The climb began in Copiapo, altitude 375 m (1,230 ft), where we had stocked up on 300 litres of drinking water and 200 litres of 97 octane motorcycle fuel. Copiapo is where civilisation ends. A few miles out of Copiapo and it is clear that you are in the Atacama Desert. There is no water, no trees, no animals, no mobile phone coverage, no internet, no nothing. Just an old road that begins to climb as soon as it leaves the city limits.
Just over 2 hours later, the group, made up of the 3 guys on the 3 Husabergs, and our support crew, consisting solely of Sherri Jo Wilkins driving our support 4x4, pulled into our first acclimatisation camp, at Laguna Santa Rosa, up at 3,770 m (12,369 ft). Here, the atmosphere was only about 65% that of sea level. The crew was unanimous in declaring Santa Rosa one of the prettiest places any of us had ever seen.
Just over 2 hours later, the group, made up of the 3 guys on the 3 Husabergs, and our support crew, consisting solely of Sherri Jo Wilkins driving our support 4x4, pulled into our first acclimatisation camp, at Laguna Santa Rosa, up at 3,770 m (12,369 ft). Here, the atmosphere was only about 65% that of sea level. The crew was unanimous in declaring Santa Rosa one of the prettiest places any of us had ever seen.
48 hours later, feeling acclimatised to the atmosphere at Santa Rosa, the team moved on to the base of Ojos del Salado, and a camp site just off the border road to Argentina. Camp Murray was the name of the location and it sat at 4,527 m (14,852 ft). From here, a dirt track led to two other mountaineering camps on the mountain, Camp Atacama, 5,256 m / 17,244 ft (The main mountaineering base camp for Ojos del Salado) and Camp Tejos - more of a temporary stop or emergency base, up at 5,825 m (19,111 ft) up a very very rough track. We decided to spend a couple more days based at Murray while our bodies further acclimatised to the increasingly thin atmosphere, now barely 55% of sea level. We arrived at Camp Murray in the middle of a snowstorm.
From Murray, we changed wheels to our mountain wheels, sprockets, tyres and mousses, and were able to make an initial recon ride up the mountain. Despite the thin air, the bikes were still firing up, idling and running like a dream.
Our initial ride took us up to 5,945 m (19,505 ft). We saw that the ride to 5,900 m (19,357 ft) would not be a problem. But we were met by a wall of sand, rock and ice above that level.
Another 48 hours later, we moved camp for the final time, this time up to Ojos Base Camp ... Camp Atacama, at 5,256 m (17,244 ft). We had the mountain all to ourselves. A Chilean group of climbers had left the mountain 2 days earlier and a German group was just leaving as we arrived at Camp Atacama. The whole mountain was ours to play with, but we were now down to about 50% of sea level air density. Regular pulse and blood oxygen level checks were the order of the day. By 5,250 m we had reached the limits of human beings to adapt to the conditions. No one lives above 5,250 m. Mountaineering base camps are all at or below the 5,250 metre level. While some camps exist higher up in mountains around the world, they are not base camps, just shelters to stop in on the way up or down the mountains. Any nights spent above 5,250 metres weaken the body.
Meanwhile in Camp Atacama, the international team was adapting to life in the big dome expedition tents that exist there:
Further exploratory rides were undertaken daily, from our new base at Camp Atacama - getting the bikes up to 5,987 m (19,642 ft), but as wide as we travelled around the mountain, we were unable to find an easy way across the belt of sand, rocks and steepness that seemed to surround Ojos del Salado around the 6,000 metre (19,685 ft) mark.
Our final exploration and recon mission was by foot ... walking up a route that had been used by Matthias Jeschke when he set a car world record back in 2004. The route was a long one and covered with snow. But it took us directly to the point where Jeschke claimed his 2004 car world record, a small peak of about 6,361 metres (20,869 ft). It was there that Jeschke had built a tiny cairn of rocks with a foot long piece of bamboo sticking out of it. That bamboo seemed the only organic thing on the mountain, and we nicknamed it "Jeschke's Noodle". It became a possible target.
One thing that was clear from the exploratory hike, was that this would be no cakewalk. It would be a long hard slog and would probably take us 3 days to get the bike to that point. We knew then that the amount of physical work meant we could not take all three bikes. One bike would be chosen, and all three guys would ride it and haul it up the mountain as required.
The Final Push
First the bike had to be rammed into the steep hill, and try and get as many vertical metres as possible before traction and momentum gave up to gravity. Lukas saddled up, hit the throttle and bucked and weaved his way up to 5,950 m (19,521 ft).
