Lake Titicaca

After a delectable one pound burger, a badly needed load of laundry, and a night´s rest in Cuzco, it was time to move on to Lake Titicaca. Mark, Nick and Ivanka and I met at the Plaza de Armas and headed out of town. This ride spared us the constant zigzags and ups and downs. Our road was well paved and mostly straight as we followed a river upstream to a mountain pass and then followed another river downstream. The green valleys are dotted by small homes and farms. Cattle were munching freely in rice paddies and around the many blue flowered potato fields.

The ride to Puno on the shores of Lake Titicaca was just a bit more than we wished to drive in a single day. All four of us were keen to go camping and by four o´clock, Mark had picked a small dirt drive that led to a gently sloping field just out of sight of the highway. Perfect! We set up camp, Mark and Nick replaced brake pads on Nick´s bike, and then we started thinking about food. Nick and Ivanka had quinoa and a curry paste to offer. Mark and I drove into a nearby town, picked up some veggies and beer and soon a masterpiece was in the making. By this time, the sky was darkening and cold was creeping through our layers of clothes. It would be so nice to have a fire! But how when not a single tree was in sight? While I was dicing potatoes, I noticed dung scattered around our piece of the prairie. I had one armload in just minutes and collected several more in no time. Nick provided a bit of kerosene and soon we had a lovely little campfire. The smell was no worse than a wood fire. My first dung fueled campfire was followed by another first for me. The cloudy sky had given way to a clear, black, moonless sky filled by the arc of the Milky Way. Mark pointed out the famed Southern Cross, its long axis pointing due south. It was an amazing night, despite the rain that seems to be a nightly occurrence this time of year.

The next morning, we needed about two hours to travel through light rain, through a rather wet and messy Juliaca and on to Puno. Mark, Nick and Ivanka decided to push on to Copacabana, Bolivia. My path heads to Chile from here. Again, our ways part...we shall see when they meet again.

My hope in Puno was to visit the famous Uros communities on their artificial islands. I was worried about how much it would cost though. I was also quite unsure where I would stay in this rather cramped hillside and lakeside city. My Lonely Planet guide had a couple suggestions, so I set out to find the first. In no time it was clear I had taken a couple wrong turns. While sitting on my bike at a corner and contemplating the map, a light blue VW beetle stopped. Its driver asked if I was looking for Hostal El Duque. I told him I was not. He slowly continued up the steep street and then disappeared around a corner. At a bit of a loss, I drove up the same hill, saw his parked car and decided to check out his hostel. This chance encounter led me to a great hostel with a great price and with information for very affordable overnight stays on an island in Lake Titicaca. It is so nice when things just fall into place.

At 7:45 the next morning, a bus picked me up and took its human cargo to the dock where a boat awaited us. At a very slow speed (the only speed this boat could offer - indeed, I don´t think the motor could even run in neutral), our group of about 20 chugged to the Islas Flotantes. I had read that these islands are so commercialized that the visits can actually be quite unpleasant. Fortunately, that was not the case for us. We had a great time walking around on these constructions of peet and reeds where the Uros have lived for hundreds of years after other tribes threatened their coastal settlements. The first prominent Westerners to visit these islands were Jacques Cousteau and Thor Heyerdahl. The latter used their know-how to construct his famous Kontiki reed boat. Now the Uros have schools and health clinics on their islands. They make a lot of money from tourism, but they cling to their lifestyles, subsisting on trout (that they also farm and sell) and even pelicans. Some of their homes have solar panels, but most are without electricity. These floating islands are anchored by stakes and rocks, but if the residents wish to move or if residents on the same island can´t get along with each other, the islands can be moved or even quite easily sawed in half!

After a friendly visit with the Uros, our group boated out of Puno Bay and into Lake Titicaca proper. This body of water (elevation just over 3800 meters) would rightly deserve the title Great Lake in the US. It is smaller than lake Ontario, but much larger than Lake Champlain. Its deepest point is over 900 feet and the temperature hovers around 48 degrees fahrenheit. The shore has rolling hills and some small mountains and is speckled with homes and small farming communities. There are a number of real islands that are home to indigenous peoples speaking Quechua and Aymari. Our tour took us to two of them.

