One Amazing Ride

Finally the harried road worker dragged the barrier across the dirt road and out of our path. Only now it wasn’t just our forward momentum that had been halted but a chain of honking, revving, cat-calling cars, utes and trucks, all venting the same frustrations I had felt some 9 hours earlier when told I would have to wait for the road construction to conclude for the day. Only now I felt for the lass in fluro-orange safety gear only doing her job!

a 9 hour wait......

With the typical Peruvian que-jumping we were off up the hill. The time was late and we had only one destination, to find a campsite after the road works and before it got dark. Quickly the road rose upward while the verge dropped away. Within 5 kms the road had taken on path-like characteristics, only this path had no hard rails and a drop that would leave very little for my next-of-kin to bury .

In front of me drove a Hilux, full of men and crates of beer, their voices the loudest back at the roadblock. I now focused on their tail rather than risk another glance down to my right towards the dusky, twinkling lights of the town I had just left behind far below. Finally the tarmac started and the road began to edge it way from the provision of imminent and gory death. As the temperature dropped and the heavy dirty clouds rolled in things started to get worrying. Night was falling fast and we had yet to spy even the faintest attempt at a campsite. This was no road to ride in the dark!

things are fun when there's a side to the road!

where's the road gone?

Rounding a bend we saw a siding left behind by the road workers, not perfect but it would do. A cold moist night ensued, the absolute peace broken only by the occasional dare-devil driver and a bird in the morning that must have had avian Tourette’s.

Back on the road and 8 degrees on the dashboard told us why we were so cold. While a rising and falling fog teased us with glimpses of scenery we knew was there. Once again, cresting the pass at around 3400m and the weather became Dr Jekyll to the fogs Mr Hyde. Now the motorcycling challenge wasn’t so much to ride the right line but to keep the eyeballs off the scenery and the wheels from taking flight over yet more precipitous road sides. We were now looking into a valley that held our destination, 2kms closer to the centre of the earth than we were now.

that was the sight from out the side window.

from the front window!

The road, now a worm with Parkinson’s, no piece of straight blacktop longer than 300m, gear changing up and down enough to wear a hold in the boots, the brake lever continually on the move and the valley floor still unseen. Slowly however, as if the ambient temperature gauge and not the odometer was the judge of our location, the air lost its chill and started to motivate thoughts of shedding layers of clothing. From alpine heather we were now riding through irrigated fields of mangoes when we hove into view of Balsas, a dusty, sleepy, ramshackle collection of mud brick buildings before learning once again that the road was closed. This time a 6 hour wait was our reward.

Now it may seem strange but while we awoke to the low single digits, we now sought shelter and shade from 40 degree heat. Our companions in the village square for the day a sleeping grandfather whose occasional conscious moments were spent yelling out the names of the fruit he was trying to sell. Also in attendance was the not so occasional Anthony, a 9 year old local boy with plenty of time and plenty more questions.

fruit seller and machine, both having a rest....

Finally, as the shade of the canyon had only just begun to alleviate the heat, the barrier was raised and again we were off. The new tarmac lasted for around 5kms before dirt prevailed. This time a liberal sprinkling of water was apparently required by the road builder, our path now a mud slick complete with impatient bus drivers hurtling towards us.

careful on the dirt!

Yet another stop at the road works before things really started getting interesting.

trying to look straight ahead

The next 20 minutes of riding we have no pictures for. Not because it was not spectacular, but because it was so dramatic.

Once the surly Peruvian lass allowed access it was all engines revving along a churned up muddy road, to which I became the last to traverse. Barely registering 20km/h, my eyes were firmly fixed on the road. After about 3kms of this the road reverted to its original hard-packed dirt with two clear and safe tire tracks edged by soft and slippery gravel and dust.

I had the chance to lift my gaze and take in my surroundings. To my left a rock wall, to my right, no more than 1m from my front wheel, nothing! Absolutely nothing but the chilly, pasture scented air from farms 1000m below. I could feel Carlie freeze behind me, her legs tightening, willing me to stay upright and straight ahead.

To make matters worse, we were in the right hand lane, a complication should we encounter any on-coming traffic on this one-laned excuse for a road. But things were about to get much more challenging as the beginnings of an amazing sunset threw scarlet splashes through the Andean sky. It wasn’t the approaching darkness that concerned me, in fact once night had fallen it was much easier to focus on the road. No, the problem now was to take in this brilliant sight and still stay alive long enough to write about it.

