Vino tinto and American bank robbers

Sucre is an oasis of culture, Mediterranean weather, and easy breathing, and it pains me to leave. I have a passport that is expiring in the coming weeks and the weather down south will deteriorate soon so I need to be moving on. The consolation is the next leg of my journey will take me through Bolivian wine country and then on to Salar de Uyuni, a place I’ve looked forward to since I first dreamed about riding in South America. Unfortunately my timing has me riding through Bolivia in the rainy season and that doesn’t bode well for riding the salar. I speak with a number of jeep drivers from the various tour companies in Sucre hoping to hear the salar is still dry. As usual the accounts vary widely.

I bypass the cold and very high Potosi in lieu of a more remote and scenic dirt route to Camargo. With some effort I connect with the turn off slightly west of the small farming community of Sijllani. The rain has left its usual mark of mud and standing water but I’m lucky this day and the skies stay blue. The road winds through the Rio Samaya valley taking me through colorful landscapes that remind me of the American southwest. Camargo is a small community, home to a number of wineries and vineyards, and serves as a refueling stop for the big tour buses traveling north to Lapaz and south to Tarija. I stay at Hostal Cruz Huasa on the main drag, the price is right and they have their own vineyard, my kind of place. The rain comes as I’m uncorking the evening’s vino tinto. The lack of porous geology in the region means flash flooding is always a concern and the effects can be devastating. I venture out after the storm to witness some locals gathered on the north end of town. A waterfall is pouring over the cliff above and flooding the main avenue. The kids enjoy their temporary water park.

I’m treated to more colorful desert scenery for the ride to Tupiza the following day. The rain is mysteriously absent from my ride again, the beginning of a trend I hope. Tupiza is a thoroughfare for the tour buses running between Potosi in the north and Villazon in the south and has about four times the population of Camargo. The city’s markets aren’t quite as vibrant as those I’ve experienced in the north and the food offerings are lackluster at best. Speaking of food, it’s been a long time since I’ve stayed at a hostal that serves eggs and real coffee with it’s complimentary breakfast. I miss that. Instant coffee and bread is not breakfast, it’s a substandard snack. In spite of the poor breakfast offering, I like the atmosphere at Hotel Mitru. While there I befriend a couple of French overlanders who have traveled in Africa and are now traveling South America. I will stay in Tupiza for several days resting and planning my route through the salar and lagunas to the southern border with Chile.

Tupiza is in the vicinity of the small mining town of San Vicente. The town is known for being the location where the infamous Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were killed in a final gunfight. Some mystery surrounds the deaths of the two outlaws as their bodies were never properly identified yet they allegedly are buried in the town’s cemetery. The remote location of the town and controversial story compel me to take a day ride to retrace some of the history. The town is 75 miles from Tupiza at 15K feet in the Cordillera Occidental mountain range and I look forward to a day of riding without the full weight of my luggage. I take the giant wash that leads west out of Tupiza. The sand switches to hard pack and turns into a series of switchbacks that ascend quickly through a kaleidoscope of red, green, and brown rock formations and spits me out on a desert plain at about 13K feet. The bike is running great and I push the revs as I overtake a handful of jeep tours. The road is wearing its usual outfit of mud and standing water and again I encounter no rain. Water runoff from higher elevation rains make the remaining 20 miles a challenge as the road seems more like a river than a roadway. San Vicente has the feel of a mining town. While I have pleasant conversation with a number of its inhabitants there is a gloom that hangs over the pueblo. I’m unable to locate the proprietor of the town museo so I’m content with getting pics of the building and the cemetery where the remains of the two robbers are allegedly buried. I have one of the best saltenas I’ve had since La Paz then head back to Tupiza.