We rode to Yungay north of here and turned off a dirt road the headed into the park. The road was horrible. For some reason I though it would get better once we got into the Park. I was having fun speeding up to the mountains dodging potholes and ripping through the mud, but was ready to pick up some speed as well. When we got to the Park there was a gate and a park ranger who had us pay 5 soles each. He gave us our first of many pieces contradicting routing advice and told us to ride to the road to San Luis to the southeast first, then go north, as the road we were going to take was bad.
We headed up into the Park and the road remained to be dirt and full of potholes, but improved in the absence of mud. Fog seemed to envelope the mountains above us, I could tell that the scenery that surrounded us was epic, but the cloud we were in blocked our view. Nonetheless we were excited to be on the road. One thing that baffled me was all the cows that were grazing on the grass the whole way to the pass. How and why were there cows this far away from
As soon as we to the first set of switchbacks I could feel my bike start to choke on the thin air. I had opted out on changing the jets for altitude because I didn't want it to be running lean on the coast and in the jungle. That and the mechanic ordered all Japanese part, instead of Brazilian, which increased the price quite a bit. The pass was 4900 meters (16,000 ft) and the road was filled with rocks on the straight sections and then mud on the switch backs. Whenever I had to slow down for the muddy hairpin turns on the switch backs my bike would start to bog down quite a bit. If a I had to slow down for a truck or bus coming down the one lane road then I could barely get going again. When we reached the top of the pass, I was more then excited to finally not have to climb the switch backs going 20kmh.
As soon as we reached the boundary of the park the road turned from rocky to muddy. The center of the road was about 6 inches of built up mud from the trucks and buses that pass through. it was about 20k until the town of Yanama, in which I once again expected the road to get better and the travelling to speed up. We had about two hours of sunlight left by the time we got there. We filled up on gas and noticed that just about everyone was staring at us. Kids and adults a like would well gringo as we passed. This would be pretty regular for every town we would pass. I was having a lot of trouble understanding the accents of the locals as well. Many of them seemed to speak with a timid and shy voice. They probably hardly ever see gringos around here.
We left Yanama and continued on back to an even muddier road covered in potholes. At points we were literally driving through mud filled streams and other points we had to cross running streams. I realized at this point that we were going to be on dirt roads for days. We figured we would just ride till it sundown and then find a place to camp. Once the sun went down I remembered how hard it is to find a camping spot in the dark, especially in the Andean highlands where all the mountains seem to rise straight out of the valleys bellow leaving no flat spots to set up a tent. So we decided to keep on riding in the dark until we got to Piscobamba, which consisted of one paved road that stretched on for about six blocks.
The hostel we stayed at costed s/8.00 ($3.00) a night. I remember talking to the boy who couldn't have been older then 14 outside when he paused talking and just blankly stared past me staring up at the night sky. After a minute I realized he was looking at something and turned around. He pointed up and in excitement said "airplane". Afterwards we got some chicken that tasted as if it was days old from the resturuant next door. There were two men with beards sitting and eating across from us. Beards are very uncommon here, I didn't even think they could grow them. I've heard its common for narcos to them. We are right in the middle of a popular narco-trafficking route. As soon as I hit the bed I fell asleep. We had been riding for about twelve hours, and hour in a half had been in the dark.
I awoke and we immediately started to load the bikes up. It took probably about 15 minutes before we were out the door. More mud and more rain... this is going to get old fast. I am so excited to put in as many k's as we can that I don't even want to stop for breakfast. Justin sped off ahead as usual on his 250 and I hurried along as fast as possible trying to keep up. A small village appears and so does Justin, sitting on his bike in the middle of the road eating an avacado. I guess that's what I get for buying such a cheap bike.
Slowly a small crowd gathers on the side of the road. More people staring at us. I wonder if that kid has ever seen white skin. I don't know if I should feel good about being the first pale skinned person he's seen if I am. A lady walks up and we hand her a banana. I greet her in Quechua. She speaks and I can't understand a word she says. She hands us both warm potatoes and continues speaking unintelligibly. I'm confused, my spanish is not good, but I can't get one word. Finally, I realize she is talking to me in Quechua. "no hablo quechua, solomente englis y espanol". She smiles and walks away. I guess she only speaks Quechua. We chuckle and continue to eat as the crowds stare. Biggest news of the week: two gringos ride through on motorcycles". I look over and wave at two farmer looking men staring at us and wave and smile at them. They took it as an invitation and came over. We sat talking for a little while, mostly about the weather and farming. Evidently they didn't know if it was hot or cold in Lima. I realized at this point then I have seen more of Peru then probably then this weathered looking man.
