A New Beginning...

We swore that South America wouldn't be our last ride...and so we're back! The details are still fuzzy but my living room is scattered with maps of Western China (Quinghai and Xinjiang provinces) and Tibet and my butt is slowly getting used to my new Brooks bike seat. We loved the high altitudes and rural cultures of Bolivia and we love mountains and that is why we're drawn to the Tibetan region. It is on the world's highest mountain plateau (over 4000m, with mountains rising up to 8000m) and home to nomadic yak herders, buddhist monks and many han chinese people who have chosen to make this harsh and remote environment home. Travelling in the fall, we expect to encounter some less-than-pleasant weather - from freezing cold nights to snow-covered mountain passes to bitterly cold winds and maybe even the odd scorcher in some of the drier desert areas. What we know for sure is that it will be another awesome adventure! So stay tuned - we'll start riding (and writing about our experiences) in mid-september.

Mark your calendar!

Ok, so we finally have a time and place for our slide show. We are planning to put together our favorite pictures and stories with music so everyone can see what we were up to all winter (and hear our favorite cycling tunes). We've got a big room with lots of space, so feel free to bring along anyone who might be interested in the trip.

Where: The Cultural Center - meeting room
When: Sunday, April 29th. 7pm.

Hope you can make it!

well, that's a wrap!

Our butts are happily clad in comfy, flowy skirts rather than bike shorts and our bikes are boxed up and resting happily in the basement of our hostel in Buenos Aires.

6700 kms later, we're done riding for the year and are enjoying a week of relaxing and shopping in the big city before we fly home for another fire season.

The "end" hasn't really sunk in yet so there's not a lot to say about it...it was an amazing ride and certainly won't be our last. On our final night of camping, we were surrounded by cacti in a dry river bed, nestled between mountains. We cooked delicious Argentinian steaks over a campfire fueled by cactus-wood and drank wine, staring at a black sky full of stars and dreaming of future cycling trips. And of coming back to Argentina, because we've only had a small taste of this wonderful country and there are so many more roads to ride! So, maybe this isn't really an end at all...

We're planning a little fiesta in Fort St John when we get home (towards the end of April) to give a slideshow of the whole shebang. We would LOVE to meet any lurkers that have been watching the blog but that we don't know in person yet! So check back and we'll post details here once we've figured them out.

Christine

uphill both ways

Chugging along south of Salta, I was surprised by how hard the riding felt and I figured that all of the riding on gravel and pushing that we did in Bolivia must not have left us in very good shape for highway riding. For 2 full days, I kicked myself for being in worse shape that when we were riding in the US and Mexico...

On the 2 night, at camp, I turned on the GPS to see what our elevation was - turns out we'd being going uphill the whole time and were over 500m higher than we were in Salta! The crazy thing was what an illusion it was....for most of the way, it actually looked like we were going slightly downhill!

Christine

hitchin a ride....or trying to, anyway

We decided to hitch hike to Belen....

At 7:30am, we stuck our thumbs out. Well, not really, since there weren't any cars going by. We actually sat on the side of the road playing crib and jumped up once or twice per game to wave down passing vehicles. An hour later, the third car to pass picked us up.

40kms later, we were back on the side of the road. And we sat. And sat. And sat. For 5 hours!! During this time, about 10 cars passed in our direction. Most were full or unable to carry bikes, and some of those stopped anyway just to see if things were ok and to ask what we were doing so far out in the middle of nowhere. The three vehicles that could have carried us didn't stop....and we cursed them appropriately before going back to sitting and throwing rocks under a scortching hot sun.

Finally, along came a red pickup truck with 4 people crammed in the front and one already in the back. They were headed another 40kms down the road, so we piled our stuff and ourselves in and off we went. We were in for quite a tour....the driver, his cheek puffed out with coca leaves, stopped the first time to buy a litre of wine, which he poured into a coke bottle for easy drinking while he drove. It was polished of within minutes but the wheel was still steady. A few passengers were let out along the way until only Jodie and I remained with the driver, his wife and young daughter. We pulled up next to a house and stopped, but the driver told us to just wait, we'd be on the road again soon. We waited in the back of the truck through somewhat of a family reunion and some more boozing... Half an hour later, we were on the road again, a new bottle of wine in hand and music blaring so that we could hear it over the wind in the back of the truck.

