los últimos días: Puno a Cuzco

… in the words of Jim Morrison…

This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end
Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end…..

…ahh but I’m getting ahead of myself,  last time I wrote I was still in Puno, this is another long one by the way so you might want to get a mug of tea, or a beer or something before reading any further…

right then… you know all that stuff I said in Juli about no early starts and keeping my daily distance relatively low… bollocks, all of it, in future I think you best not pay attention to anything I write… ;-) I’ve been getting up before 7am and riding some long days… The rest in Puno did me a lot of good, I got my legs back.. well, to a degree anyway, and the journey to Cuzco was magic.. apart from the bit between Puno and Juliaca.. that was just a busy bad road and Juliaca itself very much lived up to it’s reputation as a bit of dump.. But no matter, all part of the journey :-)

Juliaca....

nicely fatigued old trucks the most interesting thing in Juliaca

Between Juliaca and the small town of Ayaviri was just 100km of open altiplano at about 4000m, not particularly exciting and the road was in pretty poor condition, a bit of a slog but a necessary one.

bleak altiplano (and a railway line) leaving Juliaca

... it did improve somewhat :-)

Ayaviri however turned out to be a gem of a town. No tourists would ever stop there so it’s very much a genuine Peruvian hill town full of good natured people with a bustling market in the streets around the plaza.

nice cathedral in Ayaviri

...such a beautiful country produces such a yucky beverage..

Ayaviri

the bike repairman, most bikes and parts are Chinese, pretty shonky stuff but interesting nevertheless :-)

Ayaviri

Ayaviri... good for oranges...

Ayaviri.. the plaza.. I have a thing about bicycles in pictures ;-)

Leaving Ayaviri the next day I rode the first 10km out of town with a young chap on his chinese-built boneshaker. He was a school teacher heading out to a village school for the day, we chatted as we cruised across the altiplano in the early morning chill. Shortly after he left me I came across another chap with a bicycle sitting in the grass at the side of the road eating a packet of biscuits.. turned out to be Pete from the UK on his way from Tierra del Fuego to “not entirely sure, probably Mexico.. via Venezuela etc”. He was riding a lovely bike, a custom Roberts with a Rohloff hub, mmmm :-) Having said that my Thorn Nomad has been a sublime tool for this trip and with a number  of interesting journeys under it’s wheels now it has acquired a nice ‘patina’ that tells of a useful life. Pete also turned out to be pretty handy with his Charango.. at the time I did wonder what was in that little stripey bag on the back of his bike.. all was revealed later in the evening.

the road to Santa Rosa...

..along the road

By default Pete and I joined forces for the remaining few hundred km to Cuzco, random company is always a good thing and especially here, other than James, Kate and Malena I’ve not met another cyclist since leaving Salta.

a very nice place to ride...

The road from Ayaviri started to climb significantly through fabulous scenery from the little pueblo of Santa Rosa to the high point of the day – the Abra la Raya at around 14500ft.

Santa Rosa: demonstrating our second-to-none bike parking skills...

Santa Rosa

Although not desperately steep, probably no more than a 6% grade the altitude required a little effort… although we didn’t help ourselves, with the UK elections so close we were talking the whole way up, and still chatting away at the summit when a tour bus pulled up and discharged it’s load of tourists all stumbling around breathlessly in the thin air :-) Most just stared at us as we sat on an old stone wall eating lunch, though one Japanese chap did say hello which was nice. By virtue of stopping for a half hour we also became something of a novel focus for a quintessential village idiot character wandering around up there who simply stood and giggled at us, an unfortunate fact of life in this part of the world. Despite our gentle protestations he insisted on standing upwind of us… so with wrinkled noses lunch was finished quickly and off we went looking forward to the descent down to Sicuani, some 3000ft lower :-)

headed towards the Abra la Raya

roadside memorials....

brooding mountain scenery high on the Abra

quite high...

yum :-)

