Read the blog... Terranova Expedition 2010

Terranova Expedition 2010-2011 Complete

2011-10-09T00:51:00.000-07:00

I've returned home to Calgary, safe and sound.

After a 13 hour flight from Bogota to Toronto and then to Calgary, I arrived home for the first time in 353 days.

My bike is still in Lima awaiting a boat (it missed the first one) on the 17th of October. Then it will be 18 days sailing to Vancouver.

Petar is here in Calgary right now to, so he is staying with me at the house.

I arrived home to no power, no water, no gas, no phone, no TV, no internet and no truck.

I've spent the last few days getting things organized, finding stuff in the basement and slowly putting my house in order.

I'll likely have a party in the new few weeks to get everyone together. It's been too long.

Thanks for following along to everyone who's read the blog. It's been a blast to live this adventure, and I hoped you enjoyed reading about it.

Coming home...

2011-10-04T16:45:00.000-07:00

Bike is on a boat, heading for Vancouver.

I'm heading to the Airport...

352 days on the road and I'm looking forward to coming home.

I'll see everyone real soon.

Tim

Colombia

2011-09-24T13:12:00.000-07:00

We flew out of Lima yesterday and landed in Bogota, Colombia late last night.

My bike is still in Lima, at the BMW dealership awaiting a new "certified" crate to ship it in.

Seems that the customs people there have a requirement that things are only shipped in "certified" crates (they will do the certification for an extra $160.00).

So instead of using my professionally manufactured (by BMW) shipping crate, that we made specifically to ship motorcycles around the world (including Peru), I had to have a local guy make me a new crate which they would then "certify".

Cost me another $280.00 US.

meh.

All good things...

2011-09-18T12:55:00.000-07:00

I've known for a week or so about the outcome, but I've been dreading writing it down, it seems so final.

But....

The bike has suffered a catastrophic failure. The low oil pressure light turned out to be a more serious problem than a bad sensor.

The dealership here is telling me that it would take them at least a month to remove the engine, find the problem, order any parts and reinstall. It would also cost a fortune.

So I have decided to ship the bike back to Canada, and have it repaired at home, where I still have a nice extended warranty on the bike. :)

I'm currently working through all the custom hoops you have to jump through to get the bike on a boat back to Canada.

The nice folks at the BMW dealership have been incredibly helpful, and have provided me a shipping crate. I've arranged for a boat on the 30th of September, which will take 18 days to sail to Vancouver. I'll figure out when I get home how to get the bike from Vancouver to Calgary (shouldn't be a problem)

So that's it for now... The trip isn't really over until I get back, but the motorcycle adventure part is.

Crated up and ready for shipment home.

Jackeline helping out with the Customs paperwork.

Bike is in the Shop...

2011-09-04T08:57:00.000-07:00

My bike is at the BMW dealer in Lima, they came by and picked it up a couple days ago.

Hopefully I'll find out monday what the problem is. It could be a cheap (relatively) sensor, or something worse, which would be very expensive.

I'll know in a few days.

[fingers crossed]

Until then, we wait.

Lima Update...

2011-08-30T20:08:00.000-07:00

We are still in Lima with a little problem. My bike has been "ticking' in the right cylinder since we got into Boliva, and I check with a BMW technician in via Video link who said it was likely the valves, and that it could be driven without causing damage.

So for the last couple thousand kilometres, I've listened to it get steadily worse. Now that we are in Lima, I had a chance to get some tools (my tools had been stolen in Colombia) and fix the problem.

The process of doing a Valve adjustment isn't hard, and after about an hour, I put it back together and started the bike up.

The ticking was gone, but now the Oil Pressure light was on. This is not good. Low oil pressure will quickly lead to total engine failure.

But right now I don't know why it would suddenly start showing low oil pressure after I did a Valve adjustment???? So if I only have a faulty sensor, it's not a big deal, but I have to get it looked at before we move on, and since I don't want to chance riding it if there is an Oil pressure problem, I have to arrange to have the bike picked up and taken to the dealer.

Arghhh... :(

Otherwise, we are enjoying our stay here in Lima.

Bowling in Lima

Overlooking the beach at night.

Parked in the back yard in our Hostel

A couple Aussie bikers stayed at the Hostel with us for a few days. Great guys!

Vanessa and one of the new house kittens. He has a brother named "negrito". He's black. :)

Some of the hundreds of cats by the the church next to our hostel.

Vanessa eating "rata". Not really, just Guinea Pig.

Our friend Chris from Belgium

Black Jesus with a broom? No idea.

Face painting at the Lima Zoo.

cost me 40 cents... :)

Reminded me of the old guys on the Muppet Show... :)

Magic Circuit of the Water - Parque de la Reserva

2011-08-25T09:54:00.000-07:00

We took a cab ride the other night to the Magic Circuit of the Water.

It is a massive fountain complex, the largest in the world, consisting of 13 distinct fountains, most of which are interactive. All of the fountains are lit, most with continuously changing colour schemes.

There is a laser and picture show, where they project images of dancers, birds and other subject, all synchronized to music and lights.

Cool.

300 Days on the road...

2011-08-14T14:52:00.000-07:00

I left home 300 days ago.

"The journey is the reward" - Taoist proverb

With our parents, Calgary, Alberta, Canada, October 17, 2010

Somewhere in BC, Canada

Camping in Oregon

Setting up camp, Slab City, California

Slab City, California

We met a guy walking the length of Baja, Mexico with his donkey

Neal, Cory, Tim and Troy in Baja, Mexico

Stopping for a break, Baja, Mexico

Having some fun with Troy, Cabo San Luca, Mexico

Jumping around with Neal, La Paz, Mexico

Troy, Cory and Ryan making supper, La Paz, Mexico

Troy and Neal fixing the bikes, Mexico

Troy and Neal discussing the finer points of BMW Clutch repair, La Paz, Mexico

Cory and Troy having some fun, Mexico

Stopping for a break, Mexico.

With friends, Mexico.

Unknown town, Mexico

Top of the Pyramid of the sun, Teotihuacan, Mexico

Stopped for Gas, the local bikers liked our rides

Tikal, Guatemala, with Marie.

Christmas in Antiqua, Guatemala

Surfing in Costa Rica

Tim, Cory, Troy and Dee stopped for a break in Panama

Cory, Dee and Troy in Panama

With May and friend in Bogota, Colombia

May, Tim, Dee and Troy in Barranquilla, Colombia

Troy, being Troy, in Barranquilla, Colombia

Toni, Tim, Yudis, May, Troy and Dee in in Barranquilla.

Vanessa and Yudis share a laugh in Barranquilla, Colombia

Troy, Tim, Neal and Zane in Cartagena, Colombia

Out for supper with Zane, Neal, Tim, Vanessa and Troy in Cartagena, Colombia

Packing up to ride in Medellin, Colombia

Taking a thermal spring break in Manazales, Colombia

Push starting Neal in Cali, Colombia

Straddling the equator in Quito, Ecuador

Top of the world with Troy on Cotopaxi Volcano, Ecuador

Carnival in Banos, Ecuador with Troy and Tutu

Troy interviewing Tutu after bridge jump in Banos, Ecuador.

Troy and Tim about to climb Chimborazo Volcano, Ecuador

Troy and Tim on top of Chimborazo

Troy and Tim in Cajas National Park, Ecuador.

With Friends, Ecuador

Sharing lunch with the local kids, Lake Churup, Ecuador

Dominick and Petar in Lima, Peru

On top of Huayna Picchu with Troy, overlooking Machu Picchu,

Soldier for a day in Barranquilla, Colombia

Meeting the parents, Barranquilla.

Going away party with Vanessa, Barranquilla, Colombia

With friends, Loki Hostel, Cusco, Peru

Vanessa feeding the birds, Arequipa, Peru

Vanessa, somewhere in Peru.

Vanessa and Tim, riding in Peru

Vanessa: "This isn't Colombian Coffee!", Chile.

Tim and Vanessa, Potosi Mine, Bolivia.

Supper with Zane and Vanessa, Potosi, Bolivia

Vanessa learning how to open a tuna can with a Leatherman. Bolivia.

Tim and Vanessa, Train Graveyard, Uyuni, Bolivia

Zane stuck in the Salar, Uyuni, Bolivia

Zane, Vanessa and Tim, Atacama Desert, Bolivia

Vanessa having lunch, Bolivia

Fixing the cursed lower shock bolt, Bolivia

Tim, Atacama Desert, Bolivia

Vanessa sandboarding in Chile.

Zane and Tim, San Pedro, Chile

Vanessa and Tim, Chile.

Dorothy, drunk on Vodka, Chile. :)

Vanessa and Tim, Arica, Chile

Handsome couple. Chile.

My bike, safe for the night, Puno, Peru

With Friend, Cusco, Peru

Garage for the night, Peru

Tim, early morning. Nazca, Peru

Road to Lima

2011-08-07T18:38:00.000-07:00

Cusco had almost become our home, we'd been there so long.

It was hard to leave Loki, but after 3 weeks (!!), the road beckoned.

I started the bike up, turned it around in the foyer, and we packed up. We said our goodbyes to the staff (Kim, Celeste, Mitch, and all the other guys we'd become friends with on our three difference stays there)

We got out on the road by about 11:00 am, which always seems to be later than we want. We rode the first day about 300 km, not much, but about 6-7 hours on the twisting, turning winding roads.

The only problem was that by the time we needed to stop, we were at 4500 meters, and it was cold!

We stopped in a tiny town, and as we pulled up I realized it was the same tiny town that Troy and I had stopped at for gas on our way through. The reason I remember is it wasn't a gas station, just a lady in her shop with some 45 gallon drums of gas. I got another 10 litres.

We rode just down the street to a "hotel" which was literally 2 rooms. It was neck and neck for "worst hotel award" with our stay on the Bolivian border. The bed was concave in the middle, and the roof was a tarp, but at least my bike was safe behind a bolted steel door.

