Here the Atacama is not a single desert but a collection of them, and the stretch around Río de la Sal sits in its high, empty heart. The land is a pale expanse of volcanic rock and sand, with salt-crusted basins, dry riverbeds and enormous distances. Nothing grows here without help. The sky is absurdly blue, the air is thin, and at night the stars come out in a density most people have never seen.
The Incas knew this route. Their road, part of the Qhapaq Ñan network that UNESCO listed in 2014, ran south from the Andean highlands through the desert toward the fertile valleys of central Chile, with waystations placed a day's walk apart. A later traveller of a very different kind was the Spanish conquistador Diego de Almagro, who crossed the Andes in 1536 on his way to Chile through a high pass in winter and lost a large part of his party to cold and hunger. The nearest town, Diego de Almagro, carries his name, a slightly ironic honour given what the journey cost.
A rider here is in remote country. Main roads are paved but long and empty, with strong winds sweeping across the plain, and side tracks are sand, gravel and washboard. Altitude is considerable, and mornings are cold even in summer. Mining trucks run on some of these roads, and drivers are used to having them to themselves. Vicuñas and guanacos graze on sparse grass in damp hollows, and you may see a fox at dusk. The geology is a show in itself, with colour bands in the rock walls and old lava flows frozen mid-pour.
The practical rule is simple: fill up in town. Diego de Almagro, about thirty-three kilometres away and home to eighteen thousand people, is the nearest place with fuel and shops, and beyond it services thin out fast. Carry more water than seems reasonable, extra fuel if the bike's range is short, and a phone with offline maps, since coverage disappears. Spring and autumn are best, while the winter months can bring snow at altitude and summer brings afternoon heat in the lowlands.