The 30km road between the two towns was as we had come to expect, so we weren't too surprised that after two hours we still had 10km to go. 10km and one river. We have crossed a number of deepish rivers this year - quite a feat on the bike, loaded with both of us and our gear and weighing about 450kg. This river didn't look to be anything out of the ordinary, a drop into brown swirling water, about 25m to the other side. We decided to cross without taking the precaution of walking it first. (That was me who decided that. Over keen to get through without wetting our boots - oops! a.)
I think the moment we got in, we both realised this was a mistake. The drop was steeper than we expected, and also, the rocks at the bottom were not mere pebbles like on the shore, but too large to be pushed aside or rolled over. It was one of these that was our undoing, and before we knew it, Andy, myself, the bike and all our gear were sideways in the brown, fast flowing river. This is the first time we've dropped it on this trip.
No matter, though. Neither of us were hurt. Just wet, up and over the waist.
With a bit of effort, we picked the bike up and pushed it out of there. We gave it an hour or so to dry out, emptying the tool tubes and drying out all the important bits of the engine. This also gave us time to notice the footbridge just upstream. The locals were riding their motorbikes across the bridge. Also while we waited in the sun, a woman to offered Andy one of her goats for sale (a large lechon - presumably still milk-fed - goes for 60 bolivianos, about $9.)
In Villa Serrano we were getting mixed messages about whether the road was passable to the next slightly larger town north, Valle Grande. It seemed noone knew of anyone coming that way since the last serious rains (only three weeks ago), or even since the beginning of the wet season, but some people thought we would be fine with the bike. We decided to give it a bash.
This was probably the most degraded road we had seen yet - as it hugged the ranges, we picked our way over landslide after landslide. Over an hour (and probably no more than 15km later), we came to one we just couldn't get past. Even the family and their goats we saw there were having trouble.
We admitted defeat.
It was time to turn around and head back to Villa Serrano for the night. So far, it had been two days, and we still were not half way to Samaipata. We spent the night drying out our gear, including our all-important bike manual, which had become saturated. After the dump in the river, nearly everything on the left of the bike was satched. (My pannier, thankfully - a)
The next day we were told by the locals there was another way around the landslide, but that we would have to ford three rivers. These turned out to be five, the first four getting easier and prettier as they came on. We took the precaution of unloading the tool tubes and carrying the gear across.
The next day we were told by the locals there was another way around the landslide, but that we would have to ford three rivers. These turned out to be five, the first four getting easier and prettier as they came on. We took the precaution of unloading the tool tubes and carrying the gear across.
The last river, el Bañadito (little wet one) about four hour's ride from the village, was the deepest. The road abruptly descended into it's fast flowing waters, and came out again about 30m later. This time, as well as taking the gear off, we had to push the bike across. Luckily, we had the help of a local man, and, despite a few hairy moments, had the bike across with no incident.
Sugarcane, swapped with some guys in the back of a ute (the only vehicle we were to see for a couple of days), provided a good recharge on the other side.
The road from there provided both stunning scenery and challenges ... not least this bog in the middle of a landslide which had us stuck for almost two hours, and convinced us to stay overnight too.
By the time we got the bike out, it was dusk and we had no option but to stay there (this photo is of me holding the bike steady, before we realised it wasn't gong anywhere). Completely wet and muddy from our efforts (Andy did a lot of digging around in the mud, and I pushed from the back as the bike spun it all over me), we walked down the hill to wash ourselves in the river (with our clothes and boots on - luckily it wasn't cold). On the way, we asked permission of the local villagers to camp there, and also if they could sell us some vegies (our stash containing dry food only). Permission granted but no food forthcoming, we headed down to the river, and as well as washing, filled our waterbottle with (very muddy) water to be boiled, settled and used for our dinner.
While the walk up was steep, it was stunning - the sky really turned it on with a full complement of stars, unhindered by any electric light. Dinner was pasta, garlic and chilli (bland but filling), and afterwards, we opted to camp without tent, falling asleep in our little coccoons on a landslide on the edge of a mountain in the middle of Bolivian nowhere.
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