The Longest Friday

I’m chilling here in Coroico, Bolivia,

…it feels like it was a long road to get here, and I’m not entirely sure why I’m here.  But regardless, its good to be here.  I should be on the move back to La Paz to check on my Brazilian Visa, but I’m stalling for few hours. The refreshing semi tropical breeze wafts through this veranda at just the right temperature.  An old musty deck chair absorbs my body in way that would put any high end Lazy Boy to shame.  This deck once offered a panoramic view of the surrounding mountains, but its now overgrown with bamboo and other assorted jungle growth.  A plethora of extremely busy wildlife provides far more entertainment than any mountain vista.  Squirrels bounce around in search of fruit that is never more than a tree limb away. Brilliant and strangely colored butterflies share the shaded air space with even stranger looking birds.  I’m just gazing out from the comfort of my third world Lazy Boy,…. Who knows what exotic and fantastic life exists deep in this impenetrable landscape.

I mentioned that it feels like it was a long road get here.  I’m not talking about the obvious, driving from S. Carolina.. but rather a series of travel bugs that have made for tough going since Machu Pichu. I’m a fan of the common- let it run its course belief,…but believe me,…this does not always work!  It finally accumulated into a worsening situation in a La Paz hotel bathroom as I seemingly puked my soul out. I’m confidant somewhere deep under La Paz, my soul is now clogging the cities all ready struggling sewer system.  A series of regular remedies failed to have any affect on my pet super bug…named Charley.  Finally, I reached deep into my bag of tricks ( a collection of random stuff people told me I needed, but I never actually needed),.. I discovered Cipro antibiotics. Dr Call, ( a friend of the family’s) virtually demanded I put this in my kit some 8 months ago.   As a last resort, squirming on the bathroom floor at 3am, I popped the meds.  By day break I was enjoying that super high you get from post sickness euphoria. I was weak, dehydrated and exhausted, but I felt like a million bucks compared to what I’d just been through.

Evading crime in down town La Paz,…but getting robbed on the home front!

So, I’m in a park behind the Brazilian embassy in La Paz.  A tourist gal from Argentina asked me to take a photo of her with her camera.  Having often asked the same of other people, I was only to happy to ablige.  As I returned the camera to her, we were both approached by a well dressed man that flashed a police ID and requested our Identification.  He said that there was a problem with fake documents being used around the embassies and that he needed to check our paperwork.  The Argentinean gal immediately handed over her passport. Feeling a bit suspicious I withheld my passport and instead handed over my disposable SC state ID.  With our IDs in hand, he stated that we must accompany him to the police station and then if all our paperwork checked out we’d be released.  I was immediately doubtful,…this guy was seriously concerned with verifying my SC state ID,..yeah right!   And then, he insisted we get into a cab that just pulled up on the side of the street.  The girl got in, I said “hell no” and refused to get into the cab.  I yelled at the Argentinean gal in my best Spanish that she should get out of the cab immediately and this guy was dangerous.  Seeing that I wasn’t about to cooperate, the fake cop tossed my license at me jumped into the cab with the girl.  The taxi sped off as I stood their fully realizing what had just happened and what was about to happen.  I’m 99% percent sure that gal got taken to every ATM in town until her account was cleaned,…and then hopefully she would be released!  The whole thing bothered me a lot.  I wish I could have done more for the Argentinean.   Crime is real down here.  But then again, I just got an email from my buddy in my beloved state of Colorado explaining that my truck in has just been stolen.  Sometimes it seems crime is abound just about every where, and when it rears its ugly head its hard to look beyond it.  At least I’m not in that cab.  Fortunately I don’t need a truck right now anyway!    I’ve still got a fast bike, a smoking hot girlfriend, a world of cool places and good people to meet ahead of me!

After dropping off my visa application for Brazil, I rushed out of the city,…anywhere but La Paz.  I was physically feeling better, but the stress of driving or even walking around La Paz had me mentally cracked.  Driving is doable, but it’s a whiteknuckled ride.. there’s a reason you virtually never see bikers on the streets of La Paz.  All the corners and intersection are blind , and most don’t have a stop signs or lights, you just guess, cross your fingers hope you make it.  Even if there are traffic lights, they are ignored.  It took me two times of almost getting run over to learn not to stop at red lights unless the traffic is already stopped ahead of me.  It’s a nightmare, plain and simple.  I would not rank La Paz as an ideal biker’s destination.  Just thinking about it raises my blood pressure….and I’m going back today…ugh!  I’m just glad the beak of a fender on my GS is malleable plastic, cus its made already made contact with two Bolivan vehicles.

So I had some time to kill waiting for this visa, and I wasn’t going to kill it in La Paz.  Some very cool Brazilan climbers- Pedro and Hilton, gave me a gps track to a good campsite outside the city.  I was a little nervous as I weaved through the ghetto and dropped onto a dirt track, but their gps route was true and I was soon high into the Andes riding under magnificent glaciated peaks.

The campsite was a huge relief from crazed bustling of the metropolis.

There were a few friendly miners nearby living in stark mud brick houses.  Aside from the miners, the only other folks out there were Llamas…..

llamas have enough of a personality to count as “folks” in my book. I woke up in the morning with a herd of llamas moving through my campsite.  The  alpha male came right up to my motorcycle, sniffed the tank bag and gave an approving snort.

I felt a sort of bond with the fellow as we both seemed to share an appreciation for fine motorcycles.  Magnificent animals..those llamas!!

