Our Hardest Ride Yet
After our defeat at “Hell Hill” we were wanting to redeem ourselves and our pride. Ryan had done a bit of research on our day off in Ayacucho and had found us an alternate route to Machu Picchu, one that didn’t require us to go first to Cusco then double back on ourselves — always the man for cutting corners where he can. Up until this point we had been running off a day-by-day route laid out to us by Toby, who had sold us the bikes and knew what was realistic to ride in a day and where. So this was our first shot at running things ourselves and taking the training wheels off so to speak. I did my due diligence though, looking at the proposed route Ryan had come across in some backend forum on the internet. It did seem to exist — a good sign so far. Google quoted us 248km and said it would take us 7 hours — a long slog to be sure, but something we thought we could handle. The only other piece of information I could glean from the internet was a posting by an anonymous user on a travel blog from 2011 that said “do not trust your maps, this route is longer than you think” — I dismissed this as outdated information from five years prior, an incorrect deduction as it would later turn out.
We woke up feeling well rested and ready to take on our longest day of the trip. On the way out of town we made the call to fill up our jerry cans with an extra 5 litros of gas as, for anyone who has seen me when the fuel light goes on will know, I don’t like running out of petrol — especially not in the Andes.
As we turned off the main road, the lovely smooth tarmac of the 3S highway turned into the loose rock and dirt tracks we had been hunting. And so the riding began. A couple of wrong turns later we had burnt through some valuable time, added to which our navigation maps no longer showed us the road — this was the beginning of my trust in Google dissolving, but we were committed so on we rode.
Hitting a particularly loose section of dirt I was punished for a lapse in concentration — taking a spill and swearing loudly over the comms as I went down. Like a knight in shining armour I looked up to see Cam running towards me in full moto gear and helmet to help me with my bike, whereas Ryan (in trying to be helpful) managed to drop my helmet and break the GoPro mount. Thankfully this was the only break of the accident and I walked away with just a bruised ego for the being the one to go down.
The roads begun their Andes tactic of turning into tight hairpins as we slowly wound up the mountain ranges, only to get to the top to wind back down and then begin it all again at the bottom of the valley. It’s a spectacular view as you wind your way down from thousands of meters high, with sheer drops to either side of you.
At about 2pm and a couple of snack breaks later, we were hanging out for lunch, even if it was soup and chicken on rice again. I had the next pueblo lined up on my other mapping app (sorry Google), which seemed to be figuring out where we were. However once we arrived in said town, it became apparent that it wasn’t quite the size we’d be hoping for, and the three shacks that it consisted of didn’t sell any food. So onwards we went, with empty stomaches.
With the sun beginning to set and having already covered 200km, our GPS pin on the map had not moved even halfway. We admitted that we had been duped by Google and that we weren’t making it to Santa Teresa today. So in the small town of Somethingbamba we approached the local health centre and asked if we could camp on their front lawn. Like it was the most common request in the world the guy behind the desk agreed “si claro” without a moment’s hesitation. So for the second time this trip we began setting up our shelters.
Almost as soon as the tents were up we heard the wail of sirens and two cops approached our site on bikes. Thinking we had maybe misunderstood the healthcare operator, and it was a no instead of a yes, I began to mentally pack my tent away. However, in true Peruvian fashion, they had just heard about the three gringos camping in their town and wanted to come see for themselves, and ask if there was anything else we required. Again another example of the sheer generosity of the locals here.
As an avid sports-fan, I obviously knew that it was the big football game of the decade that night — Peru vs Argentina. So we made our way to the neighbourhood chicken shop to join in with the locals supporting our new favourite team, and share in a couple of luke-warm beverages around the TV.
After a good night’s rest and the high of the desired football result, we woke to a misty mountain vista. That and also a group of turkeys walking around and two dogs humping, so it was quite the view all-in-all. Sure that we had knocked off the majority of the trip yesterday we leisurely got ready, thinking that it would be another 100km TOPS to Santa Teresa. And so after a nice cup of joe and fried eggs we hit the road at the relaxed time of 10am. Yet another mistaken assumption it would turn out.
The track began to wind up again, in a pattern we recognised as a classic Andes hill climb. This time though it was accompanied by a dense fog that made us feel like we were in the middle of a Silent Hill film. It also clouded your vision so you could only see 3m in front of the bikes. I tried not to think about the sheer drops that were inevitably out of sight next to us and we continued to climb.
This went on for a good hour or two until be finally emerged having climbed up to around 4800m. As we summited the mountain range we rode above the mist and clouds to a stunning blue sky and our first view of snowcapped Andes mountains. Our joy was unsurmountable at having conquered this latest section, potentially our most challenging yet. I quickly looked at our maps to see how much ground we had covered in those two hours, assuming that beyond the next valley surely was our destination. My elation was quickly interrupted with the realisation that again we had been duped by map predictions, and that we had only got through about a fifth of the distance for the day, so this was going to be another long day in the saddle.
The next four hours consisted of more ascents and descents, the roads majestically winding themselves around the mountain ranges like a coiled serpent. Coming down one of the ranges I heard Cam moan over the intercoms, thinking he may have finally had our first flat tyre of the trip I pulled over. Fortunately it wasn’t a flat, and our non-mechanical skills didn’t have to be quite tested yet. But unfortunately for Cam he was being rocked again by the altitude, feeling quite dizzy and out of it. Not sure what else to do expect chew some altitude pills, have a snack and a drink of water we had to keep going.
The roads eventually wound their way down to the jungle and the accompanying heat, and we kept up the pace not even stopping for lunch — which made Ryan and his wallet quite happy. After Google tried to take us across two collapsed bridges (really starting to loose faith now) Ryan’s red devil bike puttered to a stop… out of gas. Thankfully we had the jerry cans and next the river we gave our bikes the blood they needed to get us to our destination, despite every hurdle being thrown our way. It was during this exercise that Ryan, too used to inner Auckland gas attendees filling up his scooter, managed to splash precious gasoline in his eye. A quick saline rinse sorted him ou though, and it was amusing to think that the first time we had to dip into the first aid kit was for a refuelling injury opposed to anything else.
Another point I should mention is that somewhere in the Andes Ryan’s electric start gave up. This lead to Cam or myself having to push Ryan to a jump start every time we stopped to snack or consult a map — quite the sacrifice at a sweltering 28 degrees in the jungle.
As the sun began to dip I could finally see our destination coming closer on the maps, giving updates on the comms “5kms, 2kms, 1km to go” and eventually we finally came into Santa Teresa a day late and 230kms over the Google prediction, but fist pumping as we rode into town — much to the local’s surprise.
We obviously looked like easy sells as we were quickly pounced upon by a hostel sales-lady offering us secure parking and a cool shower. The later was enough to get us across the line and we happily obliged. A shower, beer and healthy serving of guacamole later we were cheering the effort of the last three days, our biggest days of riding yet and with the most incidents — yet we were still going and so were the bikes.
The next few days were spent relaxing, as well as the infamous hike up Machu Picchu to get the standard tourist selfies.
