Stormy Sunday: Route 52-km144 to km3-Pumamarca.

June 5, 2016

I am perfectly snug in my sleeping bag, except for the wind repeated buffeting of the tent keeps me awake most the night.

The bottom of this trench tight against a high east facing rock face, I thought would be sheltered, but no place seems immune from the strong westerly wind, which after a short period of calm, when you think it has died down, can be heard as a great swirling gust coming from afar toward the tent, hitting the tent side on with a violent rocking. It blows in underneath and would lift the tent off the ground if my weight and panniers weren't inside to keep it down. I worry the tent won't withstand much more.

I eventually get to sleep, but am awakened by what feels like a thump to the left side of my head. An almighty blast of wind having hit the tent. The panniers on the floor of the tent to the left of me, have been pushed over onto me and the bike, which I'd laid alongside the tent has been pushed over too, its saddle protrudes into the tent wall. The air tastes of dust. My watch shows 06.57. Its daylight and time to get up. I worry though about getting the tent down safely in this storm.

There's sand over everything outside.

I do however manage to shield the alcohol stove in the outer tent enough to boil water for tea.

I am down to my last oat biscuits for breakfast with just a few left for lunch and get the tent down and packed away in an interval of calm.

Susques, a small place, but the only town in over 300km of altoplano.

The good thing is I've a great tailwind today too when I get going and I should be able to cover the hundred and forty kilometres by nightfall to the village of Pumamarca, down at a lower altitude.

A short way on from where I'd camped I reach the small town of Susques, with unpaved street with low crumbling plaster adobe houses either side, where a gust of wind blows a cloud of dust along. The place reminds me of Bolivia, as the inhabitants, a group of men on the street corner chatting and laughing as I pass are short and dark indigenous, so too is a woman shopkeeper standing in the doorway of her shop. She laughs too, seeming to find me on a bike amusing. She doesn't stock anything other than soft drinks and sweets, but there's a shop next door where I buy an apple and two bananas, which the old woman behind the counter excepts a torn in half five peso banknote for, as I don't have smaller change.

The town is situated in a dry river valley which the road on follows for only a kilometre before a steep climb winds up the hillside, where the wind changes to crosswind on a north to south section until the way swings east again upon the hilltop, where follows about fifteen kilometres down and then up through a chaos of hills. The wind varying from tail to crosswind as the road veers right and left. Then, descend steeply through a narrow canyon, where I see the first tree cactus, which don't grow higher than about 3600m altitude. A gladdening thought to be losing altitude.

Out of the canyon and across a dry streambed, there's one short uphill lip before the way ahead opens to a vast plain. The road veering slightly to south east, meaning the wind's between tail and crosswind, enough to push me along with the bike lent over at an angle into it, with sudden gusts pushing me out across the road. Ahead is a haze of airborne dust and passing a lone spur of hills, which seem to funnel the wind to increasing strength. At which point five electric poles have snapped off and the electricity lines are down on the left and there's a great column and cloud of dust being whipped up, though when I get as far the dust has moved off to the left.

It is barely visible as downhill, but the plain is every so gradually downhill all the way to cross the salt flats basin of "Salinas Grande" where salt is mined and there's a visitor centre as it's a tourist attraction, well, a salt house but no amenities such as a café to get in out of the wind.

I take shelter behind the east facing wall of the salt house where there's a seat to lunch on oat biscuits and an apple. And having finished the coke I bough yesterday, I try the water I filled at the petrol station at Jama, but there's such a strong taste of chlorine, that I spit it out and do without drinking anything.

The way on is gradually uphill toward hills which rise along the eastern side of the plain, until climbing a passage through them into a valley the other side, with a winding climb back up to over 4000m ahead, though, an easy gradient. The only thing is the crosswind is so strong on one section, I've to get off and push.

Once up over the summit its extremely blustery as the road levels out. There's a drop mush of the way along the right side and as the road begins its downward spiral, I'm weary that the wind could push me off the edge on one section. Farther down though the hill provides shelter from the wind.

I froze as a black snake wound down the hillside across my path.

Early June. The light, colour and early hour of nightfall, like early December in Europe.

Photo inspired by CGOAB Chris White, due to plact on gatepost which says "Hostel Boutique" Instead I just turn up at a humble hostel.

I descend the remainder of the afternoon, down through a bare rock valley of warm colours and cactus on lower slopes, where its milder and approach the village of Pumamarca, within an hour of nightfall, just as the late afternoon sun cast long shadows with rich colour in autumnal roadside trees. Deep blue sky with a few fragments of cloud.

There are many houses and farms with small pasture fields and people walking. A herd of goats being driven though shrubs to the side. Then a little girl and her brother, each carrying two lambs, one in each arm, at the head of a flock of sheep emerging from a field on the right, just on the edge of town, such a contrast to the emptiness of the altiplano.

I pause a moment at the gateway to a swanky looking hostel, seeing "Hostel Boutique" on gatepost board makes me laugh. Then I pass two more expensive looking hostel-tourist complexes on the way in to the plaza.

I remember from a previous visit here a humble hostel just off the plaza, so head for it hoping its still there. It is and I check in.

Today's ride: 141 km (88 miles)
Total: 10,695 km (6,642 miles)

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