Farewell Peru
 

Bikepacking the Peru Great Divide and Beyond

Words & Photos: Adrian Crampton

"And that’s a wrap" as they say. A two month trip to Peru now under our belts. Having arrived home, recovered from jetlag and decompressed, here are some thoughts, photos and a wee film to share on our bikepacking adventure.

Soaking in the view while taking a rest midway along our climb up Pastoruri Pass (4,800m).

Let’s begin with the bikepacking itself. Peru is, in our opinion, quite well suited to travel on two wheels. Our journey began in Huaraz, and we biked southwards to our final destination Huancavelica. During that time, we noticed a few things about the way Peruvians interact with cyclists on the road. They toot their horns, but in a friendly ‘hey, I’m coming up behind you’ kind of way. And they shout out too. They might say something like ‘Hola, gringo!’. Comments like these may have been completely sincere messages of support for us as we suffered our way up the inclines, or perhaps they were born from the sheer curiosity of seeing three foreigners, deep in Peru’s rural heartland, biking along with a bunch of bags strapped to their bikes. Probably not something seen everyday by the locals. But either way, such interactions were appreciated, and indeed quite common for us. In fact, practically from day one on our bikes we found ourselves having positive interactions with people. Walking into a bodega (shop), ordering food at a restaurant, organising the night’s accommodation. These were the most typical interactions, along with the occasional conversation in the Plaza de Armas (town square), in the many villages we passed through.

Looking towards the road as it snakes past one of the many stunning alpine lakes en route.
In the background lies the Cordillera Huayhuash mountain range hiding behind the clouds, complete with peaks such as Yerupajá (6,634m), Siula Grande (6,344m) and Jirishanca (6,094m).

Robert looking majestical as he directs his gaze towards the road to come.

As day one on the bikes turned into week one, and then week two on the road, we gradually became accustomed to the rhythms of bikepacking at altitude. Wake up, wait for the sun to hit the tents, get the stove going, get a brew going. Porridge for Robbie and I was the norm, whereas David preferred literally anything else. After breakfast, pack up, collect and filter the day’s water, and hopefully be on the road by 9:00am. One thing we learned very early on – on day two to be exact – was the importance of never riding in the dark. Why, you might ask? Because it gets fricken cold. During the day, it was common for temps to get comfortably warm. But then, as the sun would dip beneath the horizon, it would suddenly become apparent that you were biking at altitude, in the Andes, in winter. That was essentially the lesson we learned on day two as we pedalled over the first major pass of the trip, Pastoruri Pass (4,800m), in the Cordillera Blanca. As we topped out over the pass sometime after lunch, we were greeted with an immense 1800m descent to the nearest town, Huayanca. It began as an epic cruise along a truly stunning alpine road – think a winding gravel road snaking its way down the terrain, with white peaks in the background, and behind them a setting sun lighting up the sky above. But then the sun disappeared, the epic road turned into a main highway of sorts, complete with mining trucks, unsuspecting motorists around blind corners and freezing cold extremities gripped onto the handlebars for what seemed like an eternity. Never had there been such a long descent on a bike, I thought to myself as we hooned down the road towards Huayanca. But of course, this was to be the first of many long descents en route.

The setting sun envelops our campsite in its evening rays. When we arrived at this spot we were running desperately low on water but thankfully the farmer whose land we camped on offered us some from his personal supply – drawn from a hose draped along the hillside that redirected water from the nearest stream a few kilometres away.

Cruising along with a tailwind.

And then the sickness hit David. By this point I should mention that getting sick at inopportune moments was definitely a theme of the trip. I was the first victim in Huaraz, Robbie was second when pedalling over Pastoruri Pass, and now it was David’s turn. But then a quick rest day did the trick and we were back on the road soon enough. Next up was an exciting hike-a-bike section, the Conexion Oyon. Strictly speaking, the Conexion Oyon is not on the Peru Great Divide Route, it is a variation that reconnects with the route further south. It takes you close to Cordillera Huayhuash and Cordillera Ruara mountains, involves more rugged, hike-a-bike travel, and featured some of the best terrain and views of the trip. Regrettably for us, it also involved some untimely mechanical complications. I managed to dent my chain on a rock while wheeling my bike next to me, and then snapped it twice later on while pedalling. After this, Robbie bent his derailleur hanger by riding his bike into a lone, unsuspecting rock on the road, and then discovered that his spare hanger did not fit his bike. Needless to say, that rock was biffed off the side of the road in frustration. With the Conexion Oyon behind us, our bikes and bodies in need of some TLC, and having broken our rule of finishing the day’s ride in the daylight, we limped into the next town en route, Paracsha. Upon arrival into the town, we had a slightly unusual encounter with what appeared to be an intoxicated elderly man sitting atop a very startled horse. A 20 minute conversation ensued. It was characterised by a series of exchanges involving our broken Spanish and the man’s drunk spiel. Perhaps this time we were on a level playing field linguistically, I remember thinking to myself. It was safe to say that neither we, him, or the horse were expecting such an encounter. Anyway, when entering the town itself, a group of locals developed around us at the Plaza de Armas. They were friendly people, and when asking for directions to a hospedaje for the night one of them stepped in and offered their spare room. Selena, was her name. Selena, her husband Carlos and their three kids proved to be fantastic hosts. They fed us traditional Peruvian food. We had homemade cheese, soup and tea. In exchange for this, we taught them how to play the card game snap, which they took too very quickly. Their youngest son Adrian (great name) schooled us with his backyard football skills too.

