Peru

The first several days of Peru were an effort to cut time by cruising down the coastline to Chimbote. From Chimbote, we would ride East on Route 12 to Route 3N, taking 3N South to Caraz for the night. Caraz remains in my memory as the last place we were able to find the game of Sapo that Mike and I had grown fond of. At the same place that we found the game, which was a good 15-minute tuktuk ride out of town, we met the puppy we would come to name “Quattro”. Quattro was a tiny mutt of only 5 weeks. Being a short-hair, he was shivering in the cool air of the Peruvian Andes. Mike was sure to provide Quattro with the best night of his life. Mike created a wind-proof shelter for the pup and wrapped him completely in rags that we found around the property. As soon as the pup felt the warmth of his new nest, he fell sound asleep. Pictures of Quattro are included below.  

3N was a very scenic mountain route, sandy, arid mountains with rivers flowing through the valleys and tunnel after tunnel carved into the mountainsides. More importantly, 3N brought us to Route 107, home to the Punta Olympica Tunnel. I need of water, we asked some locals if they had water to sell, to which they replied “yes, just a few minutes”. After a few minutes they indeed returned with reused water bottles filled with yellow water collected from mountain springs. They had just boiled the water to sterilize it, made obvious when we nearly burned our hands when they were given to us. After 27 hairpin turns up the mountain, we encountered what can only be described as the Paramount Pictures logo. What we were looking at was peak after peak of the Huascaran National Park extending for miles. Surrounded by snow and ice, we decided to take the turns a little slower just in case our cold tires decided to let go of the pavement. It was among the most break-taking sights in my life, but unfortunately my iPhone camera was not able to capture the true magnitude of the beauty. Finally, we reached the top and entered the Punta Olympica Tunnel. The tunnel was long and dark (obviously). Carved through the icy mountain top, the tunnel was riddled with mini waterfalls of melting snow. Our eyes did not have time to adjust from the sunny skies, so the ride through the tunnel was dark even with our auxiliary lights on. It was not until the natural light at the end of the tunnel revealed that we had been riding over ice and slush the entire time, with the ceiling of the tunnel lined with 2-3 foot icicles. As we were still running the original tires we started the trip on, how the bikes did not go down remains a mystery to this day. It was freezing at the peak, however, we were once again starting to warm up after descending the mountain through the hair-pins and switchbacks, passing small blue lakes and small herds of cattle along the way.

By this point our route had brought us through Huari, which included a 3.5 hour ride down a rutty, gravely mountain road (Route 105) with near zero GPS coverage. I was in the lead by a fair distance, as Mike would follow at a far enough distance to allow my dust plume to clear in the hopes of having clean air to breathe, and a clear line of sight. About ¾ of the way down the road, however, the distance between Mike and I had abruptly closed as I made a sudden stop. As Mike eased his way through the plume of dust, I suddenly appeared in his field of view and he was forced to lock his brakes to avoid collision. At this point we were on gravel-covered hardpack, which made for easy spills. Sure enough, as Mike firmly applied his brakes to avoid impact, his tires gave out and his bike went sliding out from underneath him. For a brief moment I am sure that Mike was quite displeased with my decision to suddenly stop in the middle of the path, but I hadn’t a choice. Just as I had rounded the previous hairpin, in the middle of the road were two large bulls fighting for reign over the herd. Mike is stronger than I, so before I could even get my kickstand down and jump off my bike to help he had already stood his bike back up and remounted. The only damage to his bike was a bent pannier rack, which we bent back into shape later. Local bystanders showed no concern at all for Mikes fall, so it must be an “eat or be eaten” world out here. We appeared to have distracted the bulls from their match for the title, and thankfully they peacefully parted ways rather than setting their sights on us.

