TOTAL DISTANCE FOR 2020/2022 EXPEDITIONS 4354 KM

This journey began in 2020 (before the onset of the pandemic) from Cusco in Peru, the capital of the ancient Incan Empire. Given the theme of the expedition is to explore what the mountains mean to the Andean people, past and present, I thought it essential to visit El Shincal de Quimivil, sometimes referred to as the “New Cusco” because of its importance as the political, administrative and trade centre for the Incan empire in the south, as the final archeological site on my journey. 

El Shincal de Quimivil lies at the base of the Zapata range, about seven kilometres west of one of my favourite towns of the whole journey, Londres, which in turn, is just 15km west of Belen on Route 40. The site is named after the unremarkable spiky shinqui plant, the most predominant shrub in the region.

Like with other Inca establishments, the Incas were not the original inhabitants. The first inhabitants were the Diaguita people who were conquered by the Incas and their civilisation was annexed into the fast-expanding Inca empire. The provincial capital was only in existence between 1471 and 1536, when the Spanish overwhelmed the Incas.

The people lived mainly from agriculture. Produce was gathered and stored, the grains in the large granary, and was divided into three parts. One part was for the people of El Shincal, a second part was reserved for celebrations, and the third part was delivered though the Inca Trail as a tax.

Several residential complexes known as kancha, arranged around the aukaipata and on the side of the Inca road, also stood out.

The El Shincal visit was just the start of what turned out to be a huge day. Knowing that the final 200km/ two days of the expedition would be uphill and finishing at over 4000m, I needed to get some good distance in.

From El Shincal (1350m elevation), I had to cycle around the Zapata Mountains, dropping to 900m and then a steady climb to reach Tinogasta and Fiambala at 1500m.

The gap through the Zapata range where the old Inca route and Route 40 used to go. The road stopped being maintained in 1979 and it is now forbidden for cars to go through there due to the dangers – several drivers have been killed. It is still possible for cyclists to venture over the mountain pass but as we are a team making a TV series and film, we must stay together. Rather than taking the 60km short cut to Tinogasta, the new route is 130km, therefore adding 70km to my journey!

The road wound through some spectacular and colourful ranges, ascending slowly to Tinogasta. Nearer the town I started meeting groups of cyclists on road bikes enjoying the pristine asphalt surfaces. Changing directions as I rounded the ranges, I was treated to one of the best tail winds of the whole journey.

Reaching Fiambala, almost 150km from the start of my day’s ride, had initially seemed a little ambitious, but with the wind at my back and only gentle gradients to climb, I stuck at it and arrived in Fiambala in the dark, after 8pm. I was very pleased as it made arriving at the finish on time more realistic.

The penultimate day of the expedition turned out to be a real brute. The road was good quality and I was expecting a continuous, steady climb, but it was the wind that almost brought me undone. The ascent started immediately out of Fiambala and I tried to pace myself. The landscapes were completely barren and the geology was out of this world, almost literally!

I would have struggled to make it to Cortederas, the only option for accommodation at all, if I didn’t have the vehicle help shield me from the winds.

Starting out on the final day, I was quietly excited. However, I tried not to get too ahead of myself because I was wary of what the wind was likely to do. I knew I wouldn’t get it easy!

From Cortederas, I continued up a broad valley. The route was more undulating than the previous day, meaning, in the end, I would have more metres to climb. The wind was indeed a big problem, confronting me head on for the first twenty kilometres. Once I changed direction, I had to deal with the same ferocious winds as side winds, occasional switching to a head wind, for the rest of the day.

We knew the border was closed, so my plan was to cycle as far as the barrier. I imagined this would be atop San Francisco Pass (4700m), the actual border line. The wind was truly arctic and basically stopping me in my tracks and, as the daylight dwindled, I wondered how I was going to make the final 600m climb.

To my surprise, when we arrived at the Argentinian immigration post, the gate was closed and my expedition came to a sudden end. I was very pleased, not only to have finished the cycle expedition successfully and on time, I had been dreading the climb to San Francisco pass and now I didn’t need to do it.

This is the end of the cycle expedition, though there is more to come. From San Francisco Pass we had to drive 900km south to Mendoza, then fly to Santiago – the only way we could enter Chile.

I have one more blog to write about what happened in Chile!

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Sorry for the silence – it’s not because nothing has happened, my brand new laptop has a faulty battery and stopped working more than a week ago. I am now borrowing a friend’s computer to get the rest of the story to you.

I should note it was just as well that I decided not to climb Llulliallaco because our Argentinian friends, who are very strong climbers, had to abort their summit attempt at the last base camp (5900m) because of the extreme winds. If Toby and I had climbed with them, we too would have not made it, and as well, I would not have a chance to finish the cycle expedition.

The cycle journey resumed from where I stopped pedalling at Pocitos. I set off pushing around the eastern perimeter of the salt pan on a real mission. To finish the journey in time, I had to complete 880km in eight days on some very challenging roads and with unpredictable weather conditions.

It took about 45km to reach the southern end of the salt pan, on a very dusty, corrugated undulating road. Fortunately there was no headwind, just a light side wind whistling across the great white expanse.

Climbing away from Salar de Pocitos and up a wide valley, the winds started as favourable but then it all changed. The road, R17, which is the main north-south route across the Puna, turned evil – a long, slow 13km ascent to 4040m on heavily corrugated and sandy road slowed me right down. I was starting to worry that I wouldn’t make the 100km minimum distance that I set myself each day (knowing that not all the route would be unsealed).