Popobamba was the next town we road through. Something about this town made me uneasy. The people at the gas station were nice enough though. One guy started spraying off our bikes and just gave me a strange look when I tried to give him a few soles and waved it away. We told the gas station attendant that we were going to Tarapoto and he told us we were crazy. That we had to to the coast and head up to Trujillo and then pass through the mountains via Cajamarca. We looked at the map and realized it was dirt road all the way to Tarapoto with few towns in between. Riding through jungle back roads seemed like it was a little much, so we changed course to Trujillo. It looks like we will be there in time for Oscu and Nina's party... back to Huanchaco again. A decent map would really come in handy.
Riding through we got to a bunch of unmarked forks in the road and just decided to stick to the ones that seemed more traveled. There was a point where it seemed like we were just crossing stream after stream. It is a little uneasy riding into the middle of nowhere with virtually ability to navigate due to poorly marked roads and the unavailability of a decent map, not to mention sub par Spanish abilities.
We stopped through a small group of houses and asked a crowd if we were on the right road. They didn't seem to like us very much. At one point just looked over at me and asked if we were about to get lynched. We just decided to pretend we understood what they said and continue on.
After about 10k we spotted the town that we were expecting to drive through. Unfortunately, we also spotted a landslide right in front of us that had completely taken out the road. We sat there for a minute when father and son walked up and started asking us questions. We had the map out and I asked him if there was a way around. I couldn't understand a word he said in response. He came over and looked at the map, which at this point was soaked and looked confused. "Ahhh" I see Cordillera Blanca y Cordillera Negra" he exclaimed, stuttering as he struggled to read the words. His son just sat there at a distance from us looking somewhat scared. I don't think this man has ever seen a map, and I am not sure he knows how to read. Now I know to never trust one of these Andean highlanders for directions.
The rain was beginning to get heavier and heavier so we decided to turn around and just go back to Popabamba for the night and figure everything out from there. The streams that we had to cross before had began to run more like rivers. I was adapting to riding in all this mud at this point so I rode as fast as I could, taking much less caution to the road condition. We were about 15 minutes from Popabamba when I spotted a hairpin turn that had a stream running through it. I remembered it being high when we crossed the last time, but this time the stream had swelled even higher. I saw a point that looked like it was lower and hit the throttle and went right through. I made it to the bank on the other side and and realized my choice of a crossing didn't leave me much space to turn. I hit the brakes and tried to cut it, but to no avail. I dropped the bike right before a ditch. After I managed to get my foot unpinned and the bike up, I lifted my pant leg to see what seemed to be a small bullet hole in my shin. The knee on my other leg seemed to take most of the force of the fall. First crash ever on a motorcycle. I hobbled back onto the bike and rode on.
Popabamba was even stranger this time around. I noticed a lot of mansions above the town overlooking the shanty town. Hmm.. I wonder where their money comes from. Many of the people in the town were on fancy looking cell phones and they were all of course staring at us. The hostel we found was a complete hole. My room smelled like urine and there were a bunch of sketchy people out front that kept calling me primo (cousin). The food we ate from the store next door was just as sketchy, but the lady who served was nice. I lifted my pantleg to check to see how badly I was bleeding and she lectured me about riding so fast in the rain, then I think I recall her prescribing me a treatment plan. Justin went and passed out and I ventured out to find a chain to lock the bikes up, which I had no luck in doing, but I will take any excuse to practice my Spanish. I began to get annoyed with all the people yelling Gringo and staring so I put my hood up hoping to look a little more discreet.
The next day we took off for Piscobamba and decided to take the quickest possible route back to pavement. On the way to Piscobamba I felt my bag getting loose on the bike so I stopped to tighten it. As I was redoing the knots I saw a truck approaching. It was full of men in fancy looking leather jackets and in the back there was another guy in nice clothing. I waved at them and the barely even acknowledged my presence. The different reactions I get from people back here is baffling. Some look scared, some just glare, and others seem so fascinated that they almost become a nuisance.
We ate breakfast in Piscobamba and looked at the map. It looked like it would be quicker to just backtrack and take the pavement back to Chimbote. We couldn't decide on a route, so we decided to split up and go different ways. It was nice travelling alone. I could stop wherever I wanted and didn't feel the need to go so fast to keep pace with him. And when I did stop I could stop for longer and just hang out.
When I got to Llunca to fill up on gas before the park, the same boy was working at the gas station. He told me Justin has passed through half an hour before. Ha.. so he decided to take my route after all.
