M+M

Maurice + Miranda and the front/side/corner/dingsbumbs of their (huge!) house. plenty of room for the Australian. And some sheep

Well, that was fun. 24 hours with Maurice and Miranda. Talking South America, talking bikes, talking bike trips, talking places to live, talking religion, talking politics, talking, talking, talking. Lucky they speak such good English. We could also talk while they showed me around where they live. Pretty views and lots of mud. Need boots next time.

I can’t tell you all of what we talked about. That’s a secret. An Iceland secret. But this has been talked about for 10 years apparently… It may also be a Norwegian secret. That could also be fun.

Kneel Maurice! you can do it!

Good, honest people. I like them. Hope to see them again some day. I’ll try harder to get Maurice to kneel in front of his own statue of the Virgin Mary.

Doubter

[insert your own topic]

I had doubts.

I read pages on the internet.

I am again a believer.

3 countries, 2 days.

On Friday afternoon I decided to go for a weekend ride. So I spent a little while looking at google map, and thought riding to Andorra would be possible. Then I went out to watch the magic / dancing fountain in the city and failed to pack to leave. So instead I worked all day Saturday.

It is not all bad news, because I took Monday off instead. I still had two days, and I thought I would need them – the route I had drawn went up into Andorra, and was more than 200km long. Ambitious, maybe, but I figured if it all fell apart I could take another day without any drama. I also noticed that my route would go past a tiny village called Urtx, and this rang a bell, because I remembered I had met someone who lived there many years ago. I actually noticed this about 10pm Saturday, and fired of an email in the hopes that they might get it before I got to Urtx.

We are men, men in tights

So I caught the train to Ripoll, to skip some of the bits between the coast and the mountains. Normally not so exciting, except due to railway construction, the departure station had changed, but once I worked out that it wasn’t a big deal. I had my bike after all. I met three local cyclists on the train, Nico, Josep-Maria and … (my memory sucks). They were off for a vuelta in the mountains as well, maybe a bit shorter though. They told me there could be rain. I hadn’t bothered to check, because: 1. It is the mountains, you can get anything, anytime; 2. it has been beautiful and warm in Barcelona for months; 3. I was going anyway. Rain, pah! You don’t scare me

After coffee (obligatory), and a photo, we headed north, together for a few km. Then I was alone, and charged up the first pass. I love the feeling of flying up a hill. Sure it takes effort, but it feels great (I also like it on the motorbike, much much less effort, but it still feels great). On the bike 25-30km/h is flying. This pass was only at 1800m (I started at 800m), so (Adelaide alert) kind of like climbing lofty. In the Pyrenees, with mountains all around. Ok, nothing like anything in Australia, but it was 1000m up. It had already started raining, but it stopped and started and wasn’t too bad.

I then raced down in to the valley, and stopped into Urtx. The village is lovely! (as are many of them in northern Catalonia). My friend hadn’t rung or texted. No matter, filled my water bottles at the village water tap (there’s an essay on that alone), and headed off to Puigcerda. Right on the border with France. Crossed into France. Now that the borders are effectively uncontrolled, the excitement of changing countries has diminished. The most obvious difference is the number plates on the cars, and the language if you try to talk (difficult while riding uphill ). So I had some lunch, found a sign pointing at Andorra, and started off. I knew there was a bit of hill coming, so was a bit nervous when the massive clouds and thunderstorm around, and occasionally overhead.

Trundelling up the hill. Crunch, crunch, bang. Something behind me. I turn around to see a car rather gently settle onto it’s roof. Somehow this guy had (going uphill) run off the road and hit a massive rock. Kind of like driving into a brick wall, only there is no give in the rock. Only 30m behind me. (that’s the second time this has happened to me; please, please don’t fall off the road any closer!) So, I and others had to get the bodies out. Luckily the bodies could get themselves out after we got the door open. Amazingly there was only a sore head and a cut foot. Considering the amount of stuff spread around the inside of the car, including heavy stuff like tools, I think they were extremely lucky. Although this probably wont be one of their favourite holiday memories.

So, while I was waiting an eternity (43m according to my bike computer…)  for the circus that is the police, fire and ambulance to arrive at any crash scene, my friend from Urtx rang and texted. Only I was 30m from my bike and didn’t hear a thing. Bugger (found out at 10:30 at night). Also frustrating was the light was fading (due to the clouds from the storm), the approaching sunset and the mountains around. I thought there was no chance of making Andorra, and neither did the very friendly English speaking French policeman (one never thinks those four words would go together, but they do – in this case). But I can try, right?

So off to the next pass, after passing the campground that the aforementioned policeman suggested I stay at. Afterward I realised that this was the last campground for quite some time. In the rain. Occasional hail. A few flakes of snow (no idea what they were doing, it was far too warm for that – maybe they were hail that wanted to be snow). This pass was only 1900m, but steeper than the first, and from the crash site only took 50min. I felt like now would be a great time to find a campsite. And just on the other side of the pass I felt this even stronger, as I rode into the cloud. Somehow it was still raining. So I started looking around for a campsite (this was 7pm, in the mountains in the dying light). Well, there were none. So on I go. I didn’t realise there was another pass of over 2400m coming up. So with no-where to camp I rode past the line of traffic entering France from Andorra, no doubt full of duty free stuff. I got some startled looks and a few words of encouragement. I must have looked a little odd.

The only way is down!

They let me into Andorra. No controls at all (there are controls going out). I guess they figure to get here you have to come from France or Spain, and you will return to France or Spain, so why should they care? Still nowhere to camp. From my dim memory of my last trip, I remembered the town at the border wasn’t far from the pass before going down, down, down. And it isn’t – by motorcycle. The only good news is I was heading East, and so after getting over the top managed to gain a few more minutes of light. It was cold, cloudy, raining (I was pretty well soaked by now). I wanted to stop, but experience tells me that to get over the top and as far down as possible is a good idea (camping on top of anything in a thunderstorm is a good recipe for a bad night). Oh, have I mentioned often enough the massive thunderstorm I had raging around me? I was still having fun.

