You will arrive in Calama, where we’ll pick you up and transfer you to the small desert town of San Pedro de Atacama — a legendary crossroads for adventurers, hippies, and travellers from all over the world.

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This is where our journey begins.

We meet as a group, slow things down, and ease into the rhythm of the desert. You’ll receive your riding gear, we’ll go through a detailed riders’ briefing, and prepare for the days ahead.

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In the evening, we come together for a relaxed desert dinner — dust in the air, stars above, and that unmistakable feeling that something special is about to begin.

Tomorrow, we ride.

Today we leave Chile behind and cross the Andes into Argentina.
Climbing to over 4,300 meters above sea level, we ride deep into a landscape shaped by fire and time, exploring towering volcanoes along the way.

We encounter more of the famous salt lagoons — this time glowing under the crystal-clear light of high altitude — before looping around the surreal rock formations of Los Monjes de la Pacana, the “Monks of Pacana,” rising dramatically from the desert floor.

From here, we cross the border into Argentina and descend slightly toward our overnight stop near the small and simple Andean village of Susques.

Remote, quiet, and surrounded by vastness — the perfect place to rest after a big day in the mountains.

Yesterday was challenging. Today is about joy.

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We ride toward Salta, a true gem of northern Argentina. This elegant colonial town welcomes us with charm, color, and comfort — the perfect place to rest, enjoy, and reset before the next demanding sections. But first, we earn our way there.

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Around 80% of today’s ride is on tarmac, following old railway lines as we wind our way into the deep red mountains that define this region. The road flows beautifully: sweeping curves, narrow tunnels, and ever-changing views that invite you to relax into the ride.

It’s one of those days where everything comes together — smooth riding, stunning scenery, and that quiet satisfaction that reminds you why you’re here.

A well-deserved pause awaits in Salta.

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The next section is pure riding bliss. Winding roads, quiet backcountry lanes and postcard-perfect scenery all around. Once we leave the city limits of Salta behind, we dive into country roads that guide us north toward Purmamarca.

This small Andean town is a picture-perfect example of northern Argentina’s high-desert vibe — adobe houses, dusty streets and mountains painted in every shade imaginable. We stop here for lunch and, once the hottest part of the day passes, take time to stroll through the village and its surroundings, soaking it all in at a relaxed pace.

A small geographical highlight awaits us today as well: we cross the Tropic of Capricorn for the second time on our journey — a quiet milestone somewhere between dust, altitude and endless horizon.
Another line crossed. Another story added. Ride on.

Today we aim big. We’re heading for Salar de Uyuni — the largest and highest salt flat on Earth. Named after the dusty little town of Uyuni, this 10,582 km² white giant offers more space than your brain can process and enough openness to make reality feel optional.

But first, we have to earn it.

We cross into Bolivia — hopefully without donating too many hours of our lives at the border — and roll straight onto one of the most surreal riding stages of the trip. The road climbs higher and higher onto the Altiplano, cutting through one of the most elevated inhabited regions on the planet.

Air gets thinner. Landscapes get wider. Roads stretch endlessly across a high-altitude world of colour, wind and silence. Out here, it’s not just about the destination — the ride in is already full-scale adventure.

Uyuni is waiting. Flat. White. Endless.

We save an extra day here — on purpose.

The Salar de Uyuni plays by its own rules. Too much wind and the flats turn hostile: salt in the air feels like sandblasting, visibility drops fast, and riding turns from magic to misery. Temperature matters too — cold mornings harden the surface, heat softens it. Conditions decide, not us.

That’s why today exists. This is our backup day.

If we already made it onto the salt flats yesterday under good conditions, today turns into pure bonus material. No pressure. No rush.

We can explore the legendary Train Cemetery of Uyuni, where rusted locomotives and rail cars lie scattered across the desert like metal skeletons — Bolivia’s railway dreams frozen in place.

Or we stretch the ride further and head to Pulacayo. Its train cemetery is rougher, bigger, and far more interesting, set against the backdrop of an old mining town that once rivalled Potosí in importance.

And if the light is right and energy is still high, we roll back out to the Dakar Monument for a few extra photo stops — bikes, dust, and proof that we were really here.

Either way, this day gives us flexibility. And out here, flexibility is what makes the difference between forcing a ride… and having a great one.

Today we say farewell to the vastness.

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One last morning in the desert landscapes of the north. The light is softer, the air is dry and still. From our desert lodge we roll out towards San Pedro de Atacama, crossing through Calama and onto that long, endless straight that connects the mining town with the oasis.

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You’ve been on this road before — sitting in a shuttle bus, looking out the window.

But today… you ride it.

The horizon stretches without mercy. The engine pulses beneath you. Heat shimmers over the tarmac. The desert reveals its scale once more — raw, silent, and humbling. This is where you truly feel the Atacama.

It’s not about speed today.
It’s about soaking it in.
One final moment of dust, distance, and desert wind.

By late afternoon we roll back into San Pedro, arriving exactly where our adventure once began

Our first riding day is intentionally designed to help us acclimatize to the altitude. We ride between 2,400 and around 3,000 meters above sea level, giving both body and mind time to adjust.

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The route combines good tarmac roads with short sections of easy gravel, allowing us to get comfortable with the bikes and ease into the riding rhythm.

