I have a tourist map of the area around Copiapo on which I mark off all of the roads that I have travelled (having stolen the idea from my work colleague Mike). There is one road that stands out as not having been travelled. It isn’t so much that I haven’t travelled all of it, but that I’ve only travelled some of it on one of my earlier trips. It is the one towards a pass into Argentina called Pircas Negras, and I was unable to go the whole distance previously because of the distance involved and a perception on my behalf that I wouldn’t have enough petrol in the tank to make the journey. Having subsequently done a few long trips, I am now much more confident that I’d be able to do the trip with the fuel I carry in the main tank of the bike, but I’ve also purchased some spare containers and carry 10L extra, which is good for another 170km or so. All in all, the distance to the border is now well within my reach.
It takes a couple of hours to get all of my stuff organised out of my bodega (storage unit), packed up for a night camping under the stars and then loaded on to the bike, but I’m eventually ready to rumble. Off I go to the south of Copiapo and boy, it’s hot with all of the gear that I’m wearing. I’ve decided to wear a fair bit of the clothing I know that I’ll need later in the afternoon once I get up into the cold of the mountains, not to mention tonight, but at the moment, I’m cooking myself.
I get fully fuelled up in Tierra Amarilla (at the last petrol station on the route), then head further south through Nantoco. Not much further and I turn left, leaving the much-loved bitumen behind and heading off onto the dirt. This section of the dirt road is fairly well traversed and in pretty good condition, so I can get along at a reasonable pace. I’m surprised to find that I remember a lot of the route, to the point where I even remember what is coming around the next corner, so I feel like I’m travelling along quite nicely and that I’ll be at Pircas Negras in no time at all. There’s a few cars coming in the other direction that provide a kind of company for me, although it seems a bit like waving to the other traffic isn’t really the done thing here – perhaps the truckies do it, as they are the one’s who tend to wave back, rather than the car drivers?
Through one of the areas of switch-backs, I come across a low-loader carrying a front-end loader. It’s crawling its way up the hill, generating quite a bit of dust, so it is a relief to find a suitable passing place before too long! The escort vehicle waves me past as well and then I’m back to my own thoughts, remembering where there was snow last time I was here and remembering the vicious wind at the crest of the hill just ahead. I stop at the crest and again, the wind is tearing through here, but not as strongly as last time. I’m at about 3,000m and it is now quite cool and I’m already thankful that I’m wearing everything I put on earlier, despite the heat lower down in the valley. It’s the first stop I’ve made in about 100km, which must be a near record for me in comparison with my original need for stretching after no more than 50km when I first got the bike. This point also looks to be quite a common place for a break, as there is a bunch of other 4WD’s here this afternoon, with more visible on the road coming up from the east.
The arrival of the low-loader escort vehicle brings me back to reality and I recommence the journey. I estimate that I’m perhaps half way to my destination and it’s still only early in the day. I idly wonder if I can make it to Pircas Negras and back today…
Onwards and downwards into the next valley, I’m rather tentative heading downhill on the gravel roads. I have no desire to have the front wheel slide out from under me while heading down the steep roads here, particularly when the corners tend to have very little guarding on them and there is a long slope downwards from here. After what seems a long time, I finally get to the bottom. The geology on the way down has been fascinating – another reason for taking things slowly is so that I can have time to look out and see the world.
The bottom of the valley presents a challenge. There is a fork in the road that isn’t on the map that I have. My GPS isn’t too much use here either as the fork doesn’t show up on its map. I decide to take a bit of a chance with the upstream route rather than the downstream route. It seems obvious, and so it turns out. I’ve been waiting for a small landmark (settlement or area) on the map to appear, and around only a few more corners (through impossibly narrow chasms), the valley opens out into paddocks of a green crop which looks like it might be lucerne? Either way, it is obviously a farmed crop, and before too long, I see the houses of the farmers, their goats, horses and so on. Looks like a pretty tough life up here with few luxuries – the horses stand sleepily next to the poles they are tethered to outside the huts which look half dug into the ground. The huts themselves have walls made of stacked rocks, a timber-framed roof and have a tarpaulin stretches over the top. Pretty basic, and I can’t help but wonder how much warmth they retain in the night, or just as importantly, how much of the howling icy gale finds its way through the gaps. Perhaps this is only a non-winter kind of place? There is also a shop from which the sign says that I can buy bread, drinks and snacks, but somehow I have my doubts about getting fresh bread here, which is the one thing I have realised I have forgotten.
Before the end of this little scattered community is done, I realise why the front-end loader is on its way up the hills – there is a whole bunch of roadworks going on. I come to a stop where the guy holding the sign is. He seems rather confused about seeing a tourist, but I manage to soothe his nerves (or just confuse him more?) when I indicate that I’m going on a different road to the one that the rest of the roadworks are on. Either way, he indicates that I can pass, so off I go.