And then the down… I couldn’t fully enjoy it because of the water on the road, but going down 900m on pretty good road, fast, was fun. It also meant I was getting close to a place to sleep. And my brakes were wearing out. When I saw a sign for campsite I pulled them both on, brake levers hit the handlebars and I slowly sailed past the turn off. I stopped eventually, but it was, err, exciting from then on (I continued to the next campsite, the first was up a side road and I was still looking for a quiet place by the road to camp, which is foolish in Andorra, it is completely impossible). It is impossible to camp outside a campground, because, for the most part Andorra is about 50m wide. A cliff, a river, a road, a house and another cliff. Plenty of the landscape is flat – but also inconveniently vertical.

This is getting slightly longer than I planned.

I found a campsite. Dripped my way into the shower. Finally stopped shivering. Slept like a log. I’d only managed 120km, but had to do 2500m climbing.

The return trip was more enjoyable. Downhill nearly all day, with an unreliable tailwind. The morning was clear, beautiful blue sky, so I got to see some of Andorra. The afternoon in the mountains (from what I could see) looked like a repeat performance of yesterday. I was a bit surprised to get so much bad weather in August. But it is the mountains.

I had promised myself a downhill day, and for the most part the road delivered. Until I turned left toward Solsona. The map showed this was the shortest way, but the signs to Barcelona all pointed down the road toward Lleida. A short-cut! I should have been immediately suspitious. It has been some time since I’ve got off to push a bike up a hill. Even in the Andes on terrible roads I managed to ride nearly everywhere, but I had to here. Luckily the range wasn’t so high. Also, in my defense I was babying my bike, I managed to snap a spoke coming down from Andorra. On the rear wheel of course, on the driving side. I didn’t have the tools to change it so just rode on. I wonder what it is with me and spokes. Other people ride thousands of km and never have any trouble – in my years of racing MTB, I snapped one. But get me on a touring bike, and PING, there goes another one. I’d better just always carry the right tools.

That’s it really. Pleasant ride in the searing heat (Spain in August = Hot) back toward Barcelona. I was going to ride all the way, but couldn’t find a way out of Manresa that didn’t involve a motorway. Found the train station before a road going the right way. After discussing the traffic intensity between Manresa and Barcelona with the (train) Station Master, decided the train was a good option. And I was buggered (shhh, don’t tell anyone).

2 days: 275km. Moving time 12:25. Elevation gain: 3390m.

Next weekend: Sleep. Lay on the beach. Do something about my cyclist tan lines.

Visitors!

Lucky me! I’ve had two Aussie friends visit in two weeks. Ok, so it was kinda blind luck that they were coming to Barcelona and I found out, but still it was good see some Aussies in Europe.

Last week, Nick and Rachel came with stories about soon attempting a climb of Mont Blanc. Normally, having my friends talk of climbing something isn’t that unusual, but these guys are engineers, and friends from Uni and work (where people think I am slightly nutty). I didn’t know they climbed! They should be down by know, maybe they’ll let me know how they did.

And last weekend, I did manage to hunt down Toc and Tammy. It wasn’t really that random, I did know which road they were on (mobile phones are wonderful, for some things). They’d just spend several weeks cruising (or rather racing from what I can tell of their schedule) from Spain to Switzerland (yes – France is in the middle of that), and then back. On bikes – of course!

So I grabbed my new bike, dumped my camping gear into some panniers and headed out to meet them Friday arvo. I cheated and caught a train the first hundred k’s or so (to the end of the line), but still managed to meet them in France. I’ve ridden to France! Huh, didn’t think I’d be saying that 2 years ago So, the Pyrenees are relatively small at the eastern end, but are still a mountain range. I was surprised that I could cycle reasonable easily still (I’d gone 100km the day before looking at a nearby town). Maybe I’m not as unfit as I think I am. Toc and Tammy were using bob trailers and mountain bikes – they were towing more gear than I think I have in Europe But they were still charging up those hills. I managed to convince them to detour to Girona, and then the Costa Brava, mainly because I had been told good things about them. Well, Girona was very nice (I’ve seen the city already), the road to Girona, via some volcanoes was lovely, but the coast was crawling with people.

Toc, who's that in the lead there?

Ok, the coast itself is lovely, warm, pretty, good beach, sea  cliffs, old castles. But then there is Surfers Paradise style apartment buildings (or rather Mediterranean coast style apartment buildings, after which surfers is styled), lots of northern Europeans, and generally lots of people. The white beaches are jam packed. The crystal blue waters full of boats and flailing white bodies. And everyone still thinks it is great – I’m not all that much of a beach goer, but we have the odd beach in Oz (which are as good and relatively deserted). I think I’ll leave a repeat visit until the tourists have left (which implies it will be winter). Or maybe somewhere in Aus.

Oh, and Toc managed to get himself some stitches after cutting his hand open removing a pedal from a bike (stuck pedal, not having the right tool, using a makeshift cheater bar, pedal coming loose in with a bang, chain ring being in the way = 2 hours in hospital). I did the root-cause analysis – wrong tool for the job and insufficient training (same reasons I cut open my finger in the US last visit). Eventually I’ll learn. That was a bit more excitement that we were looking for on a Wednesday night. But was quicker than trying to get them to pack up camp

I might go back this, or next weekend. The mountains are lovely, especially after sweating in the city for a week.

I’ve heard that Rahel and Jürg are in Belgium heading for Paris. If they intend on going to Africa still, they’ll have to come close to here. Hopefully I’m in the country when they swing past.

August in Europe is where it’s at. Note to my Adelaide friends: pregnancy is not a valid excuse

On the Hunt

Toc, from Perth, is cycling south, somewhere north of me. I think I know what road he is on – I’m going to try and find him this weekend. On the bike.

Bike

Ha ha! I bought a bike. My suit case is no longer my largest possession.