Sadly a strong headwind robbed us of some of the pleasure of a fast descent but that was more than compensated for by meeting four friends from Quito making their way south on bicycles. The plan for their trip was to visit all the major waterfalls in South America, very much an original premise. Like the gang of Colombians I met in the Quebrada de Cafayate they were an inspiring bunch with just basic equipment and ‘panniers’ made from plastic oil/water barrels fixed to their bikes with strips of bent aluminium. Dead simple, very cheap and very effective. I love meeting folk on the road, it’s pretty special… at the risk of sounding like a pretentious twit we are all part of a global brotherhood of two-wheeled travellers :-)

on the way down...

heading south from Quito

So, into Sicuani after almost 6hrs of cycling, almost 8hrs on the road. Nothing special about the town but it has a nice situation in a cultivated valley alongside the Rio Vilcanota. As in so many places, and judging by the stares, I doubt they see many travellers… but the locals turned out, as usual, to be a friendly bunch. We found a basic place to stay for £1.50, no hot water of course but no big deal. Dinner was the usual local affair of a bowl of soup with some chicken feet and the odd kidney floating around in it followed by a quarter chicken and cold, greasy fries… hmm, it filled a hole :-) I could have cooked something I suppose but I left my fuel bottle empty since leaving Bolivia. This whole part of Peru is heavily cultivated/populated so I made no plans for camping. While eating 3 very drunk locals staggered in, one in particular barely able to stand came and propped himself up on our table for a chat… it last 5-10 minutes or so but was pretty much limited to him asking if we were from Australia and us telling him we were from England.. he was very much an alcoholic stuck record… probably a bus or truck driver about to go on shift :-)

Sicuani, on the Rio Vilcanota

Next morning, figuring we had an easy day of between 90 and 100km along the river to Urcos we didn’t leave town till 9.30am after a breakfast of bread, jam and yoghurt. We were also delayed slightly by a crazy and very noisy parade of hundreds of the three-wheel moto-taxis all adorned with balloons and streamers and so on.. no idea what it was about but the screeching horns were deafening.. I’ve got some video so I’ll post that directly.

along the road to Urcos...

We really were looking forward to a pleasant day of crusing through beautiful mountain scenery… hah, should have known better. The wind was near gale force from the north, a direct headwind funnelled through the Vilcanota river valley. In the end despite the relative lack of altitude (around 3500m) and only a few short climbs our average speed was lower than the previous day of climbing.. a result of the wind and weary legs. The scenery was typically fab however and we enjoyed a very pleasant lunch stop in the plaza of the pretty little pueblo of Checacupe about 50km from Sicuani.

riding into Checacupe

Checacupe

Checacupe: the view from lunch :-)

Urcos turned out to be another pleasant little town, again no tourists at all so very genuine, everybody was friendly, we found a nice little place to stay with colourful blankets depicting lions and bears and so on. Terrific value at less than £2 for the night … with hot water :-) Amusing to sit in a little cafe on the plaza for dinner admiring the combination of chickens turning over a wood fire with religious iconry, soft porn and horses decorating the walls :-)

colourful ruins always handy for a pee stop...

along the road to Urcos

meet Pete, if his mum were reading she probably tell him to get a haircut.. ;-)

Urcos..

From Urcos then… just 50km to Cuzco, the first half through an increasingly heavily populated valley with an obvious transition after about half distance from the openly friendly country folk to people occasionally exhibiting an open distaste for gringos… a sad consequence of tourism I suppose, and in one case we were subject to very western, very rude gestures for no reason at all other than being there. Ho hum.

loads of little pueblos strung along the road

the road to Cuzco

classic Inca stonework near Oropesa

Riding into Cuzco itself was the usual developing country scrum of smoggy buses, trucks, cars and motorbikes.. 20km of it. It also began to rain – seems the wet season hasn’t quite finished with this part of the Andes. It was while riding this busy stretch that the most remarkable thing happened.. something that as a cyclist I will never forget… a local taxi driver stopped and gave way to me at a junction.. unbelievable :-) that has never happened before anywhere in S America.. or anywhere in the world for that matter, not from a taxi-cab. He was smiling as he waved me across… more than compensation for the miserable sod back down the road with his one finger salute :-)

twit on two wheels.... :-)

Riding into the historic centre of Cuzco was magic, I’ve been here before but the majesty of the plaza still takes my breath away (photos in a few days…). I must admit I very much enjoyed a victory lap of the plaza on the wet cobblestones followed by an obligatory photo in front of the cathedral before heading to a nearby pizza restaurant for a celebratory pizza (what else), beers, apple pie and icecream.

I like this pic better, little more 'casual', lol

My odometer showed 6005km cycled from Puerto Montt as I parked my bike outside the restaurant. Not as far as I expected, but only because I got sick in Oruro and then too lazy to make the big detour to Arequipa :-) So.. the end of my journey… but not the end of my riding. I will dump my camping gear here before heading down into the Sacred Valley of the Incas for a few days. Decided not to visit Macchu Piccu again, there is a risk that with the new tourist development and so on it may spoil my memories of 12 years ago when I hiked in on a quiet, unregulated Inca Trail just before sunrise to enjoy the magnificence of the place in peaceful solitude.

With a bit of luck my rear wheel will last another couple of hundred km… 3 days ago the rear brake started grabbing on one spot of the rim, to the eye the rim is perfectly true but pulling the tyre and rim tape off revealed a crack growing on the inside of the rim.. hence the brake grabbing as the rim walls begin to spread outwards. I’m lucky it’s taken ’till now to fail. 7 years use on some pretty bloody awful roads, and in particular this journey some 1600km approx on ripio and dirt tracks with a full load, at times with an additional 10kg of water on the back. I’m not going to complain :-)

so that’s it really, it’s been a wonderful journey but also sad that it is over. I’ve cycled most of the Andes… just the Carretera Austral south of Puerto Montt to knock off one of these days, and then I suppose Central America would be the obvious next destination… For the immediate future however I am looking forward to some relaxed street photography around Cuzco and then a summer in my kayak, on my bike and on the beach at home :-)
Stay tuned, hasta pronto!

p.s. by the way, if you haven’t sponsored me for Shelterbox yet and have a £ or two to spare.. now might be a good time {hint}…I know you will ;-) As usual that big blue button at top right should do the trick.

p.p.s Cuzco being the place it is I suppose it was inevitable I’d meet someone I knew… in this case the two Aussie lasses I met in Salta and again on the shores of Titicaca. Drinky time I think… ;-)

Berber Omelette… etc

Burnout by Friday seems to be something of a developing theme in my life right now, all down to too much pressure in the Pleasure Dome, aka work… the consequential moribund state of my mind come evening is why my writing has dried up a little of late. It’s no different tonight but in the company of a glass of Chilean red I thought I’d tell you all about a Berber Omelette… I could tell you about my custom titanium cyclocross frame that arrived recently, but I can’t just yet ‘cos I haven’t got over the embarrassment of adding yet another machine to my fleet…. so eggs it is instead!

Berber Omelette then, I’ve been cooking this rather a lot recently as it so quick and easy, and goes really well with some wholewheat pasta tossed in olive oil and sea salt – just the job after riding home from work. I was introduced to it by a Berber chap I stayed with in Morocco’s High Atlas one night while touring by bike. It was bitterly cold that December night so we ate it huddled around a log fire in his cabin discussing global politics and all those other deep and meaningful topics that you least expect to discuss with the locals in remote places. Every time I cook it now it reminds me that evening spent with Ahmet, looking out at the chill of a richly star-studded African sky. You can make it with pretty much anything you like I suppose, provided you don’t forget the eggs, but here’s what I do…. whether it’s ‘authentic’ or not according to the ‘experts’ I really don’t care:

….preferably in a cast iron frying pan… fry a large onion all chopped up, coarse as you like, in olive oil. Once that’s brown throw in 3 or 4 skinned and chopped tomatoes together with teaspoon of cumin, some black pepper and a couple of cloves of crushed garlic. Fry that lot together for a few minutes to reduce it down a little and cook the tomatoes. Turn down the heat, pour in 3 or 4 large (free-range and organic) eggs all beaten up together. Give it a stir, cover and cook on a low heat ’till it’s all puffed up and cooked right through. A sprinkle of sea salt and you’re done. yum. Nice with red wine and fresh baked bread… or pasta… or new potatoes tossed in olive oil and salt…

OK, that’s it for now, my reserve of mental energy is all used up.

ciao!

sun, beach cafe and a good dollop of marmite…..

With reference to my post yesterday… nope, it never happened. A rough night and a niggling sore throat this morning dictated that a steady spin followed by a pint mug of tea at my favourite beach cafe was a better idea… I’m not complaining either, it was all rather agreeable… a nice 60km trundle through the lanes, a quick stop to enjoy the view at Marazion (pic) and a table in the sun at Godrevy.

I haven’t been in there for a while to say hello to the girls behind the counter… racing, training and the summer crowds all conspired to keep me away, possibly for the better given that the slabs of apricot crumble served with a big sunny smile and nary a snigger for the lycra clad are irresistable. It was strangely quiet down there today, I wasn’t aware of any forecasts of tsunamis, plagues of locusts or anything of the like so maybe it was just that the surf was good and everyone was still in the water. My bike always proves a catalyst for some interesting conversation so these days it gets parked out front to make the most of any opportunities for a chin-wag that may come along. Lady luck was shining today, for a bit, a rather attractive (OK, I may as well say it – she was drop-dead gorgeous) young lady came to join me at my table (key tip: always pick the one large empty table at a busy cafe rather than the deckchair on the grass) to ask about the bike…. transpired she was only asking ‘cos her boyfriend was thinking of buying a road bike… Sadly he then showed up with his classic surfer/catalogue good looks and physique. ah. c’est la vie, or perhaps c’est ma vie… He was a nice guy though so I was happy to talk about titanium and carbon and other bits of jewellery over a mug of tea.I should have come home feeling good, but I didn’t… sitting there surrounded by folk in shorts and so on only reminded me just how scarred my legs are at the moment… it was a good 24 degs in the sun but I couldn’t bring myself to remove my knee warmers… :o(

Darn, I need a drink… back in a mo….

……

OK, I’m back. Thought I’d share my favourite post-ride lunch with you. Here it is:

A spicy chickpea flour pancake wrapped around a banana with a good dollop or marmite. yum. I’ve written the recipe down for you just in case you like the black tangy stuff as much as I do… though I suppose you could always use peanut butter instead. This one is a bit dog-eared round the edges I’m afraid ‘cos I was being typically lazy with my quantities and made the batter a litttle too runny. Still tasted good….

By thw way.. with all this talk of cafes and stuff then if you don’t already know, and you’re visiting Cornwall then there’s a review of all the best cafes down west over on my bikepages site.

An elixir for reluctant legs…

Now, my dictionary says that an elixir, amongst other things, is a panacea or cure-all potion. You know the kind of thing.. mix some of this, some of that, throw in a few bats bollocks and cats whiskers, take before bed and everything will be wonderful…. Purely by accident yesterday I experienced a particularly potent blend of elements with a remarkable effect on reluctant legs… sadly though involving more than squirting a caffeinated gel down one’s throat else but with no worse consequences than the onset of a debilitating desire to lie on the sofa with chocolate later in the day. So how did this come about….?