We pulled into the driver's yard just as the sun was setting and we were wondering what to do since we hadn't managed to make it to Belen. The only other vehicle in sight was a utility truck with three men and equipment already on board. Ah, but they couldn't refuse to gringas and as fast as we could load our bikes and hop on, we were headed to Belen!

We pulled into town at 8pm, having travelled 120kms in 12 hours..... it was more exhausting and time consuming than if we had just ridden!

Christine

Welcome to the Jungle

I believe that we may have ridden one of the most perfect roads on our way to Salta! First of all, from the Bolivian border to Salta we dropped 2,500m and it was ALL paved – 380km of luxury. The roads were windy and so much fun! But, it was about 100km out of Salta we hit heaven…

The road was narrow and only one lane wide but had wonderful fresh, smooth pavment; it wound its way through lush fields and ranchland and then into the thickest jungle! We saw birds, butterflies, flowers (even hibiscus), and so much lush green vegetation… oh and one small snake.There were so many sweet smells and sounds (and a lot of oxygen) in the air – it was a shock to our senses after being up on the altiplano for so long! We didn´t realize how much we´d missed everything but as we dropped down into the land of plenty – it was incredible. The road wound up, down and around through this amazing jungle until we finally dropped down, through the warm pouring rain into the cute town of La Caldera. We rode 145km that day because everything went so smoothly, really, it was the perfect cycling road.

-Jodie

Argentinian Escort Service

It was 5pm, 2 hours before the sun would go down and we had already travelled 100kms. We were stopped for a quick snack when we met Roberto. He had seen us ride through town and ran to get his bike to catch up to us. He loves cycling and often competes in mountain bike races in his hometown. Once he met a French cyclist at the Bolivian border and rode with him over 200kms to Humahuaca. He insisted on riding with us to Tres Cruzes, the town at the top of a pass where we planned to camp for the night. It was 25kms away, uphill. He rode far ahead, easily outdoing us on our loaded bikes after already ridden for 5 hours, and he stopped every few kms for a break and a sip of Coke, which was all he carried. He raced far ahead near the top of the pass and when we got to the town, we thought we might have lost him. We stopped to look around, and there he was, riding towards us with a big smile, but obviously tired, with a 4L jug of water and 2 packs of cookies for us! He bid us good night after we exchaned addresses and he loaded his bike onto a bus that would take him home.

The next day, it was 5pm again and we were already well over 100kms when Juan caught up to us. He is also an avid mountain bike racer from Jujuy who was just out for a leisurely ride. He rode with us for the final 30kms of our day, again easily cruising far ahead on his unloaded bike, but stopping to wait and for a chat every few kms. We parted with him when we saw a good camping spot and he raced off down the highway.

There are so many people out on bikes just for fun here in Argentina and it's great to wave, say hello and have a chat. But these escorts are fast! And they always seem to catch us when we're already tired at the very end of the day and as much as it seems like a great idea to get to know them as we ride together, we just can't keep up!

Christine

the land of plenty

We made it! Argentina at last!

The last few days' rides were uneventful, save for one more big climb and a whole lot of busses and trucks flying by kicking up dust and rocks with their horns blaring. It was the destination that drove us on, and since there aren't many songs about Argentina (or at least we don't know them), we sang our California and Mexico songs, exchanging Argentina in the lyrics...

"Going to Argentina, going to life the life, sipping on red wine night after night..."

The border was chaotic, but thankfully our bikes bought us a ticket to the front of the line, where I only had to wait for an hour rather than five like everyone else. Still, it was a battle. When I got to the line, I was third. At least 10 people were helped before me. Everytime I would let myself get distracted, I would look back to see that 3 more people had snuck in front of me. At one point, the border guard refused to help anyone until a straight line was formed. After a 5 minute stalemate, he simply accepted the passport of the woman that had just butted to the front. Finally, I used my long limbs to secure my place in line by putting one hand on the wall and stretching the other one out so that no one else could get by. And finally we were in....

But alas, the land of plenty does not seem to have plenty of hotel space and we spend another hour riding around in search of a place to stay, hearing "no hay" as much or more as we did in Bolivia!

But plenty of pavement, there is. The 3 kms of it between the border and town were blissful and we can't wait to hit the smooth black road again tomorrow!

