Miles To Go Before I Sleep

After leaving the very helpful, if very expensive, KTM dealer in Mendoza I departed for Chile and another border crossing.  Of the cities/towns I’ve been to on this trip I was only as hesitant to leave La Paz as I was Mendoza.  Amazing food, great locals, diverse tourists, a cheap hostel, and a gym close by!  What more could I need?  The great thing about a trip such as this is that every single morning I wake up and head out on my motorcycle I always know that there is another adventure waiting for me ahead!

The short ride to Santiago was uneventfully easy.  The entire road was well paved with only minimal traffic, but there were so many scenes craving the attnetion of my camera it took longer than I expected.  These included, among others, the amazingly green alpine lakes, the Parque de Aconcagua (the tallest peak in South America), the Puente del Inca (a huge 200ft wide natural stone bridge with ruins inlaid into it), and some of the more famous Chilean ski resorts.  The border was ridiculously easy except for one apprehension of mine.  The Chileans hardly allow any food products into their country due to concerns about foreign contamination of the domestic crops.  They search each vehicle and impose fines for those that disobey.  I had some peanut butter for PB&J in my panniers, and I wasn’t going to surrender this valuable commodity without a scuffle!  Thankfully thier food sniffing dog totally missed the scent among the brake fluid, oil and other junk I was carrying.  Victory!

Santiago was a quick hour ride away, but my amazing turn by turn GPS maps didn’t cover Santiago.  Throgh my usual lucky method of “just keep going where I ’sense’ a hostel might be” I manage to get withing about 10 blocks of the address I’m looking for, but then I am completly lost.  As I consult my GPS on a sidewalk in downtown Santiago I’m approached by a local in his late 20’s/early 30’s.  Since I’m busy being lost I am a bit terse in my answers to his usual question.  Where are you from?  Really?  You came the whole way on a moto?  However,, this is not the normal curious South American.  He sees I’m having trouble finding the address I’m looking for, so he decides to lead me to it on his bicycle.  Wow!  The address I’m looking for is now a parking lot, so we find another hostel close by in Bario Brasil.  After chatting for half an hour it comes out that I’m a lawyer.  He has a criminal defense lawyer friend, so he asks if I’d like to meet him that evening.  My new friend must think we lawyers all have a secret handshake and love to talk lawyer speak, but I heartily accept his invitation.

The following morning I had one goal in mind, find a rear tire.  After not liking the selection in Bolivia and not being able to find one through 1500 miles in Argentina I was in desperate need by the time I arrived in Santiago.  The cords weren’t just peeking though anymore.  During straight up and down riding I was completely on the cords!  Luckily the KTM and BMW dealers (the most likely spots for tires) were right next to each other.  However, they were on the total opposite side of town from me.  No worries, an easy subway ride later I was dropped off only a block from the KTM dealer. Yes, they actually have subways here, more than one even!  I’m constantly shocked about being back in a civilized country.  I’m shocked again by the KTM dealer.  Not only do they have the largest selection of bikes I’ve seen since the US they also have a huge selection of tires for my bike.  I am quickly out the door with one for the, yes, shocking price of $140 USD.  I return to the hostel, change the tire myself without difficulty, and set off for an afternoon of sightseeing at the Museo Historico Nacional and the Museo de Arte Precolombino near the very populated Plaza de Armes.  There just wasn’t much more to see in Santiago, so I decided to leave the following morning.

Next up: A long ride south, the amazing town of Pucon on Lago Villicarica, and on to Bariloche in Argentina!

Arriving in Mendoza was like arriving home in an alternate dimension.  Had the US been colonized by the Spanish instead of the British this city might well be on the other side of the world.  But Mendoza also has an old world colonial feel that provides a coziness to the streets.  Using the amazing turn by turn directions provided by my new and improved GPS I was able to make it to the a great hostel directly between the old town center and the nouve riche club/bar district. Perfect!

Upon arriving it became clear this hostel clearly had not housed a motorcycle before, and they were hesitant to allow me to put it inside.  But it’s only for tonight.  Ok, you can try.  As I moved furniture inside the lobby and prepared to park it I noticed the machette was missing from my bike.  I asked the desk clerk, an young slim woman, where it was, and she pulled it from under the counter.  What?  She told me she was afraid of robberies, and leaving it outside on my bike was just asking for someone to use it to rob her.  I tried to conceal my smile.  After the horribly backwater dirt poor towns in Peru, for example, I was amused that she could be so afraid in fist world Argentina.

