Salta to Olacapato
Landed in Salta, Argentina! One day to assemble the bikes, complete our 20 day resupply, and start heading toward our route: the Ruta de Los Seis Miles.
I can feel my mind drifting there, into that space, where I meld into the mountains and breathe as one with the desert. That space where my heart quickens, thumping in unison with the rhythm of landscape.
~20 days of food for the Ruta de Los Seis Miles~
~At a shopping mall in Salta, a loud roar blasted down the halls. We rounded the corner to see a packed food court full of fans, evidently cheering for Argentina in the World Cup.~
We took the bus from Salta to San Antonia de Los Cobres. After disembarking, the clouds rolled in and it starting hailing, but a soft hail, like snow. My hands immediately freezing. We got a room in a Hospedaje and spent two nights and a day acclimating. We climbed two small hills next to town, ~12,700 ft and ~13,300 feet. San Antonio de Los Cobres sits at 12,347 feet. That’s quite a jump in elevation from where we live at ~6,000 feet. Surprisingly, we slept well.
We rolled out of town late. The bikes heavy. The sun warm. The breeze cool. Ruta 51 is dirt from here. It was slow going, but ridable, even with the heavy load. We made it to camp at 13,139 feet around four, strong winds, still warm out. I slept for ten hours.
We spent most of the next day gaining an almost 15,000 foot pass. Alto Chorrillo, 4560 meters. We were offered water twice by passing trucks, and most trucks honked cheering us on. The photos might give you the idea that we’re in the middle of nowhere, and we are, but the highway, Ruta 51, is a busy highway. Constant traffic, even through the night.
The first part up to the pass was ridable, but the closer we got to the pass, the more I pushed my bike. Between the altitude, and the heavy load, pushing sometimes felt easier than riding. Except, that is, for the rib I had bruised the day before leaving home, loading my bike into its box. By the time we got to camp, and I crawled into the tent, my side was in shrieking pain from all that pushing. Thankfully it was tolerable again by morning.
We had the most epic camp spot at 13,732 ft. Two giant snowy mountains, yellow tussocks of grass, and big looming clouds. Minutes after crawling into the tent, a storm rolled through in full force. It was like a scene from The Perfect Storm, except in a tent in the middle of the Puna. The tent stakes were weighted down with heavy rocks, and two guy lines were tied to the bikes, but the tent still lifted with the epically forceful wind whipping all around. I tied my water bottle and heavy bags to the D-rings on the inside of the tent, and finally that seemed enough. After an hour or so the storm settled, and we had a peaceful night.
We anticipated an easy ride down to a little village, but the road was saturated and muddy from last night’s rain. Bumpy, slippery, washboard mud. It was a slow, cold, roll into town. We arrived in Olacapato hoping for a room in one of the Hospedejes. While waiting for an answer, we filled our bellies at the restaurant next door. Sweetbread, coffee, and eggs. Olacapato sits at 13,142 ft and is one of the highest towns in Argentina.
We got a modest room, showered, and cleaned our gear. I could still feel yesterday’s epic push. My sore rib, and just generally a little overwhelmed by it all. The altitude, the heavy bikes. Transported here from a different life.
We had another round at the restaurant with soup, pizza, steak, and one of the best tiramisu I’ve ever had. I slowly relaxed into the afternoon and evening, letting my mind wander and take in the experience.
PS, if you click on the smaller images that are grouped together, you can view the full size photos.