Wednesday, May 5th
I slept to the sounds of a river flowing outside my window. The temperature was cool and there was absolutely no noise all night - a notable occurrence in Peru! Usually, there is a dog, somewhere in the night, barking for all its worth. I walked around the manicured courtyard of the hotel. I passed the fountain, flowers and grass and went over to a pool, which was full of brightly covered rainbow trout. They raise them in the valley, and they are in the river and on the menu at every restaurant. Boy, I love where trout live.
Ranch-style accommodations
For breakfast, we enjoyed a baked potato - a variety I have never seen before, goat cheese, fresh bread and eggs sunny side up. Bags packed and clutch out at 8:30AM...we had a long day ahead of us. The sun was starting to peer in from the high canyon peaks. The air was cool and refreshing as we serpentined our way gracefully along a clear flowing river canyon. I looked far up to the mountains tops. White puffy clouds stuck to the peaks. The sky was a vibrant blue. After a few minutes of riding, I just had to smile....
After a couple of hours, we pulled into a gasoline station. As we were gassing up, a couple of police patrol trucks pulled up. Then a couple more. Then a swat bus, followed by a couple of police motorcycles. There we were, amongst 15 police and a brigade of motor vehicles. The japanese pulled the lady motor bike cop aside and took pictures. Then more pictures. The police started asking us who we were, where we were going, how fast we could go...all out of curiosity. Then one of them asked us how we managed to get enough money to afford these bikes. At this point, the Canadian, armed with enough Spanish to keep himself in constant trouble, answers, "We stole the money!" And at that a big laugh rang throughout the ranks of the police. As I was paying, I whispered to the gas attendant, "It looks like you have enough security at this gas station." He answered with a smile, "Yes, just enough." He gave me two rolls of toilet paper and a bottle of water as a service, and we were on our way. Now, in Peru, the water is a necessity, but the toilet paper is golden.
Aoyama and lady police rider
We climbed our way out of the town of Abancay on a road that just would not stop: curve after curve after curve. Each time we reached the what you thought to be the high point, there was one more climbing curve. You could look down as you went and see the spaghetti noodle of a road far down below. At one point we stopped to take it all in. We must have climbed 5,000 feet in the past 40 minutes. Incredible.
By the end of the day, we had climbed and descended a couple of times. We came upon a construction road block. I asked the attendant how long, and said it would be an hour and half. This was not such good news, as it would put us near dark. So, we all took off our gear in the hot sun and sought refuge in the shade. No sooner had we settled in then suddenly the attendant yelled something and lifted up the stop sign and took to the side of the road and waved on the traffic. In Peru, an hour and a half actually lasts 8 minutes. We scrambled like chickens to get our gear on and get into the melee racing up the hill. Horns honking, trucks belching black diesel smoke and people yelling: what had been a peaceful traffic episode had turned to anarchy. It was a race through the construction zone, everyone edging to get ahead - regardless that the attendant had warned everyone as they went through the gate to go slowly. The Peruvian drivers are on the edge of being the worst drivers ever invented.
Lupine and curves
We got stopped up a couple more times, and, by the final gate, we had inched our way ahead in the traffic. The construction zone was an obvious hazard. Large sections of pavement had been taken out of the road surface, leaving sudden unmarked 4 inch depressions...like a mine field. Add to this the weaving, passing and accelerating.....dust and exhaust obscuring the scene giving it a rather Road Warrior effect. I went for it, and passed the last truck with nothing but open road ahead....I looked in the rear view mirror. To my surprise, the entire group was right there...and on step. We went for a while free and clear and finally came to a stop. Dennis pulled up beside me, dust and grit stuck to his sun block on his face, making him look rather like a maniacal clown (perhaps with a drinking problem). "Nothing like a little lawlessness to spice up the day!" I yelled. A crooked smile was offered back.
We stopped one last time an hour before sunset on a bluff overlooking the Sacred Valley. Impossibly white glaciers topped the mountains and the air was so clear and the lighting was such that I felt like I was living in a postcard. A quilt of farms stretched off to one side. This was the breadbasket and the very center of the Inca Empire. The air was clean and there was a feeling of peacefulness. We had just come from the driest desert on earth and now we were staring at glaciers....what a place, this Peru.
