Bikpacking Bolivias Altiplano

Waiting in La Paz

I entered Bolivia a bit depressed. I left Peru with a feeling of dissatisfaction related to the past month of nonstop injuries and issues that forced me to bus and rest more than ride my bike. As much as I wanted to start a new chapter with the border crossing into Bolivia, my awful throat infection followed me there and still required resting until I could bike again.

The bus from Puno, Peru, to Copacabana, Bolivia, a small touristy town on Lake Titicaca. I was hoping to be able to visit Isla Del Sol, an island on the lake known for its hiking and beautiful views, but with how much it hurt my throat to breathe, I figured it was best to go to La Paz, one of the biggest cities and partial capital to rest there.

La Paz was an exciting and bustling city, very different from my last favorite town in Peru, Arequipa, but I loved it even more. While Arequipa was a beautiful and clean city, La Paz was messy and chaotic. It was hard to stay focused walking along the main streets as my senses were being overwhelmed. The sides of the streets were full of vendors selling food, llama fetuses, natural medicines, and pretty much everything else you can imagine. In the street, cars were flying all over the road, stopping and starting everywhere as people hopped on and hopped off buses. It was all a chaotic mess that somehow flowed into a functioning society.

If you don’t know, Bolivia is one of the poorest of all South American countries. It is a country that has had generations of corruption and political insecurity. When a coup happens around the world, it is usually a big deal and national news, but here, it is a common occurrence and happens practically every year. Recently this has caused unprecedented inflation as Bolivian people have no confidence in their currency and everyone is trying to buy US dollars, causing the value of Bolivianos to tank below the “bank rate.” This is great for anyone who has US dollars, as you can sell them for a large amount of local currency, which makes the already affordable country even more affordable. To put it into perspective, say I withdrew $50 in Bolivianos from an ATM, I would get around 340 Bolivianos converted by the bank rate. Then, if I tried to buy USD with those Bolivianos, I would only get $30. A fun magic trick that causes $20 to disappear.

My friends and I went to a Cholitas Wrestling show while in the city. It was something I was looking forward to, as I had watched a Vice YouTube video that was 11 years old, and it looked really interesting. It was a women’s wrestling league where they were dressed in traditional women’s clothes. It started decades ago in a male-dominated wrestling scene as a way for women to empower themselves and relieve the stress of mail-dominated households. It quickly took off and separated from male wrestling and became even more popular. Sadly, nowadays, it has turned into a tourist trap, and it was far from what I was expecting.

After two weeks of resting and eating nothing but three soups a day, my throat was slowly starting to recover. The sores in the back of my mouth started to heal and slowly I could eat more solid foods and breathe easier. I had been more than mentally ready to get back on my bicycle, with a determination to push myself that I hadn’t had in a long time. Right as I was about to leave, I had to get one quick case of typical Bolivian food poisoning before I was allowed to go.

Into the Unknown

I had planned my own route through remote villages towards Salar De Uyuni, something I hadn’t done in a while. I have been following lots of known, popular routes, which have heaps of information available online. Sometimes, this can be helpful, but it also removes a sense of adventure. I find a sense of excitement in not knowing what lies ahead.

I took the Teleférico, or cable cars, one of the coolest forms of public transit, as far as I could out of the city. Even from there, I still had to ride for a few hours out of El Alto to get some peace and quiet.

After riding through the endless mountains of Peru, riding on the Altiplano was like heaven. It is called the Altiplano because it is a high-elevation plateau, sitting at 4000m (13000ft). Whatever climbing there was, was steady and smooth.

I rode 90km that day, the furthest I had ridden in months. The paved road and little climbing made for some fast progress. I arrived in a town called Coro Coro and was surprised to find a very beautiful and colorful town nearly devoid of people. I had to ask around about getting a hotel room as everything was closed, but I eventually found one that came with a big, playful dog.

The next day, the road turned to gravel, and I got my first look at Volcano Sajama, where I was heading. You can see it in the above photo on the far left of the horizon. This volcano would come in and out of view for the next few days as I slowly worked toward it.