I’ve been putting it off, I don’t know exactly why. Maybe this confirms that I’m going to try to stay here for some time, rather than just being in transit (like I still feel by the way). But it is time for some wheels. I’ve walked all over the area around where I live, and it’s time to start to explore a little further.

But I bought a road bike. So, although I can get there fast, I’ll not be able to go everywhere like I could on the mountain bike. That means I’ll have to get another!

I bought it from an Aussie cycle traveler who had finished in Barcelona (come from London). I probably could have got a great deal, but having been in that position myself, I paid more than I might have got away with. Hopefully the bike turns out alright – I’ve already found 6 loose spokes on the rear wheel – lucky I know how to fix spokes now!

But the most important question I know you are going to ask: Will it bring me back to Aus? No, I don’t think this one will. It has thin wheels, and is by no means a racing bike, but is still too flimsy for such a long trip. I’ll have to flog it off before I leave. No, I’ll have to get a mountain bike for that trip. Stefan has got me seriously considering a Rohloff hub.

(and so I distracted myself and just wasted 1/2 an hour on the Rohloff website and some other website about another cyclist riding to Australia…)

Maybe I could go for a ride…

Work

I was planning on working today so I could take a day off later in the week. I got some done, but ended up reading blogs about cycling from Europe to Australia. This is how it started last time, and since finishing up in South America, apart from a brief period of being settled in the US, my feet have been itching.

Anyone want to go with me?

Burghausen

I can fall in love pretty much anywhere in Spring. This year I seem to have found Bavaria at the right time of year. It is beautiful here.
Regensburg is actually a very nice town. But it lived up to it’s name (Regen = Rain) when I visited, 2 of the 3 days it rained, so it was hard to really love it. But it didn’t matter, I had fun with my Bock. I could continue with a touching remark on the value of having good friends, but I might miss some of those in Oz, and I might appear to be sentimental. We wouldn’t want that.

So I had to go to ‘work’ in Burghausen (Castle House). It is also a very pretty place. Apparently the castle, which is quite imposingly placed on a ridge above the old town, is the longest in Europe (at around a kilometre long – but only 50m wide). I’ve managed to get enough time away from work to look around, and it seems to be idyllic here. Really. Everything seems to be so perfect that it’s almost… kind of scary.

There is an exceptionally well maintained castle, above a the Salzach river and the very pretty, and also well maintained old town. Behind the castle, where there is some flat land, is the new town of Burghausen. Which is also new, very well designed… and (surprise) well maintained. There are green community areas, with climbing equipment (with gym climbing holds), fountains, artwork, bike tracks. Old people are riding bikes where there isn’t any obvious reason for them to be there – goodness knows what they are doing, surely it’s not just for fitness?? Is it? I haven’t seen a fat person (although there are a few crazies around), but plenty thinner than I. There isn’t any graffiti. People say hulo (or grössgot or something) in the streets. There are bikes everywhere. They try to engage me in conversation when I buy something (umm, err, Ich spreche kein Deutsch? Smile, wave, feel stupid). No one wears headphones. People are well behaved. No one will cross the street until the light goes green. What kind of utopia have I stumbled upon?

Well, one that I don’t understand any of the language. Again. I keep running into that problem. Stupid Australian who speaks only English.

Of course it is spring, the trees are blooming, the birds are singing, the sun is shining. Ahhhh. Perhaps it is the season that makes me see only good things here. Perhaps it is absolutely horrible in winter, and dastardly dull. That must be it. Or perhaps you get sick of (or scared of) such a well organised community at some stage.

View Larger Map

For some lighter relief, I took a bike for a ride today, into Austria. A crappy hired city bike, through some farm land, dirt tracks, back roads and a forest, to a town I had pointed out to me on Google map. The town name is slightly amusing, and the signs at the town entrance allow one to snicker, although I found the town exit sign more amusing. No more of that allowed outside of here. A few weeks ago I was in Ibiza and missed out – I should’ve just come here.

But the ride was, as the few runs were in the last days, really nice. Everything is green, flowers are out, birds chirping. You wont be surprised to hear that, even the tiny back roads are asphalt and smooth. And on the horizon to the south, I was slightly surprised to see the Austrian Alps. They look bigger than I expected. I’ve been there before, but that was almost 20 years ago… and they are within easy riding distance if I had my gear and didn’t have to come back to work…

Perhaps I should hurry up and find some more adjectives to use to describe this place so I can move on. Everything is so nice it is sickening. I am not complaining, as a work location it certainly beats a few places I’ve been.

Cyclists

Long distance cyclists are everywhere in Canada. I’ve just met two cyclists from Boston. Another yesterday from somewhere out east. I saw a few more in Mont Tremblant. They all seem to be heading for Vancouver, despite the prevailing wind. And the prairie.

Tierra del Fuego

The land of Fire
aka Tierra del Viento – the land of wind. Bit of a naming mistake, way back when. I didn’t see one fire.

We finally left Punt Arenas, like penguins after the feeding season. Actually, nothing like the penguins, we didn’t waddle and were scared off by a 9am ferry ride. So we ended up staying an extra day to get the 15:30 ferry. A much wiser idea when it’s cold out in the morning And it meant we could extend our feeding season by one day. I don’t think they will run out of salmon.

We had planned on a huge day of 10km to get to the ferry and stay in Porvenir. But when we arrived the light was so nice and the weather calm, so we just couldn’t stop in the town – we had to take advantage of this magical light and get a little way into the island. We took the slightly longer coast road for the views, and it was pretty good, in a flat and boring kind of way. Tierra del Fuego has a remarkable lack of really anything at all. Maybe a few sheep. But, like the ocean can be nice to look at, the scenery here isn’t so bad. It’s just that there is so much of it. On no account am I riding back to Buenos Aires – I think that would do your head in.

