trip would have to end in 1 month (that's why I was studying French), so realised this may be one of the last really nasty roads I may ride in South America.

So I got the Dakar in my head again and hit it aggressively on the pegs (ie standing up). At first it was plains climbing, a bit of corrugate; then it quickly moved into blind corners, hills and valleys, snaking roads and round gravel rocks that no tire could grip.

I began to become one with the Dingo, and let her slide into corners and spin out. I moved my weight forward on her to help her decelerate, and her front tire grip, then (once again thanks Tim and Cory for the training) I put the weight on the opposite peg to the turn and leaned the bike into the turn, before righting her and turning on the power.

We were in a heaven of perfect offroad riding, through a landscape I could not have even dreamed of before I started this trip. Yet I was oblivious to the landscape because, after a bunch of days being sick, and knowing that the trip must end at some stage, I was pushing the Dingo to her and my limit, and my riding to mine.

I began to mix the de-clutching with rear and front break to make the corners as quickly as I could while generating a rear wheel slide that I could, once the corner was over, turn into a powder of accelerated spin, which in my mind looked cool, and it was going well until...

After the range of hills and valleys, the road turned into a constant descent, I'm talking 2000 + meters of, as Tim so eloquently put it before we rode into Cusco, Peru, winding intestine (I actually stopped at that stage, took a picture, and wished I was still riding with him (he would have loved it)).

I changed my ipod from French lessons to my favourite rock band (Okkervil River), then stupidly put on my serious face. I then attacked the ride down which was an insane mix of hairpin turns, deadly drops and no forgiveness.

Then I met the corner that should have killed me. It was one among many (and I'm talking probably a corner every 3 to 10 seconds for an hour), though I treated it like all the others I had conquered before, and I attacked it with, what I thought at the time, was flair.

It wasn't flair, it was the back wheel out of control, it was the bike sliding sideways towards a corner with no barrier to stop it, and at least a 200 foot drop of body mashing rocks... even the spot tracker wouldn't have survived.

At that stage I realised that I had ridden at least 2 hours on a really awful road without seeing a soul.. no cars, no farmers, no one except llamas. Even if I had survived such a drop, no one would notice it, in fact unless the spot had survived the inferno that the bike would have been, there would have been no time to save me from such a fall.

So I chilled out after that, though still hit it hard, until I rode into Villlacencia, and the road became bitumen. I pumped up the tires from offroad pressure, kicked back on the tour pegs and rode into Mendoza.