It was now time to tick off the final item on my Bolivian bike ride and that was to ride the salt salars of Coipasa and Uyuni. En route I would get caught in a terrifying electrical storm, get firmly stuck in a clay bog, and have to illegally cross the border into Chile.

The salars were formed as a result of several prehistoric lakes drying out to form a few meters of salt crust. The crust serves as a source of salt and covers a pool of brine, which is exceptionally rich in lithium. It contains 50 to 70% of the world’s lithium reserves, which is in the process of being extracted. 

The only problem with trying to ride over them during the rainy season is that the dry salt lakes revert back to their natural state and are covered in a shallow film of up to 30cm of water in January, February and March.  I was just hoping that as the rains had once again arrived late in Bolivia I would still be able to cycle across the salars.

When I set off heading south from Sabaya that morning my mapping apps were like a blank canvass. There was a track shown for the first 20km to a village on the edge of the salar that had no name and after that there was just a blank space until I reached the end of the Salar de COIPASSA 70km later.

I knew from speaking to locals in Sabaya that if there was too much water on the salar I could follow the western edge of the salar into Chile and return into Bolivia after 50km or so.  This was my least favoured option as there was no border post in this part of the mountians and so I would have to cross the border illegally.  The locals had said that there were police and military patrols in the area but assured me that if I got stopped that there would be no issue.  Either way, I would only take this route as a final option.

My plan was to head to the village with no name and ask once I got there, that is if I could find any people, what my best option was for heading south.

I had only cycled for a couple of kilometres when the track deteriorated into what can be best described as a clay pit.

Thankfully it hadn’t rained here for nearly a week and so even though the top layer was a slippery mess my tires never sunk more than an inch into it and with my new Schwabe Mondial tyres I had enough grip to get through this kilometer section of mud.  If I hadn’t have changed my tires before leaving New Zealand then I would have already been pushing the bike.

Off to my side I could see a family who were walking to where their herd of llama’s had been corralled for the night and so I headed over to them to ask their advice on the best route to Llica which was my ultimate destination once I had crossed the salar.

The family told me that although there was some water on the salar it was not deep and I should still be able to cross it on a bicycle.  They said that there was an island in the middle of the salar, Coipasa Island, and that I should head for the island and use that as a stepping stone for heading further south.

I thanked them and continued following the track towards the village with no name as either way I would have to go through the village to get onto the salar.

The track that I was following took me to the edge of the open ground that I was crossing to the foot of the mountain range that formed the border with Chile.  As I was back on solid ground the track conditions drastically improved and I was once again cycling along without a care in the world. 

I passed a few small villages that had again seen the effects of the Bolivian President’s drive to bring water to the people.

As I was largely cycling into the unknown without any of the villages that I was now passing being marked on any of the maps that I had I had decided to add an extra 2 litres of water to my bike so was now cycling with 6 litres. 

I knew that this would easily be enough for two days, or even part of the third day if needed, as I wanted to err on the side of caution just in case I didn’t come across any villages or the water in the villages was too saline to drink.

I was now cycling around through a series of abandoned ghost villages that looked like time had literally stopped at some point in the past and everybody had upped and left en mass.

All along the edge of the salar the ground was being cultivated and this was the first time that I had seen evidence of farming in the mountain region of the Altiplano. 

In a way this was a good sign in terms of water access as there must be a clean source of water available to irrigate the crops.

I was now cycling along the edge of the salt flat and I could see Coipasa Island away in the distance.  Between us was the salt salar and from what I could make out at this distance it was dry which was a relief.

After a couple of hours of cycling I arrived at the village with no name that was on the very edge of the salar and went in search of people to ask their advice on the best way to cross the salar.  The first people that I saw were stood in the open ground of their housing compound.  I cycled through the gate with a cheery ‘buenos dias’ to find them all stood sharpening knives. 

On the floor at the feet of the 4 people was a huge alpaca that had just had its throat cut and the blood was gushing out of the deep slash and was pooling on the mud floor.  Now cycling into a compound in the middle of nowhere with 4 people sharpening knives in South America could sound fairly iffy but there was not even the hint of danger. 