Christine

Off the map and off our rockers!

"I know I´ve really lost it when shit like this starts getting fun!"
...That was my breaking point (Chris was long gone) after pushing my bike for 25km on a very sandy (and uphill) road that MIGHT be the right one from Atocha to Tupiza! We were told that we could just follow the train tracks and then take the first road to the right... well, my friend, that was not the best advice that we could have taken. The train tracks were a cool novelty at first, but believe me pushing your bike in sand is not fun, even if there are two big pieces of steel beside you. After the first 15km we figured that we really needed to ask someone about the road but there was not a soul to be found, and we seemed to be heading the right direction so we pressed on. It was the next morning that we met our first vehicle. The driver told us that we were not headed to Tupiza, but were on a dead end road! Ahhh, so that sand was just for fun! ...but there was a little 7km trail that we could cut across on to hit the main road.
We made it.
See our photos to understand, I mean really understand how we feel about sand.

-Jodie

bike up, bike down, repeat

So we heard that there were a few hills between Atocha and Tupiza. I'm not sure who we heard it from, but I'm pretty sure they didn't mention that there are actually 9 (count 'em - NINE) mountain passes between the two. In retrospect, maybe I'm glad that they didn't tell us that, because I likely would have gone 200km out of the way just to avoid so many hills and missed out on some of the most spectacular scenery I think I'll ever see anywhere.

The road snaked up, around and over mountains for 100 kms, keeping us above 4000 meters for most of the way and offering amazing views that seemed to stretch on forever. Exciting plunges to 3700 m, some of which were as steep as black diamond ski runs, were followed by gruelling climbs to 4200 m that had us pushing much of the way.

We didn't learn just how many hills we had to climb until we had already crossed 4 passes and ran into a couple of Italian cyclists that told us we still had 5 more coming! Ouff!

Here are some stats:

- highest pass was 4259m
- three passes over 4200
- all passes over 4000
- elevation in Atocha 3600
- elevation in Tupiza 2900
- longest continuous descent 1300m vertical
- most passes in a day 8 (after climbing most of the first one the day before)

Finally, we hit the river valley that would lead us into Tupiza. It was instantly summer and the temperature, which had been near freezing when we woke up at 3900m, soared to 36 degrees. We were riding by fertile fields boardered by red sandstone cliffs hundreds of feet high that had us looking everywhere but at the road and exclaiming "wow" every time we'd crest a hill and get a new view.

What a ride!

Christine

Two Gringas vs. Every Salina Kid

A huge part of Carnival is water – there are kids everywhere with water guns, water balloons, and spray foam that are attacking each other and everyone else on the street. Once we decided that we had been blasted by too many times by one group of boys, we needed to get some sort of defence. We each bought a $1.50 can of spray foam and ambushed them! Up to that point, most kids were after each other but once we were involved they all joined forces. We raced up all around the square, chased by screaming kids – I think every kid in town was after us!

Our foam cans ran out and we were left standing with our hands in the air, soaking wet and covered in foam. The kids were laughing wildly (still spraying) and the adults were pointing and giggling.

It was good fun, but made going out anytime afterwards a wet event – of course they would all recognize the only two gringas in town!

-Jodie

Across the Salar

It was a big disappointment, but one that we were prepared for. Like everyone we asked had told us, there was too much water on the salt flats to ride our bikes across it, but our optimism told us that we had to see for ourselves. So we left Salinas with our fingers crossed and enough food and water to get us to Uyuni. 35 kms of the roughest road we've seen so far (we had to push our bikes DOWN hills because of all the loose rock!) brought us to the Salar's edge, where we met a truck completely caked in salt, whose driver told us about the "harto agua" and gave us a ride back to Salinas.

We waited through the last day of Carnaval until things started to move again, then loaded our bikes onto the roof of a big old bus that would take us to Uyuni. We asked the driver if we could ride on the roof rack with all of the luggage to get a better view of the Salar and once we were settled in, away we went. They had to bombstart the bus and even once it was running, it chugged so badly over bumps and up hills that we wondered if it could actually make the journey.

What we expected to be a 3 hour trip turned into an 8 hour journey. When we finally hit the town on the edge of the Salar, we laughed that we could have ridden our bikes the same distance in less time. It seemed like every person we passed on the road would wave the bus down just to chat with someone on board.