As promised the next morning my bike was out of hostel and on the way to the KTM mechanic.  Still amazed at how much time my GPS maps saved I was able to locate the tiny KTM shop.  Inside I explained I needed a shock seal and rebuild, a fork seal replacement, a new rear sprocket, a new rear tire, and I needed it all done pronto!  Out of 3 suspension pieces I only had one working after Bolivia haha.  After much searching for parts the owner was able to locate the elusive shock seal that had evaded replacement since Colombia (but no rear tire), and he agreed to finish the repairs in about two days.  Awesome!  I’ve been impressed at the treatment I recieved from every KTM dealer I’ve encountered.  Although I bought a cheap used bike I’m consistantly treated like I own a Ferrari, something the local moto shop on the corner can’t match.

After the mechanics I had an entire afternoon to waste with nothing to do  I wandered aimlessly for a few hours taking in the sites.  Seeing the square with subtle sculptures to memorialize ”the disappeared” from Argentina’s past was sobering.  After hitting the gym I visited my new favorite spot in Argentina, the ice cream parlor!  $1 USD later I was eating a giant cone  For dinner I met up with three other Americans at my hostel and we went to the happening district for a fantastic meal.  I’m still not use to spending $8-10 a plate, but my stomach wins over my wallet every time.  Dinner is sort of a misnomer in Argentina as it is never served prior to 9pm, so after a good meal and drinks you’re only asking for a later party and a late night

The next day I arranged to go on a tour of the bodegas (wineries) in Maipe.  Since my motorcycle was waylaid for the moment I chose a bicycle instead, and it was a great choice.  With 15 or so stops in a 10 mile stretch I could get as drunk as I wanted and still be fine to peddle  With a bike and a map I was on my way and 10 min down the road at the first stop at 10:30am I was already working my way to the bottom of three large glasses.  As I started on number three Mark, an Australian in his late 30’s, walked in to sample the wears.  He turned out to be quite an interesting guy, and we rode the rest of the day together.  He was a firefighter by trade but was stationed on Guadalcanal in the Solomon Islands!  After touring and tasting our way for several miles we stopped at a bogeda specializing in spirits instead of wine.  For about $8 we were treated to as many Absinthe shots infused with melted sugar as we could handle.  Being from AUS Mark was at least familiar with this drink, but I’d never seen it in the US where it is outlawed for its hallucinogenic qualities.  Well if’ it’s all you can drink I better get my share, right?  After several shots we hit the road again only to stop shortly for lunch at an absolutely amazing pasta restaurant.  The afternoon was much the same, drink, eat, repeat  Finding a bus back to Mendoza and stumbling back to the hostel around 8pm I was greeted by the American friends from the night before.  They insisted I join them for dinner, and after just catching the words “all you can eat” I was willing and able.  We indulged in a parrilla,  or a traditional grill house.  After ordering a bunch of dead animal in mass we were not disappointed when they brought us tray after tray of lamb, intestines, chorizo, and blood pudding. Of course what day would be complete without more ice cream, my third helping in two days haha.

The following day, my third morning in Mendoza, I had a great breakfast, a nice workout at the gym, and I was off to the mechanic.  There was so much haggling, uncertainty in parts availability, and miscommunication with my northern accented Spanish I was unsure what to expect, but the dealer did a fantastic job!  Everything was in its place, every bolt was tightened, and nothing was missing.  However. when it came to the bill I was shocked.  After two full days of labor and parts in both Ecuador and again in Mexico costing between $60 and $90 USD each time I was not prepared for the $400 USD bill in Argentina.  They didn’t even try to cheat me in order to jack up the price like in La Paz!  Welcome back to the 1st world unfortunately.  Bring me back to Bolivia! haha

Next up: Over the Andes again, tallest peak in SA, into Chile, Santiago, and South once more!

(Hmm, not sure why this didn’t publish, but it may be a bit out of order.)

After a couple flat tires, running out of gas twice, and an unforgettable experience with third world justice systems Marty and I were finally (almost) rid of the desert and heading toward the town of Huaraz, Peru.  It is located deep in the Cordillia Blancas, the second highest mountain range outside Himalayas with over 6 6000 meter peaks in just a few miles.

Many riders that have done this trip before suggested the route from Chiclayo to Huarez which has over 50 unlit tunnels as it winds its way up though the mtns, but Marty and I chose a different route as we were advised that the Chiclayo road is deep in tight valleys offering little in the way of scenery.  We chose another route from Casma with fantastic views and equally well groomed dirt.  We were not disappointed as we enjoyed some of the most amazing views of giant mountains rising from well groomed farms surrounding beautiful villages.  I wish I could post pics as words are not sufficient, but this is very difficult without a computer and good wifi here in SA.  On a sadder note, Marty kills another dog which puts our total at 3 between us.

