Trans Americas 2009 - The Blog

At least this morning I woke feeling my usual sprightly self, the excesses of Chichlayo now a distant memory. So I was up early and out to go to the beach to watch the fishermen going about their business. Only they weren't. Whether it was because they were hungover or because of the ocean swell and fog I don't know, but it was quite a disappointment. Then back to the hotel for breakfast, before grabbing Kevin to have a look at my bike as I was expecting it to play up again. The starting problem is odd, because it seems to be dependant on how long the bike has been stood for, as later in the day, when I stop for fuel or to take pictures, it starts pretty well, but first thing in the morning it's a real problem. We discussed possibilities and changed one of the coils and then the main spark plugs, but still it was reluctant to fire up. Our conclusion is that it's most likely to be some sort of fuel supply problem, perhaps an air lock in the fuel system or a blocked injector, but further work on it will have to wait until our next rest day on Saturday. At least we managed to get it running and I was able to follow Kevin and Julia out of town and back onto the Pan Am. We rode south for around 90 miles, through more desert and past yet more villages that looked like landfill sites, before stopping for fuel and a drink, and to stock up on snacks for later in the day.

We then left the Pan-Am and headed inland, the scenery at first becoming more green before we reached the village of Chuquicara which seemed to comprise one general store/cafe/restaurant and one military checkpoint with a couple of ramshackle houses. We grabbed a banana and some drink in the cafe, and made use of the bano (toilet) which was little more than a stinking shed out back with a hole in the floor. Outside the landscape had started to change significantly, gone the greens of the plain, replaced by stark rock mountains and rubble-strewn hillsides.





Riding out of the village at the head of a small group I was stopped at the checkpoint, the soldier coming towards me brandishing a book with lots of official looking stamps in. I took a leaf from Kevin's book and smiled and shook his hand, and he then asked me to write my name in the book, which I did, and then the names of my “amigos”. I turned round and realised I now had almost half the group behind me, so duly wrote their names down too, next to mine. Then he wanted to know our nationalities, so I said English for everyone but Pertti, the “Finlander” seeming to confuse the guard for a while, but then he smiled and lifted the barrier and waved us on our way.

The road then immediately became the dirt and gravel road leading to the Canyon del Pato, all rough with lots of large rocks embedded in the surface, giving the bike and rider a real pounding (how the pillions cope with this terrain I'll never know). Stood up and riding with confidence, I started to enjoy myself, the bike bouncing around underneath me and clattering off the larger rocks. Picking my lines carefully to try and avoid the worst rocks or the loose gravelly sections, I was once again as happy as Larry, doing what I love doing, riding my bike in the middle of nowhere. And nowhere is a good way to describe where we were, the road winding its way up into the mountains along the river valley, whilst on either side towered great lumps of rock, stark and with no signs of vegetation or other life forms, like riding on another planet. At one stage we encountered a large puddle, and I was following Kevin and Pertti, the 3 of us taking the puddle at reasonable speed, only to discover it was deeper than we expected and we all got a face full of muddy water, which set me off laughing again.

Deeper into the valley I passed Ozzy Andy and Nigel, who were taking it steady as Nigel is still suffering from his crash. How he was able to ride at all on this road, being bounced around all the time is a mystery, but he was there, riding with good style and a smile (or was it a grimmace?) on his face... top job!





A little further up the road, I got stuck behind a dumper truck when I heard a loud bang, which I thought was a rock inside the truck. As I went to overtake it, I noticed my bike pulling to the right, but I got safely past, thinking perhaps I'd got a puncture. When I checked my mirrors I noticed my left hand pannier was missing... it had bounced off in the road, which was the bang I'd heard. I pulled to the side of the road and Pertti pulled up alongside me, saying the pannier was about 400 m back on the road. He then turned round to go back, and when I went to do the same, the lop-sided weight of the bike caught me out and down it went. I just stepped off as it fell, and took a picture (of course) before attempting to right it.





I couldn't as it was too heavy and leaning downhill, so I had to wait for Pertti and Tony to come and give me a hand. Once upright I was able to refit the pannier, which was undamaged and still with all the fastenings intact. Then back on my way, bouncing along and constantly checking my mirrors in case anything else fell off. At one stage I was unsure of the way, so stopped and joined up with Nick, Al and Simon to ride the remaining section. This part of the road was not as rough, though it did have some deep sandy sections, which we all got through safely and then a large number of tunnels through the rock. The road was originally intended to be a railway, so the tunnels are narrow and one-way, so it's necessary to go in with lights on full and horn blaring. As I have the loudest horn, I got to go first into the darkness, riding tentatively and hoping nothing was coming the other way. We were lucky, only encountering one truck as he was about the enter the tunnel we were in, but I think my horn echoing inside the tunnel must have made him think we were bigger than him because he stopped and we escaped without confrontation...





Finally we emerged from the dirt road onto tarmac and found our way to the village of Caraz and the hostel we're staying in. Only Aaron, Pertti and Tony were already there, drinking cold beer and eating hot cheese toasties, so we joined them, the toasties in particular were delicious. When the rest of the group arrived, the tales of carnage were everywhere. Jim had had a few falls, on one occasion when his brakes failed (a banjo bolt working loose and draining all his front brake fluid) and he rode into Phil, taking him down too. Phil also had a couple of offs in the sand and gravel, Richard dropped his bike at a standstill (the first time it's been down), and a couple of others also fell whilst going slowly or stationary. But no-one was hurt, and we now have Jeff with us to knock the bent panniers back into shape...

When everyone was assembled we went down to a local restaurant to celebrate Kevin's birthday, with Jim and Gerald both staying in the hostel to sleep, the day unsruprisingly having exhausted them. Before we ordered we presented Kevin with his gifts.... when he was younger, he hung around with the “Tottenham Massive”, listening to reggae, and so his hat was a fantastic rasta hat, complete with dreadlocks. We also got him a pink tie-die shirt, a posing pouch (thankfully he didn't model them for us), some Viagra, a bottle of scotch and a litre of wine (both of which were drunk that night), a rude pottery cup, and a shot glass. He seemed quite happy with his lot...





The food took an absolute age to arrive, but when it finally did it was very good, as was the red wine we washed it down with. At one stage the owner brought out a bottle of Pisco as a present for Kevin, so shots were passed around, and it tastes foul. Which is just as well, as I didn't want to drink too much again, so stuck to the wine. The bill came to the grand total of 50 soles each, about 10 quid... bargain..

Postscript... the picture below was taken by Aaron and is one of the few that actually shows me doing what I've been waffling on about for the past 12 weeks... riding my bike...