The bathroom was the worst we have seen. A stinking hole in the ground. Vanessa was so disgusted, she ended up going in the courtyard at 4:00 am, rather than go into the "bathroom".

We got up early (not hard, we didn't sleep much on the rock hard bed), and rode to Nazca. We stopped at the lookout again to see the famous lines and figures.

We approached the area where Troy and I had camped on the way through 4 months ago, and I decided that it would be nice to find our campsite and stay there with Vanessa. I remember wishing when we were here last how nice it would be to have her here, and this time, I did.

We set up camp in the same spot, and I built a fire. We stayed up for a couple hours, sitting by the fire, and enjoying the quiet and empty beauty of Nazca, Peru.

Dancing by the fire.

4 months before, different fire, same spot. Mi amigo Troy.

4 months later. Mi novia, Vanessa.

Our home.

Sunset in Nazca, Peru

Hanging in Peru...

2011-08-01T09:45:00.000-07:00

We're still hanging out in Peru. It's a great place to kick back and enjoy. For the last two weeks, we've had a room, three meals a day plus snacks, plus drinks for two people. Our total bill is about $700.00.

The room is $10.00 per day. We'll likely move on soon, travelling north. I have to get some work done on the bike soon, it's in need of some maintenance.

Celebrating Peruvian Independence (Fiestas Patrias ), July 28-29, with our friend Andy. The shirts were a gift from the Hostel for us.

Vanessa getting her hair braided.

80'a theme party!

Back in Cusco...

2011-07-25T09:27:00.000-07:00

There may be a few of these posts in the upcoming weeks, since we got turned around in Chile, we have no choice but to retrace my steps from months ago. So you may see some "Back in ......." posts in the upcoming weeks.

We really enjoyed our time in Cusco the last (2) times, so Vanessa and I were rather looking forward to getting back to our friends at the Loki hostel.

When I pulled up, the guard outside smiled, and immediately opened the door and I rode my bike right in.

Celeste and Kim were happy to see us, and Mitch was behind the bar, where we had left him 6 weeks before when we left for Bolivia.

My pace has started to slow a bit (as you may have noticed). No longer do we stay for a couple days, then ride for a couple days. Now, we get somewhere, and if it is nice, we stay for 4, 5, 6 or more days.

Makes for a less exciting blog, but it's just what I need now.

Vanessa and I have been talking about different plans, and right now, we will likely ride back to Colombia, through Ecuador.

Shipping my bike from Peru is a very expensive proposition (over $2,200), as is flying Vanessa back to Colombia, so riding back is the likely the least expensive proposition.

On the way to Cusco from Puno, we ran into Suzanne and her husband from Germany. We had last camped with them in La Paz, Baja, Mexico many months ago.

One night we went to the Burlesque Circus. It was awesome.

"UV" night at Loki Hostel.

Our for supper, the tables were fishtanks made from old bathtubs.

One of the local Catholic churches built on top of original Incan walls. The craftsmanship is amazing.

Lake Titicaca

2011-07-14T22:15:00.000-07:00

Puno is a city on the shores of Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable waterway in the world (at 12,500 feet).

We couldn't get here a few months ago when we came through to Bolivia, since this city and the lake were closed due to protests. Luckily, the issues have been resolved, and we had no trouble getting here this time.

About 5 km from the Puno Port is located the floating reed islands of the Uros people.

From Wikipedia:

The Uros are a pre-Incan people who live on forty-two self-fashioned floating islands in Lake Titicaca Puno, Peru and Bolivia. They form three main groups: Uru-Chipayas, Uru-Muratos and the Uru-Iruitos. The latter are still located on the Bolivian side of Lake Titicaca and Desaguadero River.

The Uros use bundles of dried totora reeds to make reed boats (balsas mats), and to make the islands themselves.

The Uros islands at 3810 meters above sea level are just five kilometers west from Puno port. Around 2,000 descendants of the Uros were counted in the 1997 census, although only a few hundred still live on and maintain the islands; most have moved to the mainland.

We boarded a boat in the late afternoon to make the journey out to the islands. The air here is cold, as is the water. As the boat sailed across the lake, the vast stretches of Tortora reeds came into view, and we could make out the lookouts and houses that dot the 47 or so islands.

The local ladies in their brightly coloured dresses, lined the front of the floating island, singing and waving as our boat approached.

The islands are amazing, as they must be continually maintained with new material every month (about 10 cm of new reeds). The islands (depending on age) are about 3-4 meters thick of reed and root material. It is an interesting sensation to walk on the islands, as you sink down with each step.

Our guide gave us a introduction to the islands and the people, and then we were given about 45 minutes to explore the small huts and buy some handicrafts from the locals.

We elected to take a ride in one of the local reed "canoes" to one of the neighbouring islands, but at 15 soles (about $5.00 each) for the 20 minute ride, I think we got taken a bit.

One of the reed boats that the locals use. They take 6-7 months to construct fully of reeds. In recent times, they have started to line the hulls with plastic water bottles to help with flotation.

The locals in their colourful dress as we approach one of the floating islands.

Singing a welcome.

Adorable.

Vanessa with one of the locals. His name is Brian, he lives with his Mom and Dad in a one room, one bed hut on the island.

The sun starting to go down.

Some of the islands.

Riding on the "canoe" to a neighbouring island.

The moon came up and reflected across the lake which was beautiful.

Vanessa and a couple of the locals who hitched a ride back on our boat.

Puno, from the lake as we make our way home.

Road to Puno

2011-07-14T21:48:00.000-07:00

We left Arequipa for Puno on Tuesday, but since my GPS is mostly non functional now, we ended up leaving on the wrong side of the pass. Easy to do as there is a huge gorge that bisects the city and we found ourselves on the wrong side of it.

My GPS was showing that we were about 2-3km from the main road, but paralleling it. So we stopped and asked directions and everyone we talked to said we could get to Puno this way, but my GPS was showing no roads.

So we kept going. The road faded into a trail and then a sandy track, but we never seemed to get more than 10-15km from the road, so I kept going. The scenery was spectacular. We came upon a group of mountain bikers, and they confirmed that in the next hour to hour and a half, this "trail" did in fact join up with the proper road, so we continued on. It was slow going with the fully loaded bike and Vanessa on the back. There were sandy sections that threatened to wash the front tire out many times, but we stayed upright.

We took one wrong turn, and then another, each time it cost us about 45 minutes of daylight, but finally, we came over a hill and saw trucks and buses on the horizon and knew we had found the right way.

We pulled on to the beautiful blacktop road, and continued on to Puno, arriving in the dark at about 7:30 pm.

Stopped at one of the dead ends. The road ended at this gate (which was a Dam and beautiful lake in the middle of nowhere). We stopped and asked for directions here, and found out we missed the turn about 20 minutes prior. We turned around and went back.

We got to Puno (finally!) and parked my bike in the lobby, nice and safe.

Hanging out in Arequipa, Peru

2011-07-06T13:47:00.000-07:00

Nothing much to report, we're hanging out in Arequipa, Peru. It's been a slow couple of weeks with being stuck in San Pedro (Chile) and now making our way back into Peru.

We stopped for another couple days in Arica, staying at the same hotel as last time. It's not the cheapest place, but a nice hotel. When we walked up they remembered us from our last stay there.

When checking out, we got hosed on the laundry service. I gave them a small bag of laundry the day before, and they handed me a bill for $71.00

$71.00 for about 2 kg of laundry. Suffice to say, it didn't leave a good impression.

We split with Zane at Arica too, he is travelling back through Bolivia to sell his bike in La Paz, and will then head over to India for a couple months. We'll miss travelling with Zane.

I've been kind of down a bit for the last while, since San Pero in Chile. As you'll remember, we were stuck there for a couple weeks waiting for the pass to Argentina to open. When it didn't open (it's still closed now, three weeks later), we were forced to turn around, and come back to Peru, rather than go meet up with Troy in Argentina.

This really bummed me out, since meeting back up with Troy was something I have really been looking forward to.

So, right now, we'll travel around Peru for a while, and see some of the stuff we couldn't get to a couple months ago.

We went out dancing in Arequipa. People seem to come up to me a lot now and introduce themselves. Wonder why?? :)

On the roof of our Hostel, downtown Arequipa.

12 days snowed in... Screw it, we're heading North...

2011-06-26T17:07:00.000-07:00

After being in San Pedro de Atacama for 12 days, waiting for the passes to Argentina to open, we've decided to turn back and head north.

It was not an easy decision.

Troy is in Argentina, and has been waiting in Buenos Aries. He even pushed his flight back a week so he could spend more time with us.

I am seriously bummed out about not being able to see my buddy again before he leaves.

This situation sucks.

Every day, we would wake up, hoping that the pass had cleared, only to be told that it hasn't

It's no one's fault, but it is extremely frustrating nonetheless.

We're heading north to Arica in Chile, then back into Peru where we will decide what to do then.

Zane is still with us, but will be heading back into Boliva at Arica to sell his bike, and head off to India.

Stuck and bored...

2011-06-22T16:18:00.000-07:00

Update (6/25/2011): Still in San Pedro. Pass was briefly opened yesterday, 2 trucks crashed on ice on the road. We're still stuck.

We're been stuck in San Pedro de Atacama, Chile for the last 4 days.

The day after we came through the Bolivian border, there was a huge snowstorm along the Bolivia/Argentina/Chile border region.

The pass we have to go through is currently closed with a meter of snow.

We've been stuck here for 4 days so far, and the best we hear right now is that the border will be closed till Friday. (another 3 days). So we are here with nothing to do. And it's expensive. :(

It wouldn't be a huge problem, but Troy is waiting for us in Buenos Aries and I want to get across Argentina quickly to spend some time with him before he leaves for Europe.

bored, bored, bored...

San Pedro de Atacama, Chile

2011-06-22T16:16:00.000-07:00

Leaving Bolivia, the last thing we did was pass the frontier (border) gate, which is a lonely guard post in the high Andes.