Finally I got the tail wind I had hoped for – at least for 20km – and a fun descent, but that was followed by another climb to 4202m and some very cold cross winds later in the afternoon. As there was not even a hamlet in this section for over 200km, we had to camp. The guys went ahead and found a road-making ditch deep enough to offer some respite from the wind. It was a very cold, uncomfortable night but at least I went to sleep satisfied that I had covered 104km.

My water bottles were partially frozen in the morning and I was keen to get moving just to warm up. The aim was to reach the main town in the region, Antofagasta de la Sierra, but I thought 120km might be too ambitious.

Salar del Hombre Muerto, or “Salt Pan of the Dead Man” was a chilly seven kilometre descent from where we camped. The salt pan is big. I enjoyed pedalling the flat 25km salt causeway across the 600 square kilometre pan, one of the most important lithium sources in the world. The name Salar del Hombre Muerto may be a reference to the presence of Inca mummies in the area. The Incas used to mine for gold on one part of the lake.

From there, my day started to become very tough as I followed the winding southern shore of the salt pan, over some steep little climbs confronted by polar-like cross and head winds that halved my speed, then a very testing 200m climb out of the depression. 

Facing me after lunch was the biggest climb of the day, from 4100m, steeply through sand for the first 250m, then a rollercoaster of descents and sharp ascents, eventually to 4437m.

I found the Argentinian truck drivers very friendly and considerate, often stopping to let me pass so I didn’t get showered with dust and stones. One fellow actually waved a couple of oranges out the window. I had to politely refuse because I was pushing hard up a steep slope and couldn’t stop to peel and eat them, or carry them over the pass.

From the summit in the mid-afternoon, there was still 60km to go, but it looked like I might get there with a raging tailwind and the promise of a long descent. 

That lasted for only about 10km before the road began to track around a mountain with many steep climbs and I battled constantly with a side/head wind. The high volume of my 3.25” wide tyres means my bike is really affected by side winds. At one point, as I ascended around a sandy, stony corner, a gust blew me over and I landed heavily.

I continued struggling with the biting polar winds as the team ventured 30km ahead to find accommodation in Antofagasta. Dropping down from the mountain, I started making better progress, and pedalled the last 20km into the evening.

By the time I arrived in the town at 8.30pm, after more than nine hours of cycling, it was completely dark and I was wearing two down jackets to manage the wind chill.  I was proud of my efforts to get there and stay on track to reach the finish in time, though worried how I was going to sustain that kind of effort for another six days.

Antofagasta de la Sierra is the main town in the region (1200 people), with a large indigenous population made up of the Diaguitas and the Atacamenous (or Atacama) people. Heading south, I was very pleased to hit the asphalt on a road that was only made 45 years ago. About 7km out of town I entered a spectacular volcanic area with barren, black cinder cones, considered extinct, but not geologically old (approximately 37,000years), and black lava fields. These lava flows lasted for 15km before opening out to a vast desert region dotted with volcanoes of different colours – red, brown-tan, black – it was really spectacular. 

The road was arrow-straight for about 25km, bisecting the desert and dropping from 3300m to 3000m before the climb started abruptly to get out of the depression.

I reached El Penon, a very attractive, well-kept town at 3400m, by about 4pm. I thought I was going OK, but hadn’t appreciated what was ahead of me. The climb started gently enough out of town (2-3% gradient) although the asphalt was very rough with a lot of rolling resistance. then the gradients increased to average around 5-6%. The real difficulties came at 3700m, when the freezing mountain winds kicked in, swirling from different directions – mostly from head on or side on – making it a struggle to keep on the bike and move forwards at all. I was filming this ride for FulGaz, so I couldn’t stop. It ended up being one of the toughest ascents I have done, reaching 3999m according to my Suunto watch and Wahoo Roam bike computer. 

At the pass I was so cold I put another down jacket over my light down jacket and covered my legs, hands and head with more layers in preparation for the descent. The scenery was absolutely stunning but my throat was rasping raw from the cold I could barely speak. The location was difficult to appreciate being so exhausted. It was getting late and I was well short of my minimum distance for the day.

I could not feel my hands as I descended, even with the two down jackets on and wisely stopped after only 92km for the day. It was taking too much out of me. This was a wild place and far too cold and exposed to camp with the equipment we had. We marked where I stopped cycling and drove to a town, Barrana Larga, much further down the road. It was a smart choice to reboot there in preparation for the next five days. 

Returning to the spot where I stopped the next morning, there was a dusting of snow on the mountains and frost on the ground. The day began with a 200m/55-minute ascent back up to nearly 4000m, but the rest was basically downhill! I started the descent all rugged up and reached speeds in excess of 60km/hr, but then the gradient eased and I could enjoy gliding through the incredible landscapes. The deep gorge was filled with colourful, rugged slopes – red and yellow tones a feature of the rocks. 

To keep me honest, there was about 30km in total of stones and gravel, but finally I was onto the tarmac.

The R43 led to the busy main road, Ruta 40, winding through another rocky gorge to reach Belen, a city of about 200,000. We used Belen as a pit stop to prepare for the last four days.

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Leaving Salta, we were satisfied everything was in order to cycle and drive to Llulliallaco volcano. I wanted to understand more about where the Children of Llulliallaco were sacrificed and what it took for the Incas to perform the capacocha ritual.

I set off through the streets of Salta, a city that really impressed me, and gradually climbing into the green foothills. Essentially over the next two days I would have to climb from 1137m to 4080m over 165km to San Antonio de los Corbes. 

