Galavanting is the right word

Heading north again on Route 5 through Vallenar I again stopped for fuel expecting a very empty tank. That and a sore rear end meant soup and an ice cream was a good idea. Guessing at the offered menu seemed to work so far so Soupa de Casa was the only remaining thing you can´t complain when it cost around $2.

While the land had progressively been drying out as I headed north, I had been given 2 routes for Diego De Almagro the high and the low. Both required I find route 33 for the Argentinean border. With a bit of back tracking I was able to find the Camino Internacional, but not before one of the stray dogs of Paipote tried to sink his teeth into me. It didn't manage to get further than the jeans which it couldn't even grip so there wasn't even a need to stop.

Chileans often point out that they have a large menagerie of stray dogs roaming the streets, although the dogs on the street may or may not be strays they most definitely need to be added to the national emblems.

The low road would have me in Diego sooner (anyone else thinking of a Scottish folk song) and had the potential to have me in Antofogasta by the originally planned Day 3. It was going to be a long day but possible. Climbing the range, the Chileans continuing disrespect for the speed limit was not always able to be matched by the loaded KTM which was breathless in the altitude. It was here that I found out what one of the driest places on earth really is like. The desert is a barren moistureless wasteland, a place where the thought of something green let alone brown just does not exist. Sandy sections surrounded by mountains through to plains of rock again surrounded by mountains left me asking what on earth would have people out here. The occasional stone buildings whilst not inhabited pointed to the two purposes for being there: mining, and going on to somewhere else.

Road works had me guessing as to whether I should put the bike on the stand and take photos. After around 30 minutes they eventually let us pass but I still hadn't got the camera out. The other great feature of the Desert was also becoming quite apparent; it's very cold, and I can do basic camera operation without taking off my gloves.

Diego De Almagro I later found was one of the first Spanish explorers to cross the mountains. His namesake was somewhat like he might have been during his exploration: Tired, dirty and only carrying the bare necessities. El Salado on the road west was likewise and I while I still had daylight, I pushed on. Stopping for fuel and calling my host in Antofogasta would have been a good idea but that's hindsight for you.

Meeting up with route 5 again provided a moments joy and a moments relief behind a mound of dirt. The possibility of running out of fuel and not finding any stations so far had me running for Tal Tal on the coast. By now dusk had fallen and the two radiator exits on the sides of the tank became my new best friends as the blew slightly warmer air over my legs.

Tal Tal is mixture of mining town with hotels serving the visiting executives and engineers and a fishing village. The two hotels I found first were fully booked and not seeing many more I headed 50km north to Paposa. This proved fruitless as this mining camp and proved to have absolutely no accommodation. After returning to Tal Tal I was directed toward another hotel where they did have a room. Dinner was at around 11pm (apparently quite normal for Chile) and a bit late to call ahead in my Australian thinking.

Tal Tal north becomes dirt about 10km north of the town and seeing the road in daylight made so much more sense and much quicker progress. The road to Paposa was a very good dirt road but north of there it provided a variety of conditions 10km/h sections of rock and sand through to hard compacted straights where the 640 could breath sea level air. The road provides access to a couple of small mines/process plants and access for the locals to have very basic huts from which they fish and farm seaweed. In some places it was weaving in between the boulders of the mountains with steep declines from the mountain directly into the sea. In other places sand dunes had developed above the rocks but in all places it was mountains and rocks meeting the sea. Tsunami or earthquake would leave the inhabitants of this area stranded if they managed to survive.

Somewhere around Punta Des Reyes there was a process plant (I still have no idea what these tiny operations processes but they are there) and the dirt road continued into the mountains. There were no signs indicating where the roads went but at the intersection it looked most like the main road. The other way continued north along the coast but my rear end was getting tired of bumpy roads and the thought of tarmac was becoming dear to my heart.

This thought was pretty fruitless though as the road continued as dirt as it weaved it's way up dirt switchbacks between the hills. With the roads varying between tight single track corners which had me honking the horn for safety and two lanes of sweeping dirt the thought to stick to the biggest road and head north east kept me climbing the mountains. After about an hour or so and only 2 cars coming the other way the road started descending but became long smooth corners where speed could be brought back to a more achievable pace. Still very cold but always starkly beautiful.

At last I reached a bitumen intersection and I joined the rest of normal society and took Route 5 to Antofogasta.