On the Chile side, was a semi paved road, miles better than anything in Bolivia, which after 10 minutes, took us to the main road, a beautiful blacktop that winds it's way down from 4300 meters to 2400 meters and into the valley where we entered San Pedro de Atacama.

San Pedro is an interesting town full of adobe buildings and unpaved streets lined with shops catering to tourists.

It's also way more expensive than anything we've encountered so far.

People here will gouge you for anything. Our first "hostel" was $65.00 per night. In Peru or Ecuador, it would be $10.00. We found a cheaper place the next day, about two doors down that is half the price, for basically the same experience.

We went sandboarding, which was fun. Vanessa has never skied or snowboarded before, so for her it was a totally new experience. The first "run" she was terrified as we stood at the top of the huge dune of sand, but after scooting down on her butt, she was eager to get back to the top and try again.

The only problem with sandboarding is you have to walk back up the huge dune. There are no lifts here. It's tiring!

After, we did a hike into the Valley de Luna and climbed up onto a ridge line to watch the sunset, which was spectacular... the horizon looked like it was on fire. When the sun went down, we then went into a salt cavern carved by water.

We had planned to be here for only a few days before heading into Argentina, but we've come up against some weather, and the road leading east has been blocked by snow for the last few days.

Our plans remain up in the air while the road is closed.

We met Dave at our hostel, he's on a BMW R1200GSA like mine, riding around the world now for 2 years. He got run off the road by two trucks in Bolivia, broke his ankle in three places, and had to have surgery. He is holed up in San Pedro healing up. Here he is holding up his hospital X-ray, showing the 9 screws and a plate they inserted into his ankle. The trucks didn't stop.

Vanessa, complaining about the climb. :)

Vanessa in fine form on her second run.

In the Valley de Luna.

Exploring the salt caverns

Hot springs waterfall!

Out for supper...

"The Salar"

2011-06-15T14:17:00.000-07:00

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.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

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.

Out of Bolivia...

2011-06-15T13:17:00.000-07:00

We (Zane, Tim and Vanessa) are out of Boliva, alive and well.

Updates to come when we've had a chance to shower and rest a bit.

Tonight, we are in San Pedro de Atacama, Chile, which is warm and welcoming.

2 days ago, Zane was lost, delirious, walking alone in the desert, motorcycle abandoned, in the dark, with temperatures below -20 approaching and rescue hours away.

2 Days ago, Tim was stranded, the motorcycle broken, on a lonely trail out looking for Zane.

2 Days ago, Vanessa was many kilometres away, unaware of where Zane or Tim was, crying and worried.

Stay tuned...

Bolivia.

Potosi Mint

2011-06-15T08:31:00.000-07:00

We've been joined in Potosi by Zane, who you may remember is a mate of Troy's and has traveled with us off and on in Guatamaula and Colombia.

We have kept in contact on and off as we've made our way South, and our paths crossed again in Potosi.

After having a nice supper, we decided to visit the Casa de la Moneda de Bolivia, the Bolivian National Mint. It is the largest and most imposing building in Potosi (it takes up an entire city block).

Now a museum, the former mint contains a lot of the historical equipment used in the production of coins, from the original wood mills used to turn the ingots into silver strips that were then hammer stamped into coins.

During its heyday, it produced most of the coinage for the Spanish main.

The tour took us about 2 hours, Zane and I had an english guide, who we think only knew enough english to recite the tour. She couldn't really answer any questions, and was a little unpleasant. Vanessa had a spanish tour guide who knew everything, and was happy to answer questions. We learned more about the mint from Vanessa later that night over supper.

Some of the many paintings preserved here. The subject matter is always religious.

Examples of some of the Spanish hand stamped coins produced here.

A few of the stamps.

The machinery for turning ingots into silver ribbons that were then cut and stamped. There were 12 separate mandrels that the silver was put through to form it to the final thickness (1mm)

The machinery from below. It was powered by 4 donkeys walking in a circle.

Here is one of the donkeys. He was named "Zane"

A church strongbox. The Virgin on the front has her hands outstretched to collect coins. The intricate mechanism in the top is the lock for the box. It had 12 bolts all controlled by one key.

Some of the original hand stamping equipment for forming coins.

Religious (Catholic) relics made of pure silver mined in Potosi. I wonder how many miners died to produce it? :(

The original roof of one of the rooms, covered with soot from the fires used to melt the silver.

Potosi Mine

2011-06-15T05:28:00.000-07:00

We've been in Potosi now for a few days and knew we had to visit the Potosi mine, sometimes refered to as "the most dangerous mine in the world"

To say it is a fascinating place is an understatement.

First some facts:

1. The mine opened in 1542, almost 470 years ago.

2. It was the principal source of wealth for the entire Spanish Empire.

3. The town of Potosi grew to 200,000 residents, making it one of the largest, and wealthiest cities in the world at the time.

4. The miners worship "El Tio" (the Devil) in the mine

5. Miners contract silicosis of the lungs within 7 to 10 years

6. Average age of death of a miner in Potosi is 35-40 years.

7. The silver in the mine played out in the 1700's.

8. After the silver was gone, they mined Tin.

9. Miners today are mostly looking for Zinc and Lead.

10. The labyrinth of tunnels has over 500 entrances

11. At 4800 meters, the mountain is now 300 meters shorter than in the 1700's

12. The miners work at over 4300 meters, in up to 42 degree celsius heat.

13. The miners are paid 10 Bolivianos per 2 ton cartload of ore.

14. The average miner can make 70-100 Bolivianos per day (about $10-$15 dollars)

15. Over 9000 people work in the mine daily (today)

16. Of the 9000 people working, approximately 1000 are below the age of 14

17. Miners stuff their cheek with wads of cocoa leaves to diminish hunger and provide energy.

18. Women are not allowed to be minters, but can enter the mine (tourists and guides)
19. The mining is manual, and hasn't significantly changed since the time of the conquistadors.

It is estimated that in the 470 years the mine has been open, over 8 million people have died from accidents, cave ins, silicosis, and cancer.

We started our tour by bus, which took us towards the mountain. The entire area looks like it has been dug up and stripped bare. Women from the town sift through the tailings, looking for bits of minerals they can sell.

The ground is covered in rubbish, the water in the creek runs a reddy brown. We walk up to a lookout where we are given a short speech on the history of the mine. Even walking up a short hill leave us breathless, as we are at 4500 meters (over 14,700 feet)

We are gathered at one of the 500 entrances, the ground is covered with muddy water. Our guide tells us there are no maps to the tunnels, but she knows the way.

Our ask our guide her age. She's 28. She looks 40. She's about 5 feet tall. Helpful in the cramped mine tunnels.

We enter the tunnel, which at first is cool and the air is clear. As we descend deeper, the dust starts to be visible in our headlamps. We start to cough. It gets a little warmer.

The tunnel is sometimes wet, sometimes dry. The shoring in the roof is haphazard and 400 years old. Sometimes the beams are broken from the strain of holding the mountain above.

We see debris and abandoned mining gear. Sulphur oozes from the walls. We reach an alcove and see a shrine to El Tio, the devil.

Further in, the air thickens with dust, and the heat rises. We are about 1km into the mountain.

We come across our first miners, cheeks stuffed with cocoa leaves. We give them presents we were instructed to buy back in town… water, cigarettes, dynamite, and cocoa leaves.

They continue to shovel ore as we snap a few pictures. We keep walking deeper into the heart of the mountain.

Here the air is thick with dust, the heat is heavy. We see more miners, working continuously shovelling ore into baskets. Each basket weighs 550 lbs. Two men carry it.

We finally stop. The air is thick with dust, the heat is suffocating. We turn around, but the tunnel continues on into the blackness, deeper into the mountain where the miners toil.

We begin our journey back out. it takes 45 minutes, walking hunched over in the cramped tunnel, as the air slowly clears, and the heat recedes.

As we come out into daylight, I feel relief. 2 hours in the mine is almost more than I could take. The miners work 8-12 hours shifts, day after day, week after week, month after month, for years, until they die, choking.

The Potosi Mine is hell on earth.

Vanessa and I ready to go to the mine.

Some of the gifts we are asked to buy for the miners...(top shelf, L-R, alcohol (97%), cigarettes, dynamite, ammonium nitrate)

Potosi from the top of the mountain, by one of the 500 mine shaft entrances.

Vanessa in the mine.

Our guide giving us some information.

On the right, an effigy of "El Tio", the Devil, which they make offerings to.

1.5 km in. The miners. The air is thick with dust.

A mining cart. They are expected to fill and deliver up to 10 of these a day. They weigh 2 tons when loaded.

Miners working. They don't wear masks because it is to hot.

Buenos Aires 5 - Troy

2011-06-14T08:34:00.000-07:00

Thanks to "the stalker" from our blog comments I will now do 1 more post to answer his/her (I presume his from the request) questions.

Just to clarify things, I was meant to leave today, but it was really cold out, I was feeling too lazy to pack and got stuck on skype with ma belle copine (who could not when speaking with an angel).

1. Neal Dawes U.S. American.

The upshot of the lost tank bag is an amazing saga. I only received a brief mail from NDUSA, yet the story seems to be that as he was waiting in his hostel (kind of similar to my failed attempt to leave BA), after beginning the process of getting all his documents replaced, then he received a strange message on his facebook account.

It seems that some guy contacted him and offered to either give or I guess sell him his documents. I presume that he set up a meet and then the exchange took place, cos he described the vendor as "some homeless guy".

Thus NDUSA retrieved his documents, though I presume nothing else of value that could be hocked or exchanged for drugs, and thus continued on with his journey. So that is what I know, I'm sure readers can fill in the blanks...

2. The women of BA.

I have heard much from other travellers about the beauty of the women of BA.

