Monday, April 26th
I arrived in Arica, Chile without incident. It was only a 9 and half hour flight from Dallas, Texas to Santiago, Chile and three more from Santiago to Arica. Since I am from Alaska, anything under 12 hours is just around the corner.
As usual, the temperature in the "City of Eternal Spring" was perfect, hovering around 75 degrees F. It almost never rains here in the heart of the Atacama Desert. A couple of years ago, I asked the taxi driver on the way from the airport to the hotel the last time it rained here. He said "Four years ago."
I have arrived a couple of days early to make the final preparations for our Peru Machu Picchu Adventure. I had a few last minute details to do: Make sure the fleet of bikes is in order, check that all border crossing paperwork is in order, change money for Peru, meet my driver, Jaime, and go over the itinerary, print out copies of the itinerary for everyone...and..one more thing...pick up the clients! Don't forget the clients!
The Atacama Desert stetches along the Chilean Coast.
Somehow, too, squeeze more sleep in...
Arica is a port town that serves as the local trading, mining and industrial center. Clothes and shoes are fabricated here, and agricultural goods are trained and trucked here to be put on ships headed for market.
It used to be Peru here. But, Chile changed all that, especially when they found copper ore in the area. Since then, they have been reluctant to give it back.
The surrounding area of the city is pure desert. There is not a drop of water that touches this land. It looks like the moon. Glacial and snow melt from the Andes send raging rivers down to this sun-choked land. Along these rivers exists a verdant ribbon of eden: corn, cows and other crops fill the lush river basins juxtaposed against desolate moonscape. When you ride through one of these river beds, the smells of everything vibrant and agrarian enter your nostrils from corn to cows and make you forget for just one moment that anything two meters above the flood-plane is a death zone.
Todays chores include: hook up helmet camera and GPS wires to the battery of my motorcycle. Go to the airport and pick up the riders coming in. Get the group checked in at our hotel. Organize a welcome dinner..... and go to bed!
Bill is from Ohio, USA
Tuesday, April 27th
Yesterday was another 75 degree F day in the land of Eternal Spring. I spent the day wiring my bike up with all sorts of gadgets: GPS and Head Cam. I looked over all the bikes that were going on the trip. We would be taking a total of 6 BMW GS 650 singles and two BMW GS 650 twins.
I then took a stroll down to the main pedestrian arcade - 21 de Mayo - and walked around, got some lunch and changed some US$ for Peruvian Soles. All towns in Chile have streets named after dates that are important to their history. They all seem to have a "Plaza de Armas" as well. In fact, most towns and cities in Peru have a "Plaza de Armas". This is usually a good reference for my riders in case we get split up in traffic, we can alway meet at the Plaza.
I went to the airport in the afternoon, and picked up the rest of the group: 5 riders from Japan and one American from Ohio, Bill. (Our Canadian had already arrived with me the day before.) The riders from Japan were all part of a BMW Boxer Club, and have ridden the world together. They have been with me on 5 separate tours, 4 of which were in Alaska. They are a great group of people and love to ride. Their names are Hashimoto (president of the club), Hirata, Aoyama, Nakano, and Nishitani.
I have known this group from Japan for over 10 years, ever since they came to Alaska on one of my tours. Since then, we have ridden in southern Chile and they ride along for the tour I offer in Japan every year. It is because of this friendship that I was able to offer a tour in Japan.
Dennis is from Victoria, Canada
The group was checked into the hotel, showered and showed the bikes. Smiles permeated throughout the group, and you could feel the excitement build. They were going riding starting the next day!
We had our welcome dinner at the hotel, filled out all the appropriate paperwork and cheersed to a safe and eventful tour. Bill and the other north american, Dennis, from Victoria, Canada, found it difficult to speak to the Japanese, so I played translator all night, and before the meal had ended, you could see a camaraderie growing. For me, this is the most satisfying part of the job: bridging worlds.
By the end of the meal, some of the riders were nodding off - it was 10 in the morning in Japan- and since they had been on the road for over 30 hours, they excused themselves early to catch up on some needed sleep.
The next day was going to be a fun one: we were going to do a "yo-yo" - an up and back to the heart of the Andes. This would be a day ride only, and we would be staying in the same hotel the next evening. We would climb over 12,000 feet in less than 80 miles...have lunch, and come back down. There were two reasons for this warm up day: we were trying to acclimatize our bodies to the altitude by punching the elevation barrier hastily the first day, and also do a day ride that is not too taxing on the body, since everyone is still catching up to the time change.
Since we will be spending 5 nights at over 10,000 feet, I designed the itinerary to make the transition to altitude easier. Nobody knows how their body is going to react to altitude....it even changes each time for individuals. So, we are going to get accustomed to the altitude the way a mountain climber would: go up, come back down, go back up (not so high) stay for a couple of days, go back down...then go up and stay up!