Glaciers in the Andes
We pulled into the town of Ollantaytambo at sunset, got checked in, parked and began to relax. It had been a long day - made longer by the construction - a very exciting day. We enjoyed wine and local beer and fusion food (for example a nigiri roll with seaweed, trout sushi , wasabi and inca potato appetizer) at a restaurant near the hotel. Laughter at the days events went on throughout the meal. Again, heads started to hang as the dishes were cleared. The next day would be an early one, as we were to catch a train to Machu Picchu, so everyone returned to the hotel to get some needed sleep.
Thursday, May 6th
We met for breakfast at 5:30AM and were on a bus headed for the train station by 6:30AM. Usually, we would just walk down the hill to the train station in town, but a severe flood months before had ripped up the tracks. We got on the train and were headed to Machu Picchu without incident. Though, we learned a bit more about Peru driving etiquette. When two cars meet each other on a one way road, the first thing the driver should do is absolutely nothing. Stop, maintain a stolid game face and don't budge. Sooner or later, by some miraculous subtle sign, one of the drivers decides to give in and put their vehicle in reverse. I don't know how they figure this out between themselves, but they do as a matter or course.
Train to Aguas Calientes
The train to Aguas Calientes (Machu Picchu) was only 17 miles, but it took an hour and a half. The valley is very scenic with a raging river on one side, and glaciers on the other. The rails had been hastily repaired and you could see the damage of the flood earlier that year. We passed Inca ruins and it started to sink in just how impressive the architecture of the Inca era had been.
Our guide met us off the train and we took a small bus up a precarious stair case of switchbacks to the fabled Machu Picchu. The guide spoke English, so I played translator for the Japanese riders throughout. At one point, we stood at a overlook of the inspiring ruins of Machu Picchu when Nishitani turned to me and said, "I can't believe I am standing here. " He shuttered. "All my life I have seen this on television, and now...I am here!"
The group at Machu Picchu
The guide took us through the ruins for a couple of hours, explaining them. It helped to have somebody there to give you insight to what you were witnessing. The weather was perfect and by the end of the tour, we sought shade and seating.
We got back to Ollantaytambo and the group was tired. We relaxed for a couple of hours before going out to dinner. We had been on the run and now it was finally time to relax. The next day would be Cuzco, only 60 kms away. The group could explore the town of Ollantaytambo the next day before we moved on to another living museum: Cuzco.
Friday, May 7th
Until just before noon the group explored the historic town of Ollantaytambo. This town is almost entirely made of Inca rock work. Intricately laid stones form a complicated sewage and irrigation system throughout the town and into the surrounding valley. Open water ways run water down the center of main pedestrian ways. An Inca Fortress looked down on the down. Everywhere you looked, there was something to remind you that this was a functioning (and still is!) purely Inca town. Ollantaytambo was the last place the Incas whipped the Spanish in battle before their empire collapsed. This is an empire that stretched from southern Columbia to northern Chile. The Spanish horses couldn't climb the terraces of the fortress in Ollantaytambo. The Incas also flooded the valley below to neutralize the cavalry. Go Incas!
Looking down from one of the forts at Ollantaytambo
We left the cobblestones of the town for the smooth pavement of the highway. We rode through the Sacred Valley of the Incas. Rock spires framed in each turn. The river valley was full of agriculture. Corn and potatoes where the main crops. High above, you could spy terracing - even in the most impossible places. It seemed that the Incas would build 12 feet of wall for just a 6 foot wide space for farming. They left no ground untouched.
The BMW 650 Twin was a perfect ride for this type of travel: nimble, light, and plenty of power. It was smooth and capable. Peru throws many obstacles your way and a bike that can ride the dirt, outpace buses and swerve in out of traffic easily is ideal. The BMW did all of this flawlessly.
We stopped at an overlook of the Sacred Valley to take it all in. A fast flowing river cut the valley far below. A patchwork of farm plots lined each side of it. You could see farmers working the fields, hauling fire wood. Much of the lifestyle here had not changed for a thousand years.
The Sacred Valley of the Incas
Cuzco laid before us as we dropped down the hillside. We passed Inca ruins on the left and the right as we descended into the very center of the Inca civilization. The traffic in the city was not near as hectic as Arequipa, and all the roads near the center of the town were cobblestone. We glanced by the Plaza de Armas by way of narrow one way streets before pulling into our hotel courtyard. We had spent nearly 2 hours on the road today, and given that we had been riding hard for the past few days, this was a welcome relief for the group.
