Get out and ride - The deep south

The 2006 GlobeBusters High Andes Expedition was an epic adventure in every sense of the word. Rod Chapman went along for the ride. Story & pics Rod Chapman

Ah yes, election time in Latin America. We were a few days away from the election of Peru’s next president, and to voice their disapproval of both of the candidates in question, Peruvian campesinos – the peasants and farmers – had decided to block roads all over the country. Power to the people indeed – but with our group of seven bikes and one van on a fairly tight schedule, why did it have to be happening now?

It’s one of the realities of travelling in South America: the surprise you least expect is often around the very next corner. However, this uncertainty is also one of the great joys of travel in this mysterious continent, as Julia Sanders had told us at the outset. If the name rings a bell, it should – this was a GlobeBusters tour of the High Andes, GlobeBusters being the tour company set up by double Guinness World Record holders Kevin and Julia Sanders.

In addition to running BMW’s rider training school in southern Wales, the company also runs tours through the Americas. This journey, the High Andes Expedition, would span seven weeks, during which our group would explore Argentina, Bolivia, Peru and Chile, covering some 5500 miles in the process.

Our group comprised Nigel and Helen (R1150 GS), Liam (R1200 GS), Mark (R1150 GS Adventure), Paul (ST1100), Peter (DL1000V) and David (R1200 GS), with Chris and Liz leading the tour on their Africa Twin, with Julia and I bringing up the rear in the support vehicle – a Transit.

Yes, I was spending the majority of this trip either behind a steering wheel or a camera, but when Kevin and Julia asked me whether I’d like to come along on the High Andes trip in a support role, I didn’t need to be asked twice.

The thrills began right from the start. Once we’d waded through the quagmire of red tape to get our vehicles released from the docks in Buenos Aires, it was straight into the mayhem of the city they call ‘the Paris of South America’.

With its beautiful architecture, broad boulevards and hustle and bustle it’s true to its tag, but when you’re in control of a vehicle in Buenos Aires’ peak hour traffic, there’s only one word on your mind – survival!

Actually, once you’ve acclimatised, it’s not as bad as it first appears. Simply aim for where you want to go, accelerate, and take care to avoid anyone in front of you. We followed the Atlantic coast north briefly before turning north-west. The first couple of days were 400-mile jobs, stopping at Santa Fe then Termas de Rio Hondo, taking us deep into the mortarboard-flat expanse of the Pampas lowlands.

The distant snow-capped peaks of the Andes begin to edge into view near the north-west Argentine centre of Salta, and then after that we began our ascent into the mountains themselves.

By the time we’d reached Tilcara, we were in another world. With steep, cacti-peppered mountains in various hues of ochre all around, the villages were now largely constructed from mud bricks, and the predominantly European faces of the nation’s capital have been replaced with the broad-nosed, tanned features of the Quechua Indians.

We’ve got a border crossing the next day, so we set out early. Crossing land borders in Latin America can be like trying to find your way down a hall of mirrors. It’s full of dead-ends, U-turns and mystery. Language problems and the odd corrupt official only add to the fun.

The crossing from La Quiaca to Villazon, in Bolivia, is no different, but tour leaders Chris and Liz – who have been travelling South America independently by bike for the last two years – expertly guide us through the maze in a couple of hours.

The crossing itself is a blur of activity. There are people and animals everywhere, while men, women and children scurry across the border lugging 50kg sacks of concrete on their backs – the desperation in their steps underlined by the fact they don’t stop for anything, even a Transit van.

Now we faced Bolivia – South America’s poorest nation – and about 200 miles of rough, spine-jarring dirt road through the desert. The difference to Argentina is stark, and instant. Vehicles are rare and the mud huts become ever smaller.

At the end of the day, Tupiza comes as a welcome break. Taking a day out to go mountain biking from 12,000ft and explore the local canyons, we then push on to the mining town of Potosi.

On the way David takes a tumble on his GS in a water crossing, landing heavily on the rocks below. He’s OK, and Chris is able to repair his cracked cylinder head at the next village, but the possibilities of what could have happened out here, miles from anywhere, lurk uncomfortably in the backs of our minds.

At an altitude of 13,400ft, Potosi is the highest city in the world – and it feels it. Because of the thin air, every step around its steep streets is an incredible effort, and for me a headache is never far away.

We are here to visit Cerro Rico – or rich hill as it translates from the Spanish – and witness miners at work in a silver mine where techniques haven’t changed in 500 years.

Travelling deep into one of the many shafts that penetrate this giant anthill of toiling humanity, it’s easy to see why the miners, or ‘maestros’, as they’re known, only live to around 40 years of age.

The air is filled with choking dust, including that of deadly iron oxide; the thin air adds to the difficulties and it’s hot – around 35 degrees – because the mountain itself is a (hopefully inactive) volcano. I decide to stick to writing for a living…

Now back on the tar, our next major stop is the unofficial Bolivian capital of La Paz, situated in a deep valley that now contains an impressive urban sprawl.

We have a day to kill here, so while some go off to mountain bike down the infamous ‘Road of Death’ – a winding mountain dirt road where buses regularly plunge into the abyss below – the rest of us head out to visit Tiwanaku, an ancient Indian civilization that pre-dates the Incas.

It’s an eerie place – silent except for the whistling of an icy wind that blows across the site, where once thousands of people made their home and paid homage to the sun, the stars and the moon.

Crossing into Peru the next day is a relaxed, one-hour affair. There’s a noticeable improvement in the general infrastructure, although we’re still obviously in a developing nation.

We head for the lakeside town of Puno, which is also our jumping off point for the Uros Islands – home to a civilization that has existed on these manmade reed islands for some 500 years, since the Incas forced them off the mainland.

The islanders use the abundant reeds for just about everything – from building the islands themselves, to building their houses, their boats, and many of the arts and crafts with which they now supplement their income.

Leaving Puno we bid farewell to Lake Titicaca, heading north-west for Peru’s old Inca capital of Cusco. After rolling through the bustling town of Juliaca, the space and sense of isolation that is typical of the altiplano envelopes us once again – until we hit the roadblock, with its queue of lorries, cars, and frustrated travellers.

In a way we were lucky: apparently this was a three-day roadblock, and we’d come upon it on the last day, six hours from its official end.

As to whether the Latin sense of timekeeping might affect that official end was yet to be seen, and plead as we might with the local village elders, it was clear we were going nowhere.

• For more details of similar trips tel Kevin
08452 304015
www.globebusters.com 

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