Adventureland

9/18/2011- New Heights

The last three days have been absolutely draining, although full of adventure.  Except for the worst food poisoning I’ve experienced in my life this morning, the Cordillera Blanca has continued to deliver.  Charlie and I left The Way Inn late Friday morning after we both repacked our panniers.  I culled a few small items, but more importantly packed all my heavy items toward the front of the boxes for a better ride.  Down in Huaraz we made a stop at the city’s only trusted ‘big’ motorcycle mechanic.  We needed Herbert to remove a nut holding Charlie’s front sprocket on since none of us had a 30mm socket.  Herbert and his brother loved our bikes and gave us a lot of good advice.  They sent us off around 1:00pm heading north for Huallanca.

Charlie and I had been debating for days where to go after Huaraz.  We fantasized about going up and around the range then eventually meeting up with Ivan’s route.  We also wanted to cross through the middle.  Before any decisions, though, we had to go to Huallanca.  Every motorcyclist I’ve met heading north has told me about the road from Huaraz to Huallanca.  It’s well-renowned as one of the coolest roads in the world by experts. 

After a gas stop in Yungay, we were ready to experience all the hype.  Just north of Huaraz, Canyon del Pato starts.  It’s a canyon at least 1,000 meters deep with nearly vertical walls.  The road led in from the highlands winding down until it spat us on the West side of the canyon.  With seventeen kilometers remaining before Huallanca, the road turned to dirt, barely clinging to the canyon wall.  Then started a series of 36 different tunnels in those next 17 kilometers.  The road was one lane with no guard rails to shield the 100 meter drop down to the river below.  Throughout the descent I looked down the stretch and could see the next several tunnels up ahead.  Some tunnels were 10 meters long, some 500.  All of them were dark, narrow, and very bumpy.  The road was built to support a hydroelectric plant in the canyon so there were gated paths leading deeper into the mountains inside the bigger tunnels.  There were rope ladders hanging overhead and precarious rocks were tied into the wall in case they gave way.  Charlie and I both agreed it was about as Indiana Jones as it gets rolling through these empty rock tunnels.  All the other guys were spot on, coolest road in the world.

Finally we burst out of the thirty-sixth tunnel into Huallanca.  We stopped for lunch and pulled out the map.  The map showed the entire road around the range being more dirt; we talked to a construction worker and he confirmed it.  After a little more deliberation we decided to head back to Yungay for the night, and then cross the mountains via Yanama on Saturday.  I normally hate backtracking, but heading back through the tunnels only led to more bewilderment at the opposite angle.  The pictures won’t do it justice, but I’ll get them up soon. 

Saturday morning we were up early with our eyes on the pass.  As soon as we left Yungay the road turned to dirt; it was the last pavement we’d see for the next hundred miles.  The road for Yanama climbed up through a valley in which two lakes had formed at around 3,500 meters.  The lakes were a beautiful bright blue, and fed by a glacial stream.  Surrounding them were little clusters of local livestock feeding off the nearby vegetation. 

From the lakes the road really got wild.  It turned into a series of switchbacks that piled on each other in the tightest formation I’ve seen.  Each switchback was about an eighth mile long and only a hundred feet above the previous.  We kept running into some Peruvian tourists in a taxi the whole way up and they couldn’t get enough pictures with us.  Finally at 11:30am we hit the pass at 15,300 feet.  Right at the top was the snow line and there were flakes falling.  It was cold, but more dramatic was the lack of oxygen.  Charlie and I were both panting standing still.  We took a lot of pictures, accepted some food from Peruvian tourists, and then kept going. 

Around 1:00pm we arrived in Panama after a steep descent through thick fog and plenty of mud.  We got a pretty bland lunch,  and then kept pushing forward hoping to find a hotel in San Luis, where we would meet up with the mountain loop road.  The road kept dropping past countless untouched Peruvian ranches that probably haven’t changed at all in the last couple centuries; the farmers were sewing their fields with oxen and wooden plows.  We pulled into San Luis around 4:00pm; it had a paved main street and that was it.  The place didn’t look too inviting, so Charlie and I decided to grind even harder to the next town Huari. 

The road to Huari was more of the same: dirt, potholes, stream crossings, and no guard rails.  It was about forty miles and we knocked it off pretty quick considering.  After an entire day of dirt, I was getting pretty good at leaning a 500 pound dirt bike around hairpin curves.  We finally got to Huari just as the sun was setting.  We went to the best hotel in town, and put down $15 total for a room with three beds, cable TV, and hot water.  They let us park the bikes in their garage for an extra buck each, and finally the ride was over.  My back was completely knotted from fighting the handle bars all day; I haven’t been happier to take a break.  I’m happy to say the bike did surprisingly well.  The only mishap was a loose bolt on my luggage racks.  I’ll have to tighten it up tomorrow morning.

That night we went out for a quick chicken and rice dinner in the little town center and then walked back to our hotel to pass out at 9:00pm.  3:00am I woke up uncomfortable with rumbling guts.  I rolled over and slept until 5:00am.  That’s when I woke up with a weak stomach and a run of diarrhea.  I took an Imodium and went back to bed.  6:30am I was on my hands and knees puking into the toilet bowl.  For the next three hours I couldn’t get out of the bathroom for more than ten minutes at a time.  Several times I was taking turns on which way to face the toilet, lucky to get a flush in between.  As soon as the city woke up Charlie went down to his first aid kit and came back with a drug cocktail for me.  I started with an anti-nausea tablet and puked it up immediately.  Then I took another and managed to keep it down long enough to kick in.  Next I took two Tinidazol antibacterial pills and later two Norfloxacin to stop the leaking.  That was six hours ago and everything seems to have calmed down a bit.  I haven’t eaten anything but some Ritz crackers and a banana.  I’ve kept down plenty of Gatorade, so I’m well hydrated.  Tomorrow I expect to wake up weak, but functional.  Then it’s off to Cusco; four more days of dirt and mountains.  We me (and the bike) luck.