It really was people just getting on with their lives and this is the reality of life without a nice butcher at Tesco’s Supermarket around the corner where you can pop into to get you 8oz steak for dinner.

I explained that I was heading for Llica and wanted to know the best way to get there.  They started to explain to me but I didn’t understand much of what they were saying and when I explained that I only spoke a little Spanish they drew a map for me with their knives on the ground.

The map seemed to indicate the same as the llama shepherds that I had met leaving Sabaya.  They carved Coipasa Island in the mud and indicated that I needed to cross the salar to the island and then cycle down the western side until the very southern tip and then continue back across the salar. 

Again, I was not 100% sure of what they had explained and so after shaking each of their hands and thanking them I decided that I needed to find somebody else to ask just to double check that I had the right directions before heading off towards Coipasa Island.

Now trying to find people in a village in Bolivia during the daytime is easier said than done and it took me a couple of laps of the village before I finally found two more people who I could ask directions from.

Thankfully, the people that I found had much less of an accent and spoke slower than the 4 people who were about to butcher the alpaca.  What they told me matched the other people and they said that I should not head into Chile as I would get into trouble if stopped by the police.  Instead, I should continue to follow the track around the edge of the salar towards a village that I could see off in the distance. 

About 1km before the village I would find a track which crossed to Coipasa Island and once on the island I should cycle down the western side of it for as far as I could and then cycle out onto the Salar and head south towards either a village called Tres Cruces or another called Challacollo where I would pick up the track to Llica.  Again, this was a mixture of discussion and of drawing maps on the ground but at least now I was fairly certain of the route I needed to take.

I left the village of no name in the direction that I had been told to head and went in search of the track that would take me across the salar to Coipassa Island.

As the last group of people had said about a kilometer before the next village there was a track across the salar to the island.

The track was like a kind of raised land bridge that connected the island to the mainland and although the salt flat were all around me I was not actually cycling on it

After 10km I had reached the island and the track that I was on now headed around the northern shore to the village of Coipasa where the main salt mining operation was.  As I needed to follow the western edge of the island I left the main track and joined a very rocky road heading south.

This track ended after a couple of kilometers and I was now for the first time was following the contours of the island out on the actual salar. On this side of the island I could see no life but I did pass a couple of abandoned villages.

Everybody that I had spoken to that morning had told me to follow the contours of the island for as far as possible before heading out into the middle of the Salar.  From what I could see I think that their reasoning was that at the northern end of the salar the salt was very thin and fairly wet so would not hold the weight of my bike in the rainy season.

After following the contour of the island for about 5 km I came to a very wet section of the salar where I had no option but to head out into the middle of the salar as my bike just sank down into the mud and I couldn’t cycle anymore.

I had to take off the front and rear brakes for the wheel to rotate and get off and push the bike out towards the centre of the salar.

Once I was about 200m away from the island the salt became firm enough to hold my weight and like a child taking off the stabilisers on his bike for the first time I had a huge sense of joy as I got on the bike and was cycling out into the centre of the salar. 

It really was a surreal and amazing feeling to be cycling over a ‘lake’ of salt and the whiteness without sunglasses was just blinding.

Now normally when people head out onto the salar they take lots of false perspective pictures.  For me, the only ‘prop’ that I needed to take the perfect picture was my bike.

Out in the centre of the salar there was a line of black rocks that had been placed every 50m or so which were there I think for cars to follow.

As I was unsure which mountain peak I should use as my reference point for an exit point at the south of the salar I just followed the line of stones and headed south.

It was fairly hard going cycling over the salt as some sections were totally dry and had made a crunch noise as I broke the crust of the salt surface whilst other sections were slightly wet and my tires would throw up a cascade of salty mush as I cycled over them.  Either way it was one hell of an amazing experience to be cycling over a huge sheet of salt.