There wasn’t much out here except for a small town of ranchers every 60km, usually with no more than 20 people. As I pulled into Calacoto to refill my water, I was surprised to hear music. I got to the city center, and there were hundreds of people dressed up, playing music, and dancing. People noticed me quickly, as I must have stood out a lot, and I was quickly surrounded by curious people. A group of kind men told me that it was the town’s anniversary and it was a day of celebration. They shared lots of strong alcohol with me and some coca leaves, which you put on the inside of your lip like chewing tobacco. This is the same plant that cocaine comes from, but the leaves have been used like this for generations, and it is a very important part of the indigenous culture.

It was a wonderful and reenergizing time at the anniversary celebration. I thought to myself it was exactly situations like that that made me love traveling on a bicycle so much. There really is no other way to get so lucky to come across stuff like that. I met so many people, and they were all so excited to have me there to share their culture with. One local lady even gave me a plate of food so she could take a photo with me.

This is a chullpa and is the ruins of an Incan tomb. I saw many of them on this section of the route, and it is impressive to think how long they have been standing here.

Near the end of the day, I passed through another small town, Rosario. This town felt like a ghost town, as I arrived to empty streets and locked doors. Most of the buildings were in some state of disrepair, with broken windows and peeling paint. The town church was big and beautiful, and I went in to explore. When I came out, I found a child and asked him if there was a tienda in town, and he then took me to where I could fill up on drinks and snacks. In this whole town of maybe 60 buildings, I only saw about five people.

Shortly after the town, I set up my camp along the river to get some rest. Surprisingly enough, these remote towns all have electricity and even phone towers, which very few had in Peru. So, I was able to camp out here and even watch some YouTube before falling asleep.

Early the next day, I spotted my first flamingoes. I knew that in the following days, I would see more and more.

After the tough past month of not being able to ride, I was feeling amazing now. The weather has been perfect every day, and the route that I had planned was turning out to be much prettier than I was expecting.

Out here, most people are llama herders and live in these primitive rock houses. Most of the time they will have some solar panels as well.

After climbing out of a small canyon, I saw Sajama for the first time all day. I find it really motivating to have such a beautiful landmark slowly get closer, a real reminder of how far I’ve come.

I have slowly become obsessed with llamas and alpacas. I find the cute little fluffy ones adorable and so goofy looking. I have countless more photos of them, but I won’t trouble you to look at them all.

After a long day riding, I arrived in another small and empty town. I do a lap around the entire town, and I don’t see or hear anyone. I would later learn from an old llama herder, that all the younger generations no longer wanted to follow in their family’s footstep. All the kids went off to bigger cities for education and to live a different, more exciting life than that of a humble farmer. I could sense a feeling of sadness when he told me this, and in the town around us. A town and livelihood that seemed to be slowly dying.

After some time, I managed to locate a tienda where I bought some vegetables to cook and, of course, some cookies for after. I asked the lady if it would be fine to camp in the center, as there was a water tap there that would make cooking and cleaning much easier. I usually don’t like sleeping in the middle of towns as it can be noisy and hard to sleep well, but this town seemed quiet enough.

While it was nice in the evening, there were cars passing through all night and morning and I didn’t get the best sleep. I have learned my lesson once again.

Today, I will be heading around the volcano Sajama to the town of Sajama. I was expecting it to be a nice touristy town, as there were lots of hotels on Google Maps and it was a popular destination for climbers. It ended up being a tough day riding as a knee pain halfway through. I have dealt with knee pain far too much on this trip, so it worried me a bit. I had no other option but to keep pedaling through the pain, and each pedal was painful.

To my surprise and disappointment, the town of Sajama was just as much of a ghost town as every other one I passed. All but a single restaurant was open, and all but one or two hotels were open. My knee pain had gotten much worse, so I got a hotel room for two nights as I knew it was best to take a day off and rest the knee. While the tourists had mostly all but disappeared, the tourist prices were still around. The hotel and food all cost more than double what I was used to, and I didn’t want to be here any longer than I had to.

I went to the only restaurant and got a typical cena, a soup and a main plate of llama meat with a lot of sides. Llama meat is very common in this part of Bolivia, more common than every other meat. Thankfully, I was quite a fan of it, even though I was infatuated with the adorable animals it came from.