After finding the wonderful Joe´s Hostel, run by a Brit named Joe, we explored the city and called it a night.  The following day we road north to Yungay and climbed into the mountains.  In search of Peru´s highest peak we road past amazing Laguna Llagunuco, a lake that appears green according to the climate.  (another place that cannot be believed without photos unfortunately)  We continued onward up to the highest pass in Peru at 4800m where we were rewarded with views of the surrounding mountains and valleys beyond par of anything I´ve yet experienced.  How someone could have the opportunity to see this pristine example of perfection and not belive in a higher power is beyond me.

After a couple of very needed days relaxing in Huaraz we made the short 4hr drive to Lima which first climbed to an incredible plateau affording 360 degrees views of the gorgeous Cordilla Blancas and then dropped back to the deserts of the Peruvian coast.  Suddenly there are police checkpoints everywhere, and EVERY single one pulls us over simply becuase they know we´re not locals.  I get tired of this and just refuse to stop in one twisty section.  We blaze past the cops as they jump into thier SUV, but in those twisty roads they don´t stand a chance.  I lead and Marty does a good job following as we turn it up a bit and lose those slow corrupt bastards in under 5 minutes.  I hope they were pissed:)  Unfortunatly, we get stopped again and end up paying a $7 bribe for the supposed violation we have comitted.  Had we had more patience I am sure we could have waited them out longer and insisted on not paying, but a hour or two in the Peruvian desert on the side of the road is worth $7.

As we entered Lima we found a traffic maze unlike most other cities I have encountered.  The road was 6 lanes wide, but being jammed with busses and cars and no lane markings it became a total frenzy quickly.  I was leading and kept turning around to make sure Marty could make the same lane splitting gaps in traffic that I could so he wouldn´t fall behind.  Marty, eyes very wide, just yelled, ´don´t look back.  I´m right behind you!´ As we were nearing the city center and stopped at a red light a taxi ran into my left pannier causing me to fall into the Volvo on my right.  The taxi quickly sped off, the Volvo driver was much happier than I would have been had a motorcycle just carved it´s mark in my fender, and I was no worse for wear, so we continued onward to our hotel.

To be succinct, Lima was one of my least favorite cities of the trip.  It is a huge, HUGE, sprawling mass containing only a few blocks of the city center that are enjoyable to the tourist eye.  The Plaza de Armas is, perhaps, the most beautiful in all of SA so far, but beyond that the city is only useful to those seeking a waypoint between international flights and trips to Cusco.  Unfortunately, I had to spend 3 days here waiting for the KTM dealer fix a minor problem that took no more than :30.  After I dropped the bike off on Friday they forgot to tell me that they closed at 11am on Sat., so when I tried to pick it up that afternoon the closed sign notified me that I would be waiting until Monday grrr!  I tried not to pondering the use of only being open 2hrs on a given day and instead ran a few errands.

I needed a dentist badly as one tooth was causing a storm in my mouth each time I ate, and through the wonders of the internets I managed to find a Harvard educated, English fluent, Peruvian dentist who was gracious enough to get me into see her without even waiting.  The total bill to fix two cavities on the spot was only USD $46!  No complaints there.  Marty and I also purchased a replacement riding jacket for met at the KTM retail shop (another location than the mechanic) and riding pants for him for a very reasonable price ie cheaper than the US.

Marty neither of us could stand to be in Lima much longer, but with a bike locked in KTM I was stuck.  Marty chose to leave that Sunday, and we planned to meet again in Cusco.  His three day excursion through the boondocks and jungle of central Peru (where many people speak a native language Quecha instead of Spanish) is catalogued well on his blog at http://martysouthamerica.wordpress.com/  Next post I´ll detail Nasca, Arequipa, and Cusco, and then it´s on to Lake Titicaca and Bolivia!

After a great trip to Sucre I head for Uyuni.  This involves backtracking on the pavement to Potosi and then hiting the dirt and the sand straight to Uyuni.  I’m really concerned about which road to take from Potosi as the busses all take the much longer and mostly paved road east and then south.  After being so misled on so many occassions I’m now constantly skeptical when someone tells me the ‘fastest’ route that turns out is never traveled, but I trust in the local knowldge this time, and after talking to several sources I decide on the less traveled route.  Why did I take a hugly capable dirt bike to SA if I was just going to stay on the pavement the whole time?

