Part 1: The Day Bolivia Ran Out of Gas
I spent 5 nights at the Ambassador's residence in La Paz. I can't thank Jurri and his parents enough for their hospitality. I had forgotten how nice it is to have hot water in the bathroom sink, a non-electric-showerhead hot shower, and it had been seven months since I had flushed my toilet paper! (the plumbing systems in Central and South America can't handle the paper, so it gets put in a waist basket) I left Jurri's parents' house in La Paz on January 2nd. From there, I was making a big push south to the town of Uyuni, located on the shores of the Salar desert. Jurri was heading that way as well, but was making a detour to the mining town of Potosi first. Malik, his family's driver, was driving him on this stage of his journey, so I followed them out of La Paz, and I think it was the first time I drove through a big city without cussing! Once we hit the main road south, Jurri took off, and I pulled over for gas. "No Hay," said the attendant, meaning that there wasn't any. Huh, OK. I road 100m further to the next station, "No Hay, " and the next, and the next, until there weren't anymore stations and I was back in the Altiplano: "No Hay!" I had enough gas to get the day started, so I wasn't worrying about it too much. A while later I came to small town with a gas station and was able to fill up. Maybe it was just an isolated thing in La Paz? Continuing South to the small city of Oruro, and looking to top off my tank before heading into the no-man's-land between there and Uyuni, I ran into the same problem: "No Hay!" Actually in Oruro, I never actually heard "No Hay," but the dozens of cars lined up at every gas station told the story.
I knew I couldn't make it to Uyuni with the gas I had, but saw a couple more small towns on my map before the dirt road began. I visited each of them and was finally able to track down 8 liters that someone was selling out of their house. If my calculations were correct, I would have enough to arrive in Uyuni with 10 miles of gas left: a little too close for comfort! There were a few small villages along the way though, so I figured I'd go for it and see what happened. Once I hit the dirt road, I immediately came to a detour. They were starting to pave the main route, so I had to ride on a new dirt road that snaked back, forth, over, and across the old straight road that was being paved. I'm guessing that the muddy detour ate a mile or two into my ten mile buffer. I hope there aren't too many more of those! Once I was able to pick up the main dirt road again, the land opened up, and I was in the middle of the most vast terrain I had seen up until that point of the trip. Usually there are scattered homes owned by herders, or small villages that aren't on my map, but here there was nothing, and it seemed to go on forever. I tried to find fuel in the first two towns I came to, but struck out: One guy who sold gas didn't have any, and the no one in the other town sold gas. Finally, in the third and last town before the long stretch to Uyuni, I tracked some fuel down and bought 4 liters. (1 gallon) Now I had more than enough to make it to Uyuni, and it's a much more relaxing ride when you can actually use your throttle and not worry about having to push the bike the last couple miles! That night I met up with Jurri and Malik in Uyuni and we were both equally shocked to see eachother there. I thought for sure they would be stranded somewhere without fuel, and they figured I would suffer the same fate. They ran into the same problem in Potosi when they tried to fill up, but were able to find some from alternative sources as well. When it was all said and done, it was actually kind of interesting to live through the oil embargo of the 1970's for a day!
Part 2: A Day Without a Horizon
Riding across the Salar de Uyuni on my motorcycle was something I had dreamed about since the first days of planning this trip. The Salar is a huge salt flat in Bolivia. If you click on "SAT" on my map, you'll see the massive white spot in South Americ that is the Salar. For a good part of the year, the Salar has a perfectly flat, hard-packed salt surface that is blindingly white. It's a place where you can fall asleep at the wheel and live to tell about it. Even though 4x4 tracks define the major routes from Uyuni to the few towns along the northern, western, and southern perimeter, there are no other points of reference, so it's a very easy to get lost. Exactly 9 days before I arrived, the Salar change from a dry salt flat, to a shallow lake, as it does each and every rainy season. It will remain that way until April or so. The water basically ruined my chances of crossing the Salar on my bike. It's certainly not impossible, but the ultra-concentrated salt water would kill my bike, and second, your chances of getting lost increase exponentially since the 4x4 tracks are no longer visible. As disappointed as I was, it all worked out in the end. I ran into three other bikers, who I had met a week ago in Cusco, and the four of us hired a 4x4 and guide for the afternoon. Although the water ruined my Salar motorcycle experience, I can only believe that it only added to the actual Salar experience: I think the pictures speak for themselves!
Part 3: "Lucky" is an Understatement
The following day, the four of us woke up early and loaded our bikes up with enough extra fuel to get us from Uyuni to Chile. We road southwest out of town, on a road that skirted the edge of the mudflats surrounding the Salar. We weren't really sure what to expect heading into this region. It's known for it's remoteness, brutally cold temperatures at night, confusing roads, and generally wild terrain. The day started off easy enough though, with a wide and smooth dirt road taking us 120 miles from Uyuni to Villa Alota. This is one of the main 4x4 tour routes, and also an important shipping route for the local mines. In San Cristobal, about 60kms out of Uyuni, we ran into another gas station and were able to top our tanks off with extra insurance: always a nice surprise! From Villa Alota, South to Villa Mar, the terrain became more vast, and the road became a little looser with sand, but overall, the route was clearly defined and it had plenty of 4x4 traffic heading North from Laguna Colorada.
