As alluded to in the last post, our attempted ride from Huancayo to Ayacucho turned out to be more eventful than planned. We had read on iOverlander that there may be some roadwork on our route, however, throughout all of Peru we had always been told (and also experienced) that on Saturdays all roadwork ends at 1:00 pm. Thus, we figured we would miss any roadwork that might be present since we weren't planning to reach the area until well after 1:00 pm.
We seemed to have forgotten rule number one of travel in South America: never assume anything.
The ride was going smoothly and we were enjoying the twisting curves over both smooth asphalt and then rocky gravel until we reached the small town of La Esmeralda. Here, we encountered a line of trucks that were parked in the middle of the road. As we approached the front of the line, we saw two groups of people having a very heated argument - one side holding sticks as a means of either intimidation or protection, we couldn't quite tell. We stood by our bikes for a while as we watched the drama unfold. It turns out that the construction workers who were re-paving a road that goes through the village of the concerned stick-wielding people decided to pour a second layer of asphalt just a half hour prior to our arrival (breaking the no construction work after 1:00 pm on Saturdays rule). The truck drivers, unaware of this breach of the norm, were driving along the route carrying perishable goods that needed to get to their destinations before they spoiled. Hence, the chaos.
We stood patiently as the confrontation continued, hoping to interject at the right moment to ask the villagers if they would be okay with our obviously much lighter vehicles passing through the town. Unfortunately, there was no reasoning with them and they stood there guarding the roadblock with their sticks.
We had heard from people in the town that there was an alternative road to Ayacucho, but it involved a high mountain pass with steep hairpin turns on unknown dirt road conditions. We weren't sure if we would be able to complete the pass before dark, so we decided to wait at the roadblock in hopes of making it through. In the meantime, we chatted with some of the truck drivers who said that no matter what, they were going to drive through the road block at 4:00 pm (a compromise - giving the road two more hours to dry but not ruining their goods). Around 3:30 pm, however, two national policemen rolled up with assault rifles. Brian spoke with one of the policeman, trying to reason with him and he seemed positive that our lighter bikes would be let through in another hour.
Thus, we continued our waiting. We were soon joined by two other adventure riders from Denmark. We informed them of the events of the day and they decided to wait with us for the road to open.
At 4:30 pm, we approached the police officer who had told us we would be able to pass prior to the village mayor's arbitrary 6:00 pm opening, but his disposition seemed to have changed. He now told us that he did not have final say in the matter, but rather the village mayor would determine our fate. Brian tried his best to reason with her, but her logic was that if she let us through she would have to let the truckers through, despite our vehicles' obvious differences in weight. Realizing we would not be able to change her mind and that it was getting late, we began turning our bikes around in search of lodging in the small town. As we did the "head" truck driver ran back to his truck and decided he was going to try and ride through the road block. All of the other truckers and stranded drivers followed suit and the whole line of vehicles began pushing forward. We stood and watched the pandemonium for a good ten minutes (during which none of the drivers actually made it through) before retiring into the town to a hotel.
Side note: we knew that even if the road did open that evening, we did not want to be stuck riding in the dark between two sides of very irate truck drivers on the one-lane gravel road with steep drop-offs. Thus, we found a rather dingy (but super cheap) place that had storage for all four of our bikes. After unloading our gear, we set out to find some much needed beers, spending the rest of the evening chatting with the Malthe and Frederik in one of the few restaurants in town.
The next morning, we passed through the stretch of newly paved road without issue, riding for the first part of the day with our new friends.
We had heard Ayacucho was a city worth spending some time in, so we enjoyed our unusually short day of riding arriving in Ayacucho in the early afternoon. We spent the next two days running errands, blogging, visiting a museum about political violence that was centered in Ayacucho, and relaxing at a restaurant overlooking the city's main square.
Our next stop was Abancay - a good midpoint on our way Cusco. We set out knowing it was going to be our longest day yet (385 kilometers of winding mountain roads), but what we didn't know was that more roadblocks were in our future. About 100 kilometers away from Abancay, we began encountering areas of the road with hundreds of rocks of various sizes intentionally strewn across. Fortunately, the first few sections had areas that looked like they had been cleared on one side and we were able to cautiously pass through without having to get off of our bikes. We knew, however, that this was not a good sign for the rest of our long day's journey. Pretty soon, we came across a few tree roadblocks that required us to get off of our bikes to move whatever we could, trying to be as courteous to the local onlookers as we could by replacing the tree branches after we rode through.