The trip back was fairly uneventful aside from the amazing weather and beautiful view on top of the pass. I seemed to be actually making better time without the pressure of having to keep up with a bike that had double the size engine in it. When I got to the highway to Huaraz it began to rain. I ended up staying in a hotel that night to be insured of having hot water. When I walked into reception I noticed how muddy I was. I was leaving tracks all over the place and everything I touched had a mud print on it. I hadn't ate anything since breakfast, and I was so hungry and cold that I actually ate a bag of trail mix in the shower.
The next day was beautiful in Huaraz, perfect for traveling. The only thing was my wound from two days ago was still bleeding and everything I had was soaked. I was sitting on facebook starting this post when Justin Msged me from near the coast saying he made it there in one day and he would see me there that night. I looked at my watch and decided to prove to him that my route was faster. If I leave now then I have just enough time to pack and get there.
I was on the road within and hour and made awesome time getting up to the pass. I noticed that as long as I kept it at high rpm's the altitude didn't affect it as much. I got to the top and began cruising down towards the desert. I was excited to get to that desert heat to dry off all my wet stuff. Before I knew it I was at the last town before the Pan-American. I stopped to fill up my tires at some little shop. The front filled up fine, but I could't fit the extension in between the spokes on the back. I thought about unloading the pump from the bag, but I was making to good of time for that. I decided to just wait for when I stop for gas in Chimbote.
When I got to the Pan-Am the wind was strong. Gusts would blow and my skin was left stinging from getting pelted with sand. A track would pass me and block the wind for a moment and then it would continue and push me to the side of the road. My bike seemed like it was at a 45 degree angle from the road.
I was about 5k away from Chimbote going 80kmh when I felt my back tire blow. I started to fishtail from side to side. I looked behind me to make sure there wasn't a vehicle close and slowed it down as much as I could. It started to get to the point where I was fishtailing to hard and just got it off the road and down I went. When I got up I remember thinking... "that's it". A taxi driver stopped on the other side of the street and helped me pick the bike up. I put it down on the same knee that I had crashed on before. He pointed to my clutch lever and I noticed it was broke. Then he made sure I could move everything and pointed me to a mechanic a few blocks down.
I pushed he bike up to the mechanic and we took the wheel off and then went to get a new lever. His family was nice and seemed to be quite entertained by me. I had to leave all my stuff and the bike there. In the taxi as we were driving away I just accepted that I may return and find that all my stuff would be gone. When we returned all my stuff was exactly as I had left it. I was expecting him to charge me hardly anything as had happened before in Huanchaco and figured I would give him 100 soles as a tip. He ended up charging me 50 soles so I just gave him fifty soles.
I was an hour and a half away from Huanchaco, but only had half an hour of sunlight left. Chimbote has a reputation for being dangerous, I figured it was best to just get to Huanchaco. Driving on the Pan-am at night was horrible, but I made it in one piece. As I pulled into the driveway of Meri, where the party was happening I went to put my leg down to support the bike and down I went. I forgot I couldn't put any weight on that knee.. and crushed it again.
As soon as we reached the boundary of the park the road turned from rocky to muddy. The center of the road was about 6 inches of built up mud from the trucks and buses that pass through. it was about 20k until the town of Yanama, in which I once again expected the road to get better and the travelling to speed up. We had about two hours of sunlight left by the time we got there. We filled up on gas and noticed that just about everyone was staring at us. Kids and adults a like would well gringo as we passed. This would be pretty regular for every town we would pass. I was having a lot of trouble understanding the accents of the locals as well. Many of them seemed to speak with a timid and shy voice. They probably hardly ever see gringos around here.
We left Yanama and continued on back to an even muddier road covered in potholes. At points we were literally driving through mud filled streams and other points we had to cross running streams. I realized at this point that we were going to be on dirt roads for days. We figured we would just ride till it sundown and then find a place to camp. Once the sun went down I remembered how hard it is to find a camping spot in the dark, especially in the Andean highlands where all the mountains seem to rise straight out of the valleys bellow leaving no flat spots to set up a tent. So we decided to keep on riding in the dark until we got to Piscobamba, which consisted of one paved road that stretched on for about six blocks.
The hostel we stayed at costed s/8.00 ($3.00) a night. I remember talking to the boy who couldn't have been older then 14 outside when he paused talking and just blankly stared past me staring up at the night sky. After a minute I realized he was looking at something and turned around. He pointed up and in excitement said "airplane". Afterwards we got some chicken that tasted as if it was days old from the resturuant next door. There were two men with beards sitting and eating across from us. Beards are very uncommon here, I didn't even think they could grow them. I've heard its common for narcos to them. We are right in the middle of a popular narco-trafficking route. As soon as I hit the bed I fell asleep. We had been riding for about twelve hours, and hour in a half had been in the dark.