On my left as I cycled south was Bolivia

And on my right was Chile

After a couple of hours of cycling over the salar it was getting towards my 1pm stop point for lunch and so I decided that I would head west to Chile where I would have lunch on dry land at the edge of the salar.

Here is a short video to give you an idea of what it is like to cycle over a salt salar:

As I headed towards Chile for lunch the amount of water on the salar steadily grew until I was cycling though an inch or so of water.  The salt surface under the water was solid though and my tires never sank into the surface.  I could see an abandoned house on the edge of the salar and so headed there as it would at least provide a bit of shade from the blazing sun.

The sight in front of me while I ate my lunch was pretty surreal.

As my shoes dried out over lunch they became stiff as the layer of salt crystallised around my feet.  By the end of lunch I must have had half a kilogram of salt on each leg and shoe.

After lunch it was time to get on with cycling south over the salt flats

The very southern section of the salar is Lago Coipasa which as it’s name suggests is the first part of the salar to fill with water and I wanted to avoid pushing my luck by finding out just how deep the water was in this section of the salar.  

In the distance I could see the mountains being reflected on the surface of the salar which mean’t that there was water ahead so after another hour or so of cycling on the salar I headed to the edge of the salar and back into Chile. 

 

Once I was at the edge of the salar there was a track that I could follow but I found that it was smoother and faster just to stay on the salar and follow the contour of the mountain.

As I did not have a visa to be in Chile I was hoping that I never came across any military or police.  Luckily, the only humans that I saw was a convoy of 4 vehicles who were also following the contours of the mountains around the edge of the salar.

After about 10km I had reached the point in the valley where I had a choice of staying on the salar or to follow the track at the base of the mountains which was a much shorter distance to Llica, so I left the salar and headed inland.

The one good thing about the rainy season is that there are a lot of pools of water along the way and I went in search of one of these to try and wash the salt off the bike as even though I had only been cycling on the salt for a couple of hours I could see how dry and grey the chain and rear mech had already become.

As I was washing the bike away to my right in the mountains I could hear the most incredible claps of thunder and see hundreds of lightning strikes hitting the mountains. (you can see the edge of the storm in the picture above). I had heard about electrical storms but had never experienced one and didn’t particularly want to as they can be deadly.  I was not concerned though as the wind was blowing from my left which seemed to be keeping the storm confined to the mountain area.

After finishing washing my bike and panniers I put my bike back together and continued cycling across the open ground keeping one eye on the storm away to my right.  As I cycled I became fully aware of just how exposed I was in the middle of this area of open ground with no shelter at all for at least another 5km until I reached the base of the mountains in front of me.

All of a sudden the wind changed to coming across me from my right and I knew that I was in trouble as I could see a line of lightening strikes hitting the ground about a kilometer away to my right and getting ever closer. 

About a minute later the temperature of the air dropped by about 15 degrees and I started to get pelted by hail stones the size of marbles and the wind speed was blowing me off my bike.  At this point I decided to abandon the steel bike, grab my wet weather gear and camera and go to find what shelter I could in the lee of a bush.

The hailstones were now relentless and the ground around me had turned white. 

Away in the distance there was sunshine and blue sky but where I was the air temperature was close to freezing  and the noise of the thunder was now deafening.  Even more worryingly the line of lightening strikes was only a few hundred metres away from me.  I decided that the best course of action was to lie flat face down on the ground and just hope for the best.

As the wind was so strong the electrical storm was passing over head pretty rapidly but what seemed like an eternity of lying face down on the ground, which was probably only a few minutes, the rear edge of the storm which seemed to contain the biggest concentration of lightning strikes had passed overhead and I was able to sit up.

Once the storm had passed the temperature rose from near freezing to a more normal 20 odd degrees and the layer of hailstones which had turned the ground around me white melted away.  That was easily one of the scariest experiences of my life and something that I never wanted to experience ever again. 

As ever though I managed to catch a bit of it on camera that I hope give you a small sense of what I experienced.

