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April 15, 2004
But regardless of whether the middle of nowhere be here, and
notwithstanding a local population of effectively zero, this
selfsame spot can easily claim top ranking amongst the most starkly
spellbindingly beautiful locations that i know of. Bolivia is one
of those magical countries... small in size.. that still has a staggering
variety of climates and terrain. From deep amazonian jungle, to
high snowy sierra, to one of the driest deserts on earth.
Today though I spent mostly worried. Worried about being a 7-days
round-trip from even the smallest auto shop. Worried about whether
or not my 70-liter spare tank would be enough to make it all the way to
the next petrol stop in Chile. Worried about my suspension, and the
constant torture i've been putting it through. Worried about
whether I suffered a concussion the other night getting whacked on the
head when extracting Jesse from that unholiest of holes. Worried
about whether i was going to be able to find my way, when so often the
road around here is uncertain, and solely driving by GPS coordinates
150km apart can be a truly unnerving and somewhat perilous experience.
Worried that i was a fool to be alone out here. Worried that i had
enough water and supplies to last me in the unfortunate case that i was
stranded for a while. Worried about the slightest sound from the
scout, especially the most unsettling of noises -- like rear wheel
bearing clicks and pops -- that might be an early indication of the near
unfixable. Worried about a bazillion thi Worried, but yet... not too worried. After all, what can beat the one-two punch of the GPS and the sat phone, and the uniquely american ability to call in the Bolivian equivalent of a full-fledged air support team in the space of a half-an-hour? It's amazing how much probably unwarranted confidence i've gotten from these two devices. Here's to hoping I don't regret it. And of course, then there is the constant caravan of landcruisers parading through here with gringos plastered to the windows as the drivers rocket by. While I'm glad to have their company, and often tag along behind them to catch which zig to zag on, and which fork to fork on, I do truly feel sorry for these poor guys. At the occasional stop that we share, my fellow turistas stare longingly at the Scout and lament the fact that they are allotted only a couple stops every day and have to snap the majority of their pictures blind out the window while they jounce relentlessly across the dirt.
It's cold here. Warm with strong burning sun in the daytime, but
below freezing at night. I have no antifreeze in my water, and must
get up several times in the middle of the night and bring Jesse to a
reluctant start out of her much Did ya know there are flamingos up here? I kid you not.
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ngs,
but still in charmed and dazzled awe at the incredible landscape and
brilliant blue sky and yellow sun. 
needed slumber, to ensure that her radiator and hoses do not freeze like
the water in my water bottle does every morning. Cold and dusty.
The fine dust of the altiplano here coats everything. I have given
up trying to shake things out or blow things off, and instead have kind
of resigned myself to a Pig-Pen like state of dusty dirty permanence.
I can only imagine what folks think as i roar by, usually passing folks
after a while to get out of their dust trails, my V-8 gasoline powered
engine much stronger than the landy diesels, trance music thumping out of
the open cockpit, california plates in the back. Ahh...
occasionally it is truly a glorious thing to be an american.