(I’ve got half a mind to abandon my association with humanity and join the sophisticated culture and society of the llamas,.. imagine a life of wandering the stark beauty of Andes,,,concerning your self with little more than chomping grass and chasing females.  Why didn’t we think of that!

My mandatory preride check, revealed a leak in my beat up rear tire. A hefty wab of saliva revealed the air emitting from one of my old Machu Pichu holes.  The professional patch that was  put in at Airequipe had blown out.  For the first time, the old stop and go plug couldn’t fix the mess.  Having reamed the hole for the plug, things were now worse then when I started.  I was limping back to the dreaded city of La Paz, stopping every 10 minutes to give CPR to my abused tire.

My worst fear would be to have a total blow out in the ghetto and have to fool around in a rough neighborhood putting a tube in.  Fortunately my the old tire got me just far enough.  I found some hole in the wall tire repair dude on the outskirts of La Paz to get me back on the road.

So I had 4 hours of daylight left and I was mobile again.  I didn’t want to stay in La Paz, so I shot for Coroico.  I’ll be honest…I went to Coroico because of the road to get there.  I read that statistically this is the most dangerous road in the world.  I know what your thinking- the most dangerous road is the street between your house and your favorite bar! But statistically this road kills over a 100 people a year, topping out as the most dangerous road according to Lonely Planet. (I’m pretty sure this information is now dated) I just had to have a gander myself.  People are weird, and I’m no exception.  Its not that I go looking for trouble!…then why you ask?!,……cus its there…  and I was in the neighborhood!

This killer road is no big deal.  In fact its  90% paved and in reasonably good condition.

The only reason people die here is because Bolivian drivers are completely mad!  If you could lay down the bottle and peel off the all the Jesus stickers on your windshield so you could see where you’re going, and you’d find your chances of survival increasing significantly.

When the traffic is light, and the road is dry, I’d rank this road as one of the top motorycle rides!  Talk about some serious eleveation gain on the way back.  Rising out of the foothhills of the amazon and into the Andes, making for a exciting 2 hour ride.  The only catch is the semi permanent cloud layer half way up the Andes that slows things down a bit.  Visibility drops to about 20 feet, or less if the other dude doesn’t have his lights on.  I cant possibly imagine what posseses a bus driver in a white buss, traveling through a white fog bank, to NOT use his lights…..its like hah ahhahah surprise!- As double decker monster suddenly appears a 10 meters ahead of you and roars between you and the 3,000ft vertical drop off on the edge of the road.  Some of these bus drivers are clearly adrenaline freaks!

Enough ranting about driving in Bolivia, I obviously made it to Coroico, thourally enjoying the ride and end destination.  But I’d have to back up the story a bit, lest I never get to post pictures from my last week in Peru.

After Machu Pichu I beelined for Airequipe.  You may remember my “dire tire” situation from the Machu Pichu ride.  I made it over 300 miles to Ariequipe with 4 stop and go plugs in and reuping on air every 45 minutes.

skip this section if you dont want to hear me rant about finding tires in Arequipe!

It as a huge relief to pile into a hostal in town.  The following day I pulled into bikers market for the big tire search.  All S American cities seem to have a bikers market, a sort of conglomerate of motorcycle orientated vendors.  I was immediately beset upon a shady looking dude who appeared to own the nearest motorcycle shop.  With a long collared shirt, tight pants and slicked back hair, this guy looked like he’d just walked out of disco to have smoke before his next dance off.  He had nervous fast talk that was barely discernable. I didn’t like the guy, but I needed a tire and he said he’d find one for me.  It was his idea to leave the bike at the shop and jump in his car to go to another tire shop.  I played along, desperate to get some new tread.  I was surprised to arrive not at a tire shop, but at a gas station as the dude insisted I pay for fuel.  That was weird I thought, and more than a little annoying, any tire shop was about 10cents worth of fuel away.  But  I threw down a few bucks to pay for fuel. Finally arriving at the tire shop, I was disappointed to have the choice between a crotch rocket racing slick, or an under sized dirtbike tire.  The dude insisted I buy one of the tires.  I thanked him for the information and said I’d choose between the tires tomorrow, allowing a chance to think on it that night.  These tires had to get me to Rio. It was a big decision.  I leaned over the counter and asked the tire shop owner about the prices,.. the dude who’d taken me there stepped between us and blurted out a price…obviously jacking up the original price.  On the way back I asked the dude where I could wash the bike.  I was at the point were I could no longer do maintenance on the bike because of the all the mud.  He showed me where the car wash was, dropped me off, then demanded 20 bucks for having helped me.  Astounded, I replied that I already topped off his tank, and I was going to purchase tires and mounting service from him.  He still insisted on this tip, probably because I was some super wealthy gringo that laid golden eggs every night.  I tipped him a buck, but told him I didnt want to do business with him, and I drove away.

At the car wash I poured my troubles out on the owner who was kind enough to listen. The man was honestly interested in helping me out, unlike the disco peddler from the motorcycle shop, who was just trying soak me.

As the boys polished up the bike, the car wash owner made a number of calls around town and even as far away as Lima.  There were no 17in tires to be had in country.  And then, in an extraordinary gesture of kindness, the car wash owner jumped on his bike and guided me to the nearest tire repare shop. He refused any payment, shook my hand and wished me luck on my journey.  I tipped the car wash boys extra, and got them some drinks from down the street.

I was in good hands at the tire shop.  The tire repaire guy was friendly courtous and quite shy,…which was huge relief from the fast talking sleazy disco man from the motorcycle shop.  Two mechanics spent over an hour patching 4 major holes in the tire.  I felt they did a great job, and I was happy with solution.  The tire was now holding air!

