Monday 17th March 2025 Tarija to near San Lorencito
Decided to have the hotel breakfast in the morning and do a bit of bike maintenance, so a delayed start. We both knew that another difficult day in the saddle, with the added bonus of high altitude, we need to be weary of that.

Left the very hospitable staff with wave and the obligatory selfie. Just before we left got the great news that Baden Powell had received his “Giro Por Las Americas 2025” shirt, not only a Snowdown Colliery Welfare Rugby Club “Ultra” he is a Bingo & Gringo “Ultra” respect mate you totally deserve it.

So off we go bit later than normal, navigating the dusty busy streets of Tarija, once again climbing bit difficult through the roundabouts and traffic lights, but out soon of the city sprawl. Out of the tree line now so struggling to give the scenery the poetic description that I so eloquently describe yesterday, once again self praise is no praise at all. But least is gave me something to ponder as we slowly climbed and climbed. Kept thinking this is ridiculous when I get older going to get a motorbike, that’s how my super hero Ernesto Che Guevara did it on an old Triumph, in the 1930s [Eight films have been made about the life of Che Guevara: here is a list. Dale is probably referring to The Motorcycle Diaries (2004): Ed]

Breaks are becoming more and more frequent as we break through the 7500 feet or 2000m of altitude, not much in the way of respite or shops for that matter, as we literally plod up the mountains. Eventually came to some sort of checkpoint , basically all the soldiers did was move a cone every time a vehicle came up to, placed it exactly back in the same place, the girls selling flat bread relocated the same manoeuvre just like a tango dance. We watched this for ages one because it was funny, but more importantly needed the rest. On we go with this massive climb just up and up, but guess what in my struggles to put one foot over the pedals, just started singing up in the atmosphere up where the air is clear (except when the lorries pump out their obxious fumes) let’s go fly a kite, some song that just popped in my little brain, well it helped a little, every bit helps.

We stopped ove looking the incredible road we had just rode, then low and behold my phone rang, would you believe it, you can’t get a signal in Canterbury, up here, in the most remote part of the Bolivian Andes had a chat to the family as clear as day, lovely then a superb Condor gently swooped above our heads, then just as quick glided off, probably the smell we was giving off, but a great sight.

Feeling good after the family chat spurred be on for a little while, eventually made it to the top of the main climb of the day, with no-where to stay, we glided down to a small plateau, came across a little village brought some tomatoes, onions, garlic to spice up the pasta dish Bingo was plannings, me I was after some beer, after circling the village to no avail, looks like its a dry night then, probably for the best as we had reached an altitude of 11000 feet (3500m) so we need to be careful.

Two very tired cyclist pulled off the road and found a flat piece of ground to put up the tents, just after half 5 in the afternoon, it gets dark around 7, time to set up camp, Bingo to do his cooking stuff, fair play I did help prepare the vegetables, then eat the lovely pasta dish and bed, as it was getting pretty chilly.

Another tough day.