And so the past two years has been a new adventure in continuing down the path life. I’m grateful for the friends and family who have been supportive while I re-enter back into ‘real life’ (and I still feel I’m re-entering!). I am doing my best to approach and enjoy things one day at a time, something that was much easier to do on my bike trip.

A novel little bit of photographic evidence of my journey can be found on Google Streetview. While leaving Dawson City, Yukon with fellow cyclist Baptiste, passing defunct mining equipment and mounds of tailings, I saw the Google car with cameras mounted on top drive by. Of course I was surprised to see them in a rather remote part of the world, and wondered if they had recorded me. It wasn’t until a couple years later that I remembered to check and inch through the Streetview to find myself (due to the timing, I don’t think Baptiste was recorded, he was always a ways up the road). Though memories fade, pictures like this vividly bring back moments:

[Sadly, Google Streetview has removed that segment of the road. I'm keeping the link below in case they ever make it active again.]

View Larger Map

Steve, an editor at the REI Blog, interviewed me and the blog post just went up yesterday. Check it out! We’ll be doing a live Q&A later this afternoon at 3PM Pacific on REI’s Facebook page, hope to see you there!

Final Observations from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

Anyone visit here anymore? I’ve titled this video Final Observations in keeping with the names I gave the other videos I started putting together in Central America. The scenes are all from Peru and Bolivia, which to me was the high point of the trip, both because of the mountains and the great cycling to be had. After Bolivia came Argentina and Chile, but I don’t know if I’ll be making a video from there.  However, I have spent a while sorting though and editing a bunch of pictures from the last few months of my trip, I’ll be adding those here soon.

Since I last updated about 5 months ago, needless to say, I’ve been living a life much less transient than the previous two years.  I live on the north side of Chicago and work part-time at REI in Northbrook and more often than not commute the 28 miles round trip on bike, though sometimes I take the Metra for part of the way. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about life of touring the bike. I often remind myself how much I missed Chicago, but I also am still getting used to being here after being gone so long. Bike travel is still on my mind, but it will be a while before I can save up and go on another extended trip.  For now I content myself with long rides in the Chicago area and Wisconsin. But I miss the mountains very, very much!

A few days after my interview on WTTW, a political science professor from DePaul University here in Chicago got in touch with me.  Dr. Harry Wray has taught a class called Biking and Politics for the last 10 years, and asked if I would talk to his class this fall. His class focuses on the place of biking in a city like Chicago, and he takes students on trips every week to experience different aspects the city. I’ll be joining his class this Friday at 3pm to tell his students about my trip.  It is open to the public, so folks in Chicago are welcome to come.

[EDIT Oct. 5]

I’d like to share this video that has had over 2 million views online, coincidentally, it was uploaded to YouTube the same time I posted my video a week ago. A song with verses that speak of the people and places of Latin America, and a chorus that reminds us that the most important things in life cannot be bought. And an opening scene set in some very Peruvian mountains.

So there you are!  Many thanks to Chicago Tonight for having me!

Last week, about 30 miles from Ushuaia, I ran into some cyclists, but not just any cyclists!  Over three years ago I had been reading a handful of blogs of folks biking or going to bike from Alaska to Argentina, including the Vogel family.  They set off in the summer of 2008, and I had been in touch with them a few times, and let them know I’d be leaving a year later in 2009, and wouldn’t it be cool if I caught up with them, since they were planning on taking a year longer than I was.  (I actually met them in Mendoza when I took a bus to meet Hawk, but since that was on a bike I don’t think it really counted.)  But sure enough, on the last day of our trips, I caught up to them and rode with them for a while.  Their two sons, Davy and Daryl, both 13, are now the youngest to cycle the length of the Americas, so congrats to them.

As I rolled past the ‘finish line’, the entrance into Ushuaia, and I had an unexpected welcome committee of sorts.  Susana and her husband Antonio, who head the local cycling club had heard about the Vogel family and wanted to be there to greet them.  But since I got there first, they kindly offered to bike with me to the campsite, and gave me a quick tour of the city.  They invited me over to their house for mate the next day, and so I came over.  I came back the day after, and they helped me find a bike box.  By the third day they offered to make a big lunch, and I certainly didn’t want to miss that (Antonio works at a gourmet restaurant!).  So all in all we spent hours around the table, chatting about life in Ushuaia and Chicago, and a lot about bikes.  On Friday they even took me to the airport.  So, I had arrived in Ushuaia only thinking of it as the end point, and that my trip was over, but in reality I met yet even more wonderful people and was truly sad to say goodbye.

I’ve been in Buenos Aires for a few days now, and have spent most of my time walking around town and riding the Subte metro system.  I used to be a pretty good city walker, but I think I’ve lost my touch, having run into a few pedestrians and even a cyclist.  After months in wide open spaces, I’m having to get used to the feeling of being trapped in the streets with highrises all over, unable to see the horizon.

Tomorrow I fly back to Mexico and will get to see my parents.   They bid me farewell in June of 2009 somewhere outside of Portland, when Luke and I set off on out bike trip to Seattle (we didn’t make it anywhere near Seattle but that is a different story).  I am eagerly anticipating being back, and of course, enjoying some home baked treats.  After some time with them, I’ll be making my way back to Chicago, but the exact details are being kept a surprise!

Hope to see you all soon!

[Yes, that is me, holding up the cast iron skillet I've been hauling along the whole way]

At around 3:00pm local time I got to Ushuaia, after almost 21 months since departing from Prudhoe Bay, Alaska. Right now the fact that I’m done with this trip is only starting to sink in. As far as I’m concerned, tomorrow is just another day, in that I’ll be drinking coffee when I get up. But of course it will be unusual in that I won’t be getting on my bike, I’ll be giving it and I a rest for at least little while.

I’ve already received dozens of messages from folks congratulating me. Thank you so much for joining me on this journey! I can’t wait to see you in person. Stay tuned to the blog, I still have tons of pictures and stories that I’ll be posting. But for now, I’m going to go curl up in my sleeping bag, I didn’t sleep much last night!

17500 from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

17000 from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

Made it to 17,000 miles (27,400 km) on the odometer yesterday.  Why am I shouting?  It was so windy and I wanted to make sure I could be heard. And it really was that difficult to hold the camera still.

“Hello, welcome to 17,000 miles.  It is windy out here.  This is the second to last 500 mile update.  In 500 more miles I will be on the Tierra del Fuego island.  I’m in the middle of the Patagonian pampa.  That is all, goodbye.”

“Patagonian pampa” might be a contradiction; in Argentina, the pampa are the lowlands further north in the country. But I recall the word being used in countries like Ecuador and Peru to describe treeless plains, after all, the word comes from Quechua.

At any rate, the winds prevail from the west from the Andes, and since I have been travelling mostly southwest for the past week, I’ve had some nice assistance.  But it isn’t always easy!  The first 20 miles from Gobernador Gregores yesterday were mostly south (click here to see my route mapped out), with the wind to my side, which meant leaning into the wind and riding the bike at the same time.  During the odd lull in the wind, I’d find it hard to steer, as if my handlebars were crooked; after a while I had gotten used to using my body weight to lean and balance the bike.  I actually found it easiest to keep the bike moving, once you stop, trying to stand up was difficult.

The wind was easily as strong as when I decided I had to hitch in Tehuantepec, Mexico, after my bike and I tumbled into a ditch.  But yesterday the wind was steady and from my right, in Tehuantepec it came in gusts from the left, and the heavy truck traffic meant I couldn’t balance.

Finally I reached a left turn in the highway, and was pushed along at speeds of up to 30mph (50kmph).  I had been on the road for 2 hours already, and the prospect of 100 more miles was rather daunting, but I didn’t have much of an option, there is really very little out here and finding shelter would have been difficult.  I was swept along (save for the few times when the road turned back into the wind) and got to Comandante Piedrabuena just before dusk.  I fell asleep and could feel my body swaying back and forth as if I had just gotten off a boat.

This town is on a river, just a couple miles away is the Atlantic ocean, which I haven’t seen in over 9 months since Turbo, Colombia.  I think I’ll take another day off here, after all, I’ve got about 2 weeks to do just 500 miles, NBD (no big deal).

