Caraz to Cusco

First off let me warn readers that there will be an excessive amount of photos of mountains in this post. Not because we have taken up climbing, nor due to any new-found enjoyment of the cold but simply because I am an Australian. A place where the highest ‘peak’, and I use this word loosely, barely scratches the atmosphere above 2000m above sea level. Now here I find myself in the Cordillera Blanca, or the White Mountains. It sounds very ‘Lord of the Rings’ like and some of the scenery would give that cinematography a serious run for its money (sorry Kiwi reders). But I will let the pictures speak for themselves……

This area was always marked for a hike or two. Carlie wrote about our warm-up day-hike to Laguna 69 in a previous post. Now it was time for the main attraction, a 4 day unsupported walk along the Santa Cruz route. First up was two days up a monster of a glacial valley passing icy cold and amazingly turquoise blue lakes of snow melt. Take the backdrop of 5000m+ mountains away and you could almost think of a tropical island. Until the wind kicked up and reminded the weary walker that it was time to don the third layer of thermal clothing!

 

The bag weighed 20kgs!

On day 3 we crested the pass at 4750m, surrounded by white mountain monsters (possibly home to the Latin Yeti), unfathomably clear skies and a group of 18 walkers on a tour complete with donkeys carrying their entire luggage, food and bicycles! 

Yea, we climbed around 2kms UP for this photo!

The tourists could have at least carried the bikes themselves! I don't think the donkey knows how to ride.

 Then it was into another valley for one of the coldest nights I care to endure before gratefully completing the walk and hail the next bus back to town. Our driver now sporting the fuzzy, downy moustache of one to whom it is a novelty.  And we were about to descend what is to date one of the most amazing roads I have ever seen!

That's our road just there!

Not sure what to write here apart from the pic simply does no justice!

Back on the bike and it was off now to Huaraz, 80kms down the valley to meet up with Zach, a fellow motorcycle traveller I met online. Our journey appeared to converge for the next 1500km so we thought to join forces with another intrepid soul and share the journey. I have to admit that this was not my first online date. I had dabbled in the dark side of internet dating once before with mixed results, my experience this time was one of pure enjoyment.

Zach proved himself an infectious source of optimism and adventure, not to mention numerous travelling luxuries including travelling slippers, a real folding chair and to my own joy, nutella! For the following 6 days we found our way through the Peruvian Andes along some amazing road through some even more amazing scenery. Again, I’ll let the pictures do the talking.

Yup, it's a two way highway!

Traffic jam, Peruvian style

Camping was high on the agenda, however for the first 3 nights we found ourselves unable, terrain, population or climate forcing us into the grittiness of Peruvian city life. Our first night was in the outstanding Huanuco, outstanding in its utter confusion, smog and overabundance of casinos! Next night was Conception, our choice of hotel so inspiring I wrote a story about it! Third time lucky we stumbled across a nice place in Ayacucho and the bikes even managed to evoke some jealousy from both Zach and I by spending the night in a fully stocked liquor store!

We asked if we could sleep here too!

The next day we hit that ever-present scourge of Peruvian trails, road works. This time forcing us to spend a night where I have no hesitation in boasting that we were the first Australians/motorcyclists/white people to call home for the night. Again, enough to evoke a story from me!

We had quite the sizable audience that night!

Due to the road block we had to be up and past the barricade before 7am. This was to prove to be a long day in the saddle. If I was to tell you in kilometres I would lose credibility immediately. However just after lunch the road turned to dirt until 5pm. Then the town we planned to stay in gave ‘decrepit’ a new meaning and we shot for a camp site supposedly 15kms further. 25kms later we were still searching, 40kms later we realised we were now over 4000m high and it was now too cold to camp and to enhance our enjoyment, the sun had set. We ended up camping on a basketball/football court out of sight of the road! 

Camp? Basketball? Football? Hide from locals? This place had it all! And that's Zach on the left.

Next day we made our triumphant entrance into Cusco, our destination, full of our own piss and wind, high fives all-round. We were kings (and queens) of the Peruvian Sierra. There were now pubs to navigate and beer bottles to trade for handlebars.

The Bridge!

Approaching the bridge my mind was more on the low reading fuel gauge and the GPS to the next town than the quality of workmanship that went into the actual structure. So far we had spent the last one and half hours on one of the best paved roads through some of the most amazingly photogenic canyons of the trip so far. Why would the bridge fall short of these lofty standards? But that’s a beginner question that really belies the experience I often pretend to hold. Because this is Peru, where things are unfinished and workmanship last as long as the inspectors lunch break.