Now I must make clear at this stage that everyone has their own concept of beauty, learned or adapted from their cultural or media oriented leanings. Thus I cannot speak for everyone. What I will say is that the women here are quite stunning, though for different reasons from their northern counterparts. I also must make it clear that the women of all the other nations possess equal beauty in different measures, so essentially none can be truly compared.

I will now post a quote from a mail I sent to the most beautiful of all...tutu...

It's such a cosmopolitan city, so I find it weird seeing so many homeless people going through rubbish bins here, and the little kids begging in the streets of San Telmo. I am used to that in the rest of south america though here it seems so incongruous. It kind of feels like Australia here in so many ways, both colonised and relatively wealthy, both of our lands raped by industrialisation and farming which changed the nature of too much of the landscape, many other similarities except that Australia has homeless people and beggars, though not children...

Then there's palermo, it sort of felt like another world, I sat in a park in the dappled sunlight which has a volcanic haze over it at the moment, and contemplated this: it feels so prosperous, the people so well dressed, the shops and buildings so modern... but at it's heart it still exists in a continent that has been relegated by history to 2nd world. I started thinking about the spanish conquistadors and how they managed to almost decimate the indiginous peoples, then I looked around me and saw almost no face there that reminded me of the indiginous peoples up north. Somehow despite the fact that I was surrounded by incredibly beautiful women (and I suppose men), there was something tragic in that...

It's hard to work out a side to be on... Bolivia appeared to me to be an unhappy and unfriendly place, but don't they have a right to be, to me a seemingly prosperous and happy westerner, look at what history had done to them. Somehow colonisation drew a border and said the people on this side will prosper and those on the other will not. It's the story of continents like africa, its the story of so much of the world... but here it seems so perfectly demarcated that I am left in awe of the influence, nay the power of borders. How does it happen that I can be in a park that feels like a park in any European or first world city, yet be in a continent pretty much disected by poverty and priveledge.

None of the countries I have travelled through so far in this trip have had such a dearth of indiginous faces. I have travelled now to most continents and for me the changing faces of the inhabitants is one of the most exciting aspects to experience. When I was in India I travelled from the south, where the people were really dark and almost had the features of Australian aborigines, and as I further travelled North I gradually saw their features change through huge differences, the people to the west had arabic features, to the east pacific, to the north asiatic even european. I could usually put a region to a face, but here in Buenos Aires, I cant.

So I must say that firstly "yes" the women I have seen here are quite beautiful, though in a new world sense. As Dr David Suzuki once said "variety is the source of life, and without it life would cease to exist". Thus the chicas are cute and could be on the cover of any international fashion magazine, though it doesn't discount the fact that the chicas of the more northern regions are just as cute.

I'm not sure if I rode the line of political correctness or overstatement there but anyways...

jajajaja (hahahaha)

Buenos Aires 4 - Troy

2011-06-13T12:11:00.000-07:00

Readers of the blog will be happy to know that Tim will hopefully be posting tomorrow or the day after from San Pedro de Atacama (I certainly am).

In the meantime I will fill in further details of my delayed travels.

After my failed attempt to leave on Friday, I tried to find a replacement cable, though that's easier said than done in a city as big as BA. It's not a normal thing to break (actually I think it pretty much never happens). I found a place that said they may be able to get one by Monday...

So I'm still here, I haven't posted any photos of BA cos Tim will do them much better, so I'll tell another side story, this one is titled; steak...

I have mentioned before that I now consider the steaks I've had here as the best in the world... well... as with it's landscapes, this country has done it to me again.

The long story: I had actually managed to put on weight before I left Salta (a rare thing for me), thanks mostly to having a beautiful girl to dine with. I have been cheap-skating since then, and the process of camping and cooking my own meals has meant that my jeans, which were tight in Salta, were falling off by Buenos Aires... actually falling off... I ended up using one of my tie down straps to hold them up for my 1st day here (actually all week cos I've been too cheap to buy a belt)!!!

So I have been on a concentrated regime of trying to eat as much as possible... though cheaply. I head to the supermarkets at close to 11 am when their cooked food area starts serving (ie empanadas), and have found a few nice restaurants to get daily specials.

This has been adequate but after the catastrophe of Friday I ended up needing some solace so I found a nice restaurant on the main street, ordered from the expensive menu and watched the beautiful women of BA walk by (that's another story... wow). The joy of eating here is you get a heap of warm up dishes such as olives breads antipasto...

Then the meat comes out, and it's bigger than your head, you could cut it with a bread knife, and the taste will bring tears to your eyes (in fact I think I did tear up, but pretended it was smog). To make matters worse as I'm drooling gravy down my chin, moaning like a demented freak, picking meat from my teeth with a toothpick and dressed like a derelict... four incredibly well dressed and... well dressed girls grab the table next to mine.

I discreetly wiped the food from my beard (which I had been saving for Ron (ie later Ron)), sat up straight in my chair and pretended to be a restaurant critic for "The Big Issue"...

Anyways if you are into food, then put this place on your bucket list, the meat in Argentina is only to be tasted to be believed!!!

Buenos Aires 3 - Troy

2011-06-10T05:38:00.000-07:00

I am having a very bad day!!!

I awoke this morning and went through the laborious task of packing the bike and gearing up in my multiple layers (10 on my top half). I had planned my route out of the city towards Iguazu, and was looking forward to a few days of riding and camping.

As I was about to ride off, I left the bike for a second, and cos it was on a slight slope, it fell over. Luckily I caught it before it did a domino on the bikes next to it, and some guy helped me to right it, though I managed to knock one of the revision mirrors off in the process. I thus climbed on quite flustered and started her up, and rode off.

I felt the bike jerk a bit, so I pulled up straight away to check what was wrong. Unfortunately the jerking was the bike lock I had put on the front wheel (mainly as a deterrant) snapping. I had forgoten to remove it!!!!!!!!

Fortunately I hadn't gone far (and it's a pretty weak lock), so there is no major damage, though the cable wrapped around the axle and twisted the speedo cable housing out of position, thus I have probably stripped the sprocket.

I tried to fix it enough to ride it to a dealer, but I am going to have to remove the wheel to check the sprocket, or whatever damage I've done could get worse. So I then had to unpack everything and re-check into the hotel.

I am presuming that I will have to replace the whole speedo unit (hopefully that is all the damage), and that probably means waiting for the part to be shipped here. Thus I will be staying for a while longer in Buenos Aires. The fortunate thing is that I did it here and not in the middle of no-where or some tiny town out in the woop woop.

I'm pretty angry at myself for not remembering the lock, though I hadn't used it to lock the bike before (and after Neals story I was being extra cautious), so it wasn't a part of my start up check list... No excusing it though, it was really stupid!!!

I'm calming my frazzled nerves in the hotel at the moment and delaying the inevitable, removing the front wheel and surveying the damage...

Oh well... that's life on the road...

UPDATE

I removed the front wheel and it seems like there is minimal damage. The actual interior of the speedo unit was free of any shredded sprockets and seems to still turn freely. I checked it thoroughly and am hoping that it wont have to be replaced, since it only rotated about 10 degrees out of it's seating.

I re-installed the wheel, and though the speedo housing rotates a couple of degrees more than it used to ((I think this is due to the teeth of the connector being a little stressed) and that's nothing a bit of gaffer tape can't fix), it seems to still be in good nick.

The cable on the other hand is toast, cos when I spun the wheel there was no register on the speedo itself. I've decided that I will try to get a replacement cable tomorrow, though if it will take a week or more to ship, then I'll order it, disconnect the cable, and replace it when I return to Buenos Aires. I know the dingo so well now that I don't need a speedo anyway, I can tell what speed she's doing from the rev meter.

I think I am very lucky because I pulled up quickly (within 3 or 4 meters), so that meant that after the lock snapped, it only managed to get itself wrapped around the axle and upset the speedo unit a little. Also as Tim pointed out, I have checked the spokes, and they are fine, because the lock itself was pretty weak (it is (sorry "was") a light bicycle combo lock that I used to chain my helmet and jacket to the bike).

So I may have been spared a major disaster! To replace the whole speedo unit would have cost me a lot of time and money. I still have to pull the dash apart and inspect the meter and replace the cable (and that is a pretty major task so I decided to tackle it tomorrow when I can confirm getting a replacement).

Thus I am feeling much better now, though still can't excuse my stupidity (and I still have to replace the broken rear vision mirror).

Oh the joys of motorbike travel...

Buenos Aires 2 - Troy

2011-06-09T15:26:00.001-07:00

I have now been almost 5 days in BA and still have my bike and all my documents (ie neither has been stolen).

I will now tell the story of Neal Dawes.. U.S. American. I began my trip travelling with Neal, though due to the usual fluctuations and incumbrences of the many factors that come into play while travelling on motorbikes; we had separated in Antigua (Gutemala) then met up again in Cartagena, Colombia and rode until Cali, from whence he then continued his journey south alone.

I had been hoping, after Tutu flew out of Salta, to be able to meet up again with Neal in Buenos Aires. I contacted him but received no reply, so planned my journey down ruta 40 to Mendoza. Unfortunately I ended up getting a response from him that a couple of problems had kept him there.

I received mail from him a couple of weeks back (which I received lat cos I had been camping and had no net) that he had been in the process of leaving BA to ride to Igauzu Falls, when... I will post his mail to explain (I'm sure he would be OK with this since it could forewarn other travellers):

A really fun reminder on theft in the city. Yep, this morning while packing my bike in front of the hotel I got taken. A lady ran up to me in a panic, I turned for just a moment, to see what was wrong, turned back around tank bag is gone. Now normally this would just piss me off, unfortunatly today was tragic. I had put everthing of value in my tank bag and had it in a locker at the hostel. So for seven months made efforts to keep things separate and my docs in a zipped inside pocket. On this day I lost....