Still unsure exactly what was being protested, we rode on with apprehension. Finally, we were faced with a roadblock with men surrounding it. Brian explained that we were just tourists trying to make it to Abancay. He asked what the people were protesting, and after a not so clear explanation involving something about government promises not being met, they let us through. Luckily, that was the last roadblock we encountered. Not so luckily, my bike began having issues. I started noticing some juddering as I was braking, and soon after my handlebars began to wobble whenever I wasn't steadying them. We stopped numerous times to investigate, but Brian could find nothing wrong with the bike. He assumed it had to be a worn out wheel bearing (nothing urgent), but he offered to trade bikes with me for the rest of the way to assess any other changes.
The day's events prevented us from obeying our "never ride at night" rule and we arrived into Abancay just after dark during crazy rush-hour traffic. After some blood pressure elevating wrong turns due to construction and one-way streets, we made it to our hotel and collapsed in our beds for the night.
The next morning, we took my bike to a mechanic. The mechanic couldn't find anything wrong either (the wheel bearing seemed fine). He figured it might be a manufacturing error in the brake pads or rotors, so he sanded them down a little. Brian also had him re-grease the bearings for good measure. That seemed to do the trick and we were then able to ride the rest of the way to Cusco. Other than a little traffic getting into the city, the ride was uneventful (thank goodness!) and we arrived to our hostel without any surprises.
We spent the next four days enjoying some time off of the bikes, and by some Christmas miracle, FINALLY finding new, more dirt-oriented tires that fit our 18" front wheel!
I was especially excited to enjoy some time exploring Cusco and making some new memories in the city. I was here four years ago, but only spent one day taking in the scenery before ending up in the hospital for five days, missing out on a jungle trek to Machu Picchu. Hence, I was ecstatic I was finally going to make it to the ruins on Christmas day!
We had read online that there was a "back way" to Machu Picchu in which we could ride our bikes most of the way and avoid paying the ridiculous $160 per person round-trip train ticket from Cusco. After consulting with a local adventure bike tour shop, we had everything planned out, that is, until we mentioned our plans to the guy at the front desk of our hotel. He informed us that earlier that day a bridge along our intended route had been swept away by a flash flood. F**k.
We spent the evening trying to figure out an alternative route and awoke early the next morning, not knowing what the day would bring. We rode through the Sacred Valley, stopping briefly in the tourist town of Ollantaytambo to acquire intel about the road ahead. As usual, we got varying answers, but eventually decided to go with the optimistic advice of a Peruvian couple on a motorcycle who said we could make it. We then took switchback after switchback up a high mountain pass called Abra Malaga (4,316 m / 14,160 ft).
Along with colder temperatures, the higher altitude brought decreased visibility as we found ourselves riding through clouds - literally - while winding our way down the backside of the mountain. We encountered numerous small water crossings along the way until we came across this one:
Fortunately, another motorcyclist was already there and ready with a plan to get all of our bikes across.
A little shortness of breath and four very wet feet later, we were on the other side of the crossing, continuing our way down the mountain. We reached the site of the collapsed bridge and joined the back of a long line of vehicles. Brian went up to the front to investigate and saw heavy machinery creating an alternative route through the river by dumping large rocks into it.
We spoke with a few drivers and some told us they had been stuck there for over four hours while being assured the alternative road would be open in the next 30 minutes. Given our recent experiences with roadblocks in Peru, we believed none of this and opted to backtrack one kilometer and take a 30 kilometer off-road route Brian had identified the night before. We were not the only ones with this idea as we found ourselves being overtaken by crazy taxi drivers on the winding dirt, mud, and gravel switchbacks. Nonetheless, it was a beautiful and surprisingly enjoyable road and we eventually arrived at our destination for the night: Santa Teresa.
The next morning, we set out toward Aguas Calientes (the town right below Machu Picchu) with just our backpacks full of three days worth of clothes, leaving our motorcycles and unnecessary gear at the hotel. After a short 15 minute taxi ride, we were at the start of an 11 kilometer trail to Aguas Calientes. Since it was Christmas Eve and we had splurged on a four star hotel for the next two nights (although still cheap compared to U.S. prices), we opted to enjoy the walk along the train tracks rather than take the train itself. It was a nice two and a half hour hike along the Urubamba river, and we arrived in the town by early afternoon.
