After a day's ride in the Cordillera Blanca with Beatriz and Simon, I am looking forward to cena (supper) at Chilli Heaven in Huaraz. To patronize their restaurant seems the least I can do to repay for their guiding services. What I didn't expect were my friends from Cusco, Patricia Thomson and Sheonaugh Ravensdale, sitting there having supper and waiting for me. What a pleasant surprise to see Sho and Pat again!

A word or two seems in order to pay tribute to these two intrepid travellers. Both career professionals now retired, both calling Weymouth, England home (when they are at home), these two lassies are travelling South America each on a Honda Falcon 400. They have been down to Ushuaia, the furthermost city on this continent and are now zigzagging north, heading for a world conference for women motorcyclists in Georgia, USA, the end of June. To know more about these two charming and very capable women, see their website at:
www.bugbitten.com/shoandpat

Over cerveza, pasta, tequilla and real coffee, we spend a lovely ending chatting and catching up. Simon, done with restaurant business for the night, joins us. I notice one restaurant wall is dominated with a floor to ceiling map of Africa, on which a red pencil line tracks over much of the continent. When I ask, Simon says it is the route of one of his many adventures from younger days. His Africa stories are spellbinding. I'm amazed at the collection of world experiences we all share.

It is the wee hours when we all spill out onto the plaza but a plan has been laid. Tomorrow we will ride to Caraz, check out a high sierra lake with Simon as guide, then Pat, Sho and I will join forces for the ride through the dramatic Canyon del Pato on our way back to the Pacific coast. The Canyon ride will take 8 to 10 hours so we make a plan two days from now to get close to the canyon entrance, hotel overnight in Caraz and leave early the next morning.

Next morning Simon and I are joined by Ivan, a very likable Peruvian with a Honda Africa Twin, for our ride to Laguna Parón. The 26 kilometre road switchbacks up the mountain sides, past collections of adobe homes, goats, chickens, burros, cows and kids as the crude track climbs to the narrow valley that is home to Parón. I don't think this dirt track has seen a grader since the day it was built. Erosion channels alternate between crisscross and running at length down the road. Finding the best line takes all my attention: there is no time to admire the unique scenery going past.

When we arrive at the lake, my GPS shows 16,656 feet above sea level. Now this is an alpine lake! It takes some breathing effort at this altitude to walk to other view points along the lake. My motorcycle clothes feel like a medievel armour of lead. Even at this altitude cliffs of sheer rock climb steeply from the lake to the heavens above.

That night after safely getting down from the lake just at nightfall, Pat, Sho and I follow our plan and stay in a nice hotel in Caraz. We park our bikes in the hotel lobby. Early next morning I start Katie and ride up the stairs and back out of the hotel. All goes well until a grumpy guest comes downstairs complaining loudly about the noise. I apologize but he goes on complaining. I finally tell him if he hadn't been up so late last night making a disturbance we could all hear, maybe he'd of been awake this morning to help me move my bike so I didn't have to start it. On the sidelines, I notice the hotel management is looking hopeful they won't have to take sides. They don't. Luckily for me it's my first argument in South America. Luckily for him he wasn't trying to sell me a Nikon camera....

Sho, Pat and I still manage to get away on time and are happily riding the remaining pavement when we are stopped by the police. Now what? Well, they politely explain, there is a car rally and the road ahead is blocked for two hours. After a moment of frustration, we decide to make the best of it. We chat with a few of the over 60 drivers from around the world here to compete in La Carrera Sudamericana Rally. Held annually, this year the race goes from Buenos Aires, Argentina to Guayaquil, Ecuador (over 8000 km by the time they're done buggering around the continent). We make friends and before you know it, we are allowed to follow the last rally cars out of the starting gate for today's stage.

With the taillights of the last Toyota Hilux 4x4 still in our sights, we launch at 10 am. We are two hours behind schedule but agree to ride slow but steady through the Canyon del Pato. The Canyon is formed by the conjunction of both Cordillera Blanca and Negra, forming an impossibly steep and deep canyon that is the most dramatic piece of tilted real estate I have ever seen. Originally constructed for the railroad, the narrow dirt and gravel trail was hacked into steep cliff faces and contains 32 hand dug tunnels for over 80 some kilometers as it follows the Rio Santa down to the ocean. It is a true engineering wonder. Until the violent earthquake in 1970, only the train came this way. Now it's only the foolhardy.

The only way I can get an picture of the whole canyon is to take a movie, which of course I can't show here. The image below shows two of the tunnels.

Imagine going into a black tunnel choked with dust, with rutted gravel floor, dripping water, walls and overhead jagged with angular blocks the size of refrigerators, and the tunnel curves so the other end is not visible. Strangely enough, ventanas or windows have been blasted out into the canyon. As I ride by, a blinding ray of light temporarily destroys my "tunnel vision". The dust on my helmet visor reflects and diffuses the light further. Boy this is fun and at 17 kilometers an hour, the three of us can keep on having this much fun til the cows come home. Out in the sunshine, where a landslide has run over the roadbed, and that occurs often, the new road just climbs up over the slump and continues on. The canyon traps the noonday heat and pretty soon Katie is running with the rad fan on almost all the time. Fuel overflows out of the right tank and onto my pant leg. Guess Vladimir's solution at KTM Peru didn't get to the heart of this troubling problem with Katie yet. No option but to keep idling along. We balance on narrow train bridges as they span the rio below. Bites of road are abruptly missing like a toothless grin, I can see the rio below through the gap. That's comforting. It's only a 9 million mile vertical drop to the Santa should I not be paying attention to the right place at the right time.

For five hours Pat and Sho both take turns leading our little group until we hit pavement at Chuquicara. We find shelter behind a leaning wall in the little pueblo and take off our helmets. Pat, in order to see, has kept her helmet visor up for most of the ride. Her face tells it all.

A quick lunch out of the blast furnace wind then we ride until sunset and the surf town of Huanchaco. We are now just north of Turjillo. What a day! What a ride!

We spend a couple of days washing gear, including bikes and helmets and generally kick back and relax at the Naylamp Inn. Our second story rooms with a view of the ocean help recharge our batteries. The food is great and going barefoot in the sand is a nice change. Playing Jenka while quaffing cerveza on the sun deck is downright therapeutic.