Of course, not every part of our journey consists solely of amazing views, fun encounters, fantastic camping spots, and... well, climaxes 😉. We do have tough or less pleasant moments from time to time too. Like getting a fourth flat tire in a week, getting sick as soon as we arrived in Lima, or badly sunburning our lower back on the first day of biking because we forgot to apply sunscreen when wearing a crop top. We'd love to take you through the longest cycling day we've had so far, which was full of ups and downs.
It all began in the serene peace of our tent, where we were woken up by the warm morning sun. The night before, we had set up camp in a large grassy valley with our new Canadian friend, Tucker. Tucker is a 26-year-old man we met in Oyon. He had been cycling solo for six days without encountering any other cyclists and was feeling pretty down. We approached him on the street, and he was more than happy to talk to us. We immediately added him to several WhatsApp groups where cyclists share information and took him to our hostel. Since then, we've been cycling together as a trio. So, we woke up with the warm morning sun and began our morning routine. This always starts with packing away our sleeping gear, putting away warm clothes, changing into cycling gear, drying out the outer tent, having breakfast with overnight oats, making coffee, washing dishes, loading up the bikes, and heading off. This morning seemed like it would follow the same pattern until we were about to start breakfast. The clouds rolled in front of the sun, and suddenly it became freezing cold. One of us didn’t take this too well and got grumpy immediately. I’ll leave it to the reader’s imagination to figure out who that was. Breakfast proceeded in silence.
After the meditative breakfast, we packed up the last of our things and began our ride. We had the idea of doing our first Gran Fondo (>100 km) today. The elevation profile looked promising, and we had 20 km of asphalt ahead, which would be faster. We had already figured out that if we managed this, we could camp at a trout farm. Well bundled up, we started with a short climb. Starting with a climb is always challenging, especially when you’re cold. Luckily, the climb ended quickly, and we reached the highway for the first time. Now, when I say highway, imagine a two-lane paved road mostly used by trucks. On either side, just outside the lines, there was about half a meter of asphalt where we could ride. Luckily for us, this was at 4,000 meters altitude, and the road went up and down, so the trucks moved relatively slowly. For us, this was the first significant stretch of asphalt in ten days, and it felt wonderful. The wheels rolled smoothly over the road without bouncing, giving our sore backsides some relief. The descents were fast too, and both our bikes felt stable, even with the heavy load, at speeds over 60 km/h. Thankfully, the clouds quickly disappeared, and we enjoyed 20 km of relatively easy cycling in light gear. Unfortunately, because of the speed, the asphalt didn’t last long, and within an hour, we were back on unpaved terrain. You should know that we prefer unpaved roads since they take you to more beautiful, remote places, but smooth asphalt can be nice sometimes too.
The transition from asphalt to gravel didn’t go smoothly, though. While asphalt gives you good grip in corners, gravel can be slippery. Maartje forgot this right at the turn. In the first corner, her bike slipped out from under her, and she rolled over the gravel. The high of the asphalt quickly turned into a shock. Stijn and Tucker slammed on their brakes and ran over to Maartje. Thankfully, Maartje got up right away, though she was limping painfully. She had scraped her leg pretty badly and cut her thumb. Naturally, she was also pretty shaken, though maybe that was more of a blessing than a curse for the rest of the trip. Thankfully, her Surly Ogre bike was still in perfect condition, and after some disinfecting and a piece of candy for the shock, we continued. The descent became a lot more cautious from that point on.
The next few kilometers went smoothly, and soon we arrived at a typical Peruvian mountain village, with about 20 buildings and a small square. The square was deserted, except for a sheep and an alpaca, likely on landscaping duty, busily nibbling at every blade of grass and patch of moss between the stones. We parked our bikes and went in search of a building where we could have a second breakfast and buy some snacks. Two friendly women welcomed us and offered to make us sandwiches with eggs and sheep cheese and serve instant coffee. In the Netherlands, you’d probably pass on a breakfast like this, but for us, it was a treat.
