After riding North from La Paz along Lake Titicaca for 7 days I reached Cusco. Riding along the altiplano from Puno, over the 4338m high Abra La Raya, and then descending into the river valley down towards Urcos (3100m) and back up to Cusco (3400m).
Once in Cusco I took a needed rest day and also needed to get my front brake pads replaced (they had been worn so thin to be practically unusable), which took an extra day. I also met again with the Belgian cyclists Ellen and Nicolas, who I had met both in South Chile (Coyhaique) and in Bolivia (La Paz). They celebrated the end of their 8-month cycling tour through South-East Asia and South America. Also made me think more of the end of my own project in June 2010, which is fast approaching.
As I’m running out of time to cycle the entire distance up to Quito in Ecuador I need to take a bus for some sections. Since it was raining in Cusco I decided to take a bus to Lima and on to Huaraz, where I arrived this morning. Lima was nice for a day – also the first time I’d been at sea-level after 4 weeks on the altiplano and no less than 3300m altitude. But I decided to go right to Huaraz (3100m) to stage the climb of Huascaran.
Tomorrow I will join another group for a 3-day acclimatization hike on Nevado Pisco (5750m) and then, after one rest and logistics day (Jun-3) we plan a 6-day expedition on Huascaran. I will blog on those two mountains after returning from Nevado Pisco. (Follow the SPOT on a new page for the Huascaran Climb.)
Sunset over Lake Titicaca from Calvario above Copacabana, Bolivia
There were two main reasons why I wanted to ride through Bolivia: The Salar de Uyuni and Lake Titicaca. Both landscapes were very beautiful and cycling there was highly impressive. After a few rest days in La Paz and the expedition on Nevado Sajama I started riding from La Paz to reach the Lake on Tuesday, May 18. I reached the little village of Huatajata and found a perfect spot to pitch my tent right on the Lake shore with beautiful views of the Lake during sunset. I have described this in ample detail on the Bolivia Ride page. Also, check out the many photos in the lower third of the Bolivia photo album.
Riding above Lake Titicaca near Tiquina on the way to Copacabana
The following day riding from Huatajata to Copacabana in Bolivia was the most scenic stretch of my entire trip. There are quite a few hills to climb, between 200m and 450m above the Lake, but those hills reward with fantastic views of several parts of the Lake. Also, for many km the perfectly smooth paved road runs level at altitude, like a panorama road with so many lookout points, just gorgeous scenery.
View approaching Copacabana, Bolivia
Copacabana is a tourist town and as such has its own unique flair, very different from the eerily quiet Huatajata the day before. From the Calvario, a 150m hill right in the center of the village, you have a fantastic view of the Lake with its many shores and the village below. Many tourists make it up there for sunset, one of the quintessential moments of any Bolivia trip!
Enjoying the view atop Calvario above Copacabana, waiting for sunset
The next day I crossed the border into Peru and rode all the way to Puno, many km along the Lake again, with wonderful views back East over the Lake. One can still see the majestic peaks of the Cordillera Real behind in the distance, including Huayna Potosi (6094m) and Illimani (6460m) next to La Paz. For me, Lake Titicaca was a great highlight, and well worth putting up with the hardship of riding on the Bolivian altiplano!
It’s Monday, May 17. I’m sitting in La Paz, back after a 3 day expedition to Nevado Sajama. We did not summit, and one of the main reasons was the horrible weather. In the dry weather of the Bolivian altiplano I had come to assume that the weather is pretty much the same every day and thus didn’t even bother to look at the weather forecast. Plus I wanted to join another small expedition to share in the cost (transportation, food, guides, etc.) and that had determined the timeline. So I neglected the most basic preparation, a look at the weather forecast. My only concern about the weather were the fiery red morning stratus clouds Friday morning when leaving La Paz, a classic bad weather sign. In hindsight, we could hardly have picked a worse period of weather over the last couple of weeks:
Sajama Weather for the week ending in our attempt
We picked the only three days with precip (snow), the coldest and windiest days. If you wanted to mess in zero-visibility, high-wind, cold and snowy conditions, that would have been the perfect time to go. We only saw the summit during our approach drive from Patacamaya, the rest of the time the upper reaches of the mountain were constantly in clouds.