So we camped wild for two days, with hardly any wind. Where was this famous Patagonian wind? Perhaps it had taken a year sabbatical and gone to Europe? I was fully expecting being blown to pieces every single day, based on others reports and the shape of the trees. These trees must take some pretty severe battering over the years; they have no branches on the windward side, and grow horizontal above a few meters. But there wasn’t so much wind while we were there. I think cyclists have a remarkable ability to take credit for powerful legs when they have a tail wind (wow, aren’t we riding fast today) and go into hysterics when the wind is from the front (but it’s always a headwind, honestly, we haven’t had a tail wind for <insert improbable time span here> days/weeks/months). Or it just wasn’t all that windy while we were heading east across Tierra del Fuego. Yes, east is with the prevailing wind, and despite the above comment, we did manage to cop a slight headwind on our crossing. Pity we didn’t get the tearing tail wind we’d been assured of.

But we did manage to cross from the Pacific to the Atlantic in slightly over a day. Quite an impressive feat pretty much anywhere else on the continent. I saw the Atlantic for the first time in years, and the first time from the west. It looks the same.

And with the crossing of the island came Argentina! Back once again. The passport is starting to fill up with stamps from crossing between Chile and Argentina. The asphalt began literally at the border control, and we had a pretty easy run into Rio Grande (notice I didn’t mention the landscape on that quick jump of 90km? Now that I have, it was remarkably different from the day before – instead of the ocean on the right and boring pampa on the left, it was ocean on the left and boring pampa with gas and oil pumps on the right. A considerable change you will agree). The city has a grand name, but that’s where all grandness ceases. But the hostel was nice (El Argentino), and I found Jörg and Rahel’s names in the register and the comment book. Strange to see their names two weeks ahead of me, instead of us travelling together. Actually, we seemed to be following them, we managed to stumble into the same place they stayed in Tolhuin also.

It was a long day into Tolhuin, but reasonably fast since we had some tail wind. Really, where is this killer wind? Also, aside the road was a four-wheel motorbike track, all the way, and it continued most of the way to Ushuaia. Motorbikes and four-wheel bikes are pretty popular here.

The center of Tolhuin is, for sure, the bakery. This bakery made it into the travel guide. And the whole town and most of Rio Grande seemed to be there. So, of course we had to sample, err, gorge on the offerings. We actually considered going further (a crazy idea), but were unable to move far after eating many empanadas, facturas, and even some bread. Just can’t get enough bakery after a day on the bike. Some things don’t change. After looking around at several overpriced hostels and cabins in the town of Tolhuin, we were, reluctantly, forced to seek out the campground. It was pretty cold, and threatening to rain. But it turns out we chose well, we were able to “camp” in a hut, complete with fireplace – really it was a cabin without beds. Warm and dry, and it did rain overnight. Heavily. Lucky.

We tossed up the idea of staying another day, but we were all keen to hit Ushuaia. The rain stopped by the time we had risen, but the wind had not realised it was cycling time, and time for the wind to sleep. So we coped a day of head wind. It was pretty strong, but nothing like the wind further north (blowing us from the road). Perhaps we were lucky. We were still able to make the distance we wanted, it just took a bit longer.

So we rode around the lake and into the final valley. One last crossing of the Andes (the pass was a monstorous 420m!). Up, around and down, into Ushuaia! Yippee! Took the end of the road photo. Got cold, and found a place to sleep. Actually the last one was the hardest. Ushuaia is clearly a tourist oriented town – with prices to match. We celebrated with an all you can eat feast.

So now I’m here. Errr. Now what?

Well, to start with I could kill 2-3 days sitting in a bus to get to Buenos Aires, or I could catch a plane. So plane it is. Time to look around Buenos Aires. Perhaps without the bike. Actually, I think I’ll try to sell it. Anyone out there want a bike that’s done a mere 12,000km?

Punta Arenas

I’m not feeling lyrical today, so bear with me. Sabine just made chocolate brownies. And hot chocolate. There is a chocolate theme here. It’s cold outside. I’m happy to be doing nothing inside with a computer. Yes, I am thousands of miles from where I normally live, and sitting inside. We may even switch on the TV later. Occasionally one must. I can look around the city… tomorrow.

The last 250km was a bit of a slog. From Puerto Natales we rode east – always a good direction when the wind comes from the west. After saying goodbye to Michiel (he’s heading for warmer pastures), we continued and made good time for 100km. Then the road turned south (yes, there was a distinct corner) and we slogged out another 150km over a day and a bit. Now we are in Punta Arenas. We may stay here or a few days: see some penguins; eat some fish. That is, I’ll be eating the fish if I can get it away from the penguins.

The last section hasn’t been very interesting riding, especially when the wind comes up, and tries to bury you in the ditch on the opposite side of the road. You end up watching either the line on the side of the road, like a hawk, so you don’t crash into those drafting you on the left, or the wheel of the person in front of you, like a hawk, so they don’t crash into you. When you do look up, the pampa is, well, pampa. The same it was hours ago.

There were a few things to look at: Some of the trees were covered in a whispy growth. Some of the fences (or rather gates) provided interesting objects for photography. Some of the trees are amazing – there are no branches on the eastern side, and the tree looks as though it is continually windswept. Which it is.

In fact: to work out which way is north in Patagonia:
Find west and turn 90° to the right.
How do I find west?
Turn into the wind.
What if there is no wind?
Get out of the house.
I’m outside and there is still no wind!
Climb out of the ditch then.

The five passes: Road to Cusco

The road is asphalt. The mountains are just as high. The river just before Abancay was at 1800m. Today we just tipped 4000m, before sailing down the other side. Yes, that is over 2000m vertical. And guess what? We go down to 1900m tomorrow, before… Yes, another pass, just shy of 3800m. But Cusco isn’t far now, and the prospect of doing a bit of touristy stuff. Maybe even a few days off the bike.

The road has surprisingly little traffic (at least today), considering this is the Panamericana, and the main road from Nasca (and Lima) to Cusco – Gringo central.