The ride to Huari was supposed to last 5-hours, but Google clearly does not understand the road conditions of old Route 105. By this time hunger and frustration were setting in, which tend to work together against one’s favor. Our abilities to make  sound judgements were slowly dissipating as the ride seemed to continue forever, with the sun making it’s way closer and closer to the horizon. It wasn’t long until Mike had wandered his way too close to the shoulder of the road, due to the aforementioned lapse in judgement. The shoulders of these mountain roads are dug out in a deep “V” shape to prevent water runoff from eroding the surface of the road. The crown of the road combined with loose gravel on a hard surface, Mike tried to correct toward the center of the lane and the “V” swallowed his rear tire sending him into another slide down the road. It had been a moment since I last saw his headlight behind me, so I pulled off to the shoulder to wait for him. After about 30 seconds or so I decided I had better turn around and check on him. By the time I was starting my turn I saw his headlight coming in the distance. He pulled along side me only to tell me of the latest spill. I was amazed he was able to pick the bike up and get back on so quickly. Also keep in mind that lifting a bike at high elevation is MUCH more exhausting than doing so at sea-level. For us low-altitude people, simple tasks cause slightly labored breathing, so it took some time for Mike to regain control of his breathing after such an exercise.

This wouldn’t be the last bit of fun on the road to Huari. As we reached the top of one of the peaks, two local men were on the shoulder of the road with their motorcycle, waving us down for help. It appeared the owner had been slacking on bike maintenance and his chain had become so loose that he could no longer continue riding without the chain popping off the sprocket. He pointed to his chain and gestured in such a way that clearly meant he was asking is we had any tools. I replied “Si! Si!” And jogged back to my bike to grab my tool kit. If I hadn’t mentioned this in previous write-ups, planning for journey such as this requires putting together a tool kit that is more comprehensive than what the dealer provides from the factory. I had assembled my own tool kit which allows me to perform any mechanical repair except for rebuilding the engine, and in its entirety is roughly the size of a burrito from Chipotle. He was riding a tiny Honda, so naturally he needed the 19mm for his axle nut, and the 10mm for the chain adjuster nuts. Within ten minutes he had performed the adjustment, and after thanking us several times they seated back on the Honda. We asked how long to Huari, to which they replied, “Una hora”. Great, we had been riding all day and had one more hour to go. They pulled off with a wave and a smile and waved again when they could again see us from the valley below. After-all, we were hours down a dirt path and had only seen a total of five people, so they knew they had struck gold after coming across two foreigners fully kitted for global motorcycle travel. We continued down the road as fast as we safely could until finally entering the small town of Huari. The rest of the ride had finally taken roughly one and a half hours. To add to the frustration, for the first time on the entire trip the hotel we arrived at had no vacant rooms. The second hotel had no rooms either. With darkness creeping nearer we rushed to the third hotel, which thankfully had a room, but we had no choice but to park the bikes in the street. Exhausted, we installed our brake rotor locks, put the bike covers on, and set off to find food, which just happened to be the restaurant at the first hotel that we stopped at. We had to park the bikes directly in front of a church which was right next to the local police station, so that put our minds at ease. Altogether the ride that was supposed to take five hours according to Google ended up taking ten. Ten hours of poor road conditions and nowhere to stop to get real food. We had to survive on snacks we had packed (in anticipation for this very situation) and water in our Camel-Backs. For the record, protein bars and other healthy snacks are very hard to come by in these parts. We have found that the best locally sourced emergency food to carry is in fact just a couple of Snickers bars. Loaded with calories, carbs, fat, sodium, a little protein (and of course, sugar), two normal-sized Snickers bars in a ten-hour period would EASILY keep our brains running well enough to ride with sound judgement.