Amantani has a population of about 5000. It rises about 400 meters out of Titicaca´s (meaning stone puma)clean blue waters. The hillsides are terraced and divided by stone fences that, while not better built than those found in New England, are certainly more numerous. The small fields grow potatoes and quinoa when they aren´t fallow. Awaiting our boat were about a dozen villagers, mostly elder, wearing their traditional outfits. A few of the men and women were spinning colorful yarn as they waited. Our guide divided us up according to language and assigned us to families. It was 1:30 and we were starving. Benedicto escorted Antony and Rose (an English couple) and me uphill, past a couple potato fields to his home where his wife Simona was ready with lunch. We enjoyed a delicious quinoa soup and a very tasty main course of cheese, rice, and salad. We drank a tea of cocoa leaves and muña, a local herb that someone said is called ´wild thyme´ in English. While there is some electricity on Amantani, this home was without. Cooking was done in a woodfired stove that had no chimney. Our rooms were simple, but clean and of course, without the hum of any electronic appliances, very quiet and peaceful.

The views, the clean waters, the pastoral lifestyle...I was enchanted. People in the US would pay a mint to build their dream second homes in such a setting, but such "development" is not allowed on this island. A group hike to the island´s summit, complete with many stops so we could catch our breath in the thin air, simply added to Amantani´s appeal. Ruins of past dwellings and temples (the latter are still used for pre-Christian rituals) crown the island. Peru and Bolivia, vast stretches of blue water, lowlands, rivers and snow-covered mountains can all be seen from the breezy, cool summit.

The people also made the stay on this island wonderful. Antony and Rose were great company as was Klara, a tall and lovely Hungarian. Benedicto and Simona were very kind and gracious hosts. After a delicious dinner, it was time to go to a little show. Antony and Rose and I were ready to go, but our hosts asked us to join them in a different room. Upon entering, we found traditional clothing awaiting us. Antony and I donned our woolen ponchos and colorful caps. Simona helped rose put on her embroidered blouse, black cape and bright red skirt. NOW we could walk down to the hall where everyone else was in similar garb and where a ban played traditional tunes and the locals pulled us (willingly!) out to dance. After a very full day of activity and fresh air, we huffed and puffed our ways home to quiet candlelit rooms and beds laden with heavy woolen blankets.

After an early breakfast (including pancakes!), our group assembled at the dock for our 7am departure. For over an hour we floated over waves as big as 6 feet to Taquile Island. This island is very similar to Amantani. We were there to enjoy a nice walk around the island and to learn a bit more about the inhabitants. We learned how they adjust their clothing to communicate mood or whether one is single or taken. Marriages are preceded by a three year trial period. Young people are likely to approach their future mates at a party held in February at the Plaze de Armas. Another festival is held in June for the lucky new couples. Women make clothes for the men and men make clothes for the women. Knitting prowess is definitely a factor in mate selection (and yes, we saw young men knitting as they walked around the island). Almost all the business on the island is organized communally in order to benefit all, not just the few.

Gusty cool air greeted us on Taquile, but the wind died and the temperature climbed. While some of our group enjoyed a pricy lunch of trout, Antony, Rose, Klara and I found a cozy spot to sit and enjoy the amazing views. Our boat ride back to Puno was over much smoother waters. Some of us sat on the roof for more sun and scenery. It was raining at the dock in Puno, making this overnight escape seem all the more magical.

Peru

James and I were feeling lucky back in Cajamarca when we scored accident insurance (for motorists) on Monday instead of Tuesday and for less money than we expected. Now we could hightail it to the coast. We rushed back to the hotel, packed our things, checked out one minute before we would incur a late charge and loaded our bikes. As I mounted my panniers, I saw that my luck had changed. My pannier rack was broken. The hard rides on bumpy roads had taken their toll. Undeterred, James and I set off to find a welder. But then James`s bike wouldn`t stay running. Hm. We still aren`t certain why his bike was stalling, but after a short while, it was running again and within two hours my pannier rack was repaired. It`s great that workshops and stores cluster by type in Peruvian cities. We had seen them on our drive into Cajamarca and knew where to look for a welder without even asking.

Traveling latitudinally in Peru reveals a lot of variety. The towering Andes mountains that run up and down the spine of South America dictate the varying climates and landscapes. In the east there is jungle and rain forest. Snow capped peaks and green (but mostly treeless) highlands occupy the middle of Peru. In the west the mountains are dry and seemingly lifeless. They give way to desert. Having zigzagged my way through Peru, I have witnessed this transition a couple times and the ride from Cajamarca to the coast was my first experience with this, but definitely not the most spectacular.