A photo of us three atop one of the highest passes en route, looking triumphant but running low on oxygen, a common theme in many of the photos.

Endless switchbacks!

The next morning we sprang into action. Robbie and I employed our highly advanced mechanical skills in bending back the derailleur hanger into place – by one of us smacking it repeatedly with a hammer while the other person braced the bike. This impressive display of mechanical mastery was performed in Selena and Carlos’ backyard with the whole family watching. Quite a scene it would’ve been for them, watching these gringos at work, clad with their fluro orange Ground Effect jackets. Anyway, with our bikes working (enough) and batteries recharged, we ventured onwards to Oyon.

A shot of Bernard, a German bikepacker we met along the way and spent a few days with.

And one of Jeremy, a surprise Kiwi we bumped into in the middle of nowhere. Jeremy was biking the Peru Great Divide from South to North. It was quite refreshing but also a bit of a shock to speak to a fellow New Zealander in rural Peru.

Oyon is a mining town tucked neatly into a steep hillside. Some of its key features include a large football field in the centre of town, as many ATMs as you could dream of, over-priced bottled water shops and a bike-friendly hospedaje called the Andes Hostel. It was here that Bernard entered the picture. As a German engineer by trade and a bikepacker by calling, Bernard was in Peru for his third adventure on two wheels. After chatting for a while he suggested that we team up for the next leg, and so we did. Biking with Bernard was an eye opening experience. Having never witnessed what happens when a German engineer applies his well-ordered mind to the intricacies of bikepacking, let me tell you, we were quite impressed. Think a perfectly dialled bike setup complete with a custom made rear rack, a highly efficient system for filtering water (our system was so much worse), and a knack for picking out the very finest fresh produce that Oyon had to offer. This was not Bernard’s first rodeo. We spent four days with Bernard in all and would’ve happily tagged along with him for longer if it wasn’t for the recurrence of our favourite thing while travelling – sickness.

A shot of a very pretty village we passed through called Laraos. Laraos is nestled neatly at the head of a steep valley with dramatic hill country all around. At the left of the photo is some smoke from a small fire from lower down the valley. It definitely caught our attention but the locals didn’t seem too concerned, their approach was to let it burn itself out.

Three friendly locals smiling towards the camera. We noticed that in the evenings it is common for the older folk in the villages to chill out on their doorsteps, yarning and watching the world go by.

This time it was my turn again. What started out as a humble bout of food sickness turned into what can honestly be described as a bit of an extravaganza. I’ll try to give the short version here: I felt woozy while we were biking along, we stopped, camped for the night and I awoke to a deteriorated situation with my bowels. Naturally, we then biked over a 4800m pass after a grunty climb – this was not very fun for me, nor, it turns out, was it a particularly wise thing to do. After this, we decided to have a rest day so I could recover, and Bernard chose to continue onwards without us. After three rest days at a sleepy town called San Miguel de Vichaycocha, we then continued en route, pedalling over another 4800m pass and climbing about 1400m. We arrived at camp, set up tents, cooked dinner. All was going fine, until it suddenly wasn’t. With my lunch and dinner having taken a surprise U-turn out of my body and now unceremoniously spewed onto the frozen tundra next to my tent, we made the call to descend from our campsite, at 4600m, to a lower altitude back down the way we came. My stomach bug had clearly not gone away and the altitude was making it worse, so we packed up in a rush and descended into the cold night. After descending for a bit, with my hands frozen into the shape of my handlebars, I got off the bike and curled up on the ground while Robbie and David heroically set the tent up for me. The next morning, we descended again from our new campsite and rode all the way back to San Miguel de Vichaycocha, feeling demoralised but relieved to be at a lower altitude, a mere 3600m.

An alpine panorama.

Robert posing for the camera during a hike-a-bike section.

Then, we made the big decision to split up. David and I descended further to a larger town called Huaral, strapping our bikes to the roof of a taxi, praying for their survival, and journeying down to a luxurious altitude of 500m, all to give me the chance to recover properly. Meanwhile, Robbie continued en route, teaming up with two Dutch bikepackers we met at San Miguel de Vichaycocha. In Huaral, I went to the local hospital, and after getting lost multiple times and generally finding the Peruvian healthcare system not particularly user friendly, I had a chat with a young doctor who looked about my age. I told him what happened and he just laughed at me, bloody gringos. He then gave me antibiotics and told me to rest for five more days at low altitude. What ensued was a FIFA World Cup match watching marathon for David and I. Some highlights include New Zealand’s draw against Iran, Belgium’s win over the USA and Cabo Verde’s valiant effort against Argentina – such a close game.

A nighttime parade in Cusco at the end of the trip. Peruvians definitely know how to celebrate.

Moving on, that basically sums up the sickness extravaganza. After five days of football fuelled recovery in Huaral, David and I journeyed southwards to link back up with Robbie, and two buses and two taxis later we were back together. Thankfully, the last part of our trip proved to be less eventful than before – just some fantastic bikepacking terrain, stunning views, epic high-alpine campsites, llamas, alpacas, condors and such. At the end of our journey, we spent some time in Cusco, catching up with two other friends and doing touristy things, including a short trip to the Amazon rainforest. And that pretty much concludes our trip. It was a wild ride, complete with all of the key elements of a good adventure, such as a step away from our comfort zones, new experiences, trials, tribulations, good times, bad times, and everything in between.

Tres Gringo.

Robert, David and I would like to say thank you to Ground Effect for supporting us on our journey, your kit was basically flawless and will continue to put to good use going forward. If you’re interested, check out this short video of the trip that David put together: