Trans Americas 2009 - The Blog

Despite last night's hail and rain storm, this morning dawned bright and sunny, but was still cold out of the sun. But the bright sky contrasted sharply with my mood, as I'd had another night of interrupted sleep, waking every hour or so, the thin air clearly affecting me. I've never had a problem sleeping and managed to get off quite quickly despite turning in at 9pm, but woke around 12.30am and then continually through the night. I also woke with a headache, the first real one of the trip, the bright sky causing me to squint badly and making matters worse. There was only one possible cure, and that was to get on the bike and ride...

Which is exactly what I did. First I had to bring it round from the car park to the hotel so I could load it up, and it almost fell over on the steep camber outside as I went to put things in the top-box, which would have been really embarrassing. Once loaded, I followed Aaron out of town, confident that his GPS would help us find the right road, and happy not to have to think too much for myself. We filled up with fuel on the outskirts of town, in the middle of some roadworks which meant the entrance and exit of the petrol station was a mass of deep wet mud, not ideal when on worn road tyres, but we didn't have any drama. We even managed to negotiate the chaos of Juliaca without too much difficulty, emerging at the far end of town before heading back round town to pick up the road towards Arequipa. At this point my headache and the cold were getting to me, so I pulled over to take some paracetamol and to put on my over-jacket. Nick stopped too, so we let Aaron disappear and then rode on alone with me leading and Nick content to follow. The rode rose up into the high mountains once more, the scenery as barren yet stunning as ever. Crossing over one set of mountains and down a valley we crossed a bridge dividing two parts of a lake and had to stop as there were flamingos... I just wish my new camera hadn't broken as the pictures would have been so much better...





Riding up the mountains on the other side of the valley brought us high above the lake and the views became even more stunning, reminiscent of the best of the Lake District but on a much, much grander scale... by now my headache had long been forgotten, my mood once again as bright as the sky... it's hard to be anything but positive when the world looks like this...





It wasn't just the scenery that took my breath away, though, as that photo was taken at 4,426m (over 14,500 ft). And we still had further up to climb, the top of our route being over 4,800m as we rode over to the night's stop at Chivay. Continuing on our way we stopped for a coffee in a little roadside shack, Nick and I arriving before everyone else and so once again experiencing the sensation of being like aliens landing on earth. The local café was little more than a shack with a window through which they sold bottles and other consumables, whilst inside was a single table and bench seat. We sat down and ordered a coffee (for me) and a coca tea (for Nick, it's supposed to help with altitude but I'm not keen). Despite the place smelling of urine, the drinks were good and before long several other bikes pulled up and their riders and pillions entered, filling the café but replacing the feeling of being adventurous with that of just being in a strange place with lots of other english people. So we paid up and left, riding into the wilderness alone. The road immediately changed from tarmac to dirt, rutted and stony with occasional patches of deeper loose dirt. A couple of miles in we came across another café with outside facilities, and as my insides had been shaken about by the rough terrain, I went inside whilst Nick stayed outside and admired the view...





It was quite a view, but we couldn't admire it too much when on the move as the road required a lot of attention. It went from dirt, which was fairly easy, to severely pot-holed and rutted tarmac, which
proved more challenging, it being impossible to navigate a line through the pot-holes as there were simply too many of them. The pounding was intense, and it wasn't too long before my bike packed in, just stopping dead exactly as it had done in Honduras. I tried to restart it, but no joy, it being obvious that there was once again no fuel getting to the engine. Nick stopped and we pushed the bike to the side of the road, then waved the other riders past, explaining to each one that we though we knew what the problem was, and that when Jeff caught us up we'd get it sorted. I removed all the tank fixings ready for Jeff and then sat and waited... there being many worse places to break down than here, and at least it wasn't raining... Pretty soon Jeff arrived and I told him what was wrong, so we removed the tank and drained the fuel and then he set to work removing the tank fittings again...





No sooner had he got the fittings out than it was obvious what the problem was, one of the fuel hoses between the filter and the pump was disconnected, meaning no fuel would get through to the engine. It must have been shaken loose by the terrain, just as it had in Honduras. Jeff reattached it and crimped the hose clamp to try and stop it recurring, then re-assembled the tank. We then filled it with fuel and checked for leaks before putting it back on the bike and reconnecting it up again. Hitting the starter the bike fired first time, and less than half an hour after Jeff had arrived I was back on my way across the pot-holed road up the mountain, with Nick closely behind.

Eventually the road became good tarmac again, and I was able to sit back in the saddle and up the pace a little. It was only a little, mind, as at this altitude the bike feels decidedly asthmatic, unable to get the usual quantity of air in to make good power. Rising higher towards the summit it got noticeably colder, and then started snowing. Yes, snowing. It wasn't too heavy, but heavy enough for us to slow down and have to keep wiping our visors every few seconds. With one eye on my sat nav's altitude reading, we finally crossed the high point at 4,870 meters (nearly 16,000ft) and began the descent towards Chivay. As we dropped the snow turned to light rain and then cleared, the road much better for being dry as it twisted and turned down the mountainside. Entering Chivay we stopped and paid the tourist tax (17.50 soles each, about £3.50) and made our way through town, via the petrol station to the hotel. Despite all the hold-ups we still arrived around 3pm, and gratefully accepted a cold beer from Pertti who was celebrating feeling better after a few days with a dicky tummy. With the beer sunk I showered and changed and went in search of an ATM to get some cash. Chivay is a small town with a nice little square, a stopping-off point for tourists entering Colca Canyon in hope of seeing wild condors. In the square is a nice white church, whilst on the hillside behind someone has created a large cross...





Wandering round the streets also meant I could play voyeur again, peering into other people's daily lives and snatching photos when they weren't looking. Down one of the better streets (this one had pavement and the road was concrete, not dirt) an old lady was busy sorting through a large number of what looked like beans, completely oblivious to my passing and staring...





Back at the hotel I updated the blog whilst chatting to Tracy, surprised to find her online as by now it was 4pm (11pm in the UK). When done it was time to go back out in search of food, but first a beer in one of the 2 Irish bars in town. We tried the first one, where Tony, Phil, Richard and Max were finishing a game of pool, but it smelt of wee, so we went to the second. This was empty and when we asked about the pool table we were shown into a dark back room, where a young girl was busy watching “Finding Nemo” on the TV (in Spanish, of course). The barmaid then switched on the lights and served us a couple of bottles of Cusquena whilst we racked up the pool balls. Now there's something a little odd about the pool tables in Peru, and that is that the pockets appear to be smaller than the balls. Seriously, I've never played pool on a table with such small pockets before, and it made for a long game. The little girl seemed to be unconcerned by the gringos drinking and playing rubbish pool, as she flicked the channels between Nemo, the Mummy and some kids' cartoon. Where else in the world would you drink beer and play pool whilst watching cartoons with a kid in a pub?

When we'd drained our beers we left to go find some food, only to walk out of the pool room back into the main bar to find a table of fellow riders, so we sat down and ordered a couple of pizzas and a bottle of water (for me) and a glass of wine (for Nick). The pizzas were good, but fatigue had set in by the time we finished them, so we strolled back to the hotel and I went to my room to update the blog and try and get a good night's sleep, knowing I have to be up very early tomorrow to go and see the condors (and ride the 40 miles of dirt road to the canyon and back!).