We had planned to part ways in Villa Mar. My friends wanted to head directly to Laguna Colorada, and I wanted to explore a little more of the region first. So as we headed out of town, I veered left at the fork and they went right. I wanted to get to the town of Quetena, and my map indicated that I had to head southeast to Soniquera, and then continue due south to Quetena. I arrived in Soniquera about a half hour later and asked around for the route to Quetena. I was told to head back out of town the way I came, bear left, and continue to Quetena. Simple enough! That makes sense on my map too! I took the road out of town, beared left and was on my way. From then on the road situation changed completely. I was confronted with countless forks and turnoffs, none of which had a clearly defined, "this is the way," look to them. None of the roads were on my GPS, but at least the town of Quetena was, offering me a black dot in the middle of a blank GPS screen. I did what I always do in these situations, and take the road that is heading in the direction of the dot on my screen. I came to one fork and the road to the right looked unused, while the one to the left looked barely used, but the unused one seemed to head to Quetena more than the other one did. Quetena is the only town in this direction, so all of these roads heading south should eventually lead there, right? Not too far down the road, the road dipped into a small valley and it became clear why the road was unused. On the near side, the road was covered with a rock slide, and on the far side, the road was rutted with 2 foot deep ruts that crisscrossed the road, making it impossible for a car to pass, and nearly impossible for me to pass. I made it through though, and then dropped down into another valley where I cut directly across about 800 meters of wetlands to a road I saw on the hill on the other side. This is definitely not the road on my map! When I crested the hill, the unused road I was on, merged onto a more used one, and it seemed to head South to Quetena. I figured this was the road on my map.
I followed that road, passing about a half dozen more turn-offs that seemed less suitable, and eventually found myself 5km due east of Quetena: according to my GPS. The terrain was hilly and rocky, so visibility to the west was limited. My map showed that Quetena was on a river, so I knew I had to descend into the river valley. I continued south hoping that the road would eventually bear right, descend into the river valley, and then come back north to the town, even though this wasn't what was depicted on my map. I found no such turnoff. The road seemed to continue south indefinitely. I turned north, and road back a considerable distance to see if there was a road heading into the river valley from the North. I tried dozens of roads, paths, and even road through the open terrain, with the hopes of at least catching a glimpse of the town. I had no such luck. At this point I wasn't really sure what to do. It had been 3 hours since I had seen a person, car, or house, so the one time I desperately needed directions and wasn't too stubborn to ask, there wasn't anyone around to ask. My frustration levels were through the roof. The town is right over there! Why can't I find a path, road, or anything going there! I'd been monitoring the sun, and time was running out. I started thinking about the -4ºF nightime temps I read about, and how deadly serious the situation was. How cold is -4ºF? If I put on every layer that I have, will I be OK? I certainly don't expect to be comfortable, but can I actually die? Am I overreacting and I actually have more than enough clothes to survive the night? Enough of that! I'm not giving up yet! I decided to scramble down a couple paths heading west hoping to catch a glimpse of the town. If I could see the town, I could leave my bike in the hills, and hike there if need be. It certainly wouldn't get stolen, although at that point I didn't have too many long term concerns beyond making it through the night. I still couldn't see anything. I considered retracing my route to Soniquera, but I knew that I couldn't ride the "adventurous" route with the rockslides in the dark, and I'd end up finding myself in the same situation looking for an alternative route to Soniquera in the dark.
The sun was just about to touch the horizon and I finally accepted the fact that I wouldn't be finding Quetena. The feeling of actually accepting that truth is inexplicable. I decided to make the best of what sunlight I had left and look for shelter. I was in an area with large boulders and small ledges, and I spotted a nook in a ledge that would give me protection on three sides. I parked my bike along the road, and as I walked up to the nook, I was in complete shock that this was actually happening. I took a quick look at my new home, and it looked about as good as it was going to get. There were an abundance of large flat stones, so I started roaming the small hill looking for stones to build a wall and block off the exposed side as best as I could. As the sun hit the horizon, the wind began to howl and rip across the ground and right through me. The temps were dropping as each minute passed. Oh how a sleeping bag would be nice right now! Ironically, I anticipated the possibility of finding myself in this situation and I went shopping for sleeping bags in La Paz. The only bag I found was $250, and I thought that it was too expensive. Too expensive! You cheap bastard! $250 has never seemed so insignificant as when you're confronted with the possibility of dieing from exposure in the next 10 hours. I carried the first stone up to the entry way and was already winded from exerting myself at 14,000ft. I looked at the sun and took in the last rays of warmth I would be feeling that day. As I turned to walk back down the hill, I couldn't believe my eyes. A bus had just rounded a hill 200yds from my cave, and was driving right towards me! My legs just about gave out from underneath me as the most all consuming sense of relief rushed through my body. Unbelievable! I haven't seen anything or anyone for hours, and here a bus appears out of nowhere and just happens to be on the road I'm on! I ran down to where my bike was and waited as the bus approached, partially waiting for this apparition to vanish at any second. The bus stopped and I explained the situation. The driver pointed south, the direction I had just come from, but then said that he was going there and I could follow him. Here I had just accepted the I was spending the night out there, and now I found it equally hard to accept that I no longer would be. Seconds ago I was building the front door to what may have become my eternal home, and now I was following a bus that would bring me to a town with a real place to sleep. This was so surreal and unbelievable! Still partially expecting the bus to disappear, I took a picture as it passed by, just to prove there was a bus if it did happen to vanish. I've rewritten this part of the post 4 times now and I don't think I can ever truly convey the situation or my feelings in words. I don't know how cold -4ºF is, but I was concerned enough about it to put serious thought into whether I should use the last bit of sunlight to make a video; just in case...