On my way out of Coyhaique, I was feeling less and less OK with my decision to catch the earlier ferry at the end of the Careterra Austral, which would involve hitching. I toyed with the idea of taking the one a week later and hitching afterward if I had to. But I didn’t like that option either. When I got to the junction on the Careterra for Puerto Ibañez, it was raining, and I sat under a bus stop, and thought about my options. The decision to head down to Puerto Ibañez wasn’t easy, but in the end, I think it was the right one.

In short, I think my body, mind and bike are much more weary than I realize (for what it is worth, the French tourists at the campsite here said I look tired, but that was before my morning coffee).  Despite plenty of sleep lately, I wake up and my legs feel rather sluggish. There is a season for everything, and at the moment the route I was planning to do was looking more and more daunting, and far too rushed. I’ve had stretches of grueling and challenging (and rewarding) routes on this trip, but perhaps now is not the time for more of that.

Taking the Easy Way Out? Perhaps, but the weeks of biking ahead will have their challenges, so maybe more like Picking My Battles. Quitting (the Careterra Austral) While I’m Ahead? Most likely; I had a stupendous week of great weather and serene camping, and am glad to remember my time in Chile like that.

I do think about what I’ll be missing (and travelers who have been to or want to go to the places I am missing out on may think I made the wrong choice, but too bad):  Riding on the Ruta 40 again (but this time triple digits instead of kilometer markers 4,300-3200 like I did back in January).  Seeing the Rio Baker, one of the biggest and prettiest of Chile, before it is dammed (damned). The Villa O’Higgins crossing and the bike/hike into Argentina described by some cyclists as “a must do” and “epic”. The hikes and scenery around El Chalten and Calafate; Mt. Fitzroy and Torres del Paine. But if I start to think about all the things I didn’t do, or detours I didn’t take on this trip (or in life!), then I’d loose sight of the things I have experienced and cherish.  I’ve made a decision, and I have no option but to stick to it and make the most of it.  Yes, you only live once, but in this once lifetime, I do plan on travelling more than once!

The ferry ride across to Chile Chico was only a couple hours, as the Lake Carrera (Lago Buenos Aires on the Argentine side) is rather narrow at this point. My ride into Argentina and to Perito Moreno was great, with constant tailwind from the west. And of course, a much more noticeable display of Catholic fervor than in Chile, with a Stations of the Cross that spread out over a mile or two (albeit backwards for me), and huge roadside shrines. And, aside from the huge blue lake, the scenery is quite similar to what I experienced in northwestern Argentina, wide open spaces, and not much out there except short scrub, permanently bent sideways due to the wind. And behind me, rain clouds that seemed to stop right along the mountain chain along the Chilean border. But it is much cooler than when I was biking between Salta and Mendoza. The days are shorter (just around 13 hours from dawn till dusk), and the noontime sun much lower on the horizon. (Through the wonder of hemispheres and airplane travel, I’ll be back north just after the equinox, in time to start enjoying longer and longer days into the northern summer.)

So where to from here? My most likely route is to head straight east (with a nice tailwind) on Ruta 43 until I hit Ruta 3 on the Atlantic side of Argentina. From there I’ll continue south to Rio Gallegos, then cross into Chile and take a ferry to the Tierra Del Fuego island, and back into Argentina to Ushuaia. Aside from the wind, which can be quite a curse when not a blessing, I’m looking forward to some long stretches to just bike and let my mind wander.

For now, I’m enjoying a day off in Perito Moreno, doing not much. The only thing I have to do here is buy groceries and exchange the boatload (pun intended) of Chilean cash I took out to pay for the ferry. But the value it will loose in Argentine pesos is just a sunk cost (no pun intended, I have friends on that boat!).

I lost Greg for a day while he tried his luck at fishing, but met an Argentine cyclist Santiago enjoying his vacation days by bike. I was on the road in the morning before him (not before sharing some coffee that Greg’s sister brought down), I don’t often find cyclists that can take longer to get going in the morning than me. At the end of the day, Santiago, Greg, and I all ran into each other again in Trevelin, where we found a campsite that 3 more cyclists ended up at, Evan from Washington, Peter from Utah and Robin from Scotland (with moustache handlebars and handlebar moustache).

Having not really partaken in an asado, the Argentine meat grill, despite being in the country for 2 months already, it was a good time to do this, considering we were in the company of a skilled grillmaster, Santiago. And aside from the meat (which I can take or leave, maybe I should just become a vegetarian for once and for all), we also cooked up veggies right in the coals.  But surely you must wrap everything in wasteful aluminum foil, right?  This isn’t the case, the potatoes, onion and garlic all came out just fine.

Chile was just down the road!  After enjoying another dozen pastries, we set off under a cloudless sky and up to the border.  This marked the last country to cross into by bike, bringing the total to 15.  (However, I will be crossing the Chile/Argentina border 3 more times.)  We got to Futaleufu, just over the border and found a campsite.  After a really slow start the next day, it was now the afternoon when Greg and I were about set to pedal out of town when Robin and Evan ran into us.  They had just convinced each other to go rafting, and hoped we’d be in as well to maybe get a discount.  I flat out told Greg I had no interest, but he should do it if he wanted, and that I’d keep on cycling, but part of me said I should go for it.  Through persuasive arguments, Rob and Evan convinced us that an afternoon of rafting was in store.  After all, when else would we be in one of the top rafting rivers in the world?  So I used my birthday money from Grandma Kelly (thanks Grams!) for an early birthday treat.

It was indeed worth it, and am glad to have done it.  I had been rafting in Tennessee a decade ago, but I think this was much wilder of a ride.  We had a great guide from Peru (and another kayaker and catamaran ahead of us for safety), and the river was crystal clear (as they all seem to be around here).  Probably not something I’ll go try again soon, but it was quite a thrill and an incredible location.

Greg had to head back to Argentina for bike parts, so I kept going on my own.  A day’s ride west gets you to the junction with the Careterra Austral, the highway that runs 1,200 km from Puerto Montt to Villa O’Higgins, and only in the past decade has the road been connected the whole way.  What followed was an amazing week, I’d like to think my birthday week, only a couple cloudy days with a little drizzle.  Everynight I camped, and not once in a pay campsite.  So no hot showers but plenty of rivers and lakes to bathe in.  I spent my birthday morning reading the cards that were sent down with Hawk back in November. I’d really love to show you some pictures highlighting the week, but the internet connection is too miserably slow, you’ll have to take my word for it that it is beautiful around here.

Many thanks for all the birthday wishes and contributions via my ‘Fly Matt Home’ page (I’m still working through my list of thank you notes).  Some exciting news is that I’ve bought my Buenos Aires – Mexico City leg of my journey, I’ll be flying the 31st of March.  So that gives me around four weeks to get to Ushuaia, despite being glad to have that ticket and have found a good deal, I am running into the fact that I have to face that this trip is quickly coming to an end.  I’m trying not to get stressed thinking about my return back to the US, and things like finding a job (hopefully one with health insurance!).

The route I plan takes me all the way to the end of the Careterra Austral, where there is a ferry that takes you across a lake and close to the Argentine border.  From here there is a trail that is about 20km to the nearest road, and involves carrying your bike in parts at times.  The problem is that since it is the end of the season, the ferry only leaves every Saturday, and is 350 miles of mostly dirt road away.  To do this in a week would be tough, and I can’t really slow down to do it in two weeks, as I won’t have much time on the other end to get to Ushuaia.

So my plan for the next week is to just keep biking at an enjoyable pace, and at some point hitch to make enough time to get to Villa O’Higgins by Friday evening.  Now, up until this point I’ve only hitched twice, but I think I’m at the point in my trip, especially after a great time last week, where I really am realizing the journey isn’t about the destination, or being a purist and not taking a ride when weather or logistics necessitate it.  Sometimes I wonder why I should try and get to Ushuaia at all, maybe I’d be quite content sitting by a lake for the next month.  But part of me does recognize completing the task I set out to achieve 20 months ago.

Keep tuned with my twitter posts on the right hand side of my page for the most up to date information and locations!  The countdown starts!  I have about 10 degrees of latitude further south to go, and around 1,000 miles left.  ¡Si se puede!

16000 from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

Don’t eat cookies right before you shoot a video!  I got hooked on the Frutigran brand in Argentina.  The ones with flax and chia seed were great.

