Although I’m tempted to fast-forward to Laguna Colorada (gorgeous, incredible, fantastic), the story would be incomplete without the bit after we leave the Salar de Uyuni (windy, exhausting, nightmare). For us, this part is a five-day journey bridging the gap between places people would pay to see, passing through places they’d pay to avoid.
While there’s some nice scenery (Arizona comes to mind) and the sense of remoteness is palpable, the strong crosswinds, rocky climbs and sandy roads make this a gruelling ride, to be endured rather than enjoyed. I suspect there’ll be more of this type of thing when I reach Argentina, so I have to be philosophical about those parts of the journey requiring additional mental, as well as physical, effort.
The jumping-off point for this stage is San Juan: on paper, a decent-sized town with plenty of accommodation. But the place only really wakes up when the tourists arrive in the late afternoon, and we’re there just before lunch. So instead of hot food and showers, we have to settle for crisps, boiled eggs, apple juice, and a bucket of cold water with a flannel.
From San Juan the route crosses a sizeable salt flat. While the wind is from the northeast at first, it soon turns westward, driving sand into our faces and exfoliating any part of the body that’s exposed. Bizarrely, there’s a railway line halfway across with warning signs to look out for trains. It’s hard to imagine the last time a train passed through here. Then again the rails look pretty polished, but that could be the effects of the wind and sand.
After the flat bit comes the rise, and we’re having to push our bikes over some distance for the first time this trip. The sand is working overtime, flaying us alive one moment and settling onto the road in drifts the next. It’s a hard slog to our campsite a few miles further on, under the shelter of a cliff face, but that means no more climbing today, thank goodness!
The following day’s also windy, with a strong westerly from the start. Controlling the bike in any sort of wind is a struggle, unless the wind is directly behind (which it rarely is). It’s the hilliest day so far, with 1,100m of climbing, including sections so steep it takes most of our strength to drag our loaded bikes to the top. The roads are barely rideable, including some of the flatter sections, but we take comfort, knowing we’re on the right path, when the 4x4s start to sail past mid-afternoon. The occupants stare at us with a mixture of incredulity and pity, offering a thumb’s up or the flash of a camera. They don’t look all that comfortable themselves from where we’re sitting but it’s all relative I guess.
Another 24 hours have passed and we briefly join one of the main roads to Chile before turning to head south again. It’s another climb now, up to the plateau at 4,100m where the Laguna district officially starts. This is good news as we’ll be able to find shelter at Laguna Hedionda, assuming all the other tourists haven’t go there first. When we arrive the “Eco Hotel” looks reassuringly empty. The receptionist checks her calendar for availability before announcing that they’re fully booked. It takes a few minutes of dog-eyes, and a conversation with the manager, before a room mysteriously becomes available. We start the cleansing process, with hot showers and a vast amount of food. Although Laguna Hedionda is known as the “stinky lake”, it’s a nice location (when the wind isn’t howling) and the flamingos put on a show for anyone brave enough to walk along the shoreline before the sun goes down. But after the last few days, we just want to get this section over and done with and there’s still a couple of days ahead of us.
As we’re leaving, one of the drivers chirpily informs us that we’ll be climbing all day. He’s right of course, and our early hopping from lake to lake turns into a steady but everlasting drag up from one sandy basin to the next. Happy days! The landscape’s particularly arid and we’re looking for shelter from the wind, as it’s starting to get late. We come across a military base, as the border’s not far from here, and decide to pitch our tent just outside the compound. This tactic works nicely, as the camp commander invites us to take the tent down again and use one of their dormitories instead. The temperature inside our cabin drops to -12C that night (the tent would’ve been warmer), but we’re grateful for their hospitality, and the use of their cooking facilities.
Day five is marginally better as we’re within striking distance of Laguna Colorada. We’re in a moonscape with no vegetation to speak of, although this doesn’t seem to bother the vishachas (large furry rabbits) living in the rocks beside the road who come out of hiding to watch us paddle by. It’s the road from nowhere to nowhere passing through, well, nowhere you’d want to get stuck without supplies. The scenery is a stark but beautiful mix of yellows, reds and greens. This is the land of volcanoes and sulphurous lakes, home to flamingoes, vicunas and the occasional crazed cycle-tourist.
After a short rise, we descend a short distance to the rock formations at Arbol de Piedra. It’s a popular spot but eerily quiet when we arrive. From here, the road drops 250m in 15km, which on paper sounds like a fun ride, but the sand and corrugated gravel ensure the distance is hard won. We’re constantly dragging our bikes from one “road” to the next, looking for a rideable surface. Perseverance eventually pays off as we arrive at the Eduardo Avaroa Park gate and pay our entrance fee (no discounts for cyclists, the meanies). A few hundred metres further on, we check into what passes as a hotel in these parts (four walls and a roof). Over a coffee, we agree that this bit of the trip’s been an experience, although not necessarily one we’d be in a hurry to repeat.
To conclude, if you’re thinking about cycling this section, I’d heartily recommend some other form of transport. But if you’d don’t have access to a 4×4, helicopter or tractor-beam, you might want to wait for a strong tailwind and follow the next road-grader that happens to be passing. Judging by the state of the roads, this probably happens once every five years. Alternatively you can “man up” and tough it out like we did, as what comes next makes the effort so worthwhile.
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San Juan, centre of the known universe…
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We resist the temptation to press our ears to the rail
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Not be be confused with the place Barry Manilow sang about
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All in a day’s work
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Donald Trump Rock
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The place for sand is a beach!
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Lake Hedionda. The lake freezes at night and the flamingos' legs with it
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Free at last!
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Eco Hotel. So named because it has no heating, probably
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Lake above Hedionda and the start of the long climb
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Hospitality, care of the Bolivian army
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Never accept food from strangers!
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Viscacha with cute tail
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Surely not more sand?
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Arbol de Piedra