I followed the bus for 45 minutes to the southernmost point I traveled to, and we continued for another 45 minutes beyond that. I was completely baffled at that point. When's the road going to turn north again? It was completely dark and I was struggling to keep up with the bus. The road was really rocky and sandy, and I crashed twice just trying to stay with him. In addition, I had to leave a considerable gap between us to allow the dust to clear, but since the bus didn't have tail lights, I could barely determine which way he went at forks or turnoffs. We eventually arrived at a river that was about 20 yds wide. Yeah, my first river crossing in the dark! The bus turned on it's reverse spotlight and lit the way for me. Even then, the sandy bottom bogged my bike down and I had to put my feet down in about 1.5 - 2ft of water. Yeah, wet boots for the next week! I couldn't help but laugh at how lucky I was to be able to concern myself with the little things again! A couple minutes later we arrived in the completely dark town of Quetena. The town didn't have electricity, so I didn't even know we were there until the bus' headlights pulled up to a building and parked. The bus driver introduced me to someone in the plaza who rented a room at his house. After thanking the driver for saving my life, I made my way to my room for the evening. As he opened the door, and I could feel the heat of the day still lingering in the room, the word "lucky" popped into my head. "Lucky" is an understatement.
The next morning I turned on my GPS and saw that the real Quetena was 18 km south as the crow flies from where my GPS depicted it. That would explain why none of the roads I found went to what was probably just another barren stretch of land. Often times the roads on my GPS are way off, but the towns have always been dead on, so the thought that the town's point may have been wrong didn't cross my mind. Even if I had thought that though, I can honestly say that I still would have never found the town; not with the maps I had. I can blame my GPS, and I certainly will, but I really misunderestimated how vast and confusing this area of the country is. With a road map and a roadless GPS map with points that are way off, there's simply no way to reference your location. If you are planning a trip here, and plan to get off the main 4x4 tour route, I can't emphasize the importance of a topographic map enough. Or at a minimum, don't be an idiot and bring a really warm sleeping bag. That alone would have turned a life or death situation into a fun and interesting night in the hills.
Part 4: My Own Mt. Everest
After rising from a warm night wrapped in wool blankets and with a roof over my head, I set off to ride the highest motorable road in the world. I read that the road was between Quetena and Laguna Celeste, but locals told me that it was another road that led to the volcano. Neither roads were on my map, so I took the locals' word for it. The volcano was an obvious terrain feature, and the guys identified the road by pointing in that direction, but again, less than a KM out of town, I came to 4 different roads, all of which seemed to head towards the volcano. After what happened the day before, my confidence was running a little low, and I didn't have the fuel to spend the day looking for the right road. Not far down the first road, I changed my mind and returned to try the second one. A ways down the second one I thought that it felt promising, but I didn't want to get my hopes up. Once I saw the road start to snake up the mountain, I could finally relax and enjoy the climb. The bike chuggged along as the road climbed and climbed. I went into the ride not knowing how high I would be able to go, but I figured I'd give it my best shot and see where that got me. At 18, 446ft, I hit a steep and sandy section and my bike wouldn't climb anymore. I backed down the hill a ways to get more of a running start, but that got me only 2 feet further up the hill. Well, this is it then. I walked up a bit further to take some pictures, and then I realized that I could take off the panniers and the spare fuel to lighten the bike up.
With the panniers off, I pushed/walked beside my bike for the steep sandy section. From there I hopped back on and continued to climband the ride became truly epic. We earned each and every vertical foot we climbed. The road became more of a path, covered in loose rock and eventually snow. I know this is the highest motorable road in the world, but there is no way a truck could drive this road. At 19,039 feet I thought I had reached my highest point, but I couldn't help but want to push it even further. I hopped back on the bike and fought up to 19,060ft, where the road officially became impassable. That moment couldn't have been any better! Up until where I dropped my panniers, the road was pretty easy riding, but the last 124 vertical feet really tested the bike and my wits. It would have been 1000x easier just to walk the last stretch, and my clutch certainly would have appreciated it, but what fun is that?