16500 from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

Sporting my Fine Italian Merino sweater bought at Village Discount for a few dollars.

While I walked around town looking for pastries, I enjoyed the nippy weather. I don’t think I’ve been this cold since sometime in Bolivia (or in Chile when hiking with Hawk). Just yesterday I picked up a 16 pound (7kg) duffel bag that I sent ahead from Mendoza. Among other things, I sent my down jacket and a couple wool layers which will be good to have. However, upon strapping it to my bike I asked myself why I have so much junk in the first place. I think I’ll try to ship as much stuff as I can to Buenos Aires and pick it up there. Or maybe I should just throw it out.

Recently, I’ve been noticing some bulges on my rear rim, which mean I can’t brake smoothly, as the bulges lock up the wheel. On gravel or wet pavement this means I skid around and wear out the tire faster than usual. (For cyclists out there reading this, the blue protective layer on the Schwalbe Marathon Plus MTB is now showing through, but I’ve read in places that this shouldn’t be a problem… we’ll see.) I took it to a mechanic and was told what I thought would be the case: the rim has opened up, and even if you could bend it back, it is already weakened and not a good idea. So I had to get a new rim, but the mechanic is closed today, so I’ll bike to El Bolson on the old rim and get it replaced tomorrow morning. When I asked what may have caused it, I was told either inflating the tire too much (unlikely), or overloading the bike (You don’t say!). Having gotten it in Trujillo, Peru only (“only”?) 4,000 miles ago, I had hoped it would last until the end, but it did see some of the rougher dirt roads of Peru and Bolivia.

Dear spokes, rims, bottom bracket, pedals, derailleurs, bar end shifters, Ortlieb buckles, mind and body, we got this, we can do it! Don’t fail me now, just 1,600 miles to go.

Well, it is almost noon here, but I still have 8 hours of sunlight (and hopefully not rain) to try and do the 75 mile ride to El Bolson.

I’m glad to have finished the 2,000 miles of northwestern Argentina. It wasn’t horrible, it was more of a mental hurdle than anything. When I took off from Salta at the beginning of January, I knew I had over 3,000 miles left, which was a little overwhelming. I was in the upper corner of the map, and Argentina just looked so big. I had many days of long stretches of mostly flat roads that seemed pretty monotonous. I encountered some pretty bad wind (though I know it gets much worse further south!) that made for some pretty miserable days.

Just in the past few days the scenery has changed significantly. No longer are there wide open plains of scrubby plants and sand, but I’m now in Patagonia, in a region known for mountains and forests. I’ve been camping by crystal clear rivers a lot lately which has been very enjoyable. It is the summer vacation season in Argentina so that means this area is really jam packed and roads pretty busy, but I’m not letting it get to me.

From here I head to Bariloche and El Bolson, where I’ll meet up with Greg. We biked big chunks of Colombia, Ecuador and Peru together, and after several months without a regular cycling companion, it will be good to share some more miles on the road. We’ll cross over to Chile and bike a good portion of the Careterra Austral, supposedly a rugged and remote road, which attracts many cyclists.

I’ve done a quick count, and it looks like I have around 1,700 miles left. I’ve traveled about 110 degrees of latitude and have 14 left. For the first time during the last week, I finally caught a taste of the finish line. No longer does it feel that I’m in the middle of a trip, but rather, that the finish line will come around closer than I know it.

If I didn’t update much in January, it was probably because I wasn’t feeling terribly inspired by the trip. I think the next month will be different, but I’ll be on the road a lot and in remote areas, and may be so caught up with enjoying the last few weeks. But I’ll do my best to keep you in the loop, after all, you deserve to experience this portion as much as I do, for having stuck with me along the ride so far.

14500 from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

15000 from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

15500 from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

The videos above were taken near Cafayate, Jachal and Malargüe, respectively.  I’ve still got a week of riding through the desert, then I look forward to being in the wetter, cooler region of Argentina.  The miles are flying by even though some days it really doesn’t seem like it.  I’ll cross into what is considered Patagonia sometime this week.

I’ve run into several Argentine touring cyclists lately.  It seems that aside from the US, more than any other country on this trip, Argentina has the most cyclists travelling within their own country, and especially right now, which is when most people have vacation time.  Heading south is Juan Alberto “Superman” (possibly got this nickname by, among other feats, having completed 49 marathons), who just started a year long trip around Argentina on his 49th birthday.   Emiliano from Mar de Plata is also heading along the same route for the next few weeks.  We rode together a couple of days ago, and though our speeds and schedules differ, I’ll look forward to running in to them again as we all head south.

After four days straight and about 260 miles from Mendoza, I took a day off in Malargüe, a tidy little city with a big tourism industry.  Nearby is a ski resort, but it is the summer here, so all the ski rental stores are shuttered.  The city has a brand new planetarium, last night there was a documentary and then a tutorial on finding different constellations, which is helpful as I don’t know much about the southern stars (or the northern ones for that matter).  So if I get lost and am cycling at night, I can now find the Southern Cross.

Chicago is (among many other things)…

Having a kitchen. Performing culinary experiments that explode and leave stains on the ceiling.  Grocery stores where no one speaks English and you can find coconut milk, chipotle peppers, and the most divine baklava.

Having people over and somehow making the rickety IKEA table for eight people fit twelve.  Chalkboard murals, potted plants and chocolate cake made with stout.

Chicago is not letting the winter getting the best of you.  Get outside!  And if not, go to Moody’s and enjoy a blue cheeseburger in front of the fireplace, peanut shells strewn all over the floor.

Broomball!

Chicago is obsessively checking the weather buoy out on the Lake, waiting for the perfect wind speed and prevailing angle to go fly the kite.  And get the perfect shot from above.

Chicago is near Wisconsin and Michigan, great places to go explore by canoe and bike.

Chicago is the North Shore Channel, gliding over the flat water before dawn, the clunk of the oarlocks music to the rower’s soul.

Chicago is where you start your road trips that end in Utah, where you can look at goats.

****

I started this post a couple weeks ago, but didn’t want to post it until I was sure about being back in 100 days.

It has been five weeks since I last made progress on the bike (!).  The first few were my detour to go hiking with Hawk.  Then I got back to Salta where my bike was stored, and took my time getting ready to go.  I was set to leave with another cyclist and then got really sick, and spent several days around Christmas in bed.  Little by little got better, and I could have probably left a few days ago.  But after so much time off the bike, it is so easy to take ‘just one more day’ off.

So, less than 100 days, but I’ve still got about 3,000 miles to go.  And it won’t be easy, but I feel the end is in sight.  I’m a little terrified of getting back on the saddle, I will have lost a lot of my conditioning.  But a year ago I took this much time off the bike, and after a few days I was back into it.

This post if anything is a reminder to myself that if I don’t leave tomorrow, that is one more day later I’ll be back in Chicago.  It may sound as if I’m not thinking about the actual biking I have left, in a way that is true at the moment.  I know I’ll be happy to be back on the road but for now I just need to motivate myself to get going.

Shave and a haircut from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

Exactly one year since I trimmed down my beard to the smallest setting using an electric buzzer (so it wasn’t quite starting from scratch). This time I got it done using an old-fashioned razor.

I’d like your help picking out 5 entries to submit to the contest. The guidelines for their competition state: “We are looking for striking digital images that capture the spirit, wonder and adventure of bicycle touring and travel.”  While I’ve come across some amazing scenery and settings, most of my pictures don’t include anything cycling related (I just happened to get there by bike), but after a year and a half on the road I have a few pictures that might be worth entering, mostly of other cyclists I’ve biked with at some point.  Last year’s winners can be seen in here [PDF].

Here they are, in no particular order (actually, they are in reverse chronological order).

[UPDATE Jan 2nd:  I ended up submitting pictures 1, 3, 5, 11, 14, though in slightly different versions because of the resolution that was required in the competition (ie I had to zoom out of some of them so the resolution would be high enough).  I'll update you guys as soon as I know the results of the competition.  Thanks all for your input]

I’ll submit them sometime next week, they are due by the end of December.  Any input would be appreciated!  Thanks much.