But at last we were on the Salar, and it was every bit as amazing as pictures and stories make it out to be. Where it was covered in water, the sky and clouds were reflected so perfectly that it was hard to tell which was which. Beyond the water, when we were driving over solid salt, we felt like we were on a huge frozen lake except that it was nearly 30 degrees out. The bus stopped for a pee break in the middle of the salar and we took the chance to run and jump and do cartwheels on the salt before crawling back onto the roof.

It was just like our own personal tour of the salar and quite a bargain for only $4 each!!

-Christine

One River = One Beer

They started small and were a bit of a novelty… but got deeper and softer way too quick! The first one was ok and you could even ride through it. The last was up to my bellybutton with very sticky mud along the bottom… and the Bobs weighed about 65 or 70 pounds. That river was at the end of a huge mud flat that seemed to have a creek or river every few minutes. We made it 10km in 3 hours! Somehow the water was not as much fun anymore! That is, until we decided that we would drink one beer for every river that we had to ford (and a shot for every flat).

One river was super soft on the bottom, and after crossing it we couldn’t figure out how a vehicle would ever make it through when a little truck pulled up with six guys in the back. They said hi, shook our hands and went to work. They tramped back and forth with lots of yelling and hand waving until they had packed two tracks in the soft river bottom, then marked them with willow branches. The driver took a huge run at it and all of the men jumped out of the way as he splashed on by. They then chased him, ready to push. Yup, cleared it! Who needs a bridge?

But a modern bridge we did find! From our map, we knew we had at least one more river to cross and we joked that it would likely be swimming water from the way things had been going. We came around the corner and we couldn’t believe our eyes - a brand new fancy bridge! We decided that it was ok to give up one beer and took it with a smile…

-Jodie

"No, today they are dancing!"

That was why no stores were open as we tried to find food and water for our ride. And why, when we realized that we couldn't cross the salt flats, we had to spend two more nights in Salinas de Garci-Mendoza before a single vehicle left for Uyuni.

Carnaval brought the otherwise sleepy little town of Salinas to a near riotous state for three full days and nights. Busses, tractors and motorcycles were covered with colorful garland, and tables out front of each were full of empty beer bottles, while those nearby were pulling new ones from tall piles of crates. Men and women, their traditional dress completemented by streamers and party hats, danced wildly to a marching band that played the same song over and over for 3 full days as it followed the dancers through the streets and around the plaza. Two litre jugs of 'potable alcohol' (which looked and tasted like coolant) were everywhere and women tried quite agressively to force it on us. Kids played with water balloon, squirt guns and spray foam (for which we apparently made pretty good targets), while adults threw confetti at onlookers. There was even a poor llama caught up in all the excitement and completely covered in confetti!

As we wandered through town looking for food and water, we were swept into the passing parade by a tiny little old woman who looked to be about 70 but who muckled onto both of us and swung us around with the strength of a man half her age. She whirled us and twirled us all the way to a backyard party where a large group of partiers were surprised to see two gringos among them and increased their efforts and forcing us to drink their poison (we tried it, but I swear more than two shots would have blinded me).

We watched most of the festivities from the doorway of our hostel, where we felt safe from the fire crackers and rockets that were going off all over the place, and from the watergun and balloon wielding kids.

The stamina of the musicians and dancers was impressive, and far outlasted our own as spectators. For three days and nights they drank (more than I think I've ever seen anyone drink and still stay standing!) and danced (until the average mortals legs would have fallen off!) and played music (always the same song, and always out of tune). On the last night, the festivities lasted until 5am! Or so Jodie tells me, I managed to sleep like a rock...

Ah Carnaval - the wildest party ever!

-Christine

550 kilometers of adventure

…and sand, gravel, dirt, grass, washboard, river crossings, mud, “intense animal crossings,” shortcuts, and many Ys in the roads. We have definitely found the roads less travelled and have loved the experience! We had several days when the only traffic was llamas or the occasional bicycle.

These quiet roads resulted in two very, very fat Bobs! Leaving one town we each had 16 litres of water – that is an extra 32+ lbs!!! It definitely took some creativity and coaxing to get them all loaded up and in the trailers in the mornings.