From Airequipe I rolled for Volcan Misti.  I had one last quest in Peru.  I’d heard tales of Misti from paraglider pilots in Lima.  Everyone spoke of the volcano with regard as one of the highest paraglider launches in world.  The basic idea is that you climb to over 19000ft during the night and then launch off at day break.  Most claimed that the weather was virtually always good, allowing for a very high chance of launching form the summit.  Sure I thought,…great weather at 19000 feet,..riiight!  I was skeptical, so I tried to find some one who actually had flown the volcanoe.  This proved unproductive.  In fact, for the talk about Misti I couldn’t even find anyone who new of anyone who had flown the mountain.  So I was just going to have to check it out for myself.

I made the rounds in Arequipe, inquiring with local touring agents for any information on the mountain.  The most memorable contact with a tour guide was at a certain shop where I was asking for a topographical map of the mountain.  He said,…”oh…you mean the kind of map with all the squiggly lines?”….I was thinking oh boy…this going to be fun..and politely replied, “yes…the maps with all the little lines”.  He said, “ no, I don’t have those, but those are hard to read any way, I can sell you this map for three dollars” And the guide pulled out a what appeared to be a third graders crayon side sketch of two hills with little lines randomly running up the hills, which were the trails as the guide proudly pointed out.  Focusing with all my might not to shake the room with laughter, I politely said, “yeah, nice map!…that’s ah…real good stuff….but I think I’m going to hold off on buying that right now….not sure if I’m going to climb the mountain anyway.”

Anyways, I obviously didn’t hire a guide, or buy a map.  I did my usual sat image research on google, jumped on the bike and headed for the big volcano…which dominates the horizon over Arequipe.

Finding Ernesto was a mixed blessing.  Ernesto is the dueno (boss) of a major farm on the flanks of Volcan Misti.  It was his farm or the police station for secure bike parking.  After scoping both  out, I opted for the farm.  I pulled into the hacienda and introduced myself to the nearest laborer,…who took me to meet the dueno.  I immediately liked Ernesto.  A very friendly and very old dude that offered undue hospitality to me …the complete stranger.   I explained my circumstances and offered him money to safeguard my bike for two days.  He wouldn’t hear of any payment, and told me to park the bike in the welders shop which is locked at night.  He also insisted that his laborers would help me with anything I needed.  I was impressed by his generosity and kindness, and  embarrassed by not being able to pay him for it.  All I could to was thank him about a million times.

With the bike secured, I set off on foot for the volcanoe.  One of the tour agents told me it was a mere 3 kilometers to the trail head.

It was actually a good 5 miles.  Which is a long way when walking at high altitude with a mountain to climb at the end of the trail.  From the trail head I begain the ascent up to 15000ft basecamp.

I usually prefer to camp much lower,..it allowes for a better night rest, but I heard voices up at the basecamp, and I was looking forward to some comraderie among other climbers, so I pushed on.

Carrying  4 litres of water, overnight gear, and a glider, I was absolutely smoked by the time I reached base camp.

I was welcomed into camp by the 3 guides of  a climbing party.  These were top notch fellows. I’d barely set my pack down and I had a hot cup of tea in my hand.  We exchanged greetings and talked over our climbing plans.  Upon discovering that I was going to bivouac, they insisted I join them in there tent.  As the temps had dropped substantially and the wind was picking up, the offer sounded pretty good.  They reassured me that there was plenty of space,. but their idea of space and my idea of space is quite different. I found myself gulping for air as I was crammed against the tent wall.  But I couldn’t complain one bit, they had sacrificed their comfort to allow me to join them, I’ve got nothing but thanks for the guys.  It was a miserable night, and I didn’t sleep a wink, but I was warm!

It was a bad start for me. I wasn’t feeling strong after the rough night.  I had a headache that I was hoping I could walk off.  Wind conditions were abnormally strong, although the guides all believed conditions would improve at sunrise.

I climbed very slowly up to over 17,000ft.  I felt terrible.  The super cold air was causing me to hack and cough, my headache was growing, and conditions were not improving even as the sun was creeping up.  I knew this was not my day to be climbing.  Carrying 40lbs of equipment to 19,000 ft was ambitious enough, and  I wasn’t going to carry such a load to the summit just to be forced to carry it back down due to high winds.  There’s no reason to carry your glider to some place you cant fly from. So with a heavy heart I headed down, stoping every so often to test the wind, hoping the gale would die down just enough to launch.

Base camp was a wreck,…all the tents that weren’t tied down properly were flattened over under the wind.  I tried to fix things, but there wasn’t enough guy wires on the tents secure them properly.  I sat there at base camp watching the sun creep up over mountain and cast the a perfect shadow over Arequipe.

The sun was up, heating both sides of the mountain, and still the wind raged.  There was nothing left to do, but shoulder my glider and walk down.   It was going to be a very long walk out, and I felt like shit.

At about 12 or 13,000 feet I noticed the wind had died down substantially.  Surprised and hopeful, I plopped down to wait and asses conditions.  It looked good, real good.  I got the wing spread out on plume of volcanic sand, then begain packing my kit away into my harness.

pic-the launch

Just as I was about to hook in, a little gust swept up the mountain and flipped my glider over, tangling the lines and allowing sand to enter the glider.  Cursing the wind and the mountain I spent another 15 minutes dumping the sand out and straitening the lines.

