Playing Like Kids in the Salar

© Richard Dickinson

Camera tracks in the Salar

Rick flagged me down yesterday as I'd ridden into Uyuni, a tourist town and home to Bolivia's majestic salt flats. He was expecting to meet up with a fellow moto-traveler on a DR650, and when I rolled by (on my DR650) he whistled to get my attention. I gave him quite a shock when I pulled off my helmet and revealed that not only wasn't I his anticipated friend, but also that I am a woman. Ultimately his friend never showed, so Rick and I made plans to explore the area together.

Our first stop was the “train graveyard” just south of Uyuni. A final resting place for all-things-locomotive, the arid desert keeps all the train bits preserved for the curious. For us, it was a primer into riding with each other, as well as an opportunity to get a feel for the desert terrain.

© Richard DickinsonOur next destination was the salt flats, north of town. The road is a gravel one for twenty five miles, and there were several trucks kicking up dust ahead of us. Our race across the desert started out as a means to get around the trucks, but the dirt track we stumbled upon proved too much fun to get back on the corrugated road. With a quick look to see if I was still with him, Rick kicked up the pace a bit and next thing I knew we were speeding across the desert like a couple of desert racers.

When we reached the salt flats, we took one look at each other and burst out laughing. Sometimes one can get so serious traveling alone – the motorbikes are usually fully loaded, quite often you are alone in the middle of nowhere with no help in sight, and so you tend to be more judicious in your riding. Having taken the luggage off, and having a riding partner as backup, liberated us in a way we hadn't been able to experience much in our respective trips. It was unbridled joy on a motorbike.

The exhilarated mood continued on the salt flats. We took turns photographing each other with the funny perspectives that you can achieve on the bright white surface of the salt plain. We struck silly poses diving off the front fenders of the motorbikes, jumping out of a can of sardines, and stacking the bikes on top of one another.

After two hours of silliness in the salar we packed up the photography equipment and put our riding gear back on. We were still high from the combination of good company and even better riding, giddy as children in a new playground. We didn't have to ask each other which route we were going to take back to Uyuni – we revved the engines and took off to race each other as if we were in the Dakar.