The weather ranged from pouring rain and hail that resulted in raging rivers and creeks to gorgeous hot and sunny days. The stars on the clear nights up on the quiet 3,700m altiplano were absolutely amazing! We never really stayed out to watch them for long though because they were very frosty nights. The wind always picks up in the afternoon and it really is a great way to navigate- as long as it is a headwind, we are going the right way!

One night the wind even had us huddled inside of a mud brick llama corral for a campsite. Believe it or not, a thick layer of llama shit provides quite a comfy sleep. ;)

Sleep was definitely not a problem though; we worked hard to gain those kilometres! We love mountain biking with our skinny tires and Bobs bouncing along behind. A certain number of bumps, washouts and puddles keep us entertained and having fun, but, when we ride only a few meters and then have to get off and push through sand over and over again or hammer ourselves over rough boulders for hours we are not such happy little bikers. There are narrow off road bicycle trails that help us to regain our sanity a little as we race one another alongside the road. Oh, and chasing emus can also add to our riding pleasure…

A huge highlight of reaching Uyuni is the hot shower and the laundry services as there were none to be found over the past 13 days. There was one river that we used for washing. We just had to ignore the llama shit floating by, a reoccurring element in our lives lately. We thought that people gave us funny looks because we were crazy, but maybe it was the smell… Ahhh life is good!


-Jodie

From the development studies student....

Travelling by bike allows you the opportunity to see more than just the pretty side of a country, full of pizza parlours, tour agencies and hotels boasting hot showers and free breakfasts. These touristly areas are always a welcome respite when we get to them....we love the chance to speak our own language, and pizza and cold beer taste delicious after countless meals of pasta and carrots.

But the reason that we love riding is that it lets fully experience a place and its people. Here are some observations from rural Bolivia (and in case anyone with an IDS background is watching, these are not generalizations, simply observatons and I fully understand that my views are tainted by the fact that I'm both female and a foreigner):

- As we rode further away from main roads and highways, the small dots on our maps representing towns began to mean less. Small towns were terribly run down and we would often believe that they were completely abandonned until we'd cross paths with a lone inhabitant at the far end of town. Cemented basketball courts are cracking with weeds and have bent, rusted hoops and many homes have been gutted and are left without roofs or doors. There are no schools, offices or stores. The road through town always passes by the main plaza and church, and although these were in awful disrepair, it was obvious that they were once beautiful and had been buzzing with life. Then along came the highway, and with it came industry and opportunity in the cities and slowly these wonderful little villages emptied and were left to ruin. Its a stark and sad result of modernization in Bolivia.

- I read just today that the poverty rate (not sure by what standard) is around 70% in Bolivia. There is a notable lack of money in many rural places, but it's a different sort of poverty. No one here appears to be going hungry. The ground is fertile and the livestock are fat and plentiful. Homes are made of local materials (mudbricks, stones or salt blocks), and yards are large and generally well kept, often with flower beds out front. Kids are at least educated enough to know to say "Hello, how are you?" to gringos and all that we asked went to school. The people that we've met have all seemed healthy and content despite their lack of money, begging the question of whether income is really the best indicator of poverty. Still, the growing importance of money to the people is obvious. They love to ask the cost of our bikes, our plane tickets to get here, and how much I plan to sell the scarf that I'm knitting for. These questions are definitely uncomfortable ones to deal with and we try our best to avoid them, though they seem to be asked out of genuine interest and not bad intentions.

- From our pictures, I'm sure you've noticed the beauty of the native women here, in their large, bright skirts, colorful backpacks and bowler hats. Most women older than 30 or so dress in their traditional (if imposed by colonialists) dress on a daily basis. Those who work as laborers in the public sector are even issued yellow coverall dresses to work in! Men on the other hand, dress in plain dress pants and shirts, and the only time that we've seen them in their traditional dress is during festivals. As is the case in many cultures, it seems that women in Bolivia are the carriers of culture.

That's all I got....wouldn't McGill be pround of the worldly little graduate they produced (or would they rather I get a real job!?)

-Christine

And we're off!

Across the Bolivian Altiplano. If you can get your hands on a map of Bolivia, we're heading west from La Paz to Sajama National Park, then southeast from there in as straight a line as we can find to Uyuni and the salt flats (which we hear may actually be ride-able now!). We plan to be going through some pretty remote places and travelling some pretty rough roads between here and there and expect that the next time we see a computer will be in about 2 weeks time. So the blog may be quiet for a spell, but then I'm sure we'll have many adventures to share...