Passport w/ newly obtained Brazil Visa
Bike Title, Drivers Liscence, Import papers
Camera
Zip drive, so all photos totally gone
Spot
Guide Book
Maps

I was in a rush, was setting my tank bag on the bike and trying to get the safety strap hooked. 2 more seconds the bag would have been secured to the bike and would not have grown legs. This is a nice street at 10 am, doesn´t matter. Its so hard not to react to someone in that situation. Best to always have your stuff secure and never all in one place.

Thus I made sure that the Dingo has been securely parked, and that my docs are secure, so thanks to Neal for the heads up.

I have now spent almost 5 days in BA and though it is an amazing cosmopolitan city, it's no fun without my amigo Tim. Also I had thought the paperwork to get into Brasil might be easy here, but that isn't the case, so I will ride towards Iguazu Falls tomorrow and deal with it there, at which I have read on the net, that they can process a visa in 1 rather than 5 days.

Buenos Aires - Troy

2011-06-06T13:01:00.000-07:00

When I hit Mendoza after the craziness of Ruta 13, funnily enough I was back to square one, ie in the city square at midday closing time. I ate a ham and cheese sandwich and this time determined that I would actually do the ride to Buenos Aires.

So I rode hammer and tongs on highway 7. I now think that may have been the wrong decision (I thin 8 might have been better), though when I began, it felt all good. I managed to put a good bunch of miles in the first day and ended up at a shopping center at Mercedes getting supplies and cash, and seeing the sun go down I contemplated where I was gonna hang my hat.

I ended up deciding to ride till I could ride no more and take a chance. Thus I ended up about 80 clicks out from Mercedes with the sun about to disappear, riding a side road that seemed to head towards a lake, when I came across the most bizarre tiny sign indicating a monument of some kind.

I was blessed, it was a bizarre monument which for some reason no one had visited since 2001, and was the most perfect camp spot. I had the tent up and was cooking a corn soup before the sun went down. I watched a few episodes of"How I met your mother" (once again thanks Tim for the recomendation) , and fell asleep early.

When I awoke the next morning at 6 am, with my French lessons still playing on my ipod, I pulled back my tent flap and heard a cracking sound. This was the frost, which had frozen my tent solid and had deposited a 1 cm thick layer of frost on my bike. Needless to say it was freezing and despite sleeping in my zero rated sleeping bag and sleeping fully clothed, I was still cold and still had a cold.

I quickly slipped back into my bag and played angry birds (I'm getting better at it though not in Tutu's league) till the sun rose and began to defrost everything. I then cleaned my chain with WD 40 and my toothbrush, which I made a mental note to replace, (then ofcourse forgot), gave the bike a once over and left my new favourite camp spot by 11 am.

I then rode one of the worst rides of the trip, it's up there with the leg I rode to Oruru in Bolivia, though this was because of a 30 + knot gusting sidewind. It was exhausting just trying to keep the bike on the road, unlike Tim's truck of a bike, the KLR is light and reacts to not only the wind but also every car truck or bus that comes at you from the other side of the road. So basically I had the bike on a 15 to 20% slant to tackle the wind, then a truck would come at me, first the wind shear around it would knock the bike like a hit from Mike Tyson, then the wind depression would cause the lean I had and lack of wind to pull me onto of the wrong side of the road, then the opposite depression would smack me again, and with luck by then I was wobbling like an aged pensioner in the middle of the road.

That was the ideal though... mostly I was veering from my lane into the other and dodging oncoming traffic. I pretty much almost had a head on collision every hour, because there was lots of opposing traffic, and I was so exhausted that I just wanted to get the ride over, so I was doing 75 mph. So I ended up getting not many miles in and spent 2 hours at a servo in the middle of nowhere defrosting hoping that the wind would stop, or at least calm down.

It didn't, it got worse, so I drank 2 red bulls and hit the road again. I rode till sunset, hoping there would be another nice little monument or piece of bush land to pull off to... but there wasn't... the whole interior of Argentina reminded me of the travesty that English colonisation wrought on the Australian landscape, ie centuries of nature forming a balance of water run off with trees and soil, had been stripped, no raped, and turned into endless flats of either crops or fallow land with the occasional sprouting of trees only kept as a wind break for a homestead. It was depressing, though I finally managed to find a little turn off to pitch the tent, near a lake, unfortunately inhabited by giant mosquitos.

I camped the night, froze my ass off, and woke the next day to hit the road to Buenos Aires.

Luckily (I know now) I had checked a weather report in Mendoza, which said there would be rain in Buenos Aires on Monday, so I rode another awful day of gusting winds, along highway 7 until I finally reached my destination. I had planned to do this 1000km stretch in 4 to 5 days but did it in 3.

I was (am still) a wreck. I was frozen, my headscarf was almost solid snot, from using it as a tissue, I had been smacked around the road for 3 days by 20 to 30 knot gusting winds, I stank from having to sleep fully clothed each night, I was almost deaf from the constant wind noise which I had tried to counter with French lessons, I could barely move because under my riding gear I was wearing every piece of clothing I had, I was starving from having cooked myself vegie soups each night to save money...

So I rode into Buenos Aires, and despite the patented "Tim Dzaman get taxi to help you find a hotel" method, I was determined to use the "Troy Schultz on a budget" method. This actually worked perfectly.... I will now post the e-mail I wrote to Tim last night to explain why it didn't though:

I had to then ride into the city to find a hostel... easier said than done, I rode around for 2 or 3 hours, getting recommendations and basically riding circles around one way streets (and my rear light and indicator not working so getting toots, and other advice) ... finally I found one by accident. It's not ideal, about $20 a night and bike parked on street but there is a cop station over road with all night guard so... better than riding these incredibly confusing street anymore...

All up about 10 hours of riding for 380kms, in freezing cold, I stink cos havent showered in 3 days (and was so cold I had to sleep in zero rated bag fully clothed (and still got cold)), I have a bad cold (nose running sinuses blocked coughing chunks), have eaten 1 hamburger all day but too exhausted to find restaurant and out of gas to cook even a soup...

THEN I got gear into room walked down the road to get supplies, and as I'm waiting to pay some bum grabs a bottle of scotch and does a runner, the old asian shop guy runs after him, gets hit in the face, but gets the bottle of booze back...

What a city.... I want to get out and keep camping, but american guy reckons it takes 2 weeks to get brazil visa!!! I'm not sure what to do (not sure even if I can believe him), I thought it would take a day or 2, will look into it tomo and bail ASAP, can't handle cities anymore!!!

One good thing though.... the room has a reverse cycle... I got heating!!!!!!!!!!!! OMG got it on max...

Stay up north as long as poss, it's too freaking cold here... even for you!!!!

So i am now in a hotel with heating and cable TV so I can watch the news... Oh and I did well cos when I went for a walk this morning it was raining!!! I hate cold but even more so I hate riding in rain... so it was worth it.... I guess...

Uspallata - Mendoza - Troy

2011-06-06T09:35:00.000-07:00

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.

Potrerillos - Uspallata - Troy

2011-06-06T03:08:00.000-07:00

I managed to find a bike shop in Mendoza, and bought a new rear tyre for the Dingo, a Michelin Sirac, which ended up costing me about $180 (compared to the Metzler I bought in Colombia for $35, that hurt). By the time I had it installed it was 1 pm so I headed to a cafe to eat and plan out my next leg.

One of the funny aspects of Argentina is the "siesta time". Basically from 1 or 2 pm all the shops and restaurants close until about 5 pm, when they re-open and continue trade into the night. It is hard for a westerner who likes a late lunch or early dinner, cos the restaurants don't open for dinner until after 8 pm!

So there I am at a cafe with internet, trying to decide what to do next, I manage to get 2 coffees and a toasted ham and cheese sandwich in before they begin to pack up. I am in the main street of Mendoza, and as it get's closer to 2 pm, I notice the street become increasingly barren of people, then there is almost no-one!

I had to make a snap decision (this is the way Tim and I have travelled together (and I suppose why we get along so well), never make serious plans, leave it to the moment); anyways, it was much later than I had intended to leave, so I had to either:

1. Begin to make my way east overland to Buenos Aires.

2. Head back to the camp ground, set up camp, and attempt to set out early the next day.

3. Ride west towards Uspallata near the border to Chile (which I had heard was a nice ride with great scenery) and camp off the road somewhere, because being so late I couldn't make it.

I decided to head west and camp wherever I could before nightfall. This is risky cos you never know where you may end up...

I ended up in paradise!!!

It was getting close to 4pm when I came across the spectacular Lago Potrerillos. The sun was beginning to set over the 6000 meter high mountains of the Chile/Argentina border region. I was in awe! There perched within the harsh and unforgiving mountains and valleys was the most perfectly blue lake I had ever seen.

I knew I had to stay there (actually I "had" to camp there). I pulled into the tiny town, asked directions to the camp ground, and had my tent up on the lakeside before night fall. It was perfect.

I walked through the town and found a tourist adventure company, who informed me there was a zipline of 2.5 km there! I knew what I was doing the next day, so I bought supplies, cooked up a feed, did my French lessons and crashed out satisfied that Tim and my technique of "leaving decisions till the last minute" worked once again...

The next day I did the ziplne, road an offroad trail around the lake, and spent the night drinking wine and feasting on a great barbeque of meats with my new best friend Jose (a retired doctor) and his 3 sons from Buenos Aires (Pablo, Augusto and Facundo (watch out Aussie girls 2 of these guys are single, charming, and may be on their way there soon)), who were also staying at the campground. We spent the night in their caravan exchanging stories and having a great time of it (my espanol has improved enough to be able to hablo now).

The next day I sadly packed up and rode on to Uspallata, which was spectacular though extremely cold. I spent the afternoon at a restaurant eating an amazing steak then rode to the campground, which was deserted, so I decided that after camping for so long, it might be time to stay in a hostel (partly cos it was freaking freezing at over 2000m). I found a great hostel, which also was deserted cos it's not tourist season, had a hot shower and settled in for the night, determined to hit Aconcagua the next day.