Last year, everyone felt the first day, when we hit 12,000 feet. There was some dizziness in the group. But, after a couple more times piercing the 14,000 foot level, no one complained about having trouble sleeping above 10,000 feet. And that is the goal: be as comfortable as possible!
BMW Boxer Club of Japan Members (Left to Right) Nakano, Nishitani, Hashimoto, Hirata and Aoyama
Wednesday, April 28th
We started out the day meeting at the bikes at 8:30AM with the goal of doing a "clutch out" at 9. All was well until two of the bikes would not turn over. Typical: the day before, all the bikes started without a problem. Now, two of the batteries decided to go on strike. I have done over 70 of these tours, and it seems that about 30 percent of the time, there is a mechanical snafu. That's just motorcycling!
We got the bikes started by jumping them off a battery of a truck and finally got rolling. We headed north out of Arica with our sights set on riding into the Andes towards a town called Putre, near the Bolivian border. We got no further than a few blocks when Mr. Aoiyama pulled up beside me and told me his engine was cutting out. We pulled to the side of the road, and decided it was the battery again. It was not working in conjunction with the fuel injection system, and so the system kept shutting down. We needed another battery. So, as the group stood in the shade, I hurried back to the hotel, robbed a battery off another motorcycle, returned, and we were back in business!
Atacama Desert: Where water reigns supreme
As we left Arica, you could see that we were just tiny specs in an ocean of dry wasteland. I know it is not fair to judge land as a waste, but really, if you ever take a look at the Atacama Desert, you realize that nothing is destined to live there. Nothing that relies on water, that is. Sand and rock stretched out in all directions as far as the eye could see. I hoped to spy one of the Sand People....
We turned east and headed up a river valley that was framed by high rising sand bluffs. The bottom of the valley was verdant and lush. The rest was just tanned dust, sand and rock. Corn and cows were everywhere along the flood plane. Farmers were working in the fields harvesting hey and watering crops. All around this green scene were the ominous desert bluffs - as if to say "if you didn't have that stream, you would be like us.."
We pulled off the road to an overlook of the valley. Down below could be seen the striking contrast of green verses brown. A clear stream cascaded through the center of the valley and green crops really looked out of place compared to the overbearing desert. Water was truly GOD in this country. Somewhere high in the Andes snow was melting, and the end result was sustainable life for these farmers. Without that trickle of life, the desert would be in charge.
We worked through the gears and started to climb and I couldn't help but smile. The temperature hung at about 75, the road was paved and in great condition. We were taking the curves. I was trying to imagine what it would be like for the Japanese in the group to make this ride on such an open road: no traffic and no speed limit. They were loving it!!
We passed only a few Bolivia-bound trucks hauling cars and fuel. Candelabra cactus started to dot the parched countryside. What a stubborn plant! Soon, we were at 10,000 feet and we passed our first Vicuna...a species of Alpaca, absently-minded chewing its cud off the side of the road. It was oblivious to us racing by just meters away. It was focused on some point in the distance, and pondering something...
First Day Ride: 12,000ft in 80 miles.
I took the group all the way to an overlook of the town of Putre. It was an incredible sight: the small town with terracing and low buildings at the foot of a snow covered mountain....just lovely! We were at 3,700 meters and feeling the dizziness. Bolivia was just 50 kilometers away. Everyone commented on the lack of breath and buzzing in the head. We had just topped the highest mountain in all of Japan in a matter of 80 kilometers. Upon hearing this fact, the Japanese just could not believe it!
We returned the same way we came, and stopped a little ways down the road to have some lunch. It was a truck stop and just a spec compared to the vast scrub brush and rocks that were in all directions. Desolate. We ordered the soup, which came with a green broth, potato, and a hunk of beef. On the side, we had fresh bread and a picante sauce known as pevre. It was a working mans' meal and satisfied everyone. The lady that came out to take our order had a broad smile and was curious about our group. She thought it was fantastic for such a wide range of world travelers to come all this way to see her corner of the world.
Bread and Pevre are set on the table before lunch is served.
After lunch, we made good time descending out of the Andes. The road was in excellent condition throughout the entire ride. We pulled into Arica and did a large circle through the city. We went to the top of the "Morro": a small hill right by the downtown area that overlooked the ocean. Vultures silently patrolled the cliffs while a large statue of Jesus overshadowed the entire scene. Cannons decorated every corner of the hilltop. This used to be Peru. Then, minerals were discovered. Then, Peru got kicked out. This is one of the reasons why the Peruvians and Chileans don't trust each other. Just one war, and everyone gets upset!