I rested my knee for a day and then excitedly hurried out of this depressing and expensive town. Unfortunately, I didn’t make it too far until I was dealing with excruciating knee pain. I made the tough but only decision to head to a nearby border town of Tambo Quemado, where I would need to rest my knee even longer. Thankfully, this town was much livelier and much cheaper than Sajama. I spent four nights here, doing absolutely nothing, pretty depressed as all I wanted to do now was bike, but I couldn’t. I self-diagnosed my knee pain to be tendon damage from overuse, assuming it was because I hadn’t ridden in a month, and I went right to riding 7 hours a day when I should have slowly worked my body back up to that. It also could have been related to saddle position, but I never changed it and never had a problem with it. Regardless, I would make some minor adjustments in the hope that it helps.

After a few days, my knee felt better, and I was ready to begin again. It seemed with the rest and the adjustments I made to my saddle, the pain had subsided. It hadn’t gone away completely, but it at least wouldn’t keep me from riding.

I started to see some small salt pools, the first of many I would be seeing as I headed to the largest salt flat in the world, Salar de Uyuni.

What I saw the most, though, were hundreds and hundreds of lovely llamas. Some even had on some earings.

The past few days of boredom and inactivity had built something up inside of me, and I made it over 100km today. I was feeling the desire inside of me to see how far I could push myself each day, taking as little breaks and biking from sun up until sundown.

I was starting to notice a pattern in the wind, as well. In the afternoon, around 4 pm, a very strong wind would come in until around 10 pm, making it very important to find some shelter for camp for the night. Thankfully there is an endless supply of old ruined buildings that I can use for the night.

Recently, I had been making lots of pasta with pasta sauce, and if I was really lucky, an onion, tomato, and garlic.

I had run into a bit of a problem with all the unexpected days off I had to take, and that was that I was nearly out of cash. I wouldn’t have enough to last me the four more days to Uyuni. And to continue my seemingly endless series of injuries, I had burned the tops of my hands very badly. The strength of the sun had surprised me, and my hands burned, and the skin peeled, and then the fresh skin burned (through sunscreen) again, but this time resulted in massive blisters covering the top of my hand. I decided to take another day off to let my hands heal and bus to a nearby city to visit an ATM for some more cash.

The Salars

With a fresh wad of cash and my hands painfully covered, I excitedly started off towards Salar Coipasa.

Coipasa was about 50km of Salar, and after the initial experience of looking around and seeing nothing but white, it was just a flat and fast ride.

Parts of the salar had a centimeter or two of water on it which made it harder riding than expected. It felt similar to riding through snow, the salt crunching under my tire and eating some of my power. With the past few days of pushing past my expectations of distance, I for the first time couldn’t make it as far as I wanted. I exhaustingly dragged myself to the small town of Luca and stopped into the first tienda where I ate and drank until I had some energy back. It is amazing what a nice cold coca cola can do after a day like that.

Having learned my lesson of camping in the center of the town, I went up the hill just outside of town where I found some rock walls to camp behind.

In the morning, I was heading towards the only climbing on this section. Behind this small range of mountains, lies the largest salt flat in the world.

I hiked up most of the climbing, as the altitude made it much tougher and I didn’t want to stress my knee too bad. I really enjoy hiking my bike. As long as I’m moving foward, no matter how fast, I’m happy with it. It was also a great break for my knee and my butt, which was starting to get a lot of problems from my saddle.

As I descended to the town of Tahua, I got my first view of the Salar de Uyuni. I was in awe; I could only see a small part of it where I was, but the end of it went further along than the horizon would allow.

When I got to the town center, I noticed another cyclist who had set up his camp in the center of town. His name was Ney, and he was an older Brazilian man. He was very warm and social and quickly invited me to camp with him. While I had said before I don’t like camping in the center of towns, I found it hard to refuse his kindness. He also promised to make us dinner. Through talking to him, he had a very interesting story. He had left Brazil about a year ago after being overwhelmed with depression and a very unhealthy lifestyle. He weighed over 350 lbs and felt like he was slowly dying. With support from his wife and kids, he left to pursue his dream of traveling on his bike. He told me how hard it was for him at first. How the first 40km took him nearly 12 hours, and he didn’t think his body could do it. However, he didn’t give up and kept pushing, no matter how slow it took. Now, a year later, he had lost over 100 lbs, and he said that his bicycle had saved his life.