9/20/11- High Times

Charlie’s drugs worked perfectly and after one hollow day in bed I was ready to head off.  We took off early in the morning from Huari destined for Huanuco, across another mountain range.  The first sixty kilometers were painstakingly slow.  It was a paved road, mostly.  Around every corner was a patch of mud or gravel that made the whole ride slow and miserable.  Every time the wind started to hit my face I had to slam on the brakes and dodge potholes.  It was maddening too because I couldn’t fix my loose side rack in Huari so every bump I could hear my racks rattle just a little bit.  What has happened is the steel racks have actually worn enough to rattle themselves free on the left side.  I used Loctite to glue the bolt in last time; I tried to get it off but was afraid of breaking my wrench.  I’m going to limp it to Cusco and deal with it then.

I’ve just done some research on Cusco and apparently there is a strong adventure rider stronghold built up.  It makes sense; Macchu Pichu is the biggest attraction on the continent so everyone ends up there at some point.  There is a place called Norton Rat’s Tavern and that will be my first stop.  Even more pressing than my racks is my rear shock.  The rear end has slowly sagged over the last 15,000 miles and six months, but in the last 500 miles there has been a dramatic depreciation.  When I left home I could barely touch the ground over the bike with my tip toes.  Now I can stand flat footed with the seat inches below my ass.  Even worse is the riding performance.  Normally when I hit a speed bump, I go over and the rear end bobs once and then settles.  With a shot shock it bounces up and down several times after every bump.  The worst is when I hit a bump coming into a curve.  It’s not fun leaning at 60mph with my ass end floating up and down around the corner.  It needs to be fixed and Cusco will be my ticket.

After we hit the pavement outside of Huari Charlie and I headed east into the mountains.  The ride was cold and often wet.  Back in Central America we’d feel out the rain before putting on our liners; not here.  It’s too high to get wet, too cold.  We had our rain gear on most of the day.  We came over the big pass at 14,200 feet and then started a descent towards Huanuco as the sun was starting to dip.  It wasn’t ideal, but there was no other option.  Charlie and I navigated one of the worst roads I’ve seen for at least an hour in pitch black.  It was another steep, windy, one-lane paved road with two-way traffic and no guard rails.  On the downhill side were only steep cliffs.  It was actually better in the dark because we could see the oncoming lights coming around the corners.  We pulled into Huanuco tired and resolute at 7:30pm.

This morning, Tuesday, we covered another 250 miles, all of it over the mountains and arrived in Huancayo.  We’re on Ivan’s route and he has written in two more days before arrival in Cusco.  Except for the llamas and our ride across some arid high plains, the ride was nothing spectacular.  Just another day riding a motorcycle around the world.  I’m really excited for Cusco.  We’ve been off the gringo trail for over a week now and I’m tired of feeling like an alien every time I pull into town.  It will be nice to get back to a party scene too for a few days.  After that, it’s off to them Amazon and then Lake Titicaca.    

In the Andes Now

When I used to sit in my hotel room in Alaska and dream about this trip I always imagined high revs on mountain roads under a snowcapped backdrop with clouds forming in the distance.  I envisioned myself climbing as high as the bike would go into the unknown and then ditching it in the bushes to push even further on foot.  As it turns out, I was dreaming of Peru.  Finally outside of the desert coast, this place is starting to show its true colors and they’re like nothing I’ve ever experienced.

Charlie and I tore out of Lima early Tuesday morning.  Ivan’s route had us backtracking about 200 miles north and we wanted to get that over with as soon as possible.  We only got pulled over once on the way back up and this time we had some fun with it.  The best strategy is to make their job as hard as possible.  Step one, pull over about 500 yards past where they flag you.  Step two, don’t shut off the engines or take off helmets.  Step three, take a picture of them.  Step four, ask directions.  Perform these without one word of Spanish and you’re free within minutes.  We made it to the Huaraz turnoff just after noon, filled up our tanks, and said goodbye to the Pacific.

The rest of the afternoon we meandered into the foothills across endless fields of red rock and eventually up into the thin air.  The ascent really picked up just as we entered a thirty mile construction zone.  Construction zones are great in South America because motorcycles are treated like royalty.  We always ride to the front of the line, and usually the flaggers let us pass through even with oncoming traffic in the open lane.  We made pretty short work of it, although the entire time battling a layer of peat gravel that was recently laid down without any tar underneath.  Peat gravel is the worst; it scatters like regular gravel, but like sand it never bites solid ground.  It feels like riding on flat tires.  Our TKC-80’s ate it up.

After a couple hours we had gained some serious altitude and the weather was starting to turn.  Sprinkles were starting to come down on every other switchback and the air was getting painfully cold.  Finally, at well over 4,000 meters we crested the pass.  The next horizon came into view and it was what I’ve been waiting for since those sunless days in Fairbanks.  In the valley below was Huaraz and rising up into a long stretch of jagged glaciated sawtooth peaks behind it was the Cordillera Blanca Range.  The Cordillera is the highest mountain range in the world outside of the Himalayas and we had a course set for dead center.