Satisfied, we thanked the women, paid about 4 euros for 6 sandwiches and 3 coffees, and continued our way. The earlier fall was quickly forgotten. After about 2 km of cycling, another special moment awaited us. We soon found ourselves facing a herd of sheep. This wasn’t unusual; we had encountered sheep many times before. Normally, you cycle slowly through them, and they move aside. But this time, things went differently. From a hill beside us, a woman, likely the shepherd, started shouting at us incomprehensibly. Somewhat confused, we got off our bikes and walked. The sheep, as expected, moved aside, but the woman kept shouting. Suddenly, we noticed that among the sheep was a large llama that wasn’t moving. Stijn, seeing that this delay might prevent us from completing the 100 km, decided to keep walking, expecting the llama to move aside, just like all the others had done so far. Slowly, with his bike in hand, he walked along the side of the road toward the llama, and the llama did indeed step back but kept staring intently at Stijn. Once Stijn passed, the llama started to follow him menacingly. Stijn picked up the pace, and the llama did too. When Stijn looked back, he saw two big eyes clearly signaling that this llama was not to be trifled with. From behind, Maartje and Tucker were laughing encouragingly. Tucker kindly reminded Stijn of the llama’s defense mechanism: a well-aimed spit, preferably in the eyes of its target. Fortunately, Stijn’s Oakleys stayed clean, and after a few dozen meters, the guardian llama gave up.
After about half an hour, we arrived at yet another mountain lake. By now, they no longer surprised us, so we biked along the lake casually. Until we spotted pink dots across the shore. Our wildest imaginations could see flamingos in them. We debated whether flamingos live in Peru as we cycled on, keeping our eyes on the growing pink dots. After a while, we were sure—pink birds with long legs, they had to be flamingos. Another highlight achieved. We tried to capture them in a photo, but you’ll need some imagination to see flamingos in the picture.
We continued our journey toward a small village where we knew there was a shop with a larger selection. When we arrived at the village square, we saw another loaded bike parked there, with a young man sitting on a bench beside it. Stijn recognized the guy immediately as Collin, a Belgian we had met earlier in Huaraz. We were immediately cheerful because this meant the group expanded to four. The more, the merrier. After a quick chat—Collin had been sick twice and had fallen off his bike after being attacked by a dog (talk about downs)—we went shopping. The shop was small, about 8 square meters, but had a wider selection than any other mountain village shop we’d seen. We bought plenty of treats and indulged in various sweets and fresh fruit.
By now, it had gotten very warm, so we could enjoy all the fresh goodies in the sun. All that remained was a 15 km climb followed by a 25 km descent to the trout farm. The first 8 km went smoothly, and we were chatting happily as a group of four. However, it became cloudier, and it wasn’t long before we felt the first drops of rain. Within five minutes, it became serious, and rain jackets came out, and the conversation died down. We still had at least an hour of climbing left, but the rain turned the gravel into mud, which slowed us down. It became a free-for-all race to the top. Now, the men could distinguish themselves from the boys and show what they were made of. Maartje turned out to be a man, and Stijn a boy. The rain soon turned into hail and occasionally wet snow. It got cold, everything was covered in mud, and the fun was completely gone. After 1.5 hours of climbing, Stijn reached the top last. Quickly, he pulled out all the warm clothes from his bag—while the others had long since changed—and bundled up. We carefully began the descent because everything had turned into slippery mud. If we thought we were dirty after the climb, we were wrong; during the descent, we got completely filthy. Mud ended up everywhere you can imagine, and it also got extremely cold.
The plan of camping at the trout farm was immediately abandoned; we just wanted a hostel with a shower. After 10 km of descending, we arrived at a small truckers' village where we found a hostel advertising hot showers. We hit the brakes and inquired if there were any rooms left. A kind woman, just taller than Stijn’s belly button, came to help us. She clearly felt sorry for us and immediately showed us to the rooms. The rooms weren’t heated, but the beds had seven blankets to keep you warm. If you don’t believe this, check the video. The showers were heated by electricity, which means there’s a switch next to the shower, and wires run from the switch to the plastic showerhead, which contains a heating element. In the Netherlands, this would never be allowed, but we were thrilled with it. Unfortunately, this joy didn’t last long because the system didn’t work. The choice was either to shower cold or go to bed covered in mud. In the end, everyone showered cold.
After everyone warmed up a bit, we quickly went out for dinner. Instead of water or beer, everyone drank tea tonight. After dinner, we played a game. Around 8 p.m., most people’s eyes started to droop, and we went to bed.
As you can see, dear reader, a cycling sabbatical through the Andes isn’t all sunshine and roses; it can be tough sometimes too. But one thing is for sure: it’s definitely better than reading someone else’s blog while sitting at your desk at work.