I had made fantastic time across the salt flat and it looked like I may cover the +100 km from Sabaya to Llica in one day but the track that I was following soon deteriorated to deep sand which put even the glimmer of hope that I had of reaching Llica that evening firmly out of reach.

It was slow going through the sand and although I had to keep switching to different sides of the track I was able to keep up enough momentum to be able to cycle rather than resort to pushing the bike.

After another 5km or so I came upon the village of Estancia Hizo which was the first sign of human existence that I had seen all afternoon.  All of the dogs in the village came out to greet me and although they made alot of noise they were not threatening.  

One of the locals came out to see what all the commotion was about and seemed very surprised to see a cyclist in the village.  After the usual conversation about where I had cycled from / was heading to etc I asked him what the best route to Llica was.

The man said to continue straight on until I came to a fork in the road.  I could then either continue straight on to the village of Estancia Lavaxa but if the track was wet this may not be a good option.  If it was wet I should take the left fork which would take me across to the other side of the valley where I would follow the base of the mountain to Estancia Lavaxa.  From this village it would be about 20km more to Llica.

I waved a cheery goodbye and headed back out into the sand.  (the village has a water supply if ever you need one).  After another hour or so I came to a fork in the road where I could head left towards the other side of the valley or continue straight on.  As the track here was dry I decided to stay with the track and take the most direct route to the village, and what a mistake this was !!!!

Everything was going to plan and I could see the village in front of me and got to within about 500m of it when I was no longer cycling on solid ground but cycling through a ‘white clay’ bog.  To the left of me there was what looked like firmer ground so I headed for that but before I could get there my wheels had seized up from the amount of ‘white clay’ that was stuck to them.

Even trying to disengage the brakes was a waste of time as the clay had filled the gap between the tyre and the mudguard and the wheels were seized solid.

The bike was not going anywhere and the only way that I could move it was to drag it across the clay.  My feet had no traction though as I was sinking into the clay.

The only thing that I could do was to take two panniers off the bike and start walking towards the village in order to try and find firmer ground.  After trudging for nearly 100m I finally found ground that was firm enough to walk on and put the panniers down to head back to the bike to retrieve the remaining panniers.

After trudging back and forth for 30 minutes I now had all of the luggage on firm land and was left with retrieving the bike.  By this point I was knackered and trying to drag a 16kg bike with at least 8kg of clay stuck to it for over 100m when I had no grip underfoot wasn’t going to work.

The other concern that I had was by now it was twilight and I really didn’t want to be out here in the dark.  I had a choice – I could either leave the bike out in the clay until morning or the only way that I would get it out was to take the wheels off and carry these out and then come back for the frame. 

In the end I decided to take the bike out in pieces which meant another two trips and by the time I eventually got all of my bike and equipment the 100m to dry land it had taken me over an hour and it was now dark.

I scraped as much of the mud as I could out of the mudguards, off the brakes and off the tyres so that the wheels would rotate and put the bike back together.  I then pushed the bike the extra few hundred metres to the village of Estancia Lavaxa in the hope of finding a tap as if I left the clay until morning I’m sure it would have set into concrete.

I found a tap at the entrance of the village and once again dismantled the bike to try and wash off as much of the clay as possible.  The spokes of the wheels were completely full of clay so that they resembled solid time trial wheels.

By the time that I had finished getting the majority of the clay off the wheels and frame it was pitch black but I was just relieved to be standing there with my bike and luggage all in one piece.

As it was dark all I could do was cycle out of the village for a couple of hundred metres and set my tent up by the side of the track in the sand dunes.  It had been one hell of a day on the bike and I was completely exhausted.  The effort of getting both myself and the bike out of the clay had finished me off and all I wanted to do was sleep so that night once the tent was up I had a couple of dried crackers and crawled into my sleeping bag and went to sleep.

In the morning around 6am I was woken by a voice saying hello and then saying something in Spanish that I could not understand.  I opened the flap of the tent to see the faces of an older man with a teenage boy.  Again he said something in Spanish that I did not fully understand but caught enough words to get the gist of what he was saying which was that was I lost? He could not understand why I was sleeping in a tent when the town of Llica was less than an hour away which had many Alojamiento’s (hostal) where I could sleep.