Charlie and headed down into Huaraz which sits at 3,500 meters and eventually found a hotel with parking after a very tedious struggle.  We had only planned one night in Huaraz, but the looming peaks overhead were swaying our ideas.  That night I went to bed at 8:30pm; I was exhausted from the ride, the cold, and most of all the altitude.  I woke up at 7:00am Wednesday morning refreshed and excited.  Charlie and I both agreed that we were finally getting into some real adventure so we went to a local gringo breakfast shop to figure out how we could sink our teeth into it.  Inside it became apparent that Huaraz is Peru’s gateway to the Andes.  Everyone was there to camp, trek, or climb.  My kind of people.  Charlie struck up a conversation with a climber named Kevin who had been living in Seattle for the last several years attending UW.  We had a good chat and Kevin recommended us to a mountain lodge called The Way Inn.

After nearly six months of hostels I’m getting really tired of their unending corny names, but The Way Inn sounded like an ideal place to use as a base to explore the Andes.  We rode up that afternoon via a dirt road that I swore was leading to nowhere.  It was fifteen kilometers up into the base of the mountain range past countless Peruvian farm fields and stone huts.  Kevin’s advice delivered; The Way Inn is built on a rolling highland prairie overlooking Huaraz with the big peaks just an hour’s hike away.  We settled into a nice room with a fireplace and two beds; Charlie was kind enough to cover the brunt of the cost because he loved the convenience versus the dorms and he knew the private room was outside my budget. 

After soaking in the atmosphere for a while, I went straight to the one constant of this entire trip: bike maintenance.  Tuesday afternoon I noticed my fifth gear was becoming less and less applicable as we climbed higher.  I could get up to 70mph in fourth gear, switch to fifth, and then inevitably I’d lose the speed and end up back in fourth gear even on the flat sections.  The thin air wasn’t giving enough power to keep fifth going.  Wednesday on the dirt road I was forced to ride my clutch way too much getting off the line every time.  The weight of the spare tire wasn’t helping.  The solution was easy and for once I was prepared.  I put the bike up on blocks, loosened the rear wheel, and swapped out my fifteen tooth front sprocket for my spare fourteen tooth.  A test drive up and down the driveway left me satisfied; way more low-end torque.  I won’t be able to go 80mph at sea level anymore, but I don’t plan to make it back down there for quite a while.

This morning, Thursday, Charlie and I pulled the side boxes off our bikes and got ready to go exploring.  We packed up a sack lunch, water, some warm clothes, and a tool kit for the excursion.  We had no plan nor directions, we just wanted to go as deep as possible into the mountains.  With a smaller front sprocket, dirt tires, and a lightened load, my bike ripped like a monster the whole day.  We cruised on gravel for ten or fifteen kilometers before coming to a turnoff that peeled off between two peaks.  Although the path was considerably worse than the last stretch of gravel, it was what we were looking for.  We set off on the steep incline full of loose baseball-sized rocks. 

For ten minutes we climbed in first gear slowly but surely carving forward.  A ways up a Peruvian on a Honda dirt bike flagged us down and said we were entering Huascaran National Park.  There was nothing official about him, except that he was asking for the park entrance fee ($1.50 each).  Neither Charlie nor I had much change so we ended up giving him about $2 and a couple cigarettes.  He was happy and so were we.  He gave us some information about the park and said we’d find a lake at the top.

The rest of the ride could never have been accomplished with the gear payload I usually carry.  It was an obstacle course for the next twenty kilometers.  Dodge the rocks that you have to, pop over the rest.  I went through most of it standing on my foot pegs leaning slightly over the handlebars.  It’s the best way to keep track of the bike’s weight and it lets your knees take the blows instead of your ass.  The trail met up with a bright blue stream and we started following that up the valley through a series of switchbacks.  On either side of us were towering cliffs and at the other end we could see a massive snow-covered peak. 

Finally at the mouth of the stream the path ended near some camping spots.  Charlie and I parked, cabled our bikes and helmets together, and continued on foot.  We scrambled up the valley on goat tracks for another half hour before finally reaching the top the ridge between us and the lake.  We were in the middle of nowhere, finally.  On top of the ridge we ate lunch and took in the view.  There were two peaks overhead with a ridge between them that had a glacier advancing into the lake in front of us.  The lake was turquoise and full of little icebergs.   Every few minutes the ice would shift and crackle through the valley.  After the hubbub of Lima, this was a welcomed change.  We took a lot of pictures and hung out in the high-altitude sun until the clouds started to get darker in the distance. 

Around 2:00pm we were back at the bikes, exhausted from the lack of oxygen.  We took off just as the hail started falling on us.  Although it didn’t get us wet initially, the hail was striking down like needles even though my riding gear.  We followed the stream back down and soon dropped down into rain.  Slippery rocks, mud, and poor visibility the entire way back; still no clue why I loved it so much, but it was a blast.  We pulled into The Way Inn soaked and exhilarated.  It wouldn’t have taken much to get my blood pumping after the last 1,000 miles on the Panamerican, but today was a rush.  

Diplomatic Power

Lima has delivered: new tires, lots of McDonald’s, and some expert motorcycling advice.  While Charlie and I weren’t originally too keen to spend four nights here, it seemed to work out pretty well anyway.  I’m well rested and energized to head into the Andes to see what all the fuss is about Peru.  The last 1,000km of dunes set the bar pretty low, so just about any change in scenery would get the ball rolling in the right direction towards Cusco.