We spent the rest of the day enjoying the best shower of the entire trip, relaxing in the nice hotel room, and video chatting with our families for Christmas.
We awoke at 3:45 am the following morning to quickly scarf down some breakfast and be one of the first people in line for the buses up to the ruins. We opted to take the bus rather than hike up the mountain because Brian had done the hike eight years prior. Back then, he was able to race up the mountain and secure a ticket to hike the neighboring Huayna Picchu mountain by being one of the first 200 people in line. This is no longer the case as all tickets to this hike are sold in advance. (Brian also stated he did not want to relive that particular torture for no discernible gain). Thus, we cued up and managed to make it on the first bus so we were two of the first 50 people inside when the ruins opened up at 6:00 am.
The view of the ruins first thing in the morning was absolutely spectacular. Masked by an ever-shifting layer of clouds, they sit precariously and majestically on the mountainside. We took this time to take it all in (and get plenty of photos) before they became inundated with tourists.
Unfortunately, it was overcast that day and we never got to see the ruins in the sunlight. Even still, I couldn't help but smile as I took it all in, realizing I had finally made it there, albeit four years later. After three hours of exploring, we left the ruins as a large rain storm rolled in. We rode the bus back down the mountain and spent the rest of the day relaxing in the town and getting in the Christmas spirit (aka making Brian listen to Christmas music while I danced around the hotel room).
The next morning, we decided to take the 6:45 am train to Santa Teresa rather than walk the 11 kilometers back in order to get an earlier start riding, not knowing what route we would have to take around the collapsed bridge. Reluctant to leave our comfy hotel bed, we managed to arrive at the station just eight minutes before the train left and had to convince the lady in the ticket window that we were fast runners. With about one minute to spare, we took our seats, and enjoyed the hour ride back along the river.
After reorganizing our gear and packing up the bikes in Santa Teresa, we began the journey back to Cusco. Since it had rained a good bit during the two days we were in Aguas Calientes, we decided the off-road route we had taken to get to Santa Teresa was probably even more muddy and would not be the best option. Although Brian is a skilled off-road rider, I am rather new to it and do not enjoy wet, muddy switchbacks. Thus, we decided to try our hand at the alternative bridge route Brian had seen being constructed a few days back. On our way, we ran into Jerry, one of the many new adventure riding friends we met in Cusco, and he told us he was able to make it through the new route through the river, so we pressed on.
After trying to discern the best line to take by watching a few other vehicles make their way through the river, it was our turn to cross.
"Can't go over it, Can't go under it, Can't go around it, Got to go through it!" - and go through it we did:
A few celebratory high-fives later, and we were back on the road. Fortunately, we had some foresight and changed out of our riding shoes into other shoes for the crossing. Even still, the Abra Malaga high mountain pass was quite a bit colder on the way back as the biting wind helped dry out the bottom half of our pants. We made it back into Cusco with just enough energy to shower and eat dinner before we passed out in bed.
We spent the next day relaxing in Cusco and running a few errands. That night, we got dinner with Ged, another rider we met back in Caraz and had remained in contact with. We found out at dinner that he has been living in Coral Gables, Florida for the past five years - the same place where Brian and I went to college and spent a good amount of time! It was a fun evening chatting and exchanging stories.
The next morning, we continued south to a small town called Espinar. We spent the night there before beginning a longer than expected and very interesting ride into the Colca Canyon...but more on that next time.
Cheers,
Erin and Brian
Fantastic! Now that was an adventure ride. River crossings, road blocks, bridge out, getting up at 3:45, running to catch the train, meeting fellow explorers and more locals is the stuff we remember, and it is our memories that shape who we are. Beautiful pictures of the towns and roads too. The videos of your water crossings are so much better than pictures.
The odd feel of your bike made me think of loose steering head bearings so I will find out as I keep reading about your trip if that was the problem, if it came back that is. Other possibilities are swing arm bearings, wheel bearings (they checked and greased), warped brake rotor, loose wheel spokes, and probably…