I wonder if I should have stuck to catching buses around here. Nah – the view tonight was again very good, and who would stop in Curahuasi if you were on a bus to Cusco? The climb today was pretty good really, despite taking most of the day. The clouds were covering the mountain tops when we were at the top of the pass, but they cleared for sunset – again the mountains were on fire. Burnt orange everywhere to the east, and a spectrum of colours on the snow capped peaks more to the north (come to think of it, they may be the same snow capped peaks we saw the other day for sunset). Anyway, it was great.

The five passes: To the Asphalt

The section from Ayacucho to Cusco contains five main passes (as well as a few other minor bits of climbing).

Continuing in the same vein as the last post – the dirt road from Andahualas to Abancay was pretty dreadful. There was only one pass in here. We took two days to complete this section, although I just got very confused – it feels like much much longer.

The first day was reasonably good. My bike started making a reasonably dreadful noise (as distinct from the other horrible noises of bashing over rocks all day). Later I found out that one of the panniers retaining hooks had broken and it was flapping around a fair bit. Looks like another job for Cusco.

We had a bit of a mixed day with the locals. Some were very friendly, one stopped to ask if we needed directions to whereever we were going (there was only one road and it was pretty obvious where were going, but the offer was appreciated). Others were indifferent, and a few were downright hostile (rotten potatoes were launched at me and Joerg from a truck full of kids). When it became clear that we weren’t going to clear the pass in one day, and we needed to find a place to camp, the locals appeared friendly enough. We camped in a slightly sheltered spot, off the road, but in sight of several people bringing home the livestock for the night (they take it all out every day to graze). Two horses were cobbled (not unusual), but it was distressing to see them hop all the way up the road. It looks like they don’t remove the cobbles to allow the animals to walk freely back to the corral. Surely that isn’t necessary.

The sunset was spectacular. Mountains to the north east caught the setting sun nicely – turning the snow all sorts of pink, orange and reds.

Due to the altitude (hence cold night), I accepted Joerg and Rahel’s offer to share their tent. Early in the night (about 10pm), three men appeared at the tent, roughly opened the zip and shone torches in. I was closest to the opening, so responded by sticking my head out of the tent. When my head torch and head got grabbed by one of the men, and I spotted the knife, it became clear that they were after more than a chat. I went to reach for the Bear Spray (pepper spray, similar to mace) – Rahel always keeps it handy in case ladrones (thieves) show up. But the Bear Spray was gone! The men then asked for our money, and almost immediately fled – Joerg had preempted there request and gave them a good dose of Bear Spray. I copped a bit of a whiff, and I’m glad I wasn’t the target!

The only damage was five substantial rips in the tent. As the men fled, one tripped over the tent and ripped it, and another lashed out with a stick and ripped the tent fly, inner tent and hit Rahel on the arm (she wasn’t hurt – but it scared the hell out of here – as you might expect).

We were pretty lucky really, and thieves are part of such a poor area, but it still got me really angry. And a little scared that they might come back, so I stayed awake for the rest of the night and kept a lookout. I got a good view of the lightning from a storm to the north, and froze (half of me was hanging out of the sleeping bag so I could sit up and keep watch!). Joerg and Rahel didn’t sleep well. The thieves didn’t come back. Hopefully they got a good smell of that pepper spray!

Needless to say, the next day we started early (up at first light – we were awake anyway!). And rode down. And down. 55km took about 4.5 hours. The road started reasonably pleasant and deteriated as we descended. By the end we were again hanging on. Not helped by having no sleep!

I broke two spokes, but didn’t notice until the next day when we tried to get the majority of the dirt out of the chain and casette. I hope this back wheel makes it!

A short (20km) climb up the asphalt (oh, the bliss of smooth road!) to Abancay to finish the day. My body let go about 5km from the end. I think I punished it just a bit too much, thankfully Joerg and Rahel found a hostel and helped me in. I had only been awake for 40 hours (with 2.5 hours sleep in there), but there had been a bit of stress. Not sure whether that is being soft or not.

We took a rest day in Abancay. I needed a sleep in And finally some good news! One of the cracked CDs worked, so I copied it and posted it home. Perhaps I will get some of my photos back after all!

Hopefully it gets easier from here. At least the road surface will be consistent.

Start of the Passes

Woe is me. I just opened my collection of photo CDs to find then all cracked in some way. This is distressing because it means I have lost more photos (the set from Huancayo to Ayacucho I made two copies of – both cracked). But it is also indicative of the roads I have been traveling the last few days. To call them bad is an understatement. According to the map, the road I am following is one of the “Carreteras Principales Del Peru”. Main roads. Huh! Yesterday, while going up, I tried an experiment. On the side of the road, which was reasonably smooth, but nothing like asphalt, I could get up to 9 kph in the short section available. On the road, I was averaging 6. It’s a game of hang on, even with front suspension (which is rapidly dying).

The last five days we have managed a total of 255km. We’ve also climbed almost 5000m. (Oh, and yesterday I reached my 50th kilometer of altitude gain – a good reason for pizza tonight!). It feels like a fair bit longer however. This is a tough section of road. And we’ve only crossed two of the 5 passes on route to Cusco! Luckily the last two are on asphalt road, so they wont be quite as taxing.

The first night out of Ayacucho we made it to near a small town called Acocro. There is pretty much nothing there, and that includes hostels. With a storm bearing down on us, we asked a passing local what we could do, and he suggested sleeping in his shed (along with the sheep skins, potatoes, piles of junk and god knows what else). It was a fair offer, with the wind howling, and rain incipient. As we were moving the bikes, he had a better idea: how about in his restaurant! Errr, ok. So we had soup, Rahel and Joerg set up their tent in the restaurant and I slept on a bench. It kept the rain off, and we were warm. The only problem was the owner decided to watch TV at volume (everything is done at volume here) at some ungodly hour in the morning, possibly as an attempt to wake us up.

