The track was now cut into a mountain-side and was spectacular. The landscape was changing, and looking through the valley I was descending through I could see green. Vegetation meant the possibility of fire, and the thought of a hot meal warmed my soul even with the cutting winds.
There were stony trails, sketchy river crossings and more beautiful vistas. I still hadn't seen another vehicle in hours - this was what I had been looking for. The valley came out into a huge plain, covered in small green bushes which seemed so novel after so long in the Atacama Desert.
Late afternoon I pootled through the village, Villamar, which the Guardaparca had told me about. The alpacas were even more tame here, so I stopped for some pictures while an old lady looked at me as if I was an alien. If she had a camera I think she would have taken a picture.
The rest of the village had a good old stare as I rode through, and I nipped over a footbridge on the far side of town to avoid any embarrassment at the deep river crossing which I had no confidence in making. I had done well today, but there was no point pushing it.
The trail was stunning in the evening sun and I was passing eerie rock formations casting freaky shadows across the desert. I was aching, tired and hungry, but at the same time content, satisfied and proud. Ahead of me were rolling sand dunes, to the left were white cliffs cut out of the ground, behind me the snow-capped orange mountains and on my right the dry table-flat desert plains. It felt epic.
The track eventually came within a few kms of some rocky features that looked hideable in. Standing up on the pegs, drifting through the sand, riding through small dry bushes and avoiding cacti as if my life depended on it (no-one wants a flat at the end of the day) I started shouting the Star Wars theme as I headed through a mini-canyon that looked so like the films.
I stopped in a corner that looked like it could provide shelter from the cold winds I'd been warned about, then ran all over the surrounding rocks taking photos as the sun went down behind the pale, cooling earth.
It was getting cold, and as I got out my cooking stuff I started putting on more clothes. The G.P.S. told me I was still at 4,059 metres. Once I'd scrounged some firewood I put on yet more clothes - I didn't have many more. I rigged my tarp around my bike to protect me from the wind which was picking up, and still had a view above for the night sky.
I soon had a nice fire and full belly, but the wind was now freakishly chilling and it was too cold to enjoy doing anything outside my sleeping bag in the pitch black. Changing for bed consisted of putting on all my remaining clothes - apart from the t-shirt I'd sweated through riding, which I was drying the by the fire. I was laying on my riding jacket and trousers for extra insulation as the sand had lost all it's warmth and was now bitterly cold, even to walk on with my three pairs of socks on.
I was thirsty, but held off drinking to deny any possibility of having to get up in the night to pee.
I woke up at midnight and was cold. Very cold. My feet weren't cold any more though - I couldn't feel them. I took my last remaining clothing, my t-shirt drying on the fire and wrapped it around my numb feet. I found my sleeping bag was soaking wet on top, where my bivi bag hadn't been breathing as it should.
I was even more thirsty, but was even less fond of the idea of peeing so again didn't touch my water. Mistake.
I thought there wasn't anything more I could do to keep warm, but I was now too cold to get back to sleep. I laid still for a long time in the cold darkness looking at the sky as close as I'd ever been to the stars. Eventually I knew how to wear myself out enough to induce sleep - it wasn't many sit-ups in the thin air at this altitude before I was exhausted and drifted off. Mistake.
When I next woke up I was without a doubt the coldest I've ever been in my life. There was a strange and painful sensation in my legs where attached to the ice bricks which were my feet. My fingers stung with cold through all three pairs of gloves I was wearing. I tried not to move, but I needed to pee now anyway.
I reached over to my water and found the whole litre-and-a-half frozen solid. Worrying. But more worryingly as I had reached over there was a cracking noise. It was the sweat which had formed on my sleeping bag earlier - which had now frozen into a layer of ice covering my whole body.
I was pulling it away in chunks, but it was awkward reaching down into the bivi bag and it was making my gloves wet through, exacerbating the pain in my fingers. I took off the gloves and warmed my hands in my armpits which had the useful side-effect of making my armpits hurt. I stayed like that for a long time.