By the time I had every thing sorted out for my second attempt, the wind had died completely.  Such a strange place, with wind starting at 40mph then dropping to zero.  I think a lot of it had to do with wind gradients and different altitudes on the mountain. The colors and topography of the volcano made it difficult to asses how steep the face was,..and subsecuently it was difficult to figure out just how far I was going to be able to glide with zero wind.  From my vantage point, it looked like I might bottom out on the face a mere 50 meters below my launch.  But, I’m an optimist.  And in my current state, any chance to fly instead of walk, was worth trying for.

I set up again for a forward launch down the sand plume.  I waited and waited for just a little bit of wind to assist with launch.  But the wind never came.  So I took a big breath and ran like hell down the mountain, pulling that glider up over me and willing myself up into the air.

vid should be ready soon

http://www.vimeo.com/5642822

It was awesome! The ground fell away revealing terrain that was much steeper than it had previously appeared. Within seconds I was hundred feet off the face of the volcano and moving out towards the desert floor.  There’s nothing quite like the feeling of knowing your home free.   All I had to do was float through the air..and that’s what I did. Gotta love flying!

Back at the bike I was prepping for ride out of Peru. Ernesto joined me and we talked about the climb, farming, and the best route to Puno.  You may remember that I said meeting Ernesto was a mixed blessing.  Well…let me tell you! I got some route information from Ernesto that resulted in me stumbling into a hotel room in Puno 8 hours later, shaking uncontrollably from hypothermia.  I guess back in the day…..back in Ernesto’s day!, the fastest route to Puno was through Chiguato and over altiplano on a dirt track. So Ernesto told me to take this route.  Not that it was his fault, he was just giving me the best information he had.

pic- the best section of road, I have to admit, it was beautiful!

If I had started early with good tires, and I hadn’t just come of a mountain exhausted with a respitory infection, I’d have loved this route.  But in my current state it was crushing, especially when I was expecting a simple and fast 6 hour highway ride.

A couple hours into the ride, it finaly donned on me what I was in for.  I was in the middle of no where on dirt track at over 15,000 feet and it was getting dark.  There were no gas stations, hotels, or restaurants,..it was real wilderness.  Something I would have invited anyother time, but being sick and hungry, I wasnt looking to make camp at this altitude.   I didnt want to unhook from my heated vest and the lure of a hot shower and food some where down the road kept me riding relentlessly over mountains passes over altiplanos and through frigid valleys.  Finally I arrived in Juliaco,…not my destination, but I couldn’t care where I was as long as it was off the altiplano.  Desperate to get off the streets and into a bed, I flagged down a tuktuck(3wheel taxi) and paid him to guide me strait to the nearest hostal that had parking.

Ironicly, it wasn’t until after I got to the hotel and unhooked from my heated vest that I started shaking from the cold.  15 minutes later I got the final bit of luggage secure in my room and I raced over to the shower shedding layers enroute.  The steam emiting from the water suggested the best shower ever! Still shaking uncontrollably, I jumped in with enourmas anticipation.  It took me just long enough to get soaking wet to realize the water was steaming, not because it was hot, but because it was all of 2 degrees warmer the subfreezing room temperature.  From the shower I raced for the bed, and dove in, curled in a ball, and finanly warmed up enough to sleep.  What a day/night!

Showers in S America are not be trusted! Already aware of the evil nature of shower in my Juliaco hotel room,  I tried out the water that morning the water with extreme suspicoun.  You never know. Some times the water is cold one hour, than hot the next.  And to my joy,..it was hot! At last I’d found a hot shower.  Not wasting a second, I jumped in.  I had just enough to time to let out one sigh of pleasure as the hot water tumbled down my back,…when the water cut off completely, leaving me soaked and shivering,…and severely disappointed. I’ll never take another hot shower for granted!

From Juliaco to the border was an easy paved road contouring Lake Titicaca.  Lake Titicaca is something to see.

It sits as an enourmas ice cold blue gem,

flanked by the snow capped giants of the Andes on east side, and the rolling hills of the altiplano on the west side.

The recommended border crossing into Bolivia is Yungoro,..near Copacobana.  The Peruvian side was professional and efficient, the Bolivian side was like Central America….obnoxous border officials and corrupt police.  Fortunately I’m not as green as I was when I crossed into Guatemala, and I was able to evade the requested bribes from the police. Its always a bit wierd when the border agent at the visa window asks you what you want….what the f@#R# do you think I want…..a visa! …moron!   And then, as they hold your passport and copy down various information,…they often ask me what country I’m from…hello! Your holding my AMERICAN passport!  I don’t know,,,,,..maybe…maybe… I’m an American citizen…that would be a good guess!

Entering a new country after an unpleasant border entry, causes a sort of bias to form before you even experience the  culture and people.  Fortunately,.a few miles down the road form the border entry was Copacobana.

pic- what do you see when you look at this pic,?…a beautiful lakeside town, or a potential raging paraglider launch!