I tried to explain to him that I had got stuck in the middle of a bog but didn’t have enough Spanish to explain this and as I generally only know the present tense of verbs trying to explain something that happened yesterday was even more confusing.  In the end I said that I was okay and I would head for Llica later that day after breakfast. 

He still seemed perplexed about why I would sleep in a tent when there was a town less than an hour away but decided that he had checked that I was okay and the pair of them continued on their way through the sand dunes to where I had no clue.

It’s amazing how the morning light paints a far brighter complexion on things and despite being caught in the middle of a very frightening electrical storm and then being marooned in the middle of a clay bog the highlight of the previous day had been cycling over Salar Coipasa and nothing was going to change how amazing that had been.

Even the camping spot that I had randomly chosen in the dark was pretty special

A quick inspection of the bike showed that the salt had already started to take its toll and the rear gears, chain and front sprocket were already showing signs of discolouration.

I got the oil out and lubed the chain and gears and then ran an oily cloth over the exposed cables.  Hopefully, this would be enough to stop any further deterioration. 

After a hearty breakfast to make up for missing dinner the night before it was time to get on with finishing the ride towards Llica.  It was less than 20km but I was back cycling through sand and so the going was slow and it would take me a couple of hours to cover the short distance.

I came to a fork in the road and as these tracks were not on my map it looked like the right fork continued back out into the plain that I had crossed yesterday while the right fork headed for the base of the mountain to my left.

As I didn’t fancy a repeat of getting stuck in a clay bog I decided that I would stick close to terra firma and opted for the safer option of the base of the mountains.

The track took me to the village of Challacollo and although I was only 10km from Llica I decided that I would pull in just to top up my water to give me a hearty 2 litres as you never know what may happen.

I cycled around the village but couldn’t find the usual tap and so went in search of somebody to ask where it was located.  I saw a man sorting through something in a tray in one of the compounds and cycled in to ask him.  As I entered I shouted my usual greeting but got no response from the man.

I got to within a couple of feet of the man and could see that he was sorting through a pan of charcoal picking out the lumps that had not fully burnt.  He must of seen my shadow as his face suddenly lifted and he looked at me.  He smiled and pointed at his ears to indicate that he was deaf.

I took the water bottle out of my drinks cage and shook it to show him that I was after some water which he seemed to understand as he walked me over to a tap which was outside one of the houses in the compound that he lived.

After filling my bottle I went to put it back into the cage when I noticed that my front left pannier was hanging off the rack at a funny angle.  On further inspection it looked like one of the screws had worked itself loose in the pounding that it had gotten over the last week of cycling over corrugated tracks and had dropped out.

There was no way that I would cycle with it like that as the top bar was what clipped the pannier to the rack.  All I could do was take a screw from somewhere else on the pannier that was not so important until I could replace the screw in Llica, so this is what I did and it seemed to work perfectly.

The track remained sandy all the way to Llica and just when I thought that I would get there without any further trouble I could feel the back tyre bottoming out and when I checked although the tyre wasn’t flat it wasn’t fully inflated either. 

It seemed like I had not only been caught in an electrical storm, been stuck in a clay bog and broken my front pannier, now to top it all off it looked like I had a slow puncture.  I could safely say that it had been one hell of a couple of days cycling that I would never forget.

Instead of repairing the puncture by the side of the road I just pumped some air into it and carried on my way the last couple of kilometer to Llica.

As I cycled into the town it had a very drab feel about it and I was just hoping that I could find somewhere to both stay and eat as I fancied having a rest before I set out on the next 3 day adventure across the Salar de Uyuni.

I saw a man coming out of a house and asked him where I could find lunch and he directed me to the other side of the town where I found a fair few places to it, and it seemed that I had entered through the housing area to the north of the town when the main plaza and commercial centre, if you could call it that, was to the southern end.

