All the wings seem to have fallen off, maybe we should start praying....

We had no intention of going into La Paz, our plan had been to get straight through the traffic hell of El Alto as quickly as possible and find somewhere on the other side. But I was sidetracked by the thought of a nice cosy little hotel in the valley to the south of La Paz.
The day started well as we left Cochabamba; we found a gas station that had fuel, was willing to sell it to us, and only charged us the local rate. The ride back up over the mountains was in clear dry conditions allowing me to see some of the views as we wound our way back up to 4500m and across a series of ridges. At times the road was all there was, just long drops over both edges, the mangled crash barriers showing signs of being used effectively.

Nearing El Alto, a city that is perched on the rim of the canyon that La Paz sits in, the rain started and the road surface deteriorated due to an ongoing 'road improvement' scheme. The outskirts of El Alto were awash with mud, thick red mud and large pools of water. The rain had gone off and the sun returned to blaze down as we searched for the corect route into the valley.

Going through El Alto is the only way to get past La Paz and it is rammed with cars, trucks, buses, taxis and collectivos (small people carriers that stop frequently) all crawling, stopping and blocking the roads. The bike was overheating and I was tired after 6 hours riding, so I overruled Jean on staying up on the level and carrying on through. We managed to get some directions to the town of Mallasa, with no signs we had missed a turnoff 5k earlier, and headed in towards the rim.

Lost in some back streets the bike burped once and died. I turned to look at Jean, she was not amused. El Alto is not the most salubrious place and we were not in a better part of it. After failing to start the bike we grabbed the tools and went for a plug clean (not an easy job as part of the fairing needs to be taken off). This did the trick, and gave me time to spot some police and gather more directions.

Perfect, they pointed us in the right direction and the road dropped over the edge. El Alto finished, and the road plunged down with La Paz spread out up and down the sides of the deep gorge. The suddenness of the view is like peering over the rim of the Grand Canyon. All we needed to do now was to continue down and south at any forks in the road. But right at the bottom we got it wrong and we found ourselves heading north into the city, uphill on a road with no turn offs.

I was not a happy bunny, it was rush hour. Here comes La Paz after all then.

With some fancy maneuvering we headed back down and south, at every opportunity I checked the route with police, who then sometimes asked for documents as a matter of course, or they were just curious and wanted a chat.

Finally as signs appeared for Mallasa the valley became lush and green, my concentration slipped and too late noticed a speed bump. The bike took off and returned to the earth with a suspension crushing jolt. I heard a thump from the road, checked Jean was still behind me and then looked in the mirrors expecting to see a bottle water splattered in the road. The bike felt a bit light, and as I could hear Jean shouting "The Pannier" it was obvious why.

Pretty tough these panniers, I just wish they would stay where they were meant to. The bolt that holds it on had snapped, another job for the plastic tie clips.

Fortunately the hotel had a room. It also had a pool, and probably the comfiest bed yet. The view over the valley was not bad either.

With only 200k to go the next day we didn't hurry. I cleaned the spark plugs again and checked the bike over, all the time with an eye on the clouds creeping over the rim. Dark clouds.

The climb back up (800m) was steep, and had more speed bumps. One was particularly high. I went over slow but heard a metallic clang and scape. Followed by more scraping noises, the side stand was hanging lose. Somehow the spring had come off. Luck was with us because we found it in the road, and racing against the storm clouds looming I managed to get it refitted just before the rain started.

It doesn't rain here, it flushes. The rush of water was pushing rocks off the valley walls and rivers coursed around bends. It was a relief to finally crest the rim and get back onto the level at El Alto. A short relief as it was back to the standing traffic, 4 or sometimes 5 lanes going nowhere. Now the rain was accompanied by hail stones. I suppose it kept the bike cool.

At this point Jean reminded me she still needed some new waterproofs.

From leaving the hotel to the outskirts of El Alto was about 30k. But 2 hours.

This time the outskirts were really awash, sometimes the water flowed up to our ankles on the bike. The sky was black and there were no gaps between the lightening flashes and the thunderclaps. People had to leap rivers between their doors and the road.

Finally the rain, hail, thunder and lightening faded. All we needed now was fuel. Nowhere had sold us any since the day before, 90k before El Alto. Every station we went to had either run out of gas or just refused to sell to foreigners.

Reserve was used, at least 40k earlier than expected due to the demanding riding, and the "fuel can" came out. Some maths and assuming we really do have 2 litres in reserve (I still have not been able to find the answer) I decided that if I rode economically we would have just enough fuel for the last 91k.

The road to Copacabana is punctuated by small ferry ride.

With one more large hill to climb I had switch to reserve again, exactly at the mileage I had calculated, and we relaxed as the final descent started.

The gas station in Copacabana was out of fuel. They may have some tomorrow. We will be going nowhere for a while.

The wings have definitely all fallen off.

With just a possible 10k of fuel left in the bike, I am contemplating getting a bus into Peru with the fuel can and doing some reverse fuel smuggling.

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