Charlie and I got up at a leisurely hour Friday morning and hit the road for three more hours of sand, wind, and corrupt police.  We knew that Ty was having trouble finding our lauded Continental TKC-80’s in Lima, so we made our first destination in town the KTM dealer that was supposed to stock the tires.  We pulled up around 1:00pm letting Charlie’s Garmin lead the whole way.  Lima didn’t look too promising; the outskirts are several miles of sugar can huts built up on the sand.  Beyond that was a dirty industrial zone where we found KTM.  Inside the dealership we asked if the warehouse had our tires; they did.  Ecstatic, Charlie and I each bought a set right there.  We considered buying a spare rear ($170 for two tires is a smoking deal), but decided to wait and think it over.  We left the building beaming with satisfaction, excited to show off the fresh rubber to Ty at the hostel.

Outside KTM while we were lashing down our new tires a Spaniard pulled out of the garage on a cherry KTM 990 Adventure R.  It’s a cool bike, so we had some questions for him.  Charlie and I picked Nacho’s brain for a bit about where to buy gear.  Before long he was leading us across town to his favorite shop.  Nacho immediately began giving us helpful advice.  He was very aware of what a foreigner would and wouldn’t know.  He warned us that Lima doesn’t have a bike culture, so we have to protect ourselves more on the road.  Also petty theft seems to thrive here.  I asked Nacho how he ever arrived in Lima; turns out he’s a diplomat for the European Union.  Not a bad guy to find in a city of 9 million. 

The more we all hung out the more information Nacho had.  After the gear shop he had a couple hostel recommendations.  It wasn’t Ty and Jill’s hostel, but it was nearby and we wanted to ride his coattails a little further.  Nacho brought us to a nice location in the Miraflores district, Lima’s first class downtown.  Charlie and I checked in, showered up, and half an hour later walked down to the corner to a bar that Nacho had in mind.  He took us in, ordered us his favorite drinks, and called Ivan.  We sat there for twenty minutes listening to Nacho’s previous adventures on his bike all over South America.  As a diplomat, he is deployed to different places around the world for years at a time.  In his spare time, he gets to know them via one of the coolest adventure bikes on the market. 

Soon Ivan showed up, who according to Nacho is Peru’s foremost motorcycle adventure expert.  Ivan was just as cool to hang out with and had an answer to every question.  It’s refreshing to talk to two people who actually understand what it’s like to be on a bike for ten hours a day.  They know what sounds good, and what sounds like a waste of time.  Ivan plotted a route for us on Charlie’s maps that leads from Huaraz to Cusco through the Andes.  He swears it will be some of our best riding the entire trip.  We have to go back north to get to the start, but it will be well worth it.  Ivan’s stories were plenty, but to prove his status in the motorcycle adventure world he showed me a picture of himself with Alex’s hero Hubert Kriegel.  Ever since Al concocted this adventure three years ago, he’s been showing me pictures of Hubert all around the world.  What a trip to see the man himself with his classic red glasses standing next to my friend Ivan at the southern tip of South America.  The further I go, the smaller the world.

Saturday morning Charlie and I were up early and off to Ty and Jill’s hostel.  We were also hoping that Andy and Cass had shown up.  We walked into Ty’s room to find him smiling at us with five brand new TKC-80’s in the corner.  He had bought us each a pair at KTM just minutes after we took off with Nacho.  What looked like a nightmare developing actually turned into a great success; within six hours we had a home for each new tire.  We’re leaving a pair for Alex to pick up and Charlie and I each will carry a spare rear for 6,000 miles down the road.  I figure that finding them was hard enough once and I seem to have enough worries on this trip as it is. 

My engine, for example.  It’s running great right now but Saturday I noticed a small buildup of tar around one of the important gaskets on the engine head.  I don’t have a spare, and it won’t be easy to find.  I’ve shown it to the other boys and everyone assured me that it’s not the end of the world.  If I had a spare, maybe I’d change it; since I don’t, I’ll just keep an eye on it.  It’s not dripping and there’s no pressure behind it anyway, so no sirens.  In truth, it’s just a single cylinder engine with 19,000 miles on it.  It’s bombproof, but it’ll still show some wear.  The bike just isn’t as pretty as it was when I left and I’m starting to accept that as fact.  It won’t get any prettier over the next 10,000 miles, that’s for sure.

Today, Monday, Charlie’s and my bike went to professional shop to have the tires replaced.  I had my fourth oil change as well.  It’s not cheap work, but I trusted the mechanic (also named Tato) that Ivan recommended and every so often it’s nice to have a pro work on the bike and tell you it’s in great shape.  It’s going to have to be for the next stretch.  Charlie and I intend to get pretty far into the wild while the other four take the Panamerican to Cusco.  Tonight might be the last with Andy and Cass for a while, at least until I move to Perth, Australia (one of the ideas I’ve been kicking around [don’t worry, I’ll come home first]).  It will be sad to see them go, but I’m used to it after over five months of goodbyes.  I have no doubt we’ll be seeing Ty and Jill again soon.

I’m constantly eyeing my bank account on this trip, fretting over money spent and future expenditures.  Whenever I get real bent out of shape I have to pull up a world map and convince myself just how far I’ve come.  We’re well into South America now yet it seems like last week that Alex and I were pissing away in Barranquilla.  While the trip still has months to go, it’s time to come up with a more concrete plan for the ending.  We’ve always talked about getting to Argentina as the goal.  That’s just over a month away.  There will be plenty to accomplish there, but at some point I need to start focusing on how to get home. 

It’s not a backpacking trip where you book a flight online and hop in a cab to the airport.  I’ve got to find a freighter that will ship the bike to the states for a reasonable price.  Or a buyer that will take it from me.  A freighter might only send it to certain places; I’d have to coordinate a flight ride it home from the port.  And the cheapest option may involve heading into Brazil, which I never planned to do.  Or I can wait around down here and work.  Maybe a ski season in the Andes?  That would make up for my hernia-botched Baker experiment.  There are a lot of options, that’s why I’m already working on them.  For the last two years my only focus was getting on the road, so it’s a thrill to have a new project and new dreams to ponder. 