Jesus, cannons, fishing boats and endless desert: what a place!
We returned to our hotel, got showered up and met in the hotel lobby to go out to a restaurant. I picked one that was right on the ocean. We dined on fresh Sea Bass and Chilean wine to the sounds of waves crashing against the shore. Conversation seemed to flow nicely, even though there were three languages being spoken at any given time. The next day would be a border crossing into Peru, and you could feel the excitement of the group. This turned out to be a great warm up day!
Thursday, April 29th
We gathered our things and headed for the bikes first thing. By 9 AM we had the group on the road headed north towards the border with Peru. The sky was overcast and the temperature hovered around 65 degrees F. The gray of the sky met the brown desolation of the desert on the horizon. I explained to the group before we headed to the border that it could take up to three hours to cross. I instructed them to keep their passport and a pen handy at all times and to never, ever lose one of the papers you are handed.
Filling out paperwork at the Peru/Chile border.
There would be two stages to the border crossing: leaving Chile and entering Peru. The border crossing was necessary in order for us to ride BMW motorcycles. Peru has great riding, no doubt, but there is no way to get ahold of BMWs there.
We pulled up to the Chile border and stood in two lines. The first line was immigration. The second was the customs - for the motorcycles. All bikes came with pre-filled out paperwork declaring who the bike was being ridden by and who the owner of the bike was. Everything went smoothly and we pulled away from the Chile border in under 45 minutes. Now came the Peruvian side!
My room mate in college was studying mechanical engineering and had an assignment to pick out 20 systems and make them more efficient. (Of the 20, he included the Los Angeles Rams Offense.) As we went through the rigmarole of the Peruvian Border cross, I thought that he would have easily made this system more efficient!
In the course of and hour and a half, we stood in a total of 6 lines to receive 6 stamps - all of which needed to be on one piece of paper - that needed to be handed in to the last check point guy in order for us to continue into Peru. Among the garden of hoops, we had to fill out all the details to each bike, twice, and then hand them to a lady who pointed us across the parking lot to a guy who we just met to receive a couple of stamps. She said as she pointed, "See that guy over there? Go to him and get two stamps here and here." She pointed to a piece of paper we had just filled out. "And another stamp here." She pointed to one more piece of paper. "After you get the stamps, come back here."
So, we crossed the parking lot a second time to get the stamps and obediently returned back across the parking lot to the lady in the booth. She then looked over the documents and gave us one more final stamp. By this time, we were all shaking our heads. What sense did all of this make? Sometimes the word "Why" is best to be kept in your back pocket.
Our last paper with six official stamps on it turned in, we headed down the desert highway toward the city of Tacna. We were finally in Peru! The road was flat and straight and stretched out before us. Bordering both sides of the highway was the incomprehensible desert. Not a shrub, blade of grass nor anything that resembled life was out there. An ocean of sand.
Welcome to Peru!
We entered Tacna, found secured parking, and walked to a restaurant. The lunch menu had just started and we enjoyed a three course meal complete with salad, soup, meat loaf, and a course of your choosing. The selections ranged from baked chicken to beef to fish. When we arrived in the restaurant, we were the only ones. That is usually not a good sign. However, there was an hour time change, and we had lost an hour crossing the border and had arrived early for lunch. By the time we left the restaurant, all of the seats were taken. The group agreed: this was one of the best meals of the trip. A locals restaurant.
The Peruvians were very welcoming to us throughout the day. At the restaurant, most of the people that came to sit down next to us looked our group over and would greet us with "Good Afternoon." When stopped off the side of the road for a break, almost half of the cars and trucks would honk and wave at us as they flew by. Indeed, the Peruvians wanted to be with us riding, and were excited to see such a group. When we passed traffic on the highway, a good portion of them would flash their lights and give a wave as they went by. When you were behind a big semi truck, the driver would hit the left turn signal to indicate that it is clear for you to pass. It seemed that the entire country of Peru wanted you to be there riding! Such a reception is unheard of in the United States - which is arguably the most motorcycle UNfriendly nation on earth.
Outside Moquegua, Peru
After Tacna, the road was straight as it cut through the desert. At one point, we came over a rise after a several-mile straight away, only to see more of the same, reaching until the horizon. Sand tumbled across the road way. I could see the faint silloette of snow-capped mountains - the Andes - loom above us to the east. The sentinels of the Atacama.
The character of the desert changed as we neared Moquegua, our destination. Mountains came to meet us and the road turned twisty as it climbed up and down through narrow draws. Almost no traffic as we took one perfectly manicured curve after another. The mountains had absolutely no color except brown, which gave them a moonscape quality. I told Bill, "If MotoQuest can't pull off a tour on the moon, then we'll do it here!".