The next day we climbed up. And up. Took most of the day to climb about 40km and 1000m. Sounds like slow going, I guess it was. This was the top of the first pass. Then we got to go down. I didn’t measure it, but the descent was roughly 20km, and took us the best part of 2.5 hours. Yes, thats right, down hill 20km took over two hours. This was the worst road so far, constantly riding the brakes, and times traveling less then 5kph. Thats me, the crazy one in the group; Rahel and Joerg were even slower. Maybe I’m going on about this, but the road is horrible. I have visions that the Carretera Australis wil be like this also. I hope not.

The road continued in this vein the next day, although slightly faster, until we couldn’t descend any further and we hit the river (which is quite obvious on Google Earth, see the map page if you’re interested). That was at 2050m (we had come down from 4090m). The only benefit was the temperature climbed as we descended. Although it didn’t stop at a reasonable value, and we were suddenly roasting in 42°C heat in the valley.

Once you hit the bottom, you go… Up. Of course the road was hardly better, despite the promise that it would be. On top of the road condition, the afternoon storm returned with a vengeance. Part way up the hill, we donned coats. Shortly after Rahel was literally blown backwards while walking and pushing her bike. I was stopped short and had to use all my strength (ok, no jokes about how weak I am) to go forward. Even with the wind howling, light rain being driven into us, and elevation above 2500m, the bugs were still biting (they stop biting when… not sure, but on the top they don’t seem to be there). On that note, I’m constantly itchy at the moment, and have a few nice holes in my legs. We finally found shelter in Chincheros, and had the ice cream that we promised ourselves in the river valley (despite the fact that it was now drizzling and we were wearing jackets against the nights chill).

I reminded Rahel and Joerg that we had all quit our jobs, and sold out things to come here and cycle up this, in this. It wasn’t appreciated. I maintain it is still better than work (and to be honest was still having a good time – I know, masochist you might say, and Joerg often has)

Continuing up the mountain the next day, started steep and continued. The road was also so bad that Rahel managed to push her bike more than ride it. It was slow going.

If you’ve slogged through this whole piece, with no photos, until now, then you’re getting to the point of it. I’m not just whinging at how hard this is.

At the first intersection, really just a place to sit for a while, we had lunch. Sitting on the grass, some animals wandered over. Some pigs and a horse started chomping their way through something (grass I guess). A piglet came over to see what the gringos ate for lunch (and managed to get some off us). Sitting there in the sunshine, blue sky, with the animals and mountains around us… it was a pretty good place for lunch.

But the climbing hadn’t been completed, so we set off again, for 20km to the top of Abra Soracocha. At least the road wasn’t quite so bad. From the top (and from quite a few places along the way), and down the other side, the view was absolutely amazing. One might call it breathtaking. In fact one will: It was breathtaking – possibly helped by being at 4270m . It is a little hard to describe, but it was like being on top if the world (again). Looking out I could see mountains in all directions, with deep river valleys causing the irregular bumps of mountains, and giving some sense of scale to an infinite view (although the scale was hard to adjust to, those valleys are 2000m deep!). To make it better, it was late afternoon, the sky was blue (there were a few clouds), it was cool, but the sun was warm. I wish I were a more accomplished wordsmith to describe the scene. Four days of adventure (aka struggle) to get here? Was it worth it? Hell yes! The one view may have been enough, but I have failed to mention some of the other good things that have made it worthwhile (the friendly guy who let us sleep in his restaurant, the group of kids we talked to in the river valley, the views everywhere). Taking a bus would never allow you to enjoy the view as much. Even if it stopped at the top to let you out, the feeling, breathlessness and scale isn’t the same.
But it was late afternoon, and we still had a way to go to camp (I’m not keen on sleeping above 4000m!), so we descended rapidly (on much improved road) to the tiny pueblo of Chicmo. We had sunset while we descended. Apart from the obvious (it got dark), it was a great thing. The few clouds lit up, the hills mountains looked they were coated with gold, and the road looked smooth! It still felt bumpy though  maybe I just could no longer see We rolled into Chicmo with the head torches on (it took a bit longer than I expected as we had a flat to deal with).

The locals gathered around (a normal occurrence), and stared (normal). The police I asked for help to the nearest hostel was most unfriendly, as was his gun (not so normal). No one wanted to help, insisting that the only place to sleep was 20km further down the hill (possibly fun if I had my bike lights and we hadn’t already ridden a full day over a pass – certainly not an option at that point). So we had dinner (pasta, potato and rice – mysterious absence of chicken, but carbs? All at once?). Rahel looked around, and found an ally in the centro del salud (local health center / community hospital). It was a small room, with only two beds (and a cot) – luckily they had no patients.

Today we completed the descent from the second pass and got stopped by the prospect of pizza in Andahuaylas. Which I am late for now.

Only 120km until the asphalt that will take us all the way to Cusco (and further almost to the southern border of Peru). Yippee!

Argh, the air up here!

The main problem is there is much less of it.

Rolling out of Huancayo wasn’t a good day for me. I lost my sunglasses (at the hairdressers), and we wasted hours trying to get them back. Lucky I carried a spare pair. Five km later, I broke a(nother) spoke on the rear wheel. This time it was on a straight, flat, bitumen road. No stupidity, nothing. I don’t hold out much hope that this wheel will make it the distance (whatever “the distance” is). But we’re getting better – a replacement was fitted in about 10 minutes. Since bad things come in threes (or so I’m lead to believe), that night, one of the starps snapped on one of my panniers. Sewing needle out (yes, I can sew if I have to) and it’s as good as new again.

But apart from the inconveniences, the day was great. Up hill for most of it, in great weather, to about 3900m. Had a picnic at the top (bread, chocolate and banana, mmm), and remarked at how travelling by bicycle is the only way to have experiences quite like this. No other way do you get the smells, sounds, the slowly changing landscape, interaction with the locals/farmers (and dogs) and still make a reasonable distance (you could walk I guess, but that would just be silly when there is a road).

