Feeling a bit Che Guevara

After a night of torrential rain, it's time to leave Uyuni. I'm a bit dubious about the road condition to Potosi. Andreas and Kristina are putting their bike on a train to Oruro, a town that we'll pass through in a few days. I'm thinking I'd like to do the same but Mike's addament that we should ride. We load up, say our goodbyes, get to the edge of town, filling up with petrol, and get about a kilometre up the road if that, before my bike starts making a horrible noise. It's a grinding, crunching sort of noise. It's not constant which makes us think it's something to do with the rotation of the wheels or drive chain. We're getting better at diagnosing problems with the KLR, it's the drive chain. I'm kind of glad at this point that I now have an excuse to turn around and head back to Uyuni. The road is a mud slick for as far as we can see. I didn't fancy that for the 208km ride to Potosi. Although it is the shortest attempt at leaving a town, we limp back to the hostal, settle back into our room and try to establish what exactly is the problem. Turns out its an issue with my maintenance, or lack of it, once again. The chain is in such a state that the 'slack' varries from 2cm to 10cm. (It should be a consistant 5-6cm) Not good! This would explain why it derailed in San Pedro but now that I had tightened it, it was grinding on the tight spot and ran the real risk of snapping. No chance of replacing it here, we give it a good clean, something I should have done quite some time ago, andadjust it quite lose. I'll have to be careful going around corners and over bumps at the same time, easier said than done with the corregations. So its back to Minuteman Pizza for a coffee.

That evening there is less rain and I'm slowly talking myself into the ride over the mud slick. I tell myself I'll be happy to make 50km the next day and what did I expect riding through Bolivia in the wet season.

We have a late start the following day, still can't seem to get out of bed too early, and we were waiting for the drizzling rain to stop. Then off we head. Within 3km of the town we see a casualty of the mud slick, a car has obvioulsy been going too fast and flipped. The entire front is smashed in but there appear to be no injuries as the occupants are sitting by the side of the road and seemed pretty relaxed. I did't feel so relaxed at that moment I have to say.

Eventually the road rises into the hills and the mud turns to a sandy/gravel mix of a road. Which works fine for me. The rain drains very quickly from the sand and the gravel isn't too deep. The rain clouds have lifted this side of the mountains and the view opens up to be some of the most scenic yet. We pass through a few river crossings and we're slightly disappointed that they're not deeper, they're a bit too easy for us hardcore bikers! We pass through some more adobe villages, some lived in, some left to the ghosts and llamas, and eventually hit the high mountains. It's at this point that I finally feel like I'm in the South America that I'd imagined. High, verdant mountains that drop off very steeply, providing a bit of exciting riding and some great views. Weird rock formations that make me dig into the depths of my brain in an attempt to remember what I learned in Science about land formations and geography. And it's at this point I start feeling a bit Che. I don't fancy starting a revolution, but there's a particular scene in The Motorcycle Diaries where he takes a corner too fast, losing the bike in the gravel. No, that's not what happens to me, the chain issue always in the back of my mind, but that's what the road's like. I guess you had to be there.

The road to a revolution? Not quite!

The people of Bolivia suprise me. They're a sour, stone faced bunch. I don't think we saw one smile the whole day, except for three lad's who thought it'd be fun to kick a football right across the path of the bikes. Although I think they may have been sneering rather than smiling. Three times they kicked the ball across my path, fortunately I'd slowed down enough, not wanting to play their game, and only went past when one missed the return kick.

It turns out that the altiplano Bolivianos are a rather aggressive bunch, not only to gringos but to themselves as well. They have no qualms about spitting on or kicking their animals, inlcuding what appear to be pet dogs. Their method of shepparding their flocks involve throwing stones, usually the size of a fist, at the backs of the animals, cattle, llamas and sheep. We later find out that they have no problem with throwing stones through bus or car windows either but fortunately we are spared any of this. They do have a very hard life on the altiplano, its a hard exisitance trying to grow food on the stoney ground and potatoes seem to be the staple diet. Or down the mines. And they have been screwed over by several governments for such a long time. But seeing people so aggressive is a bit of a shock after the past few months.

So after 7 hours, and after being charged 10 Bolivanos each for the pleasure of riding on an unpaved, muddy road (Although we did enjoy it) we arrived in Potosi. Not bad considering I would have been happy with 50km that day.