I awoke and we immediately started to load the bikes up. It took probably about 15 minutes before we were out the door. More mud and more rain... this is going to get old fast. I am so excited to put in as many k's as we can that I don't even want to stop for breakfast. Justin sped off ahead as usual on his 250 and I hurried along as fast as possible trying to keep up. A small village appears and so does Justin, sitting on his bike in the middle of the road eating an avacado. I guess that's what I get for buying such a cheap bike.
Slowly a small crowd gathers on the side of the road. More people staring at us. I wonder if that kid has ever seen white skin. I don't know if I should feel good about being the first pale skinned person he's seen if I am. A lady walks up and we hand her a banana. I greet her in Quechua. She speaks and I can't understand a word she says. She hands us both warm potatoes and continues speaking unintelligibly. I'm confused, my spanish is not good, but I can't get one word. Finally, I realize she is talking to me in Quechua. "no hablo quechua, solomente englis y espanol". She smiles and walks away. I guess she only speaks Quechua. We chuckle and continue to eat as the crowds stare. Biggest news of the week: two gringos ride through on motorcycles". I look over and wave at two farmer looking men staring at us and wave and smile at them. They took it as an invitation and came over. We sat talking for a little while, mostly about the weather and farming. Evidently they didn't know if it was hot or cold in Lima. I realized at this point then I have seen more of Peru then probably then this weathered looking man.
Popobamba was the next town we road through. Something about this town made me uneasy. The people at the gas station were nice enough though. One guy started spraying off our bikes and just gave me a strange look when I tried to give him a few soles and waved it away. We told the gas station attendant that we were going to Tarapoto and he told us we were crazy. That we had to to the coast and head up to Trujillo and then pass through the mountains via Cajamarca. We looked at the map and realized it was dirt road all the way to Tarapoto with few towns in between. Riding through jungle back roads seemed like it was a little much, so we changed course to Trujillo. It looks like we will be there in time for Oscu and Nina's party... back to Huanchaco again. A decent map would really come in handy.
Riding through we got to a bunch of unmarked forks in the road and just decided to stick to the ones that seemed more traveled. There was a point where it seemed like we were just crossing stream after stream. It is a little uneasy riding into the middle of nowhere with virtually ability to navigate due to poorly marked roads and the unavailability of a decent map, not to mention sub par Spanish abilities.
We stopped through a small group of houses and asked a crowd if we were on the right road. They didn't seem to like us very much. At one point just looked over at me and asked if we were about to get lynched. We just decided to pretend we understood what they said and continue on.
After about 10k we spotted the town that we were expecting to drive through. Unfortunately, we also spotted a landslide right in front of us that had completely taken out the road. We sat there for a minute when father and son walked up and started asking us questions. We had the map out and I asked him if there was a way around. I couldn't understand a word he said in response. He came over and looked at the map, which at this point was soaked and looked confused. "Ahhh" I see Cordillera Blanca y Cordillera Negra" he exclaimed, stuttering as he struggled to read the words. His son just sat there at a distance from us looking somewhat scared. I don't think this man has ever seen a map, and I am not sure he knows how to read. Now I know to never trust one of these Andean highlanders for directions.
The rain was beginning to get heavier and heavier so we decided to turn around and just go back to Popabamba for the night and figure everything out from there. The streams that we had to cross before had began to run more like rivers. I was adapting to riding in all this mud at this point so I rode as fast as I could, taking much less caution to the road condition. We were about 15 minutes from Popabamba when I spotted a hairpin turn that had a stream running through it. I remembered it being high when we crossed the last time, but this time the stream had swelled even higher. I saw a point that looked like it was lower and hit the throttle and went right through. I made it to the bank on the other side and and realized my choice of a crossing didn't leave me much space to turn. I hit the brakes and tried to cut it, but to no avail. I dropped the bike right before a ditch. After I managed to get my foot unpinned and the bike up, I lifted my pant leg to see what seemed to be a small bullet hole in my shin. The knee on my other leg seemed to take most of the force of the fall. First crash ever on a motorcycle. I hobbled back onto the bike and rode on.