Sure, priorities! Easier said than done as huge cumulonimbus clouds turned shatteringly pink as they rose over majestic peaks and valleys, the whole scene now presided over by a purple sky.

Time stood still. My mind schizophrenically torn between the need to survive and the need to be mesmerized. It could have been 30 seconds or 30 minutes but eventually the light faded and my life was now consumed by gravel and gear changes.

But we made it to town; I drank four beers and wrote this story!

New Story - The Cuy (Guinea Pig)

Carlie has just written a story about a recent experience, shall we say, culinary, concerning our favorite furry delicacy! Don't worry folks, no photos attached!

READ IT HERE

Peruvian Return

Crossing into Peru and we were back in the dry, hot, barren north of the country, sheltered from the rain by the Andes Range, it was dry and crispy. The road, apart from the frequent chicken and surprise speed hump was fine. A short-cut took us through places few gringos get to write home about and fewer still that would want to.

 

For the first time in months the road stretched ahead, straight and unwavering. It was with pleasant acceptance tinged with some guilt with which I now rode. For over 100kms the landscape remained static; huge hazy mountains on the left, heat shimmered plains of stunted growth to the right and the regularly broken yellow line hypnotically pulling me forward.

 

Once we hit Olmos I wasn’t to know but I was about to ride some of the best mountain roads known to motorcycling. This time we headed up the western side of the Andes monoliths, again the road turning back and forth on itself like an epileptic serpent. As the sun was getting low the search was on to find a suitable camp site. Now it’s not for everyone and there are always arguments for and against but we practice the art of ‘stealth camping’. We never trespass, knowingly anyway, or damage property. The skill is simply to find a place away from eyeballs where we can set the tent and cook some dinner. Our campsite on this day came both with these attributes and also one other desirable feature, an amazing view of 3000m mountains in the setting sun- quite possibly the best campsite I have enjoyed! Apart from the odd stray dog and a shepherd with her herd of scraggly looking sheep we were left in peace.

View from the camp

Carlie hard at work over the hot stove!

The next day we continued into the mountain range on fast and curved roads until an odd sound from the bike enforced a quick stop just outside of Bagua Grande, a huge valley where the temp is said to be the highest in Peru. Remember though, I’m not complaining. We stopped in front of an old girls place, her run-down mud brick hut sporting a shady tree and one of the only pigeon coops I have seen in South America. We learnt two things over the next 15mins of sharing some cookies with her; that she raised the pigeons for food and that the bolt holding the crash bars in-place had completely given up the journey! Not a critical discovery, either one, and so the day continued towards Gotca waterfall , beside a rapid river and through valleys so narrow that at times the cliff hung precariously and defiantly over the road. After a short miss-interpretation of the actual location of the falls we arrived at the small town whose name I can’t remember but view will never forget. Again we camped but this time in the yard of a hostel, our financial saving on accommodation re-invested into a delicious bottle of Chilean red at the flash hotel next door.

Gotca Waterfalls - 771m - 5th highest in the world!

Breakfast and a 3 hour walk later we could mark off the worlds’ 5^th highest waterfall from our list. Back on the bike and into Chachapoyas to a hotel with parking. We like to mix it up a bit, a couple of days camping and then a proper bed to sustain the fine balance between sanity and fiscal responsibility. That afternoon we treated ourselves to THE BEST steak since I sold my BBQ back in Australia.

Our destination today was only 80kms in distance but would take us along dirt tracks clung to cliff sides whose bottoms could not be seen, and not because of the non-existent traffic barriers either! We headed south and then up, towards Kuelap, an ancient pre-Incan ruin said to rival Macchu Picchu but without the crowds. Well, I know why. The road was tough and potholed but thankfully dry. It took us around 2 hours to do 40kms to which our reward was the chance to camp behind a brand new tourist facility that while finished, was yet to be opened.

Road into Kuelap

mud and a 700m drop.... nice combo!

Don't make a wrong turn!