Ney made us breakfast as well in the morning. After saying our goodbyes, it was time for me to enter the Salar de Uyuni. For every cyclist who is or is dreaming of cycling in South America, it is impossible to find someone whose route does not take them through the Salar de Uyuni. I had been imagining this moment for years. Even though I had just gone across a smaller salar, this felt entirely different. As I left the dirt track and entered the salar, a big smile came across my face.

Compared to Salar Coipasa, this “road” was splendid. Perfectly dry and very fast and hard. The views were exactly as expected, looking around and seeing nothing but white and blue, except for the few mountains in the distance. Looking to the greater expanses of the salar, though, you can’t even see what is beyond the horizon.

I was planning to ride 40km to an island in the center of the salar, Isla Incahuasi. It is a popular spot for cyclists to camp at and also a popular spot for other tourists on jeep tours of the salar. At first, you can’t see the island on the horizon, but slowly, it starts to appear little by little due to the distance and the earth’s circular shape. In the picture above, you can just barely see the tip to the right of the road.

A family lives on the island and runs a small tienda, where the first thing I did was buy a coke. A cute little girl was very interested in my bike and kept asking if she could keep the bracelets or patches that I had on my bike. As much as it hurt me, I had to say no because each bracelet is a cherished gift from a friend, and each patch is a flag of a country I have traveled in. I made it for it by sharing my chips with her, and she seemed to forget about the bracelets rather quickly.

I had wanted badly to camp in the middle of the salar, but the wind was crazy. It was much smarter to stay on the island and take refuge behind this rock that countless other cyclists have camped behind as well.

I rarely take photos of myself, as I like the idea that the photos I share show you all what I see through my eyes, which is also why I use the lens I use, which is close to the focal length of the eye. All that you all see is almost exactly as I see it. But I also wanted to take some photos of me for my family, especially my grandmothers, who have been so supportive of me and my trip from the beginning.

Those weren’t the only photos I took of myself… There is a funny tradition on the salar for cyclists, one that I can’t deny I had been excitedly looking forward to for a while now. No one knows how or who started it, but every cyclist who travels the salar stops and takes a naked photo with their bike, usually using the bike to creatively cover private parts. I decided to wait until sunset so the colors would be beautiful, but this almost meant the wind was at its strongest and coldest. It was a painfully cold 30 minutes as I set up my camera and took photos from many different angles, but it was extremely worth it as this will be one of my favorite photos for a long time, but probably not one I will print for my grandparents.

The next morning, I was awoken from my tent by some tourists who had come to the island early in the morning on a tour. As I came out of my tent, there was a large group of people pointing their phones at me, which was quite a new experience. They were, of course, all nice and interested in my trip, so I happily talked and answered questions. As I packed up and started pedaling away, I was again the focus of many cameras and a lot of cheering. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel a little good to have the support of so many strangers.

I still had 70km of salar to get to the end. Thankfully, the common winds here blow exactly that direction and push me at nearly 25km/hr. I will say the excitement of the salar had worn off by now, and it was a mental slog to push through this section. It was hard to stay focused as I usually use nearby landmarks to feel the progress of riding, but here, there were none. There was only the horizon, which, the longer you looked at it, looked almost further away. I had to resort to looking down at the salar passing underneath me and blocking out the horizon ahead.

Near the end of the salar, I stopped at a few monuments to take some photos. While there, more tourists walked up to me with their cameras pointed at me, taking photos and videos, with the same questions and shock after hearing how long I had been on my bicycle. I consider this my payment for all the people I like to take photos of.

Off the salar, I was now heading to the city of Uyuni, where I would be taking some days off before heading towards Las Lagunas route, a notoriously tough, remote, but beautiful route. Again, I had some expectations for the city of Uyuni. Since it was so close to the salar, a huge destination for tourists, I thought it would be a nice tourist town to take a rest in and enjoy some good food, but it turned out to be a dirty and depressing city with the prices of comfort but not the quality to back it up. I still enjoyed some much-needed rest here, as it would be a long time till I would rest again.

