Motorcycle Explorer December 2014 Issue 3 | Page 92
As I climbed out of the valley that morning I was experiencing
incredible sensations of cold when the bike was moving and If I
stopped the bike, I felt like I was being roasted alive. As the sun
climbs higher in the sky, it heats up the frigid night air so by
midday you start to feel like bread in a toaster. There is no shade
in the Atacama, no bushes nor trees, nowhere to hide from the
searing power of the sun. I passed by a Volcano and took the
bike off road for a spell to see if I could get closer to it, the desert
is very compact and any of the loose sand has long since blown
away so it’s not difficult to ride on. I was also keen to take
advantage of the fact that I had a new back tire, the restrictions
on where I could and couldn’t go had been lifted and I was mad
for dirt!
I continued on the Chilean Ruta 27 towards the border with
Argentina without a sinner to be seen anywhere. Not a car, nor a
truck, not a single sign that anyone had ever been there, bar the
fact that there was an incredibly smooth line of asphalt carving a
path right through it all. I wasn’t in a hurry as I planned to stay in
Purmamarca that night and would be there by early evening so if
something looked anyway interesting at all I took a drive off road
to go and have a look at it. Out of nowhere, a big black horse
appeared on the road. He looked as out of place as I did I guess,
but given I was miles and miles from anywhere and there wasn't a
drink of water for over fifty miles, where the hell did he come
from?