Almuerzo, lunch, was a first course of vegetable soup followed by chicken and rice.  The segunda, or main course, was so tasty I ordered another portion. (I kinda blocked out the swarm of flies that seemed to have taken residence in the place and figured that my stomach could deal with it).

Once full I asked the owner/chef where she recommended to stay and as she said it I had no idea how to repeat it so she wrote it down for me.  She said it was a couple of blocks south and so instead of asking anybody else I cycled there and got a room for 30 BOL with private bathroom.

The great thing about staying in places in Bolivia is that they charge per person not per room so even though it was just me everywhere that I had stayed so far I had been given a double room rather than a ‘simple’,  or single room.

Once I was settled in I asked the owner whether the Salar de Uyuni was under water and she said that there was some water on it but that she didn’t know either how deep it was or how far across the Salar that the water started.  As the entrance to the salar was only a few kilometres from Llica I decided that I would head there to have a look for myself and went to investigate.

Without the luggage on the bike it was much easier to cycle alon the very rutted track and I had such a tailwind that I was rolling along at over 15kmph without hardly pedaling.  (I should have turned around at that point as the ride back was horrendous)

The entrance to the Salar is about 8km from Llica and when I got there what I found was a dry salt surface which I could cycle out onto. 

In the distance it looked like there was some water so I decided to head for it to see how deep it was.  After a couple of kilometres the water didn’t seem to be getting any closer and as it was getting late I took a few more photos and headed back to Llica.  Cycling across the Salar still looked like it was possible so in the morning I would set off and see how far I got.

The journey back was horrendous and I was fighting an almighty headwind that was whipping sand up and blasting it at me.  At least I was getting a free exfoliation but resisted the urge to remove my clothes to get an all over scrub as it really stung and so pulled my neck buff over my face for protection.

After a quick shower I headed into town to find food and it turned out that although Almuerzo (set lunch) was a popular option in town with many different places serving it Cena (set dinner) was a different matter as I couldn’t find anywhere open.  I asked a couple of people and they all pointed me in the direction of the main plaza where they said I would find food. 

I had been expecting to find somewhere open but when I got there everywhere was shut but what I think the people had been pointing me in the direction of was a couple of women who were cooking beef and potatoes in a skillet over an open fire.

One of the ladies lifted the lid and the meat smelled amazing so I sat on a plastic chair, which reminded me of Vietnam, and ate my serving of rice, meat and potatoes all for the princely sum of 12 BOL.

The food was fairly difficult to eat as it was served heaped on the smallest plate imaginable, I think to make the portion seem bigger, but it tasted amazing as it freshly cooked rather than having sat around for hours.   

After eating I headed back to the place I was staying and on the way passed a street with what must be the Bolivian equivalent of the burger van.  Lined up along the street were small huts serving either a fried egg in a bun with salad and chips rammed in the top or the same but instead of an egg a fried hotdog sausage.

As I was still peckish I ordered one of each (5 BOL) and while they were being cooked I popped into a shop and picked up a 6 pack of Crystal beer that I had never tried before and was the only on offer. Now that I had supplies I headed back to the hostel for a late night feast and a couple of beers.

The next morning after breakfast it was time to head back to the Salar and start my 3 day ride to Uyuni.  My plan was to island hop my way across the salar.  First stop would be after around 70km where I would camp on the Isla de Pescado, followed by the Isla de Incahuasi the following night which would leave me a long 3rd day of a 100 km ride east to reach land on the far side of the salar near to the town of Uyuni.

My original plan had been to head south from Isla de Incahuasi on the third day to San Juan where I would have ridden through the Lagunas to San Pedro de Atacama in Chile (a total of about 13 days was needed) but I did not have enough time left before my Bolivian visa expired and so had decided to head for Uyuni where it would be about a 5 day ride south to the border with Argentina.

As I reached the entry to the salar I could still see the water away in the distance but nothing ventured nothing gained.

It started off dry:

After about 10 km the water that I could see in the distance was getting closer

Then I was at the edge of the lake

In front of me now was just a lake of water for as far as I could see and although it was only about 10cm deep I didn’t fancy cycling through it without knowing that there was a dry section somewhere ahead of me.