Las Lagunas

Las Lagunas through southern Bolivia is a notorious route. Everyone talks of the endless washboard, sand, headwinds, and freezing cold nights. Even with all the pain, it is highly recommended by all that have done it. Is it recommended purely through sadistic pleasure, so others have to experience the pain as well? Or is it just that damn beautiful? I was bound to find out.

From Uyuni, it would be nearly nine days until I had another proper resupply at the border of Argentina. I stocked up on loads of rice, lentils, and soy protein for dinners (leftover dinner was for breakfast), and then loads of oatmeal cookies, Oreos, and peanut butter to get me through the day. On the route, there are no towns or stores, but there are a few hotels where you can get water and a meal. I would carry 8L of water with me at all times, as it would need to last about two days at a time.

The route doesn’t really start until Alota, a town 140km away from Uyuni, and it is a fast and paved route there. I did it in two days and ate in the towns to save all the food I had with me on my bike.

Shortly after Alota, the road turned to gravel, and I headed off towards the Lagunas. Nearly immediately, I started seeing the endless painted mountains that I’ll be riding around for the next few days. They are tall and smooth, colored with a gradient of reds and browns. The road this first day was great, mostly smooth, and I was able to make great progress. I thought if it stayed like this, it would be no problem. But, like all good things in life, nothing lasts forever, and especially good roads out here.

By now, it was past 2 pm, and the wind I had heard so much about had come out in full force. No matter which way the road turned, the wind was always directly in my face. It slowed me down to walking, but I still had a few hours of sunlight left and didn’t mind walking most of the next 10km.

After 60km, I came across the first laguna, Hedionda. My energy was nearly depleted, and I had only a few kilometers left until I got to where I was camping, on the next lake. Here, I got to see an incredible amount of flamingos. What you see in this picture is only a fraction of them all. Along this lake is the first hotel of the route, where I stumbled into the restaurant, and in a state of exhaustion, I ordered the choripan and coke nearly four times to the confused worker, who kept assuring me it was on the way.

The coke reanimated me, and the choripan gave me fuel. I apologized to the worker for my previous zombified state and continued pushing my bike for the remaining 3km.

At the next laguna, Chiar Kkota, is a wonderful rock wall built by some angel I will never know. Around the wall was a nonstop and vicious wind, but behind it was a feeling of safety and tranquility. It is a goal of mine to construct a rock wall like this somewhere for future cyclists to rest behind. A few hours after sunset, the wind comes to a halt, but the freezing temperatures still slowly creep in. My new sleeping bag from Peru does a great job of getting me comfortable and warm.

I refuse to leave my sleeping until the sun rises and the warmth touches my tent. I heat my leftover dinner and pack up. The mornings are so peaceful and quiet compared to the maddening wind of the afternoons. I realize how important it is to get as many kilometers done before the wind returns. I climb past the next laguna and see the pack of flamingos in the center, tightly packed to stay warm. They sleep like this in the lagunas, which sometimes get so cold that the water freezes and they get stuck there until the sun comes up and melts the water.

Along with flamingos, I would be seeing many Vicuñas, a close relative of the llama. They are much smaller and much more timid, as I had a lot of trouble getting close enough to get a good photo of them.

This was my first day fully on the route, and it was much tougher than yesterday. I thought maybe I could do this route in four 60km days, like yesterday, but I quickly accepted it would be five days of around 45km. The trick to making this route as enjoyable as possible is to fully expect and prepare for slow days and tough roads. Once I realized I would average around 7km/hr and 45km a day, I was perfectly happy to go as slow as I was. The views were starting to get incredible, as well. This was about as close as I had come to feeling like I was on another planet.

As remote as I was, it never felt too remote because every day I would see countless jeeps pass by on tours of the same route. The same groups I saw on the salar, do this route as well in a quick 3-day trip as they speed through the salar and the lagunas.

I stopped by another hotel in the afternoon to refill my water and get my daily Coke before heading off to where I was planning to camp for the night. The wind had come out full force by now, and the last 10km was a steady climb up a classic sandy washboard road. It was nearly double the energy to pedal slightly faster than I could walk, so I accepted it and walked the final two hours.

