Over the mountains to Chile.

Paulo headed north and George went east, while I was headed for Chile. The Laguna route was my first choice, but everybody I asked told me it was very hard: lots of deep sand and corrugations as well as being very remote. Much to my shame, I bottled it. As I was riding alone, there was no guarantee of help if I were to get into trouble, so I took the main "road" to the border at Ollague. While not tarmacked, it wasn't too bad on the Bolivian side, following the edge of the salt flats before climbing up to a range of volcanoes strung along the border with Chile.

This was a very remote border, not even the usual money changers; once again, I was the only person crossing at the time. I had to go searching for the officials on both sides to get the bike and myself stamped out of Bolivia and into Chile. A cursory bag search by a bored Chilean official and I was off. The road started badly and got worse as it followed the edge of a Laguna: corrugations and sand (the very conditions I was trying to avoid!). I was aiming for the town of Calama, but if the road was this bad all the way, it looked like I'd be camping that night. But as the road climbed away from the Laguna, a perfect newly sealed road greeted me. Another Laguna and a high plain (where the road went bad again), before dropping out of the altiplano to the Atacama desert. Strong winds fought to push the bike over in this bleak landscape. As Calama got nearer, conditions improved and I stopped to fill the tank. A choice of 3 grades of petrol (in Bolivia, the only choice is petrol or diesel) and no arguments. I tried a hotel, but they took one look at me, covered in dust from the ride, and decided they were full. There was still a couple of hours of daylight left, so I decided to ride the 60 or so miles to San Pedro de Atacama; a tourist town where it should be easier to get a bed. The road ran straight into the Atacama, climbing over a pass before dropping into more desert with a stunning backdrop of volcanoes; looking especially spectacular in the light from the lowering sun.
I could only find a dorm bed for the first night; not ideal, but it'd been a long day and I just needed somewhere to rest my head.

San Pedro de Atacama: back in backpacker central, everything overpriced, from the food to the accommodation. Its setting is spectacular, and the town is pretty enough, but I wasn't keen. A place to rest up for a couple of days before heading south into the "real" Chile. But, my bike won't start. The engine fires, then immediately dies; all the obvious things that could be wrong are OK. Fortunately this happens in a town and not in the middle of nowhere, so I get hold of a mechanic who looks at the bike; scratches his chin; tries what I've already tried and says he will come back at 7pm to take the bike to his workshop. That was the last I saw of him. I was feeling really low, fearing that this could be a show stopper (I'd had a quote from a bike shop in Santiago of £1000, JUST to transport the bike to the capital). I needed a drink. I awoke in the early hours with a flash of inspiration: maybe, just maybe the side-stand switch was malfunctioning. That would prevent the bike from starting if the side-stand was down. I couldn't test my theory for a few hours so as not to wake the other guests in the small hotel I was in; but I couldn't sleep either. Eventually, unable to stand the suspense, I put up the side-stand and pushed the starter. Success!! I could ride and escape from San Pedro de Atacama. So happy! The emotional highs and lows of overland biking; a real rollercoaster ride.

So, I hit the road towards Antofagasta, through the utterly barren Atacama, passing only the occasional mine. Hot, dry and dusty; but I was happy, I was riding. Dropping to sea level again after weeks on the high altiplano; breathing becoming easier. Antofagasta was an OK city; refreshingly non-touristy after San Pedro. But only a one night stop before continuing the journey south.

High altiplano south to Uyuni.

I got lost, several times, trying to climb out of La Paz. Took me a long while to find a road which actually left the city and not dead end or become a one way street going the wrong way. When I did finally escape the clutches of the city; it was time for petrol. Easy enough you would think? Bolivia has a dual pricing policy on fuel: it is heavily subsided and thus very cheap........IF you have Bolivian number plates. To stop motorists from neighbouring countries exploiting this cheap fuel, all vehicles with foreign plates pay about 3 times what the locals pay. Fair enough; but the paperwork and hassle involved means many petrol stations outright refuse to sell petrol to foreigners. At one petrol station, they initially told me that they didn't have the correct forms, I stood my ground (as the previous petrol station had sent me to this one) insisting I didn't have enough fuel to get to another station. After a lot of to-ing and fro-ing, the attendant disappeared to an office and returned having mysteriously found the necessary forms. He then spent an age logging all my vehicles details as well as my passport information (UK wasn't on his system, the closest we got was EU), he told me to turn the bike around so the security camera could see my number plate. I can see why they don't like doing it, what should be a 2 minute process of filling your tank becomes a half hour plus farce.

So, it was highway 1 south over the high altiplano. Long, straight roads at first, even dual carriageway as far as Oruro where I stopped for the night before continuing to the silver mining town of Potosi (lying at an altitude of almost 2 and 1/2 miles high). The road climbed even higher for the last 100 miles or so to Potosi through stunning scenery, with vast plains and Lamas dotting the landscape. A few miles short of the town, I was on the tail of a group of Brazilian bikers (they had a flag); even though we didn't stop or speak; I felt I was riding with a group for a while. Potosi is a nice town, but just one night here as I wanted to keep riding; the best days are always on the bike and after being in La Paz for too long, I wanted to make progress.

I stopped at the edge of Potosi for the daily battle to get petrol. As I was waiting as the attendant went through the usual pantomime; a Brazilian biker (not one from the previous day), Paulo, arrived. For whatever reason, they would not sell us petrol through the legitimate route. Eventually, a 10 litre barrel was filled in another (local) customers car and we were told to follow this car. Around the corner and out of sight of the petrol station in a dusty side road, we filled our tanks from this barrel using an old 2 litre coke bottle as a funnel. We were still charged the foreigners rate; which, no doubt, went straight into the attendants pocket. But our tanks were full and we set off for Uyuni. Another fantastic road with lots of curves and several overland cyclists heading the same way. I've seen more cyclists than bikers on this trip.



