The plan was originally to cycle a very “wild” route, from the Atacama desert up into the Bolivian high plains (border crossing at 4900m) and across the salt flats, but getting ill and not feeling confident about either acclimating or carrying 7 days of food made me opt for a safer, paved, more populated route from Salta basically straight north to Uyuni.

Day 1 – nervous

I don’t know why, but I was a little trepidatious about the trip. Maybe because I had been ill, maybe because I was going to be cycling from 1100m up to 4000 meters elevation and beyond, or maybe because traveling without the bike was so comfortable; whatever it was, I left Salta uneasy and not knowing why. Soon enough though, I felt great. After cycling through the poorer parts of town, the road pitched up, snaking it’s way on a (paved) road as wide as a bike line from hot jungle to cool jungle to cloud forest. I stopped to chat with a few other bikepackers, an American couple who were thrilled to meet another American. The guy had been on the road for three years, with 71,000km in his legs. Incredible.

I carried on, and at viewpoint at the crest of the cloud forest road, I met an Argentinian couple who were mightily impressed by my exploits. If they only knew, haha!

Day 2 – change of scenery

Day two was the start of the ascending in earnest, as the next 190km would take me from 1200m to 3700+, with the 90ish planned for the day taking me up to 2400m+. Things started out pretty green, not quite lush, but verdant. As the altitude ticked up, the foliage turned more arid and brushy. Then it changed completely and I was in a desert with giant cactuses and hillsides with cool colors from different layers of sediment deposited over the last 600 million years. Except somehow it was also still surprisingly green.

I stayed the night in an old convent which had llamas as pets. Awesome. And met up with some Swiss friends I had made in Salta, which was even better.

Day 3 – double the pleasure

While day 2 had some “roll” to it, day 3 was almost literally straight uphill. I kept it short to keep the elevation gain to a minimum (most advice says not to gain more than 500m per day), and I finished the 45km to 3000m by lunch. Again, pretty surreal territory, a mix of more gently-sloping, brush-covered hillsides and jagged, 50-shades-of-red cliffs.

I was super fortunate that the Swiss couple was again in the same town and had agreed to wait for me before doing the main attraction of the area. So we bought some coca leaves (even though it’s legal, it still felt very illicit to me, like trying to buy alcohol with a fake ID), hopped in their car, drove an hour on shitty corrugated roads I know all too well, climbing to 4350m (I would have needed a full day to do it on a bike), and saw the spectacular Hornocal or the “Peak of 14 colors”. Was one of the places that you just stare at in silence, and every time you turn around to leave, you have to peak back over your shoulder to see it one last time. Surreal.

Day 4 – legs of a god…

…but let’s be honest, only a minor god, like Zeus’s cousin’s nephew’s half-brother. I’m no Mathieu van der Poel. Anyway. At this point, the valley had risen up to meet the mountains, turning the once tall and steep mountains into more rolling hills on a high-altitude plateau, a mix of greens and reds as far as the eye could reach.

And then it happened. At 3300m, I felt the spirit of Lance Armstrong embrace me, the needle go in, and suddenly I had red blood cells galore. I had been so worried about getting altitude sickness, this sudden second wind had me feeling euphoric, better than I had any right to feel. And that without the coca!

So good, in fact, that I parked my bike and jog-hiked an hour to a site with petroglyphs dating to 10,000 BC. Amazingly enough, though the site was only protected in 2017 and is marred by graffiti, the only penis art actually dates back to before Christ. Some things never change, eh?!

The remainder of the ride was lovely, passing the “sleeping giants”, another crazy rock/sedimentary formation.

I stayed with a young family that runs a one-room hospedaje in what has been the most lovely “local” experience yet. Drinking mate, cooking dinner together, chatting as well as we could with my Spanish. Really an experience I relish.

Day 5 – riding into infinity and I hate my saddle

Most cyclists will tell you that they don’t like long, straight roads in wide open landscapes. It just doesn’t feel like you’re moving forward. Today was like that. The landscape changed so slowly it was almost imperceptible, from faded green-gray bushes to yellows and dusty browns. Landmarks were so non-descript they just faded into the background. After three hours I had no real visual cues that I had gone anywhere. Rough. Still, the sheer vastness of the empty country here is impressive.

On top of that, my ass hurt. It always hurts, but this was extra bad. I’m surprised I haven’t complained about my saddle yet, but I’m ticking that box now. It’s awful. I don’t get sores, thank god, but it’s wicked uncomfortable. Every day the first two hours hurt, then the pain is kinda numbed away and only the general discomfort remains. I’d change, but…the devil you know!

Alright, so that’s it for Argentina. I’ll cross into Bolivia tomorrow unless I have issues, which I might, because the visa is complicated and of course I’m ill-prepared. Then four more days cycling and I’ll hit the salt flats, at which time I’ll become a regular tourist again. Will be nice after eight or nine straight days of serious cycling!