Through the Atacama to Valparaiso, Chile.

It was several long days of riding through the Atacama desert. Long, arrow straight roads stretching to the horizon. From Antofagasta I stopped at the "Mano del Desierto" sculpture for the obligatory biker photo before an enjoyable ride under cloudless skies in the starkly beautiful desert. As the road neared the coast, a thick blanket of gray clouds appeared. Its better riding earlier in the day, before the winds pick up, the occasional wind-farm stand as testament to how windy it can get here.

Finally managed to find petrol and gratefully filled the tank with 95 RON and my belly with doritos and a snickers bar. I think the bike got the better deal. I ended the day at Bahia Inglesa, a tiny beach resort on the Pacific. Summer hadn't reached this latitude yet and it was distinctly chilly. An out of season beach resort is an odd place; very few people around, I was the only guest at the hotel and a power cut added to the eerie atmosphere making me think I was an extra in "The Shining".

The next day dawned cold and overcast. Another long day slogging through the desert under leaden skies made for a dull ride. I was praying for the sun to reappear; which it eventually did, only to hit the heaviest traffic I have seen for a while. More vegetation was gradually appearing; a mass of pink/purple flowers spread across the desert floor in places. Finished the day at La Serena, a pretty town of colonial buildings, all the more appealing as the sun had reappeared.

I left La Serena in the sunshine, but it didn't last long. All too soon, the clouds and low temperatures returned. This made for another long slog south. The road followed the coast for most of the day, past some good surf beaches. All empty. Dual carriageway and an overcast sky; not my ideal riding conditions. Few curves and the Andes are seemingly a distant memory. I'm having doubts whether I should continue south; its still early in the season and I think it'll only get colder the further south I get. I'm hearing reports that the pass near San Pedro to Argentina is closed again because of snow, and that is the most northerly pass, the ones further south could be worse. I may head over to Argentina from Santiago and ride north to find the sun again and warm my cold bones.

As I got closer to Valparaiso, the sun came out and the temperature rose. Looks like an interesting town; very "bohemian", lots of "artistic" graffiti and a drunk shouting abuse at a police van (who, sensibly, ignored him). An "Irish" bar, in name only. No Guinness, no Irish music and no craic; but an astonishing range of beers. Once the sun set, the wind rose and it got cold. South to Patagonia, or East to Argentina? I think I'll need a couple of days in Santiago to research and decide. I'm tired and a bit jaded at the moment. Chile hasn't been the best place for me so far; too expensive and, if I'm honest, a little bit boring. Probably more down to my frame of mind than the country itself. Overlanding on your own for a long time teaches you a lot about yourself; not always easy living in your own head for so long.



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.