There were stony trails, sketchy river crossings and more beautiful vistas. I still hadn't seen another vehicle in hours - this was what I had been looking for. The valley came out into a huge plain, covered in small green bushes which seemed so novel after so long in the Atacama Desert.
Late afternoon I pootled through the village, Villamar, which the Guardaparca had told me about. The alpacas were even more tame here, so I stopped for some pictures while an old lady looked at me as if I was an alien. If she had a camera I think she would have taken a picture.
The rest of the village had a good old stare as I rode through, and I nipped over a footbridge on the far side of town to avoid any embarrassment at the deep river crossing which I had no confidence in making. I had done well today, but there was no point pushing it.
The trail was stunning in the evening sun and I was passing eerie rock formations casting freaky shadows across the desert. I was aching, tired and hungry, but at the same time content, satisfied and proud. Ahead of me were rolling sand dunes, to the left were white cliffs cut out of the ground, behind me the snow-capped orange mountains and on my right the dry table-flat desert plains. It felt epic.
The track eventually came within a few kms of some rocky features that looked hideable in. Standing up on the pegs, drifting through the sand, riding through small dry bushes and avoiding cacti as if my life depended on it (no-one wants a flat at the end of the day) I started shouting the Star Wars theme as I headed through a mini-canyon that looked so like the films.
I stopped in a corner that looked like it could provide shelter from the cold winds I'd been warned about, then ran all over the surrounding rocks taking photos as the sun went down behind the pale, cooling earth.
It was getting cold, and as I got out my cooking stuff I started putting on more clothes. The G.P.S. told me I was still at 4,059 metres. Once I'd scrounged some firewood I put on yet more clothes - I didn't have many more. I rigged my tarp around my bike to protect me from the wind which was picking up, and still had a view above for the night sky.
I soon had a nice fire and full belly, but the wind was now freakishly chilling and it was too cold to enjoy doing anything outside my sleeping bag in the pitch black. Changing for bed consisted of putting on all my remaining clothes - apart from the t-shirt I'd sweated through riding, which I was drying the by the fire. I was laying on my riding jacket and trousers for extra insulation as the sand had lost all it's warmth and was now bitterly cold, even to walk on with my three pairs of socks on.
I was thirsty, but held off drinking to deny any possibility of having to get up in the night to pee.
I woke up at midnight and was cold. Very cold. My feet weren't cold any more though - I couldn't feel them. I took my last remaining clothing, my t-shirt drying on the fire and wrapped it around my numb feet. I found my sleeping bag was soaking wet on top, where my bivi bag hadn't been breathing as it should.
I was even more thirsty, but was even less fond of the idea of peeing so again didn't touch my water. Mistake.
I thought there wasn't anything more I could do to keep warm, but I was now too cold to get back to sleep. I laid still for a long time in the cold darkness looking at the sky as close as I'd ever been to the stars. Eventually I knew how to wear myself out enough to induce sleep - it wasn't many sit-ups in the thin air at this altitude before I was exhausted and drifted off. Mistake.
When I next woke up I was without a doubt the coldest I've ever been in my life. There was a strange and painful sensation in my legs where attached to the ice bricks which were my feet. My fingers stung with cold through all three pairs of gloves I was wearing. I tried not to move, but I needed to pee now anyway.
I reached over to my water and found the whole litre-and-a-half frozen solid. Worrying. But more worryingly as I had reached over there was a cracking noise. It was the sweat which had formed on my sleeping bag earlier - which had now frozen into a layer of ice covering my whole body.
I was pulling it away in chunks, but it was awkward reaching down into the bivi bag and it was making my gloves wet through, exacerbating the pain in my fingers. I took off the gloves and warmed my hands in my armpits which had the useful side-effect of making my armpits hurt. I stayed like that for a long time.
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