After the brief run to Potosi I finally find the secret and well disquised turn for the road I need and set off on what I’m worried will be an epic adventure.  Many ride reports from BMW riders on advrider.com advise this is a 9hr trek through deep sand, but my journey turns out to be blissfully absent of any drama.  The 220k only takes me under 4hrs as the first 1/4 is pavement.  I stop along the way to have my tires changed to the dirt specific ones I’ve been carrying, and they make quick work of the nice gravel road.  The only sand I encounter are the brief moments during the constant disivo/detours for construction off the main road during the last third of the journey.

Uyuni looks like about as dusty and foresaken place as can be imagined as I near town, but the views of the brighly reflective salt flats are inspiring from the tops of the nearby hills on the road into town.  I find a cheap hotel quickly, but it turns out to lack even the most basic immenities of hot water and running toilets haha.  After a nice touristy meal I arrange a cheap tour of the salt flats for the next day and hit the hay.  After returning to the hotel I meet a fellow rider who is heading north at the start of a round the world adventure on his new KLR.   He is an awesome guy and hooks me up with an invaluable turn by turn gps map of Brasil, Argentina, and Chile, and some tunes for my ipod replacement as well!

The main reason I chose a tour over just riding to the salt flats was the impact it migth have on the bike.  The flats are not dry but rather a salty lake bed complete with just enough moisture to rot through a chain, tires, bearings, and anything else my bike will need for the adventure ahead.  I chose to cram in a small jeep and enjoy the company of 7 other travelers for the day on the salt flats.  They turn out to be a bit disappointing.  Perhaps it’s the hundreds of reports and pictures of amazing scenery that I have previewed in planning my trip but they just seem underwhelming upon actually seeing the flats.  I snap a few pics and enjoy the day despite the let down, and I plan to head to Tupiza the following morning.

Tupiza is a hallowed location for me because it’s probalby the first I heard of Boliva as a child.  I remebering watching the movie Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid as they hide out nearby and chose to rob the Tupiza payroll escort.  I can’t wait to go to the place where they bit the dust as it finally feels like riding into a country of no return, a modern wild west where adventure still persists!

The road from Uyuni to Tupiza is another one that the riders on advrider.com insist is trecharous and costly for any rider chosing such a fate, but again I find thier reports to be way overblown drama.  I make the route without any large problems in only 4 hrs.  While it’s not quite as nice as the Potosi to Uyuni section it’s all well groomed dirt, and I only crash once while sliding in the sand.  The final 60k offers some amazing views of multi colered red, black, and green rock formations that rise straight out of the lush river valley below.

I pull up to the best hotel in town and find it’s only $9 per night and has parking for my bike:)  You gotta love Boliva!  Being my last nigth in Bolivia and not knowing the price hike I may incur in Argentina I stock up on whatever supplies I can find and a massive dinner.  Three hamburgers with eggs on top, a bowl of lamb dinner, and a piece of freshly baked cake at a bakery cost only $3.20 USD

After seeing the bank, the hous Butch and the Kid stayed at, and a couple other very unkempt sights I call it a night. There just isn’t much in Tupiza, so I decide to head out the following morning.  Next up Argentina, wine country, and the coolest road I’ve ever seen.

There was one last thing I wanted to see in La Paz before I left, the infamous San Pedro Prision.  This place has been popularized by the book Marching Powder that apparently is now being made into a movie with Brad Pitt.  The book is a non fiction account of a South African prisioner convicted of drug smuggling.  It details how the prisioners are allowed to buy thier own cells which include 4 star accomadations for the uber wealthy white collar and drug kingpin smugglers.  They prisioners have the keys to thier own cells and run the prision as they see fit.  The book details at least twice where mob justice was used to kill prisioners who had violated the internal code of the place.  Apparnetly it is like a small city where prisioners live with thier families and children and there are small factories producing everything from bread to prision cocaine. 

Tourists use to be allowed into the prision for $35 under a set fee type of bribe system with most going to the guards.  Enough foerigners were imprisioned for drug crimes you could always find an english speaking guide to show you around.  However, a year or two ago footage of these tours leaked onto Youtube, and the Bolivian government shut it down due to the negative image it presented (as opposed to actually cleaning up the prision!).

There are only two ways to get inside the prision curently (the police won´t even let you take pictures of the prision door from the nearby square!).  1. Know somone inside who you can claim a family visit with (I don´t) or 2. Obtain a letter of permission from the Minister of Prisions.  I chose option 2 and set off on a 4hr trek to obtain permission slip.  After going to 4 different places I was finally directed to the right office near Plaza Espana on Calle Ecuador.

