Crossing the railway line I’m quick to snap a couple of llamas loitering on the other side of this bridge…

…before arduously tackling the 1200m climb for the best part of the day.

The onset of the rainy season brings with it the advantage of some interesting cloud formations.

The pass. Just shy of 5000 metres. Clearly I’m not the first traveller to pass through here; this sign is plastered with ‘adventure tourists’ all wanting to leave their mark.

A spectacular descent ensues

Around or below the 4000 metre mark I stumble across these ruins and set up a relatively early camp. Dark clouds are forming and I become concerned when I realise the shape of the derelict infrastructure is prone to flooding. However, an unexpected hardship materialises from an alternate source. I wake up ‘itchy’ at 3 am and it takes a minute to realise various leeches have crawled inside my sleeping bag and are cheerfully sucking on my blood. Through my bleary eyes one of them looks like they have legs.  Urrgghhh…  I realise that although it provides more space, erecting only the fly sheet is not always a good idea. I get my inner mosquito net up in minutes.

A new vice in my diet. Butter. Various sources are conflicting as to whether or not it is unhealthy.  However, I find it helps immensely with ‘getting in the calories’. Sometimes, I have recently found myself guiltily spooning that stuff in.  I try to keep it somewhat insulated from the sun by packing it deep in my bag (well wrapped).

Further descending reveals cactuses adopting some interesting forms…

I’ll have what he’s having.

The windy gravel roads continues in a downwards direction but against a non-trivial headwind.  All reports I have read promise tailwinds. Does the prevailing wind shift direction in the rainy season?

The 2 kilometre deviation to the old town of La Poma provides some interesting distractions in a well shaded and very peaceful little plaza. I ‘sit around’ relaxing for half an hour.

Ahh…. look at the lovely horse. How cute? Oh but wait it has its hooves tied together so it can’t escape; not so nice and a not uncommon sight in Latin America.

These bells hang right by the old church.

The occasional person drifts quietly in and out of the scene going about their business.

After re-joining Route 40 the road undulates and winds it’s way via a river beaming with life. A veritable oasis in this arid rugged desert.

It leaves the river for a few kilometres and I dart off to the side to find almost limitless camping opportunities set amongst sand, stone and spiny vegetation. However, my expectations of a peaceful desert night under the stars start to evaporate when I hear my first donkey ‘noises’. Initial innocent braying increases in volume and intensity over the next half an hour.  Pretty soon they are galloping in and out of the vicinity of my tent in a hugely overexcited way. The idea of accidentally being trodden on by a donkey is unsettling so I find myself frantically exiting the tent whenever they get close. I even pile up some rocks to throw in case things get nasty. The braying and galloping lasts most of the night but fortunately the tent stampeding never materialises!

‘The Night Monsters’. Later I speak to a gardener in one of the towns.  These rascals are wild and although are accepted by the community are somewhat of a nuisance (eating the well kept grass in the plaza etc.)  They look cute though don’t they?

My next desert camp is more peaceful

Sunrise

Molinos. Each pueblo en route provides some welcome shade where I can top up my butter supplies.

The contrast of the dry desert where only the toughest lifeforms survive and the thriving green vegetation that live close to the water sources captivates the soul.

After some dehydrating midday desert riding and a quick rest in Angastaco the roads winds through some impressive rock formations, including tourist attraction ‘Quebrada Las Flechas’.

With various spiky plants in limitless supply I arduously carry my bike 50 metres off the road to my camp spot. A puncture would mean an immediate 30 minute time penalty so it’s worth the extra effort.

I camp here, the various rock formations offer countless opportunities to get out of the wind.

The next morning.

I manage to tag along on to a 12 strong Argy trip to ‘Garganta del Diablo’ in ‘Quebrada de Las Conchas’. Despite well placed prohibitory warning signs a few of the group climb the final part of the ‘Throat of the Devil’.

As always with rock climbing, it’s easier climbing up than going back down and I find myself surprisingly nervous on the return; it’s not hard but a mistake here could be serious. A ten minute process involving a fair amount of ‘endurance courage’ ensues requiring the meticulous checking of every foot and hand hold. Not something I’d recommend.

Agile Rocio from Buenos Aires offers us an interesting perspective…