Nevado Sajama from the South-East during approach to Sajama village
I had joined a small expedition put together by French climber Anne who works for Terra Andina in La Paz, one of the major outfitters in the region. This consisted of driver, mules (to basecamp), two guides, cook, and a few porters (to high camp). Organization was good, albeit not cheap by Bolivian standards. I also had rented various mountain gear at a shop in La Paz, including boots, crampons, ice axe, mountain pants, and a large backpack.
Nevado Sajama - approach to base camp
Friday the weather was still ok; we hiked from the trail head (4300m) 2 hours to base camp (4600m) and set up our tents. This is a very nice landscape here, with still plenty of vegetation and lots of vicunas. I had read somewhere that here is the highest forest in the world, with trees growing at altitudes up to 5200m! The mountain and dark clouds loomed ominously overhead. Saturday we hiked up to high camp (5500m). I felt really strong and was hardly slowed down by the altitude. At the upper parts there is a steeper rock gully which is also exposed to some rock fall; here we wore helmets for protection.
Steep rock gully to reach the ridge and high camp
As we set up our tents and spent a leisure afternoon it became clear that the weather wasn’t going to improve as we had hoped.
High camp (5500m) on Nevado Sajama
Then I must have eaten something bad for dinner – some soup and a freeze-dried ham puree – because I felt increasingly bad in the stomach in the late evening hours in my tent. The night was miserable. Not only was there no sleep due to the relentless howling and flapping of the tent in the strong wind. But also did I have to throw up twice in the middle of the night. And without pee bottle getting up to pee is always a major operation. At 3am Anne and her guide Sergio got up to prepare for their summit bid; they left at 4am. I felt too drained for a summit push – I actually felt so weak that even getting up in the morning and out of the tent required quite a lot of will power. At home in a similar state I would have just moved between my bed and the bath room…
Guide Lucio on the descent - note the fresh snow all around
Weak and disappointed I got up and started the descent at 8am with my guide Lucio. The first part required quite a bit of attention as it had snowed and so there was a rock / snow / ice mix, tricky to negotiate with my trail shoes. Further down it was still blowing cold wind and a bit of snow, but no problem to hike anymore.
We reached base camp after some 2.5 hrs and took a 1/2 hr rest. But sitting still it was uncomfortably cold, so we decided to continue our descent all the way down to the trail head and on to the village of Sajama. This took a total of 5 hrs and we reached Sajama by about 1pm. We were out of the wind and I took a 2 hr nap in the warmth and comfort of my sleeping bag.
Anne and Sergio had made a strong attempt at the summit, but were eventually turned back around 9am by very strong winds and extreme cold. We were reunited at the Hostal Oasis in Sajama, and started our long drive back to La Paz – perhaps the most dangerous part of the entire expedition.
(Good bye in Sajama)
I am obviously disappointed, both in the bad weather and in my bad stomach on summit day. After Ojos de Salada (Chile) this is now my second failure to summit in a row. Let’s hope that I will have better luck for the remaining two climbs of this project: Huascaran (Peru) and Chimborazo (Ecuador).
Much progress in civilization has come from more insulation from and control over the vagaries of our environment: A roof over our head, an enclosed steel box transporting us from A to B, an air-conditioned and artificially lighted living space, and more and more a virtual world we can chose to spend time in and enjoy. But too much insulation from the real world leads to its own distress and causes us to miss out in so many ways.
Touring on a bicycle is a very immersive travel experience: Cycling along the roads at rather slow speeds you spend more time “out there” and you have little to insulate you from the environment you encounter. It is literally immersive for all our five senses:
Vision: You see the places differently, with more time for the unique, the slow, the otherwise overlooked. You also perceive landscapes differently than, say, a motorist. You pay more attention to what forms of life exist along the road, but also to hills, gradients, and type of road towards your next goal.
