Freezing our nipples off in Bolivia

It doesnt have to be fun to be fun. That is one of our friend Dallas' more nonsensicle philosophies. After the last 10 days I have realised that while it doesn't have to be fun, it is probably a lot more fun if it is fun.

Sitting in San Pedro 10 days ago me and Dallas sat and planned the next section of the trip, heading through the remote and inhospitable section of south west Bolivia. This was the plan:

Set off loaded up with 10 days of food and 3 days of water, a day and a half up to 4600 metre Bolivian border. Stash the bikes and climb the nearby volcano standing at over 5900ms. Follow this with 10 days cycling through the lagunas, all above 4300metres. A small celebration in San Juan before toodling over the salt flats, another week or so on to Sucre and Spanish lessons. Easy.

This didn't quite happen.

We left San Pedro late due to a combination of bike problems, poor preparation and laziness and wobbled off towards Bolivia with both bike and body creaking under the weight of our provisions, far more than we have ever had to carry before. Progress was slower than planned and it wasn't until the third morning of cycling that we reached the top of the climb, left the paved roads of Chile and descended gently to the Bolivian border.
From here on we would be battling freezing temperatures, high winds and terrible roads.

We camped in some ruins beside two lakes and at a little under 4300 metres, this would be the lowest and warmest night of the next week. We woke at dawn realizing that there was nothing we would like to do less than attempt to climb the neighbouring volcano. As winter closes in, temperatures at these altitudes get bitterly cold.

The following day took us over another pass at around 4700metres, leading us to the beautiful Laguna Chalvari and its thermal baths. After enjoying a soak before the sun descended we buried ourselves in every layer we could find and crawled into our sleeping bags inside a half built house. This night we were told dropped to -15 degrees celcius. At that temperature everything freezes; water, sleeping bags, mats, clothes, food, tent and any skin that exposes itself even for a second. In the morning, boiling water freezes in a minute and as Dallas found, blowing your nose results in a handful of frozen snot. As Anna pointed out - this is not just horrible, this is stupid.

The days themselves were warm enough, fingers defrosting by lunch time but feet remaining immovably icy until much later.

The next day was the highest pass of the trip, it took us the entire day to climb 21kms to 4926metres. The altitude, wind and road condition combining to make the going painfully slow. We descended just a little way to the Sol de Manana, the location of some geysers. This would be our highest campsite and actually not the coldest, the geysers offering some natural underfloor heating.

After exploring the bubbling, sulphur emitting craters we pushed and pedaled our bikes towards the safety of a hostel. The terrain each day offers a single, mostly unridable road and then a multitude of jeep tracks that map out short cuts, long cuts and completely the wrong direction cuts and it is never easy to tell which is which. After tired arguments and debates we ended up camping 7kms short of warmth beside the incredible Lake Colorado, a red and white expanse inhabited by hundreds of flamingos and supporting what looks like an iceberg in its midst. This night was the coldest so far, despite descending back to 4300metres, it was unbelievable. We couldn't bring ourselves to leave the tent until the sun was high in the sky the following day when we crept out timidly to explore the frozen edges of the lake.

We only made it the short distance to a hostel of sorts and a warm bed for the night. This was the most comfortable 12 hours of sleep anyone has ever had.

The next day was one of the worst, the road surface entirely uncyclable. We each picked a track and hauled our heavily laden bikes through sand for most of the day. It was exhausting and frustrating work but we eventually arrived at the famous Arbol de Piedra. Here we basked in our celebrity status with the other tourists and spent some time clambering around the rocks that lie inexplicably in the middle of the desert.

Then came 10 more kilometers and shelter in the form of some more ruins. This was the night that I cracked, and Anna shattered. Being too cold for anything after dinner, we are usually asleep by 7 and awake shivering well before light. This night we barely slept at all. The ground being so icy beneath us we attempted to both lie on top of the other, a predictably impossible feat. In the end most of the night was spent sitting, rocking and shivering like two insane people. It was a night that seemed to drag on forever, and as I eventually attempted to make coffee I found our stove frozen. I hope I never have to spend a night that cold again, I don't know the temperature but it must have dropped as low as minus 20.

After that night Anna was unsurprisingly adamant that she never wanted to camp out in these kind of temperatures again, and I, however reluctantly, was inclined to agree with her. We made the 19 kms to a hotel and managed to bargain a lift to Uyuni, a town beside the salt flats. We had just 3 days left of cycling on our original plan to the next town but we were beaten.

We had spent hours at a time pushing, the wind had made things hard but it was the temperature that finished us. From here plans will change, we still want to tackle the salt flats but are looking at how to have as few nights camping as possible. While we have descended to around 3600metres the nights still drop to -10.