After going all the way back to my hostel to obtain my passport which I was told I needed by the guards I was ushered upstairs to meet with the secretaries for the Minister.  They told me I had to write an application including why, when and for how long I wanted to visit the prision.  They handed me a black sheet of paper, and 20 minutes later I returned.  I was able to write that I was a lawyer from the US who had studdied international criminal systems in neighboring countries, Europe and China, and I wanted to see Bolivia´s unique system of punishment and reformation first hand.  I understood that no pictures were to be taken, and I only sought an hour or two to speak with the prisioners and the guards about the lives the criminals have inside the prision.  And I wrote all of this in SPANISH!  I was told to return the next day, and I left feeling pretty smug about that accomplishment in itself.

The following day was not as successful as I had hoped.  I entered with a smile seeing on the secretary´s desk the letter I had written stapled to a offical looking document with a stamp and a signature on it!  Success!… not quite.  It turns out this was simply the deputy minister´s approval, and it also required the minister´s consent.  Unfortnatly, he was on vaccation for the next 5 days.  I was welcome to wait in La Paz, they said, but didn´t have that kind of time, and I chose to sneak out of the city disappointed instead.

Marty and I left La Paz together and seperated along the way, him for Uyuni direct, and me for the mines of Potosi.  The ride to Uyuni is apparently a sand filled nighmare, but the road to Potosi is all paved, so I made quick work of the 15-16k ft riding, found a hotel, and setup a tour of the mines for the following day.

Once the richest city in all of SA and the greatest producer of tin, zinc, and silver in the world, Potosi is now a run down place with miners trying to extract what remains from the massive mountain looming over the city.  The mines are operated not by one company, but as a mining collective of workers where each small group of 3-15 share thier profits according to seniority.

We get outfitted in miners garb and headlamps and set off to buy gifts for the miners.  They don´t mind tourists in the mines, but they prefer to recieve something in return for showing them around and allowing them to get in thier way for a bit.  The miners apparently only need 4 things for survival.  1. Coca leaves, they chew these instead of eating and can go on huge mouthfuls for up to 14 hours straight.  2. Alcohol, they drink a throat numbing 96% straight alcohol that can probably blind small animals 3. Coffee, as a supplement to the coca.  And finally, 4. DYNAMITE!!!  You can buy a full stick of actual dynamite for only one USD!!!

As we enter this barren, desolate hole they call the mines I feel like Dante´s warning shoudl be inscribed above it, ¨forsake all hope ye who enter here!¨ It is truly the most spirit sapping work I´ve ever seen.  Not onlly it is incredibly dusty, filled with unbreathable gasses, and backbreaking manual labor it also never gets any better.  The mine has consistantly claimed about 3 miners lives per week for years, and the reasons for this are apparent.  There are live wires hanging from the ceiling they use to spark the motors to drive the mine carts.  We´re told not to touch them haha.  The support structure is incredibly shaky and when one wooden ceiling support caves in it is simply reinforced with wood splints in the gaps rather than a new beam. 

At first the thrill of the expierence is on my mind.  Blowing up full sticks of dynamite, taking a mine elevator that drops at 14ft per second, and drinking that crazy alcohol with the miners is certainly unique.  The tourist thrill soon wears off though, and I´m left with an incredible sense of sorrow for these miners, a depressed feeling after seeing firsthand what a true lack of opportunity drives people to endure.

The next day I head to Sucre which is only a brief 2hr ride away through some great mtn twisty roads.  Sucre is the actual historical capital of Bolivia, and is a georgous colonial mountain city, as opposed to the run down slum look of Potosi. 

As I get into town I notice my bike overheating as it always does in traffic, so I pull over to let it cool down.  I´m not stationary for more than a minute when a guy on a scooter pulls up with a big grin and asks if I have any problems.  No, but actually I do.  My rear brake friction material fell off the backing, so it´s been metal on metal for a couple days, and I need a press to get the pin out to change them.  No problem he says and urges me to follow him to his house just a couple blocks away.  When I arrive he immediatly gets to work on my bike while his wife and bother in law bring me a cold drink and chat me up.  With a chissel, mallet, and hole punch he has them changed in :10 and won´t accept any payment!  After this he asks me if I know Charles Bronson.  Who?, oh the guy from the 80s?  Yea I know of him I guess.  This guy brings out pics of him and Charles Bronson in Bolivian 20 years ago riding Honda Africa Twin motos around.  No idea why, how or for what reason this guy knows Charles Bronson, but it was funny in a very odd way.