And then down. And steep. Part way down, Rahel and Joerg (I’ve finally worked out how to spell Joerg’s name correctly), hit 20,000km. In 1.5 years. I have only 3,000km (which is still a fair way, it might take you from Perth to Adelaide – except I’ve also climbed about 42km in the same time – no possible correlation with Australia there). A minor celebration was conducted on the road side – followed up in Ayacucho a few days later.

That night I had another attack of stupidity. The guide book told me that the highest drivable pass in the world was ahead, and of course I wasn’t about to pass up that bragging right. Except 10 seconds with Google and Wikipedia have since told me otherwise (try Tibet, and 500m higher). Pity I didn’t check this in Huancayo. Rahel and Joerg decided to take the river valley (a most sensible decision) and I decided to try and be a hero. So we split in Izcuchaca, after a meal of chicken and rice – I’m sure you guessed it.

The road along the river looked quite pleasant as I climbed the alongside, but up. In some ways it was good to be travelling alone again – I could go at my own pace (yes it is a little faster), but the company is good, as well as the added security of traveling in a group. Everything is just easier with other people – even stopping to buy a drink is much easier when there is someone else to look after the bike. Also, alone I was again forced to use my Spanish, which is (slowly) coming along – which is a good thing.

Fortunately the road to Huancavelica has been recently paved – so recent that there were people painting the lines as I rode past. The good road meant that despite the climb (of over 2000m) I could make the distance to Huancavelica, and go slightly beyond. I was heading for the small pueblo (town/village) of Lachocc – which featured on my map. The people in Huancavelica told me there was bugger all in Lachocc, but I didn’t believe them. About 5km short of the village, with the sun setting, I stumbled across a railway tunnel that looked inviting. Of course at 4100m, there are no trees for the hammock, and staying in a tunnel would protect me from the majority of the nightly chill. The danger of course is that a train might come, but hey, this is Peru, right? The train timetable works in days of the week, not times of day. So I chanced it. On closer inspection the tunnel was clearly abandoned, the train tracks ripped up and taken away, and the hill had started to collapse to reclaim the tunnel. As a camp site it was perfect, but the removal of the trcks diminishes the quality of the story. I still bivvied in the hammock to keep the bities out. I hit 3,000km right on camp. No celebration yet – just some dried figs for dinner (I had a reasonably big, late, lunch).

The next morning I left camp wearing damn near everthing I had. It was cold. At Lachocc, I was suddenly grateful that I had camped in the tunnel. Lachocc is nothing, not even worth slowing down for – there are plenty of ruined houses to see in other places. But the altiplano behind was worth a look. It held lots of Alpaca, and is allegedly one of the highest habitable altiplanos (but I now know more than to trust that guidebook about altitude records). So I bashed and gasped my way along the dirt road to the other end of the altiplano. I thought I was acclimitised, but as the altitude climbed toward 5,000m, I was certainly feeling it. I took an hour detour to reach the pass at 5,059m (according to the GPS it was a bit lower, but in this case I’ll believe the sign). Gasped a lot. Took some photos. Did a handstand (I finally remembered to do one at the top of something). And then got the hell out of there. As soon as I was going down I could breathe again. The change is amazing.

I then looked to the left. A mountain that was there a minute ago had gone. Someone had hid it behind an ugly black cloud. At the same time my rear tyre decide to go flat. So I pumped up the tyre, and (pump in hand) raced the cloud to the next thing approximating shelter (a pueblo at Choclococha – say that three times fast). I needed to pump up the tyre three more times to make it, but It was better than changing the tube in the snow. i made it, just as the snow arrived. I gratefully bailed myself into the only restaurant, and requested lunch.

The woman looked annoyed to be disturbed from her kniting and grudgingly informed me “I’ve only got eggs, and you’ll have to wait while I prepare them” (in Spanish of course). You can imagine that filled me with joy (especially if you know how much I like eggs). But it was food (it came with rice! oh the joys! – no chicken!), and I was able to stay dry and warm as I fixed my wheel and the storm passed.

The storm had cut into my riding time, but I wasn’t keen to sleep above 4600m, so I hurried down to Santa Ines, and then Pilpichaca (I don’t know why I write the town names, no-one back home will have ever heard of them, or be able to locate them). I was stopped short at Pilpichaca by another storm, and decided to hole out here for the night. It was a hole.

This left me with a 150km trip to Ayacucho the next day. Quite the longest day so far, and including three passes, and the majority of the riding above 4000m. But I decided I could do it, and of course I did. I was a little surprised, I thought the trip would take four days, but I managed the 340km (ok, only 110km was dirt), with 4,800m climb in 23 hours of riding over three days. Hardly iron man material, but a pretty good effort – if I do say so myself.

Knowing I had a big day ahead, I left at 6, but luckily the snow on the surrounding hills had melted overnight. I don’t know how thought – it was below zero (according to the computer) for the first 15km.

And then after four days of being, and needing to be, perfectly healthy, I was sick again within hours of arriving in Ayacucho. Does my body store these things up until the food suddenly has the option of variety? I hope to recover without drugs (at the risk of offending Richard by not taking his advice )

Ayacucho

After 3 days of hard riding, I’m in Ayacucho. But where are Rahel and Joerg?

<Later. Much much later> It turns out hey beat me here by a matter of minutes (not bad timing after three days).

Mines

I didn’t realise how much of the land is being torn up in Peru. The copper mine and the gold mine of a few days ago have been added to by the horrendous pollution of whatever they do at La Oroya (from the company web site they make a cocktail of copper, lead zinc, bismuth, silver and indium). The La Oroya operators claim to operate in a “socially and environmentally responsible way”. I can tell you that they also produce sulphur dioxide at the plant, and have contaminated the valley below the plant with this noxious gas. Our eyes, throats and lungs burnt for hours as we descended from the town. The hill sides have been scoured of vegetation. The river looked in poor health. At the risk of ranting, the company has an article on it’s website about an appeal to a fine they have received. Apparently they are operating within their operating parameters as set by the government:

“Air quality standards: The company has met monthly air quality targets since March, for the first time in La Oroya’s history”

I suggest the government set stricter targets. The problem is the government now owns the mine. Draw your own conclusions.