Picture the scene, 10am and my backside (as was my bike…) was parked in a prime sunny spot, with large coffee and gooseberry & date flapjack on the terrace of the Beach café in Sennen Cove (I know, I should have been at a race… excuses in a minute) with a perfect view of the beach and surrounding coastline. It actually felt like summer, a fact happily reinforced by the number of bikinis in evidence down below on the sand …..
I’d been keeping an eye on a distant storm front way out across the ocean to the west all morning, mainly because the cloud formations at the leading edge were so beautiful. I hadn’t actually considered that it might arrive over land sooner than sometime that evening… so halfway through my second coffee I briefly turned my eyes away from the view on offer and noticed that the vanguard of the collected storm cells, all of a sudden, was just a couple of km offshore with some of that nasty wet stuff obscuring the sea below. Bah! Remaining coffee was poured down throat and a tenner thrust at the waitress as pulled shoes and mitts back on ready for a rapid departure. It wasn’t so much the fact that I’d been lulled into a false sense of security by the sun and had no rain gear at all with another 60km of my planned ride to go, rather it was that I’d just cleaned my bike – it was sitting there all nice and sparkly – and I really didn’t want to spoil it just yet :o)
It’s a bugger of a climb out of Sennen, long and consistently steep – it always burns with legs that have been idle for an hour or so and a stomach full of cake before the caffeine has made it into the bloodstream. The road along the cliffs however from Sennen up towards St Ives is fabulous, simply the best cycling road I’ve ever come across in the world… aside from the fantastic cliff-top views and good surface it has a particularly windy, twisty, uppy-downy kind of quality that combined with a tail-wind and a good pair of legs is just one big adrenalin rush. But if the wind is in your face and your legs are tired then it’s pure and painful torture. I was half expecting it to be on the painful side as until that point my legs had been feeling rather reluctant to play along. This is where my elixir comes in I suppose (I know, I’m being stupid but have nothing better to do right now anyway)… a potent combination of strong coffee, a following wind and the threat of a soaking saw me tearing off up the coast, dodging past the few sight-seeing cars, big-ringing up the climbs and throwing the bike around the bends – a truly joyful romp as I settled into that effortless flowing quality of riding that comes so rarely. All the time I had the rogue rain cell keeping pace with me on a slowly converging course, just a km or so to my left at sea…. I made it to Hayle, 40km up the road, in just under an hour still with the squall nipping at my heels but the endorphins were truly pumping by this point so I took my chances and extended the chase on up the coast past Hells Mouth to Portreath (another nice bit of road) before turning inland and heading home. The first big fat drops of rain started plopping down just as I wheeled the bike inside. Perfect. Actually perfect + 1 as the Tour de France stage from London to Canterbury was live on TV and guess what…. there was chocolate in the kitchen.

As for the race, ah yes – excuse time.. well I was all packed and ready to head off with my alarm set for 5.30am… at 3am I was still trying to get some sleep and generally feeling rather crappy so it wasn’t hard to decide that actually it might be kinder to my body to stay in bed a bit longer and then just go riding for the hell of it, a steady 100-120km in the sun before lunch. It has been a while since I did that and it was all rather agreeable I must admit, despite the feeling of guilt at skipping the event as I found my race legs on that coastal stretch above. Ho hum.

Looking back to the Beach café (‘Beach’ is it’s name hence capitalisation….), this really is a fantastic place – ticks all the right boxes (things like offering to fill sticky bottles, great cakes… that kind of thing) for a cycling pit-stop and the waitresses still smile nicely as you ride your bike up onto the wooden terrace area amongst the tables, something I’ve not dared to try at many joints. Recommended if you’re in the area on two wheels and the climb back out doesn’t frighten you.

And now for something completely different, with a distinctly tenuous link to the rest of today’s epithet. Spurtles….. I have a spurtle, I do – honest. I use it nearly every morning before going riding…. Fear not, despite it’s long, smooth and blunt-at-one-end quality it’s not rude…. and if you know what a spurtle is then I salute you as a fellow porridge connisseur. I was disappointed however to find that the resident Scotsman at work hadn’t a clue… such is the creeping advance of Rice Crispies society I suppose. Oh yes, what is it for those not in the know… sadly the name is the most interesting thing about it. The rest of it you can about read here and if that tickles your fancy then how about the Golden Spurtle for your hols next year….?