As we entered the valley near Moquegua, the surrounding countryside suddenly turned green and lush again. Cows, alfalfa, corn and more cows. Farmers were out in the fields feeding, planting and harvesting. After so many miles of desert, it was a shock to see such an oasis. I suddenly got a profound feeling of happiness - a sudden lust of life as I rode through this agrarian paradise. I thought of stopping my bike, meeting a girl, starting a family and living here happily for the rest of my life.... At which point I looked up and a bus was passing a dump truck and was in my lane and pushed me right off the road... It was not a close call, but I did stop day dreaming!
Moquegua is famous for a couple of things, but the most important is Pisco. They say that it was invented here. Pisco is made of grapes and is usually clear and strong. It is used it the local drink Pisco Sour, and can be mixed with Coca Cola to make the tasty yet deadly Piscola. Sometime in the 1500's the Spanish who settled here started making this stuff, and they have been happy ever since. Chile also lays claim to inventing Pisco, so it is always a good idea to keep this in mind when trying to gain favor in either country. When in Chile, it is a good idea to tell the locals that their Pisco is the best. When in Peru...I think you get the point. You will almost certainly get a favorable smile with this comment.
We pulled into our hotel, checked in and showered off the dust of the day. Then, we all met up by the pool of the hotel, which had a broad view of the entire town. We turned our welcome drink tickets into Pisco Sours, pulled up some chairs, and watched the sun set on the town. Red clouds came and went as the brown hews of the buildings and surrounding desert silently slipped into darkness. Street lights took over the scene and dotted the landscape. Stars started to twinkle in the sky. The iconic Southern Cross appeared above us. We ordered another round of beers. The temperature dipped. Then, as if for an encore, a full moon rose over the far rim of the valley, plunging the entire scene in it's light. Indeed, this had been a great day, and as we finished dinner nodding heads indicated that bed was soon going to be on the agenda. Though not a long distance day, it was taxing on the group. Tomorrow we had a good half day of riding - without border crossings- to the city of Arequipa.
Jaime, our mechanic, gave us great support the entire trip.
Friday, April 30th
The hour change in Peru threw us off a bit and we found ourselves by the bikes early, so we decided to take off. The sun was out with clear skies. The temperature was a mild 70. Cows grazed nearby as we checked over the bikes, lubed the chains and got our gear on. Mr. Aoiyama pointed out that cows make more sense than lawnmowers...they cut the grass and give you breakfast!
We headed straight into the moonscape and enjoyed some winding roads for the first part of the day. Every so often, we would hit another verdant valley and it always seemed so out of place. Little Gardens of Eden tucked here and there in this vast desert. This was not a long day at all, and our goal was to be in Arequipa by lunch.
Arequipa is the second largest city in Peru and sits perched on a mountain slope overshadowed by two snow-capped volcanoes. The word Arequipa was from the local indigenous language Quechua. "Are" means "here" and "quipa" means stay. Some spanish made it here and never left. That was back in 1540. Today, it is a bustling city with narrow crowded streets, mad little taxis with mad drivers and plenty of horn honking. The main plaza and surrounding buildings were all historical and very nicely preserved. The people were friendly, and you got a the feeling that you were welcomed in this truly Peruvian City.
We relaxed through the afternoon. Some enjoyed beer and visited in the back courtyard of the hotel, while others strolled down into the city visiting the museum and plaza. If you like to walk the streets of a city and learn and feel it, then you would have loved this afternoon.
I gathered up the group at sunset (which was only 6PM!) and we walked down to the Plaza de Armas. It was about a ten minute walk from our quiet hotel. The streets were buzzing with people and traffic, and we took great care crossing the streets, where there seemed to be some kind of "chicken" game going on. Intersections would not be marked with any sort of traffic sign, but everyone seemed to know what to do: speed up and honk.
Now that is a shrimp soup!
We climbed 4 flights of stairs and came out at a rooftop restaurant overlooking the Plaza and the heart of the city. The lights of the city started to take over the skyline and the sun had already slipped out of sight. The view was fantastic and full of people, pigeons, fountains, palm trees, and historic architecture. We donned ponchos given to us by the restaurant staff to keep warm. We all tried the same thing: shrimp soup and alpaca steak. The meal was good, but the portions were huge! Be aware that if you order an appetizer and a main meal that you are in for a feast!!
We decided to walk off the meal and headed back up the hill towards our hotel. We enjoyed watching the never ending game of chicken between the taxi drivers. Our last blocks to our hotel brought us through a tranquil park and it seemed the city had disappeared almost instantly. Though it was only 9pm, everyone was tired, so we called it a night. Tomorrow would be a full day, as were headed to the town of Chivay and the river drainage that forms the deepest canyon in the world.