We walked to a nearby motorcycle bar and grill for lunch. Norton Rat's Tavern is owned and operated by Jim, an ex-pat from the U.S. It is the place to go, if you like motorcycles and motorcycle travel. The walls are adorned by country flags, and all sorts of motorcycle paraphernalia. The hamburgers are as close to the real thing as you can get. All of the group loved the English pub feel, and the overlook from the balcony of the Plaza de Armas kept everyone entranced. Hirata brought out a handkerchief with a design of an old BMW on it - a Flat Twin memorabilia - and asked me to see if they would hang it up. The staff looked it over and said they would be happy to.
Norton Rat's Tavern, Cuzco
The rest of the afternoon was free, and everyone disappeared to have some relax time. We met up again later that evening and went to a small restaurant near the Plaza de Armas. We had one of the best meals of the trip: steak with mushroom sauce and an onion soup. During the meal, a woman sang and played an acoustic guitar. After her, a couple of children, dressed up in traditional clothes, danced. All in all, a very fun evening.
Saturday, May 8th
This was an entire day free in Cuzco. If anyone wanted to ride, I would have been happy to. But, after so many days on the road, the entire group opted for a carefree day, exploring this most historic city. After breakfast, I arranged a Japanese-speaking guide for Flat Twin Club boys. They spent the better part of the day, walking the streets with the guide and going just outside the city to a variety of historic places with a private car.
A festival in the Plaza de Armas, Cuzco
The other two riders went their separate ways and explored the city at their own pace. There is a peaceful, timeless atmosphere that surrounds Cuzco. Everywhere you go, there is the influence of the Spanish conquest, but more profound was the Inca influence. The Cathedral was Spanish architecture, but it's foundation was Inca rock work. Walk along an Incan wall, and all you can do is be amazed at the perfection in which the stones are laid. Intricate pieces of puzzle - only the pieces weighing on average hundreds of pounds - all succinctly placed. I walked to the fabled 12 angle stone, an enormous masterpiece of workmanship. How did they manage to place all the stones around this one to fit wish such precision? Astonishing.
Inca rock work
I took part of the day to do some guide stuff: I scouted out a restaurant for dinner, investigated hotels, changed some money, and scouted out a route through the city. All these activities were to make this tour and future tours better.
I then walked the streets and took in the city of Cuzco. At one point, I ascended a hill and sat near a church perched on a hillside, overlooking the city. The sunlight was changing hues as the impending sunset came on. Taking in the valley, I wondered what this city looked like before the Spanish arrived. And, I wondered how much blood was spilled and what kind of turmoil this city had seen through the ages. When you sat near the Plaza de Armas, you saw a very peaceful city on the surface. But, what kind of upheaval did it have to go through to get to here? It constantly amazes me how humans are able to bounce back, over time, from disaster and war.
A boy sat down next to me who was selling cigarettes. He started with trying to sell me cigarettes, and then asked for some money for some food. Compelling. I told him I was proud of him that he was working. He asked me if he should go to university. I told him yes, and that he should never stop learning. Then the conversation drifted to life and fear and dreams. At this point another boy sat down to listen. They both seemed excited and willing to do the work it took to get ahead. I told him what I did for a living. He could not believe it. I told him to dream big, and work hard, and good things happen to those who are good. I told them that nothing comes without hard work and determination and that we lived in a world where we were only limited by our imagination.
The night came on, and it was time for me to meet up with my group for dinner. I gave the boy a MotoQuest sticker. I told him go give me a call when he is 24 years old - the minimum age to ride one of our bikes in Alaska. He said he would and left with a smile. The sticker he pasted immediately to the side of his cigaret box.
Dinner in Cuzco, with Inca rock work as a background
We had dinner that night at an elegant restaurant, with our backs to an inca wall. Everyone was happy to have a day off and to recharge their batteries. The next day was to be the longest, distance-wise, of the entire trip. Though, we would be at the same elevation nearly the entire day, without all the curves. We decided to get an early start, so we could get in with enough time to take a boat tour of Lake Titicaca and visit the fabled floating homes of the Uro people.
Sunday, May 9th
Clutch was to be out at 8AM, but we were down the cobble streets of Cuzco by 7:50! Unprecedented: usually groups take up to a half an hour past our agreed departure time to get on the road. But not this group! It was a right then a left, and were were literally out of the city. We enjoyed some air pollution and dodgy lane changing by the locals until about 40 minutes out, where we broke free of the traffic for good.
