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?