James and I spent that night in Pucamayo, Peru, a pleasant coastal town with a nice malecon (walkway along the waterfront) and a bit of a surfer scene. This was simply a place to rest our heads after a day of ups and downs. A local policeman halted us and told us he knew where we should spend the night. The following day we headed south to Trujillo. This is a big city and a good place to look for bike stuff. A local English teacher directed us to the local Kawasaki dealer who then escorted us (on another KLR!) to another shop. Yet more nice people then gave us tips for the next days` travels.

Just north of Trujillo are ruins of yet another pre-Incan society, the Chimu Kingdom. The sandy, walled compounds are expansive and house temples and dwellings.dating back to the 9th century A.D. The ornamentation found in Chan Chan (the particular ruin we toured) shows very quickly what was important to this civilization - the ocean and fish! Carvings of fish, pelicans, and nets adorn walls throughout Chan Chan.

That evening, I was checking Facebook and saw that Nick and Ivanka were online. I sent a message to Nick and got a quick response. After just a few messages each way, we realized that there were just three buildings separating us. James and I ran over to their hostel, shared a couple bottles of tasty Cusqueña beer and made plans for the next day.

That day provided us with another epic ride. Taking advice from the guys in Trujillo, we took a shortcut down a well maintained dirt road through the desert. Everything was stony, sandy, and some shade of brown. Hills were small, but grew as we headed inland. Oddly enough, there was a bit of water to be seen. Water was teeming through an aqueduct that at times went underground and even cut through tunnels in mountains. Where it came from and where it was going was unclear, but clearly a lot of money had been invested.

Our shortcut led us to the day`s main attraction - the Canyon del Pato. The farther we rode inland, the higher the mountains rose. Aside from the river we followed there was no water and almost no life. James remarked that it was like driving into Mordor. The constant upward climb, the high temperature, and the wind at our backs caused Nick and Ivanka`s BMW (air cooled) to nearly overheat. So, we took a couple breaks. During the first, I took a dip in the river and found it refreshing, not too cold, but very silty. I emerged dirtier, but less sweaty than before.  The climax of the canyon was a 10 mile stretch through a narrow gorge with very steep sides and a total of 40 tunnels. Signs warned us of tunnels, but also warned us to honk our horns going through them as they were only one lane wide and sometimes curved so you could not see the other side. There was no warning of the rock slide that nearly put a new twist on (or an end to) my journey. As I was about to exit a tunnel, I saw rocks, some of them melon-sized falling just ahead of me. It was too late to stop though, so I just hit the gas and emerged miraculously unscathed. Whew!! At the far end of the canyon, the mountains turned green and we were greeted by rain...and a double rainbow. We spent that night in Huaraz.


The next day I saw that the Canyon del Pato also exacted a toll on my bike. A part needed to clamp my panniers on the frame had fallen off. Nick and Ivanka also needed to do some bike work, so again, we searched out the workshop district and engineered solutions to all our bike issues. That resolved, it was time to head back to the coast (James headed deeper into the mountains). The ride was a bit rainy and quite cold and at times foggy. We rode over highlands approaching 5000 meters in elevation. Snowy mountains were in the distance.  Soon we were winding our way downward into dry, brown mountains and then to the dry, sandy coast, where the nearest city with any lodging options was Barranca. We erred our way into this busy town and searched for reasonably priced lodging. We thought we might find something beach side, but driving toward the beach brought us into a neighborhood where we were greeted by stern looks and then wagging fingers and finally a couple women telling us we should not be there. We turned around and then found some police who escorted us to the the most expensive hotel in the city. Ivanka and I formed a search party, set out on foot and found other accommodations. Barranca was the most extreme example of the chaos one can find in Peruvian cities. Particularly the traffic was insane. Cars, motorcycles, and mototaxis vied for the quickest ways down roads and around corners. Horns were honked incessantly as warnings and reprimands. Why slow down when you can just honk your horn and power through? Whether on our bikes or strolling the sidewalks, we had to beware. It was good to leave that cacophony behind the next day.