In a month or so we shall be visiting the school that we are doing a pretty terrible job of raising money for. So if anyone fancies giving some money, that would by lovely. Click here to comfirm your status as a fantastic person

Getting really really high

Looking back on my descriptions of our last pass over the Andes I feel I might have overplayed its difficulties a little. Our crossing this time has taken us 11 days, taking us over three mountains more than 4500metres high and been the hardest 11 days of the trip. Anna has displayed her extensive repertoire of emotions and I have found several that I didn't even know I had.

We set off for four days of undulating dirt road which was terrible in patches, particularly after our weeks of paved luxury. The road wound its way through dozens of obscure little villages, each comprising of half built mud houses and always a beautifully maintained church. For me I would buy myself a door before furnishing my church with an enormous spire, but each to their own.

The fourth morning brought dust storms, which were exciting for around 30 seconds. After that they were just very upsetting as we choked our way blindly across the first open plain in the week. We soon developed the tortoise technique, spotting the approaching dust clouds and retreating into our shells. It was this morning that I did one of the least intelligent things of the week as I attempted to take a picture of the absolutely nothing that we could see. The camera immediately broke (again) and I had an extensive sulk about it for the rest of the morning. We managed to escape to the safety of the mountains by lunch but it felt like we had spent the morning licking bookshelves rather than cycling.

The climb began in earnest the following day, and it was unnerving to notice that it started at the same altitude that we had submitted the previous pass. The road climbed through the valley, and soon we came across our first river crossing. Being the chivalrous man that I am, I decided to get my feet wet. I crossed with each bike, returning for a third time to carry Anna and her bags. I wobbled into the middle of the stream before losing balance, dropping Anna, a bag and losing my shoe. For the rest of the crossings Anna made her own way. We found some ruins to camp inside at a little under 4000metres and donned every item of clothing we could get our hands on.

The next morning I turned the corner to see one of the more unusual sights of the week. Anna's bike lay abandoned in the middle of the road, Anna was in tears hiding behind a laughing goat herder while an Alpaca, towering over both of them tried valiantly to mount my girlfriend. It was only after 10 minutes of attempted escapes that the lady could corner the main offender while we made a hasty retreat, still pursued by some of his more persistent of his friends.

The days climb was painfully slow, the higher we got the more frequent our stops until we were creeping 50 metres at a time before having to stop to catch our breath. We were encouraged upwards by each passing vehicle who stopped to ask the same three questions – Are you ok? Are you crazy? Do you want a lift? To which I thought- not really, possibly and no; just as my mouth uttered the opposite.

We managed to reach the top at 4, the views were spectacular but we had only a few minutes to enjoy them with 45 kilometers to go before nightfall. Unsurprisingly this didn't happen and we made it in to San Antonio de las Cobres well after dark.


I tend not to plan the routes too extensively and it was over the next few days that this became a slight problem. We left town late, feeling sluggish after the previous days exertions. The road started instantly up and it wasn't until around 4 that we realised we weren't going to make it over the mountain before dark so we found some more ruins and huddled up for a freezing evening. The next day never warmed up again, the icy winds springing leaks from our faces as our eyes and noses streamed and our mouths lay open, dribbling constantly with neither of us remotely bothered. We reached the summit of this mountain by the afternoon, having climbed to over 4500metres again, this time without any prior warning.

That night we camped in an outhouse of a police station that protected us from the worst of the cold, temperatures plummet the second the sun goes down. Thawing our waterbottles is the first call of each day. A huge mountain dog began following us as we left in the morning and despite all my efforts I couldn't persuade him to return. With almost no options for food and water out here it doesn't feel great when you accidentally adopt a dog bigger than Anna.

From here we had just one more pass to do but we found that after doing two, its incredibly difficult to get any motivation whatsoever for the third. We chose Paso Sico, the slightly lower and more remote pass that would take us back to Chile. We again managed to get out of the cold as the Argentinian border guards put us up for the night, we each got a bed with our dog sleeping between us.

We began climbing yet again early the following morning, with the dog trailing behind. The scenery was unbelievable, everything at over 4000 metres looks like its on another world. Salt flats, lakes, mountains and just one type of yellow plant that manages to exist in the harsh climate all create a surreal and beautiful landscape. The isolation of these few days was huge, with only one car passing per day we were as far away from people as we have been on the trip.

We made it to the Chilean border post at just below this final pass after battling 3 days of headwinds. Anna was done, and I was done. And so it seems was Benji the dog who, after 90kms following us had arrive home. We didn't have enough food, motivation or time left and we managed to get a lift for around 90kms with some workers heading home. They seemed distinctly uninterested by what is probably the most spectacular commute of all time.

One more night of camping at the comparatively cosy height of 3500 metres and one more day of cycling brought us into San Pedro de Atacama on the border of Bolivia.




We will be tackling South West Bolivia with Dallas for the next three weeks, cycling several more 4000metre peaks as well as the famous salt flats. After that we intend to go to bed for several weeks.