For 54 miles, we sailed along the snaking highway that led through desert dunes. Nothing lived out there.
The wheels spun fast and free. Smiles spread wide across our faces. At 30 miles, a second canyon joined ours, giving us a muddy river to follow. It was a world of white dunes and blue sky.
We rode our bikes into the driest region in the world, the Atacoma Desert of Chile. A few hours later, we reached the outskirts of Arica with the Pacific crashing against sandy beaches. In one day, we had gone from blizzards, glaciers, pink flamingos and condors to the utter desolation of a desert, by dropping from 15,500 feet to sea level.
Few raw adventures remain on this crowded planet--the MottoGrasso Jungle of Brazil, Antarctica, the Australian Outback, perhaps the deepest reaches of Africa, and the Camino International Highway of Bolivia and Chile. It was a rough, merciless road that carried us back through time, up into pure mountain majesty, and allowed us a glimpse into nature's showcase. It was an adventure that had to be earned with each crank of the pedals and the pitching of our tents at every desolate campsite. But the campsites were the ultimate experience when we set our front flaps looking into the face of a howling storm over Mount Sajama, or woke up to a mantle of white--covering Mount Payachatas--garnished with pink flamingos.
This ride was what we came for. It was the worst. It was the toughest. It was the best.
Excerpt from: Bicycling Around the World: Tire Tracks for Your Imagination--copies available at 1 888 280 7715 www.amazon.com ; www.barnesandnoble.com
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