We certainly left a lot of miles behind that next day. We got up early with the hope of getting close to Nazca, where friends of ours were watching the Dakar Rally. The streets were quiet at 7am, but the highway (just two lanes) was already busy with truck traffic. We passed a complete convoy of trucks and were making good progress when we were pulled over by police. They showed us their videotaped footage of us passing a couple trucks. I pointed out that the yellow line was not solid. They said the issue was speed, not the passing. Great. The morning`s hero was Ivanka. While I was lucky to be confronted by the nice cop, the bad cop got Ivanka`s attention. Her looks and her patient explanations and questions (Wow, that is a steep fine. How are Peruvians able to afford that?) slowly won the favor of our accuser. When the moment was ripe, she told him that we were hungry and asked where could we get a good breakfast. With that, the officer returned our documents and, with his colleague, escorted us to a great breakfast place. The nice officer went in and even told the proprietor what we should eat. The pork, bread, and coffee were great - and a LOT better than a ticket!

Chastened, we drove a good deal more slowly after that, but our persistence got us through Lima`s traffic jams, past and over giant dunes along the coast and to the point where we had to head inland again toward Nazca. Just after Lima, we passed a motorcyclist working on his bike. It was our Irish friend, Kevin. He too was rushing to Nazca. A minor problem that the BMW dealer thought was a major problem would keep from him joining us until Cuzco...and that was by way of an airplane, not his bike.

Before Nazca lie vast stretches of desert. We rode into this featureless landscape and watched the sun dip behind us. Just before Nazca, small mountains arise. They reminded me of the Badlands in the Dakotas. By the time we reached Nazca, it was dark. We had vague directions from Kevin who said that our friends were camping near the airport and that the place would be obvious. Well, when we saw "La Maison Suisse," I figured our friends (two of whom are Swiss) would have to be there. They were. And so were a multitude of other bikers from all over South America.

The previous day`s stage had finished in Nazca. It was a dusty scene, leaving all the spectators in need of a shower and some refreshments. Nick, Ivanka and I missed that action, but went with our friends the next morning to the compound where the race vehicles and crews were camped out. The gate was guarded, but two by two we strolled in looking like we belonged there and proceeded to check out the machinery and even joined the crews for breakfast. I didn`t race the Dakar Rally, but I did eat there!

As I sat in Nazca`s sweltering heat listening to plane after plane take tourists to view the famous Nazca Lines (an indulgence I cannot afford), I decided it was time to get outta there. Cuzco and Machu Picchu beckoned. So, one day ahead of my friends, I headed east (again). Almost immediately, the desert highway took me up thousands of feet. After the first big climb, I added clothes. Still, the road led upward. The scenery changed from desert to green highlands with blue lakes, tiny stone homes belonging to shepherds, and white peaks in the distance. Again, I added clothing - this time almost all the clothes I have along.

Cuzco is a lovely city set in a bowl. The rooftops are terra cotta colored. The foundations of some of the more important buildings downtown are still the product of Incan craftsmanship. Aside from that and a few ruins though, visible traces of Incan society and design (such as the puma shaped city layout) are few and obscured. This city is very much a product of Spain. Its central plaza (all the central plazas in Peru are "Plazas de Armas"), the churches, the residence (of the archbishop), etc. Cuzco has many quaint narrow streets that are home to restaurants and hostels and stores, all catering to tourists. Our favorite restaurant was an Australian owned restaurant called Los Perros (the dogs), famous for its delicious 16oz hamburger. I also especially enjoyed the market which I visited on a free city tour. We sampled a soup made of frog, seafood, and bull`s penis - it`s not ready for export. We also tried a juice made of blended tropical fruit, dark beer, malt, and a raw egg. That was very tasty and not all that unhealthy.

Cuzco`s pull as a tourist destination is owed in large part to its propinquity to Machu Picchu. My rider friends and I negotiated a package deal that started in Santa Teresa. We rode through the Sacred Valley to Santa Teresa where we stayed overnight and enjoyed a dip in its geothermal pools. The next day we walked along railroad tracks through a valley below Machu Picchu to Aguas Calientes which is supposedly only reachable by foot or by train. After a night there, we left our hotel at 4:30 am and hiked up to Machu Picchu. We thought we would enter the ruins before sunrise and be joined only by others who had hiked up. Well, as soon as we arrived at the gate, buses were arriving from Aguas Calientes and the gate was still closed as the sun rose. Regardless, the ruins are truly amazing. Not even our tour guide, who had suggested the possibility of Incan contact with ancient Egyptians and extraterrestrials, could dampen the grandeur of this world wonder. It had rained all night long, and the hike up was through drizzle, but the sun soon burned through the clouds and gave us a splendid morning. I was impressed by the condition of the ruins. I hadn`t expected to find roof supports still standing after over 800 years. One could easily imagine the dwellings as they were when they were new. Of course the setting is also breathtaking. Perched on a green mountain with towering summits all around. Fantasy writers could hardly imagine a more dramatic setting and design. I took a lot of pictures, but they all seem rather cliche, as we have all seen so many photos of Machu Picchu - but it was still a thrill to be there.

