Pozo Colorado, Paraguay

After a shockingly easy exit to Bolivia (3 minutes and the guy stamped us out without even wanting to see us) we were met 200km later with an equally easy entry to Paraguay. Some frustating chain based delays yesterday left us with an optimistic 525km to cover today if we are to make Ascuncion in time for a G&T this evening. Half way there and so far so good...

Impossible made possible

Two weeks ago an explosion of colour emerged from Cuzco, very very slowly. 31 mototaxis coughed and spluttered eastwards towards the Bolivian border, riders a' smiling, flags a' waving, engines a' running-out-of-petrol. Nerves evaporated as dust flew up nostrils and roads climbed skywards. One team, their mototaxi clothed in Elvis decals, ignored instructions and headed south to meet their fate at a Chilean border post. The rest, the sensible ones, were rewarded with two days in no mans land between Peru an Bolivia. Many trees were felled to cope with the demands of paper-hungry officials, and then our topsy-taxi drivers were off again, dispersing across the altiplano.At the other end I waited, preparing Asuncion for an influx of strange road craft. Reports filtered in of dynamite, strikes, rollovers and nights spent in barns and hotels made from salt. The Argentinian border swallowed some more mototaxis, and then some more. Just one team bounced off said border, not letting roads of sand and brittle wheels halt their progress. This team had left Cuzco swathed in potato sacks, natural clobber for the Irish. They would not be stopped, not even by the fashion police. The 14th came, the day of reckoning. Banners were hoisted, balloons blown. To be honest, mototaxis were not expected. Our first teams arrived on foot, glumly relaying tales of border-hate. They drank. We waited. We discussed the likilhood of anyone making it alive. And then the sound of an engine.Two dirty men climbed from their mototaxi, grins wide enough to allow the passage of a potato. It hadn't been a race, until now, because before us stood the winners! Team Spuds, presented with beers, began to speak of their adventures. We couldn't understand them, so we simply began to drink.More teams arrived, but again they were dragging their feet. Mototaxis detained in Bolvia by angry men with dynamite. Exploding engines in Santa Cruz. Soft excuses like that. The party began, Team Spuds revelling in their unique standing, spreading jealousy throughout the ranks. The night drew on and it seemed that only one teams would make it on Finish Line Day. And then there were cheers. I peered over the balcony and there they were, another four mototaxis, filthy to the core. One of them was affixed to the back of another, possibly a world mototaxi-towing record begun over 750km back. Our brave Spuds were joined by another six successful junketeers, one still holding his cricket bat. The party upped a notch in celebration of an impossible feat made possible. Large Argentinian men collapsed on glass tables, a small man from the bar produced remarkable dexterity with a shaker full of tequila, which he then dispensed into several junketeer's gaping mouths. Ladies undressed and nearly caused several car crashes. Cigars were bought and enjoyed. And this, my friends, was just Day One of the finish. At least ten more bikes remain on the road, we expect them at some point this week. If they're lucky.

We made it

Here we are. In asuncion. We made it. Last night around1130 pm we pulled up at the finish line. We were immediately swarmed by a horde of other junketeers and were quickly informed that other than our convoy only ONE other team had made it across the line in a moto. truly an amazing feeling.

Asunción, Paraguay

finally bloody here

Entre Ríos, Bolivia

So far so good. Despite some nervous moments through the night the intrepid sevensome are all alive and well and now full of tea and pasties. All being well we should make Ibibobo and it's associated petrol by late afternoon.@

Tupiza, Bolivia

So the striking miners have beaten us! After taking five hours to find 20 litres of petrol and needing 80 more we've been forced into a rather expensive alternative. $1142 has secured us a truck big enough to take our 4 mototaxis and the seven of us to the Paraguayan/Bolivian border at Ibibobo. Our emotional 16hr ride on the back of said truck starts in an hour. Wish us luck.

EPIC FAIL

Well, it´s all over. Sort of.

After the Argonauts´taxi exploded on the road, we discovered that the border we were heading for was inaccessible by anything other than 4x4, and my sickness came back with avengence, I accepted the need for a bus to escape Bolivia and so make my flight. (To then get straight on to a plane to Romania, not due to reasons of wimping out.)

If only it was that easy.

Ed the Argonaut has taken the helm of the indomitable JungleGin steed (known as ´Cockface´ - wait for the photos) and has probably made it to the border by now. I spent 14 hours waiting for a bus in Camiri that several locals promised FAITHFULLY existed. It doesn´t exist. But the pain was somewhat lessened by Hugh and John, the remaining Argonauts who were awaiting their bike being rebuilt. And when it was finished, and they took it for a test drive, it broke. So now we´re ALL awaiting a bus. That presumably exists. At 2am.

We´re off to get shit-faced.

Tupiza, Bolivia

An epic couple of days. Has taken us two days to cover 200km from Uyuni to Tupiza. Atrocious roads with horrendous climbs upto an altitude of nearly 5000m took their toll on our steeds. A burnt out clutch led to us sheltering for a night in a Bolivian mining colony before towing and pushing one of the taxis for 60km to the next town. We now have a new clutch, a split group, and an assurance from at least a dozen locals that due to the blockades there is no way we will find any fuel here to replenish our now empty tanks. However we do have cold beer and a proper bed - so all is well!