Our Kuelap experience was a memorable one but it certainly had us hoping that the people were wrong about MP. The amazing thing about this place was two-fold. Firstly it required more stones be brought up the 3100m mountain than the pyramids of Egypt, during the 6^th century mind you and secondly it was only discovered in the 70’s. We wandered around the complex in relative peace, disturbed only by grazing alpacas and screeching Peruvians, the view FROM the site possibly trumping the actual view OF the site. An early morning return was rewarded with an amazing sunrise over the very mountains we would be winding our way through that day.

Built at 3100m, clearly for the views

...some of the locals

Sunrise over Kuelap

Skip another 80kms down the road and we have found ourselves delayed for 12 hours by road works in Leymebamba. It’s not on the tourist trail and I doubt that situation will change in the near future. But they have coffee and it’s not raining, two things in my motorcycling life I truly enjoy!

Just a few pics from a visit to the local markets.

Leaving Ecuador

We were heading back to Peru, where drivers want to kill you, chickens that want to die and dogs sleeping in the road that clearly don’t care either way. 

 

The roads in Ecuador were spectacular pretty much since 30 kms out of Macas on the edge of the amazon. Once I battled thru the road construction that is. The road, winding up the eastern slopes of the Andes, was wet marbles in heavy cloud. Finally the roadwork finished but then the surface was still slippery slick and unpredictable asphalt until we breached the pass at around 3300m. The fog finally parted at the behest of a fearsomely cold and gusty wind to reveal a scene taken directly from the glens of a Scottish tourist brochure. We didn’t stop to sample the waters as the ambient temp gauge on the dash had slipped below double figures some time previously. But this same wind had also dried the roads to allow full use of the tire sides.

A very nutritious meal!

could be the Scottish Highlands!

We carried on thru villages and valleys taking sometimes 40kms to cross a valley 2kms wide and 1 km deep. We passed the Nariz del Diablo, failing to see the fabled engineering feat but marvelling at the sheer valley walls and endurance of a couple of bicycle tourists we waved to. As the sun got closer to the mountain clad horizon we hit traffic and negotiated our path into Cuenca. The GPS again the saviour in cities, whose otherwise clear grid patterns have become a labyrinth of one way streets. We found our digs after a nice chat with a chap who would have loved to have bought a DL650 but the high import taxes of Ecuador adding another 40% onto the price I paid in Australia. I had to drop a pannier to get the bike into the hotel courtyard which made a perfect site for our first South American oil change.

 

Finding an oil filter was mission impossible so I had to use the one I was carrying. My preference would have been to hold on to the spare for a place where civilization would not be so civilized but the hour wasted in the search was forgiven in response to finding two of my favorite consumables, tapas and micro-brew!

Cuenca flower vendors

The next day was a long one, but still on great roads towards the border. First up was a high and cold pass out of town but then things started to warm up. The layers started to shed like a drying onion. Finally we were warm after almost 2 months or more of cold conditions. I made the statement that I would rather be sweating in my suit than shivering in the rain. Let’s see if that comment holds up!

 

Macara was better second time around. A nice parrilla followed by a midnight banging on the door by a seriously misguided fellow tourist. I think she will consider carefully before knocking on doors after 10pm in the future!

 

The border crossing went smoothly. The customs guys in Ecuador only checking my papers on my request and telling me that I could return to the country at any time in the future, against some advice I had received on the forums. The Peruvian fellow epitomized the differences in the countries. Indolent, sloth, grumpy and argumentative versus easy-going, professional and facilitating.

 

All things considered it was an easy crossing, given my experience now of a sample size of two, both at the same place! 

 

The decision not to cross south of Vilcabamba was sealed the day prior when we hit the deck near Loja. Rounding a corner I first saw the landslide from the right hand side of the road. I had about 4 seconds to make a decision, a veritable luxury in motorcycling terms. What to do? The rain had turned the dirt into mud but I saw plenty of tracks through already. So far the road integrity in the wet was good. There were 3 options: hit it hard and fast and pray to the gods of momentum; get in a good road position and speed, grab the bike with the knees and stay clear of the front brake; or stop, hopefully in time in a wet corner. In the 2 seconds of luxury I decided on the middle option, ride it straight and with good velocity, around 30-35kmh. I was off the brakes and on-line when we hit the change in the road colour. I don’t even know how far into the slick we got before we were down. A low side fall that finished with the rear of the bike closer to our destination than the front. It was a calculated decision in a pressure situation based on zero experience. In my own defense we could barely even stand in the mud without slipping, a fact we discovered maybe too late! But we were fine, the bike no more than muddy but my confidence had gone back to primary school being bullied by Paul Jennings in the playground! Let’s just say that the next 20kms set no lap times!