1.  Greg approaching the 16,000 foot pass in Huascaran National Park, Peru.

2. Same as above.

3.  Same as above

4.  Same as above

5.  Cycling buddies Torrey, Lucie and Greg entering Huascaran National Park in Peru.

6.  Dylan crossing an old railroad bridge.

7.  Not just any upsidedown picture, this one is of me just a few miles away from the Continental Divide at around 3,500 feet above sea level, with a view of the Pacific ocean, don’t know of anywhere else in the Americas that is possible except for narrow Panama.  On the way down, got up to 50mph and lost my sunglasses.

8.  Greg and Paul near Almirante, Panama.

9.  Just another day in sticky, sweaty Central America.  Paul and I take a break on the road.

10.  Near Escalante, Utah.

11.  Generally don’t think a slightly blurry shadow picture might have much appeal, but the light was amazing one afternoon in Montana.

12.  The best bathrooms on the trip… Canadian provincial outhouses.  Generally pretty clean, and no plumbing to break. (Yes, you can see my bike so maybe it counts as a “bike touring” picture).

13.  Alaska!  I almost decapitated myself with the ax hanging in the antlers.  I bumped it with my head and it fell, nearly missing me and the bike.

14.  Baptiste crossing the Susitna river on the Denali Highway.

Rolling out of bed and deciding I couldn’t skip coffee meant that I left Hawk waiting at the Santiago airport after his flight got in (sorry dude!).  But hey, in the big picture, a half an hour isn’t that much, and in a way, it is somewhat miraculous that we both ended up there on the date that we set back in October.

When we met up, we still had no idea what we’d be doing.  I mentioned in my last post we decided to go “all in” and find one destination to aim for, to minimize hopping on and off buses and maximize time spent being somewhere (and I must say the gamble paid off).

We spent that afternoon catching up, and it was soon apparent that my face-to-face conversation skills are lacking at the moment.  Despite writing emails, Skyping with family, and reading websites in English on a regular basis, I’d often blank during a sentence because I’d forgotten a word.  ”I just can’t talk English sometimes!” I actually exclaimed (potential future employers need not worry, I’m sure I’ll regain my fluency upon returning to the US).  Add to that my propensity to mumble (what else would you expect from a bearded guy that has been wandering around mostly alone for the past year and a half?), and it made for some moments of poor communication.  Even walking down the sidewalk was an issue “Where are we going?” “I don’t know, I was following you!”  Yet somehow we survived a week in the woods.

The guy that runs the hostel we were at told us about a trail in southern Chile, and after reading about it, we both were sold.  Our bus didn’t leave until the next evening, so we spent the day in Santiago walking around and seeing some of the city.  The smog got to my eyes and we both decided we’d be glad to be on our way soon.

The overnight bus got us to Puerto Montt, one of the bigger cities in Chilean Patagonia.  Despite having been to only one Alaskan coastal town (Hyder), we agreed that we felt like we were in an Alaskan coastal town.  Also, having only been on the coast while in the tropics the past year, with sweltering heat, palm trees and hammocks a given, it was a unique feeling to be on the coast like this.  On our way in there was a billboard ad for coloring for salmon “Good looking salmon sells better!!”.

We made our way to the police station, as we were under the impression we needed paperwork done to leave the country over this particular border crossing (we didn’t).  We also did the last of our shopping before getting on a local bus to the quiet town of Cochamo, located on a little ocean bay.

The influence in the architecture from German settlers in the area is evident (I actually have no idea if this church looks German, but there were plenty of other buildings that did).

We happened upon Hostal Maura, which seemed to be the only business open on a Sunday afternoon, and were glad to see they served dinner.  Mauro and his wife run the place and he was quite helpful in telling us about the area, even though we were straightforward about not being in the market for a guided tour.  We did however pay for a shuttle service to the trailhead, which is at least 5 miles from the town (after our interaction with friendly locals the coming week, I’m sure we could have easily hitched there too).  Based on his friendliness and enthusiasm for the beauty and adventure to be found in the area, I’m sure the horseback rides and kayak trips he offers are top quality.

There is a plot of land near the trailhead that has basic camping spots and access to the Cochamo river.  There were workers putting in the beehives for the season.

We cooked up another meal there and didn’t bother putting up a tent, the sky was clear and no rain in sight.  The next morning clouds had rolled in but still no rain.  We had as a goal to get to La Junta, a little settlement near the river of the same name, where there are a couple of lodges open during the summer season (November to April).  We soon found that this well worn trail that has been used by cattle ranchers and Jesuit priests for a century or two was very muddy at times.  I had read a description that the trail had been worn down 10 feet in to the ground at places, and didn’t believe it until I saw it.  Every year horses, cows and people dig up a layer of dirt which is then washed away.  The ruts get deeper and deeper and soon you are walking in narrow meandering passageways.  Other times the trail passed flat clearings which collected water and knee deep mud.

But we couldn’t let this get to us!  After all, we were in an amazing temperate rainforest, surrounded by trees covered in moss and vines.  Aside from the trail, there was no evidence of humans (ie no garbage strewn about).  We found a spot by the river to eat lunch, despite being close to where the river flows into the ocean, the water was perfectly clear and you could the bottom of the river with amazing detail.  If it were sunny and warm a dip would have been in order.

At some point after lunch Hawk decided to wait for me to catch up (as he had been doing every so often), but somehow I had taken a split in the trail and ended up ahead of him.  An couple hours later I got to La Junta without taking more than 5 minutes to sit down, and didn’t consider that I had overtaken him, so was a little irritated when I didn’t see him there or that he hadn’t stop to wait for me at all.  The shelter and campsite at La Junta were an obvious meeting point, why had he kept going?  It turns out that after waiting for me, he finally turned around and hiked back to where he had last seen me, then hiked all the way until he got to La Junta.  Among some of the confusion is he didn’t know what was at La Junta (I hadn’t explained to him), he assumed it was just a rustic campsite when actually there was a shelter by the camping and a lodge across the river.

Anyway, we were reunited and decided to work on our communication a little more, and stay within earshot of each other on the trail.  To cross the Cochamo River (camping is on the north side, the lodge on the south side), the folks at the Refugio have set up a zip line (forgive me if this is not the technical term for it) with a little cart and a pulley system to move back and forth.  I had already done it once when I arrived to go see if Hawk was already at the lodge, and was happy to do it again.  I generally don’t like heights, but I think it helped that you are suspended only a few feet above water.

We didn’t spend much time at the lodge and headed back to the campsite to get dinner going as we wanted to get an early start the next morning.  Well, it started raining that night, so we got up the next day and both agreed that maybe we’d rather hang out at La Junta and not hike in the rain.  That we had been greeted by the friendly girls with beautiful smiles that work in the kitchen might have had something to do with our decision.  We ate breakfast in the shelter, and Hawk spied some funny looking birds walking around just outside (can anyone help identify it?).

We headed back over the zipline and got to meet Daniel and Sylvina, the couple who own and run the Refugio Cochamo.  Up until a few years ago they had a smaller, more rustic cabin across the river, but recently had built a really beautiful cabin (made from local timber and boards deftly made only with a chainsaw).  Daniel is from the US and Sylvina from Argentina, they met as rockclimbers, and after a trip to the Cochamo valley (known for its huge granite rock faces that make for great climbing), decided to buy some land there.  Daniel warmly greeted us and told us that even though we were camping on the other side (and even if we had camped for free off their property), we were more than welcome to hang out in the Refugio.  I’ve come across many haughty businesses on this trip that cater to wealthy tourists, poke my head in and think “This scrubby cyclist will probably not be appreciated here”, and go find somewhere else to hang out.  So we unabashedly stuck around for the afternoon and evening, and never felt we were overstaying our welcome.

We had a coffee break (break from what I couldn’t tell you) with some delicious Intelligentsia (roasters in Chicago) that I had asked my friend Cooper to send down.  I’ve only come across coffee this good a few times by chance on this trip, so I savored it as best I could!  It speaks of the local coffee culture here that the freshest coffee I’ve had was shipped from Central America to Chicago, roasted, and then sat in Hawk’s backpack for a week in Mexico before I enjoyed it.  Coffee snobs would say that was a week too long to get to me, but it was still better than anything I’ve had since my lucky find in Peru.