The first day I was fortunate to be pushed by a strong tail wind that funnelled from the tropical lowlands towards the high Puna de Atacama. It was all asphalt but I had not been looking forward to the slow grind. I was pleasantly surprised on Day 1 out of Salta. The gradients ranged between a very reasonable 3-6% as Route 51 tracked the Toro River all the way to the highest pass.

It was incredible to see how the vegetation changed as I ascended, from the verdant semi-tropical foothills through to a zone of spiky cactus and acacias at around 2000m- 2500m to increasingly dry slopes with pampas and other sparse grasses (like spinifex in Australia). 

The road was not the only path criss-crossing the Toro River, the famous train line that joins Salta to Antofagasta on the Chilean coast wound its way above and below the road – a great engineering feat. These days the train is only used for tourists to go to San Antonio de los Cobres and just beyond to see the famous viaducts.

The higher I went, the more arid and the more spectacular the mountains – red, pink, grey, brown… The valleys were being used for small time agriculture. After a little pass at the end of the first day, I had gained 2024m of altitude and pedalled 107km. We reached the tiny village of Santa Rosa de Tastil, famously just beneath the ruins of Tastil. There was no accommodation, but a resident allowed us to set up camp under the protection of a large shed.

The second day out of Salta began with a visit to the Tastil archeological site, high on a hill overlooking the village and valley. Tastil was a pre-Inca civilisation known to have advanced technology, significant infrastructure and was a peaceful society. In fact, Christian Vitry gave Tastil the complement of being the “Switzerland” of the regional communities because it was a great mediator. The city of about 3000 people was influenced by Tiawanaku to the north and traded with societies to the west and east. The end of the society came with the invasion of the far less peaceful Incas, who took over the city and dispersed its inhabitants.

About 5km out of Tastil my fortunes with the tail wind that had been fanning me up the valley changed abruptly to a vicious head wind, sweeping off the Puna. I struggled from then al the way up the pass, Abra Blanca (4080m) and then slowed my descent to San Antonio. I only made 63km on Day 2 from Salta!

San Antonio de los Cobres is largely a mining town and the most significant in the region. Just as we arrived Rolando received a message from Facundo, whom we had employed to be our guide for climbing Llulliallaco. Unfortunately, he tested positive for Covid-19. In San Antonio, we interviewed a couple of guides but neither were suitable. We found out that we should be able to hire a guide from Tolar Grande, the nearest town to Llulliallaco, which we aimed to reach in a couple of days.

Out of San Antonio, things started to get tough. The tarmac road ended and Route 51 became a corrugated, dusty road. Ahead of me was a 4500m pass. But there was another route, the N129, that was signposted to Pocitos, the next significant village on my route. I like to call this the scenic route – although it was slightly shorter than the one I had planned, it was much steeper, winding up a very rough rocky/sandy and eroded path, tracking through a spectacular red gorge and then across windswept mountains. That pass, Abre de Gallo topped out at 4693m (according to my Suunto watch). It was pretty steep in places but adding to the degree of difficulty was the freezing wind – it was vicious at this high altitude and I just had to put the head down and try to keep moving forward, however slow. The descent was spectacular but also slow. I had to concentrate to keep on the track due to the wind gusts and the very rocky, eroded surfaces.

As I descended to 4000m I could only manage 10-12km/hr. Sand blasted into my face, as the gusts strengthened.

Exhausted and pretty cold, I fell 55km short of Pocitos. The conditions had almost halved my speed. The little village where we ended up, Santa Rosa de los Pastor Grandes, was a pleasant surprise. We cooked inside our clean room, and there was WiFi and hot water for a shower!

Day 4 out of Salta was similarly challenging because of the immensely powerful headwinds. I virtually crawled my way up another pass (4130m) and finally down to Pocitos, famous for its Salar de Pocitos (huge salt pan).

I stopped cycling after crossing the Pocitos salt pan and planned to pick up the cycle journey from there after we had been to Llulliallaco. We drove to Tolar Grande via the amazing Desert Diablo (the Devil’s Desert), and more incredible mountain to reach Tolar Grande.

Rolando did a lot of research around the town but all the guides were currently in Salta. In the hostel where we stayed, we met three Argentinian climbers, Enzo, Rama and Alexis, who were also planning to climb Llulliallaco. They generously offered for us to join them for the climb. This seemed the best option. 

After working through a whole lot of paperwork to get permission to climb (thanks to Gabriella from the MAAM in Salta for helping with our permits), we set off on a five hour drive.

At Llulliallaco base camp we caught up with our new friends. At nearly 5000m, the winds were piercing and as the sun sank behind the mountain, it really was freezing. It started to dawn on me that there were a few issues with our plan. Originally we were going to take two days to do the climb – camp at 5900m, then a long day to the 6739m summit and down, as per our guide’s suggestion. These three well-prepared climbers were planning to take four days. If we did the climb, we would not be able to complete the cycle expedition in time. Secondly, Toby and I were not prepared to be on the mountain for four days – our backpacks were too small, we didn’t have enough water or food carrying capacity and I did not have enough fuel for the stove. In the evening, I talked it through with the team and we decided not to climb – well only a few hundred metres with the Argentinians as they set off. At least this would give us a feel for the remoteness and harshness of the place. How the Incas did what they did was amazing. This place is so harsh and dry. We had one very cold, virtually sleepless night, did our walk and returned to Tolar Grande and then Pocitos.

The decision not to climb I believe was a good one. I loved the story of the Children of Llulliallaco and followed the journey back to the mountain where they passed on to a new life. I love what it represents and how it fit with the theme of this expedition – what the mountains mean to the Andean people, past and present…but I need to complete the expedition!

