ravellers. Riders
gh but there was
motorcycles, our
ere in English
ited, sitting on
urs, before decid-
Pedro.
r the high pass,
ide to counter a
that blew now at
ing to tear hels.
Green clouds
t set in.
dashboard disas
we approached
lder of Licancabe
near the end of
began to defrost
e volcano slope,
rature steadily
. We caught a
ked in tight as he
On the plains as
Pedro it was a
C.
morrow we would
travelled Paso
de Sico route to Salta. Google maps
suggested it was a long and mostly
dirt ride. I wasn’t sure I had the rider
skills and endurance for this. Sulking,
anxious, whinging, I headed for
bed, forgetting that more fun was to
be had when you abandon itineraries.
We made an early start, filled up
with fuel and by 7am we are on the
road to Socaire. We climbed past
laguna and salar, eventually reaching
the border post. We offered our
newly signed Spanish rental agreements.
Hunched, waiting in the dirt
on the lee side of the building, cold
and bored, I watched two cyclists
arrive and am envious with the speed
at which they breezed through the
border controls.
After five hours of patient negotiation,
the boom lifted, and we entered
Argentina. Immediately, the gravel
road deteriorated. A while later, we
caught the cyclists struggling up a
hill. I was tempted to rev my engine
enveloping them in a cloud of dust,
but my frustration at the border was
E 51