Hearing: Unless you’re dealing with Patagonia-style winds or La Paz-style honking concerts drowning out other noises, you can hear much more about your environment. From the flock of parrots flying above to the alarmed whistle of the Llama to the barking dogs chasing you out of town – much of this would be missed when travelling motorized. You can also hear much more people, greeting, shouting, expressing surprise or excitement at seeing the touring cyclist…
Touch: You feel the temperatures, solar radiation, rain, wind – our skin is the ultimate organ of immersion vs. insulation. From the fresh, comforting Ocean breeze to the painfully cold sleet-rain in South Chile, some skin is always exposed. When out on the Salar de Uyuni, I could literally feel the sun setting by the sudden loss of warming rays on my skin. But you also feel with your body, the surface quality of the road, how smooth (or rocky) the bike is rolling, when a tire goes flat (or when your frame cracks) you feel that something is wrong…
Smell: You smell the air with all flavors along the road, good, bad and ugly. Whether it’s the fragrant strawberries or roses along the road, the unhealthy, dreaded Diesel exhaust of a passing truck or the pungent stench of a rotting carcass. One of my favorites was the fresh air from the Redwood forest when riding through the Avenue of the Giants in Northern California.
Taste: Sometimes you can’t avoid tasting your environment, with sand or dust or salt getting everywhere, including your mouth. More figuratively, you get more taste of adventure, as you need to make more decisions and solve more problems traveling by bicycle. You also have more time and MUCH more appetite to literally taste and sample the local cuisine.
I don’t want to romanticize things here: Bike touring is often hard. When I’m cold, I wish I was warm. When I am tired, I wish I was on top of the hill or at my destination already. When it’s raining, I wish I was in the sunshine. When it stinks, I wish I could hold my breath. But the intensity and the changes of those sensations make bike travel such a special experience. Also, our memory seems to selectively store much more of the nice sensations, while the dread is quickly forgotten…
There is also a “sixth sense” you develop when interacting with so many people and experiencing so many new places where (and how) people live, which invitations to trust or to decline, which areas of town to seek or to avoid. Luckily cyclists are almost uniformly greeted with friendly, supportive responses and rarely prayed upon by thieves.
I think we need a balance of immersion and insulation. I cherished being immersed in the remote wilderness of the Kluane ice-fields around Mt. Logan, but I also cherished my down sleeping bag insulating me from the brutal cold. I mostly enjoyed the sounds of nature, but I also used ear-plugs shutting off the barking dogs in Mexico to get some sleep at night. I reveled in the utter solitude and silence of the night on the Salar, but I also very much look forward to being back together with my loved ones.
But most of all, I cherish the opportunity to immerse myself through this project in the world out there, unleashing the potential to experience it and deal with it, thus avoiding getting too insulated by the conveniences and repetitiveness of everyday life. Pursuing your bicycle touring project brings Enjoyment and Happiness. Occasionally getting “out there” and “away from it all” gives us a good balance “in here” and “through it all”. In my book this is a good recipe for celebrating life.
One of the main reasons for me to ride through Bolivia on my Panamerican Peaks tour was to see the world’s largest salt flat, the Salar de Uyuni. From various cyclist reports I knew that riding on this sea of salt would be an extraordinary experience.
After arriving by train from Villazon to Uyuni I booked a one-day jeep tour out to the Salar. This gave me a rest day after the stressful 9hr night train ride and would also give me a feel for the size and condition of roads etc. During this jeep tour we crossed the Salar from the little village of Colchani (20km North of Uyuni) in the SE to the volcano Thunupa in the North. Two of the passengers had booked a two-day tour with a climb up towards the volcano, so we drove to the village on the base of the volcano to drop them off. Then on the way back we drove to the Isla Incahuasi in the middle of the Salar. There are some small and clean facilities as well as a nice walking path to the top of this island. The views from up there across the white sea of salt with the snow-capped peaks of the Cordillera rising on the horizon is exceptional.