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When I read an article last year in The Explorers Club Journal about the discovery in 1999 of three Incan child mummies, found near the 6739m summit of Llulliallaco volcano that lies on the Argentine/Chile border, I was immediately captivated. It is the highest archaeological site in the world. 

Five hundred years ago, in one of the last decades of the Inca’s reign (before the Spanish conquest), three children, a 15 year old girl, (known as Doncella, or the Maiden) a 7 year old boy (Llullaillaco Boy) and a 6 year old girl (Lightning Girl because she was struck by lightning in her mountain grave) were sacrificed to appease the Gods in the hope of bringing prosperity and as a political act to demonstrate Incan dominance over the other Andean cultures and communities. The ritual was called capacocha. I wanted to know more, and especially why these children, (and many others) were sacrificed. 

The story fit with the premise of the expedition, to explore what the mountains mean to the Andean people, past and present. I looked up Professor Christian Vitry, perhaps the most eminent local archeologist who was a member of the expedition, lead by Johan Reinhard in 1999, that discovered the children. Christian was enthusiastic to receive and educate us about the discovery and its legacy. These children were perfectly mummified, naturally in the volcanic ash of Llulliallaco, in an atmosphere of about 10% oxygen and an average temperature of about -12C.

We visited the MAAM – the Museum of High Mountain Archeology – in Salta to see The Children of Llulliallaco, and learn more about them and the final two years of their short lives. Christian made time out of his busy schedule (in between teaching at the university and preparing for an expedition in two days time) to meet us and give us a personal guided tour of the museum. On the first day, we didn’t have permission to film or take photographs – which is the case for the general public. We just listened intently to Christian’s explanations (and Rolando’s translation for me).

Christian was able to speak with the directors and the next morning, before the general public were allowed in, we were incredibly fortunate to be permitted to film and photograph the exhibition, guided in English by none other than one of the directors, Gabriela Recagno.

Here are a few images – quick snaps as I was also presenting for the camera.

Found with the children buried in their graves were more than 100 artefacts, all in miniature. Each item was specifically made to represent an aspect of their lives on Earth. They would need these to survive in their next life and it was important to show the Gods these representations. All pieces of craftwork were very fine quality made by dedicated, qualified artists. The Incas had no written language, but every material, its design and colour had significance. These pieces were found with the girls. Shells had special significance representing fertility.

The capacocha ritual begins approximately two years before the subjects are sacrificed when royal or high class children were selected, often from a province the Inca elite wanted to assert their power. The children would have been treated like gods. Evidence from hair samples shows their diets changed profoundly in the two years leading to their sacrifice, particularly with the high consumption of meat. The procession would have begun in Cusco with many attending to the children, priests, etc. They would have travelled over many months via the coast and back to the mountains, a distance of maybe 1500km to reach Llulliallaco. In the last month, the children were given a diet of largely alcohol and coco leaves. A combination of being drugged, the altitude, cold would have eased the stress and sent them out of consciousness. Unlike other mummified specimens discovered, the children died peacefully rather than by violence. Their bodies are entire, with all their organs. We only got to see the boy – so small – but I see him as a child, not a collection of poorly preserved skin and bones.

To complete the tour, Mario, who is responsible for pioneering the cryo-preservation of the children, gave us a talk about the process, exclusively designed for the Children of Llulliallaco. The techniques have been based around the conditions the mummies were preserved in near the summit of Llulliallaco, and learning about the processes used for preserving meats in the food industry. On top of this, there is a whole lot of science. Only one child is on display at a time, and switch every six months to minimise movement and changes of condition. They are kept in a hi-tech capsule, monitored 24/7 for any changes, such as a reduction in weight (which would indicate dehydration) or a darkening of the skin (indicating oxidation). The atmosphere they are kept in is 98% nitrogen, 2% oxygen at a temperature of -20C. Mario is soon to become a director too.

We were extremely privileged and grateful to Christian, Gabriela and Mario for educating us and allowing us to capture the story on film. However, this is only Part 1. The next step is to travel to the remote volcano which straddles the Argentine/Chile border and climb the mountain to see where the children’s lives ended on Earth.

At the conclusion of her tour, Gabriela had some very poignant words about why we should care about these three Incan children who passed on to the next life (according to the Incas) half a millennium ago. They are a gift that, through modern science, is teaching us so much about Incan life that was never recorded by the Spanish – what they ate, how they lived, communicated, details of their rituals and beliefs. Until recently, there wasn’t much interest in indigenous history in Argentina, only the history of the colonists. The children’s legacy is also to open the conversation, recognising all Argentinians. 

The journey to Llulliallaco for me will be a kind of pilgrimage to shine a light on what the Children of Llulliallaco mean past and present – not just to Argentinians.

Christian has found us a guide whom we met in Salta, but unfortunately he has just tested positive for Covid-19. We have just secured a replacement guide whom we will meet in Tolar Grande, a four day ride from Salta. To climb Llulliallaco will be by far the toughest climb Toby and I have ever done, 1000m higher than we have trekked before. Making it to the summit will be a serious achievement for us.

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To keep to schedule I planned to step on the gas from Tupiza to Salta – almost 500km to do in four days. I thought it was achievable though because it was all on tarmac and there would be some great downhill runs. Turpiza is at about 3000m altitude, Salta is at 1170m!

The route from Tupiza to Villazon on the border started with a beautiful downhill, gliding through the spectacular coloured, jagged canyons. After about 30km I came to the valley floor and crossed a broad river and its floodplain.