His family also tells me about a unique festival only happening for the next two days of the year in a nearby town, and I vow to hit it on the way.  I say goodbye and head for the centro to find a hotel with parking which turns out to be a difficult task.  I finally settle at a nice family run cheap hotel that lets me park the bike in the lobby.  The 20ish son of the family is running the front desk, and he is amazed by my trip and wants to know everything about the adventure and the bike.

The next day I run some errands, visit the Museo in town, and set off for the famous festival in the nearby town whose name escapes my mind at the moment.  The museo is a great find.  Sucre is the official capital of Boliva and despite the Congress, President, and many other functions being located in La Paz the Supreme Court still sits in Sucre.  The museo hosts a huge collection of historical artifacts and catalogues the entire Bolivian history, all 2382 revolutions and all haha.  The tour is led by a spanish guide, of which I catch only a bit, but afterwards he asks me so politly in enghlish if I have any questions.  Yes, I certainly do.  He then entertains all my historical and political questions in perfect english for the next half hour and shows me into a closed area where they host dignataries from foerign governments.  Certainly worth $4 for that tour! 

After an easy hour long ride I arrive in the town for the festival and am lucky the police let my bike through the checkpoints as the entire town is blockaded to cars and trucks.  Pulling up to the plaza de armas there are hundreds of people, almost all native, browsing the street venders’ stands.  I eat my fill from several different places, and by chance I notice there is another path leading away from the center clogged with people.  Not knowing what to expect I follow and after a brief walk it opens into a huge field next to the town that is filled with people.  There are about 4-8 center statutes with crowd dancing around each in full native garb.  I hang out for about an hour snapping pics and taking in the scenery, but I’m still mystified as to why this is happening when I decide to leave in early evening.

I arrive back at the hotel and am immdiatly accosted by the young son of the family that owns the hostel.  Have I had any dinner he inquires?  No, not yet.  Oh, then you must come home with me, and my mom will feed us both.  Ok, why not:)  So we ride two up to the other side of Sucre and enjoy a wonderful evening at his family’s home.  His mother makes a great chicken and rice dish and the family chats me up for a while after.  They are Argentinian imigrants to Bolivia, know BA well, and they give me contact info if I ever need assistance there.  It was such a great expierence to see a real native festival free of tourists and then enjoy a quiet evening and meal with a true Bolivian family!  They even let me change my oil in the lobby of the Hotel after dinner:)

Now, off to Uyuni, the world famous salt flats, Tupiza, and then to Argentina!

I finally left Lima after being waylaid for way too long in an undeseriable place. The whole idea of traveling on a motorcycle is self independance, and when that is robbed from me for even a day or two I get anxious.

I got my bike out of the KTM garage, and left for Nasca. It was more boring, straight, desert with little to report. Fill bike up, convert gasoline to Kilometers, try not to fall asleep, repeat.

I made it into Nasca after stopping to see the Nasca Lines, famous markings in the sand made by a pre Inca civilization that are only visable from above. Rather than spend and entire day and $70 on a plane ride that woudl show me basically the same thing I chose to use the free mirador outside town where you can get a good glimpse of two figures.

After a night in Nasca I headed east/southeast to the UNESCO city of Arequipa. Boring straight desert broke into the most amazing desert dune riding I`ve ever expierenced. The twisty road snaked along the cost among the huge dune mountains, sometimes over $700 ft tall. The sand dominated the landscape and the road. In one spot the dunes had overtaken all but a small single lane passage through the PanAmerican which was like driving through a different world.

After ariving in Arequipa I met Chris, another rider on a KLR with some amazing stories. He had been robbed not once, not twice, but 4 times at gunpoint. He´d also taken 2 weeks to cross the Darian on the Pacific side, bartering his way onto small boats as he went. Perhaps we´ll ride together in Bolivia.

Arequipa is an interesting city set at the foot of a massive 6000 meter volcano that occupies the entire landscape. It is also surrounded by some of the most unique geography in the world including the steepest and deepest canyon in the world. Unfortunatly, I had to press onward, so I made only a passing trip to the canyon to get a few photos, and I was off again to Cusco.

On my way out of Arequipa I had the closest call of my trip, perhaps of my life. I was trying to find the way out of the city and not looking at the road. It had no stop signs or traffic lights for sometime, so I didn´t expect the red light ahead. I was only going about 35mph, but I was way to close to the intersection to stop. I coasted through and miracously missed two busses by inches. It reminded me of something out of a carefully coreographed movie as the two busses crossed, each going the opposite way, I managed to squeak in front of each. Just half a second later or earlier, and I would still be implanted on the grill of a Peruvian cammion. I had to pull over to collect myself for a minute after that encounter:) Lesson learned, don´t be stupid!