Popabamba was even stranger this time around. I noticed a lot of mansions above the town overlooking the shanty town. Hmm.. I wonder where their money comes from. Many of the people in the town were on fancy looking cell phones and they were all of course staring at us. The hostel we found was a complete hole. My room smelled like urine and there were a bunch of sketchy people out front that kept calling me primo (cousin). The food we ate from the store next door was just as sketchy, but the lady who served was nice. I lifted my pantleg to check to see how badly I was bleeding and she lectured me about riding so fast in the rain, then I think I recall her prescribing me a treatment plan. Justin went and passed out and I ventured out to find a chain to lock the bikes up, which I had no luck in doing, but I will take any excuse to practice my Spanish. I began to get annoyed with all the people yelling Gringo and staring so I put my hood up hoping to look a little more discreet.
The next day we took off for Piscobamba and decided to take the quickest possible route back to pavement. On the way to Piscobamba I felt my bag getting loose on the bike so I stopped to tighten it. As I was redoing the knots I saw a truck approaching. It was full of men in fancy looking leather jackets and in the back there was another guy in nice clothing. I waved at them and the barely even acknowledged my presence. The different reactions I get from people back here is baffling. Some look scared, some just glare, and others seem so fascinated that they almost become a nuisance.
We ate breakfast in Piscobamba and looked at the map. It looked like it would be quicker to just backtrack and take the pavement back to Chimbote. We couldn't decide on a route, so we decided to split up and go different ways. It was nice travelling alone. I could stop wherever I wanted and didn't feel the need to go so fast to keep pace with him. And when I did stop I could stop for longer and just hang out.
When I got to Llunca to fill up on gas before the park, the same boy was working at the gas station. He told me Justin has passed through half an hour before. Ha.. so he decided to take my route after all.
The trip back was fairly uneventful aside from the amazing weather and beautiful view on top of the pass. I seemed to be actually making better time without the pressure of having to keep up with a bike that had double the size engine in it. When I got to the highway to Huaraz it began to rain. I ended up staying in a hotel that night to be insured of having hot water. When I walked into reception I noticed how muddy I was. I was leaving tracks all over the place and everything I touched had a mud print on it. I hadn't ate anything since breakfast, and I was so hungry and cold that I actually ate a bag of trail mix in the shower.
The next day was beautiful in Huaraz, perfect for traveling. The only thing was my wound from two days ago was still bleeding and everything I had was soaked. I was sitting on facebook starting this post when Justin Msged me from near the coast saying he made it there in one day and he would see me there that night. I looked at my watch and decided to prove to him that my route was faster. If I leave now then I have just enough time to pack and get there.
I was on the road within and hour and made awesome time getting up to the pass. I noticed that as long as I kept it at high rpm's the altitude didn't affect it as much. I got to the top and began cruising down towards the desert. I was excited to get to that desert heat to dry off all my wet stuff. Before I knew it I was at the last town before the Pan-American. I stopped to fill up my tires at some little shop. The front filled up fine, but I could't fit the extension in between the spokes on the back. I thought about unloading the pump from the bag, but I was making to good of time for that. I decided to just wait for when I stop for gas in Chimbote.
When I got to the Pan-Am the wind was strong. Gusts would blow and my skin was left stinging from getting pelted with sand. A track would pass me and block the wind for a moment and then it would continue and push me to the side of the road. My bike seemed like it was at a 45 degree angle from the road.
I was about 5k away from Chimbote going 80kmh when I felt my back tire blow. I started to fishtail from side to side. I looked behind me to make sure there wasn't a vehicle close and slowed it down as much as I could. It started to get to the point where I was fishtailing to hard and just got it off the road and down I went. When I got up I remember thinking... "that's it". A taxi driver stopped on the other side of the street and helped me pick the bike up. I put it down on the same knee that I had crashed on before. He pointed to my clutch lever and I noticed it was broke. Then he made sure I could move everything and pointed me to a mechanic a few blocks down.
I pushed he bike up to the mechanic and we took the wheel off and then went to get a new lever. His family was nice and seemed to be quite entertained by me. I had to leave all my stuff and the bike there. In the taxi as we were driving away I just accepted that I may return and find that all my stuff would be gone. When we returned all my stuff was exactly as I had left it. I was expecting him to charge me hardly anything as had happened before in Huanchaco and figured I would give him 100 soles as a tip. He ended up charging me 50 soles so I just gave him fifty soles.
I was an hour and a half away from Huanchaco, but only had half an hour of sunlight left. Chimbote has a reputation for being dangerous, I figured it was best to just get to Huanchaco. Driving on the Pan-am at night was horrible, but I made it in one piece. As I pulled into the driveway of Meri, where the party was happening I went to put my leg down to support the bike and down I went. I forgot I couldn't put any weight on that knee.. and crushed it again.