Then the climbing started, gently at first, but the gradient gradually cranked up to between five and eight percent over for a 600m+ ascent. It was Rolando’s birthday and we came across a random barbecue happening by the side of the road (goat and pig slowly roasting). This was Heaven for Rolando, a meat lover, and we stopped for an early lunch.

The rest of the gently undulating road to Villazon was completed at good pace and I thought we would be able to get across the border that day. Unfortunately there were a for road blocks. We ended up having to stay in Villazon/Bolivia for another night.

Contrary to what we had heard, we didn’t have all the papers necessary – I had bought RAT tests with me but at the border they said they need to be verified by a health professional. We managed to get PCR test results, international car insurance and other requirements organised on a Saturday night/Sunday morning and we were through – I started cycling at around 1.30pm the next day with a lot of time to make up.

The first section was over the high plains that were slightly uphill to begin with but then levelled out completely. I made good time to Abra Pampa and then on to Tres Cruces, arriving in the dark, 104km from Villazon. I was pleased to make up some of the lost time after a frustrating morning.

The team had gone ahead to Tres Cruces while I was still riding and found a little Pizzeria with a room for the night. Staying with Joseph and Anna was one of those “this is why we travel” experiences. The couple had moved from Buenos Aires just before the start of the pandemic and now have a young son. They were still renovating their home and they lived pretty frugally – their place was made from rendered mud bricks and it was a bit dusty with lots of character. It was more than a pizzeria as the couple proceeded to join us and pull out the cervezas. Our first night in Argentina was a lot of fun with great home made pizzas new friends.

Tres Cruces forms a part of the boundary for a UNESCO World Heritage listed region, Quebrada de Humahuaca, selected for its outstanding natural beauty and cultural heritage. Descending through the region was a luxury after so long in the high altitudes. The towns seem much more developed than in Bolivia – better roads, neat, tidy and well set up for tourists. The day had been going very well until a headwind that funnelled up the enormous valley spoiled the party. 

On one hand I was enjoying the scenes – colourful jagged mountains, a more fertile valley with trees, crops and other greenery – on the other hand, I was being knocked around by the gusting headwinds. The highway wasn’t wide enough for the traffic and was without a hard shoulder. This made the second half of the day a real challenge. I had to try to push through it to have a chance of arriving in Salta the next day. Reaching Tumbaya after 137km gave me a fighting chance.

From Tumbaya I ascended for about 100m and then, a big downhill. I suddenly found myself cycling through the rainforest. I could hear the different bird calls, the roadside vegetation was completely green (rather than spiky acacias and cacti) and the temperature much warmer and steamier.

The highway suddenly expanded to two lanes and the traffic became very heavy. I had a hard shoulder but had to keep my wits about me crossing the slip roads. Through a lack of signage I was funnelled onto the wrong autopista – an extra 12km I didn’t need to do! Back on the RN 9, the road gradually quietened down as I crossed agricultural land. There were fields of maize and faber beans (I think), lots of cattle, sheep and horses. The route tracked around a reservoir and was an absolute highlight, gradually climbing back into the foothills of the Andes. There was nothing too severe, but the experience of the winding path through the rainforest with overhanging vines and twisted root systems was infinitely more pleasant than slogging it through the motorway traffic. I ascended about 400m from the low point for the day and then down into Salta – pleased to make it after 153km for the day. 

The city is beautiful – very Spanish with well-preserved colonial buildings and churches. It has a population of around 700,000. Due to the out of control inflation in Argentina at the moment, money goes a bit further here and we ended up finding a lovely AirBNB accommodation for two days to reboot.

While designing this expedition last year, I read an article in The Explorers Club Journal about the discovery in 1999 of three Incan child mummies found near the 6739m summit of Llulliallaco volcano that lies of the Argentine/Chilean border. It is the highest archaeological site in the world, and the mountain is the world’s third highest active volcano. 500 years ago, near the end of the Inca’s reign, three young children, a 15 year old girl, a boy (aged 7) and another girl (aged 6) were sacrificed to the Gods in the hope of bringing prosperity to their communities during an Incan ritual called capacocha. I came to Salta to see the perfectly preserved 500 year old mummies, The Children of Llulliallaco, and learn more about them and the final two years of their short lives.

This will be for the 10th instalment, coming soon.

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My rest day was indeed a break from the bike, but it was an opportunity to see a little of what Quetena Chico, a town of about 500 people, had to offer. Rolando arranged for us to visit the museum, financed by NASA, that gave some great insights into the region, culture, geology and nature. Then we took a drive to see if we could find the Chaquilla Rock Paintings. About 8km from town, Rolando turned off on an unmarked gravel track towards the ancient lava field I had cycled through on the way in to Quetena Chico. 

The region around the lava field had a very different feel – amongst the weathered gorges, llamas grazed on the green grassy spring-fed wetland. There were a couple of equally weathered signs to show the artwork was there, but no other information. Some of the rock faces made a perfect canvas for the ancient artists. One site in particular was rich with images of what life was like, what they hunted and farmed. The paints were most likely made from local minerals – red, white and yellow probably from iron, white and yellow from maybe ochre/clay.

Crossing the Lipez Mountains that form a physical barrier between the Altiplano and the Puna de Atacama, had always loomed as one of the toughest sections of the journey due to the altitudes, rough tracks and remoteness.

Day 1 out of Quetena Chico was the toughest for altitude – 1512 metres of climbing over 65km in almost 8 hours! Our lunch break was at 4713m, then a drop to 4552m before climbing to 4905m. I then dropped to 4444m, crossed another stream before climbing to 4800m! 

