Leaving Bolivia, the end of solitude and serious hill climbing.

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After ten weeks living in La Paz, two months of volunteering and many Spanish lessons, I was very ready to return to the bike and continue the journey north.

I felt that some good had come from my time at the clinic, but was also uneasy to be leaving with no ability to check or repair the prosthetics that I had helped to build. It was something more than “volun-tourism”, but somehow still not enough. (If you’re interested in how a prosthetic is made in Bolivia, I put a video together here).

This moment also marked the end of nine months of near total solitude. I returned to the Casa de Ciclistas in La Paz, Ben arrived and we made preparations to continue the ride as a duo. We were soon joined by Hale from Turkey, who forced Ben to wear a dress.

We rejoined the altiplano for high, flat riding towards Lago Titicaca and a backdrop of snow-capped mountains.  The road twisted around the shore, jumping up and down dry hills with sporadic eucaltyps to shade us from the strong sun.

In the Bolivian section of Lago Titicaca, there are several Islands, the most well known being Isla del Sol. We took the ferry across and camped amongst other travellers on the beach, drinking wine and watching the sun set. Because of its immense size, the lake can seem like an ocean and the herds of cows, sheep and pigs drinking at the shore make for a strange sight.

In my naiveté, I had suggested that we bring our bikes and try to ride the track that runs the length of the island. This decision was promptly shown to be a poor one as we pushed our loaded bikes up steep, rocky paths among the pre-colombian ruins. At least we could take some nice photos.

My final act in Bolivia was to pay a fine for overstaying my visa and then it was time for country number seven, Peru. Our bikes weaved through the border traffic, but the congestion was causing stress for the passengers and drivers. With much shouting, we saw a couple of scuffles break out amongst Cholitas; hair pulling and a few wild hay-makers.

Away from immigration, the mood seemed to immediately improve. People smiled from the side of the road, children shouted and waved to us. South travelling cyclists had told me how friendly the people of Peru are, but I couldn’t fathom that this could change so suddenly at an artificial line in the sand (or help but feel that I had a case of Baader-Meinhof syndrome).

The road North snakes through mountains and valleys, resulting in a relatively flat route for the several hundred kilometres to Cusco. Hot days between barren hills turned into chilly nights as the heat dissolves away into the sky.

The relative ease of riding was fortunate because in this first fortnight of riding Ben suffered greatly from a variety of ailments. A pedal strike to the Achilles tendon caused injury there, an old knee injury flared when he defended himself from a dog attack, an uncomfortable seat created havoc and a vicious case of food poisoning was the cherry on top of this shit sundae.

Just shy of Cusco, we came across a thermal spring resort and were allowed to camp inside. The hot water began to help Ben’s injuries, but the quick change to freezing mountain air ended up exacerbating the problem.

Cusco was a bit of a tourist trap and we caught an early morning taxi out to a mountain town to walk the Salkantay trek. The path takes you close to Salkantay mountain, then plunges down into green valleys where the biting insects are lying in wait.

Our first camp was close to the mountain and the lightning flashing around the peaks gave warning of the huge hail storm that would batter our tents later that night.

It was worth starting each day early to get past the tour groups (and their mules, horses and donkeys) and the alternative route through Llactapata ruins afforded us a more tranquil setting and amazing view of the sunset over Machu Picchu.

Past the hydroelectric station, along the train tracks and soon we were in Aguas Calientes for another turn at some hot springs. Next morning we joined scores for a pre-dawn stroll up the stone stairs to Machu Picchu.

Being in the first 20-30 people for the day, we entered a relatively tranquil scene and watched the sun roll down over the ruins from the sun gate before returning to the bustle of the bus loads in the main section. It was fairly disappointing to watch a young Peruvian couple casually drop their food packaging as they walked amongst their history.

Leaving Cusco, we also left the relative flatness of the altiplano and commenced the jagged, twisting road known as the Longitudinal de la Sierra, which traverses the mountains along the length of Peru. The hefty climbs are rewarded with incredible views and descents so long that you need to stop part way down to put on a new album.

The barren mountain tops give way to alpine grass, then pine plantations, eucalypts and eventually lush green valleys full of aromatic fruits and avocados. You can cool off with a cup of frozen mango while the insects have a feast on any exposed skin.

Then the climb begins anew and the air seems to cool with each metre gained.

The friendliness of Peruvians seems to intensify away from the cities and, each time we have a break, someone joins us for a chat. In one town, we were completely swamped by school kids who clambered over our bikes, looked in our panniers and giggled at the gringos.

Dogs line the roads at regular intervals, seeming to claim a section of the road as their own territory. Often benign, sometimes terrified but all too frequently they are bastards that chase down the bicycle or launch themselves at you while descending at 40 or 50km/h. If they find you away from the bike (perhaps with some food), you couldn’t hope for a better friend in the world. Very fickle.

We planned to stop at the town of Ocros for the night but before we could even enter, we were stopped at the turn off by some young locals who told us that it was a fiesta for the town and we should party with them.

As we sat sharing beers in a small tienda, our host explained the Quechan names of the various types of caña advertised. There was the “leg opener”, something about vomiting and “tears of the woman”. We opted for the leg opener, a type of honey moonshine.

In the square, we danced with the (already quite drunk) town people and drank beers in the Peruvian style. A bottle and small plastic cup are passed around the group and a shot of beer is poured into the cup before the bottle is passed to the next person. When you finish the shot of beer, the foam is cast onto the ground and the cup passed on. More social than a longneck in a brown paper bag, but also quite hard to keep track of how much is drunk.

Later in the evening, someone sat outside our door weeping, apparently having drunk too much “tears of the woman”.

We are now recharging the legs in the city of Ayacucho, which has the appearance of a less touristic Cusco. The road ahead is still unknown; while the mountain route offers spectacular vistas, the steamy jungle calls from the East.