I don’t know if you’ve ever ridden across a salt flat at sunrise, but if you haven’t, you should. The silence is so deep it almost hums. All I could hear was the faint crunch of salt crystals under my tires as I pedaled away from Colchani, chasing the horizon with no real destination just movement.

The air was cold and razor-thin. My breath turned to vapor almost instantly. I’d prepped the bike the night before, wiping down the drivetrain and applying a fresh layer of Triboflux. A Bolivian bike mechanic back in La Paz told me, “The salt will eat your chain alive if you don’t protect it.” So I listened.

About an hour in, I stopped thinking about the bike. No squeaks. No crunching gears. Just that smooth, quiet glide you only get when everything’s working in sync. The Triboflux was doing its job, shielding the chain from the salty dust that coated everything out here. I’d used plenty of lubes before, but this one felt different. Cleaner. Smarter. It let me forget the machine and focus on the ride.

Midway through the salar, I laid the bike down and just… stopped. The reflection of the sky on the wet salt made it feel like I was floating in space. No cars. No fences. No sound but the wind and my own heartbeat. I took a photo, but it didn’t do it justice. Nothing ever does.

I kept riding.

Out there, in a place so vast it makes your life feel microscopic, everything unnecessary falls away. You feel the weight of your thoughts, the rhythm of your breath, and the exact moment your tires touch earth again after a long coast.

And somehow, knowing my drivetrain could handle the ride, thanks to that one little bottle of Triboflux, made me feel like I could handle it too.