The gradients were really knocking me around. The first couple of steep climbs with a lot of loose stones, wash aways and corrugations (10-15% gradients) really sapped me. I decided it was not sustainable to try to cycle up anything over 10%, I just walked my bike to try to manage my workload and the lactic acid in my legs. There were no bridges either, so that meant I needed to cross the streams – cycling if possible, carrying my bike if it looked too deep.

Despite the hardships, scenically the region is spectacular and there were many sights I will never forget.

Day 2 began with a spectacular 6km drop before climbing back up to 4720m to visit the ghost town of San Antonio de Lipez. Once a silver mining town with a population of around 150,000 people in its heyday, it was suddenly abandoned about 50 years ago. Some believe that a group of miners had a pact with the devil and when they did not keep their end of the bargain, they were killed. Townsfolk believed the place was haunted and almost overnight, the town was deserted.

It is amazing how much the buildings have returned to nature after a relatively short time. The stone buildings were crumbling faster than they normally would have due to the poor quality mortar weathering.

Thankfully after climbing out of San Antonio de Lipez, I was over the big climbs for now and enjoyed some fantastic descents, albeit very rough and sandy. By the time we reached San Pablo de Lipez, the main village in the region, I was feeling shaken to the core from the constantly rough surfaces. 

Leaving San Pablo on Day 3 of this section of the journey, I opted for a slightly longer but less mountainous route that, once over a ‘warm-up’ 4km climb, I dropped several hundred metres to a vast plain. The silt from the river gave the impression of a river of chocolate!

It was a very different landscape with the vast floodplain. The track was indeed flatter but, as with most flatter land it comes with a cost of a lot of sand and corrugations. After the village of Cerrillos (50km) we turned towards Tupiza, initially across open plains with small rises, but towards the end of the day, the mountains loomed. My legs were shot as I managed one final 4km climb for the day, over a 4400m pass and then dropped a couple of kilometres to where Toby and Rolando had set up camp.

This left me 88km to do on the day into Tupiza. Rolando knew the road – a better quality surface than what I had been enduring the previous three days, but there were some very big climbs. Rolando thought I would fall short. 

The gradient of the first climb wasn’t too bad, mostly 5-7% and I did that easily. From the pass, the road stayed high above beautiful valleys, now much greener than the western side of the Lipez ranges. I loved the track, winding over and around the hilltops. Things were going well, with a welcome tailwind fanning me along and over some short steep rises. But, there were two massive climbs still to do before I reached Turpiza.

I entered a strikingly different landscape of rugged red seams of rock, eroded into jagged spires and greener valleys and hills. The penultimate climb (220m elevation gained) I managed well, but the final climb involved a 500m elevation gain, back up to 4367m and it was seriously steep, the first section around 13% gradient.

The views at the summit looking over the Tupiza landscape made it worth it, along with a 26km descent – one of the most spectacular I have ever done.

The final climb and descent was filmed for the cycling app, FulGaz, so I hope to share the experience with indoor cyclists some time this year.

Tupiza was also a pleasant surprise. It is a vibrant city of 50,000 people set amongst the towering red sandstone peaks and spires. Entering the streets, I was immediately mixing it with the tuk-tuks (known as toritos in Bolivia). It seems to have a whole different vibe to the other cities and at an elevation of just 3000m, the Tupiza River valley were green and fertile for livestock. Tupiza is an agricultural, railway and trade centre, with important mining districts in its vicinity.

In 1908 the infamous American outlaws Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid carried out their last robberies in Tupiza. After holding up a payroll train, both were cornered by a small platoon of the Bolivian Army in the mining town of San Vicente, 90km away. The story of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid was made famous by the film of the same name, starring Paul Newman and Robert Redford.

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The southwest corner of Bolivia is an unworldly place. Just before reaching Laguna Colorada, I entered the Eduardo Avaroa Andean Fauna National Reserve, home to a treasure trove of natural wonders. The reserve’s major attractions are erupting volcanoes, hot springs, geysers, lakes, fumaroles, mountains and its three endemic species of flamingos in particular.

In researching the topic of what the mountains mean to the Andean people, past and present, I found out that the mountains have always been venerated by the Andean people, considered the main sources of water, fertility and livestock. As such, the mountain peaks make up the axes that give meaning to the landscape. Two of the primary mountains for the Andes cultures are Licancabur and Uturuncu.

I originally planned to cycle down as far as Volcan Licancabur and then on into Chile, but that plan was thwarted by the Chile border closures. Visiting Licancabur is still important to the story I want to create, so we took a diversion, driving from Laguna Colorada, to Sol de Mañana, Polques and Licancabur (before resuming the cycle journey from where I stopped pedalling at Laguna Colorada the next day. 

We drove to almost 4950 m elevation to see the first attraction on our diversion, the giant volcanic cauldron – Sol de Mañana. Here some of the Earth’s energy comes bubbling and hissing to the surface. Sulphurous steam pours constantly into the atmosphere and gloopy mud boils in the pools.

Sol de Mañana was used as a testing ground for NASA’s Mars Rover and it is easy top see why. It is the one place on Earth that has similar conditions to Mars at altitude it is cold, bleak but void of snow and glaciers.

The Bolivian government is in the process of harnessing the geothermal energy from Sol de Mañana to sell, most likely to Chile. Nearby there was a lot of development and activity such as laying the pipes.

Moving on towards the far southwest corner of the country, we stopped at Polques, famous for its mineral springs, before heading for Licancabur.