Anyway, the road was otherwise pleasant. We descended only 450m while travelling 125km. Could this be the perfect gradient for travelling by bike? Ok, so we climbed about the same amount (and then descended this as well), but it was basically downhill all day.

More mines lined the road. Some were digging the sand and gravel from the river bed, others were destroying the limestone cliffs by the river.

And then the steep valley opened into a wide, obviously fertile, valley. Every inch was cultivated for something, all sorts of crops are grown. From my point of view, the most interesting part was most of the small fields are lined with gum trees – yes the eucalypt makes a strong appearance here (as other places as well).

Today is a rest day in Huancayo. If I get over the current round of stomach problems, I’ll be tackling the next set of super high passes in the next few days. If I don’t I’ll follow the river valley (the route Jurg and Rahel are going to take) to the same destination.

Still on Top

I think the titles could stay with this theme for some time. The altitude promises to stay rather high. So maybe I’ll use a subheading instead. This one could be:

Alpacas

After a good two days eating and cleaning in Huanuco, the three of us cleared out for more southerly action. Going east was fun, but wasn’t helping the arrival at Ushuia.

Basically that involved going up. Huanuco is at a lowly 1950m, and there is a lovely high plain at 4100m between it and anything south. So for the best part of two days we climbed.

Pity I don’t have a photo yet (Jurg has a few). On the first day of climbing, we stopped for lunch just before 1pm. Respectable time we thought. The place was a small pueblo; San Rafael. Soon after we’d eaten, we noticed a few small faces at the door (we had the bikes outside and keep a pretty sharp eye on them). Within minutes there were about 50 children crowded around us and the bikes. The school was just across the road, and they had been let out to go home. We talked, made faces and were stared at for a fair while before we left, with a trail of chasing kids.

The rain has been appearing with monotonous regularity about 3pm. As we approached Huariaca, the sky became very dark and threatening. I felt sure we were about to get soaked. The hostel in the town was significantly below par, and we decided to brave the weather. Luckily for us, the valley turned sharply just out of Huariaca, and the weather was much kinder up this valley. We found a nice spot by the river, and set up the tent. The hammock took a bit of thinking about to make work, but I’m getting used to pitching the hammock as a hutchy or bivvy. Especially above 3000m, this is a better option (as freezing is less likely). I may have to continue this through Bolivia…

We decided to miss Cerro de Pasco, the biggest town the next day, as it took a 10km detour. Instead we crossed another pass, this one at only 4400m (yawn). It was extremely cold. The computer was telling me it was 10°C, but for some reason this didn’t seem right. Perhaps it was the wind (& wind chill), but my fingers could have sworn it was below freezing. Traveling down the other side at 55km/h probably didn’t help the wind chill.

I don’t have a photo (yet), but I’m beginning to ride in lots of clothes. The arm and leg warmers are no longer the bees-knees. They are the under garments now. Routinely I’m in a beanie and either the rain coat or the fleece.

On this pass, the descent on the far side was only 200m. This is due to a high altitude plain. Quite spectacular to see a large grass plain after climbing up for two days. After lunch, and steadying the spinning head from another round of altitude sickness, we rode on the edge of the plain to the town of Carhuamayo. At that altitude there is an air pressure of 60kPa, so roughly 60% as much oxygen to breathe.

I had noticed on the way up a slight slackness in the rear wheel which I fixed when we arrived. That was when I noticed one of the spokes had snapped also (probably on the bumpy road down into Huanuco). So I embarked on a tour of the town, at around sunset (read: when it was really, really cold) to find a new spoke. It turns out the spare I bought in Quito wasn’t the right length after all. To cut a long story short (I seem to have a few long stories…) I found a new spoke in a hardware store (the four bike repair stores didn’t have the right length, and in fact one of the ‘mechanics’/butchers took a look at the wheel and said ‘it looks all right, don’t worry until you’ve snapped 3 or 4 spokes’) .

This morning we rode across the plain, next to Lago de Junin (highest lake of it’s size in the Americas so I’m lead to believe). Big lake. High up. It would have been impressive if I could concentrate – 4100m is pretty high and some interesting effects have occurred inside my digestive system in the last few days. This morning there was a pain that I couldn’t get rid of and there seemed to be no oxygen until we reached Junin. I think it may have been the mixture of yogurt, coca tea, bread, altitude and exercise. I’ll try it again tomorrow and see what happens. Hopefully there is less gas produced.

After Junin, the oxygen returned and I could keep up again. And the rain came. For a little while. But there was a tiny bit of snow by the side of the road – I’m still not sure that it wasn’t snow that was falling and melting as it hit us. In the next town, the policeman told me that in 1 or 2 weeks the rain will be constant, all day every day. That sounds like the wet season approaches. If it gets to me in the mountains, there will be a bus involved. Riding in the rain (while freezing, ie at 4000m) isn’t a whole lot of fun.

I’ve completely missed the Alpacas. As soon as the altitude hit 4000m, these beasties were everywhere. Almost completely replacing sheep. They are even transported like sheep: I saw a taxi with five Alpacas, with thick wool, trussed up and in the back of the station wagon. There is a photo on Flickr. A point was made that the Peruvians do some strange things: often we see trucks full of people, and animals in the back of cars. The alpacas have continued, especially on the high plain – hordes of them. Today we saw some Vicuñas as well – a relative of the alpaca and llama. Now that I think of it, some of the beasties could have been llamas (although most were definitely alpacas).

Coming down off the plain today we headed for La Oroya, only because it was at about the right distance. The trip notes we found in Trujillo said “aire malo, mucha pollucion de las minas”. Even I could work that out. As it claims the air is bad, the refinery is only a few hundred meters away, and the trucks go down the main road of the town. A place to leave asap. Hopefully two days to Huancayo (another town starting with “hua”).

I hope these posts aren’t too long, and are boring everyone.