Salar de Uyuni

Dusting off the layer of frost from the bike, we saddle up for the coldest ride of our lives, the sunlight struggling mightily to push aside the frigid hours of early morning. Ten minutes into the excursion the bikes ease to a stop, trading worried looks through 13 layers of fleece and nylon, our nose and forehead the only exposed skin. Ten more minutes, the hands assume a wooden consistency, the feet become a lost cause as I thank the years of skiing that has left few nerves to protest the inhumane treatment. The usual distraction of belting out country music only saps precious strength as movements are reduced to an absolute minimum.

Oddly the temperature gauge crept steadily higher despite the thermometer dropping far below freezing. Oh Lord, don't let the radiator be frozen I plead to no one in particular, knowing God himself left this place long ago. Yep solid as ice, our new friend from Holland points out. Quietly I mutter something about failing to mix enough antifreeze after rebuilding the bike. With no one to blame but myself, we pull the camping stove out and torch the radiator hoping to return the system to its liquid state. Successful, joy turns to disappointment as the prospect of continuing the ride surfaces among our thoughts.

Finally the sun lives up to its bargain and movement almost becomes bearable. Now it gets interesting. Snow. Fortunately the previous 100 miles or so of sand have prepared us quite nicely for the slippery conditions underfoot. With the first couple shudders and swings of the tires you maintain a death grip on the squirming handlebars. Several hours later though, the undulations become more bearable and you begin to understand where the limits of control lie. Finally the motions become so expected that the bike ebbs and flows on its own accord, the rider providing just enough input to keep the rubber side down.

As expected though, confidence turns to arrogance and the specter of a crash follows close behind. With only 1 minor skip yet on the snow, the speed crept higher and focus lost its edge. Therein lies the problem with the white fluffy stuff, it provides absolutely no warning of disaster. Sand is constantly slapping the bike around, while icy conditions are quite mellow until it's too late. With that knowledge tucked comfortably out of reach, I continued.

Amidst a flurry of exploding white and skidding metal all control was lost and I found myself writhing in pain on the icy road. No, no, Oh God, not the bad ankle. Pulling off my helmet the stabbing pain mounted to a surprising level as memories of a dislocated and fractured ankle mixed among the cursing. Well, I can move the joint, which is a definite upgrade from 2 years ago.

I picked the perfect group to bother with my misfortune. Helping me to the truck the Brits and Danish folks graciously offered their assistance. But the problem loomed of how to transport the despondent Kawasaki without me at the helm. European hospitality saved the day and our Danish friend decided this was a good time to refresh his motorcycling skills. Of course, after learning of the twenty years hiatus since the last ride, I knew his fiancé would have my head if anything went wrong. At least the snow blanketing the road would provide a slight cushion.

With the pain subsiding I began to soak up the comforts of traveling on four wheels. You mean you don't have to wear 7 layers when traveling? Scenery takes on a whole new perspective when its not accompanied by fearful lunges of two wheels. Though I suspect the passengers in the truck began to doubt the sincerity of my injury after observing the delight I held for their luxurious facilities.

Several hours later our ragtag group successfully pulled up to the Chilean border. A couple more miles of sand then precious concrete awaited our tired expedition. Tine, the courageous Dutchman who piloted my KLR was headed back to Bolivia, leaving the lonely bike without a driver. Strapping on my boots I sent up a quick prayer that I would keep my injured ankle firmly on the foot peg. The pain subsided to manageable levels, leaving the joint feeling similar to the first day out of a cast. Weak and unstable, but ok if standing still.