I cant imagine how anyone couldn’t love this town.  Friendly people in a small, beautifull lake side village.  It was a great spot to recharge and begain my adentures in Bolivia!    and fly of course!

http://www.vimeo.com/5633922

killing time waiting for my Brazilian visa, editing all that vid footage-

check out Ecuador

http://www.vimeo.com/5427653

enjoy

Biker’s always say you should never ride at night, especially in central and S America. Well,..the irony of it is, that we ALL do it on occasion.  Usually the result of a bad luck, bad planning, or bad directions,…it happens.  I made it over a couple mountain passes at night  riding from Abencay to Cusco.  Arriving in the city I was so relieved to be in Cusco I let my guard down.  A band of masked demonstrators saw fit to block the street ahead, so I made quick u-turn to avoid any unwanted confrontation.  One thing led to another and I had a near miss from a car ahead of me, then actually made contact with the car behind me as it screeched to a halt coming to rest against my front wheel.  It felt like eterninity as I fought to keep the bike from crashing down onto the cobblestone, Adrenaline alone enabled me to get bike back upright.  With my heart pumping from fear and desperation I pulled off the road to check my front wheel for damage and catch my breath.  Fortunately everything looked okay, it was just a truly close call.  It was another reminder to keep it real sharp in the city.  I now make it rule to remove my goggles(limited peripheral ), and lose the mp3 player(too distracting). I’ve found Peruvian traffic to be the toughest yet,..it takes my total concentration and a little luck to negotiate it,…but I’m learning.

It was a rough start coming into Cusco at night on bike, but the morning light revealed one the most beautiful cities I’ve blundered into..  Actually,.. it is THE most beautiful city I’ve ever seen.

note-Down here the rainbow flag represents Cusco,…not gay pride

Cusco lays claim as the oldest continuously inhabited city in the Americas. Who would have thought people would be so determined to live at an altitude of over 10,000ft.  Once the epicenter of Incan Empire, its now a fantastic maze of both Incan and early Colonial stone structures.  I couldn’t tell from my limited vista, but the foundation of the city was initially laid in the shape of puma….very cool…that’s exactly how I would’ve done it!:)

So I mentioned the demonstration from the previous night.  I had unknowingly arrived in Cusco during its most important and busy time of the year.  It was a major holiday involving the celebration of indigenous (Incan) culture and history…..coupled with political rallies.  The celebration of Incan survival and fortitude despite centuries of foreign domination fueled a  continues array of impromptu political demonstrations..  Thousands of Incans had come down from the hills to dance in the streets, play music, march, protest, and drink copious amounts of booze.

During this time, the hill folk started blocking major routes out of the city.  Thoughtfully, they’d roll big rocks onto the road, just behind a blind curve….nice touch!  Anyways, things were pretty harmless over all, as long as you didn’t try to run their blockades no one was going to get hurt.  So I was sort of trapped in Cusco.  And in reality, it was nothing to complain about. There was a massive ongoing party in a town offering plenty to do and see.

I’d heard some wayside gossip about an access road leading to Machi Pichu…or at least as close as you can get on a road.  In fact there is no road to Machi Pichu.  Visitors arrive by train or by foot. I didn’t want to shell out 140 bucks for a train ride and I wasn’t going spend four days trekking in,…although I bet the trek would’ve been awesome.

So I spent some time drooling Google satellite imagery and checking adventure motorcycle posts.  Sure enough, there was a back road that led to the town of Santa Teresa… within ~6 miles of the Machu Pichu site.  It was nothing less than an epic ride. (there’s a lot of those out here)  Any biker who comes to Cusco, and doesn’t take the backroad into Santa Teresa,…is missing out on a great adventure.

-not road you want to get onto with out a full tank!

I cant believe the local Peruvian Mototouring company actually takes their clients to Cusco on bike, then trains them into Machu Pichu.  Actually I think I do know why…..maybe it has something to do with the 4 tire puntures I got.

The last 50 miles are on dirt…or should I say razor rocks.

http://www.vimeo.com/5568715

One rock actually passed through a TKC80 knob entering the tire.  I spent some serous time on the side of the road patching up my rear tire.  Its amazing what you can patch with a Stop and Go plug.  I never had to put a tube in,…but it was real close!  By US standards my tire was essentially destroyed on that road,.. I was limping on by pumping more air in every 45 minutes with my compressor.

But it was all worth it.  The scenery was awesome.  The route led from a 14,000ft  mountain pass down to the jungle. All of it was wildly mountainous.  Small subsistence communities were found every 15 miles or so and aside from these communities, there was no place to camp or rest, it was vertical terrain on either side of the road.  The last section was highly entertaining, aside from the punctures that is.  The hill folk were friendly and seemed happily entertained by the big bike and lost white dude asking for directions.  I liked this place!

Santa Teresa  is cool little town waiting for the tourism gold rush.  At some point, its going to happen, but for now its quiet, uber cheap, safe and friendly.  It’s a million times better then the snobby town of Auga Clientes(which sits directly below MachiPichu)

And best of all…..there is a camp ground….with HOT SPRINGS!

Those of you that know me are aware that I have some appreciation for natural hot water.  I dipped my road weary body into the warm liquid just as the sun set over valley wall.

People some times ask me if I get lonely touring by myself.  I usually front some sort of machismo bullshit and say no, but that fact is that I often crave some sort of contact with people of my own culture…..especially after riding the backcountry for long periods.  After striking up a conversation with some Americans who had trekked in, I received a very generous invitation to join them for dinner.

It was a late start in the morning, followed by some more time in the hot springs. I was so enamored with this place, I just wasn’t in a huge hurry to push on to machu Pichu.  I spent a few hours lounging in the morning sun and chatting with the super friendly staff about everything from global politics to local wildlife.

Finally,  I packed up and moved up the valley, inching my way towards Machi Pichu.  15 minutes out of Santa Teresa I had to stop and confirm what I was seeing.  A river, was shooting out of the side of a mountain!  Totally wild!  It was like a spring, except it was a full size river under enormous pressure, exiting from a top third of a nearly vertical mountain top.  I’m kicking myself for not having pictures that anomoly.

End of the road.

An elderly entrepreneur was jumping for the chance to guard my bike as I departed on foot.  Packing in my camping gear and the glider I headed out on the tracks towards Machi Pichu.