Then it was hard work time. 5 hours of haulage and labour to get to 6,020 m (19,751 ft).
From 6,020 m (19,751 ft), Walter saddled up and had a quick blast up through a field of penitentes to 6,060 m (19,882 ft) where, completely exhausted and with the sun going down, we decided to call it quits for day one of the final push. We abandoned the bike there, along with our riding clothes, helmets etc. We would have a rest day and return in 36 hours time:
After a days rest, we were full of energy and enthusiasm to finish the job. Barton, the teams head of Mountaineering department, called for a mountaineering summit day schedule. We would wake at 2 am and be prepared to put in an 18 hour day ... and so it was. The team woke at 2 am, hiked up to the bikes, put the riding gear on and as the sun rose on Ojos del Salado, Barton saddled up and rode quickly to 6,100 m (20,013 ft). From here, a massive glacier blocked our progress. The glacier was breaking up and the surface was very rough and full of crevasses. It would be extremely challenging and physical work to get the bike across. Lukas took up the challenge and with Barton and Walter testing the glacier and pathfinding, Lukas amazed us all with a textbook motorcycle glacier crossing.
We were all completely exhausted after the crossing. Up here at 6,100 m, the air is down to 45% that of sea level. Recovery from even moderate exercise takes a good 10-15 minutes.
There were several other glacier crossings as we made our way higher up the mountain. The team stopped at 6,210 m (20,374 ft) to survey our options. The slope ahead of us was covered in snow, yet there were a few lines that could be taken where the sun had burned off the snow. We were now just 35 m (115 ft) from the existing world record we had targetted from the time we began planning - 6,245 m (20,489 ft). Walter saddled up and, spotting a potential line, roared up the hill. When he stopped, a look at his GPS showed that the job was done .... 6,269 m (20,568 ft) ... the world record was now ours. The Husaberg Adventure Team had come through. It was now only a question of how much we could improve it by. Certainly 24m was not enough. We wanted to be more decisive than that. The boys abandoned their backpacks at this level and began to have some real fun. The pressure was off now.
It was Barton's turn the saddle and after a lot of lateral research of different lines and angles, Barton found a sun exposed ridge with a thin line of exposed gravel and launched himself up the hill. It was a little gem of a ride that in about 90 seconds seemed to score the Husaberg Adventure Team another 50 metres of vertical. It took 20 minutes for Walter and Lukas to catch up, but when they did they saw the GPS now reading 6,317 m (20,725 ft). We were now 72 metres above the old record.
Lukas took the reins and was determined to extend that to 100 m, though how he was going to do that was a mystery. Barton had stopped on a small gravel knoll, but all around was deep snow. But Lukas had an idea. He roared into a small gully but soon became bogged down in snow. A few hands on the Kriega haul loop we had fitted on the bike and he was through to find a path up to another rocky peak with a spectacular view. Lukas had taken the bike to 6,346 m (20,820 ft) ... we had topped the old record by over 100 m.
Yet one small hillock, 100 metres away seemed 10 metres or so higher. Between our sun exposed rocky peak and the small hillock, was 100 metres of snow. It was Walter's turn to saddle up. Walter had done deep snow riding before in Russia as a guest of the Off-Road People club there. The Russians had passed on plenty of good advice and techniques for this kind of thing and Walter blasted through the snow, bouncing his bike along as a huge white rooster tail shot out from under the bike. When he finally stopped, the GPS was reading 6,355 m (20,850 ft) and the hillock we had been aiming for was now clearly identified as Jeschke's Noodle. This was our optimistic goal ... and we were now just a few yards away from it.
It was now Bartons turn on the bike and while he could have comfortably ridden up to the summit of Jeschke's Noodle, Barton turned to Lukas and Walter and suggested we all take the bike and push it the last few yards to the summit, together. It was a fitting way to arrive at the new world record. We checked the GPSs ... they were all showing an accuracy of +/- 3m. Readings fluctuated on all units between 6,359 m to 6,363 m. But the most common reading was 6,361 m (20,869 ft) and that was the middle of all the readings. We had broken the old world record by 116 m (381 ft).
Our second day of the final push had been far better progress than we had hoped. We thought it would take 3 days to get to Jeschke's Noodle, but we did it in a day and a half. But the team, including a professional mountaineer (Barton) and a ex commando (Lukas) was exhausted. It was now after 2pm and the team had been working since they woke up at 2am, It was time for the guys to cruise down to base camp and celebrate.
Mission accomplished !