Saturday, May 1st
We gathered at the bikes at 8:30AM with rain drizzling down on us. A local told me that it was the worst weather in 5 years....It was not even raining hard! But, in a land which only gets rain a couple of time outside the rainy season, this is bad news. Before we headed out, I warned each rider that it may be slick on the road, as water would be drawing up months of gas and oil that had fallen on the road surface.
We entered the traffic and I was reminded of India: cars edging in here and there all around us, horns beeping. The group had an option today: We could ride the paved road out of town, or ride a dirt road that split the volcanoes. They elected the challenging route, so we made our way up the side of the mountain and before long, we enjoyed sweeping views of Arequipa. There was road construction on the way up, so we had to divert through some neighborhoods as we wound our way up. Along the way a few dogs tried to ambush us as we sped past.
You have to be careful of the dogs in Peru. They have a herding instinct and feel compelled to give chase to passing motorcycles. Usually, if you slow down, then give it the gas, the change of speed throws them a curveball, and they are left in their tracks. They will dart out of hidden places to give chase, so you need to be on your guard, especially when you are riding through a town. I told my riders to watch out for this, since I believe the dogs are the most dangerous thing in Peru. They have been known to throw themselves under a front tire, and that can end your day.
As we edged to the outskirts of the town, I could see that there had been new construction and that they were putting in a new sewer line. More and more, Peru goes advancing.
The houses dropped away and we cleared the tree line. Large sections of road were lined with garbage. It seemed that everyone just drove up the hill a little ways out of town to get rid of it. The pavement stopped and the dirt road started. Rocks, dirt, and potholes greeted us for the first few switchbacks. I stopped after a few kilometers to see if the group was fine with this. All of them said, "Let's go!"
The rain had dissipated, and clouds moved in and out. We could not see around us for minutes at a time when suddenly we would pop out of a cloud to witness a spectacular snow covered volcano. At 12,000 feet I could see the top of one, and stopped the group. They all took pictures and commented on how beautiful and peaceful it was up there. We had not passed a single car for 30 minutes. As we got on the bikes, the clouds enshrouded the mountain again...You would not have known it was there.
Clouds enshroud the Volcanoes outside of Arequipa
We negotiated more switchbacks and some deep sand until we reached a high plateau. From then on, it was straight. Low scrub brush carpeted the surrounding valley. A vicuna trotted across the road in front of us. Not a building was in site. Indeed, we were in the real Peru.
After a while, we came to a paved highway. I stopped the group at a soda shack. The rain had started again, so we stood under a tin roof and ordered some drinks. I looked at the map, and looked at the time. The rest of the day would be spent on pavement. I asked the group if they would be interested in continuing on to Chivay. It had taken us three hours just to get here and it would be another hour and half more. We would have to retrace our route or continue on a longer loop before returning back to Arequipa. Dark rain clouds and sheets of rain could be seen in the direction we were headed. The group had had their adventure, and opted to go back to Arequipa via the paved highway.
The rain was still falling as we descended a series of long sweeping curves. Down, down we went. The rain stopped the suddenly the skies cleared. The surface of the road dried, and you could throttle through the turns with ease. We stopped at a roadside checkpoint outside a small industrial town to get some lunch. Nothing fancy about that place, but the food was excellent. We watched curiously as the buses stopped at the check point and the vendors sold food and drinks to the passengers in the buses. They used long sticks with small baskets on the end to deliver the food so high up. Then, the passenger would put money in the basket and the exchange was complete.
Phil is from Alaska, USA, and is founder and a lead guide of MotoQuest
We arrived back at the hotel around 3PM and everyone seemed happy to take the rest of the day to relax. Some checked email on the computers at the hotel, some sat in back garden and drank beer and chatted, and some headed into town. Jaime and I had a mission to get some bolts, as a couple of them had fallen out of the front brake of one of the motorcycles. We figured that a client had rented the bike earlier, and not tightened them properly, since these particular bolts never fall out. We grabbed a taxi and went to a street in the city that was full of car tools and car accessory shops. The taxi ride was exciting, and the driver nonchalantly drove like a maniac: weaving and honking through traffic. The small size of the taxis seemed to add a menacing appeal to them. And, at each intersection, there was absolutely no signage, so it was a big game of chicken. For the fare of 1 and a half dollars, it was as much value as a carnival ride!
After repairing the bike (which meant watching Jaime do it), I drifted down to the Plaza de Armas and was charmed by the elegance of the place: pigeons, fountains, churches, people...it was magical. Such a serene environment at the heart of a city with a million people. We met that evening and walked down to a nearby restaurant. The owner had prepared us a table and prepared a set course for the group. The food was good: Chicken soup and "Lomo Saltado" were the two courses. Lomo Saltado is strips of beef with mild pepper and onions with rice on the side. It was a small restaurant with very modern art decor. We were the only ones in the restaurant. In all, a fine evening!