Biking the backroads

You know the road is rough when you have to go just as slowly down the hils as up....and when your odometer actually reads zero at times (we didn't realize that you could actually balance a bike at less than 4kph)!

That's what riding the backroads around Lake Titikaka is like - miles and miles of the roughest road that I've ever seen (actually less a road than a sandbox slash rock garden). It was impossibly steep in sections, so that we spent quite a lot of time pushing. Also repaired quite a few flat tires and retightened a lot of screws that had come loose (and lost a few, too).

After bumping and rattling along for 3 days, our shoulders and arms were more sore than our legs (though our whole bodies were exhausted). Still, though (and does this mean we're suckers for punishment?), we've opted for 700 more kms of dirt before we leave this crazy country!

Christine

"Gringo! Gringo!" and other everyday interactions

- We can hear them before we can see them. Little kids tending livestock far out in a field yelling, "Gringo! Hola gringo!" from so far away that we don't know how they can tell what color we are.

- A man herding his sheep down the road stops us to ask where we are from and shakes both of our hands and wishes us well in our travels.

- Enrique, a man from the north end of Lake Titikaka, runs back to his house, way up on a hill to get his camera so that he can take our picture. He explains that he is trying to get tourism started in his community (it's so beautiful, it deserves it) and plans on doing his own bike tour around the lake in the fall to promote it.

- Riding into a village at the end of the day, a woman stops us and says, "Congratulations! I saw you in another village! I came here by car and you rode your bikes! Congratulations!"

- We cross paths several times with a van full of people on their way to a fiesta in Moho. Part way up a big hill, we find them stopped by the side of the road. A woman from the group comes running up to us and gives us a bag of cheese to snack on. Meanwhile, 2 men with video cameras have them running and aimed at us, while another asks where we are from and where we're headed.

- On the way up an even bigger hill, we pass a group of construction workers. One runs up behind Jodie and pushes her for a few hundred meters while they all cheer us on.

- Men hawking their fruits and vegetables over a loudspeaker on the side of the road stop mid-word as we pass to say, "Hola Gringas!"

- A group of school kids on the side of the road, yell "Good morning, teacher!" to us - likely the only English words they know.

- When we stop for water in a small town, a group of kids surrounds us and asks all kids of questions about us, our trip and our bikes. They wonder if we stop to sleep at night or ride around the clock. I'm dying to tell them that gringos don't actually need sleep, but I'm not sure how the joke would go over with the adults in the background.

- A man rides towards us on his bicycle, trying hard to mind his own business and ignore us, but when he sees us smile at him and hears us say hello, he breaks into a huge grin and laughs as he says hello back.

These are honestly just a few of the interactions that we've had with people as we travelled around Lake Titikaka. The further off the beaten path we go, the friendlier and more interested people seem to be. The scenery was pretty spectacular, too, but the people are really what make riding around here so rewarding!

Christine

Sunday in Copacabana

It's 8am and cars are lined up three abreast for at least 3 blocks from the cathedral. Their owners are busily decorating them with flowers, ribbons, and minitures of the Virgin Mary. They are waiting until 10:30, when the priest will come around, sprinkle holy water and over each one and pray for its safe travels. For the few Bolivianos this costs, everyone seems to prefer this blessing over auto insurance.

Once their cars are blessed, the hoards move towards the mountain that rises up from the lakeshore just a few blocks from the cathedral. Here, they work their way up the old stone steps, past the 14 stations of the cross, stopping at each to toss a rock at its base and cross themselves. Midway up, they take a break and have an indigenous priest pray over them. He prays aloud for each person after asking them what they need prayer for, then swirls a burning pot of inscense around their heads and rings a small bell near their ears.

At the top, families and friends gather to enjoy drinks and snacks, as well as the spectacular view over Lake Titikaka and Copacabana.

From the mountain, it's down to the beach, where Bolivian vacationers rent kayaks, small sail boats, and animal-shaped paddle boats, eat ice cream and popsicles, rip around on rented motor- and bi-cycles, and play fussball on outdoor tables. It's an incredibly colorful show and the perfect place to kick back and people watch.

Christine