Central y SurAmerica Moto Adventure - Peru
by Todd Peer

Octobre 2002 - Abril 2003


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    December - 22 to 25, 2002: Wrong way to Cusco...What the hell am I doing here!

    Odometer: 19,398

    After spending a couple of days in Arequipa recouperating from a quick bout of travellers diarrhoea I was ready to hit the road for Cusco. My plan was to get to Cusco within a day and make plans to spend Christmas in Machu Pichu. After consulting with the tourist information people in Arequipa and the receptionists at the hotel, I was convinced the road north would be paved. I read a post from Hugh saying how his trip into Cusco was a kick your ass 400 miles of twisty road. Diarrhoea or not, I was ready to get going

    The first 70 miles out where a climb in altitude that ended on a mesa and a quick transition to some hardpacked dirt. Dirt! Where were the twistys? Where was the pavement? In a matter of a few miles I came upon a road sign that directed me to Cusco so I figured, ok, this is the way and I should be picking up asphalt again soon.

    30 miles later I stopped for gasoline and had a small conversation with the attendant. We consulted my map and he assured me that the road from then on was, in fact, dirt. All the way to Siquani! Ok, I figured I'd need to keep at least a 40mph rolling average speed to make Cusco by 5pm that evening and the road wasn't so bad that I couldn't keep that up. It just meant I'd need to skip lunch and make sure I found gasoline along the way. Shortly after leaving the station the road started becoming a little less manageable but I was still able to keep a 30mph average.

    Within 20 miles the road forked off to the left to Caillomo (source of the Amazon river) but the road sign did not indicate the right fork running to Cusco. Instead it indicated two towns not listed on my map. Fortunately for me there was a gentleman walking along the road so I stopped to ask him if I was heading in the right direction. Now more then ever I wish I was more fluent with the Spanish language. As the day progressed I kept saying to myself, "ah, that's what he meant!". Ignorance is not always bliss.

    Shortly after speaking with the gentleman by the road, the road itself began to get a little worse. It is the beginning of the rainy season in this part of Peru which basically means it rains in the afternoons and by morning the weather is once again pleasant. This part of the road was what appeared to be a layer of course sand layed over damp dirt, making my front tire washout regularly in concealed mud. I saw tracks on the road that appeared fresh and therefore reasoned that this was a useful road but I had a nagging feeling that I should not be here.

    Within 12 miles I again came to a fork in the road. Not really a fork but more like the obvious way the truck tracks had gone. I started up this "road" but decided that this can't be the right road. It was nothing more than a mottled, rock strewn mud track heading straight up a mountain. So I decided to turn back to the sand mud combination which seemed like what one would expect in a dirt road in the frontier where transport between two towns in the most efficient manner was called for. But, there were _no_ tracks at all. In fact there was plant growth where there should have been none. Within only 200 yards my front tire washed uncontrollably and I had a nice little spill that caused a not so nice black/blue bruise to my left ankle.

    Bad omens. I continued on only to find the road ended completely at an overlook. What the hell am I doing out here? My foot's in pain and I'm not completely satisfied I'm heading in the right direction. So, now I am faced with two options. Go back and take the less obvious road, or just go back to Arequipa and find another way. I am now about 130 miles out and 5 hours. Arequipa was out. I was still holding hope the road would get better and I could make up some time.

    Boy was I ever wrong!

    So, I limped back to the bike and opted for the less obvious road. It had tracks. Big mistake!

    I have described roads in earlier posts that would seem a picnic compared to this segment. It began as nothing but loose rocks, about the size of mellons, mixed with occassional patches of dirt and grass. Just enough to make out and confirm other vehicles had come this way. It was still manageable, but my rolling average was being killed! And then I hit my first mudplow! And then the second, and then the third, all the while holding out hope that this was a temporary condition of the road. I had convinced myself that this was simply a detour as the previous segment had suddenly stopped. I would be picking up the proper road soon enough.

    Not a chance! My average speed coming down that first mountain was a dim 5mph all due to the excessive mudtrack. My tires where just not made for this shit and quite frankly feelings of despair were beginning to set in. Imagine wrestling over 500lbs of motorcycle through 6-8inches of mud, on and off every 30 yards. My arms were getting super tired and I was feeling like a total idiot for being out there.

    By around 3:30pm, rain clouds were beginning to appear. Great! Mud just isn't the same without a little water now is it? Anguish and desparation. I'm in the middle of nowhere, not having seen another person or animal within the last 3 hours and I'm about to get soaked and freeze. I needed shelter fast. But out here there isn't anything at all! No trees. No big boulders to get between. Finally I rounded a corner and spotted a sheep-pen built of the loose stones that lay all over the landscape. I rode up to it and fixed my bike cover over the wall to keep me dry and my jacket against it to keep out the wind. I was seriously considering staying the night like this as the rain came down. What the hell AM I doing out here?!!

