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!