BOLIVIA
SALAR DE UYUNI - MINI-MOTO ADVENTURE SESSION - SUCRE INSANITY - CHE GUEVARITRY - RANDOM IMAGERY

SALAR DE UYUNI

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Isla De Pescado - Cactus Country
Salar De Uyuni is the highest salt plain the world has ever seen. You can ride for five minutes with your eyes closed in any direction without fear of falling or crashing into anything. This island is situated right in the centre.

New attachment
Geoff pondering life with his new appendage. The magazines, the movies, the dildos (www.giganticgeoffrey.com)

Rock hard rewards
After being constipated for god knows how long Steve finally took Geoffs advice and swallowed some laxatives. Right in the middle of the ride Steve jumped mid-rev from his bike to relieve weeks of rock solid matter from his insides.

Geoff tangoes with the dark matter at hand
Geoff was so excited by the outburst he just had to touch it. He spent hours making little houses, farms and other such things. Steve was so flaggergasted by Geoff actions after two hours he had to slap him around and bring him out of his hazy eyed happyland so they could continue on their way.

Sandscape serenity
Geoff ponders just how the hell he came to be in the middle of a Bolivian desert on a motorbike over 15000kms from the comfort of his home on Grovsenor St, in Wahroonga, Sydney, Australia.

Lickin Lichen
Steve was informed that the local green goods were better than anything they grew in Amsterdam. He couldn't resist just a little taste to confirm the myth.

.MINI-MOTO ADVENTURE SESSION


Rampaging knee high moto
Steves bike was yet again in pieces waiting for a new piston from the USA. Steve swindled a local ex-racers kids Yamaha PW80dirtbike as a substitute. Steve, Geoff and newfound accomplice in crime Yochai embarked on a 300km mission around Sucre and into the heart of the mountainside. Riddling ourselves with concrete memories of an inspiring adventure. The PW80 rips it up on the tight dirt corners.

Tribal Meeting
The local elders were heading towards a local meeting to discuss various means of improving mountain village communication. They arrived at our campsite (a church perched on a 4200metre mountain top) at sunrise and were greatly surprised to find us and a little PW80 on the scene. Posing for a picture for the locals (Steve in black centre)

Tribal Elder
A tribal elder peering into the lens. A man of serious intentions.

Dinosaur Man
A local man who guided us to a local dinosaur fossil site in the distant hillside exits his house to show us the way.

Mountainside Schoolboys
Our second night sleep was spent in the classroom of the one and only school in this mountainside community. The evening was spent being peered upon through the dusty windows by the local elders and the morning was spent being chased by the local kids around the school yard. They dont get tourists around here.

Geoff pulling a frontside lipflip
The arcing geology shifting over the millions of years that we have occupied earth. Yochai meddling with his manmeat in the background. Geoff pondering whether he will be able to make it through the next river crossing.

Little lady rockhopper
A little old lady rock hopping her way across the river as her donkeys carve their way across the waterflow.


SUCRE INSANITY


Tomma gets done by the devil
Geoff gets mauled by a bunch of horny women

Gert does Owen
The owner of the famous Joy Ride Cafe Sir Gert (who helped me out well beyond the call of duty whilst stuck in Sucre waiting for a new piston - he is also pretty fancy on a dirtbike) enters the erotic earlobe of Mr Owen Pantsdown. With no remorse for his action. In fact, he told me he sorta liked it.

Sucre Gang
L to R: Gyranting Geoff, Humping Hannah, Salivating Steve and Oh My God Owen. This crew of motley individuals managed to tear apart the nightlife, the daylife, the midwife and Gerts house. If there was fun to be had, we would be in the thick of it, and no doubt, Owen would have his pants down.

Steve and Geoff, sitting in a tree...
Steve getting a firm grip on what Geoff was getting at.


CHE GUEVARITRY

Ernesto "Che" Guevara's final resting place
The final resting place of the famous Che Guevara located in Valle Grande, Bolivia. Striking a pose with the main man.

Che's accomplice mounts my motorbike
My visit to the burial site of Che coincided with the Che Guevara movie being shot. Here Che's former accomplice in crime sits astride Wolverine.


Hitchhiker number two
Another bolivian kidlet manages to procure a lift on the back of my modern day steed.

RANDOM IMAGERY

Acupressure/acupunture combo deal
I arrived into San Javier for a cup of coffee and left covered from head to tail in bruises. A small 50 yr old Taiwanese woman equipped in the art of naturatherapy, acupressure, acupunture and hapkido swept me away to a small natural thermal bath, ripped my clothes off, stabbed me with needles and suction caps and left me to die. I have never experiences such euphoria without aid of pharamacutical substances in my whole entire life. I thought that perhaps she had drugged me and was going to rip out my kidneys. I returned to her premises after the ordeal and woke up 12 hours later. This is a picture of my back four days later after the swelling had subsided. Was it relaxing? No.

Farmer pride
I paused to photograph the donkey below traipsing around a local cemetery when this proud farmer crept up to inspect my progress. A man of surreal energy. I barely knew what he was saying but there was something about him that have him that glow worm appeal, so I snapped a photo.

Donkey Cemetery
A local donkey inspecting the quality of flowers arranged around various graves for substance and consistency.


Roadblock somewhere near San Javier
I arrived on the scene to find 40kms of trees strewn across my path. Warning left right and centre - they are setting cars alight! They are going to kill anyone who passes, they are drunk! They are wielding live chainsaws! The locals had blocked one of few paths across Bolivia in protest. They government was rooting them and this was their only way to stand up and fight.
I had three options: wait - two days to two weeks, ride around - two days, ride through - 45minutes. I rode through.
Riding over and around giant logs, thorns, blazing car carcasses, drunk men wielding giant buzzing chainsaws. So far so good. They stared in disbelief at me and my bike (bikes bigger than 250cc's are very uncommon in this area. My bike is 650cc's). Half way through I came across a little kid no more than ten years old meandering along the side on the road. "Where are you going?" I asked. He pointed straight ahead and mumbled "home". "You want a lift?" His eyes brightened as he clamboured up my leg and onto the back of the bike. From then on he was like a little saviour. People were dumbstruck as we passed.
We arrived at the heart of the protest. I edged toward the now silent crowd who spotted me in the distance. I flipped up my helmet and ripped out a smile. The crowd erupted in cheers and I was assaulted with high fives and slaps on the back. They were impressed that I made it. I was the first the break through. They let me pass in good spirit. Five kms later I dropped off my hitchhiker and continued towards Santa Cruz.

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