We bid each other good night. We would be leaving the city for the country the next day. They had no idea how good the riding would be. But I did. I kept that secret for myself!
Sunday, May 2nd
We loaded up our bikes and headed out of Arequipa. It was Saturday, and the traffic seemed to be much more tame than what we had seen . Little taxis darted to and fro and we passed through the usual chicken game at each unsigned intersection. We were soon away from the city and riding into the vast Atacama desert. Again, the ocean of sand and rocks reached up to the road from far away. In the distance to our right (east) we could see the tall peaks of the Andes.
Roadside shrine for travellers
The road wound its way through a series of dry valleys and mountains. The signs were there that there had been water flowing....but how long ago? After a while, we dipped down into another green valley filled with water and crops and climbed to the far side of the valley. The next plateau was irrigated and crops stretched out from the road. Potatoes, cactus, grapes and green onions passed us on the left and the right. The smell of the green onions was strong and delicious. Cows dotted some of the landscape. We passed a concentrated milk plant.
Then, as sudden as it had started, the pastoral landscape stopped. It was time for the desert to take over once again. We rode through moonscape for almost an hour. Flat, dry land pierced by a sliver of a road. Mankind was just passing through this place. We reached a canyon where we stood along the rim and gaped at the scene before us. Thousands of feet down, another ribbon of a river nurtured a green valley. This was the Colca River - the very river that cuts Colca Canyon, the deepest in the world. Further up the valley the canyon is said to be twice as deep as the Grand Canyon. It is the Colca Canyon and its neighbor, Cotahuasi Canyon which vie for the title deepest canyon in the world.
The road cut its way down to the river bottom against a steep embankment. Along the way, rocks had fallen down onto the roadway. Nothing was constructed to stop them. You had to be careful on each corner. It was unimaginable how precarious this type of road construction was: the uphill embankment was literally moments away from falling down. Along the route, you could see far down the valley. A patchwork of crops of different hues of green and brown stretched far into the distance. Some of the land was being burned and the smoke drifted up the valley, giving it a dreamy appearance.
Overlooking the Colca River Valley
At the bottom of the valley it was evident that there was no lack of water in this valley. The Colca is a large, fast flowing clear river whose headwaters starts high in the Andes close to the headwaters of the Amazon River. Bamboo, corn, green onions, potatoes, cows flew by as we rode through small farming communities and past tractors. It is said long ago this land was inhabited by the same people who dominated Nazca. Petroglyphs from that era tell the story of this lost civilization. When the Spanish discovered this valley, they must have thought it paradise: fresh water source mixed with mediterranean climate. It rarely rains here, but always has clean flowing water. They can farm here year around under an almost constant sun. The temperature was around 80 degrees.
The canyon walls on each side were tall and ominous. Sedimentary rock had been pushed sideways and jutted up at angles from the valley floor and reached high in the sky. Ancient geological battleships slowly sinking into the valley floor. The colors of the canyon were hues of reds, tans and grays. Again, the striking contrast of the green verses tan was overwhelming. There is nothing to compare it with. Peru is Peru.
We pulled into our lodge early, just after noon and checked into our rooms and ate a leisurely lunch. On the menu: fried crawdads fresh from the river, avocado salad and french fries. A very basic, but very delicious meal. After eating, we jumped on the bikes again and headed up to a town called Chuquibamba, which is along the road to Cotahuasi: A remote town at the bottom of another goliath canyon. We rode in formation on a paved one-and-a-half lane highway which climbed to the far end of the Canyon. At 4,000 feet the earth was dry, parched and desolate. At 5,000, Candelabra Cactuses dotted the rocky landscape. At 6,000 feet another type of cactus dominated the landscape. At 7,000 feet the earth turned green and farming and terracing started once again. At 8,000 feet, farming was in full swing, and the inviting smell of Eucalyptus permeated through the valley. We stopped at an outcrop and overlooked the ribbon of road, which we had just climbed. It had just rained, the air was fresh and the clouds down the valley were parting: a magical sight.
In the course of an hour, we had seen 3 major climate changes and the only thing that stayed constant was the road, which connected it all. We passed only a few cars the entire time. Indeed, this was a spectacular ride. On the way down, we stopped to take pictures and at one point stared at a prominant rock formation that made you think of monument valley in Arizona. It came complete with sunset in the background. This ride had so many treats, it was hard to define all of them.
