The Orange Hat

They went to the geysers. Exploding streams of water and steam found at 15,000 feet. So I did the only rational thing, and left to explore the salt flat alone on my rented mountain bike.

I looked at a map, saw a large area of nothing, packed my bag and headed south- some food, camera, sense and lack of direction, and water. The road headed east towards Bolivia and into the mountains. The armed police pointed me south, again, and I rode with large ore truck along the highway. The sharp cloudless sky highlighting the mud brown peaks ridges and valleys, the hays of the Santiago Andes nowhere to be found.

Small homesteads where the locals lived extended for 20 minuets or so, protected from the winds and dust by dry trees and shrubs, the trees stopped with the houses, but the shrubs kept on for much longer than expected.

After the long road left the houses and trees, the wind began and came and left from minuet to minuet for the next 5 hours. Rarely gentle, usually bitting with bits of dust and sand. I found the dirt road by following signs in Spanish. Road might have been too good a word.

Peddling in sand if fine if you keep your momentum going, but if the sand becomes too dry the tiers can sink, you lose most sense of steering and your balance is put to test. I attempted to find the ruts in the sand, not fall over, and search for flat rock to bike over and if possible avoid the bumps in the sand that are presumably made my tour buses and rented 4x4's. I found out they were made by tour bus with bike trailers and rental 4x4s, neither of which I was particularity happy to see with their dust trails making it hard to breath.

I arrived at the Oasis and ate by the non swimming pool, where guls and small birds picked at whatever lied beneath. The other pool was populated by bikini wearing sun bathers with catered lunches- I road south to be further alone, but stopped several times to take photos of the lagoons back dropped by the volcanoes, still crisp in the air, but duller in color now that the sun was higher.

I continued to ride south, still seeing the tracks, but no cars themselves. The previous lagoon had somewhere around fifty or sixty people, as before, I was alone. I sang song I though were Iron and wine, but probably didn't know the lyrics- which was fine with me. The sun beat down on my hands and neck, so I put on a ligh sweater that had a hood and thump hods to cover every bit of me.

I didn't know where I was going. South seamed good. I wanted the big nothing that others had taken pictures of, where it appears that the cracked adobe plates have been broken and flattened for endless miles, and the only change you can possibly see are the dust devils that swirl haphazardness through their playground. But I made the mistake of imagining that. What I found was a place where the shrubs continued to grow, but never larger than a few inches. Any outcropping or raised ground was a land mark, and the buildings of the previous lagoon disappeared amazingly quickly.

The road continued in dust and sand, but less than before, now more compacted dirt, which maintains it's bumpiness- they type of cyclical wave pattern that you can enjoy with each and every up and down or speed over in a car, I lacked a car, so I tired my best to avoid them.

The lagoon showed up when I found a marker that turned out to be an old chard stone structured. There were old chip wrappers and indistinguishable rubbish inside. The Vicunas off in the distance eyed me cautiously, grazing in the new grass that coated the small valley around the oasis.

following the edge of the oasis, I found the false ground, which has a thin layer of crusty must supported by the salt, but fellow away when I stepped on it.

The bike tires were fine on the road, but the crust was enough to puncture them, and later did, making it easier to leave the bike behind. The Oasis was a mix of weeds and small bushes with straw grass lining the boarders. Distant flamingos dipped their heads into the green blue water. Every step I took made a crunch, and lowered me a few inches. The sky was still jay bird blue.

I found small salt stuctures, muddy crystaline clumps of salt and dirt that made little piles in floods when the glaciers melted and the streams got bigger, I assume, unless the salt just piles up slowly, which seems difficult.

The road veered off, and I wanted to keep heading south, so I trucked into the brittle salt mounds, bike on my shoulder, careful not the rip my pants on the sharp structures. After a short distance I came on a small creek, and walked up and down it until finding a place to cross.

I was looking for nothing, still not finding it- the stupid vision of flat empty space. I had only found more and more of something. It lived here, and didn't care what I wanted or hoped. so when I found out my tube was popped after crossing a small muddy stream, the salt mounds, and wind, and occasional clump of green and tan brown that was the extent of flora here- all did...nothing.

It was a 'hummm' moment. I had an extra tire, but I was low on water, and how tired and hot I had become over the past three hours became very real. I had made an effort to leave the road, but had accidentally found it again, empty as before, but still more welcoming than the salt humps.

I changed my tire, with a brief moment of despair when I believed the tube was too small- and began my trip back north. Tired, hot, thirsty, I still had a liter of water left, but was all to aware that I was headed slightly uphill now.

I stopped at the lagoons, where the wind beat me for 30 minuets while I rested in the shade, and headed back to the sandy road. Taking what I thought would be a short cut and avoiding the highway. I stopped when I saw the car in the sand.

I don't remember their names, but the four door red something or other had been driven into the sand ruts, and the two front wheels barely touched the ground, they were trying to reverse, and all it was doing was kicking up dust. We tired to push, pull, but random items underneath, but in the end, I got their number and headed into town. Promising to call to see if they we were out yet.

After leaving them, the road got better, which was ironic, then came to a assfault intersection with no obvious path north, and my stomac started cramping. I'd never been this dehydrated, and it wasn't something to glamorize. I wanted to bend over and throw up and at the same time release the other end at the same time- with all the nothing that I had in me. I found a leatherman nockoff in the middle of the road. It didn't quench my thirst.

I knew I was in trouble, no real idea of how close I was to the town, but I kept peddling, the curve of the road headed slightly downhill, which made life more enjoyable. About this time the dust devils started picking up, and I was slightly worried about being in their path. The mix of dirt and sand, reddish in the setting sun, it was chaotic and hard to take your eyes off, a mix of awe and weariness.

By the time I reached the road, I knew I had to stop. I lied down next to some trees, there wasn't really any shade, but it didn't matter now. I stuck out my finger to the few trucks i saw passing, but no one stopped. several rental SUV's blurred passed, feelings of despair more than angry when they never slowed.

I found a house after about thirty minuets where they gave me water. The dogs barking and the little girls staring emotionless at me. We tired ot communicate, but beyond 'Aguga' there wasn't much to go on.

The ride after the two liters of water, still windy, still, hot, and uphill, was relatively easier. I returned to the hostel, found my roommates, and went straight for the water- a shower- and a long nap.