Here We go again

What I haven’t mentioned the previous days, is that I struggled a bit with homesickness. Cycling up into the mountains for more than a week was very draining. And when you manage to reach a pass, rolling down the other side of the mountain really isn’t that fun if you know that all that elevation you have worked so hard to gain, is lost in that moment only to have to be won again a few kilometers later. Additionally, the fact that I still struggled to eat properly and that I was less fit than the men made me the weak link in the chain. Not only did that not feel great, but it also meant that the route we had originally planned was not realistic. There was way too much difference in elevation and far too little villages in between which would have allowed us to restock our food supplies (i.e. we would encounter no shops if we managed to cover all mountain passes in 7 days time. But we wouldn’t, because I couldn’t).

That everything was so hard on my body and mind frequently had me in tears in the evening when another cold shower in yet another dirty primitive bathroom made me miss home even more. Especially when I knew that my prospects for the next day were more cycling and pushing my bicycle up steep gravel inclines. The men obviously noticed I wasn’t doing great and that the mountainous landscapes were a bit too hard for me even if we barely covered 10 km a day. So in Huancaya I told them that I was struggling and why. The thought of only cycling uphill time and again whilst being cold in the mountains every single day seemed dreadful and not fun at all to me. They also realized that going through the mountains was not realistic for me, so they put in a lot of effort to plan a new route. A route we had originally shied away from for two reasons: firstly, although the road conditions are better and the inclines manageable, there is much more dangerous traffic. And secondly, because this route passes through or scratches the area which both the Dutch and German foreign ministries have designated as a red no-travel zone due to illegal drug trade and rivaling cartels. This leads to more robberies, abductions, and armed conflicts.

However, it was our only option and with certain precautions it should be relatively safe to travel. So on September 15th we left Huancaya and cycled up steep slopes to the next village for a few kilometers (after which it thankfully mostly went down) and from there on to Tinco-Alis. The road was in the worst condition we had experienced thus far. It wasn’t tarmac and it wasn’t gravel. Instead, it was some sort of clay dust mixture with very large rocks pressed into it leading to extreme bumps. It probably used to be a gravel road that had greatly suffered from the large water masses and smaller landslides during the rainy season, turning it into the vehicle’s nightmare that it was. Although the road condition had three of our tomatoes and two eggs on its conscience by the time we reached Tinco-Alis, we were all stunned by the beauty of the scenery as we descended into the valley. Our road always ran parallel to the river which shone in different shades of turquoise, blue and green, and passed through deep stone gorges or meandered through green fields lined by Eucalyptus trees.

Eventually we reached Tinco-Alis and the mere three houses it seemed to comprise of. Our road from there on included another pass, so our adjusted plan/alternate route included taking public transport from Tinco-Alis to the top of the pass called Chaucha. A distance of 40 km and 1580 m in elevation gain. This would have normally taken us two to three days so we were secretly quite happy to be covering them by bus. Although we wanted to take public transport, the buses are so small that with our bikes and bags no other people fit, so taking public transport felt a bit more like chartering… To our great dismay, Jacques’ bike was too big to fit into the car so it had to be strapped to the roof. A fate none of us would have wanted for our precious bikes so we understood why he was grumpy the entire ride. Göran had gone to the lengths of additionally securing the bike with straps and we regularly asked the driver to pause so that we could check if the bike was still securely in place and not damaged (to the driver’s great annoyance). The drive was long, steep, and would have been a bit dangerous so we were all quite happy to be driven up rather than cycling ourselves for once. When we reached Chaucha, Jacques was relieved to finally be getting his bike off the roof. It turned out that his bike was fine and instead mine had been slightly damaged during the ride. Nothing significant, thankfully, but it saddened me a bit nonetheless. I have grown increasingly fond of my orange beauty so seeing parts slightly bent and scratched wasn’t nice.

The pass slightly before Chaucha is situated at an altitude of 4725 m which means that it was cold and windy, so we layered our warm clothes and set off down the slopes into the valley. After a quick lunch in the shelter of a dirty bus stop, we continued cycling through the mountains and past Alpaca farms until we reached the second pass. This one we cycled up until we reached the 4645 m peak. Not wanting to sleep in the cold of the high altitude, we cycled down into the valley until the sun began to set, searching for a suitable place to set up camp. We even encountered a Dutch car along the way, yellow license plate and all. Unfortunately they didn’t stop so we couldn’t have a chat with them. Anyways, we were cycling down into the valley until we saw a nice green field just 2 km behind a cute little village. Here in the lower areas green fields and trees surrounded the little villages with clay huts. Although poverty was evident, I cannot deny that the scenery was beautiful and the villages had a certain charm to them. Like the Peruvian version of Heidi’s paradise in the Alps.

We set up our tent on the grass and Jacques cooked us a nice dinner while Göran and I set up the tent and got everyone’s sleeping bags ready. We were just getting ready to head off to bed, I was brushing my teeth, when suddenly a motorcycle seemed to be heading our way in the darkness. And sure enough, the motorcycle came to a halt only a few meters away from us. A man got off and approached us, a medium sized wrench in his hands. We were a bit nervous. The man asked us what we thought we were doing there. Göran explained when all of a sudden a second man carrying a shovel appeared out of the darkness (boy did he startle me, which he thought was funny). Despite the initial tension, both men seemed to be very kind and had only been cautious and curious to see who were on the lands that were bordering theirs. We just started feeling at ease when a tuc tuc appeared, came to a halt and two men and a woman climbed out. Now we started feeling a bit ganged up on. I felt so stupid standing there with my toothbrush still in hand and surely some toothpaste smudges left on my mouth.

But once again, the locals turned out to be nice. Apparently that area was sometimes plagued by bandits and there had been incidents in the past which had led them to be cautious and find strength in numbers. Understandable and very effective: I definitely felt intimidated by them before I had known what their intentions were. But after around half an hour of fun conversation, laughs, and advice from their part, they all headed home and we went to bed. I lay awake for quite a while worrying that bandits might show up, but eventually sleep got the better of me and I drifted off.

distance cycled: 59 km
elevation gain: 500 m
Actual altitude: 4726 m
time cycled: 4 h 3 min