The road near La Central
We pulled into the lodge at sunset. It had been a long day, and I laid down for some needed rest. We met for dinner and ate a local specialty: Pesca Rey, a small indigenous fish from the local river. Beer was flowing and smiles were plastered on everyone's faces. After the dinner, we made our way out to the courtyard where a campfire was burning. We sat by the fire, underneath avocado trees and stars and the conversation drifted to how nice it was to be here. Peace and quiet!
Sunday, May 2nd
We headed out at 8:30AM (did I Mention the Japanese run on time?) and again I found myself in wonder at the desert valley. Riding through the oases made me think that there are few places like this in the world with such a contrast. The owner of the lodge suggested that we take an alternate dirt road to our lunch destination, so we would not have to retrace our tracks all the way back to the main highway. We would follow the river instead. I asked the group if they were up for it, and they were. The road was just a farm-access route which connected the farming communities down the river valley, and the walls of the canyon closed in on us, making it a very enjoyable ride. We watched the daily work being done in the farms, rode through very small towns (got chased by some dogs) and made our way to the paved highway. I dare say they never get tourists back there, so it was a treat for both parties.
Riding the curves of Peru
We hit the Pan-American Highway, ate, gassed up and headed north along the coast. It was the desert VS the ocean. Sand drifted along the roadway and rolling waves could be seen crashing against the shore. It felt like another world. At one point, we stopped at an overlook of a river valley, spilling into the ocean. The river with its green garden entourage, the ocean with its crashing waves, and the desert, all around, trying to overcome it all.
The next section of highway was one of the highlights: nearly no traffic, sticky pavement on a highway cutting a rocky cliff far above the crashing waves below. The pavement was pockmarked from rocks falling from the cliffs high above it. Nearly every 6 turns there was a pile of rocks, fresh from falling from somewhere above. The ribbon of road curved until out of site to the north. The mist of the ocean made the whole scene look dreamy.
Helpful signs saying things like "Drive carefully, your family waits for you", "Don't through rocks on the highway" and "Don't burn tires" reminded me that Peruvian big brother was there to help. Every so often, you had the chance to pass a large truck, belching out acrid black smoke. Fun riding!
The Pan-American Highway along the Pacific Coast.
The police didn't give a damn about us. We could pass on the left or right of anyone, at any speed, anywhere. They would cross us on the highway and flash their lights giving us a big thumbs up. Then they would pass us from behind (we were going over the posted speed limit) and wave as they went by. They wanted to be with us. One time, I was waved to the side of the road by a police man. He asked me how fast I could go. When I said 70 mph, he seemed disappointed with my answer, and waved me on.
We stayed in Puerto Inca: a series of bungalows made of rock next to the ocean. This was the place where a series of runners used to pony express fresh fish to the Inca capital at Cuzco. Ruins were literally right out the front door. We fell asleep to the sounds of waves crashing on the shore.
Monday, May 3rd
We awoke to the sounds for the waves once again. Such a dry landscape all around. Guano-painted rocks dotted the coastline. We all slept in. We only had two hours to ride, so we thought to take adventure of the rest.
We finally got on the road around 11AM and continued north along the coast. Sand dunes lined both sides of the road. At one point, we passed a work crew of one flagmen with face totally covered in cloth and one bull dozer, pushing sand off the road. Some of the highway signs were almost completely covered in sand. For some reason, I had the the Spanish phrase rolling through my thoughts over and over: "Algo parecido algo parecido." Which meant, literally, "something that looks like something that looks like." Why? I have no idea.
We pulled into Nazca with the sun belting down on us. This dry, parched land was the place of the the mysterious Nazca Lines. Though they don't have a solid idea why there are lines out there in the desert, or the pictures of critters such as monkeys and spacemen, they do know it was related to water. And why not? There is none.
The Spaceman of Nazca
After checking in to the hotel, most of the riders decided to get in a plane and fly over these archeological wonders. They spent almost an hour in the air, circling the designs in the desert. After the tour, they could only shake their head in wonder at such a human creation.
Tuesday, May 4th
The burning ball in the sky started to unleash it's heat and the group decided to get on the road and into the the Andes by 8:30AM. Nazca has its lines, but the town itself is hot, dusty and dirty. We had a long day ahead of us. This day turned out to be one of the most spectacular riding days in our lives.
I have a ridden a many countries and so have the members of this group, including New Zealand, Europe and much of South America. But, there was no road like this one. On so many levels , this was one great ride. I guess you could point your finger at the thousands upon thousands of curves. Or, the absolute lack of traffic. Blame it on the condition of the asphalt: perfectly manicured sticky and banked: as if they imported it from Japan or Switzerland. I liked the fact that the culture changed....we left the rhythmic salsa music permeating the dusty streets of Nazca and ended up riding though the flute and acoustic guitar-based indigenous rhythms being played though the cool-aired villages of the Andes. Even the language used in the songs had changed from Spanish to the ancient language of the Incas: Chechua.