A bit muddy after the spill and this is after I have cleaned myself up!

On theRoad Again

by Carlie

It’s hard to believe that only 3 nights have passed since we rode out of Isinlivi and away from Gladys, her family and Llullu Llama, on this next leg of our adventure. I feel worlds away from that sleepy peaceful village. 

Saying goodbye to Gladys

After bumping our way out of the Quilatoa Loop region, we wound our way through gorgeous valleys towards Banos (named after the thermal baths on the area.  Banos is in a gorgeous location, surrounded by lush green mountains – there was a waterfall gushing from the mountainside right by the hostel garden where we camped for the night. The day we arrived the weather was sunny and warm – it was so nice not to need to rug up in blankets all the time! But the next day we awoke to drizzly rain and decided to move on.

Banos town

Before breakfast we tried out the thermal baths that Banos is so famous for. I had to wear an ‘obligotorio’ shower cap, but so did everyone (except Mark, who refused on account that he has no hair!) Surprisingly there were no other gringos there – must have been too early for them. The water was a murky brown colour from all of the minerals, but was steaming hot. We left feeling very clean and relaxed.

Thermal baths

After breakfast we rode the ‘Ruta de Cascadas’ (waterfall route) which connects Banos in the mountains and Puyo on the edge of the Amazon. What is it about the sight of falling water that makes humankind stop and stare in awe? There were so many waterfalls visible from this road, dropping from the steep green hills to the raging river in the canyon far below. If it wasn’t for the damp weather, it would have been one of the best days on the road.

one of many beautiful waterfalls

Little did we realise that the drizzly rain that day would be nothing compared to the never ending tropical downpour we encountered the next day…  The sky was overcast but dry as we left Puyo in the morning.  Half an hour down the road we stopped to check out Cascada ‘Hola Vida’, a waterfall recommended to us by the guy who ran the hostel in Banos. It was a pretty hike through the rainforest, not unlike back home, and it ended at a pretty waterfall.

Cascada Hola Vida

rainforest hike

As we were admiring said waterfall, the first drops began to fall from the sky. We got back to the bike fairly wet, donned our wet weather gear and headed onwards. The rain didn’t stop. It got heavier and started falling sideways. The road looked like a river. But on we went. Then the wet weather motorbike gear stopped being waterproof. I could feel the raindrops hit my hands through my gloves. I could feel a puddle forming and then sloshing about in my pants. It grew colder and colder and still the rain came down.

Amazon landscape

Mark was concentrating really hard on the wet road and did a great job. I was watching the km markers slowly count down to the next town. Finally Macas, our destination loomed before us. We could just make out the buildings through the sheets of water. Mark pulled up and I sloshed across the street to a hotel to enquire about the price and if they had a garage. The room was smelly and mouldy, and our wet clothes were hanging from every available surface, but at least we were high and dry!

clothes drying in the room

In the morning it was back into the Andes. The first 25km was still under construction and Mark was swearing and cursing the whole way. We went through sections of potholes, and sections with loose gravel Mark likened to wet marbles on the road. At least it wasn’t raining. 

I definitely don’t take Mark’s riding skills for granted. We go through all types of terrain, from super smooth tarmac to potholes, gravel and mud. From crazy city traffic, to remote stretches where the only obstacles on the road and the occasional cow, sheep or chicken. And all through this, I just sit on the back, watching the world go by. I am immensely grateful to Mark for enabling me to make this journey, that I never could have done alone. I know this journey is a lot different for him than for I. For me, it is about the sights, sounds, smells and people, both along the way and in places we stop. I don’t need to concentrate on road surfaces and traffic, or on the need to grease the chain or change the oil, but Mark always needs to have this at the back (or front) of his mind. Thank you Mark xx

Once the surface turned to asphalt, it was easy going again. We stopped at the town of Guamote to check out the market – one of the most important in rural Ecuador. Almost everyone, men and women, were wearing traditional dress, so it was really colourful.

Guamote local

After more spectacular riding through more mountainous scenery, we made it into the gorgeous colonial town of Cuenca – time for a few days of well earned rest.

Cuenca