not their fault, so I slowed down and
politely waved. Poor things, there was
nothing out here and I was to have a
bed in Salta for the night.
I started to enjoy myself. There
was sand and bull-dust to spice things
up. At the bottom of a steep pass I
took the creek crossing too fast, the
bow wave washing the grime off my
bike and riding gear. Beyond San Antonio,
we welcomed the tar road and
tipped off the edge at Abra Blanca
(4080m). It was unexpectedly beautiful
with pampas grass glowing in the
fading daylight as we swooped down
the valley of the Rio Rosario.
Soon it was pitch dark and drizzling.
The tar ended abruptly, and
we were back on a narrow dirt road.
Above me were high cliffs, while
below was a precipice into the blackness
of a raging river. We’d been
travelling for over 12 hours and had
barely eaten all day. I couldn’t let my
concentration slip now. I raised my
visor to see the rocks and muddy ruts
better in the rain, giggling with exhilaration
into my helmet intercom.
“This is Death Road by Dark,” I told
Alan. “Bolivia was tame by comparison”.
Houses appeared, and finally, the
lights of Salta. Around 9pm I stumbled
into our hotel and ordered a
hot chocolate. I’d survived Paso de
Sico, Abra Blanca and Death Road by
Dark. I was the only female rider in
the group, and mostly the other men
ignored me, but this night a fellow
rider grunted an acknowledgement.
“You can ride with me any time”.
From Salta, we rode at speed on
straight, flat roads across the Pampas
to Foz do Iguacu where we were
overwhelmed by the natural wonder
of the waterfalls and the man-made
dam. We flew home after a stopover
in Buenos Aires. Bucket list. Tick!
YE
* John Gillespie Magee - An Anglo-American
aviator and poet. Magee served in the Royal
Canadian Air Force, which he joined before
the United States enter
a mid-air collision over
Yvonne and Alan tra
Expeditions for three w
May 2016. They rode 50
bikes from Cusco, Peru
and Argentine before fi
Iguacu, Brazil.
Their guide was Den
whose youth spent on t
TRAVERSE