The scenery was in a constant state of change as we gathered elevation, we first cruised through desert by Cerro Blanco, the tallest sand dune in the world. After the usual Candelabra layer of elevation, things started to green up as we hit 11,000 ft. And, as we we hit 12,000, you could see green stretched out before us, and it was such a welcoming site for the group.
14,000 ft in the altiplano of the Andes
"We are so used to water in our home" commented Hirata, from Japan. "There, we are surrounded by water, and water is everywhere in the mountains. Riding though the desert made me feel uncomfortable and understand the true meaning of it....I would not exchange this experience."
We hit 14,000 and the altiplano - a vast plateau of scrub brush, lakes and meandering streams - in all it's glory, complete with hundreds of wild Vicunas grazing all around us. It was a welcoming site. Indeed, we were in Peru. But, such a contrast from the days prior, for Peru is everything: desert, ocean, and mountains. The temperature dipped tremendously, and we all put on an extra layer. Funny to be complaining about the heat not two hours before, and now shivering.
We met up with a solo rider on a KLR and rode with him for a while until we all pulled over. He had the typical "ADV" sticker on his bike. (ADV is from ADVRIDER.COM, a huge motorcycle adventure forum.) His name was Torston from the Netherlands, and he had just completed his masters degree, bought a bike in Los Angeles, and had 8 months to try to get to Ushuaia. He was not going to make his goal, but that did not wipe the huge smile off his face. The riders of the tour took turns taking pictures of him and wondered in amazement how a guy could take off 8 months from work. "Was he rich?" asked one of the riders. He said he was not, just thrifty, and willing to camp on the road. Torston, for his part, looked at amazement at the group, all successful business people taking time off work to live their dream. In each case, they were living their dreams...now how good was that?
Torston from Holland
We followed this perfect road until we stopped at a scene I would not soon forget: dozens of alpacas, adorned with red pieces of cloth in their ears, silently grazing past us over a spacious plateau. One of the alpacas was laying down, ears up, checking us out. I was laying down, checking it out. A peaceful scene that made me think that Peru has so much to offer.
We wound down into a beautiful green valley full of a patchwork of farms. Terracing was everywhere fed by an intricate system of irrigation. We rode through tiny villages. The people wore top hats, brightly colored sweaters and the women wore bellbottom-shaped skirts, which hung far away from their bodies, as if a hoola hoop was sewn in the bottom. The skirts serve a purpose. As we sped by a group of women tending some Alpacas, they all sat underneath the skirts for warmth.
Children waved as we went by. Some played chase and others played soccer. The buildings were made of earth and grass. We entered a town called Puquio, which was our intended lunch spot. It was obvious that the town was put in before the highway. The road was in great condition until it hit the town, then it turned to bumpy dirt, and we were constantly changing direction through narrow streets before we finally made it to the other side of the town. Here is how you would describe how to get to our restaurant: Go by the large pig standing in the middle of the road, go straight instead of right (where the sign indicates to go, but it is blocked off by tape and a steam roller). Pass the open man hole. Take a left, then a right, then a left, then a right, then a left and a right. There you are!
Somewhere along the the way, Torston had dropped off to take a picture. We ate lunch in Puquio and I warned the group that the second half of the ride was better than the first! The curves started almost immediately out of town. Each one was at a different angle and length, perfectly banked and the surface of the road was smooth and sticky. It was as if a motorcyclist had gotten hold of the road building plans, and made it the way they wanted!
Alpacas graze the altiplano
We made it to almost 15,000 ft and then descended rapidly back to 10, 000. Hundreds of Alpacas could be seen grazing spring fed valleys. The scene looked surreal. We dropped into a clear river valley and were soon surrounded by tall rock walls on each side. The scene reminded me of Keystone Canyon outside of Valdez, Alaska, only in a much grander scale. I had a hard time slowing down and looking all the way up to the top of the walls! We had entered once again a mediterranean climate and cactus started to dot the landscape. Cows were on and off the road. We passed several burros with their front legs tied together. We enjoyed the lazy sweeping curves of the canyon road until we came to our final destination: A ranch-style hotel located 10 kms from the nearest town.
When we stopped for the day, Mr. Hashimoto commented: "There is not a road like that in the world." We ate an early dinner of pork in mushroom sauce, salad and french fries, and washed it down with Chilean wine. Heads started to hang even though it was only 8PM. The group sauntered off to their rooms after an very eventful day. As I walked to my room through the courtyard, I looked up to the night sky. The stars were as bright as I had ever seen them. The milky way splashed across the sky. I could see on the horizon most of the big dipper, but not the north star, which hung over my home far away..