The riding was excellent: The road was a series of long sweepers with wide views of mountains on both sides and a wheat and corn choked river valley in between. Gradually, the green of eucalyptus trees and other shrubs gave way to tanned wheat and scrub grass. We entered a broad valley rimmed by low mountains. The entire scene was carpeted by tan grasses, giving it a velvety quality. Cattle grazed in small groups here and there. Small, earth-made brick houses dotted the landscape. Most of the locals along the road were dressed in the usual top hat and skirt attire....but not as brightly colored as we crossed over the Andes from Nazca.
Riding south through the Andes
There were long straight always devoid of traffic. We really opened it up and made great time. We stopped for lunch at a small farming community. It was not much of a restaurant to look at from the out side, but I remembered it having the best breaded chicken of the trip last year. Great that some things don't change, as the food was as good as it had been the year before! And, there was of line of locals out the door, waiting to be seated, as we left the restaurant. A good sign that the food is quality. As I was leaving the restaurant, I could here Quechua being spoken at several of the tables.
We pulled up over a rise to see the grandness of Lake Titicaca before us. There it was, suddenly. We descended hastily into the the heart of Puno, a bustling dirty city. We then rode along the lake out of town to nice hotel, quietly located on the shore of the lake. When we checked in, I arranged for a boat to come to the hotel dock to pick up the group, and take them out to the floating community of the Uro people.
The boat on Lake Titicaca out to the Uro's neighborhood
Now the Uros weren't your ordinary folk. They believed that they have been living the floating lifestyle ever since the beginning of time (Since light came from the sun). The locals in Puno say they were just lazy, and wanted the easy life. But, if you saw the way they live, it's not so easy. They gathered reeds and the root systems of reeds to form a series of floating chunks, all tied together. In all, there were about two meters of reed material below their homes. They lived in small family units, each island have from 5 to 10 families, living communally. They anchored these islands off with a series of ropes and stakes. They largely lived off the bounty of the lake: gathering birds eggs, fish and birds for food. If there was a disagreement on the island, they simply cut off part of the island, and the disputing parties floated away from each other. How simple was that?
We spent a good part of an hour visiting one of these floating clans. What an experience! Of course, times had changed, and they made their income by selling wares to tourists. But, the lifestyle had not changed for over 1,000 years.
Landing at a Uro family floating dwelling.
As we returned to our hotel, the sunset shot reds and yellows over the placid lake. The night lights of Puno twinkled in the distance. The entire group was mystified by these people and their way of life.
We ate a great meal at our swanky hotel that evening. Everyone seemed very pleased to be pampered. We had been on the road, off the beaten track, staying at the best accommodations possible in each area. But this was the best we had seen so far! Why not get lost in a mountain of soft white pillows every so often?
Somewhere, out on the lake, the Uros where sleeping in their reed homes...floating and dreaming...
Monday, May 10th
We woke to a clear blue sky on the shores of Lake Titicaca. This had been the highest sleeping point of the trip: 3,850 meters. We weaved our way through Puno. Some of the streets were blocked because of a fair - eventhough it was Monday! After clearing the city, we enjoyed an open, two-laned highway right along the lake. Not a cloud was in the sky, and the temperature was a cool 60 degrees. We could see tall, glacier-covered peaks across the lake. Bolivia.
Bolivian peaks with Lake Titicaca in the foreground.
The highway crossed through farmland. Cows, pigs, sheep, llamas and donkeys passed by. Strange dorsal fin-shaped rock formations punctured the landscape. We stopped after a while at the shore of the lake. Lake Titicaca is 110 miles long, and 45 miles wide - an enormous amount of water! I told Hashimoto that I had been in the habit of collecting water from all over the world: Mekong River, Sea of Japan, English Channel...His eyes lit up, and he drank down the rest of the water in his bottle, and submerged it in the lake. He said he would display it proudly at his home.
A little further along, and we parted from the lake, and went through more agrarian land. At one point we came to the border of Bolivia, hung a right and continued west into the Andes. The road climbed and the farms stopped, replaced by dry grassland. Groups of llamas could be seen here and there grazing. We came over a rise, and a uniformed man waved us to the side of the road. We pulled up in front of a solo police truck and two officers. They asked me for the papers of the bike. I said that they were in the truck behind us. They asked us where we were from, where we were going, and, of course, how fast the motorcycle could go. When our truck arrived, the police waved us on and they went to talk to Jaime. As the officer was walking away, I yelled, "Talk slowly!....He is Chilean!"