As we crested the final hill we were rewarded with magnificent views over Salar de Uyuni; the worlds largest salt flats and the odd town of Uyuni itself. The next day, Paulo and I rode to the salt flats to ride in this surreal landscape; an endless expanse of flat white as far as the eye could see. A memorable day in one of the worlds natural wonders. Back in Uyuni, I met another biker (George from Sark) on an old Africa twin. Suddenly, there are a lot of bikers around: none of them going in my direction, but still it was good to catch up on other bikers tales from the road and the riding conditions where I was headed.

                  



La Paz, Bolivia.

It was a ride of two halves from Copacabana to La Paz. The first half was a wonderful ride along quiet roads with gorgeous views over Titicaca and later the high snow capped Bolivian Andes. There was also a short ferry journey across Titicaca on what was basically a rickety old raft with an outboard motor; my front wheel dropping between the planks as I tried to disembark. Once free; the great riding continued for a while before the roadworks started. Many times the road had to follow a "Desvio" of rocky, dusty dirt before re-joining the road proper. This only stopped when the outskirts of La Paz (El Alto) arrived; then instead of dust, I was breathing diesel fumes as the traffic crawled along. Then into the city itself  and the traffic thinned as I crested the rim of the valley to see La Paz spread along the valley below me. The road snaked down into the valley and my sat. nav. took me down narrow, cobbled backstreets into the city centre. It really is great fun riding in these chaotic big cities; joining the anarchy with a big grin plastered across my face.

The next few days in La Paz were largely spent watching the Rugby World Cup Quarter Finals. Four bad results for the northern hemisphere. Never mind; roll on Japan 2019!
La Paz is a dangerous city, apparently. I'm sure its reputation is deserved, but personally, I never felt threatened in any way. I had a wander around the centre; took a ride on the Teleferico cable car for some panoramic city views and generally relaxed. I'm a big city person anyway, I like the buzz and anonymity they provide. Riding in wild countryside is a great, life-affirming, joyous thing to do; but at the end of the day, put me in a big city pub with a cold pint and I'm happy.



I also managed to fit in a day trip to see the pre-Incan ruins of Tiwanaku and Pumu Punku (the place the "ancient alien" people drool over). These were particularly interesting piles of old rocks; the carvings at Pumu Punku in particular were unnecessarily complex; sadly there is nothing left of the original structure, just a load of these bizarrely intricate blocks. The so called "alien" head carvings in the "sub-terranean" temple were less convincing; although what's left of the temple itself was impressive.

Soon enough, after having been off the bike for too long, it was time to leave La Paz and continue the journey south to the high altiplano and some big skies.

Puno, Lake Titicaca and on to Bolivia.

It was a good ride to Puno over the high altiplano; the road staying at more than 4000 metres (2 1/2 miles) high for most of the ride. Tarmac all the way and no dramas, just a nice relaxing ride under a cloudless blue sky. Passing through the Juliaca traffic before hitting Lake Titicaca; but, even though the lake was close, I couldn't see it. Not until almost at Puno itself was it revealed. Big is the word; straddling Peru and Bolivia but a world unto itself.

After checking myself into a hotel and the bike into the lobby next door; time for a wander around town and down to the lake. It was already dusk, so the next morning, I joined the tourist hordes again and got on a boat to see the floating reed islands of Uros. It was only a 3 hour trip, but that was plenty for me. Very, very touristy; indeed I'm not sure the lake dwellers would even still live on the reed islands if there wasn't a tourist dollar in it. But it was interesting to see the echoes of a once traditional lifestyle; but I wouldn't go again.

In the afternoon, it was on to Bolivia, only about 90 miles distant around the lake. I was headed for the town of Copacabana (no, not that one) still on the shores of Titicaca, but in a different country and a different time zone.

The main road continued more directly to the border with Bolivia and on to La Paz, but I turned on to a quieter road, with no signs to say a border was imminent. But the border was there; stamping out of Peru was easy. I was the only person there wanting to cross so it took no time; just lots of official looking stamps on my temporary import document. Bolivia customs: again, just me at the border. Filled out the form: "how long do you want to stay in Bolivia?" asked the immigration man. "Ehh, dunno, up to 30 days? Maybe?". I was given 30 days. Next the bike; easy (although I had to go and get my documents photocopied) and courteous process. So, I'm in!
NO!
Waiting by my bike for my return was a particularly unpleasant looking cop. You could feel the slime oozing from him. He pointed me in the direction of the police office at the border and made it clear I had to visit there before I could leave. So, I moved the bike to where indicated and went to the office; where the same cop was sat waiting. His English was as bad as my Spanish; but he went through the documents for the bike; driving licence; passport etc. scrawling in the details in some (dubious) looking ledger. Then he lowered his voice (a dead giveaway): "money". Eh, no. "Money, money, money!" No. There are few things worse than a corrupt cop and there was no way I was going to be extorted by this scumbag. I just smiled sweetly and politely reeled off a load of English until it dawned on him I was going to play. He then put some superfluous stamp on the back on the Temp. import document and off I went.
Welcome to Bolivia!

I spent a couple more days by lake Titicaca at Copacabana; but didn't do the tourist thing of the Sun and Moon Islands. Riding in these countries is more interesting and exciting to me than looking at piles of rocks (with the obvious exceptions) and sitting in boats with the backpacks and beards. So, I just relaxed; climbed a couple of hills around town, with superb views over Titicaca (a truly marvellous site); cleaned my bike and planned the next move. Its gotta be La Paz; if only to be able to see the Rugby World Cup quarter finals. Come on Scotland!!