    Within an hour there was a break in the clouds and I decided I needed to keep going, even if I am only going 5mph. Mud or not, if I stay out here tonight, I'll freeze to death.

    Around 5:30pm I discovered a small village and decided, no matter what, I needed to stay here for the night. I rode in and limped over to a couple of kids and began asking about where the adults were. They no speaka spanish. They speak Quechua because they are Quechua indians. I finally found some adults behind the closed school buildings and in broken spanish related my need to sleep and, could I do so in one of the old school buildings. All of the buildings where locked except a tool-shed that, to me, was just perfect. I could close the door and keep out the cold, get in my sleeping bag and get some rest.

    The woman who opened the door for me also brought many blankets to rest on. Shortly thereafter, her son (I think) named Alfredo insisted that I stay in his house and have some food. That sounded better to me so I agreed. It turns out, Alfredo and his mom(?) and uncle all live in one of the mud-brick huts that measure only roughly 10ftX12ft in dimension with no floor and a cooking fire right inside (no chimney). Very tight quarters for very poor people. And I was VERY happy that they had me in. I stayed warm for the night and got a few winks, despite the hard dirt floor.

    My total miles travelled since hitting the mud was roughly 40 at about an 8mph average speed. The shittiest motorcycling day I can ever remember by far!

    The next morning I wanted an early start so that I could finally get out of this situation. My first chore of the day was to crash in a river crossing! I forgot to mention how often the bike went out from under me. Often. I couldnt count the number of times. My second chore of the day was to bury my back wheel up to the axle in a small swamp crossing. I was trying to avoid some of the nastier looking mud and ended up finding a really wet bit of ground that simply sucked the bike down. It only took about half an hour to break-free.

    The next mudplow was just 20 yards away. Disgust! And during one of my many crashes I managed to lose my electric clothing regulator. It wasn't on so I didn't notice until later in the day. That's gonna suck later on in this trip.

    I thought I recognized the road getting a little better and after about 20 miles of travel I happened upon a much larger village with actual roofs and even a couple of small tiendas. At this point, I had had about all I could stand of the muddy roads and decided to beg and plead with anyone who had a truck to carry my sorry ass out to the asphalt at Siquani. I'd buy gas to and from AND pay well for the time. One guy had a truck but said he didn't have the time. Part of my begging included the fact that I was very tired and so another guy, Isidro, invited me to stay with him the rest of the day and we'd go to Yauri in the morning. Yauri was my first destination before Siquani as it was ON the map and as it turns out, is a big town.

    So it was set. I'd stay with Isidro and his family and he'd haul me over to Yauri. This was good as there was one more major river crossing I didn't want to make on the bike and I had no idea what the road was like from here on. So I spent the day washing the bike with Dante and Ceaser (Isidros kids) and tightening the chain back up. Know what mud does to a chain? Bad things, that's what. It took two full turns on the adjusters to bring the slack back to normal. We also spent some time with me teaching the local kids some English. It was actually quite a lot of fun!

    Machu Pichu was now off the plan. Cusco possibly. It all depended on when my tires could touch asphalt again. My foot was bruised and I am late by two days. I just didn't see the logic of pushing it anymore.

    Night fell and morning came and I am packed and ready to go. It occurred to me that I never saw Isidros truck and when he uttered "Vamos", I said "ok, let me see your truck so I can figure out how to load the bike and bags".

    Puzzlement. Turns out Isidro has no truck, nor a license.

    Turns out that our conversation from the previous day meant, stay the night and get some rest. Tomorrow you can give me a ride on your motorcycle to Yauri!!! Damn, I really wish I were more fluent with the Spanish language!

    So, I gave him a ride. And it turns out that the road to Yauri (save for the river crossing) was much like the one I began on when it turned to dirt. No problemo! Had I known this I would have just kept going the day before. The river crossing, though not easy, caused only a little adrenal overload. I was now wrestling with over 600lbs of weight with Isidro on the back, crossing the river. Fun!! I dropped Isidro off at Yauri and thanked him for his hospitality and said goodbye. From Yauri to Siquani the road was dry, bumpy as hell, but thankfully dry. Within 60 miles I was back on pavement and headed to Cusco where I intended to spend Christmas day.

    Cusco is a tourist town with a long ago history. I won't get to see much of it as I am resting from the previous days workout. I think I plan to come back the way most tourists do, by plane, and see the city and Machu Pichu as a tourist.

    Combat_Touring is kicking my ass!


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This page last updated 12/03/2002