Slowly the green paradise of the sacred valley was turning into the dry moonscape of the Atacama Desert. We climbed to 4,600 meters and the scrub brush around us was barely hanging on. A lake off to the left seemed like a mirage. All the peaks were light colored tan, and there were dust devils working their magic near and far. Still, there were small houses here: people were making a living out here! The road climbed until a sign: 4,800 meters. That would be the highest part of the trip. There was no traffic. The small clumps of grasses both long and short varieties, made the scene somehow look like the bottom of the ocean. We took some pictures, and started our long descent into the Atacama.
Children peer at us from a doorway as we ride past.
The last part of the day ended with a 2,500 meter descent filled with curves and sweeping views of the valley below. Some of the road was torn up and under construction. Some of it was fresh pavement. We stopped at an overlook and among the rocks you could see a solo llama, watching us ears up. We would be leaving his territory, not to be back on this trip.
Before long we were back in Moquegua and it felt like it had been months ago that we where here. So many sights, sounds and experiences had happened and now we had come full circle. The group was in great spirits, and during dinner, the conversation drifted in and out of all that we had seen and experienced. All were in agreement that Peru was ever-changing. It was many countries in one. No body had seen such extreme change in just one country before.
As the conversation went on after dinner, I excused myself from the table and went to lay down. The days on the trail had taken their toll, and I was exhausted. And grateful, since were were all safe and happy. We would be riding to the border with Chile once again and get into Arica around lunch...if the border guards cooperated!
Tuesday, May 11th
Clear skies and the solid reality that our tour was coming to and end. We breakfasted on fresh bread, jam, coffee and scrambled eggs mixed with ham. The sun was starting to turn up the heat. It seemed like a month ago when we were here last. We gassed up and blasted out of Moquegua in into the vast desert. We retraced the curves and long straight-aways south to the town of Tacna. Where we had been stopped by border control going north, we were waved on, heading south. We passed once again through the town of Tacna without incident, though, we almost lost Bill on a turn!
We stopped up at a small outdoor restaurant and had some chicken soup and refreshments, since we would be crossing the border once again, and it was heading towards mid day. It's tough to be patient in the heat when you have a growling stomach. As we were going along the desert for the past few kilometers to the border, I thought about all we had seen, and all the different experiences we had had. Indeed, the two weeks had been a dichotomy: they had sped by, but somehow seemed to take longer than just the two weeks.
The border crossing back into Chile was without incident. In fact, it was just plain easy. Since we were coming back into Chile with Chilean bikes, the stamp circus was not to happen. We just signed some papers, and were breezed through both border crossings. Entering Chile seemed very familiar, as if we were coming home. I could see the harbor of Arica and the Morro where the statue of Jesus presided over the city. I pulled out the Peruvian Soles in my pocket, and replaced them with Chilean Pesos. We were finally home, though home could not be further away.
We pulled into our hotel and the group was all smiles. I went purposefully to each rider and offered a congratulatory handshake. Most of the handshakes were firm and with gusto, mixed with some hugs. We had become a close knit group of friends during our adventure, and though we came from different cultures and different parts of world, our bond of being riders transcended language. This conversation took shape at our farewell dinner, and you could feel that the world had gotten smaller, and that motorcycling had galvanized this special group of people. To say that motorcyclists are normal is a far stretch. These people take a risk above and beyond every day life so that they can do just that: Live.
That evening, I asked everyone to hand me their camera so I could download pictures. As I was doing so, I was trying to pick out the best of the lot and upload them to our gallery on Smugmug. This took quite some time, since everyone took many pictures. And, as I looked through them, I was impressed by everybody's unique point of view: some focused on motorcycles, some on scenery, some on people. I finally stumbled on one that was a group shot of the Japanese, when they had taken that tour I had arranged in Cuzco. There they were, all lined up on a street in the downtown area. For whatever reason, this picture triggered something in me and a tear raced down my cheek. I had known these riders for over 10 years now and had ridden several countries with them. Three of them were now 70 years old. There they were, living a dream....and still doing it!! I looked up to them and also felt a strong feeling of nostalgia: where would I see them again? Where would we ride together again? What stories would they tell when they went home? Indeed, I can't wait to ride with them, and feel that camaraderie with this very special group of friends again.
The BMW Boxer gang in Cuzco.