The highlights of the day are unforgettable: flamingos feeding in shimmering desert salt lakes and surreal volcanic lagoons formed by ancient eruptions — a first glimpse of the raw landscape that will define the days ahead.

It’s a gentle start, but already unmistakably Atacama.

Today we hit a legend. The famous Ruta 40, stretching almost the entire length of Argentina from north to south, will be our home for the day.

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This section is 100% gravel. Expect loose stones, patches of sand, wind, and vast, open emptiness. Riding here is not about speed — it’s about rhythm, focus, and settling into the scale of the landscape.

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The scenery is raw and unmistakable, showcasing exactly what makes this part of the planet so distinct and powerful.

Overnight, we stay in the small yet picturesque Andean village of San Antonio de los Cobres, a remote high-altitude settlement and a fitting resting place after a true classic of South American adventure riding.

We deserve a little break.

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Sleep in, wander the colonial center, grab a proper coffee, and watch the world go by on Plaza 9 de Julio as the dust finally settles. Salta is compact, walkable, and beautifully calm — ideal for slowing the pace after big days on the road.

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Whatever you feel like, Salta offers plenty of options.

Take the cable car up Cerro San Bernardo for panoramic views, enjoy a proper wine tasting, sample one of the city’s many craft beers, or even ride the legendary Tren a las Nubes.

No schedule. No pressure.
This day is yours.

oday we ride for Yavi. A tiny mountain outpost tucked deep into the folds of the Andes, hidden behind the Seven Brothers Hills and far off most people’s radar. This place doesn’t shout — you have to earn it.

The road is pure riding pleasure: smooth tarmac cutting through a wild, open landscape. We break off along the way to explore the rainbow mountains, letting the colours and the silence sink in before pushing on.

Out here, time has stalled. Abandoned railway lines slice through the desert. Empty stations still stand, rail cars and old locomotives left exactly where they were, slowly being reclaimed by wind and dust. No fences. No crowds. Just forgotten steel and stone under a vast sky.

We roll into Yavi as the sun drops behind the mountains — engines ticking, faces dusty, and that quiet grin you only get after a proper day on the bike.

Today is one of those days that barely needs words — but earns them anyway.

We roll out early, chasing the cool air and clean light, and head straight for Salar de Uyuni. The largest salt flat on Earth. Flat, white, endless. A place where maps feel useless and the horizon plays tricks on your head.

Once on the flats, the world simplifies. No corners. No landmarks. Just throttle, engine noise and a surface so wide and hard it feels unreal. Distances collapse and stretch at the same time. Something that looks five minutes away turns into half an hour of riding. Speed feels slower than it is. Silence feels louder than sound.

We aim for Isla Incahuasi, a cactus-covered rock island rising straight out of the white nothing. Engines off. Helmets off. Absolute silence. Then back on the bikes, picking a different line across the flats just for the joy of it.

Riding time on the salt is kept sensible — this place gets into your head if you stay too long. By early afternoon the light hardens, the surface warms, and it’s time to point back toward solid ground.

Back in Uyuni, the bikes are white with salt, faces are wind-burned, and nobody needs to say much. One thing is certain: this was not a normal riding day — and that’s exactly the point.

From Uyuni, we head west on the remote Route 701 — a stark, high-altitude ribbon cutting across endless altiplano, volcanic plains, and silence broken only by wind and engines. The landscape slowly trades salt and ochre for deep desert tones as we cross into Chile, dropping toward the Atacama basin. By late afternoon we roll into Chiuchiu, a tiny oasis village where time seems to move at desert speed. Tonight we stay in a secluded desert hotel, and once darkness settles, the show begins: crystal-clear skies, zero light pollution, and a visit to a nearby observatory where the Milky Way feels close enough to touch. A big riding day — rewarded with one of the best star shows on Earth.

The night ends early.

Long before sunrise, when San Pedro still sleeps and the desert air cuts sharp and cold, we quietly step outside. No engines warming up today. No helmets clicking shut.

This time, we trade two wheels for a minibus.

The road to the geysers is rough, high, and unforgiving — and we leave in pitch-black darkness. Headlights cut through dust and silence as we climb higher and higher into the Andes. Out there, riding would not be fun anymore. Out there, we allow ourselves to simply lean back and let someone else handle the road.

It is time to relax.

The altitude rises quickly. Over 4,000 meters. The cold bites. Breath becomes visible in the thin air. And then — as the first light of day touches the horizon — we arrive at El Tatio Geysers.

And suddenly, the desert awakens.

Steam columns rise violently into the freezing morning air. The earth hisses and breathes. Bubbling pools glow golden in the first sunlight. This is not a silent landscape — it is alive. Primal. Untamed.

We walk carefully through the geothermal field, wrapped in jackets, holding hot coffee cups with slightly numb fingers, watching one of the highest geyser fields on Earth perform its morning ritual.

No throttle.
No dust.
No riding line to choose.

Just stillness.

As the sun climbs higher, the steam softens, the light warms the earth, and we take it all in — one final high-altitude gift from the Atacama.

Later, we return to San Pedro. Slower. Quieter. Fulfilled.

Our engines rest.
Our minds drift.

The adventure may be ending —
but the desert has left its mark.