I’m anxious to get to Buenos Aires.  Not because I’m sick of this, but because I want to have it under my belt.  Every day we get closer, the goal becomes more feasible.  I don’t want to miss anything in between, but there are times recently that I’ve wanted to just ride day and night all the way to BA to validate all the hard work, obnoxious claims, and machismo surrounding this trip.  That day will come, and with it a whole new set of goals.  Waiting is the hard part, even on the trip of a lifetime.

Cruisin' Peru

1,000 miles have methodically ticked by since Cotopaxi.  They’ve been pretty easy, but I already feel sorry for Alex having to catch up.

The morning we left Secret Garden at Cotopaxi I walked out to my bike to find a flat front tire; the first since Mexico.  I was mentally preparing to start the tire iron war when Charlie told me to check the valve before disassembling the front end.  I spat a nice glob of mucus on my finger and applied it to the valve stem… and bubbles were blowing out.  I’ll take this scenario over a flat any day.  In two minutes I had the valve replaced with a spare and Charlie’s electronic pump was bringing me back to 35psi.

We made good time that day.  I don’t know that we covered a remarkable distance, but we pulled into Cuenca, Ecuador past sunset after a lot of hard mountain riding.  The picture below looking down the valley with Andy and Cass was taken that day.  At our overpriced hostel that night Andy got ahold of Jill and we hatched a plan to meet up with her, Ty, Alex and Kristi in Peru the next day.  We were out the door early in the morning and off the Panamerican for the first time since Cali.  Instead of following the Panamerican inland we dropped down to the Pacific coast and cruised the beach until the Peruvian border around 2:00pm.  As I mentioned in my last post, the crossing was as simple as they come… and free. 

Two more hours of freeway cruising and we arrived at Loki Hostel in Mancora, Peru.  Loki Hostel is a well-known name throughout Peru and Bolivia as they have several locations over the next two countries.  They’re known to be party hostels where every night goes off.  After hearing endless good reviews from everyone up ahead, I was excited.  Upon arrival, Loki fit the bill.  A big bar with a pool table on the left, a swimming pool in the middle, and three stories of dorm rooms on the right.  It’s right on the beach and the perfect stage for a fiesta.

As it turned out, Loki failed to impress me.  It was great to see everybody, but at the end of the day I was in adventure mode, not party boy.  I had a good time our first night, but the entire environment seemed forced.  The place was setup fine and had potential, but at the end of the night the magic wasn’t there.  Back at Zephyrlodge drinking games would materialize out of nowhere and involve everyone at the table; at Loki I was shrugging off dread heads every ten minutes who were all begging for extra members to their power hour.  Maybe I would have been more receptive back in Guatemala, but this is South America and my eyes are on mountain roads and Argentinean wine fields.  The appeal of stumbling around on dirty overrated beaches wore off thousands of miles ago.

Our second night at Loki was real tame given our 6:00am wakeup plan.  To absolutely cement my criticism, the Loki bar blasted music through our window until 2:30am.  I woke up unsure whether I’d even slept and saddle up for a 600km day.  Andy was feeling crook right at the onset, but he managed to suck down a Gatorade and compose himself.  An hour into the trip I pulled over to make an adjustment and (my greatest fear…) the bike wouldn’t start back up.  It was turning over, but it wouldn’t ignite.  Good thing we’re experts at this now.  While Charlie and I started tearing the bike to pieces Andy’s illness caught up with him and he decided to push ahead and find the next hotel for the night.  He wished us luck and said he’s see us in Lima if not before.  We haven’t seen him since.

Fearing the makeshift stator from Panama had failed, the first thing we did was check for spark.  Charlie held the plug to the frame while I hit the starter; his yelp from the shockewas a good sign (we had spark).  We replaced the plugs with new ones from Cali and the engine turned over immediately.  The used ones looked alright and weren’t that old, so I’m not sure what happened.  I didn’t really care, the bike was running.  Charlie and I took off in pursuit of Andy and ended up riding until 7:00pm (well into the dark) to Trujillo without ever seeing him.  The weather that Wednesday was generally overcast, very reminiscent of the Pacific Northwest.  All of Northern Peru has been very desolate.  Charlie and I rode through a hundred mile stretch of nothing but flat desert in every direction.  The entire way we fought a brutal wind and sand slapping our eyeballs.  Every fifty miles or so we would pass a group of pedestrians draped in purple robes dragging a life sized cross along the desert.  It’s obviously some Christian reference, but I still haven’t figured out the point.

That night we broke the golden rule: we rode at night.  Neither of us really wanted to, but there was nothing between sundown and Trujillo so we had to keep going.  It got real cold and visibility was limited on those rural desert roads.  There was plenty of traffic to keep us from feeling vulnerable, but the physical toll was starting to weigh heavy on me when we pulled into Trujillo.  Charlie’s GPS led us directly to a hotel and we crashed the second we hit the beds.