Two days later, Marc, Nick and Ivanka, and I left Cuzco for Lake Titicaca. I am writing this in Puno on the shores of Lake Titicaca. We drove most of the way here yesterday through grand valleys, past more snowy peaks, and up a very nice, gentle highway. We decided to camp last night. Mark chose a small dirt two-track where we hoped we might settle for the night. Just out of sight of the road there was a very gently sloping field - ideal for a campsite. We set up our tents and discussed food options. Nick and Ivanka had some curry paste. Mark and I drove to the nearby town, picked up some veggies and soon a quinoa curry dish was on its way. It was cold and a fire sounded really ideal, but how? There was not a single tree in sight (over a vast landscape). I spotted some dung while dicing potatoes. I collected a few armloads of dung and with a little assistance from kerosene, we had a nice fire that kept us warm until bedtime. My first dung campfire! Another first was in the sky. The clouds departed and provided us a view of the Milky Way. Mark pointed out the Southern Cross to me - finally!! I didn`t know that it points due south and could serve like our Northern Star. It was an amazing evening!

By now, this blog entry has probably bored and fatigued you. If you need a little pick-me-up, check out this video produced by Nick and Ivanka. I don`t think Peru (or any country) has ever seen motorcyclists shake their asses like this. Enjoy!

Collision at Cajamarca

For years, students in my World Civilizations (Post 1500) classes have been assigned a chapter from Jared Diamond´s Guns, Germs, and Steel. The chapter analyzes Spain´s conquest of the Incan Empire, made possible by Pizarro´s dramatic defeat of Incan emperor Atahualpa. That historical turning point transpired here in Cajamarca, Peru. The chapter´s title is "Collision at Cajamarca." It´s exciting to visit this place that was, until now, only a name for me.

My new year began in Cuenca, Ecuador. I had ridden there with Australians Tim and Adrian and we met up with James (from West Virginia). Tim´s bike was in need of repair. An internet search produced the name and location of a supposedly good mechanic. Fernando is indeed a good mechanic and a generous one at that. He and an assistant went right to work on Tim´s bike. Adrian and I used the time and the facilities to clean our own bikes. My bike was caked with dirt and so was the air filter. It feels good to baby the machines we usually ride so hard. Of course my main concern was my balding tires. After six flats (regardless of whether the tires themselves had anything to do with those failures), I was desperate for a change. That change was not assured though. While shops may even be open for business on Christmas Day, many places on New Year´s Eve were not. Not to worry. Fernando knew who to call. A friend of his manages the local Continental tire store, which happened to be open. Fernando escorted us to the shop where I bought tires for the front and rear and scored the last heavy duty tube for the rear wheel - all of this with a very generous discount. In return I allowed the manager to put Continental stickers on my bike´s front forks. I don´t like to advertise or endorse, but the stickers look pretty decent. Most importantly, I have had no flats since Cuenca, despite some very punishing roads.

Looking forward to a festive and eventful New Year´s Eve, Tim and Adrian took very uncharacteristic "disco naps." At about 8pm we headed out wondering where the big gatherings would be. James and a couple acquaintances from his hostel joined us. Surprisingly, many restaurants were closed. We settled for an Indian restaurant where we had eaten the previous evening. After the meal, we decided to partake of a local pastime and smoked a round of apple flavored tobacco from a hookah. I assume immigrants from India and the Middle East brought this custom  along with their respective cuisines to Cuenca. We then returned to the sidewalks and looked for the party. We found none, other than a small street concert benefiting local environmental causes. Instead, small groups of friends were spread throughout the city. Most had effigies of every imaginable type, which they were looking forward to burning - a means of symbolically burning all the previous year´s frustrations. There were effigies of politicians, villains, cartoon characters, and many more. Ever since entering Ecuador we have seen these figures on sidewalks, in the beds of pick-ups, and even strapped to the grills of semi trucks. Now we knew their fate.