The road to Juliaca on the way to Cusco circled the huge volcano, and let out onto a huge plain at 15k ft. It was filled with massive mountains and the most clear, reflective lakes I´d seen in my life. I made it to Cusco by early afternoon, found Marty. He had an incredible tale to tell about his three days in the jungle which was filled with washed out roads, villages that didn´t speak spanish or english, and some hard riding.

The next day was the most amazing of the trip. We left for the Valle de Sacrado to tour the Inca ruins surrounding Cusco, and quickly knocked Moray and another out of the way. After Moray, a religious center, we departed on a road we were told was a ¨shortcut¨ by the locals. 30 min max to the next ruin they said! As we´re descending the dirt road, almost at the valley floor, we get accosted by 20 Peruvians of all ages. They are all speaking at once and quickly, so it is difficult to understand, but they are not using the words for money, buy, help, sell, etc that are part of the normal exchange with tourists, so I´m utterly confused. Finally, they show us these directions in english for a portable wood fired stove, and I get it. It turns out this family had thier home taken from them by the flooding and were given this UK built monster tent and camping stove by the Peruvian government or an aid group, but they have no idea how to set it up.

We help them for about an hour to build the stove and setup the tent, and we explain how they need to dig a moat to prevent the water from pooling underneath. They are so incredibly grateful, and it´s very heartwarming to Marty and I as well. We take many, many pics at thier request, mainly of kids clamoring all over me for group shots:) After this adventure we encounter get to the valley floor, turn left on the train tracks, and see a far greater adventure awaiting us.

These are the Cusco-Agua Callientes train track that are washed out, and now I see when they say the road is washed out in Peru they mean it!  The river has overtaken its banks and is at points indistinguisable from the shore. Riding a motorcycle with semi bald street tires through water is just as amazing as it is challenging. My means of measurement is a pic I took of the river mud and deposits on TOP of my pannier over 3ft in the air! The only rule in water is never let off the throttle. When the rear end starts swimming back and forth more than 20 degress per side, don´t let off the throttle! When the water starts going over the windscreen and you can´t see, don´t let off the throttle!

We finally make it to Ollaytambo, tour the best ruins of the day, and head back to Cusco. The drive back is also harrowing. (why can´t it be easy for once haha) Marty has a motorcross helmet with goggles with tinted lenses, and my headlight had burnt a fuse I didn´t have, so it wasn´t working. We made quite a pair driving at night. He can´t see and I don´t have a light. Another great day completed, onto Puno and Lake Titicaca in the next post!

Ben did a great job on his blog (www.afewmoremiles.com) writing about Ecuador, so I´ll pick up where he left off.

After a couple great days in Cuenca (where we saw actual shrunken heads!) and a cheap repair to my rear shock at the awesome KTM dealership we head for the border of Peru.  The crossing is incredibly easy and empty of other people, and we blaze our way to the surf town of Mancora by evening.

We spend a couple days relaxing in the sun and surfing.  Marty is so wild about surfing he goes in Canada in the freezing water, but I’ve never tried it before.  Despite the surf breaking between 8 and 10ft Marty assures me that it’s possible to learn, and after a quick beach lesson from him I’m paddling out to give it a try.  I caught my first wave, stood up for about 2 seconds, crashed spectacularly, and then got rocked by the next 3 waves as I tried to regain my composure and get out of the break.  I stuck at it for an hour and a half, but it was easy to see that I will never be a decent surfer:)

We met a really great couple from AUS and CAN who had been traveling for 3 years on and off.  He was a bike mechanic and we talked travlling and bikes for a few hours while enjoying the perfect beach weather.

We left after a couple days and found nothing but desert.  Northern Peru is nothing like the pics of Maccu Pachu.  Instead its boring, boring, endless, straight desert for about 1200k/700miles to Lima.  We head out of town and drone away for a couple hours in this huge expanse.  It´s so boring you start imagining that you hear problems with you bike and start thinking about what could go wrong.

We stop for lunch in a place that looks exactly like a hundred roadside cafes Ben and I have seen throughout Central and South America.  It´s just three small tents next to each other, each run by a different lady who has one dish for lunch.  Marty and I park the bikes in the sand next to the road and walk in front of the tents asking each woman how much for lunch.  Whenever I leave the bike I always secure my gps and camera becuase they are easy targets, and the rest of the stuff would either take a while to break into or is locked, making the bikes very secure as long as they are within eyesight.  As Marty and I get to the third table, no more than 50ft from the bikes and not more than 1.5 min after pulling up, we notice someone runnign away with Marty{s helmet.  I run after him as he tries to get on a bus with the helmet and I tackle him off of it and grab the helmet back.  My gut instinct was to grab the guy for the police to take away, but Marty keeps yelling from behind me to let him go.  I realise that Marty is right, that hurting this guy is not going to do any good, and we have Marty{s helmet back, so who cares anymore?  Bad decision!

