After such a successful 450kms yesterday and all those church visits I thought 300kms on gravel should be fine. The first hour wasn’t too bad and I managed a bit over 50 kilometres and was getting more confident with the surface. I was already calculating that I’d be there mid arvo and continue on to Brazil in the same day. I was also thinking I was lucky to have such nice weather and how bad the road would be in the wet season. Then out of nowhere it started getting dark. I got a few big raindrops on my helmet and within minutes I was in heavy rain. Too late to put on my wet weather gear on but I thought it would probably disappear as quick as it came. It didn’t. It got worse. I was soaked and had slowed down to 20kph and was starting to fog up so I had to ride with my visor up.

And then the ruts on the roads became small rivers and I had to keep zigzagging across them. Then the road surface became slippery and I was having trouble just keeping the bike upright. I stopped in the middle of the road for a bit to try and decide what was the best thing to do. And then the drains down each side of the road started filling up, and as I was on a downhill, the water was speeding past rapidly. I thought I would ride down to the bottom of the hill and see if I could find somewhere to pull off the road. I didn’t want to slide off the road into the deep side gutters. I’d never be able to get the bike out by myself.

The bottom of the hill was now a river crossing the road. I panicked a bit and thought I should cross it before it was too big to cross. That was fine but there was nowhere to get safely off the road. Just deep fast flowing drains and thick jungle on both sides. So I had to keep going. Riding uphill was a bit easier with the slippery road. I continued on at a pace fast enough to keep the bike upright but slow enough to see and not hurt myself if I dropped the bike. At the top of the hill there was less water in the side drains but still nowhere to get off the road. And it was still bucketing down.

I had done less than 10kms in an hour and the next town was still 40kms away. I continued on somehow, hoping that I wouldn’t come across a car coming towards me. The river crossings became wider and deeper, and I was starting to think I won’t be able to cross anymore. Then the jungle opened up a bit and then the rain eased a little. I decided to continue on and hopefully ride out of the rain. My odometer was moving painfully slow but I kept going. There were a few more jungley patches with more rain but no more deep river crossings. I was physically exhausted from trying to keep the bike upright and I was so glad to see the town of San Vicente  (Pop. about 200) appear through the drizzle. I have no photos of the horrible weather or the road because I was in survival mode not tourist mode.

I rode up to an army checkpoint where I had to get off the bike. They had no real interest in me or coming out in the rain but I needed to get off the bike for a bit. The Brazilian guy at the hotel last night had told me you can cross into Brazil from this town as it was right on the border and had a road that crossed the border on the other side of the town. I was thinking that this might be my best option. There was another checkpoint down the street and there was a cop there who said I could go into Brazil via that road and that there was an immigration office back down the street. I went to it, but no one was there. I asked around and no one knew where the guy was. I went back to the Police Post and he said it was closed. He said would register me as departing town and then I could just cross the border. Nah. It was way to casual for me and I didn’t want my bike confiscated. He also suggested that since it was late afternoon that I should stay at the local hotel the night and that the immigration guy might be in his office tomorrow (office below). A sensible suggestion.

The hotel was on the edge of town and over it’s back fence was Brazil. They weren’t expecting visitors. The lady was nice and checked a few rooms to see if they had power and when she found one she offered it to me. No towel, no toilet paper, no internet but a room with a light globe and an airconditioner. It was a bit depressing, but I was tired and hungry but also thankful for the food I’d had last night and for the big breakfast before I left. I did my best to try and hang my stuff so it could dry. I tipped over a cup of muddy water out of both my riding boots. I didn’t want to use the shower so I just put on some dry clothes and my thongs and wandered back in to town and found some food. When I returned the lady had a Brazilian friend visiting and she was really nice and was living in the town. She knew the immigration person and chased him up for me on her phone and said he would be around town tomorrow. No other details. I also had another problem. I didn’t know if I had used up more fuel with the bad road and wheel spinning in the mud. If I continued on next day, I didn’t want to end up running out of fuel on the dangerous section of road.

It was a small town and I think asked everyone about fuel. Most people sent me to the same lady but she said she didn’t have any. Apparently this was the first rain of the wet season and I was probably the only person in town not appreciating it. The termites certainly were. There were millions of the winged ones everywhere searching for a new home. Like Broome with the first big wet season rains. I had to sit in my room with the light off as they were coming into my room and ending up on my bed. Even though I had flyscreens as you can see in the photo.

It was a long night. Next day I was up early and it wasn’t raining. The sun was shining. It was hot and steamy but the road was drying out. I thought I should just get on my bike and go. But the petrol issue was hanging over me. After my third walk to the immigration office the guy was there. He was really friendly. He told me it was fine for me to go into Brazil from the town and that he could stamp my motorbike out. Things were looking up. He then asked for my passport and then said he couldn’t find my exit stamp. I said I didn’t have one yet and I assumed he would do it. Nope. Not his job and without the stamp he couldn’t check out my bike. He was the Aduana and I needed Immigration.  He said that I needed to ride back to the town I was in the day before and get stamped out there. That wasn’t happening. 