The next destination was Huallanca, another tiny Andean village mirroring Huari in offerings. After again being rejected from the first one or two hotels, we again found shelter at the “luxurious” Hotel Mina Azul. Thankfully this location offered gated parking, however, there was a new surprise waiting for us. In this cold, snow-capped mountain town, the only heat source in the room was a wall-mounted, plug-in heater. The plastic front grill of the heater was sagging from having melted in the past, and the electrical plug was also bubbled, burned, and permanently disfigured. Whoever designed this unit spec’d everything incorrectly. The plug could not handle the amperage of the heating element and motor fan, and the plastic housing could not withstand the heat put out by the unit, so everything was getting too hot for safe, consistent operation. We assumed that on the lowest setting and under our supervision we would run the unit to keep warm. This would not be the case. Even on the lowest setting we found that after a while, the room would fill with the smell of burnt plastic. The only way to power the unit off was to unplug it, at which point the plug was melted enough that the housing slid off the prongs, leaving the prongs still firmly seated into the wall outlet. We had to slide the melted housing back onto prongs and pull the cable to power the unit down, letting the housing cool so that the pins remained in place. The only other event worth noting occurred when we were checking out the next morning. About to ride off, the receptionist came running out shouting about the damaged heater. I showed here photos that I took of the unit immediately after check-in, which also shows the time and date the photo was taken. I then translated with my phone that she obviously knew the unit was damaged and unsafe, and that she was trying to scam us into handing over money for damages. I asked her, “What if it had caught fire and burned the room down in our sleep!?!?”, to which she responded by shutting her mouth and sulking her way over to her employee, having been caught red-handed in her fraudulent act. We started up the bikes and clutched our way out of the parking area in a fashion that demonstrated our feelings toward her “professional candor”.

 The small Andean villages that offered lodging were becoming fewer and farther between, and these villages certainly did not have any motorcycle shops that could provide parts for our bikes. As previously mentioned, we were still running the same tires we had started the trip on, so this limited our options regarding the next direction the trip would take. We could either stay east and continue southeast through the Andes, which might bring more snow and unknown road conditions, or we could head west and ride the coastline down to Lima, the most likely place for us to find replacement tires. We decided that although we were enjoying the scenery of the Andes, the most sensible choice would be to spend the next day riding to the Peruvian coast and then set a bearing toward Lima. We backtracked Route 3N to Route 16 headed toward Barranca. We booked two nights in Hotel Chavin anticipating that we would have laundry service, which is typically returned the morning after it is handed to hotel staff. However, as the next day was Sunday, the laundry staff would not be working. In an effort to keep moving, we again washed our laundry in the hotel room, dried it overnight, and arose the next morning toward Lima.

Lima has been a relatively calm city to ride through compared to the other major Latin American cities we have ridden through. With consistent rush hours we were able to go about shopping for tires with ease. We weren’t long into our search before a local shop referred us to another shop a few blocks north called “Barbacci Motors S.A.”. These guys had a decent selection of tires that fit our larger bikes, as well as replacement oil filters which we each bought since you never know when you will find one again. Good oil is available everywhere here, but DR650 parts are growing scarce. We scheduled the tire swap for the following morning at 9:30am and arrived on time to drop the bikes off and look for breakfast. I am VERY, VERY particular about how my bike is worked on for both dependability and safety. I told the shop that we would remove and install the wheels, and that they could swap the tires. Their mechanics were quick to call out all the torque specs for the various fasteners, at which point I knew I could trust our bikes in their hands. They removed the wheels from one bike at a time and we watched as they strapped the wheels and new tires to the back of a scooter and rode away to another shop with a mount and balance machine. It should be noted that our tool kits also include everything needed to change tires, and that I did in fact install the current set of tires on my bike by hand, on the floor of my garage in Texas. By this point, we needed breakfast and some time to relax, and the labor to install both new tires here was something like $10 (USD) per bike. So yea, for $10, I’ll go sort out breakfast while they strap the new rubbers on. The ride back to the hotel with the new tires was a bit of fun as well. Anyone who rides a motorcycle knows that new tires are slippery until the surface gets worn after a few miles or so. With no luggage and all the air the engines could suck in at sea level, our bikes felt like they belonged in the Moto GP. The last block to the hotel I rolled in hot, down-shifted and clutched-out into 2nd gear and spent the entire left turn with the rear tire grabbing and letting go of the road. I am by no means at the talent level of a racer, so all I could do was control my lean angle and giggle my way through the turn whilst unburnt fuel was popping in the muffler during deceleration. Bystanders looked at me like I was a lunatic. Rightfully so.

