The daylight brought us to a small town in the middle of nowhere where we bought our driver and his mate a pasty for breakfast and tucked in to mugs of hot, sweet coffee. As the rising sun warmed our weary bones and reinvigorated us we loaded back on to the truck, full of hope and belief that the finish line was achievable... and then we wished it was dark again. The next leg of hour journey took us up, over and through our final mountain range. The Andes parting shot was the mother of all thrill rides. As our faithful Volvo and it's precious cargo (well, we regarded ourselves with a modicum of value at this point) climbed in to the steep sided passes of the lowland jungle the road grew ever narrower, the truck seemed to grow ever wider and the look of shock/terror on our faces grew ever more intense. Once again we discovered that the Road of Death wasn't the only insane journey that one could take in Bolivia. At times, the bald tyres of our speeding chariot were within inches of the crumbling limits of a drop far too steep for the elevation-averse Hattersley twins to contemplate gazing in to. And yet, despite gazing down the barrel of a loaded abyss (and mixing my clichés) traffic coming in the opposite direction still managed to pass by every now and then. You have to see the videos to believe it. Just as we thought we were making good time we came across some of our fellow Junketeers and they were in a whole world of pain. A bent sprocket, a snapped chain a galloping case of D&V and a lot of hill climbing left to do painted a bleak picture for the plucky souls. We pitched in with repairs as best we could. Our newly acquired skill of rebuilding broken chains by hand without any of the appropriate tolls or spare parts came in very handy. Finally we were able to send two out of three bikes onwards in to the hills. The third, however, ridden by the Estonians (remember them? We rescued them much earlier on in this tale with a can of fuel in Peru) was in no fit state. After contemplating leaving them stranded in the wilderness and laughing as we filmed our departure we decided to do the good thing and give them a lift. Our drivers pockets became a few dollars heavier, our group acquired two new travellers and the back of the truck swallowed an extra taxi - which promptly smashed in to Dreagles shiny new headlight and tore off his indicator. We thundered on through the coffee plantations and canyons as the sun traced it's arc across the sky; it heading rapidly west as we continued south-east. A cheer of relief went up as we made our final descent and hit sporadic stretches of tarmac. The light was dimming as we reached our first destination - a town the name of which I forget - where we dropped off our Estonian comrades to get repairs. We gave them the most exhausting push start in history before mounting up and pressing on for our final truck-stop. Daylight had long since left us as we pulled in to the last civilisation(ish) in Bolivia - Obibobu. Despite being a hundred or so Km from the actual border, this was the check-out point for Bolivia. The reason being that we had now entered the Gran Chaco; a vast, flat wilderness of varied flora and fauna that never seemed to end... and no one was willing to live on the border itself. We unloaded the trucks, wandered around looking lost for quite some time and then stumbled across what looked like some sort of shanty service station. A rather curt but helpful old dear told us that she was closed, there was not a chance in hell of her making any food and we couldn't get any fuel... until morning. They had fuel! Oh happy day. She then softened somewhat and told us where the border post was and, if we got too cold, we could sleep in there. We decided to set camp one more time and what a pleasure it was. For the first time, there was an abundant supply of firewood all around us, it was warm enough for shorts and we were in high spirits with the end in sight. We cooked up a feast over an open fire whilst swatting away highly poisonous spiders, corralled the wagons, armed ourselves with crowbars against any would-be thieves and settled down for a night gazing at the stars through the translucent covers of our mosquito nets...that's right, no tents required.