From here on in, I know that I’m in a pretty remote kind of place. I see no other humans for the rest of the day, although there are signs of them being about – huts off in the distance on the other side of the valley, inhabited by people tending to the herds of donkeys / horses / goats that are scattered about wherever there is an area of sufficient grass on the floor of the valley for them to graze. The hills are again barren…
The road also deteriorates, with many more potholes and corrugations, not to mention being considerably narrower than previously. I can’t help but shiver every now and again, perhaps a little with the cold air now that the sun has left the valley floor for the day, but also perhaps with the realisation that if I have an accident, it might be a long time before I’m found (I do have a satellite phone, as well as a rescue plan that kicks in tomorrow afternoon, but still…). I make my way along at not much more than 50 or 60km/h.
As I approach the Chilean border checkpoint for Pircas Negras, I pass the turnoff to the Cerro Casale Project, a high-altitude porphyry system. I’m half tempted to ride on in and see if anyone is there, but the size of the mountain is daunting, not to mention the snow cover and possibility of having to make some creek crossings along the way. I decide that I don’t like the possibility of having wet feet, not to mention that it wasn’t on my route plan, so I continue on. The plain here has a large selection of wildlife (donkeys and horses), all of which are curious at the intrusion into their otherwise peaceful lives.
The checkpoint is abandoned, as I knew it would be, but it looks in good enough condition to resume operations immediately as I ride up to it. Closer inspection reveals that might be a bit optimistic, as I can now see some of the doors are open, some of the wall and roof cladding is not so well attached, and there is a bit of a state of disrepair to it. Not too bad, but I can imagine that it can’t be too long before looters take off with many of the pieces still here. I make a mental note that it might be a good place to camp later on. There is a simple boom gate blocking access along the main road, but a well-used diversion allows me to ride around this without fuss. There is also a much more secure boom gate, complete with chain and padlock, another few hundred metres up the road. This time the diversion road is not so well used, disappearing across the pampa through gullies and loose gravel that I am unwilling to risk on the bike while I am here on my own. Closer inspection of the boom gate shows a small opportunity to the side where a bike might fit through, which mine fortunately does, and off I go again towards the border.
This part of the road is very infrequently used. It climbs up and out of the valley, snaking its way up the mountain. Very few tyre tracks are evident, and there has been a fair amount of small rockfalls in the road cuttings that means it is unlikely too many vehicles have been up here in quite a while. I pick my way through cautiously, and keep climbing, stopping only to take photos of Cerro Casale. I get to a point where I start to begin to think that I might be able to actually reach the border markers, but then, poop, there’s a gate. The type of gate that it won’t be possible to pass. Seriously concreted in place at a point where the road is cut into the hill – there’s no going around! I’m convinced that I can see the top of the hill where the border will be – perhaps only another 400m or so. It’s too far to walk in my current boots, which remove skin from my toes when walking faster than a cheese grater, not to mention the time of day (sun is setting rapidly) and the altitude (my GPS shows about 4,400m although this isn’t super accurate). I look for other alternatives and am surprised to see a rough track heading up through the gully below me. I flirt with the idea of having a go for about a second, however cowardice/common sense remind me of where I am and I accept that I’ve reached the limit of what is possible here. It’s time to head back to the border checkpoint while there is still light and make myself comfortable for the night.
The route back down is slow and steady – again, no desire for problems at this time of day. I ride around the final barrier between me and camp and breathe a sigh that is a mixture of relief and exhilaration. It’s been a fabulous day and quite an adventure. Now, where to sleep? There are a number of options that I discover around the place. Obviously I can sleep out in the open, however there are a number of doors to the buildings that are open, and although none of the areas are spotlessly clean, I end up choosing the least dirty. One little office looked like it might be quite good, however the odour from the en-suite ended up being a bit more than I could accept – it seems other travellers had decided that the toilet might be a good place for a dump, despite there obviously being no water in which to flush the residue. I was also to find this in a number of other places, including on that looked like a storeroom for toilets, with a good half a dozen of them having been used. Other visitors, not liking the idea of dumping into an unconnected toilet, had simply used the floor of that particular room. Not so nice.
My bedroom for the night ended up being in a room that was perhaps a small dining hall or similar. I pushed the big table out of the way, cleaned the floor as best I could (note to self – buy a small bannister brush for such occasions), rolled out the swag, and all was good with the world. Dinner consisted of a can of stewed porotos (much better than it sounds) and a packet of mixed vegetables, washed down with a swig of surprisingly warm water out of my bottle in the luggage box.
I kick back on the swag listening to the wind howl through the buildings, pleased with the fact I’d found somewhere indoors to camp. I ducked outside every once in a while as the light faded and the stars became visible. The sky is brilliantly clear, although far too much moonlight to be able to appreciate the stars on their own. Nonetheless, it’s a spectacular night – the moonlit mountains being spectacular enough.
I stretch things out until about 9.30PM, at which time I feel the need for sleep. Not so sure how I’ll go sleeping at this altitude (over 3,000m) – rumour is it can be a bit tough on your first night at altitude, but we’ll see how it goes!
Buenas noches!
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