It's wierd cos when one is in extreme conditions, one's body adapts, then when you get to a reasonably comfortable place, the body seems to say "OK now I'm going to collapse". The next morning I awoke with an awful cold. I packed the bike determined to ride to Aconcagua but as I rode out of town I realised I was in no state to ride. My nose was running like a tap, eyes watering, I was shivering despite multiple layers of thermals, I was a wreck. Rather than potentially kill myself with cold I decided to ride back to the warm hostel room and "ride out" the cold.

Back at the hostel I took a bunch of the meds my beautiful Tutu had left me and descended into a coma. I tried to sleep it off, then went for a hike around the amazing town, then fell back into bed.

The next day despite still being sick I rode to Aconcagua. The ride there was once again mind blowingly beautiful, though it was freezing, so when I made it to the park I managed a limping hike around it, despite being almost blown off my feet by a gusty arctic (metaphoric ofcourse) wind, then high-tailed it back to the hostel, where I once again collapsed into bed.

It was worth it though, as the hopelessly in adequate photos I took, may tell...

Bolivia Border to Potosi

2011-06-04T08:51:00.000-07:00

Today is a two day update, since we were offline for a bit around the Bolivia border.

The border was a snap, but slow. Easy coming out on the Chile side, and easy on the Bolivia side for the passports, but the bike paperwork was a couple hours. Not hard or frustrating, just slow and laborious.

Since we hit the border late, we didn't finish till it was getting dark, so we asked the border guards where the next hotel was… 180 km and 3 hours away was the answer. Uh-oh.

Vanessa was looking at me with one of those.. "Please don't make me sleep in the tent in -10 degree" looks…

We inquired further, and yes, a room could be had here, at the border. So we rode 20 feet to the ramshackle rundown line of stores and restaurants that seem to line every border in Central and South America, and finally found a lady who had both a room and someplace relatively safe to store the bike.

I squeezed the bike into some dimly lit, tiny little doorway, and pulled it into a courtyard.

We found our room, which was the size of a queen sized bed.... plus 1 foot.

It had a TV, which had a screen about 1/2 the size of my laptop, and was made in the 80's.

It had two channels, one was a music channel that seemed to only play the videos of one guy. He had 4 videos on in a row, all different songs, but he wore the same shirt in each one.

The mattress was sunk in the middle about 8 inches, and was harder than my yoga mat on a concrete floor.

We took out the sleeping bag and slept in it, as the sheets were suspect. I don't think either of us got more than 3 hours sleep in the 12 hour night.

At 7:00 am the next morning, we got up, packed, dressed in everything available, and got on the motorbike in 3 degrees, and began to explore Bolivia.

After riding in 3-5 degree weather, I thought my poor Colombian girl was an ice cube behind me, but when we stopped for a break in the sunshine, she got off the bike with no complaints. Seems the thermal underwear and top I gave her was useful (along with the other 6 layers of my and her clothes she had on). The only thing cold on her were her hands.

I however, was frozen solid, sitting in the front, without any thermals. :(

However, by about 11:00 am, it warmed up enough that we could appreciate the awesome scenery that we were riding through.

We blew through a town called Oruro, which I remembered from Troys earlier experience was not worth stopping in. We agree. It's a dusty, dirty, poor looking town. We stopped for a bite to eat and that was enough. We continued on to Potosi, arriving at dusk. Cold and tired after an 11 hour, 630 km ride.

I have to report that some of my things are starting to fall apart. The GPS is toast... the screen is shot, so I can't use it at all. The Lens on my Canon Camera stopped working in Cusco. The motor for the focus seems to be jamming, so it's won't focus and gives me ERR-01 all the time. I can sometimes take one or two pictures before it stops working. I looked at a new lens in Cusco, but for a $395 dollar lens, they wanted $795.00. No sale.

I need two new tires for the bike. The rear, which has been nothing short of amazing, has over 17,000 km on it. I put it on new in La Paz Mexico, and it still has some tread left. For a tire on a bike this loaded, it has been awesome. The front tire still has lots of tread left, but it is a street tire (the only one I could find that would fit my bike). But for some of the roads coming up, it is not ideal.

I have contacted a local bike shop here (it's Saturday) and he's trying really hard, but most of the shops are closed for the weekend, and won't have any answers till Monday. We will likely stay here (in Potosi) until Monday to see if I can get some new tires by then. I might have to ride to Sucre and back (about 300km round trip) if he has tires.

The motor is also in need of a valve adjustment. The guy in Sucre can do this, so I am hoping on Monday to get that done as well.

Add caption

Salta, Tucuman, La Rioha, San Augustin, Valle Union, Mendoza - Troy

2011-06-02T15:18:00.000-07:00

I finally managed to get back on the road after my long stop in Salta, and began to head south and then west towards Ruta 40. Unfortunately the weather was turning and looking like rain so as I headed into the hills, I decided to set up camp, just off the road.

Luckily the rain didn't come though it certainly wasn't warm. When I started riding the next day, the Dingo started doing some strange things, the rev meter would go haywire, especially when I was decelerating, and at odd intermittent moments I would feel the bike lose power for a split second. I cursed the mechanics in Salta, thinking they may have done something to her, but I didn't want to go back so I headed south to Tucuman.

In Tucuman I found a nice hostel and checked the bike over. Everything seemed fine, she started nice and ran beautiful, but I took her to another mechanic anyway. They looked her over and pronounced all good. So after exploring the rather nice city of Tucuman for a few days, and catching up on blogs, I once again took to the road and Ruta 40.

Unfortunately the problem began to rear it's ugly head again, so I decided to head for La Rioha, to do some research on the net and try and fix the problem myself. I found a cheap hotel which unfortunately had no net so I then went to a cafe and sunk a bunch of coffees while using their wifi. Eventually I decided that it must be electrics and was either the kill switch on the kick stand or the clutch. I felt satisfied at this conclusion so I went out for dinner, and there met a cool Argentinian girl called Sole and an American cat called Ben who was studying in Cordoba.We chatted over dinner then decided to find a bar for a couple of beers, thought that's easier said than done in a town like La rioha, where the streets become deserted after 11pm.

The next day I cut the kick stand kill switch and the bike seemed to start fine, just to be cautious I tightened and checked all the connections too. I then rode out of town towards Valle de Luna, where, while I was waiting for a tour, I met 2 American guys called Gordon and Davis, who were riding up from Buenas Aires. When they heard my accent they said, "hey we were riding with an Aussie guy called Zane, from the U.S. into Mexico a bunch of months back". I then explained that I knew Zane too and we wondered at how crazy it is that bikers always seem to somehow meet up in crazy places and have mutual connections.

So we then rode through the amazing landscape of Valle de Luna, and by the time we'd done that it was getting late. I was going to camp in the desert that night, but they were cool guys so i headed to San Augustin with them and we found a nice hotel and average restaurant, then proceeded to chew the fat all night. Gordon had a tragic story in that just outside of Cordoba, the BMW 650 which he had just bought 2nd hand in Buenas Aires (he crashed his own bike in Mexico, so had bought this to sort of finish the trip), anyways one of the panniers fell off his bike somewhere and despite searching for it they never found it, and the worst part was that it had all of his documents in it!!

So the next day they kept riding to La Rioha and I headed for the Tulcuman national park, which is an amazing huge gorge of red cliffs with petroglyphs, beautiful little oasis of green trees and bizarre outcropping of ancient sea worn rocks.

I then rode to the town of Valle de Union, where I intended to pick up supplies and continue down Ruta 40, but when I got to the main square I had no choice but to stay! I hadn't realised that it was May 24 which here in Argentina is like their national day. I climbed off my bike and was in the midst of an amazing celebration. There were kids in various regional costumes doing dances, there were bands, rousing speaches and an all round atmosphere of pure joy. I rode back down the road and managed to get a cheap camp spot, set up my tent, then went back to mingle. It was a great thing to see, the whole town was filled with people from all over the region dressed in their best and drinking wine and mixing it up.

The next day I rode out to Ruta 40 and into the desert regions. I was expecting something really barren but it was a crazy ride where every hour the whole perspective would change, the colours, the hills, the road, the foliage... it was brilliant. I eventually decided to pull over early when I saw some abandoned buildings, in a perfect location. I set up the tent and spent the afternoon doing my French lessons, (I've been studying up for when I get to France), watching the sun go down and cooking up a very tasty vegie and lentil soup (this probably sounds like a boring detail, but for me there is nothing more rewarding than cooking an edible and enjoyable camp meal).

The next morning I made my way to Mendoza which is a really stunning metropolitan city surrounded by vineyards. I managed to find the tourist office and they steered me to some camp spots, whence I proceeded to get insanely lost. I finally made it outside of the city to a campestre where I set up camp and did my french lessons while cooking a rather nice pesto pasta. I decided that the next day I had to get a new rear tyre (I had almost no tread left on the Metzler, that I had bought in Bogota then carried all over Colombia and Ecuador, before installing at border to Peru), then I would head towards the border with Chile, where the landscape was meant to be spectacular...

Purmamarca - Salta - Cachi - Cafayate - Troy

2011-06-02T13:43:00.000-07:00

I have been camping a lot since my last updates, and haven't had much time for internet, so will take up where I left off, though I'll condense it as much as possible...

After our luxury hotel in purmamarca (I have updated that blog with photos now), Tutu and I rode down to Salta, which is a big city and was quite nice to arrive in after lots of small towns. We met a few friends of hers and ate out at some amazing restaurants, it was here that I decided that Argentinian steaks are the best in the world.

I gave the Dingo an oil change, and we left most of our gear at the hostel, then we headed south to Cachi, which is a very relaxed and picturesque little town. We stayed there one night and had dinner and then breakfast in the beautiful town square.

The next day we did the dirt road on our way to cafayate, through Valle de Calchaquies which was a magical ride through, once again, an amazing landscape, with lots of little "artesan' villages along the way, (which are famous for their crafts and especially poncho's (which Tutu is mad for)).

