yes I admit its getting better: midway gorge campsite to Sucre.

July 22, 2016

This has been the first warm morning for a long long time. The first sign that spring's on the way, where I'm up before sunrise without the need for warm cloths. In fact I didn't even need to zip up the sleeping bag last night.

My campsite is out upon a high spur remember, jutting out in the middle of a river gorge, with a fine view all around. Without a doubt one of the best campsites of the tour, where I watch the sun break over the hills while eating "Dulce de Leche" sweetened porridge, followed by a good time over coffee taking in the early morning.

That "it's all downhill to Sucre" statement, meaning the road from Potosi, is looking even more ridiculous today. Though the first six kilometres wound down below where I'd camped to cross over a bridge at the bottom, followed by the inevitable climb through the hills the other side, proceeded by quite a long gentle descent, perhaps for 20kms, where I'm thinking I feel better today after feeling so low yesterday. I know there is some climbing ahead toward the end, up to the city of Sucre. Also, having cycled this road in 2010, the memory must've become vague over the ensuing six years. Or, perhaps I was fitter then.

Anyway, once the steady gradual descent run out, the hills closed in either side with the road turning upwards. There is still about 45kms to Sucre at this point, as the road snaked its way up round through a clutch of hills enclosing a ravine, going up for what'd be over ten kilometres. Again, I wheeze short of breath as the legs go stiff with debilitating exhaustion.

Beep, beep, or a couple of sustained blares on the horn in an aggressive tone, come from every vehicle approaching from the rear, as if I'm deaf. I can hear you (the car) come. Its so annoying when trying to retain composure on an incline.

I turn a bend thinking the other side the road would at last begin downhill, but see instead a hideous uphill ramp ahead. Just then another car come with the usual sustained blare of the horn. I'm so annoyed with the climbing and every vehicle blaring the horn, I crack, swerving the bike out to the middle white line in anger, causing a squeal of brakes as the car moves to a near halt on the outside of me, on the opposite side of the road. The passenger, an elderly man gives me a look of distain, before the car drives on.

I spend a moment's refection. The blaring horns are only meant well. I feel I've stepped over a line by swerving out.

I'm still weak I know. Normally I climb well, never stopping to rest as I have done recently.

I descent sharply to the village of Yotala, where, coming up on one o'clock, I stop at a roadside stall to drink coke, not feeling like eating anything today either. Still another 17km to Sucre, on the sign leaving this place, which is gradually uphill, the whole way into the outskirts of the city, from where the road winds up, now with the smoky emissions of the many collectivos.

Hugo, Evo and Che. Instead of daubing "no" in red paint, Evo is smeared in mud.

There is one last hill, I ride out of choice, or rather I'm off pushing the bike as its a 20% gradient up a narrow cobblestone city-street, to the city's best hilltop view point. There's a café up there, called "Mirador" where I sit down knackered. I order a stewed vegetable sandwich with a 620ml bottle of "Huari" beer.

A day which began at one wonderful view point, ends at another view point looking down over the city of Sucre.

Well the day doesn't end there, but it is all downhill into the city centre. I check out the hostel Paul, the English cyclist recommended to me, but find it's a hospedaje, ei a guesthouse. I prefer the chance of socialising that a hostel offers, so cycle to the hostel I stayed in when here in 2010 a few blocks away and check in.

Today's ride: 76 km (47 miles)
Total: 12,043 km (7,479 miles)

Rate this entry's writing	Heart	0
Comment on this entry	Comment	0