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Forgotten by many and overgrown with eucalyptus trees, the dirt track I’m on meanders along the shore of Lake Titicaca, and I let my mind wander on the old road to Copacabana. Like a snake shedding its skin, the fractured ridges shed rocks—obvious land mines for those that don’t understand the physics of rubber against sharp rocks. At the Strait of Tiquina an underpowered outboard pushes the barge across the lake as I watch the “captain” bail water that’s seeping into the bilge through the mangled deck. Once across, the tarmac rises quickly, sweeping around Inca terraces it dips toward Copacabana, the departure point for boat rides to the Island of the Sun, the birthplace of the Incas. But first, it’s fresh lake trout for lunch and a siesta. Later, following the line of least resistance, a narrow dirt road cuts precariously above the lake, before darting across a narrow gap to Sampaya—a village locked in a time warp with an original Inca stone road at its doorstep—where houses are still made of stone and thatch. Beyond the adobe church and the whitecaps on the lake is the Island of the Moon, and on the horizon, a soft golden light, followed by cascading red and violet clouds, igniting the Cordillera Real, a sure sign the Inca Gods are going to have a tantrum tonight.

Waking up to fast-moving puffy clouds and sunshine, the streets have fresh puddles from last night’s thunderstorm. Retracing my route, I cross the straits again and ride the big loop to Achacachi, past the military fort and upwards towards Mts. Illampu and Ancohuma—their deep-blue seracs threatening any possible route to their summits. There are no roads in Bolivia that have this view: two 20,000+ foot peaks, standing guard above a 6,000 foot drop into a quilt of green, yellow and red terraces laced with ribbons of whitewater. A couple of curious kids herding a flock of unkempt sheep wave furiously before I pass them on delicious hairpin turns. Each turn makes my grin bigger, brings warm air, and puts me closer to a world of tropical plants, purple flowers, yellow finches and the funky cabins at Altai Oasis Hostel—just 5-minutes from Sorata, a decrepit rubber boomtown and my departure point for the tropical Yungas tomorrow.

Sleeping in is tempting, but the better option is to pass the trucks and avoid having to eat their dust on the gravelly two-lane road. Climbing out of Sorata, the warm temperatures cool off quickly and a glacial wind greets me at Chullisa pass—a clear sign to head down into the eastern side of the Andes. With year-round rain, these jungle-covered mountains are lush and wild—home to yellow-billed parakeets, Blue-Morpho butterflies, orchids and other forest dwellers. I run a gauntlet of soapy mud above noisy whitewater rivers to Caranavi, my destination for the night.

Leaving Caranavi and riding to Coroico my senses are pleasantly assaulted by the smell of sweet flowers and humid leafy forest decay with a hint of citrus. According to The World Bank, I’m on the World’s Most Dangerous Road and to survive, driving on the left is mandatory—vehicles going up the Andes drive on the left-hand (mountain side) and ones going down to the Amazon have the cliff-side. Accumulated road grime is washed-off as I pass under a couple of incessant waterfalls. Cliffside crosses honor those that went over the edge and I’m reminded to stay alert on each blind curve, blaring the horn until my thumb throbs. Soaked, I drive into a dense cloud soup trusting my light and paranoia will elude a face-to-face encounter with a 5-ton Volvo truck. Just as I crest over the 15,230 foot La Cumbre pass, warm Andean sunshine temporarily blinds me then reveals La Paz below.

Being well acclimatized now, my next goal is Mt. Sajama National Park, next to Chile and where the Altiplano earns its fame. Persistently scoured by frigid winds and dust devils, and friend to no one, this high plateau is a beautiful and lonely place and the home of wild vicuñas, mountain lions, lizards, pink flamingos and hummingbirds. Dirt roads crisscross everywhere and from every direction, not a single road sign to be seen, so I stick to the most-used track, praying it will lead me to the hot springs below Mt. Sajama before nightfall. “Dust is my friend” becomes my mantra as I ride south across frosty sand dunes. With heated grips on full, my eyes fix on Mt. Thunupa, a trusted geographical marker that leads me to the forlorn village of Jirira where hot soup, a shower and a bed await. Locals use this carved-up volcano year-round to navigate the 40,000-year-old fitted-sheet of blinding whiteness called the Salar de Uyuni. It’s time for sunscreen and land speed records.

Sergio is from La Paz, Bolivia and lives in Boulder, Colorado—splitting his time between the US and South America traveling to Bolivia, Chile and Peru. He runs a variety of companies like Explore Bolivia (ExploreBolivia.com) that has been in business since 1994 and offers motorcycle, 4x4 overland, trekking and nature tours from the Andes to the Amazon. As well as fixer services for film, TV and video productions, he's a professional photographer working with editorial and corporate clients (SergioPhoto.com) and leads custom photo tours via Sergio Photo Tours (SergioPhotoTours.com) offering instruction workshops to various countries.