Eventually we reached an area that had the most incredible slanted hills. It was getting late so we decided to pull off to a little canyon to camp the night. It was one of the nicest nights imaginable, we pitched the tent, cooked up a feed, went for a hike, then built a fire and sat by it reading our books and watching the stars. It was a perfect camp spot...

The next day we continued riding into Cafayate, which is a town famous for its wines. Needless to say I was excited about trying some out, so we stopped in the main square, and went to the tourist info to find a hotel. They were all quite expensive, and just as we were about to ride off to check them out, we were approached by a young guy on a BMX who showed us a flyer for a new hotel. We decided to check it out, and it turned out to be a really nice place, with a kitchen, and best of all a really nice couple who had just started it up, and had a really cute baby.

Tutu and I ended up becoming good friends with them and so we stayed 2 days. We went to a couple of wine tastings, got a couple of bowls of red wine icecream from a famous ice-creamery and just relaxed about the town. I cooked Tutu a selection of steaks and roasted vegies and topped it off with my famous gravy, which being French, she was a little suspicious about. In the end it was really hard for us to leave, though Tutu had to be back in Salta to catch her plane home.

Once again the ride back to Salta was a mind blowing experience, the landscape seemed to have no end of different forms and amazing colours. We ended up stopping at least 20 times to takes photos before we had got anywhere near half way back.

We eventually arrived back in Salta, where our gear was ready in our original private room, and sadly Tutu packed her incredibly overstuffed backpack, and flew home the next day (not before buying a tub of Dulce de Leche a kind of chocolate spread only available in Argentina that she is addicted to).

I was a bit sad after that cos now I was alone and had got used to having Tim and/or Tutu around, so I got a service on my bike, then ended up spending over a week in Salta, trying to work out what I was gonna do.

Eventually I realised that I had to keep rolling so I decided to hit Ruta 40 and head south to Mendoza. And then ??????

Tacna, Peru to Arica, Chile

2011-06-02T07:15:00.000-07:00

Today was a border day, so not much riding, only a couple hours, if that.

The border between Peru and Chile is modern and efficient. The guys at the border were very friendly and interested in the bike. In fact, while we were filling out forms, one of the border guys came up to me with and he had the website (www.terranovaexpedition.ca) up on his phone. He had seen it written on the bike, and typed it in. He asked where the other guy (Troy) was. :)

One thing that we different here, was they had an Airport X-ray style machine there, and asked me (nicely) to take all the gear off the bike and put it through the machine, which I did.

After getting through the border, we stopped for the "new country" picture, and as we rode into Arica, we passed a few guys on KTM 990 Adventures (same bikes that Petar and Dominick are riding). Seems that they, and 9 other guys from Santiago, Chile had flown up here with the bikes, and were riding into Bolivia.

So we followed them to the hotel and hung out a bit last night.

After, Vanessa and I went down to the beach (we're on the Pacific Coast here), and walked out on the pier. The air here is so dense with moisture, that most of the pictures we took look terrible, as the flash reflects against the water droplets in the air. Then went for a swim at the hotel pool. Some of the pictures turned out ok.

Just over the border in Chile.

Out for supper.

The air here was so dense with moisture and fog last night, it made taking pictures hard.

Some of the KTM guys

Hanging out with the KTM guys.

At the beach. :)

At breakfast this morning Vanessa said: "I thought the coffee in Peru was terrible, but it's terrible here too. I thought all coffee tasted like Colombian coffee" :)

Arequipa to Tacna

2011-06-01T09:41:00.000-07:00

We rode from Arequipa to Tacna, Peru yesterday, through some gorgeous desert. Vanessa's first time ever to see the desert in real life, so her eye's were like saucers.

Had to ride a bit in the dark, since we got away late, but the road was endless and straight through the sands, and it made for some amazing scenery as the sun went down. Booked into the first hotel we found, which ended up being too nice (and too expensive) but were were tired, and it was nice. :)

The view from the roof of our Hostel in Arequipa

My bike in the entranceway of our Hostel.

The magnificent church in the centre Square of Arequipa. This is about 1/4 of it. It's massive.

Nuns. :)

Feeding the pigeons.

In the desert.

The road goes through the middle of a military base in the desert. We weren't supposed to stop and take pictures, so just after this one, a big military truck came by and they stopped and told us to put the camera away. They were friendly, and I think they just stopped because Vanessa had her Bikini top on. :)

Eating lunch. She'll kill me when she see's that I posted this. She hates this picture. :)

Action shot.

The desert at dusk.

Roland Leonardo

2011-05-30T17:13:00.001-07:00

Roland Leonardo

When I returned to Colombia, I left my motorcycle in Cusco with a person I hardly knew, but the one thing I was sure of was that he was a fellow biker, and that was good enough for my trust.

His name is Roland Leonardo, and for 45 days, he looked after my bike and gear for me while I was in Colombia.

When I returned, my bike was stored in a secure facility, covered in a tarp, and Leo had taken all my gear to his home. Everything was just as I left it.

After returning to Cusco, Peru, Leo (as he likes to be called) took me to my bike, got it running again (the battery was dead) and helped out with some other maintenance (the lower shock bolt) and got me a new rear seat.

The next day, he met Vanessa and I and spent the day with us helping to get her set up with gear for the trip.

I owe Leo a lot, and he refused to allow me to pay him anything for his time, other than to buy him supper one night when we went out.

Thanks Leo. You are an honest and trustworthy friend and I am fortunate to have met you.

We will meet again.

Tim Dzaman

www.terranovaexpedition.ca

Road to Arequipa

2011-05-30T00:52:00.000-07:00

I woke up Saturday morning after our last night out in Cusco, and the first thing that popped in to my head was excitement that after 55 days, I would be riding once more on my BMW R1200GS Adventure to places unknown.

The night before, Vanessa and I had packed and re-packed our gear so it would fit on the bike. OK, I stuffed my 2 shirts and two pairs of pants and a pair of swim trunks into a waterproof bag 1/2 the size of a football, and Vanessa was struggling to fit all her clothes into two giant duffle bags.

Either way, we "packed" our gear and loaded the bike. After saying our goodbyes to all our friends at the Loki Hostel, we geared up (Vanessa in her new Bike Armour and helmet), and headed out of Cusco onto the open road.

Vanessa has been in Peru now for 12 days, and has really enjoyed herself, but I know she is a little bit scared of the new reality of riding on a motorcycle.

Luckily for us, we started our new adventure on the most glorious day imaginable. 23 degrees (warm for this altitude), blue skies and a vast terrain as far as the eye can see.

We rode for an hour, then I pulled over for a break. After Vanessa managed to take her helmet off (a 1-2 two minute process right now, what with gloves, buff, headphones, sunglasses, hair etc. etc. etc.). But when she finality emerged from the helmet, her face was alight with a grin, and the first word she spoke was "WOW".

I have to continue to remember that as I marvel at the scenery, it is with the eyes of a person who has seen a lot of the world. Vanessa knows Colombia, and of that a small part, so she is seeing many things for the first time.

We descended from the Andes into the desert region as we rode towards Arequipa. It is a vast landscape, one that kind of reminds me of Mongolia, treeless and barren, yet achingly beautiful.

We left late enough in the day that I knew we would never make the 10 hour trip to Arequipa, so the thought was about camping the first night. Hopefully not too high an altitude, so I wouldn't freeze my Colombian girl on the first night in the tent.

As the hour got late, I started looking for a possible site along the highway, and, as we have done numerous times in the past found an abandoned gravel pit just off the road.

Gravel pits, as long time readers of the blog will remember, are some of my fondest places to camp. They usually provide a nice, firm, level, and generally bug reduced location that are usually far enough from the road (and have a road to them) to be secluded, so we can set up camp and not be disturbed by local unknowns.

From Russia to Kazakhstan and now Peru, my Gravel Pit camping continues.

We set up camp quickly, fired up the trusty MSR camp stove, heated up some Corn on the Cob ("Mazorca" or "elote", in spanish), popped a couple cans of Tuna, and ate supper in the fading sunlight.

It gets dark in the middle of nowhere fast, so now pitch black and getting colder (we're above 4000 meters here), we headed into the tent. We stayed awake as long as possible, but by 7:30 pm, we were both asleep. :)

We have my arctic sleeping bag, which is a thick inner bag and a thinner outer bag. The inner is rated for at least -20 and the outer for about 5 degrees. If you layer them, they are probably good to -30. But of course, with two people we had to share, so I zipped them together. It worked fine, as long as no one moved.

I won't say it was a completely pleasant night laying on the hard, cold ground. Vanessa had the leaky thermarest, and I had my yoga mat. Neither of which is too comfortable. It was cold. The water in the MSR cooker had a layer of ice in the morning, and the bike and gear was covered with a full layer of frost, but we made it through the almost 12 hours of dark (the days are pretty evenly split here so close to the equator).

We had breakfast (a couple Oranges and my very last Freeze Dried meal pack - Scrambled Eggs), and waited until the sun was up before heading out on the road, and the final couple hundred KM to Arequipa. It was 5 degrees for the first couple hours, but warmed up later in the day to a nice 20 degrees.

On our last day in Cusco, we went for a walk in the main square

Some of the local girls ladies with a couple baby goats. We couldn't pass up a picture.

With Celeste, the Manager at Loki, getting ready to leave.

Fueling up.

Lunch time.

In the tent, ready for -2 or -3 overnight.

In the morning, frost on the tent.

Our camp.

Frosty bike.

Breakfast

Some of the countryside of Peru

Bolivia border issues

2011-05-27T07:35:00.000-07:00

The Peru Bolivia border by Lake Titicaca is closed for us because of Peruvian mining protests.

