As the sun was setting, the blood on my right thumb dried, the small wound packed with dirt. The wind was blowing fiercely. The flock of flamingos remained undisturbed. In the direction of the setting sun a large fox watched me crosslegged, it's tongue hanging loosely from it's snout.I was exhausted and a bit afraid. I was in a kind of middle of nowhere that is not a real middle of nowhere kind of place. True, it's at least two days from the nearest useful town... but it's also an obligated pass for the SUVs that carry tourists every day through this rugged high dessert in Bolivia.

Still I was well above 13 000 feet and no one would show up for at least 18 more hours, plenty of time to get in severe physical trouble.

The place is called Laguna Cañapa and is the first laguna altiplánica you see after crossing the Salar de Uyuni as you head towards the Chilean border.

And I was there because of a flat rear tire.

It had gone flat just a hundred meters from the lake in the middle f a sandy road. So I rode my fully loded bike that distance, destroying the tube's valve in the proces due to tire creeping. So when I dissmounted it I knew it was dead.

Obvioulsy, I carry a spare tube so I got it out, put in place and proceeded to inflate it with my electric mini compressor in front of a group of amazed tourists, that surely thought I was the coolest, better equiped biker in the world...

When they left , their oppinion had changed.

The tube wpouldn't inflate. So I took it out and checked it for leaks. Found one, patched it, put it in again and inflated it... but it only got to 20 PSI or less.

So I took it out again.

I had ruled out a faulty compressor because the night before I had changed a leaking fork seal and had tried to dislodge it with air... and the compressor got it up to 150 PSI. The seal did not come loose and I had to resort to the old method of destroying it, prying it, burning it and finally pulling it out with a used, crooked, rusty motorcycle spoke that Don Víctor had stored on the dirt floor of his precarious workshop.

So I looked at the tube, put air in it and took it into the lake. wich water has an enormous amount of borax... which in turn burned and peeled my hands... and forced me to use one of my 4 precious liters of water to aliviate the pain.

No leaks though.

So I put it in again and got it again to a whoping 20 PSI.

The touristas were long gone. There was only the volcanoes, the flamingos, the wind, the fox, the blistered hands and an internal little voice that said: "It must be the compressor"

"Impossible" I answered "Just yesterday it got to over a 100 PSI"

"Yesterday was yesterday" the voice said "just a few weeks ago you could read without glasses..."

This was a tough argument. So I disasemabled the pump and discovered that the 150 PSI had wore out the o ring. So I put some tape in it's groove to make it protrude more, put the devise together and proceeded to insert the tube in the tire, yet again. I got it up to 30 PSI and one side set. But that was it. So I assumed that I had puncutred the tube as I remounted the tire. This happens to everyone now and then.

So I took it out and checked. No leaks... sooooo. I came to the brightest conclussion possible. "The tube is porous" I told myself. And then cut of it´s valve to try and fix the other tube.

Not a good thing to do. Not even professionals favor this solution.

I couldn't do it, and used up all my patches. So It got dark and I had no spare rear tube.

The night was very cold... but the stars, the stars... no... THE STARS!!!! I could see every one of them at once, I could even see the lines that weave them into constellations... I could see the fat in the milky way.... I could see everything. I saw the most beautyful sky, the only sky there is. And I thought that if I had lived a life that led me to that dying place... I had lived a damn good life.

But I didn't die. I just spent a very cold night near a great volcano, besides a beautiful lake full of sqwaking flamingoes.

The morning was crisp and bright.

I checked the inflator again after my granola breakfast... and noticed that the tape had been disoldged. So I had killed a perfect tube uselessly (are there any useful killings?)

So I put some of the foil from the air protector of my MSR stove.

There are no trees at that altitude. No bushes. No shade. We have dug a hole in the sky right above where my head was, there were way too many UV rays there, I tell you. So I had been overexposed to the sun. My lips would bleed every time I smiled, or cursed, or did nothing. The skin on my face also had a thing against facial expressions.

My hands were pulp. I had mounted and dismounted the rear tire over nine times.

I pulled myself together and put my front spare in the rear wheel, and I inflated it to 45 PSI. The tire didn't set, but I didn't want to put more air in it because the the tube was very thin and I didn't want it to explode.

By then the next badge of tourists had arrived. Many took pictures of me and my camp. Only a cute Japaneese girl asked me if I needed anything and then gave me a two liter bottle of water. As I very slowly picked up my camp, the backpackers had chicken lunches and played frisby. No one shared with me a morsel of their food. I was very depressed and instead of asking I sulked a bit.

A couple of drivers came over when all was packed and we discussed my options as I had no spare tubes.

They told me that in San Cristobal (about 200 k away) I might find help and spares. There were a few little villages on the way there. However this road was off the beaten track...

On the other hand I coud ride 250 ks to San Juan, where I had fixed my fork.

Or go on to Chile.

I decided to try the safest road: San Cristobal. So off I went. And all went fine until my rear tire was flat again.

This time I was in a real middle of nowhere kind of place. I waited four hours for a car or truck to pass. None did. So I took of the wheel and looked at the tube. The valve was gone.

I cut it out and carefully inserted it at another place with washers and rubber. Then I cut the tube and tied knots at it's ends obtaining a "u" shapped tube. I inflated it to test it and found no leaks. So I put it on and could not go over 25 PSI. I re checjed the compressor and it didn't work. So I placed it over a rock, lifted a big stone and smashed it cruelly. I hit it at least 10 times cursing it to deepst holes of inflator hell.

So I had no tubes, no inflator, no hope of fixing the bike. And I was sun stroke, I think.

So I took refuge in the meager shade some rocks provided and drank my last water.

I checked my GPS and discovered that the village of Alota was a mere 16 k away.

"There is no way I can walk there" I pondered "I'm way too tired" "Also it's impossible to ride the loaded bike... but I can ride 20 ks on a flat rear tire on a bike with no cargo."

So I unloaded everything I own and hid it behind the rocks so it could not be seen from the road. "If I loose this stuff, the trip is over... fair enough"

It took me forever to hide the duffle bag. I could not lift it. I could barely drag it. I almos gave up and just left it there. "If you loose this, man, it's a one way ticket to Mexico." So I carried it, and dragged it and hid it.

I though about filling the tire with plants and clothes... but I knew I didn't have the strenght to pull it off. I just mounted the tire with no tube, assembaled the bike and left.

More later.