Thursday, today, was another long haul.  Charlie and I hit the road well-rested at 10:00am and rode hard over hundreds of miles of dunes all the way to Barranca by 6:00pm with very few stops… except for two laughable police encounters.  Around 5:00pm on the final stretch Charlie was flagged down for passing on a double yellow on a long straightaway.  This was one of the most enjoyable police experiences I’ve had.  The cop was so impressed with our bikes and our situation that he couldn’t keep a smile off his face the entire time he explained Charlie’s infraction and the resulting fine.  The entire time we just smiled back and spoke only confusing English to him.  He took Charlie’s license and explained that we would have to wait until the morning to get it back when we pay the traffic fine at the bank in Barranca.  Playing along, we agreed that would be great; write the infraction please.  He explained this several times waiting for us to offer a bribe, but Charlie wouldn’t budge.  Finally the happy officer had a ‘solution’; he handed Charlie his license and then kindly asked for a small act of kindness so he could take his wife out on a date.  Without blinking Charlie gave him three dollars and we were off.

Literally ten minutes later we were both pulled over for speeding.  Same story, they took the licenses and told us they’ll be at the bank in the morning.  We told them to write the tickets again.  The whole time I spoke the most basic Spanish I could.  Alex and I have slowly learned it’s better to play dumb than to try to defend yourself.  When they know you can understand, they know you’re coercible.  When you stand there and tell them it’s cold out with a big smile on your face, they get real tired real quick.  The main guy wrote out two infractions and showed them to us.  Charlie and I looked at them, smiled, and gave two thumbs up; the four of us stood there looking at each other for a moment.  Then, out of nowhere, another ‘solution’!  The cop handed our licenses back to us, recommended a nice hotel in Barranca, and told us to have a nice afternoon.  We smiled for real this time.

Ten minutes later again we arrived in our fancy $20 hotel and I’ve been on my computer ever since.  We’re three hours north of Lima, which means we’ll be seeing Ty and Jill tomorrow.  Charlie and I intend to buy dirt tires and then head back this direction for some of the storied mountain roads up here near Huarez.  Apparently there is a dirt loop with 40 tunnels along the way through a national park.  Sounds like paradise.  We’ve been cruising pretty fast the last week, but in truth we haven’t missed much.  Just a 700 miles of dunes and desert.  Peru is supposed to have a lot to offer, so I hope Huarez kicks it nicely with a fresh pair of Continental TKC-80’s.

Fotos VIII

Just a quickie here.  We left Cotopaxi on Sunday and have since arrived in Mancora, Peru.  The border crossing was the easiest yet.  The scenery was expansive.  South America seems to have a more streamlined process than Central.  Had a great night with Ty and Jill, but they hit the road today and we'll do the same tomorrow heading for Lima.  There is a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert next week in Lima; I hope to attend.  Here are some pictures of the last couple thousand miles.

Previously the highest point my bike had ridden: 3,300 meters.

Las Lajas Sanctuary.  We thought it looked a little tacky.  Note Andy's forehead front and center.

Not so tacky from this angle.

Overlooking Quito's expanse with Charlie from Pichincha Mounain.

Mitad del Mundo.

Charlie and I at the waterfall above Secret Garden.  It was underwhelming but good to get outside.

The best shot of Cotopaxi I could get.  Meet Cass' ass!

Charlie and I at the refuge struggling to breath.

Final day in the Ecuadorian mountains.  Another mysterious picture of Cass.

Here's Charlie's bike staring down into the lowlands where the clouds have crept in like the tide.  We were up there.

Cotopaxi

Over the course of the last few weeks this motorcycle ride has taken a decidedly different turn.  I’ve been living above 2,000 meters for the last nine days and it’s only up from here.  We crossed into winter just before Quito and every day on the road takes us further into the cold.  Of course this hemisphere is working its way toward summer, but that’s four months away.  Until then, the shorts and tee shirts will stay at the bottom of my stuff sacks with flannels and jeans on top.

Friday the gang was ready and we headed for the hills.  Garmin doesn’t make maps for Ecuador so Charlie’s GPS couldn’t save the day on our way toward Cotopaxi.  We had written directions, though, and they were good enough.  There was a lot of head scratching, but by 1:00pm we pulled up to the Secret Garden hostel via ten miles of wet, slippery cobblestone road.  Charlie and I have both decided that we are getting better tires as soon as possible.  The Pirellis we currently ride are fine for tarmac, weak on gravel, and dangerous in dirt.  With Peru and Bolivia in the distance, we are each going to buy a pair of Continental TKC-80’s (the stock BMW dual-sport tire) as soon as we can find them.  Until then, we’ll just have to do what we did Friday: let the tires slide and do your best to keep the center of gravity on top of them.

Our hostel in Quito for the first two days was called Secret Garden.  It was a decent night’s sleep, but we had complaints.  More than the inflated prices, cold showers, and weak Wi-Fi, the security guard pissed us off the most.  Quito municipal law states that city-wide quiet hours start at 11:00pm, so Secret Garden shuts down all common areas at 10:30pm and hires a contract security guard to enforce the curfew.  Being treated like children is annoying enough; when the hostel staff first told me to go to bed at 10:30pm I laughed.  It’s inconceivable.  Then I met the security guard and while taking a leak in the public bathroom past curfew.  He was an asshole and yelled at me for wandering around past curfew.  The night only got worse from there for the other guests.  Two people caught the guard trying to pickpocket them.  He advanced on half the female residents.  Worst of all, he pulled his baton out and threatened to whack an Australian for eating chicken in the common area with the lights off.  We found the Aussie minutes later finishing the meal on the toilet in our dormitory.  All this for just $10/night!