For the last 17 days, the Peruvian side of the border as far back as Puno has been blockaded by protesters, who are concerned that a large mine proposed for the area will destroy the local environment. It just happens that the large mine is proposed by a Canadian company. :(

We had hoped that the blockade would have been cleared by the time we were ready to travel south, but it looks to be intensifying, with the government sending in troops yesterday, and the federal election coming up in the next 5 days.

If it was me alone, I would try and run the blockade, as the protesters aren't too aggressive against travellers. But with Vanessa on the back, I don't want to take any chances.

We will remain in Cusco till tomorrow and see what happens, but may head west to Arequipa, and the Chilean border, and miss Bolivia. which would be a shame.

More information tomorrow...

Tim

Moto is ready to go...

2011-05-23T19:35:00.000-07:00

To refresh everyone, after I left Peru to fly back to Colombia, I got a call from Leo, who was the guy I left my bike with in Peru. He told me that the lower shock bolt had sheared on the bike. This would be weird if it hadn't happened to me just before I left on the trip, so I knew what to expect.

So while I was in Colombia, I ordered a new shock bolt, which I was told would take 2 weeks to arrive. This was no problem, as I wasn't going to be back in Peru for a while anyway.

After 45 days back and forth between Colombia and Peru, I finally had the super special, BMW lower shock bolt in my hands.

I hadn't seen my bike in a month and a half, the last time being when I left Cusco and it in the hands of a guy (Leo) I had met 3 hours before.

I met Leo in the main square of Cusco, and we walked the 3 blocks to a small Hostel, went through the door and there she was:

My girl is still with me.

The battery was dead, and we had to jury rig it bit to keep the back end up, since the shock was just hanging.

We pushed it 6 blocks through the streets of Cusco to a local Mechanic who Leo recommended. His shop didn't inspire confidence, but I have come to expect great things from the mechanics in poorer countries, as they are required by circumstance to be very ingenious and creative with the tools they have available.

We got the battery on a charger, and pushed the bike another couple blocks to a welding/machine shop. The floor was dirt, and the equipment old and tattered, but there was no mistaking the expertise of the owner. We quickly had the bike backed up to the doorway, and removed the back tire.

While he was setting up, Leo and I went across the street to a parts store, where they matched my 2 weeks to get from Germany BMW lower shock bolt, and I bought two more for spares, in the off chance this happens again. Total cost for the bolts was about $2.00

By the time we got back, the welder had extracted the remains of the bolt that was stuck in my final drive housing, and we quickly installed the new bolt and the bike was fixed. :) It was a happy moment.

While we were setting up, I also had Leo grab the rear luggage rack on my bike to see if we could somehow get some kind of seat fashioned for Vanessa to sit on.

About 20 steps away from the Welders shop we found a guy who does upholstery. He looked at the rack we provided, and said he could make me a seat in 1 hour, cost 25 Sols. About $8.00.

By the time we had the bike fixed, got a quick lunch, and went back, the seat was done.

The welder charged me 50 soles, which is about $16.00.

So the repairs to the shock and the new seat, including parts came to about $25.00, and took about 1.5 hours.

My mechanic and Leo outside the welders shop.

One Official BMW 7129905247 ISA Screw - M10X80MK

The Welders shop. Nice Lathe, mud floor.

The guys working on the bike.

I am always surprised at the talents of the people that work in conditions like this.

The remains of the bolt that was removed from the housing.

This nice old guy built me a seat in 1 hour, for $8.00.

Cusco May Day Parade

2011-05-23T06:59:00.000-07:00

We had some trouble figuring out what this parade was all about, but it was fun to watch, and everyone was having a great time dancing. The costumes were amazing.

This little guy was bummed out because his Mom made him put the hat back on for this picture. :)

Machu Picchu... again.. :)

2011-05-21T15:14:00.000-07:00

I have just been reading Troy's amazing blog posts and am just so looking forward to experience some of the stuff he has seen.

I also think it is probably prudent to have a refresher course for everyone following along on where everyone is, and how we got there.

1. Troy and Tim (together) travelled from Colombia through Ecuador and Peru and arrive in Cusco, Peru at the beginning of April.

2. In early April, I (Tim) flew back to Colombia to spend some more time with Vanessa. Troy stayed in Cusco, Peru for a bit more, then began his trek south through Bolivia. In Bolivia he hooked back up with Tutu, who we had met and travelled with in Ecuador.

3. It's now the Middle of May, and I have flown back to Cusco, Peru from Colombia with Vanessa. Troy is now in North Argentina and heading south.

4. Tim and Vanessa will be leaving Cusco, Peru to travel south toward Bolivia in the next few days, depending on repairs to my motorcycle.

Ok, everyone clear?

Now, back to the blog:

While still awaiting the part for my bike, we had nothing to do, but saying we are "stuck" in Cusco at the Loki Hostel is not really fair, as it is a ton of fun.

I knew taking Vanessa back to Machu Picchu would be on the list of things that we must do, and to be honest, it is such an amazing place, I have no problem going back. However, I still had bad memories of the 5 hours bus/train ride back when Troy and I went, and was not looking forward to reliving that experience anytime soon.

But with it looking like we would be sitting here for at least a few days, I booked the tickets and surprised Vanessa.

I would like to comment at this point on what it is like to experience things with someone who has literally never traveled before. Everyday, I have to stop and appreciate what Vanessa is going through. To put it into perspective:

1. She had never been out of Colombia.

2. She has never had a passport.

2. She has never been on a train

3. She has never been in a hot spring (or had a hot bath before in her life)

4. She has never experienced "cold" weather, being from the coast of Colombia, it is 30 degrees C there, all year round.

Taking her to Machu Picchu was the most magical thing she has ever seen or done. It makes the experience all the more special when you see someone overcome their fears and uncertainty of the unknown, and truly wonder and marvel at the world.

It was amazing to experience that with her.

Look in the background at the fully circular rainbow. It was there for about 2 minutes, then the clouds moved through and it was gone.

Vanessa on the top of Huayna Picchu.

Tutu - Troy

2011-05-20T19:52:00.000-07:00

Tutu had to fly back to France a week ago, and I have run out of time to catch up on my blogs...

I am going "walk about" on route 40 here in Argentina, for a while, so I'm going to pause the blogs here for now...

I made a video for the beautiful Tutu; of Tim, me and her, and our time together in Ecuador..

Here tis: (needless to say there will be one of Tim, and the others from our voyage, at some stage (PS Tim didn't scream so much on the bridge jump, just made a groan like :-0)))............

Purmamarca... again. - Troy

2011-05-20T15:51:00.000-07:00

The next day we rode back to Purmamarca to the luxury hotel for our first luxury night, I had picked up the ingredients on the way for a special meal I was going to cook for Tutu.

When we arrived they told us there was a problem, they couldn't give us the budget suite we had booked because after years of waiting (which was part of the reason such an amazing place was so cheap), they had finally got access to gas, and they were currently fitting the place out... so they could only supply us with their top, supremo, deluxe apartment at the same cost, yet only for one night.

We graciously accepted... The timing could not have been more perfect, we were in shock, we had the most incredible, "in our dreams" apartment, and the gods or nature had made it so we had the best for the base price. Needless to say I cooked Tutu the best meal I could, while she had a bath in bubbles and improved her angry birds (thanks again Tim!!) and I got to watch CNN on an actual TV while we lived in luxury complete with a full "home" delivered breakfast in bed the next morning, whence we were so satisfied we asked if we could have one more night... and they said yes!!!

It's hard to explain how amazing it is to be in a hotel of such perfection, with the girl of your dreams; no more need be said...

Huamamarca - Troy

2011-05-20T14:48:00.000-07:00

After a perfect time in Iruya, Tutu and I decided that all our cash-cutting with camping deserved at least one night in a truly luxury hotel. When in Purmamarca, during a hike, we came across the Hotel Colorado; it looked so perfect that we pretended to be customers and asked to be shown the rooms (despite the fact I looked like some cowboy half-wit hick). The whole hotel is nuevo adobe style, yet interiors are 4 star deluxe, apartment style with indoor fire place, full kitchen and all luxury appointments and the most amazing views of Purmamarca hills imaginable (and hot shower and actual bathtub!! (I mean an actual bathtub as well as enough hot water to fill it!!!!!!!!!!).

Thus on leaving Iruya we decided that we could do one night (ie 100 AU (ie same as CA (haha US dollar suck on that))). We rode toward Purma with that in mind thinking we would stop in Huamamarca (Tutu's idea) on the way, I was against it until we got to hotel Colorado, (I was only thinking of the luxury fittings, kitchen and possible fast broadband), yet gave deference where deference due, to Tutu's better judgment, so we stopped at Huamamarca.

Once there I got a vibe, I loved it, so we decided to stay a night and book the next night at the Hotel Colorado by phone. What a stoke of luck or chance or destiny was that!!! You will now find out why... Tutu booked us in for the next day.

We found a nice, cheap hotel in Huamamarca, then began to walk to the major tourist destination, just out of town. On the way I noticed an offroad motorbike out the front of what looked like a shop, just out to town, we were a little unsure of where we were heading, so Tutu suggested we ask the people in the shop if we were heading in the right direction. A usual I said lets just do our thing but she insisted "lets ask a local".

The shop looked closed and as we entered a guy went scurrying into the back as I began to notice the unmistakable odour of dope. I noted the walls covered with Bob Marley posters et al, and from the mist a red eyed tripper emerged from behind a jewelers desk. Tutu asked him directions and then he obliged until somehow Tutu mentioned we were riding a KLR 650.

The blinds came off, the jeweler was impressed, and his very stoned friend emerged from the shadows, then they both began to give us very detailed descriptions of the best highlights of the area, only accessible by moto. We were just in time if we could ride off-road and fast (which I could) to witness the most spectacular views of Humahuaca.

We hurried back to the hotel, grabbed the bike, and I rode hell for leather on the directions they gave us; at this stage I was wondering if either Tutu was as crazy as me, or really dug riding on roads that can kill you... anyway this is what we were rewarded with...