VOLCAN LICANCABUR

Towering above the aquamarine waters of Laguna Verde in the far southwest corner of the Bolivian Altiplano is Volcan Licancabur. Located on the Bolivia/Chile border, the crater lake on the summit of Licancabur is said to be the world’s highest lake.

Licancabur is one of the most sacred of all mountains in the region. The mountain was particularly attractive to the Incas because of its almost-perfect symmetrical cone shape, and its height – 5921 m.

The Incas used the sacred mountain to perform sacrifices and ruins can still be found near the summit. Mountain worship and sacrifice was a common feature across all Andean cultures over the centuries, but the high mountain sites, those that are 5200 m and above, have all been attributed to the Incas.  It seems that only the Incas had the knowhow, organisational skills and motivation to go higher than other cultures, whether it be a show of power to dominate the cultures they conquered or to impress the Gods to secure their water sources, fertility and ultimately, their prosperity.

High on the saddle between Licancabur and its neighbour, Jurisques, at just over 4600 m, lies the ruins of an Incan tambo – used as a base camp to prepare for the ceremonies on the summit, and to acclimatise. The site first belonged to the indigenous people of the region – the Kumsa. The Kumsa lived there long before the Incas came through and displaced them so they could use the site for their purposes. 

Toby and I scrambled up a rocky climb to the tambo to explore the site. I had a sketch map of the ruins but without a guide, it was hard to know exactly what we were looking at. There was so much to see. I tried to imagine what might have taken place in the main rectangular courtyard – religious gatherings, sacrifices, preparations to scale Licancabur. 

The 360° views were amazing, with Licancabur towering above and Juriques, often referred to as the ‘bleeding mountain’ because of its red iron-based rocks on the east side. Sairecabur, which is just to the north of Licancabur, would have been a 7000 m mountain before it blew its top. At the base of Licancabur is Laguna Verde, which gets its green colour from the copper content in the water – according to Rolando, it is not as green as it once was.

We travelled back to Polques to stop for the night and in the morning drove back to the point where I stopped cycling at Laguna Colorada. The aim of Day 25 was to reach Quetena Chico, only 53 km away. Rolando said there was a climb, but from the lake level, it looked fairly innocuous. However, I always seemed to be chasing the horizon, climbing a steady 3-5% gradient on varying surfaces. Nearing the summit, the road became a rollercoaster, each peak higher than the previous one. The dips were filled with monster corrugations ensuring I couldn’t get any momentum to climb the next slope. 

After about 25 km I finally reached the summit – 4850 m – where I caught the first glimpses of Volcan Uturuncu, the 6008 m volcano I was planning to cycle up (as far as the track goes).  The descent to Quetena Chico (4145 m), the village at the base of Uturuncu, was a lot of fun, except the road was incredibly rough, mostly very stoney. Always Uturuncu was looming in front of me. It was a majestic sight but knowing I was going to climb it made me feel humble and very insignificant. Rolando said, “think of David and Goliath”.

Quetena Chico has a bit of a Wild West feel about it with its dusty streets set in a valley flanked by rocky gorges and cliffs. Our accommodation is clean and well-managed, a perfect base for climbing Uturuncu.

VOLCAN UTURUNCU

As with many volcanoes in the region, Uturuncu has been mined for sulphur. The abandoned Susana mine is about 9 km from the town and there is another ruin near the summit, which is the reason why the track was built up the mountain. The mines however have been disused for many years and no maintenance has been done on the track except for clearing major rockfalls that block the path. The track is extremely rough, mostly stoney, and where there are few stones, there is sand. The gradients are notoriously steep. The track, that goes as far as the saddle between the twin peaks, reaches an elevation of 5770 m and has for several years been recognised as the highest cycleable track in the world. I wanted to give it a go over two days. It is 30 km from Quetena Chico to the summit. 

The aim of Day 1 was to reach at least half of the altitude. Out of Quetena Chico (4145 m), I crossed a small stream and followed the rough track through spectacular valley for 2.5 km before the climbs started – sharply. Very quickly I was looking down on the valley and gorges, coping with one stoney/sandy climb after another. Most gradients were around 10% according to my Wahoo cycle computer. 

After 8.3 km I came across the first derelict sulphur mine, the sulphurous odour and the yellow ground was a bit of a giveaway.

After a brief levelling off, the stoney track rose sharply ascending an open plain, so steeply at the end I had top push the bike (for the 14% gradient). At that point, 15 km done, we stopped for a lunch break. From there it was into a series of hairpins, 8-12% gradients where a lot of energy was also going into staying on the bike and avoiding the huge stones, wash aways and loose gravel. I managed 5 km without stopping, reaching an altitude of 4939 m over 20 km. That was enough for Day 1. I was really pleased top be able to hang in there to reach that level.

On Day 2 we left early, taking an hour and a half to drive to where I stopped the previous day. This time, as required, we had to bring a guide with us, Marcos. It is pretty tough starting on a 10% gradient at around 5000 m, but I felt empty – there was nothing in the tank. I think a big part was the altitude (although I have cycled to 5360 m before, the road was much easier), I had really pushed above and beyond the previous day and this was my seventh day since Uyuni without a complete day off the bike. We are also finding it difficult to get enough of the right food and breakfast was woefully inadequate for doing this level of activity. 