As I walk back to my bike I notice my jacket and helmet are also gone and Marty is getting on his bike.  Apparently three guy silmultanously planned out to grab our stuff, did so, and ran in three different directions, all within a minute and a half of us arriving.  Marty takes my machete and drives in the direction the witnesses tell us the thief ran.  I stay with my bike and try to get more information from the witnesses, but they are all talking at once and it is hard to understand in spanish.  They do tell me that there are many guys with guns and it is dangerous in the neighborhood that Marty drove into, but this is not a big concern of mine becuase it was not an organized crime hit that took our stuff.  It was three dirt poor middle aged guys, not career criminals with guns.

Marty returns about :10 later with my helmet and the police in tow and an amazing story to tell.  He found the guy (which I gave him a 0% chance of doing given the huge area and the head start the guy had), he ran him down on the bike, and he demanded the helmet back (yelling in english of course).  The guy made a shhh motion with one finger aginst his mouth and then made a motion like he was cutting his throat.  Since Marty and I are about a foot taller and heavier than most Peruvians he was not intimiated by this.  He reached into the bike to grab my machete and the guy dropped the helmet immediatly.  A crowd had formed to watch the crazy canadian with the machete yelling at the peruvian thief, and someone called the police.  The police showed up very quickly, and took the theif into custody.  They drove back to me with Marty leading them, and both of us followed them to the police station.  I could see the police punching the suspect in the back of the car the entire time, and when we arrive at the police station they put him in the back courtyard and started kicking him in the ribs.  When they saw me watching this the police ushered me out into a waiting area while they continued to beat the guy.

After a while the suspect continued to remain silent, so they told me there was nothign they could do to get my jacket back and that was it:(

This left me with some strange conclusions…

First of all, and to prebut all of your concerns, we were never in any real danger.  These were not violent criminals and they cowered pretty quickly when an angry north american tackled them or threated them with a machete.  Also, despite these three bad apples the dozens of other people that became witnesses tried to help us as much as they could and were extremely nice and sympathetic toward our plight.

Second, why would anyone steal a riding jacket like mine?  I have sweated bullets in it for 2.5 months now.  It smells so badly that I won{t even bring it in hotel rooms at night.  Even when put in closets it stinks unbearbly.  It is covered in about a quart of oil, food, mud from two continentants, and a billion bug.  It can{t be worn by a tiny peruvain guy since it{s an XL, and the fabric can{t be cut up and used for something else.  I have reguarily left it in the open for 2.5 months now including outside many hotels without another person even looking at it.  I still don{t understand why.  All in all I lost the jacket and my only working ipod inside it, but I still have all the insulated and rain liners, so I shouldn{t be too cold in Argentina with just those and my windbreaker.  I{ll look for another padded jacket in Lima.

Third, watching them beat up the suspect provoked different emotions in me.  On the one hand I didn{t want them to do it, I wanted to do it myself.  That jacket was useless to him, but very valuable to me on this trip.  On the other hand watching the power of the government being used to kick a defensless person was disgusting.  I tried to ask the police chief if they would stop hurting them becuase he was obviously more afraid of what his friends woudl do if he ratted them out than what the police would do to him.  However, the thief seemed very afraid of us, so I suggested they let me run at him with the machete, yelling crazily in english, then the police could hold me back and take him into another room.  They could then threaten him that if he didn{t talk they were going to let the American with the machete have at him in the room.  The police would not have that, but they also would nto do anything else.  I´m convinced that thier blaise attitude toward physical violence and torture was a result of thier lazyiness.  They didn´t talk to any of the witnesses, they didn´t ask for descriptions of the other suspects, they didn´t ask if anyone of the witnesses knew them or where they lived, they didn´t call anyone to be on the lookout for someone selling a one of a kind jacket in that town, or anything else that normal police in the states woudl have done.

So all in all we got robbed, got most of our stuff back, witnessed torture in a third world country, and got an amazing story to tell too.

After that we continued to march through the desert where Marty ran out of gas not once, but twice that afternoon, and I got two flats the next day, but we finally made it to Huarez two days after leaving Mancora.  Next post, Lima, Huaraz and the Cordilia Blancas, the tallest mountain range outside of Nepal.