We also had the joy of hanging out with (/babysit) Daniel and Sylvina’s son Zen (short for Zenon), who is 5 (I think) and quite bilingual (Parents!!! If you have the chance, immerse your kid in a 2nd language either at home or at school), so it was great to speak in Spanglish.  Besides running around playing chase with Zen, Hawk offered a very creative geography lesson.  Ever inquisitive, Zen kept asking what state or country was next to the previous one (“And then? And then?”), so this is how the map ended up.  My contribution was reading a story book and cutting out snowflakes.

Since we hadn’t planned this day off, and had only brought in so much of our own food, we decided to spring for one of their delicious meals cooked on the wood-burning stove.  Not cheap by a frugal backpacker’s standards, but a pretty good deal considering the quality, quantity, and the fact that everything is brought in by foot and made from scratch (Sylvina has a garden that should provide some produce later this season).

We also split a refrigerated beer, one of the first for La Junta.  Daniel had hiked up the trail with a refrigerator on his back (!) and had just got it up and running that afternoon.  A small turbine installed a ways up a river that runs behind the cabin is enough for a few small appliances in the cabin.

Though we thoroughly enjoyed hanging out with Daniel, Sylivina, Zen, and Martina and Celeste, we said goodbye as we had decided to leave the next morning, rain or shine, and went back to the campsite.

We were up and on our way the next morning, and first thing was to cross La Junta river.  We could have forded it, but it was cloudy and cold, so we decided to hike upstream to where there is a bridge.

At some point we went up the wrong trail and ended up having to backtrack, which set us back an hour or so.  But whatever!  We kept on for several hours, through lots of mud.

At some point we realized we had been hiking up a valley and were a ways from the Cochamo river.  I was under the impression that we’d follow it most of the way to get to El Arco by the end of the day, where there was a shelter.  We took our bags off and walked down the trail a few minutes, and could see nothing more than a bunch of more mud.  Having doubts if we were on the right trail (we were), being cold and wet from the drizzle all day, and knowing we still had the two toughest days ahead of us on the way to Argentina, meant we decided to turn around and make our way back to La Junta.  We wouldn’t achieve our goal of making it to the border, but decided that going further might put us at risk of getting lost with not a lot of food, and we didn’t want to risk that.

So, we backtracked for three hours and made it to El Traidor river, where earlier that morning we had stopped for lunch.  We only had a few hours to go to La Junta and figured we’d make it back there the next morning and do some hiking around there.  So we set up our tent in a clearing on the east side of the river.

That night the rain started coming down hard.  Early in the morning Hawk muttered “Don’t know if we’ll be able to cross the river”.  ”Whatever, because that would mean we’re stuck here, that can’t happen” I told myself, and ignored what I thought sounded like heavy rocks being dragged down the river.  Hoping the rain might stop sometime soon, and exhausted from the long hike the day before, we decided to just sleep in some more.  But the rain didn’t stop, and the tent started to get really soggy.

We considered our options.  One was to hike upstream until we found somewhere narrow enough to cross, but that might take many hours, especially if there wasn’t a trail to follow.  The thought of bushwhacking in the pouring rain seemed not only no fun, but also dangerous with the risk of hypothermia.   The evening before, we had spied a little cabin at the other end of the clearing, but had not explored it as we were set on getting dinner made and to get bed as soon as we could.  I seemed to remember it not having a lock on it, so suggested we might go take shelter there.  We were worried about two things though.  Surely the owner of it would show up and wouldn’t take a liking to us squatting there.  Surely the place was mouse infested and we’d catch hanta virus.  But then we looked under our sleeping pads and saw the rain had begun to seep in, we decided we really didn’t have an option.

Before we had left the tent Hawk had already declared we were on rations.  We really only had a day’s worth of food left (which we were planning on using from El Arco to Lake Vidal where a few families live and would be able to get basic goods and a meal), plus some odds and ends of snacks.  So I ate two pieces of bread with some jelly, and Hawk, with more self restraint, just one piece.  Also, no coffee, as we were couped up in the tent and couldn’t use the stove.

We packed up and moved our bags over to the cabin and found a note that basically said “Clean up after yourself”.  This and the presence of odds and ends of clothes and food left behind by others gave us the feeling that this place was used as a temporary shelter and we shouldn’t be too worried staying here.

Still not resigned to staying here, we discussed our pretty limited options again and quickly decided we were best off focusing on staying warm and dry (it was in the 40′s), and that venturing out with limited food and a leaky tent didn’t make sense when we had a roof over our heads.

The cabin was pretty big, on one end a fire pit with a bench/bed on either side.  The other end had some branches left behind by previous guests to dry, and a shelf with some cookware.  We rolled out our bags and we (or at least I) began our hibernation.  I had become pretty anxious over the prospect of surviving on little food for who knows how long, so decided I should just lie there and use as little calories as possible.

Now, I’m pretty laid back and could spend a several days in a cabin if I had to, but not knowing when the rain would stop and if the river would ever go down had me in a pretty mopey state.  So I just laid there for most of the afternoon, and surprisingly, Hawk did as well for hours on end (Hawk is not known for sitting still!).  We were still damp, and it was quite cold, so we decided to start a little fire and cook some dinner (I think lunch was a handful of peanuts).

When we had moved into the cabin I had spotted what looked like a potato plant in the corner.  Turns out there were 5 good potatoes growing under there (I saved some eyes and threw them in the same corner, hopefully in a few months more will grow again for the next stranded hikers).  So for dinner that night we ate rather well.  A potato chowder of sorts, made with some chopped onions, some bullion, and a bunch of powdered milk.  So spirits were raised after this meal, but not too much, as the rain kept on going and going.

Our plan was to set the alarm to leave early if the rain stopped in the night.  We woke up the next morning, the rain hadn’t let up, and Hawk checked the river again.   The huge rock peaks had sprung waterfalls, dozens of them falling hundreds of feet, and the snow line had moved down quite a ways.  That is all to say it was still wet and even colder than the day before, we decided once again that we were safer inside, despite not having much food.  I think we skipped breakfast (I NEVER skip breakfast), and just lay there for more hours until lunch where we split an apple with peanut butter.

Late that afternoon we felt the rain was letting up.  One good sign was the big puddle outside the doorstep had soaked into the ground.  The river was still impassable but we had hope that the rain would hold off.  After several attempts by Hawk to get me out of bed, to which I responded I was dry and warm in my sleeping bag thank you, I finally got up and went outside and was struck by the beauty of the cliffs which we could catch glimpses of as the clouds rolled along.  It was still drizzling, but we were sure the worst was over, and decided we’d get ready to leave the next morning.  I think I was in a considerably better mood that night, but tried to remain cautiously optimistic about the weather.

A few bursts of rain that night, but in the morning, the river was back down to a passable level, and we packed up, eager to get back to La Junta and the warmth of the Refugio.  It was now Saturday, and we had last seen the folks at La Junta on Tuesday, so they were a little surprised to see us.  They mentioned that the Cochamo river was the highest they’ve seen and that the cabin we’d taken refuge in had been used by others who got stranded in the past.  We told them about what lead us to turn around but confirmed that we were on the right path.  Despite this, maybe it was a mixed blessing we had turned around and gotten to the cabin in time for the 48 hours of rain, as opposed to El Arco where we would have had a long and tough day in the rain to get to Lake Vidal.

So we sat around the lodge for the afternoon, warming up, and eating freely.  Much to Hawk’s behest, at about 5:30 I jumped up and declared we should go on a hike.  I figured we only had a few more hours in the valley, we already spent enough time inside.  The sun was making some appearances, and the blue sky behind the cliffs had me wanting to get some pictures.

So we went on the “Circuito Cascada”, a loop which takes you by some incredible waterfalls.  We did manage to loose the trail once, but this seemed par for the course for us.

The views of the cliffs were absolutely stunning (I wish I knew the names of the peaks).

After three nights in the cold and wet, we decided to spring for a spot in the bunkhouse in the lodge (which included a hot shower and breakfast in the morning).  So we got to hang out more with the Refugio gang, ever the friendliest bunch, and talk to them and learn a little more about life here.  If I’m able to, I’d like to spend a few more days in Cochamo on this trip (or come back again some other time).  There are a few places I’ve come across on this trip that I’d seriously like to come back to, and Cochamo Valley and La Junta is one of them.  The other places  all share the same qualities of people that live simple lives, like to grow and cook good food, and build their own houses.