My initial plan was to find a place along the river to camp for the night, then some how combine the Machi Pihcu experience with a glider flight.

Flying Machi Pichu is illegal.  It’s sad, cus it’s an epic launch site.  I wanted to climb to Machi Pichu with the glider, then traverse the ridge just far enough to legally launch.  However, this was also impossible, cus it would put me on the Inca trail, which was illegal to walk with out a guide.  As Machu Pichu is a national treasure, its understandably tightly controlled.  However, the terrain was so intense and magical, I just had to find a way to fly it.  It would be the tightest canyon I’d ever descended.  So, with a map and good view of the valley walls, I worked out a plan that kept me close to ….but off MachiPichu and the Inca trail.

Confidant I could pull it off safely and with out invoking legal trouble, I ascended the valley wall and made camp high above the river, with a magnificent view of Machi Pichu.

About 2am I woke up with an evil stomach bug.  I spent the rest of the night with the tent flap open for convenient purging.  Daylight finally broke, but clouds had formed below during the night.  The bottom of the valley was way to tight to fly blind, so I laid back in my sleeping bag and waited for the clouds to lift out.  I always try to fly a challenging site at first light, ….there’s minimal turbulence and most folks are still in bed so there’s minimal unnecessary attention.

Clouds lifted at 8am and I laid out the wing and stowed my camping gear in my harness.  I normal wouldn’t fly with a mean stomach bug, but a 15 minute flight looked a lot  better than a 3 hour hike down.  I blew the first try, catching my wing on a tree.  The second attempt saw me off the mountain and into the valley.  I ran from the sun, avoiding lift and hanging in the shadows valley.  My goal was to descend safely before the canyon heated up and started pushing wind and turbulence.

(photo shows the view of launch(saddle on left about 4k out)  taken from Machi Pichu

Machu Pichu's Sacred Canyon from christopher on Vimeo.

">http://www.vimeo.com/Machu Pichu's Sacred Canyon from christopher on Vimeo.

The flight was magnificent.  I crossed the valley and cruised along the jungled walls.  I  zigzagged over the roaring rapids below, soaking up the pleasure of gliding effortlessly over such rough terrain.  Steering for a lone sandbar in one of the few lazy sections of the river, I began to pull hard turns to sink down to the sandbar.  Swooping down over the water, I straitened out, flared and touched down on the sand.  I felt like world class pilot.  I was standing their patting myself on the back, …when about 15 police materialized out of the forest,.. followed by another 10 engineers from the nearby hydroelectric plant.

Things got a little awkward from here on out.  Clearly I knew I was in trouble.  The Police were visibly upset, although the engineers were quite exited about it all.  After being made aware of my offense, I was told to pack up my glider and get in the truck.  Sitting their in the cab en route to police station, I felt a sort of reality check,.. I was thinking to myself,”Oh boy, this is going to get expensive” and I begin mentally counting the bills in my wallet”

I’d like to weave some exiting tale about prison time, bribes, extortion,. whatever, but the fact is…..the Peruvian Police were very professional.  I spent about 30 minutes in their office getting the good hearing that I deserved.  Ultimately I learned that the area was off limits to flying because of both the historical site, and the nearby powerlines running to the hydroelectric plant.  They explained that it was too dangerous to fly here and that some previous pilot had actually killed himself on the power lines.   I kept my mouth shut, but I was thinking to myself….you’ve got to be  a freaking moron to fly into those power lines. In fact, I find it hard to believe it actually happened. I spent a good hour scoping the site and noting all the hazards the previous day.  The site is safe to fly for an experienced pilot, but I wasn’t about to argue with these guys.  So…I got my picture taken and filled out a bunch of forms in office,…sweating it out, not knowing what was going to happen to me.  But,  fact that I wasn’t in handcuffs was a good sign.

I don’t know if it was me saying the right things and apologizing profusely, or the benevolence of the police, but they let me walk.  I didn’t have to pay a single bribe, I wasn’t harassed, they didn’t seize my kit, I wasn’t banned from the park,  and I walked away with a lot of respect for the local police force.

On a humorous note: when they spotted my glider in the air, the news went out on the radio to every government official with 10 miles.  Subsequent radio reports gave out all the details to the most exiting event to happen in these parts for some time.  So over the next 10 hours as I continued to explore the park (minus the glider), I was greeted by name and drawn into excited conversation from every guard or park official I came across.  Ironicly, aside from the guys in charge (who were just doing their job) I got a lot of handshakes over it all.

I returned to my bike, dropped off the glider and camping gear, then set out on the train tracks for Machi Pichu.  What would normally have been an easy 2 hour hike turned to a real challenge as my stomach monster returned. After couple hours of sweating it out I finally felt better and arrived in Agua Calientes with an appetite.

Eager for good meal I stopped at the nearest restaurant as the waitress called me off the street to look at the menu.  One glance at the prices and I had to explain I was dirt bag biker and couldn’t afford her prices..which were about 4 times the price of meal in Santa Teresa.  Suddenly today was their special half price day, and the cost dropped in half.  Feeling like I was getting a great deal I took the bait.  I will admit it was a great meal, but when I received the bill the price for the meal was as she claimed, but she simply added on another 50% “local tax”, bringing the bill to its original price. .  I couldn’t help but laugh at the tenacity some have for ripping tourists.   I bitched about it, but ultimately paid up….she won!   She got her initial price and I got wiser for it.

