Skirting the Abyss
Motorcycling from Majes to Colca by night
The route on the map from Majes to Cabanaconde looked straightforward, 160km along what appeared to be a branch of the Pan-Am which we guessed to be in a good condition — most likely tarmac. After a leisurely start to the day watching F1 and covering a local restaurant with South American athlete’s foot powder (accidentally I may add) we set off again on our usual routine — check the bikes, fill up with gas, faff a bit and pin the throttle open. Today this was followed by Tibet wetting himself. He claims his CamelBak valve fell off, but the pattern of wetness on his jeans was very suspect and no-one else had seen this mystical valve. Being nice people we gave him the benefit of the doubt as he pretended to refill his CamelBak and we got going again.
The tarmac very quickly gave way to good, graded, dirt road like only the Peruvians know how. I really like this surface — the looseness of the surface is predictable (apart from the occasional areas of sand) allowing you to build confidence while you gently slide the rear wheel around the corners. The landscape in this part of the world has changed to positively martian with no plant in site, red hues in the soil, and mountains that look unmovable and stationary, unlike the living volcanoes and tortured landscapes that we’ve seen in the highlands so far.
As the day drew on and the sun weakened Tibet and I stopped to change to winter clothing. One un-closed dry bag and 20 minutes later we were a summer sleeping bag and a pair of waterproof trousers down. Didier and Tibet doubled back while I nursed an electrical problem with my bike when a Quechua farmer by the name of Huguino walked by and wanted to know what we were doing here. After a while I realised that his Spanish was probably worse than mine and he seemed surprised when I told him I couldn’t speak any Quechua. Lots of pointing and animal noises later it turned out he was a shepherd out looking for his sheep.
After recovering one summer sleeping bag (and zero waterproof trousers) from the road we figured we could just about make it to Cabanaconde before dark and so we sailed past the penultimate town with dusk falling full of optimism. The road was longer than we had calculated and it soon deteriorated into a gravel track, slowing our progress further. With no suitable camping spots available we had to make it that night. All three of were fully aware we were breaking one of our cardinal rules by riding in the dark so we slowed right down. As the cold set in concentration was at a high, driving as carefully as we could to avoid any mechanical issues. Eventually, around ninety minutes after we had originally planned we found the town and the hostel, very relieved that we had made it. Tibet, having had cramps for the last 50km warmed up in the shower and then burrowed into his extreme weather sleeping bag for the night while Didier and I devoured some warm rum and pisco cocktails to recover from the ordeal.
The next day was very much a continuation of the previous one. We started by locking ourselves out of our room. Ordinarily this would not be a problem, however this hostel appeared to have never considered this eventuality and so had no spare keys. This caused quite some panic with the Jamaican man running the hostel that day running around the bar saying ‘holy’ every few seconds. However, no fear! With our recently learned skills we swiftly found a ladder and broke into the room to save the day. Cue one happy Jamaican and a couple of girls swooning over Didier while Tibet stood by overcome with maddening jealousy.
After that episode, we enlisted the help of the entire village to find the local mechanic. We fail, waste an hour in the process, and head off along Colca Canyon, the second deepest in the world. We were disappointed that the morning’s adventures meant that we were not able to see the condors soaring, but we were glad to be back on the road, eating up the curves. In our continuing search for a mechanic we stopped at the next town, Chivay, another tourist magnet on account of the thermal baths there.
The continuing mission to tour all of the mechanics in South America started with leisurely lunch, preceding a tour of all the closed workshops and therefore necessitating an unplanned search for a hostel. During our drive around Chivay in the dark, one of the many friendly children in Peru stood in awe of Tibet on his motorbike, took his hand off the handlebar, shook it and put it back. Tibet’s official emotion for this was “alright”, but we could see him trying his best to stop his eye-sweat from escaping.
As a consolation for losing the best part of yet another day to mechanical issues we decided to visit the thermal baths. En route, we offered a lift to a French couple who were making their way on foot. With Didier’s exhaust strapped to the rear rack and the bike sounding like a boy-racers’ meeting in an ASDA carpark, they wisely refused and we tore off up the valley.
The baths were clearly geared up for tourists like us. Although the waters were arguably a bit too thermal, the mojitos and pisco sours miraculously corrected the temperature to something altogether more bearable. Eventually the French turned up and we all agreed that they made the wrong choice in turning down our incredibly safe offer.
Feeling recharged, the next day we headed out early to the mechanics. Didier’s exhaust was reattached and the other two had pre-emptive surgery while we ate stir-fried alpaca out of a sandwich bag and the mechanic’s 3 year old son tried his best to detach our fuel lines. Successfully keeping most of the fuel in our tanks and happier with the state of our bikes, we headed back up into the hills towards Arequipa, our next target.