With my multiple wanderings I’d sort of become friends with the cop at the checkpoint, who was about my age and so I went and had chat with him. His suggestion was to just ride into Brazil and get fuel and then sort the immigration thing out later. It sounded a good idea. As long as immigration or the army or the drug dealers in either of the countries didn’t stop me and confiscate my bike my illegal bike. I decided my worst outcome would be to run out of fuel in the middle of nowhere and have no option to go anywhere. So I decided I would head to Brazil to get fuel and then sneak back across the border into Bolivia somewhere between where I was, and the border town of San Matias, which was 200kms away. There were multiple times that the road in Brazil ran along the border line. On my way to the hotel I saw a mud covered bus pull into town and so I asked how the road was? Muy feo. I knew that translated to very ugly. Back at the hotel, put on my still wet and now smelly riding gear and packed my bike.

I was on my bike ready to leave for Brazil and the hotel lady came out and said she found me some fuel. She told me to follow her on her bike. We went to a place that I hadn’t been to, and the lady there didn’t have fuel. Then to another place with the same result. And then we ended up at the lady that everyone had told me about initially but this time she had fuel. It turned out I only needed 3 litres and so I probably would have had enough anyway. But I am a very sensible and cautious person. I had bought 4 litres as it was in two litre bottles and so I gave the extra litre to the hotel lady. Now I had to decide whether to continue to Brazil or continue on the original plan on the Bolivian road. I had 1 minute to make up my mind before I got to my mate at the police checkpoint as he needed to log my plans into his book. In case I disappeared.

My head was a mess with ideas and options, and I finally decided to stick with plan A from yesterday and stay in Bolivia and cross at San Matias. I said goodbye to the cop and he wished me luck and I headed off. The road had dried a lot and I could pre see the slippery patches thanks to the tracks from the bus I had seen come into town. There were some deep muddy water holes at the bottom of some hills, and some slippery patches and washouts that tried out my abilities. I almost fell into a deep pool but somehow managed to keep the bike moving and got out. I should mention here that my Mosko Moto luggage stayed completely dry in the heavy rain. It has a waterproof system that worked well but I’m not sure how well it would work if it was fully submerged in a deep puddle.

Then I got a few drops of rain. This time I stopped straight away and considered putting on my wet weather gear as my clothes had dried with the sun and the 50kph wind as I was riding. I had a look around and most of the weather was behind me so I just kept going and hoped to outrun it. I was probably going a bit faster than I would have liked but obviously my skills have improved and my wonderful bike didn’t skip a beat. With about 50kms to go the road became badly corrugated but I just kept riding at a good pace. Just before town a bolt rattled loose on the front mudguard. I was able to stop quicky which was good as I didn’t want it coming off and ending up tangling in my front wheel and throwing me off. I was so close to town. I found the washer on the road but not the bolt and so I just put a couple of cable ties through the bolt hole and continued on.

I had made San Matias by 1:00pm and so 4 hours to do 200kms on a crap road was pretty good. The town was a bit wild west looking. Even a few mennonites. I managed to find somewhere to eat and sussed out where I had to go to check out of Bolivia. First to Immigration to stamp me out and then to the Aduana at the police station to check my bike out. That all went smoothly, once I was able to find the places , which was harder than you would think. The road to the border gave me an opportunity to enjoy shit roads for just a bit longer before I reached the Brazilian border about 15 minutes later.

The road at the border post was paved. The guy spoke some English and invited me to sit in his air conditioned office while I told him about my trip. He could only check my bike in and I had to go to Caceres the next town about 100kms away to get my passport stamped. And I had 24hrs to do it. I was the only person at the border and he seemed happy to have me there. Sadly there is no town at the border on the Brazil side and that meant no fuel. I had to ride all the way to Caceres before I could find a petrol station. The fuel gauge was flashing empty as I pulled into town. Those 3 litres that I had got that morning had actually saved my butt.

Brazil seemed nice. The roads were good and I made it to town just on dusk. Caceres accommodation seemed a bit pricey but I found a roadside hotel called Turazzi for 130 Reales with breakfast which was about $35AUD. I also brought a beer and some water and a packet of dry biscuits and then went to my room and crashed out. The next morning, I was woken up by heavy rain. I had breakfast and went back to bed. The immigration place was only a 25 minute walk from the hotel and was easy as. The initial border guy had said I need to get a Brazilian ID number from Caceres and that it would make my life a lot easier getting things like a Sim card etc. And since I’ll probably spend a while in Brazil next year, I thought it would be a good idea.

That ended up taking a couple of hours because the rain had shut down their power and computers and aircons. But they were super friendly and I finally got it. I got back to the hotel before checkout and put on my wet weather gear and then went for my first ever planned ride in the rain. I wanted to get to Cuiaba which was the city closest to the geographical centre of South America. It was a 3 hour ride and very rural. I had prebooked a hotel in case I got held up. In my haste to choose a hotel and get going I didn’t notice that their parking was valet parking and was an extra five bucks a day. When I arrived and unloaded, I had to hand my keys over to a smiling guy who was keen to take off for a ride on my bike. I didn’t have much of a choice.  It felt really weird. Sorry bike.

The hotel was reasonable, and the breakfast was really good. It felt funny to be suddenly thousands of kilometres from La Paz and in Brazil and in the heart of the continent. But after a bit of research, I found out everything was not quite as they had said.

KMS 12936