Isla Incahuasi on Salar de Uyuni
Standing on the Isla Incahuasi surrounded by the salt flats of the Salar de Uyuni
Stunning views from the top of Isla Incahuasi across the Salar de Uyuni and the Cordillera peaks in the distance
(Isla Incahuasi in the Salar reminded me of the Isla Taquile in Lake Titicaca.) Also spectacular cacti growing on this island, some more than a 1000 yrs old and up to 10m tall! All too soon we had to say Good-Bye to this place and head back some 50km across the Salar to Colchani, chasing our own shadow in a race against the clock and the setting sun.
Fresh rested and equipped with 10l of water and coke I headed out the next day to ride on the Salar. I left Uyuni behind knowing that there wouldn’t be much infrastructure for a long time and that I would probably not be able to get online for several days. After the first 20km I had lunch in Colchani, then took the ramp to get onto the salt flat, passing some of the structures built of salt like the Hotel de Sal as well as the commercial salt farms.
Last building near Colchani cycling out onto the Salar
Commercial salt farms near the Colchani entrance to the Salar
Now I was on the Salar – just endless white level salt stretching to the horizon in every direction. It was easier to ride following some tire tracks, almost like ski tracks in backcountry snow.
White salt as far as the eye can see, snowy peaks on the horizon
Following tire tracks in the salt
I changed my helmet against the brimmed sunhat and applied sunscreen and lip balm every hour or so to protect my skin from the intense radiation. Hours passed heading towards the North with volvano Thunupa as beacon in the distance. After about 2 hrs or so I met a local cyclist who was riding out to a little hut cutting salt for a living. I can hardly imagine an encounter of two more different cyclists in a more surreal setting than this!
Another cyclist a world apart: A local riding to work cutting salt for a living
Hours went by without much change in the scenery; this was similar to the 30km straight roads along the pampa in Argentina, but here it was all endless in 2 dimensions. I stopped every hour or so for a drink and more sunscreen. There were no cars or human beings anywhere since several hours. Out here I was on my own. Due to the somewhat bumpy ride and a slight headwind my speed was only around 12-15 km/h. I soon realized that I wouldn’t be able to cross the Salar today. But I had wanted to spend a night out here anyway and I came prepared.
Looking for a flat spot to pitch my tent half hour prior to sunset
The shadows got longer and the colors more vivid. 1/2 hr before sunset I stopped, moved aside from the tire tracks (to be safe in the unlikely event that a car would follow those overnight) and set up my tent.
Some photos just before sunset, which you can literally feel on your skin, as the temperature immediately starts dropping once the sun disappears. I spent the next 20min or so eating in my tent while it got dark and the stars emerged. The night sky out here is brilliant, with the Milky Way as clear as ever. One can even see the Magellan Cloud, our nearest galaxy. There is no artificial light or any sign of human activity out here. No dogs barking in the distance, no trucks, no TV or radio, no animals, nothing. The silence, darkness and solitude out here is so profound, it’s very serene. One of the most unique and awesome experiences of my entire trip!
Brilliant display of colors after sunset on the Salar de Uyuni
The thermometer dipped down to -3C and my water bottle on the bike had some ice in it. But there was very little wind and with my good equipment I didn’t have a problem with the cold. Next day the sun rose at 7am and quickly warmed the air again. I packed away my tent and continued heading North. Eventually I found tire tracks leading to an exit to the NE and so left the Salar again. The following 2 days of riding were very hard, through very remote areas and tiny villages, with local farmers working the seasonal Quinoa harvest and an even colder night (-8C) in the tent. The roads are particularly challenging, with gravel, sand, at times large rocks, rivers without bridges, mudflats, and some washboard. Bike and rider take a beating on those stretches, but that seems to be the price of admission to crossing the Salar… Once back to the good roads and even pavement near Huari the poor quality of the roads will soon be forgotten, but the impressions of the Salar likely will remain burned into memory forever!
SPOT track of last week’s ride from Uyuni to Patacamaya (near La Paz):