Sunday we left late and hiked back down the valley.  Exactly a week before that we had arrived there, not knowing what was in store for us, but quite satisfied with the trouble we had gotten ourselves into and the trouble we had managed to stay out of.

We hiked as fast as we could along the road, one last push as we were cutting it close with the last bus into town, but some some nice folks from Cochamo gave us a ride the last few miles, where we took the bus to Puerto Varas (slightly north of Puerto Montt), found a hostel and made a feast.  It is a trendy little town, and we spent the next day eating and walking around and getting sunburned.  That night we got back on a bus and arrived in Santiago the next morning.  After lunch, Hawk dropped me off at the bus station and I made it to Mendoza, Argentina that evening.  I rested up for two nights there (more from the bus ride than the hiking), and took another overnight bus to Salta, and picked my bike up.  I’ll spend a couple days here getting the bike back in shape for a last push to Ushuaia, the end of the continent.

In less than an hour we’ll be on a 13 hour bus ride south to Puerto Montt, which is in Patagonia.  We’ll get there tomorrow, stock up on some groceries, take a local bus to Cochamó, which is the last town on a road before a valley that makes its way up to a pass that will get us into Argentina. The valley has no road, but a horse and hiking trail that connects small settlements along the way, where we’ll be able to get basic things like bread and shelter should it rain on us all day (and it will likely do that at some point).  There are reports of a road making its way in little by little (and tension between development by power companies and locals), so we may be there just in time before the secluded nature of the area is ruined.  To top it all off, supposedly Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid had a ranch in the area and used the trail to herd cattle down to the main town.  Sounds like fun.  And since we’ll be about as far south of the equator as Chicago is north, and we’re so close to the (Southern hemisphere) summer solstice, we’ll have a nice 15 hours of sunlight everyday.  Woo!

The hike from the road to the border pass should take 4 long days of hiking,  but we have enough time to slow down and maybe take a day off somewhere and relax.  After getting to the border (yes, there is a border post at the pass and we will check in with the police in Puerto Montt to see if we need any paperwork done before heading in), we’ll hitch back to the main highway that heads north, and make our way up to Mendoza with another long bus ride.  From here Hawk will take a bus back to Santiago to catch his flight back to the US, and I’ll head back north to get back on my bike.

So all in all lots of bus travel lately but no idea when I’ll be back here, so I think this hike is going to make it all very worth it.

Hawk delivered dozens of letters, which I actually haven’t read yet!  I’m saving them for Christmas!  So thanks so much to you all, I feel very loved so far away.

Got to run!

Woo Hoo!  ”Only” 5121km (3182 miles) to go!  I think this number seems a little high, but at any rate, it all depends on the route I take.  But it was fun to see a sign for my end point!

About 12 hours in Argentina and I can tell you things are rather different than Bolivia.  The shower in the hostel was too hot (the cold water didn’t work)!! There is hot water in the sink.  My room had a pleasant smell of cleanliness without awful aromas.  There was an ad for Danielle Steel books on TV.  Stores are well lit.  Gas stations with neon signs, ad campaigns and frequent customer reward programs.  Things are noticeably pricier.  The accent is going to take some getting used to.  Everything uses the ‘vos’ verb form.

I have four more days riding before I get to Salta, where I’ll be leaving my bike and go catch up with my friend Hawk in Santiago, Chile.

But yesterday I went over a pass and down 1,000 m into a scenery very different than the one I’ve gotten used to (and that eventually drains into the Atlantic for what it is worth), quite similar to the appearance of southwest US. Most notably is the large amount of leafy green vegetation as opposed to scrubby little plants. Trees not only taller than me, but several storeys high. Bright fragrant flowers, and crops like corn. Cows and not llamas. My supply of butter rather runny! The boiling water for my morning coffee noticeably warmer. Locals bundled up considerably less. For the most part this is a welcome change, though I must say the chilly days up at the high altitude were good cycling weather. And by the end of my time in the altiplano I was able to finally get some deep restful sleep at night and not feel out of breath all the time.

The highlight of my time in Bolivia was the Uyuni salt flat, and I’ll have to tell you more about that when I get a chance to upload pictures and videos. After the salt flat I took a day off in the town of Uyuni, where I ran into 9 cyclists, all going north except for Marcos an Italian who I had first met outside of Puno, Peru. I hung out with a Scottish couple in the afternoon as we had a bike maintenance party in the courtyard and later for some pizza as we exchanged notes on our routes ahead.

I was eager to get out of the touristy town of Uyuni, but not so eager for the 3 days to come. Other cyclists have rightly described this as the worst 130 miles of road, maybe of the whole trip, and having done it, I must agree. I don’t usually go for these kind of gimmicks, but I’d gladly make and wear a T-shirt that says “I survied Uyuni-Tupiza by bike”. Without using expletives, the washboard of the first half, and then the washboard and the hills of the second half were a constant chore, barely a moment without staring at the gravel road looking for the path least painful for the body and bike.

There is a special place in heaven reserved for Bolivian road engineers. In the morning they will be required to recite grade school trigonometry (slope is rise over run etc), and in the afternoon give backrubs to the Peruvian road engineers who somehow manage to do a much better job at switchbacks and road surfaces.

The miserable condition of the road probably accounts for the very little traffic on it, which is one good thing about the route. At about 11am yesterday, I came across a pickup with 4 satelite communication workers, and a tent set up by the side of the road. It turns out they had broken down the afternoon of the day before, and had been sitting there ever since, and since there was no cell phone coverage (the irony), had not been able to inform anyone of there whereabouts. I suggested that I might take a note along to someone in Tupiza, which they thought was a great idea. I pointed out that surely a bus or a car would come by and they could send the message along that way, but they claimed that people in the area weren’t that helpful (awesome!). So they gave me the phone number of their boss and some change to make a phone call when I got to Tupiza. I did end up seeing two of them riding in the back of a truck several hours later, so hopefully they’ve gotten a hold of a mechanic here, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the truck is still stuck out there.

My first hour of walking around Tupiza I ran into Marcos again by chance, he had done the stretch in two days. Later I was eating dinner, and Dave, another cyclist showed up at the same place to eat, again, by chance. We had never actually met, but both started in Alaska just weeks apart from each other and since then our paths have just missed several times. We had corresponded for a while now so it was good to finally meet.

Last night was probably the worst night in a hotel on this whole trip. When I had arrived I noticed a very strong smell of perfume in the room, and wrote it off as being detergent. Now, having only stayed in 2 hotels in my time in the US and none in Canada, I can’t say much about the cleaning supplies used there. But since entering Mexico and south of there, I can say there is an annoying practice of using cleaners with potent aromas, as if somehow the smells will mask the other unpleasant aspects of the hotel. (When I say hotel I generally mean accomodation costing anywhere between US$3-10, which often is the most you could ever spend in most towns I go through).

So for a few hours I laid in bed trying to sleep, until I began to feel physically ill. The smell was just too much. It was past midnight but I knew I had to get a different room, so I went and woke the manager and explained the situation. She mentioned that “Oh yeah, someone broke a bottle of perfume in there this morning”, and agreed that the smell was quite overwhelming and gave me a different room. No apologies of course about this or the bed that was falling in, but this seems par for the course for hospitality in Peru and Bolivia. Yes, I may only be paying a few dollars for this room but customer service only costs a “Sorry for your inconvenience”. I woke up this morning and realized that the smell had carried over on my clothes, and I’ve had a dull headache all day. I would have moved to another hotel but am already unpacked and moving the bike down and up stairs is a hassle.

Despite the tough past 3 days on the road, it was worth the slog, and last night made me thankful for being the chances to camp in middle of nowhere, the nearest human probably at least a dozen or two miles away. Generally a few days out in the sticks and I start to romanticize “civilization”: running water, email, cable TV, restaurants. But then I get to a city and remember what it is like to be around other humans, generally, ones that like cheap perfume, loud music all night and honking their horns when there is no apparent emergency (some of the more detestable kind of humans).

