Salar de Archibarca to Potrerillo Creek

THE SHORTEST DAY

Am I a parasite?

What do I give back to the earth?

Is the exploration enough?

Is it enough to share this with you?

Is there not value in the beauty and the inspiration?

The temperature dropped to 15°F (-9.5C) by morning. We waited for the sun to crest the horizon before beginning the climb up to our first ~5000 meter pass. Frank starts first, but we catch up to him by first break. We slowly make our way up to the waypoint marked “Antofalla Basecamp” on our gps track. Frank is struggling with the elevation. The “basecamp” is at 14,605 ft.

We arrived early in the afternoon at “Antofalla Basecamp”, intending to continue over the pass, but the headwind was already fierce and we were already exhausted. We decide to call it a day after only ~12 kilometers. After an hour or so, Frank announces he feels really bad and is going to head back down and take a different route.

I spent the afternoon painting, and Neon passed the hours reading. The long afternoon turned into a trail “nero” of sorts. Restless with time, Neon’s anxieties were running high again. Such little progress was made today, his food dwindling down, the route slow and hard. More than any other adventure we’ve ever done, this one has had his hackles raised with deep discomfort, his nerves frayed, his uncertainties exploding. With all that in the air, neither of us sleeps well.

Waking was hardly better than not sleeping. Another 15°F (-9.5°C) morning—and a way too early start to ensure reaching the pass, and more importantly, descending down the other side—left my fingers brittle-y frigid with little feeling at the tips. My head swimming with lack of sleep once more, nauseous from not eating from the way too cold start, the first kilometers passed slower than necessary. The sun finally risen and warming the earth, I stopped to eat a bar, and shortly after for second breakfast. With more food in my blood, the kilometers started moving at a slightly better pace. The road was sandy and we pushed the last six kilometers to the pass together, the wind growing stronger.

We made the pass, 5003 meters (16,414 ft), snapped a quick photo and raced down the other side. The road was steep, and the sand deeper. My bike wobbled, having a hard time picking a line in the deep sand. I dropped it coming to a stop. The wind gusting every which way. We found a large rock to break behind. The wind swirled around it in earnest. The wind is not a friend here. It is a mischievous little devil, laughing and taunting.

We continued down, Neon having better success riding in the the sand with the side gusting headwind. I walked often. Closer to Laguna Patos, the sand improved and we made it to a place to camp behind some rocks.

I went to bed chilled, the wind blasting. I never got warm, and the temperature dropped again to 15°F (-9.5°C) by morning. We rushed out of camp early again. My fingers left with no feeling. A four hundred foot climb. A slow start. The sun emerged. We ate. Changed our outfits. Repacked. And began again.

The descent down the other side was relatively firm and we made good time. The fast descent improved our moods. We stopped for a warmer break near Laguna Cajeras. Burros stared curiously at our presence. The route climbed slightly and we wondered if it would be rideable or sandy. The wind blew at our backs, and we climbed with ease. The wind blew so hard, there were times my speedometer reached speeds greater than 20 kilometers/hour without even pedaling.

The wind was gusting hard by the time we reached the pass and the “Dune of Doom”. The “dune of doom” is a steep sandy ~cliffside with a singletrack line that descends very quickly, and did I say steeply?! And like one of those unbelievable scenes in a movie, somehow the shock cord on my seat/rack bag got wrapped, several times, around my rear hub, which I didn’t notice until the wind was trying to blow us off the “dune of doom”. I had to cut it in two places before I could untangle it from my hub. Thankfully, the wind subsided some as we descended down the sandy face. Have I mentioned that you cannot trust the wind here?

Slight up, then nice rolling down into the next valley at the northern end of the Salinas del Fraile and Potrerillo Creek. It was still early and the air was warm. More burros stood curiosity at our presence. We set up camp in some rock ruins near the creek. We washed in the water, cleaned some clothes, and gathered water. The freezing morning seemed a distant memory and the warm sun improved my mood. The next morning we waited for the sun to rise before crawling out of our sleeping bags. It was a civilized waking.