As midnight approached, the streets were ablaze with torched effigies. Fireworks were not city-sponsored, but again set off by private individuals anywhere and everywhere. It was a chaotic and at times nerve-wrecking scene. The fires and explosions made me think of the Troubles in Belfast. We stood outside a small karaoke bar ready to duck and cover and tried not to inhale too many of the pungent fumes wafting through the streets. Disappointed that we hadn´t discovered a great public gathering with all kinds of cute, slightly tipsy Ecuadorian chicas wanting to wish us a happy new year, we resignedly called it a night.

The next day, the streets were already cleaned, but most businesses were still closed. No surprise, the town felt rather sleepy. We took a morning stroll through this attractive colonial town, shot a few pictures, and hunted for breakfast. Figuring there would not be much to do, we decided spontaneously to ride on. Our hope was to be ready to cross into Peru the next morning.

Our ride was a typical Andean cruise over hills and mountains with sometimes very deep valleys in between. The area immediately south of Cuenca brought Vermont to mind with rounded smallish mountains and lots of black and white cows. For lunch, we stopped at a roadside pizzeria. Pizza!! The pizza was actually quite good. To drink, we bought a bottle of locally made yogurt - those cows are not just trimming the grass. As we waited for our food, two riders on Honda Africa Twins rode by and then stopped to say hi. It was a married Dutch couple, Miriam and Don. We figured we would all see each other again.

That day´s ride eventually brought us to the end of the pavement and up into fog and mud. We caught up with Don and Miriam and rode about 10 more miles to the remote town of Palanda. We scouted out the most affordable accommodations that were able to provide a secure space for our bikes. Locals viewed us in different ways. I heard men mutter "gringos," we were met by next to no acknowledgement where we ate our dinner (chicken and rice, of course), but we were also received in friendly ways by some. I found it interesting that no traditional Latino music was to be heard. Instead rock music was blaring from different sources, including the venerable anthem We´re not Gonna Take It by Twisted Sister. Pop culture is truly pervasive and that´s a shame on certain levels, but at that time I was happy to trade Mariachi tunes for Rick Deez.

The next day, the six of us left Palanda in drizzly weather riding slippery, muddy roads. Foremost on our minds, though, was gasoline. James´s bike has the smallest fuel tank. He was very fortunate to get one gallon in Palanda. We knew that we would make it to the next town (Zumba), although that might require sharing fuel. Then the fear was whether we could access fuel in that military outpost. Reports from other riders posed the prospect of a long and hasslesome wait, requiring permission from military superiors to purchase gas. We were lucky, though. The gas station was open and all we had to do was put our names and plate numbers on a list before we filled our tanks - good for at least another 200 miles.

The sky soon cleared and the road was drying. We had grown accustomed to slippery and sticky (once it dried on the bikes) red mud. Now, after passing one last Ecuadorian military checkpoint, the color turned gray. This was clay, though. Down went Don. One of his panniers was slightly damaged, but he is a quick and capable mechanic. Shortly thereafter Miriam dropped her bike...right on the edge of a very steep slope. In both instances, the other nearest riders jumped to help out. The others acted equally quickly to get out their cameras. Don and Miriam also recorded the falls in bytes. No detail of our travels nowadays can be allowed to be forgotten.

We spent our first Peruvian night in San Ignacio. As we entered town, we lost Tim. Our posse divided up and searched the town. Soon Tim reappeared with two buddies he and Adrian had met in Colombia. Mike and Jason are two carefree souls from Tennessee riding south on vintage 1976 (I think) Honda 250s. Good thing Mike is a mechanic, because parts for those bikes are very hard to come by. They actually carry a spare piston with them. A local man saw our group and introduced himself. He is also a rider and has his own racetrack for dirt bikes. Mike and Jason were excited about that, so they checked out the track and then came back to report there was a gas station under construction where we could all camp. Mike, Jason and I chose the roof and had to hurry our gear downstairs at midnight when it began (very predictably) to rain.

Like everywhere else (since southern Mexico) on this trip, rains have been wrecking havoc on roadways in Peru. We knew that a landslide had blocked the road south, but had seen buses heading that way late in the evening, so we figured it must be open. Indeed it had been. Heavy equipment had reduced the rubble to a big mound that buses could just barely handle. When we arrived though, they had just sealed it off for two more hours of work. We visited, checked our bikes over, and sent a couple riders to pick up some pineapple at a nearby food stand. Tim went for a swim (in the river the road follows) and then, as he is wont to do, paraded about in his skivvies. When we had eaten all the pineapple we had wanted, he (still only partially clad) offered one to some local women who were sitting nearby. They accepted the fruit (and his help cutting it) with a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

That night was spent in Jaen, an unremarkable city packed with three-wheeled tuk-tuks cruising the streets looking for people needing a ride. Many of these vehicles are motorcycles in the front with two wheels and seating for at least three passengers in the back. Accordingly, there are a multitude of shops to work on these nifty taxis. I figured this would be a good place to have someone work on my top trunk which has been showing the strain of all the bumpy miles it has born.