And then I wish I was sleeping in my own little tent-home on a pile of llama poo with only the moon and stars as my neighbors. Yes, lately I’ve spent a couple nights on, or by, piles of llama poo, as out on the open plain and with nothing for miles around, the llama pens made out of piled up rocks were my only chance for a little protection from the wind. I can easily say I’d rather spend the night where the llama roam than where humans commune.

13500 from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

Thanks all!

Flat from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

It has been over a month since I last wrote an entry (save for the video I uploaded). When I got to Peru I knew the mountain route would be long and challenging, so I told myself I’d just take my time. In a way, I feel I lost track of time, and distance as well. Instead of geography changing as distances were covered, my route became an exploration of the different elevations, generally I was either going down into a valley or climbing out of it to another pass. Starting as low as 2,000 meters (~6,600 feet), were avocado, banana, mango, papaya and other fruits being cultivated, and with the warmer temperatures, tiny biting flies and loud green parrots. Here too were all sorts of cactus and thorny brush, and agave/maguey (?).  Higher up, 3,000m (10,000 feet) give or take a few hundred, the trees were less tropical, often pine and eucalyptus, and farmers cultivated corn and potatoes. Then at around 4,000m (~13,000 feet), above the treeline, very little vegetation except for endless ichu grass (and sometimes potato fields). Then after a high pass, head down the downhill and experience these changes in reverse, and repeat many times over the span of Peru’s mountain route.

With the lack of much notion of time and distance, I often felt my bike was pinned to the universe, and the landscape moving around me, not the other way around. From my frame of reference, every ascent is like me slowly pushing the Earth downwards, away from me, so that the top of the hill gets closer. At the top of the passes were often views of snowcaps, many miles away, so that the curvature of the earth made it look like at eye level, one was above snow line, even though I was likely still thousands of feet below. Then, on the descent, an imaginary force pulls the Earth back to me, the bottom of valley rising up to meet me. Cyclists who cross Peru may mention the size and the mountains may burn you out, but I found the remote roads, which were mostly dirt, have been so rewarding and made the effort worth it. It would take me many hours to write up a report of the many incredible experiences along the way, so I’ll just save it for the next time we meet over some coffee.

I arrived in Cusco, the ancient capital of the Incas, almost a week ago. What a change from the past couple months! Generally I’d roll into a small town and clearly I was the only foreigner there at the moment, if not the past week or month even. Once in a while I might come across another backpacker or volunteer worker, and we’d exchange that “Ha, didn’t expect to see you here” glance of mutual understanding of being way off the tourist circuit. So, to arrive in Cusco was quite a shock. Hundreds of tourists of all sorts wandering the streets, often in groups of a dozen or more at a time. The majority of businesses in the center all cater to tourists, signs in English mostly advertising expensive menus usually with burgers and pizza. The city itself is beautiful, many of the colonial buildings are built on top of the incredible Incan stonework.

I’ve been staying at Hospedaje Estrellita, which is the de facto “casa de ciclistas” for the city. Here I met Lorenzo, from Spain, who’s been on the road for over 13 years, and Harriet and Neil, going in circles in South America through some very remote routes. Nina, and Torrey and Lucie, who I met in Trujillo, are in town as well, so we’ve spent a lot of time poring over maps, comparing notes, and offering advice for the road ahead. It is only at a place like this that you’ll hear things like “I last ran into her seven years ago when we were cycling in Iran”.

One of the main draws of the area is Machu Picchu, the most famous of the ruins in the Incan Sacred Valley. Despite having heard of the tourist zoo this is, I felt that to come this far and miss it would be a mistake. Getting there and back did end up being a costly and tiring affair, but a worthwhile chance of a lifetime I couldn’t miss. An interesting time to be there, as next year is the 100th anniversary of the “scientific discovery” of the ruins by Hiram Bigham, and at the moment there are headlines here in the newspapers of the Peruvian government increasing the pressure on Yale University to return tens of thousands of artifacts that Hiram shipped out of the country.

My ability to neglect time and distance has mostly come to an end for the next month. My friend Hawk (Steve Hawkinson to some) had long ago told me he’d try and visit me at some point. Things worked out such that the first couple weeks were the time he could come, and the largest city that made sense for him to fly into was Santiago, Chile (as opposed to Lima, La Paz or Buenos Aires). However, I’d need several more weeks to actually meet him there on my bike, so as of right now I’m aiming to be in Salta, Argentina by the end of November, leave my bike there and then I’ll have to take a bus south to Mendoza and then west over the border to Chile. I kind of dread the idea of 24+ hours on a bus, but due to the remoteness of the region where I’ll be at the time, one of us will have to do some travelling, and since Hawk has come this far, I figure it only makes sense for me to meet him in Santiago. He flies out two weeks later, so we’ll have time to explore a little of Chile and Argentina. I’m really looking forward to his visit, and it will be a nice interlude before the last push to the end of the trip. With over two more weeks off the bike, I’ll realistically not get to Tierra del Fuego until sometime in March. But that’s OK, I can’t be in a hurry!

I plan on leaving in an hour, and should be crossing into Bolivia in about 5 days.

12500 from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

13000 from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

There have been some documents floating around with information on distances and elevations along the route from Trujillo to Cusco.  I’ve uploaded the file here (if you know who gets the credit for making these, please let me know):
Peru Mountain Route Profile Trujillo to Cusco .  This is great in conjunction with the elevation profiles found on panamerica.ch (which cover their whole route through C and S America).

However, there are a few alternate routes along the way, I took notes (with distances in most cases) for the following segments:

JUNIN – JAUJA (via San Pedro Cajas, Palcamayo, Acobamba and Tarma, instead of La Oroya)

Done in 2 days.

Heading east, the turnoff for San Pedro Cajas is at ~km post 41, about 15km past junin. There is a sign, you won’t miss it. It is all dirt to Acobamba. 5 km uphill from the turnoff, then a 5km descent to SP Cajas (at least one hospedaje). Then ROUGH dirt, all downhill to Palcamayo. Then a little less rough to Acobamba. Beautiful agricultural valley! Approx 40km from the turnoff to Acobamba, then another ~10km to the city center of Tarma. Tarma feels huge! It is at about 3,000 m and the pass before Jauja is at 4,200m.

From Tarma the climb is kinda tough… came real close to pushing my bike a few times. BUT the uphill is all done at km marker 35 (with a very short uphill at about km 33), Tarma is at about km marker 56, so about 21km of climb. From there some great downhill to Jauja (km marker 0). From main square, with cathedral to your back, go to left corner of plaza and just down the block is hospedaje Santa Rosa, you can wheel bike into ground floor courtyard.

Definitely more climbing that staying on the main paved highway, but bypasses La Oroya. A chance to get off the busy pavement and sleep at lower elevation! There are two paved options from Jauja to Huancayo along either side of the Mantaro valley. In Huancayo, I stayed at Casa de Abuelita, S./20 for dorm room, small breakfast, wifi, hot water. A few blocks uphill from the megamall Plaza Real (Burger King/Pizza Hut) at Avenida Giraldez 691.

AYACUCHO – OCROS (via Tocto Pass, instead of Tambillo and Chontaca)

Done in 2 days, 1 if you are crazy.

The attached narrative and km waypoints decribe the route that passes through more towns. The route followed by www.panamerica.ch (and documented by their great elevation profiles) goes over Tocto pass. To get there, you leave Ayacucho on Avenida Cusco (best get a map from the tourist office and ask directions). There are few towns on the climb out of the city. You’ll get to an intersection with an arch to the town of Chiara, you want to head right and continue climbing if you want the more direct route up to the pass. At the pass (not sure exactly where Tocto is) at the top of the long first climb you’ll get to another intersection (roughly 45 km from Ayacucho), on panamerica.ch is marked as “Jctn (Turn Left)”. To clarify, the furthestmost left is the smaller road coming up from Chiara, so in reality you want to head in the middle of the three choices. You then continue along some smaller climbs above treeline until the long descent to Ocros. As of October 2010 there was a lot of construction (one advantage being less cars as the road was closed at times, and workers let me fill up from their water containers). As the file mentions, there are no towns until Ocros, so plan accordingly for water.

CHINCHEROS – ANDAHUAYLAS (via Uripa, Ranracancha, Muribamba, Sarahuarcay and Talavera, instead of Abra Soracocha)

Can be done in a long day, would have been better to reach Uripa the night before.