A noble citizen of Auga Calientes…this dog was snooping out some garbage when he noticed me pulling my camera out, he actually trotted over, and proudly posed for the picture, it was pretty funny, I tried to feed him a piece of bread but he wasnt intereseted, he just wanted have picture taken and to be told how sharp he was looking that day.

Agua Calientes sits at the bottom of the valley along the river.  From the town, you can hike up to the ruins.  It’s a great hike.  Everyone gets exercise, no matter how they get to Machi Pichu.  Even walking around the site itself, involves endless ancient stairways and mountain top pathways.

Working up the ancient stairway I ran into about 4 other groups that were coming down. They all warned me that I had some epic hike ahead of me.  I thanked them for the heads up, and reassured them I was good for it, explaining that I had over 3 hours worth of hard charging heavy metal on my mp3 player.  Although the local indigenous music would be more fitting, I’m not a huge fan.  Music or no music I was thrilled to be feeling good, climbing up to Machi Pichu, and not sweating it out in jail.

The picture says it all.

Note-

Machi Pichu is awesome!  There’s no belittling such a masterpiece of human ingenuity!  But since arriving in Peru I had actually looked hard for an alternative.  Something as great, but off the beaten path.  Despite its limited access by train or foot, Machu Pichu is on the super beaten path…it’s probably the biggest archeological tourist attraction in the Americas.   I will share with you some information I only learned after arriving at Machi Pichu,….there is another site that is far more remote, still under excavation and projected to be 3 times the size of Machu Pichu.  Deep in the Andes, the only way to get there is by foot. Go to Abencay and dig for information. There it is…… all you adventure types out there….go get her done before it become “accessible”!   (this goes out especially to my friend and archaeologist- Lucas Hoedle!)

The hike out was tough with another bout of the stomach alien,

but I made it back to Santa Teresa and washed down some stomach meds with a soothing bowl of mystery soup.

I had the good fortune to befriend one of the employees at a hot springs campground.  Felix was kind enough to invite me to his father’s farm to observe a completely self sufficient life style.  They were growing everything from pineapples to cocoa trees.

coffee production

ever wonder where chocolate comes from?

all the households had these guine pigs snooping around waiting to chopped up for  a special meal!

Riding out!

Okay, not nearly as spiritual as my title may suggest,… but the road from Nazca to Abencay tops out as the best motorcycle route I’ve ever been so fortunate to burn tread on.  I guess burning tread may be the wrong expression as I averaged only 34mph through the seven hour drive.  That average speed includes sections of speeding over 14,000ft altiplanos at 80mph,..so you can imagine how slow and mean some of the twisties were.

(edit- as I’m adding these pics, its dawned on me, that none of these photos or the blog do the road justice,…in fact I don’t even have a pic of the road,..you’ll just have to check it out yourself…would be a good Sunday ride )

I was pretty tired I admit. I had awoken at 2:30, climbed the dune, flown back to camp, drove out of the wadi, and then drove an additional 7 hours to Abencay.  The very nature of the road to Abencay kept me wide eyed and supercharged despite the fatigue from the morning’s dune excursion.  It started as a 10mph suedo paved road leading up desert canyons in dense fog.  The road soon lifted me above the clouds, leading me higher and higher onto a high altitude range of hills and hidden valleys laced with blue trout water.

Small thatch roofed cottages sheltered by groves of eucalyptus trees housed subsistence ranching communities.

A seemingly friendly and open folk, they would wave at me from horseback as I drove by.  The road had straightened out allowing me to tap into that big German motor, but I slowed down on the blind rises due to the massive herds of llamas that sometimes collected near the road.

The altiplano on the highest part of the ride was absolutely captivating. The air was cold and clear displaying the grassy mountain scape for hundreds of miles.  This place was big. That’s the only way I can describe it. I’ve riding through Wyoming and Montana and I thought that was big country, but this was different.  Never have I seen such intense geography.  The valleys dropped to infinity and the glaciated mountains shot up out of the altiplano to over 20,000ft.

Much of the terrain was impassible even on foot.  Its incredible that such massive empires once flourished here.  Ancient ruins dotted the landscape in every directions, reminding me Europe yet more mysterious and desolate.

A seven hour ride on a motorcycle is a long ride,…but I soaked up every minute of it with absolute pleasure.   What a day!

Oh- imagine my surprise when I see this-

If it were possible to ride right by Nazca, I might have done it.  However, this geographicly gifted area offered to much for me to ignore.  Nazca, an ancient and once powerful city, is now a small dusty town marking the halfway route between Cusco and Lima. The town is world renown for its incredible Nazca lines.  The previous inhabitants saw fit to turn stones for hundreds of miles to create groovy looking pictures of animals and people….that is only viewable from an aircraft.  Which is incredibly cool, because the ancients obviously didn’t have aircraft…or did they?  J  It’s to much to imagine the possibilities.

So you can’t paraglide over the lines, cus some Japanese pilot crash landed the scene and its been forbidden ever since. So I made do with a climb up a nearby hill, which offered a view that didn’t really reveal anything…just some lines running off into the desert.   The only real way to get “the big picture” is to hire a plane., on a clear day. It wasn’t clear that day, so I moved on the next big attraction.

wikipedia-

Dune	Height from Base feet/meters	Height from Sea Level feet/meters	Location	Notes
Cerro Blanco	~3860/1176	~6791/2,080	Sechura Desert, Nazca	Highest in the world

I noticed the monstrosity of this sand dune from about 60 miles away…..long before I even reached Nazca.  It was mind boggling.  The dune actually stood far above the local mountains, towering above even the clouds like some alternate world.  I’d never seen anything like it and I could feel it draw me in.  Of course I wanted to fly it!