I got to the rocky area and was enlightened to meet lots of little Viscachas, who were very curious and very friendly. I have been seeing these animals since Peru, but they are normally very shy and very hard to take photos of. Since this area was a typical lunch spot for tour groups, it’s safe to assume these viscachas are well-fed and taken care of, which makes it easy to get some great photos of them.

They hung around with me all evening, and here, you can see them slowly inching their way closer to my food. It was another night of cooking and then quickly hiding from the cold in my tent and not leaving my sleeping bag until the sun came up and warmed up my tent.

By now, the road is always terrible. The softness of the sand, combined with the endless bumps, makes it impossible to get in a rhythm and maintain a constant speed. It’s like if you tried to run, but someone was next to you the entire time, shaking you by the shoulders. Like I had said, though, if you accept things how it is, it is easy to ignore and focus on the fantastic landscapes around you. Plus, the slower speed only gives you more time to enjoy it.

The tour groups usually passed me on one of the many different roads, and it made me wonder if that road was smoother and better. The main road was usually the worst, and it was common to have countless roads on all sides, so I was usually going back and forth, trying to find the smoothest section to ride on.

I stopped at Arbol de Piedra (rock tree) for a break in the afternoon, as there is a family that lives here and tends to the attraction, and I was hoping to get a snack.

The tienda was empty of cookies and soda, but the wife was making fresh salteñas, a Bolivian empanada with potatoes, carrots, and llama meat. I sat eating as many as I could while I watched her slowly create perfect folds. She must have made thousands of these in her lifetime.

Later in the afternoon, I descended slowly towards Laguna Colorado, a massive lake of red color and half covered in salt but full of flamingos. It was also here that there is an entrance to the “National Park” where you must pay 150bols ($25) to enter the park. I had accidentally went right past it as nobody was working, and I thought it was a hotel, but I didn’t mind saving some money. As I normally enjoy supporting national parks, it is pretty common knowledge this is more of a tax on tourists who pass through here, as absolutely none of the money goes to improve anything in the park. You still even have to pay to use the bathrooms.

The colors on this laguna were incredible, I have never seen a lake of such a deep rust color. Again, thousands of flamingos walk the laguna in search of the food they eat, which is what makes them the bright pink they are.

Shortly after the laguna, I pushed through the headwind to the community of Huayllajara. It’s not a town as it is mostly a collection of hostels for the tour groups that come through, along with a few small tiendas of basics. After a few exhausting days, I was looking forward to getting a bed, a hot shower, and eating a ton of food here. There is one hostel here in particular that all cyclists go to because they give us all the leftover food of the tour groups. When I arrived, it turned out every dorm bed was booked in that hostel and every single other one. While there was nobody in town now, later this evening, dozens of jeeps would arrive full of tour groups. The only available bed was a big private room, nearly 4x the cost of the dorm.

Since I had just saved that much money by not paying the entrance fee, it wasn’t hard to convince myself to splurge and get the big, cozy private room. Plus, I’d much rather give that money to the people directly than to a corrupt government. The owners also agreed to give me dinner and breakfast for free with the room. I took a long hot shower and then laid in the massive cozy bed and slept until it was time for dinner, very happy with how things worked out.

When it came time for dinner, I awoke to a noisy and busy town with nearly 15x as many people as when I went to sleep. In the dining room, it wasn’t hard to find my table, as it was a sad and lonely table in the corner for one person, and all the other tables were set for the groups. Thankfully, one of the groups recognized me as they passed me on the road earlier today and invited me to join their table for dinner.

The group was very nice, and we stayed in the dining room talking until we were kicked out. The other tourists shared a common opinion that I was crazy for traveling like I did, which is funny because I also think they are crazy. I cannot travel around like they do, being on someone elses schedule and to be shuttled around like children on the way to school. They have no power and choose almost nothing. I, on the other hand, can go where I want when I want, all under my power and will. They call it crazy, but I call it free.

While talking with the other tourists, they told me that I also would need to show the national park ticket on the way out, which now I wouldn’t have enough cash for as I spent it on the hotel. So I would have to knowingly sneak past the next gate, but that is a problem for the future, and all I could think about now was my big, comfy bed. I don’t think I’ve ever fallen asleep so fast as I did in that bed.