 

So I took what, in many educated motocyclers’ opinion, would constitute an appraisal of the situation at hand before proceeding. The bridge was around 60 metres long, its foundations cement, its steelwork freshly painted orange, slats horizontal to my trajectory, two wheel ruts vertical.

I committed.

Within 15 metres three things became clearly apparent. The horizontal slats were a wheel swallowing 20cms apart and the vertical slats were loose, many of which were conspicuous in their absence and that riding at 60km/h really means you are unable to gauge any cross-wind. I had come to a halt, my path now unsure and the wind now physically moving 340kgs of man, machine and luggage violently and unpredictably to the left.

Carlie had alighted before embarking on to the bridge to walk it. Now she stood on the right hand side realizing my uncomfortable predicament, her own panic rising with each gust of wind. Wearing full motorcycling gear and helmet even her five foot statue was presenting a sail to the ever-present torment of the wind. Now down on all fours the helmet intercom a static of whimpers and sobs I knew to be accompanied by tears behind the sunglasses.

20 metres below us, clearly visible between the now non-existent deck, raged the Rio Santa. This river, which drained a 200km stretch of very wet Andean mountains, roared over large rocks within a small canyon. It was not a sight I was ready to enjoy but one I was unable to ignore.

I was now forced to move inch by inch along a wobbly plank about the width of my hands, of which now held brake, clutch, accelerator and handlebars in a vice-like death grip. As I gingerly balanced on toes and timed my movement of the wind gusts, I reassured Carlie that things would be just fine as she fought her own battle three metres to my right.

With literally only centimetres to play with I slowly moved the bike forward, one over balance, slipped clutch or poorly aimed footfall would be my undoing. I was not ready to have poor Peruvian engineering my epitaph.

Once I had laboriously negotiated the worst of it I took one more look at the river and gunned it, the sound of rubber crunching gravel never sounded so good.

One kilometre into the dusty collection of mud huts and my hopes soared even further. Not only did I survive the crossing, but they even had reasonably priced fuel!

NOTE: there are no photos of this adventure, more pressing matters were at hand!

Cajamarca – Caraz: Highlights from the past week

Wild Camping

 After a hard days ride (for Mark, not me!) we wound our way down a bumpy road to the bottom of a canyon. It was a good 1000m lower than where we had been camping lately, so not too cold. It was wonderful to be next to a river – endless supply of water for washing, cooking and cleaning. And the sunset on the canyon walls was pretty nice too.

Peruvian road engineering.

Although some of the roads a gravel and in an appalling condition, the way they build the roads through the canyons and mountains of the Andes is unbelievable. Roads in places you wouldn’t have thought possible, zig-zagging down steep rocky cliffs. When the roads are asphalt they are a sheer joy because Mark can take his eyes off the road for a second or two to enjoy the view too. At one stage in my mind I likened the ride to a roller coaster – exhilarating, but without true fear.

Canon del Pato (Duck Canyon)

A 50km stretch of narrow canyon, at times less than 10m wide and over 1000m deep! A narrow gravel road with 34 tunnels runs next to a raging river far below

The Cordillera Blanca (White Mountains)

The highest mountain range in the world, after the Himalayas and strikingly similar in appearance. We are staying in a medium sized town, Caraz, which is small enough to be peaceful, but has plenty of amenities (including the best bakery so far on this trip!). Its lovely to sit in the plaza right outside our room in the morning with a coffee, watching the sun sparkle on the snow-capped jagged peaks.

Laguna 69 hike

 

A spectacular hike through green grassy valleys and over rocky ridges with 6000+ metre peaks looming on all sides. A well marked trail took us from the car park at 3900m to the brilliant blue lagoon at 4712m sitting right below a massive glacier. A waterfall of glacial melt completed the picture, tumbling down the rocky slope on the far side of the lagoon. This is fairly high altitude hiking and although we have acclimatised a lot over the past few months, the last few hundred metres of ascent was pretty slow for me. While Mark bounded ahead, I walked slowly with a short rest every few minutes (about the same speed as most of the other hikers – Mark is just a super-fit anomaly!) Upon reaching the lagoon, the view was worth every slow step.

And the BIGGEST (3.85kg), most exciting highlight of this week – the arrival of our new Godson, Euan Frederick Jones! 

Sister to our incredibly gorgeous Goddaughter, 2 year old Lily and son of our friends for life, Tracey and Paul. It’s times like these that it is hard to be away from family and friends. We love these guys so much and are excited for their new step in life – parents of 2! In a different way, this is as much of an adventure as the crazy stuff we are doing over here. Looking forward to meeting the handsome Euan on Skype very soon, and in person next year on our visit back in Australia.

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