July 16, 2016
hew-haw hew-haw: the sound as I gasp for oxygen.
"Do you camp?" a stallholder from whom I buy a bottle of coke in a little town a mere 30km cruise downhill from where I had wild camped the night.
I reply, no. I stay in pensions or cheap hotels, as I don't want the wrong people to know there's a gringo cycling this road and he's camping in the evening.
I have to be concerned about my own security. It wasn't an issue in Argentina, because away from urban centres, the countryside is so thinly populated. The only signs of habitation in many places are passing trucks on the highway, or farmworker pickup trucks. Here though its different.
When cycling in Bolivia in 2010, I'd stopped for lunch upon a track a hundred metres off the road, when along came two young men from a nearby house. As they got near it became obvious by their manner they hadn't come on a friendly visit to see if I was alright, or did I need anything. No. They were hostile, asking me what valuables I had. They stood off from me a bit then talking between themselves. From what I could hear of what they were saying, the younger man wanted to take some money off me, because apparently I was on the other's property which belonged to the house they came from.
At the moment I remained calm. I soon saw the older man whom the house belonged to reason with the younger that they wouldn't take anything off me. But on refection it could've had a less happy outcome.
The moral is as I cycle further north I've to be more circumspect about camping wild, staying well hide from the road, possibly in an uninhabited area.
Ninety-nine point something percent of people you come across are great. It is the aught point per cent that may have sinister intensions I worry about, especially alone on a bike. In a rural area away from people to intervene, what chance do I have against two.
There is a climb away from the town where I bought the coke, which I manage to keep turning the biggest sprocket up without a stop for breath until rising out upon a thorn bush clad valley with another short climb 10km ahead out through the brownish hills enclosing the valley: the road crossing a summit with an almighty steep descent into a deep gorge, which is great to begin with, until turning a bend, I see the road zigzag rather steeply up the hillside on the opposite side.
There is a wide river at the bottom of the gorge, although nothing bigger than a couple of narrow waterways meandering between gravel-bars, it being the dry season, bridged by a long concrete bridge, with its predecessor, an older narrow concrete bridge alongside, which I decide to sit down on to lunch with a half hour's rest before tackling the steep climb ahead, back out of the gorge.
All afternoon I spend on that flaming climb, well over two hours. It was approaching 3pm when I set off from the bridge and near five when I finally crossed the summit, leaving not much over an hour's daylight for further progress. I spend as much time stopped slumped over the handle-bars doing the now usual with the altitude, gasping. The shortness of oxygen getting to the blood means quick painful exhaustion in the legs.
Over the top there's only a short steep dip into a little valley with the road visibly winding up yet again, the hillside ahead. Disheartening.
The afternoon continues to be one of stopping to gasp near enough even few hundred metres, until crossing that summit, where the road drops dramatically to a cliff sided canyon, the rock sides a vivid toffee hue in the now waning sun.
Down below is thorn bush clad with a dry stream to the left, where I halt and wheel the bike down, pitching the tent upon the dry streambed hidden behind thorn bushes.
I need to get an early start in the morning if I'm to make it to Potosi by evening. Luckily the temperature remained above zero last night. I am hoping for another mild night.
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Today's ride: 92 km (57 miles)
Total: 11,787 km (7,320 miles)
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