Preparation  "Ah, mucha arena, mucha caminata, mucho viento!" One of the two Argentine bici-expedicionistas is complaining in the youtube video. Yes, it looks very sandy, more than half of the way from Fiambala up to the Paso de Buenaventura and further past the volcano Galan to Salar del Hombre Muerto they seem to push their bikes. And the wind... well, it's Puna ... and we would have it mostly in the back when coming from north... Three days we think about the project before we start to search seriously for information. Difficult, because in fact there is no other than the youtube video. Not even the images search on Google shows a lot. By chance, we finally find the Viajeros mapa, a digital map from and for 4x4 drivers which charted the white spot on our map quite accurately. We can see that at least the water would not be a big problem. All 40-60km we come to a Vega with freshwater. Equipped with a GPS track and a height profile, the decision is in favor of the route. The remaining days of our break we use for carboloading and finally for the big shopping. Every kilo counts two to three times in the altitude. Cautiously we try to meet the fine line between "as light as possible and still enough calories". Preparations completed.

Realization   A tremendous tailwind blows us over Paso Sico to Argentina. In desolate Pocitos we fill already existing provisions gaps in the small shop and try to get a few more first-hand information. "There is a way?" The Senora wonders in the store, while the Senor at the first aid station candidly admits that he had never heard of this route. Welcome back to the no man's land of the Puna. The next five days we see not a soul.

In the east it is getting light. In pastel colors the morning awakes. The first rays of sunlight cast a pattern of light and shadow on the sky, grope timidly along the mountainsides, stroke curiously over the scrubby tufts of Puna grass. From one moment to the next colors explode. The grass in intense yellow, in a warm ocher the lava ground. The thin ice layer on the trickle in front of our tent melts.

Marbled mountainsides. A game with watercolor in a glass. Red, orange, yellow, brown. A slight movement of the brush creates new nuances. Streaks of color mixtures, for which we have no name. Sulphur yellow? Oxid green? Copper red? Mineral resources that lie open. Overall stretches the indigo blue skies of the high Andes.

It is reflected in the Ojos de agua, "water eyes", where groundwater rises. The little wet brings a new color into play: Dark green - and at the same time life in the remote area of the Puna. Vicunas nibbling on tough grass. Attentive they twitch their ears, lift the nostrils in the air and then flee away in a hassle. They leave back a cloud of dust and small ripples that spread in the Ojos.

Turquoise green, it sparkles in the sandy gray of the crater: The Laguna El Diamante, located in the vast caldera of volcano Galan. In the afternoon storm clouds crowed at the crater rim, the colors fade and we ride through a desaturated, monochrone landscape. Cloud shadows rush across the plain, like a hungry puma hunting its prey. Rumbling thunder in the distance.

Pink, an unusual color in the Puna, but here it is, sprinkles the shallow waters of the Laguna Grande with small dots. About 19,000 Andean flamingos have selected the place as their hatchery. Their soft chatter fills the air. They teeter around in the mud, form groups, divide and move in flocks over the water. The lake seems to be in constant motion. Reflections, sharp as silhouettes. A violent gust of wind, ruffled feathers. The contours on the water surface tear and sink into the churned sludge.

In the west, the sun sets. The black cone of Carachipampa is engulfed by shadow. What remains is a featureless void, stretching to the horizon. For several hours, the solid ground has gone and we push through deep sand. The wind turns on, blows us volcanic ash and stones around the ears. It crunches between the teeth.

For millions of years the wind sweeps across the plain up to the Paso de Buenaventura, tiny basalt and quartz particles sand on the soft Tufa stone which is flowing down from the pass like a spilled glass of milk. The Campo de Piedra Pomez: Palid it lies to our left at dusk. The white Tufa reflects the last daylight. Crevasses and ravines, surfaces and lines. A petrified glacier, born from fire, sculpted by time. We seek shelter behind a rock, anchor the tent with basalt rocks, wait until the night also catches up with us. The wind falls asleep. Silence. The stars twinkle above.

Evaluation  The last big Andes crossing, the Paso Pircas Negras we use to say goodbye. Farewell to the Puna, the six-thousand-meter peaks, the wind. Farewell to the Andes and South America. But also to say goodbye to this kind of bicycle touring. The last two months in the Puna have once again shown us, what we love. This are not the tarmac highways of the world, but the gravel roads and trails. Therefore, we will fly to Switzerland for a month, to replace there our heavy touring bikes and the classic bags against a bikepacking set up. And after this a lot of new projects are awaiting us.