I cycled for only about 1 km of the 7 km I did on the second day, the rest I pushed. The average gradient was 10%, the steepest around 16% and it was all rocky or soft. The limit for vehicles was 5550 m and just above that the snow started to block the track. Often Uturuncu is clear of snow, but as we have found is consistent with this colder, wetter season, the mountain was carrying an unusual amount of snow. I had to pull the pin at just below 5600 m, 3 km away from the end of the track (which was under snow). I was a bit disappointed not to get to the end of the track, but still pleased with the effort, that I had pushed that far under my own steam and to see Quetena Chico as a speck in the distance.

Before I sign off, thank you everyone who has been sending me your supportive comments. It inspires me to keep turning the pedals. They mean a lot to me, even though I can’t reply to them very well.

The post Breaking the Cycle update: Licancabur and Uturuncu – two sacred mountains appeared first on overland-europe.

Before leaving Uyuni, I hadn’t mentioned the reason for its existence – the railway. The town was established in 1893 when the railway line was built to link the nearby silver mines to the coast at Arica. From there it was linked to other places in the land-locked country. On the outskirts of Uyuni is the enigmatic Train Cemetery. Two long lines of engines have been left to corrode on a pair of disused tracks. They all have character and stories to tell beneath the layers of rust.

Bidding farewell to Uyuni for the last time, I cycled southwest around the southern perimeter of the Uyuni Salt Pan. The salty ground made for the pretty fast unsealed road. It was similar to the salt road I had cycled on in Namibia, just not in the same pristine condition. To my north, a couple of islands appeared to float above the mirage of the salty wetland.

After 86 km I reached the most significant town in the area, San Cristobel, maintained by the international silver mining company that extracts silver and other minerals from the mountain behind the town.

The road was in various stages of being upgraded to a sealed road and I was able to slip along the roadworks and semi-prepared surfaces for the second half of the day. (Vehicles had to take the side roads). Apparently the road has been under construction for two years so far. Knowing that most of this section of the journey was going to be on rugged surfaces, I was keen to get as much distance as I could under my belt and managed 121 km before stopping win the small mining-related village of Culpina.

Just 15 km into Day 22 and Rolando stopped beside a memorial to a battle fought in 1879 between Bolivia and Chile during the Pacific Wars. The Battle of the Canchas Blancas (White Fields) was when Bolivia repelled Chilean troops, sending them into retreat over the mountains. Bolivia was usually considered the underdog in these wars, with a much smaller population and smaller defence force, so the win over Chile is always remembered as an important international victory.

The mountains were always looming and after 25 km, it started to climb, from 3828 m in Villa Alota to 4499 m later in the afternoon. One of the most spectacular parts of my ascent was pedalling through a huge lava field where the ancient floe had weathered into fantastic shapes, dwarfing me as I laboured up the slope.

It wasn’t just the altitude testing me, I seemed to have ferocious headwinds and sidewinds all day, even when I changed direction! It was a day with no easy wins – resistance all the way; wind, sand, altitude, rocky sections, steep inclines…

Eventually I reached Lake Hedionda (translates as the “stinky lake” due to the sulphurous odour from the lake. I was getting very cold as the sun disappeared behind the mountains, but I could appreciate my first view of pink and white Andean flamingoes foraging in the shallow, saline waters.

We ended up camping on a concrete surface on the grounds of an Eco-Lodge – 87 km done in about 7 hours of brutal cycling.

From Lake Hedionda, we thought it was about 71 km to Laguna Colorada, but it was difficult to tell exactly because the path was not a made road, it was just wheel tracks made by 4WD vehicles, taking the most direct route. 

The first 7 km was spectacular, passing three more saline lakes, the most perfect was Laguna Honda – I had seen images of it, but the experience exceeded the images!

From there, I passed another dry salt lake and crossed a stoney plain before the road started to ascend. If I didn’t have the wind at my back I would have really struggled to make it. The gradient wasn’t steep, averaging around 3%, but it was relentless and the tracks were corrugated, soft and at times, stoney. I started at 3823 m and after about 20 km had risen to 4550 m. I came through a small canyon and then followed a gorge, still rising for several kilometres, with water from a spring trickling down the track. Through the gorge and the track continued to rise, topping out at 4668 m.

The other side was sandy as I descended about 200 m, passing a small army barracks and then across a gibber (stoney with soft sand underneath). This was dreadful! I could only manage about 7 km/h, getting shaken to pieces by the loose stones and corrugations. Vehicle tracks striated the slopes and I was always trying to find a better surface, but all in vain.

Finally working my way through that, there were a couple of surprising features.

In a rock escarpment I saw my first vizcacha, a wild Bolivian rabbit with extra thick fur for the cold. The rocks also supported great examples of the llareda plant, which looks like a giant moss, but it only grows 1 mm/year. The plants I was looking at were probably more than a thousand years old. The locals say a llareda plants burns for longer than coal.

The tracks converged to become a road, but the surfaces were terrible. 4WDs simply speed over the top of the very deep corrugations that have shaken many vehicles and motorbikes to pieces over the years. By the time I reached the Rock Tree in the late afternoon, I too was nearly broken. There were many tracks running parallel to the main track, made by vehicles in search of a smoother path. I was often tempted to try the other tracks, but they were always very sandy and would be slower than the bumpy firmer surfaces.

I reached my target distance but not the destination. Laguna Colorada was still 12 km away. We called it quits and drove to the accommodation and I finished off the distance in the morning. That was a brutal day!

Lake Colorada is a jewell in the southwest of Bolivia. It also demarcates where the Altiplano finishes and the Martian-like Lipez Mountains start. The lake’s famous red colour comes from an endemic type of microbe that also helps the local flamingoes maintain their pink colour.

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