Secret Garden in Quito grew old real quick, but everyone kept saying that the real gem was their outpost hostel out in the hills near Cotopaxi National Park.  We showed up on the bikes with high hopes, and for the most part, they were fulfilled.  I’ll get the bad out of the way first.  The food at Secret Garden Cotopaxi was a joke.  Every meal left me hungry for more and starved of protein.  I’m struggling to keep weight on right now and getting ¼ hotdog per meal did not help.  Sure there were all the free bananas you could eat, but they were also the base ingredient for most meals.  Which leads me to the toilet: a composting dung heap.  There was also very limited electricity.  Candles are great, but often the rooms didn’t have enough to see across the room.  The only heat was a fireplace in each dorm (actually pretty cool).  The whole point of Secret Garden Cotopaxi is to be green and self-sufficient, etc.  But at $30/night for a bunk bed, I expect a bit more than bird food and a glorified outhouse. 

That said, I did enjoy my stay in the mountains.  There were three volunteer hosts who had the most interaction with us and they were great.  Eli and David from Utah as well as Dominic from Germany created a super fun, laid-back atmosphere the entire time I was there.  The day we arrived Charlie and I did a two hour hike to a nearby waterfall with Dominic.  It wasn’t too intense, but the 3,500 meter elevation had me wheezing the whole way.  That night over our vegetable soup main course we committed to a tour into Cotopaxi National Park that included a hike to the glacier.

Charlie, Cass, and I hopped in a Mazda pickup with our certified guide Carlos Saturday morning set off for the world’s highest active volcano (Andy decided to hang back and plan the route to Peru).  It was an hour and a half ride out there on roads that were better suited for our dirt bikes.  The terrain was surreal; sparse grassland with giant boulders scattered across it.  Every so often a pine forest would pop up and then disappear just as quickly.  By the time we arrived at the trailhead parking lot there were patches of snow in every direction and we were high in the clouds. 

With the wind blowing at least 15mph, we got dressed for the cold and followed Carlos to the trailhead.  Carlos walked us right up to a shale hill and pointed up.  300 meters above was a building in the distance.  It was a kilometer hike straight up with nearly 1,000 foot gain.  There were no switchbacks, just one foot in front of the other for forty-five straight minutes of struggling to breathe.  About half-way up Cass was forced to turn around with the initial signs of altitude sickness.  Charlie and I kept plodding along following 5’8” Carlos who’s tree trunk legs powered straight up like a machine.  By the time we reached the destination both Charlie and I were absolutely winded, but excited to finally get some exercise. 

The building on top is a refuge and starting point for mountaineers attempting to summit the peak.  The elevation: 4,810 meters.  Highest I’ve ever been.  We stopped inside for a hot tea and a Snickers.  The tour usually continues on to the base of the glacier, but Carlos learned in the refuge that an avalanche had cut off the route to the glacier for tourists like us.  That’s alright, we had proved ourselves.  Charlie and I climbed a little higher for some pictures; it was cold.  Not Alaska cold, but I figured out it was about -7F degrees with wind chill… on the equator.  Charlie walked past the eves of the refuge and saw icicles for the first time in his life.  They don’t have real mountains in Australia.

Satisfied, we descended in about fifteen minutes taking bounding steps like astronauts shuffling down the slope.  We found Cass fully recovered at the bottom and all piled in the truck.  Carlos got us home by 2:00pm.  Around 5:00pm the clouds lifted and we got to see the snow-covered peak for the first time.  They say Cotopaxi is one of the most perfectly formed volcanos.  I understand; it rises out of nothing and comes to a perfect point at the top.  All of us agreed it would be a treat to watch it blow.  We still haven’t seen lava on this trip and that needs to change.

Tourists

With four nights to kill in Quito waiting for Cass to arrive, it was inevitable that I would end up at some tourist hotspots.  For a city that looks more like a rat’s nest, Quito has offered up some interesting attractions.  We’ve been in a lot of big cities lately, but this one should be the last for a while.  One final stop before the baron wastelands of Peru and Bolivia (where they don’t sell my bike).

I’m ecstatic to announce that I now carry with me a spare clutch and throttle cable for the Suzuki DR650.  I’ve been looking for these parts since Mexico.  For a while I couldn’t find them.  Then they were too expensive.  Then it was getting close to Kristi’s arrival.  And then the delivery fell through.  Ecuador has a 90% import tax on everything motorcycles here, but I didn’t care.  One in my pannier is worth two in a warehouse as far as I’m concerned.  I sucked it up and paid $110 for the set.  That means no more tours of every major Suzuki dealership I come across, and more importantly, no more nagging worries.  The bike has (mostly) fresh tires, a tuned engine, a clean air filter, new chain/sprockets, good wheel bearings, and even a full tank of gas.  That’s not to say it won’t sputter and die on some forlorn Peruvian dust trail, but at least I’ve done my best.  Side note: it’s been running like a dream lately.

Mechanics taken care of, Charlie and I were determined to get out of bed on Thursday and actually go discover something.  It’s not character of us to start researching tourist attractions.  I’ve tried to explain this to countless backpackers, but they never fully understand.  They hop on a bus (often overnight) and mentally checkout for the next half-day while their driver handles the route and runs all the motorcyclists into the shoulder.  They arrive bright eyed and bushy tailed ready to set out into a new world and see what Lonely Planet has to offer.  We bikers, on the other hand, require two days of total concentration battling loud engines, unsigned roads, brutal weather, and maniac drivers just to show up at the same hostel.  We trudge in covered in soot and instantly fall into bed, unwilling to do anything but drink beer and stare at a computer for the next 24 hours.  Often times we’ve already seen what these places have to offer.  The safety of a nice warm bar stool sounds much more enticing.