Six of us, minus Mike and Jason, rode to Kuelap the next day. These pre-Incan ruins sit upon a mountaintop in very rural Peru. Our ride up there was magnificent. We stayed at a nice Hospedaje (complete with warm water!) in Maria and arose early the next day to visit the ruins. The compound covers over 12 acres and is one of Peru´s most important archaeological sites. Development there is minimal though. No signs or booklets provide the visitor with any insight. It was nice, though, to be left to explore and imagine and just to gaze into the mountainous, green surroundings.

Our fellowship parted ways the next day. Adrian and Tim are racing south to see the Dakar Rally in Nazca. James and I took a slightly more leisurely pace, heading to Cajamarca. After an initial wrong turn, made very frustrating by the fact that we had to backtrack over a mercilessly bumpy dirt road, we resumed typical Andean travel - climb up, up and up to the clouds and then head zig-zag fashion back down and repeat. We were in the second part of that program when the clouds thinned just enough to reveal a splendid green valley below us. We stopped, took out our cameras, took a couple pics and were getting back on our bikes when I noticed the clouds were lifting...quickly! Suddenly, that valley became an amazing expanse of dramatic mountains and ridge lines. It was the most dramatic landscape I have seen on this journey and perhaps in my life.

We arrived at the river in the valley just before sunset. Two tiny communities coexist there. They met our most basic needs - food, a place to stay, and gasoline (brought to us one-gallon-jug at a time). These valley towns and many of the mountain communities we passed make me wonder what it´s like to grow up there. Children definitely have schools to attend and the schoolyards are frequently the sites of volleyball games and occasionally soccer. Internet appears accessible, but is surely very slow and limited to cafes -  few people have money for their own computer not to mention internet subscriptions. At night, one street may have some street lights, but otherwise it´s dark and quiet. Evening church services are common, but don´t seem to draw more than a couple dozen attendees. In the early night, it´s not uncommon for people to sit in front of their homes and chat with friends and neighbors. The sides of buildings are often painted with signs promoting one political party or candidate or another, although I suspect politicians´ hirelings do the painting and pay the owner. Streets, schools, and the maintenance of the long mountain roads that connect them to other population centers suggest that the government does not totally neglect these communities. Indeed, paved roads seem to be slowly, but inexorably expanding their reach.  Whether riders 10 years from now will know the pleasure of these at times torturous but lovely back roads is very uncertain. I suspect it´s also uncertain how these improved roads will be received by the people they reach.

James and I were very relieved to reach pavement again. Thirty minutes later we were in Cajamarca. Our hotel is on the central park and only has hot water in the morning, if at all - quite an irritation for two dirty riders in this slightly chilly climate. The coolness of these equatorial cities still surprises me, even though I understand the science behind it. Cajamarca is proud of its agricultural riches (especially its dairy industry) and its history. Its history must, however, evoke mixed feelings here. On the one hand, this is a very Catholic part of the world. On the other, many of the people here descend from the Incas and the peoples who preceded them. Catholicism was introduced forcefully and nowhere is that more poignant than here in Cajamarca where the Spanish conquistador Pizarro and his men, armed with steel, guns, and horses (and germs, as Diamond asserts) defeated the Incan Emperor and thousands of his followers in 1533. Yesterday I visited the one preserved remnant of that time and event - the so called Ransom Chamber. It is asserted that this is both the chamber where Atahualpa was killed by Pizarro and where the ransom of gold, that was supposed to win Atahualpa´s release, was collected. But whether the ransom really was collected there and even how Atahualpa was killed (whether by fire or by garroting) appears to be in dispute. The main consequences of this encounter, however, are not in dispute.

James and I are sitting tight here until Tuesday when we can finally get paperwork showing we have Peru´s required vehicular insurance. Police along the Panamerican Highway are said to target rich foreigners for bribes. The wait here in Cajamarca will give us peace of mind as we head farther south.