All my previous attempt at soaring dunes had ended in a tangled up glider full of sand, so I was a bit skeptical about flying this record class behemoth.  I knew if I had a chance, it would have to be at daybreak under soft winds.  And of course, I had to get to the base, which would prove my biggest challenge.

I found what looked like an access road leading off the pavement towards the dune.  It started nicely,…then turned to hell within 100m as the road disappeared into a dry creek bed.  It was the exact opposite of Paracas, it looked okay, but I was sinking in all over the place.  A thin crust covered the ground camouflaging the sand traps.  Again and again I dropped the bike, dug her out, just to do it all over again ten meters away. I was thankful to have full riding boots on as I pinned my leg under the bike more than once. Exhausted and concerned about my retreat, I finally gave up.

I was trying to decide whether I should camp, or if should withdraw to the pavement.  The place looked safe enough to camp, and it was far enough into the bush to be out of site of the road. As I was working out a decision, it got dark, …which made the decision for me, since I couldn’t ride this terrain at night anyway.

It was another beautiful night in a Peruvian desert.  And contrary to camping across the US, I wasn’t being harassed all night by coyotes.  I just laid out my camp roll next to the bike and got the stove fired.  I tried some hot cool aid type substance that I used to enjoy way back in the boy scout days, but apparently I’ve out grown my lust for that atrocious mix of food coloring and chemically enhanced sugar, cus it tasted terrible.  Dinner was the usual ramen and canned tuna, which I was hungry enough for.  Regardless of how terrible of a chef you might be, enjoying your own cooking while camping is tops.

It was a predawn patrol.  I lured myself out of the warm sleeping bag with a hot cup of mystery tea.  By 3am I was on the march, determined to summit by sunrise.  With a little luck, I’d be back to the bike by 7am, minimizing the daylight exposure to the bike…when it could be seen and consequently raided……by who ever or what ever lurked out here.

It may have been difficult on the bike the previous day, but I was now cruising full speed up the desert wadi on foot.  Making great time, I was soon ascending the dune itself.  Naturally, a dune of this size is challenge to climb.  My calves were smoked as I slid back a half step for ever step up.  This may sound weird, but I was actually using an ice axe.  A gear freak at heart,, I have a telescoping ice axe that can be used as a trekking pole, which relieved some of the weight on my calves.  Once on the dune, I shut off my headlamp, soaking up the night climb.  There was an eerie silence to the place, broken only by the sound of my own labored breathing. Shooting stars danced overhead distracting me from the physical exertion of the climb and drawing me up the sandy slope.

Although it was as big as a mountain, I didn’t have to negotiate crevasses, inclement weather, or other hazards,. so for once I was toping out exactly on schedule.  As expected, there seemed to be an endless array of false summits. I finally settled for one in particular, topped out and took a breather straddling the crest of the dune.  The suns rays were just stretching over the distant peaks and spreading their warmth over the dunes.

Not wanting to miss the opportunity, I pulled out the glider and prepped my kit.

I wasn’t really sure how things were going to work out on this flight.  I had zero wind to assist for launch and I had a cloud layer between me and the bike.  But, ultimately it was one of the safest launches I could ask for.  I could totally blow the take off and end up rolling harmlessly through the sand.  And if the clouds got intimidating I could bail back on the massive dune,..taking a soft sand landing virtually anywhere.  This place was awesome for flying and I was going to eat it up!

http://www.vimeo.com/5427260

My forward launch went perfectly…..barely!  I cleared the sandy ridge in front of me by about 12 inches, launching over the main face and into the void.  It was absolute bliss of a flight.  Zero turbulence, granted me the freedom to careen closely along the edge of the dune with out a care in the world.  I zig zagged down the sandy face speeding along with absolute glee.

There was a transition point where I left the comfort of the sand dune and steered towards my campsite in the mountainous terrain below.  Even after dancing around along the face of the dune, I still had enough altitude to fly over the summits of the nearby mountains.  Normally, I’m hesitant to fly close to rugged terrain due to the associated turbulence.  But the dawn air was glassy smooth, with out so much as a meager bump in the entire airspace.  Taking advantage of the conditions, I flew in close to the peaks, gazing down from my throne in the sky.  I almost felt guilty effortlessly cruising a few meters over, what would normally be a climbers hard earned summit.

I made a last minute decision to descend through the clouds instead of landing on the dune.  From my position above the clouds I had the luxury of knowing where the sides of the valley were.  And having walked the terrain, I knew the wadi below offered little or no threatening obstacles for landing.  It was safe, but it was still scary.  I set my bearings and descended into the white out.  I had expected to quickly drop through the clouds and arrive in clear air, but the white nothingness seemed to last forever.  Feeling particularly nervous about flying blindly over Peru, I pulled the tips of my wing to increase my descent.  Even though I couldn’t see anything I could feel the drop in my belly as I fell through the cloud.  I stared down through the whiteness eagerly anticipating the bottom of the cloud layer.  I finally spotted some dark outlines of terrain below and I instantly released my wing tips. Relieved to be through the cloud, I flared for landing and touched down softly in a creek bed….and then subsequently dumped my wing into a thorn bush….oops…it happens.  There’s something about thorn bushes that magnetizes my glider.

That flight definitely counted as one of my all time richest experiences.  I was soon riding out on the bike.  Well…there was some more push pulling, digging, and lugging, before I was out of the sand traps, but I was soon on the pavement and en route to the highlands of Abencay.