In the morning, I was the last tourist in town as all the groups woke up around 4 am and left after eating. In the dining room, I had my own table of food and was welcome to take all the leftovers I wanted and bring them with me on the road. I ate plenty and filled up a bag of pancakes for the road.

I was now a little over halfway done with the route, two more days, and I would be in Chile. I was very strong and confident, ready to close out this chapter of Bolivia and move on to the final two countries of this trip. I have stopped mentioning it, but my knee pain still hasn’t gone away, it is at least manageable and not as painful as before. My saddle has been causing awful sores and pain, made much worse by the washboard roads. I figured out that if I put my padded cycling shorts on my saddle instead of on me, it is somehow more comfortable. Along with the pain of the wind and road, these pains I have accepted and continue to push on regardless.

It was a long climb up from the hostel, but with the help of endless pancakes and a great night’s sleep, it was easy and over before I realized it. From there, it was all downhill to Polques, another small community of hotels next to geothermal hot pools. It was originally my plan to stop here to get a hotel and enjoy the pools, but I only wanted to keep going. So I filled up my waters and hit the road, with the only goal to get as close to the border as possible.

I passed many packs of vicuñas on this route, and finally, I was able to get pretty close to one. It’s always my goal to get a good photo of the wildlife I see to share it with you all, and I felt happy I got a photo of one of them up close so you can enjoy them too.

Once I left Polques, I was heading straight into the strong afternoon headwind. I imagined myself resting in the wind-protected town of Polques, lying in the hot thermal pools, and maybe I began to regret my decision to continue for a moment. Then I realized I loved pushing through this, and I didn’t want to rest now. I wanted to keep going and going until I couldn’t go anymore. I was now in a massive flat plane with no cover or protection from the wind, and I had no option but to keep going until I could find cover. I also didn’t know if there even was cover. I had been relying on an app, iOverlander, for known wind-protected campsites, but the app didn’t show anything where I was headed.

At the end of the plane, I found an excavation site where some earth had been dug up, making some makeshift walls. While it wasn’t the best wind protection, it was the best I was going to find. It was already late, and I was exhausted, so I opted not to cook and quickly set up camp, crawled into bed, and ate some cookies.

In the morning, my legs felt weak. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to skip dinner, my most caloric-dense meal of the day. My body needs the calories and nutrients. I wouldn’t skip it again. I was now only 30km from the border, and it was not a pleasant ride. There was no wind, which was great, but I was also being passed both ways by more jeeps than ever before. Their dust was being kicked up in a nearly endless stream of dust with no wind to blow it away. Jeeps were flying past me closely as they could hardly see me in the dust as well. I waited until the dust settled and continued when I could.

From here, I could see the end of Bolivia. The few buildings you see are a hotel, the park exit building, and Bolivian customs. Through the valley is the border and the Bolivian migration building. I knew that I would have to sneak past the national park building, as I only had a little cash left to pay for my overstay fee at migration. It turned out to be extremely easy as I just walked right past it, as no one was there.

Heading towards the migration building, I look back and get a great final view of Bolivia. I still had a 7km climb to the migration building, but I was looking back very fondly on Bolivia. I loved my time biking through here. The high-altitude plane was beautiful to me, and it was some of my favorite scenery and riding. Not only that, I felt extremely proud of myself. I had been struggling for months with injuries and setbacks, but I didn’t give up and kept going when I could. I also stayed true to myself and biked everything from La Paz while many of my other cyclist friends were bussing and skipping some of the boring sections. Which I don’t have anything against, I have done it plenty myself; I only now want to push myself and bike through everything.

The final kilometers were tough. The wind, which used to not start till the afternoon, had arrived much earlier and much stronger. I had to hike the 7km to the migration building as it was uphill into a direct headwind. Step by step, no matter how slow, I got there. And when I look back, it doesn’t matter if I got there in 30 minutes or 2 hours, I’ll only care that I got there.

Wow, that was a long one. Maybe I should have split it up into multiple blogs, but it is too late now. I hope you all enjoyed the long chapter and didn’t get too bored. I’m currently in Salta, Argentina, and will head towards Mendoza soon. After the rough roads and sections of Bolivia, I’m going to treat myself to lots of smooth and easy paved riding for a bit. Thank you all for reading :)