I could see jeep heading my way through the lake and waited for it to flag it down to speak to the driver.  When he pulled up he said that he had just been to the Isla de Pescado, which I had planned to sleep on, and there had been water the whole way.

That was it, there was no way that I was going to be crossing anymore of the salar by bike and reluctantly turned the bike around and headed back to Llica to see about what my options were for getting to Uyuni from the town.

In a way I was disappointed that I hadn’t managed to cross the salar the whole way by bike but like crossing the Salar de Coipasa a couple of days before the experience of cycling on the salar de Uyuni would be something that I wouldn’t forget in a very long time.

Once I got back to Llica I returned to the same hostal where the owner didn’t seem surprised to see me as she handed me the key to the same room that I had slept in the night before. Once my bike and gear was safely stowed I headed back into the centre to see about option for getting to Uyuni as if I cycled the long way around the edge of the salar it would take me at least 5 or 6 days which would mean that my visa would expire before I could reach the border with Argentina.

It turned out that even though there was water on the salar a daily bus left Llica at midday and would take around 6 hours to cross the salar to Uyuni.  As this seemed like the best option I bought a ticket which cost me 35 BOL and the bike travelled for free.

After getting a nice lunch of soup and chicken I headed back to the hostal to wash my bike before stripping it down to give everything a good greasing to try and stop the salt corroding the frame of the bike.

The slow puncture that I had seemed to have had the day before hadn’t returned and the tire seemed to be keeping its pressure.  Still, to be on the safe side I decided to take the tube out to check it and found a very small leak that was tight on one of the seams of the tube.  This is probably in the worst position as it is very difficult to completely seal it with a patch as the small ridge can make it difficult to get a complete air tight seal.

I patched it up hoping for the best before putting the tube back in the tyre and inflating it again.  I then spent the next two hours giving the bike a complete clean, grease and service.  I even gave the bike a hot shower as cold water didn’t seem to be removing the remaining clay that had by now turned to cement.

By the time I was finished the bike seemed as good as new it was time to give my clothes a clean as cycling through the desert like Altiplano and salt flats for the last two weeks had left many of my clothes as stiff as a board when I put them on:

Now that I had sorted out the bike and my clothes there was only one thing to do – go and retrieve the rest of the 6 pack that I had given the owner in the morning when I had set off for the salar and sit in the sun and enjoy a beer.

Not quite the morning that I had been expecting when I had got up but you can only make the best of any hand that you are dealt and from where I was sitting with a beer in hand life looked pretty good.

As the afternoon wore on I headed into the centre of Llica to have a look around and what I found was a very traditional town where the locals greeted me with huge smiles and the children played marbles on the street

On the street corners were people selling all manner of snacks from peanuts

To a bright pink substance that was a bit like Blancmange that started as a liquid but was ‘whipped’ over an ice bath to form a solid

To iced tea

Even the ‘drab’ town that I had cycled into a couple of days before had a ‘hidden’ charm that on first viewing could be easily over looked

Llica is a very traditional Bolivian town that is far from the ‘tourist’ trail and if you happen to find yourself here then spend a couple of days as if you come to Bolivia to experience ‘real’ life then this is one place that you will find it.  

In an ironic twist having to turn back from cycling across the Salar de Uyuni had been a blessing as I had in a way gotten beneath the ‘drab’ skin of Llica to find a town with a huge Bolivian beating heart.

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Cycling the Bolivian salt flats (salars), Bolivia
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3 thoughts on “Cycling the Bolivian salt flats (salars), Bolivia

  • February 7, 2017 at 8:54 am
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    ¡Amazing! I am glad Bolivia delivered the promised adventure. Great to have you around and we look forward seeing you again. On to Argentina now, best of luck!

    Reply
  • January 30, 2017 at 10:22 am
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    Really enjoyed reading this. You are a lucky man Stewart!
    Daphnee

    Reply

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