The £60 Gamble — Into the Argentine High Desert

We awoke that morning in a lava field. The coarse black rocks had offered some wind protection the day before, but after our long wait, the gales had died down and practically disappeared overnight. As much as I wouldn’t have minded a break after a long day of driving, we were determined to make the most of our five-day window of calm weather, so we packed up and set off for Antofagasta de la Sierra.

This is the last town before things get really desolate. Even so, paying by card wasn’t an option, and the shops were still small kioscos rather than supermarkets. We had around £60 in cash left, and we needed fuel and, ideally, a few groceries. Checking the cost of fuel confirmed what we’d expected: it was around 50% more expensive. We’d read that out in the tiny hamlet of Antofalla — where we were headed — fuel was actually cheaper. Not only that, but the station in town had several bad reviews mentioning contaminated fuel, and we really didn’t need that hassle. If we filled up here at these prices, we wouldn’t even be able to buy a full tank.

Waiting for Antofalla was a gamble, though. Fuel in these tiny outposts isn't sold at a proper station, but rather by an individual selling it from their house. If they weren't around, we’d have a serious problem. Still, it seems we like a risk, so we stopped in town only to buy a few basic groceries to last us the next few days and to fill our water tanks. Surprisingly for the desert, potable water was easily available: every town had a free tap to use, and here was no different.

Ready to go, we left the tarmac behind us and headed into the mountains. Now the high-altitude climb truly started. From our starting point at around 3,500m, we would climb up to 4,635m before dropping back down the other side to the giant Salar de Antofalla. Once again, there were several warnings about road conditions, but from what we’d gathered talking to a local guide the day before, the tracks here were generally better maintained because they were used by the local mines.

The climb to the summit was gradual. The afternoon wind picked up and whistled through the valley as we climbed steadily alongside a small stream cutting a streak of green through an otherwise barren landscape.

Vicuñas were everywhere, as per usual, but this was the only time we caught a glimpse of a Rhea. These giant, flightless birds (slightly smaller than their emu relatives) are among the few creatures that seem to dwell happily on the high altiplano, where food, shelter, and vegetation are so sparse.

We wound our way up the mountain easily enough; the incline was gradual and the road was a decent gravel track. We weren’t far from the top when we hit our first real challenge of the day. In several places, snow had previously covered the track where it blew into drifts between the peaks. Most of these had melted in the sun, leaving varying degrees of mud behind. The final drift, however, proved to be a proper obstacle. Tucked behind a small ridge and spending nearly all day in shade, the snow had been whipped by the wind into a million tiny peaks, giving the appearance of hundreds of razor-sharp spikes. It was clear that, unlike the other spots, no one had bothered trying to drive through here. Instead, a clear track detoured off the main road to bypass the problem via the opposing hillside.

I left the main track and began following the detour along the slope. We passed the drift easily, but then needed to drop back down to the main track. Because we had passed to the right, the slope put all the vehicle's weight onto Ruby’s broken shock absorber, increasing her lean far more than normal. To rejoin the road, the makeshift track dropped off steeply to the side. There were several different lines where previous drivers had picked what they thought was the best point to attempt it. I bypassed the first option — which dropped through an enormous ditch — and kept climbing. I reasoned that if I climbed the remaining short distance to the top of this hill, the ground would naturally level out at the top, making the re-entry smoother further up.

As we continued up the slope, the van leaned further and further to the side, and Ruby began to tip ominously. I tried to level us by driving along the ridge next to the pre-made tracks, but the ground was soft, crumbly soil and made little difference. After a few more metres, I stopped, feeling a wave of panic. Having felt like I’d nearly rolled the van yesterday, I did not want a repeat performance. Out here, there was no one around and no help if things went wrong.

I collected myself and slowly rolled back down to the best-looking spot. Lee got out to spot me down. I knew that if I could turn more directly down the slope at less of an angle, we’d lean less to the side, but the terrain made that almost impossible. I gingerly edged down towards the road. I wasn't the only one worried — at one point, Lee rushed forward and pushed against the side of the van as if he could hold it upright himself, probably a very bad idea. In hindsight, we should have retrieved our recovery boards and used them to prevent the lower wheel from dropping down so far. But after a few tense seconds, both front wheels climbed onto the main road and the drama was over.

We continued up the last few hundred metres to the wine-bottle shrine that marked the highest point of the pass.

From here, it was all downhill—and steeply so. We hadn’t driven more than a few kilometres before Lee turned to me and uttered those words that never mean anything good: "I can smell the brakes."

"Me too," I muttered. "I’m stopping."

I pressed hard on the pedal, and we came painfully slowly to a halt, the brakes already fading. Once you smell the brakes in Ruby, you’ve got about one good stop left before you lose them completely. A steep slope ran away from us downhill into the valley below, and losing them now would have meant a sticky end. Luckily, we know our vehicle and its warning signs. I stopped in the middle of the track, and Lee grabbed some rocks to wedge under the wheels to secure us. I decided we’d give her half an hour; hopefully, the cool ambient air up here would chill the metal quickly, but I wanted to be certain we were safe before setting off again, as there was still a lot more downhill to go.

Getting out to stretch my legs, I was greeted by a strong whiff of superheated brake pad from the driver’s side, whereas the passenger side felt barely warm. That explained why they had overheated so quickly: it seemed one wheel was doing practically all the work. Since we had time, I pulled out the floor mat, grabbed a spanner, and gave the system a good bleed. A few satisfying bubbles of air hissed out of the passenger caliper, and I hoped that would be enough to rebalance the braking power.

After waiting our allotted half-hour, we kicked away the chocks and gave her a quick test. Satisfied that we were back in business, we resumed our descent into the valley below. This was not the end of the main descent, but rather a brief interlude before we reached the viewpoint for the salar and the final track leading down to the village.

The valley floor gave the brakes plenty of time to cool down as we drove, and by the time we reached the viewpoint, I felt comfortable tackling the steep drop to the salt flat below. The wind up on the ridge was howling, meaning we spent only a few minutes outside soaking in the epic view before continuing down.

For a while now, I’ve held the opinion that roads with hairpins are generally less troublesome. Yes, they descend steep hills, but the hairpins themselves mean the stretches between corners are usually more level. The worst roads for us are those long, gradual straight line descents that force constant braking — much like the one that had boiled our fluid half an hour earlier. The track ahead was fairly steep and lumpy, but given the dire warnings, I had expected far worse. We took several opportunities to pull over for photos and to let the only other car we met all day overtake us.

By the time we reached the bottom, the afternoon was coming to an end. We crossed the huge, flat expanse of mud and salt to reach a wide gravel area on the far side, where we set up camp for the night.