all downhill with a surprising uphill or two: Potosi to midway great gorge campsite.

July 21, 2016

I was awake early, feeling a dull pain in the chest. My lungs after walking up the hill to the mine yesterday. The combination of thin air and sooty exhaust fumes. I'm not feeling too well at all this morning.

I linger over breakfast, slightly light headed, talking to the English touring cyclist, Paul. He's staying here another day, then will set off tomorrow for Sucre. He give me the name of a hostel there, says it has good reviews on Hostelworld.

I finally get it together, the panniers packed on the bike ready to leave not long before the 10am check out time.

The walk up through the steep streets to the mine yesterday, was the way I came down when entering the city Sunday evening. At a split further up, I passed a sign with Sucre, pointing straight on. But I don't want to climb that hill again in the thin air and worse of all, the sooty exhaust fumes belching from the exhausts of all the old 1980s Nissan collectivos, small mini-buses. Blue smoke but more often black, hanging acridly in the street.

I ask at reception for a city-plan to show a better alternative to exiting the city in the direction of Sucre.

Same as above, but further to the left, showing "Cerro Rico" extreme left.

The street marked on the plan by the hostel receptionist was chaotic, full of collectives with their noxious emission, market-sellers wheeling barrows, pedestrians generally walking everywhere across the street, while I rock along over uneven cobblestones; one thing that made this way easy though, it was a steady gradual downhill, so I didn't need to breathe too deeply, thereby suffocating myself in the polluted air.

Eventually, I'm on a tarmac road which gradually climbs away from the city to a height, where I pause a moment looking back at the city, the ochre high mountain plateau devoid of vegetation, with the scattered brick structure houses over it all. A surreal location for a city if ever there was.

Dropping down, the city out off sight behind me, its cruising downhill the whole way with little more than an odd pedal stroke. I hit over 40kmph, generally the safe upper limit to descent on a heavily loaded bike; any faster, I apply brakes. Its risky looking to the side at the red rock and honey hued hills to the side of the valley the road passes down through. The increase in trees, small pine tree plantations and tall silvery barked eucalyptus trees.

I had commented to Paul, the English cyclist, that it is all downhill from Potosi to Sucre, well, the former is at 4200m above sea level, the latter about 2500. Now though, the valley has flattened out, running off to the right, I've crossed a bridge, with the road ahead rears up through the hills enclosing the valley I leave behind.

It has become a bugger of a climb. It started off a gentle incline; now its fairly steep. I'm on the biggest rear sprocket. The body feels wrecked with exhaustion. Leg muscles stiff and throbbing with pain. I stop to rest at regular intervals.

The other thing bothering me are drivers. They hoot the horn in a sustained blare two times when approaching me from behind, as if I can't hear them coming; especially annoying when trying to retain composure while climbing.

Pile of adobe building blocks, literally sun-baked mud, with freshly tilled field background.

Australian Merino sheep. Sheppard and livestock tending in general is done by women and children.

I struggle on until the road levels out upon a plateau, where I wheel the bike into the shade of an old roadside adobe house and sit down. Its lunchtime, but I don't feel like eating anything, except I drink a copious amount of coke.

While resting I watch Merino sheep move along the gravel shoulder upon the road's opposite side, some with two recently born lambs. They instinctively turn in a track to a farmhouse a little further; whereupon, pausing, one looks back at me as if to say "of coarse we turn in here. This is home, where we were born."

In the afternoon I continue for an hour, when I come to a dramatic downhill into a gorge. It is about the halfway point to Sucre, so I decide to call it an early day. There being a few camping possibilities to the outside of the road at this point, with possible view down into the gorge.

I halt at a track downhill, blocked off by moulds of tipped gravel, which I'm able to wheel the bike round. The track leading further out upon a narrow spur with near vertical slopes dropping away on three sides. There's a great view all around from this high point.

I pitch the tent. Eat the lunch I didn't eat, then lay down upon my sleeping mat to rest in the shade of the tent. I must've slept, as I awake at 5pm, when I move into the tent.

I hope to feel better in the morning.

I reach this point, roughly midway between Potosi and Sucre, at 3pm. I decide to call it an early day. What a great place to camp.

Today's ride: 81 km (50 miles)
Total: 11,967 km (7,432 miles)

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