15 Jan
A bit more adventure than I was looking for today. I set off for La Poma and the Abra del Acay pass at about 8am. The forecast wasn’t good but the weather looked ok. There had obviously been a fair bit of rain: the 10km stretch of tarmac before the turn off to Ruta 40 had large patches of mud that had been washed across the road. The road to the pass was ok, though still wet from the rain the day before. I could see that two vehicles had passed before me. The road wound upwards, some hairpins being a bit tricky due to ruts, where water had evidently been flowing across the road. The views were pretty spectacular, but, once again, the stupid side-stand design on the Himalayan precluded the idea of stopping very often for photographs.
About halfway up the pass the road turned to mud. Slippery, greasy and with virtually no grip. I toyed with the idea of turning round but it would not have been possible. It was first gear all the way to the top, feet down, bike squirming all over the place. I was aware that dropping the bike in mud on a steep slope would not be fun. I came across the two vehicles whose tracks I had seen earlier, both of them stuck. I couldn’t stop to help, there was no way I could have parked the bike. Occasional dryer bits gave me false optimism. It was too muddy to stop anywhere for pictures, and I was getting concerned about the wheels caking up with mud. About halfway up, I passed two cyclists, pushing their bikes. I gave them a wave, amazed again at the hardcore nature of cycling this part of Ruta 40. These cyclists have my utmost respect.
Eventually I reached the top, took the obligatory snap and noticed that the weather was turning. I was getting another altitude headache, hardly surprising at 4995m I guess, so stuffed another wad of coca leaves in my mouth before continuing. It looked like another storm was brewing. This place seems to make it’s own weather. The temperature had dropped to 5 degrees, and I seemed to be close the snow line. Ahead looked clear though. I started down the other side, the road in slightly better condition, though still with large stretches of mud.
I guess I was most of the way down the pass when I came across a landslide, the road completely covered in a 30 degree slope of mud. Behind me, up the pass, the cute little cumulus cloud that had been there when I set off was now a full-blown thunderstorm. I did a quick evaluation: going back up was not an attractive option, I had a tent, about 3 days food and a water filter. If the worst came to the worst, I could find a sheltered spot and pitch the tent. I walked across the landslide, about 200 metres across. The other side looked ok. I unloaded the bike, rode it across, then came back for the luggage. I had just picked up the panniers when two 4×4’s turned up. The first was driven by Manuel, with his passenger Nasaren (not sure if that is spelled correctly) I asked them if they could take my luggage across, and they said they would take it all the way to La Poma if I wanted. Excellent! The tail rack on the bike (after market) had snapped in one place on my abortive attempt the day before, so a bit of respite would do it no harm. I still don’t know why it snapped as there was little weight on it.
A few km further on the road disappeared. It had been totally washed away in two places. Manuel thought a river crossing further on might be a problem too. No option but to go back over the pass . Shit. So I set off back over the pass in front. It was as bad as the way up from the other side, and got much worse when it started hailing heavily. The road was now a total morass. Probably the most taxing bit of riding I have ever done. I had the heated grips on, but was still getting cold hands. Rain ran down my neck,
Eventually I reached the bottom again and waited for Manuel and Nasaren. They took a while as they had picked up two German cyclists I had seen earlier.
There was no option now but to go to La Poma via Salta, along RN51, which turned out to be one of the most spectacular roads I have ever been on. New tarmac, with the occasional dirt culvert thrown in to keep you in your toes. After airing up the tyres and switching the ABS back, on I settled into enjoying the sweeping curves, bizarre rock formations, giant cactus and weird colours, from red to yellow to brownish green. Then my throttle stopped working. The heated grip had come unstuck, and inspection and disassembly by the roadside showed the throttle tube was jamned in the housing. I fiddled about with it, squirted some chain lube in, and it seemed ok. So I reassembled it and set off again. It worked fine for about 50km, then jammed at idle again. This time I removed the heated grip and left it off. I could feel it sticking occasionally, but by pushing it into the housing, I could free it up. Just before Salta, my phone decided to update it’s software. Then I found I didn’t have a signal, so couldn’t get Google Maps working again. It was getting hot, 32 degrees, and very humid. A big change from freezing my ass off a few hours earlier. I asked two guys on a scooter for directions, and eventually arrived in the outskirts of Salta. I pulled into a gas station to cool down and get Google Maps working again, then found a hostel on iOverlander before setting off into the city.
So now I am in Salta, in a strange hostel with no exterior windows. I have arranged a welder for 10am tomorrow (he wouldn’t do it this evening due to a thunderstorm), dropped off some laundry, and in the morning will completely disassemble the throttle and find out what’s wrong with it. Meanwhile, I have effectively lost two days, as I expected to be at the end of the dirt on the northern part of RN40, at Cafayate, tomorrow. I will re-evaluate in the morning. For now, another beer, and bed.