Quito was different though.  We’d had our big night and then our day of recovery, so Thursday we set off for the gondola leading to the top of Pichincha Mountain overlooking Quito.  Charlie and I met Alex and Kristi there and together we ascended 1,500 meters to the viewpoint.  From the top we were standing at over 4,000 meters elevation.  We hiked a quarter mile further up for a better view of the city and by the top everyone was chilly and exhausted.  The thin air was even brisker with the strong breeze coming up the mountain.  From our vantage we could see most of Quito, a city that is built long and narrow through a bumpy mountain valley.  We took some cool pictures (Charlie’s panoramics will be great) and hiked back down pretty quick with everyone’s ears starting to go numb.

That night Charlie, Andy, and I met up downtown for drinks to preemptively celebrate Cass’s midnight arrival.  The conversation was pretty standard: motorcycles we like, motorcycles we don’t like, and things we would like to do to our motorcycles.  With that getting a little worn out, we flagged down a lone gringo named Fanny and had her sit down at our table.  It turned out that Fanny was here in Ecuador doing research for the Canadian government on the mining practices here.  Charlie, a miner for the last decade in Australia, was a wealth of information.  I always enjoy seeing my new friends in their element.  I get so used to everyone goofing around and cussing and smelling like animals that I forget they’re all professionals back home.  It’s an eye-opener to hear them sound like it once in a while.

Not long after Fanny sat down with us, her friend Rodrigo arrived and pulled up a chair.  The two had obviously planned a casual meeting, but they decided to order drinks at our table and continue the conversation.  Rodrigo was Bolivian and he spoke great English.  He seemed to know a fair amount about mining practices as well.  He seemed very in tune with everything Charlie was saying.  He also seemed to have a lot of insight on socio-political aspects of the discussion.  As we later found out, Rodrigo is the second in command at the Bolivian embassy here in Ecuador.  Not only was he extremely intelligent and well-educated, he was great fun and genuinely happy to chat about anything with us.  At the end of the night Rodrigo gave us his card and told us to contact him if we ever ran into trouble in Bolivia… so I got that going for me (Caddyshack).

Friday was Cass’ first day on the other side of the world so we wanted to do something fun that wouldn’t require a lot of travel hassle.  Everyone met up (except Alex and Kristi; they pushed ahead to Peru via bus) in the morning at the local DHL office so the Aussies could ship so extra weight home.  Together Charlie and Andy amassed about 16 pounds worth of gear, plus Andy’s travel guitar.  The cost to ship it to Perth: $860.  I think there is room for competition in the international freight industry.  Obviously nothing was shipped home and Andy’s guitar was one of the only items lucky enough to escape the dumpster.  We went straight to a cafeteria for lunch and then hopped in a cab off to the equator monument.

‘Mitad del Mundo’ (Middle of the Earth) is about forty minutes outside of Quito.  For $5 each taxi fare, we can’t be bothered to start up the bikes.  The taxi dropped us off at the state-sponsored Mitad del Mundo monument.  It was a $2 cover to enter the site which had more shops and retailers than it did substance.  In the middle was a tower with a globe on top with different compass directions labeling all four sides.  On the ground running right underneath it was a line designating the equator.  We got the obligatory photo, stood around a few minutes, and then found ourselves completely underwhelmed.  We had heard about an exciting museum so we started asking questions.

In the lot next door to the monument was Museum Inti Nan.  The following forty-five minute tour was what we really came to see.  To start things off, the first fact dropped on us was that the equator line at the monument was false.  That line was designated in the 1700’s; military GPS proved the real equator line to be about 70 yards north running right through Museum Inti Nan.  Our tour guide started us off with the shrunken head exhibit.  Deep in the Ecuador rain forest is where this craft still exists today and we got to hear the gruesome process detailing how they are made.  The worst step, pull the skull out of the head’s skin.  Between that account and the displayed spider corpses the size of my hand, I won’t be including much of the Amazon on this trip.

The second part of the tour led us directly to the real equator line itself.  I love phenomenon, so this was a treat.  The guide set up a basin with a bucket underneath and the drain spout exactly over the equator.  He threw a couple floating leaves on top and pulled the plug.  Unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, the water poured into the bucket without creating a funnel.  The leaves hovered above the spout until one by one they were sucked through.  Afterward the guide moved the basin just five feet into the southern hemisphere (summer as he called it) and repeated the process.  This time the Correlius effect kicked in and the water created a funnel as it drained.  Every time a leaf went through it first did a couple spins before being spat out into the bucket.  The guide did the same thing in the northern hemisphere (winter) and the leaves spun the opposite direction.  Just feet from the exact equator line and the Correlius effect was proving itself.

Next we had some fun playing with gravity.  The museum had a pedestal set up right over the equator with a couple nail heads sticking out the top.  Our guide explained to us that the rules were different with gravity pulling straight down, rather than slightly towards the equator.  To prove it he pulled out a raw egg and balanced it on end on top of the nail within fifteen seconds.  The egg just sat there.  Then it was my turn; I took about forty seconds, but I got the egg to stand at attention.  I’m also happy to announce that I’m the only one who could.  The museum gave me a diploma.  There was one other test.  Our guide told us that in either hemisphere our bodies are accustomed to having some sort of slight magnetic draw towards the equator at all times.  With our eyes closed, he had us walk one foot in front of the other down the equator line just like a sobriety test.  I don’t fully understand it, but I walked like a drunk trying to move down the line.  It has something to do with your brain having no magnetic guidance to rely on.  I found it fascinating.

That’s the extent of my tourism in the last few months.  It was of course overpriced, but worth the trip and a nice change of pace.  Tomorrow morning Andy, Charlie, Cass, and I are heading to the nearby volcano Cotopaxi for a night in a lodge.  When we’re finished taking in the scenery, we’ll bolt for Peru and head into the real Andes.  I expect to learn a lot about my fuel mixture screw.