With fresh tires on the bikes, the following morning we felt ambitious and set our sights on Nazca, six and a half hours under ideal driving conditions. Getting an early start, we blasted down the coast through the little towns sprinkled along the ocean. Just after Buena Vista, Route 1S hooked a left-hand curve east into the desert. This would be the last time we would see the ocean until Chile.

Nazca is famous for the giant lines and symbols marked into the Earth’s surface between 500BCE and 500CE (yes, I had to look up what BCE and CE stood for). Known as the Nazca Runway/Lines/Symbols, the depressions are of various geometrical shapes, animals, plants, and insects (photos attached). Although I absolutely despise tourist attractions, I thought it reasonable to play along and spend the $80 to fly over the sites and take my own photos. It should be noted that we did in fact skip Machu Picchu, as one of the worlds most heavily visited tourist attractions, there is simply no way that I would be able to muster the patience to join the herd of tourist cattle just to view ruins in a mountain. Beautiful as it may be, I just… I just couldn’t do it. Anyway, the pilot performed sharp turns in order to get near straight-on views of the symbols, and despite my previous career as helicopter aircrew in the Coast Guard, he was able to make me a little airsick (a first ever for me) so I was quite pleased when we landed.

After the flights and photos, we headed back to the hotel to change the oil in the bikes. I want to make special mention of the brand Ipone, whose fully synthetic 10W-40 oil provided the smoothest shifting action I have ever experienced in my life. I haven’t even noticed this brand on the shelf at home, but I will surely hunt in down online. We had a long conversation with the hotel owner during the oil changes and air filter cleanings. He admired our concern for detail, level of preparation, and skill at improvision. In the hotel lot is an old blue pickup that he can no longer drive due to the unavailability of leaded fuel (though it still starts, he only uses it to jump other vehicles). An otherwise a solid vehicle, the blue truck has become a landmark in the online photos of his hotel. After witnessing our ingenuity, he showed us his nearly mint 1987 (yes 1987) Toyota Camry, the trunk of which he installed an extended range aux fuel tank due to long distances between gas stations. His aux tank added what looked to be about 10-15 gallons of capacity, around double the factory capacity of the car. I wish I had taken a photo; he did a very clean job of the install.

After Nazca it was basically a run for the border of Bolivia, and the next stop would be Ocoña, where nothing spectacular happened. Oddly, the homeowner owned a nice Benz, which they paid someone to drive us to dinner in, and as we ate, they drove up and down the street waiting for us to finish… with fuel at $7/gallon. We just spent one night at a guest house in Ocoña before moving on to Moquegua, where the first hotel was a miss because the receptionist lost the key to the garage and then wanted us to park the bikes in the lobby of the hotel, to which she lost the key to the double door. Needless to say, we gave up on the craziness, asked for a refund, and moved on to a new hotel. Moquegua stands out as the location with the most public trash and recycling bins that we have seen on the trip, while also having the most plastic garbage on the ground. Their city provides endless receptacles, yet everyone walks around throwing their trash on the ground immediately NEXT to the empty cans. Why it is so hard for people to grasp the concept of properly disposing garbage can never be explained in a sensical manner. Period.

Our final stop in Peru would be the border town of Khasani, on the famous Lake Titicaca, which at 12,507 feet is the highest navigable body of water in the world. For those wondering, it hits a depth of 922 feet. Our hotel was a one-minute walk from our hotel (confirmed), and after a brief evening of exploring the area, we retired for the evening to get ready for the next border crossing into Bolivia.

Photos also included are from a rooftop in Lima at night, mountain tunnels, a sketchy mountain bridge, Nazca hotel owner with blue truck in background, a rolled tanker (truckers driving faster than their skill level),