About an hour ride from Chincheros to Uripa, then another 7mi (12km) to junction. I arrived at the junction, and some local kids and the road workers strongly encouraged me to take a left. The dark clouds above made me decide at the last minute to take this route, I knew I wouldn’t be at such high elevations even if it meant more overall climbing. Here are the distances:

0 miles/km Junction, head left, then very rough cobblestone downhill until 3.9mi (6.3km) Ranracancha, continue along main road which heads right before getting to main square. 4.2mi (6.8km) Sign proclaims “Andahuaylas 43.5km” which is BS!!

Road slightly better after Ranracancha, continue downhill past farms and houses the whole way and Huaribamba at 6.8mi (10.9km) and Muribamba 9.2mi (14.8km).

The swithcbacks end and the road now flattens out considerably, and once out of Muribamba are some *incredible* views of the valley way below. Small town Choccepuquio, schoolhouse, 12.1-12.5mi (19.5-20.1km). At 13.5mi (21.7km), sign for downhill. Pull over, enjoy the views, and eat something as you’ll need it soon! Very steep downhill switchbacks last until 15.3mi (24.6km), small town Sarrahuarcay with stores at 15.6mi (25.1km).

Short uphill then back downhill to small town with stores at 17.2mi (27.6km). Begin long steep uphill. At 18.5mi (29.8km), turnoff to left that heads to small concrete reservoir, possible camping.

Steep climb along switchbacks (but with more great views) ends at 20.6mi (33.2) at small town Jerusalen. Flattens out for a while, then gradually gets steeper uphill until reaching the top at a small town at 23.6mi (38.0km).

Then long downhill to bridge at 29.7 mi (47.7km) (with short uphill at 28mi [45.1km]). A steep short climb out of the gully and you now in a town along an awful quality road until the center sqaure of Talavera at 31.9mi (51.3km).

All paved, slightly uphill until Andahuaylas at 35mi (56km). Bomberos half block off main square, which is uphill to your left when you reach town.

In the end, I believe I ended up climbing more than had I gone over Soracocha Pass, but enjoyed the views and the warmer temperatures very much. This way also avoids the long downhill from Soracocha to Talavera, which on the dirt roads can be exhausting!

My approximate Ride time from Chincheros to Uripa 1 hour, Uripa to Andahuaylas 5 hours 45 minutes.

ANDAHUAYLAS – ABANCAY (via Laguna Pacucha, Sondor ruins, Quillabamba, Huancarama instead of Abra Huayllacora Pass)

Plan 2.5 days. All dirt except last 10m (16km) before Abancay. See Christian Bomio’s journal on crazyguyonabike.com for additional route descriptions.

Leave Andahuaylas, short ride to San Jeronimo 1.8mi (2.9km), head left uphill before main square (ask for route to Abancay). Uphill along swithcbacks, at 6.7mi (10.8km), junction, head left for Laguna Pacucha (sign says 6km), continue right to go more directly to Abancay. At 7.2mi (11.6km) reach top of climb, then descend to Pacucha town center at 10.1mi (16.3km), continue on half mile to lagoon shore where there is a picnic area. Road follows shore with no major elevation changes for a couple miles, then leaves shore to small town Anccopaccha with basic stores at 13.9mi (22.4km). Continue along valley until 15mi (24.1km), junction for Sondor Ruins. Steep uphill,ruins at 16mi (25.7km). Unoffical guard at ruins will charge entry fee/watch your bike for a couple soles. No information at ruins, but incredible location.

No need to head back to junction, instead, walk bike through middle of the open plaza at the ruins, walk down short grassy incline to the dirt road behind the ruins. Head right on dirt road, taking neither junctions that head up or downhill. Descent quiet dirt road with no vehicles, stays rather flat with amazing views. At 19.7mi (31.7km), junction with the main road that you departed from to get to ruins. Head left, downhill, at this junction.

[If you are coming the other direction, up from Quillabamba, you'll recognize the junction by a large, open, rectangular concrete reservoir, likely empty, head right off main road to get to ruins from behind]

First view of Quillabamba at 21.1mi (31.7km), continue all downhill (except for short uphill at 25.6mi [41.2km]) to Quillabamba at 26.7mi (43km). In Quillabamba, basic stores. Ask for Alcalde (Mayor) Augusto, he will gladly let you spend the night in a school room (but be up and out by 7:30am when students show up).

[distances reset in Quillabamba].

Rolling hill leaving Quillabamba until small town Sotccomayo at 2.4mi (3.9km), main road countinues left out of town. At 2.7 mi (4.3km) is abridge, and here the real climbing starts. All uphill except for short section at 7.2mi (11.6km) until 7.6 (12.2km) where there is a picnic shelter/lookout. Junction for Santiago Paucar at 8.9mi (14.3km), sign says “Huancarama 24km”. Small town Matapuquio, basic stores at 9.6mi (15.4km). Belen Anta schoolhouse w/ bathroom at 10.6mi (17.1) (camping?).

Sort of a pass, crossing ridge at 13.2mi (21.2km) to another valley, but uphill continues until top at 15.5mi (24.9km), sign for “intangible” Curama ruins.

Downhill until 17.9mi (28.8km), junction for Pacobamba which is a few km off the road (but a basic store on the road at around 16.7mi [26.9km]). Short uphill until 19.0mi (30.6km), then downhill until Huancarama center at 24.5mi (39.4km). A few basic hospedajes and restaurants.

Leave town uphill, small village at 28.2mi (48.4), short downhill at 30.0mi (48.3km), small town at 31.4mi (50.5km) and 32.1mi (51.7km), which is top of climb.

From here you’ll see Abancay way across the valley, but you are still about 60km from there! Downhill, small town at 35.3mi (56.8km). At 37.5mi (60.4), several abandoned houses, great views, I stopped here to camp. Hidden from road, but turned out to be the footpath for the villagers and cattle below up to their fields above. A few people came by in the evening and early morning, and were all friendly and curious (and one lady mentioned I’d be welcome to spend the night in the town below).

Continue downhill, the small town seen from campsite is at 41.3mi (66.5km). More downhill to Junction at 45.6mi (73.4km) with main road that goes over Huayllacora pass and through Kishuara. Continue downhill, past small town at 47.8mi (76.9km), road bottoms out at around 53mi (85km).

[You should see lower in the valley to the left the older Pachachacca bridge, but I don't know where turnoff for this is].

From here some up and down until (newer) bridge at 54.7mi (88.0km), which is junction with main paved highway coming from Nasca, head left. Gas station at 55.8mi (89.8km) (and several tarantula roadkill). At 57.2mi (92km), junction with dirt road had you gone to the Pachachacca bridge. Here begins steady climb. Increasing population, stores and gas stations until Abancay at around 66mi (106km).

Abancay is on a slope, so if searching for lodging, stay higher at intersections, then weave your way through city heading downhill to avoid backtracking uphill. Many hotel options. Hotel Omega with piping hot water, wifi for S./30.

Aproximate ride times: Quillabamba to Top of Climb at Cuarama: 3hours. Curama to Huancarama 1hour. Huancarama to top of climb 1.5hours. Top of climb to bottom of valley 2hours. Valley to Abancay 2 hours.

Further Observations from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

More videos:

Even More Observations
More Observations
Observations

I had caught up with Greg in Huaraz, and Torrey and Lucie, who I met in Trujillo, had made it there as well, so we headed out together.  South, upvalley for a little while then the turnoff on a gravel road into the park.

The uphill didn’t seem terrible but we weren’t moving too fast either, the altitude was certainly getting to us.  So we called it a day about a mile before the ranger’s station at around 4,100m (13,500 feet).  That night it got just below freezing, the first time for me since February in Mil Cumbres near Morelia, Mexico.  But the next morning the sun was up and there were little clouds, so the weather was perfect for biking.

More photos below

Lots of snowcapped peaks whose names I didn’t catch.

The area is known for being the home to the Puya Raimondi, a bromeliad (same family as a pineapple), and found only at altitudes between 3,200 and 4,800 meters in a few places in Peru and Bolivia.  They live for many decades, and in their last stage of life, grow a huge spike that flowers, then dies.

Each plant has thousands of flowers and millions of seeds, which I’m guessing is a necessity, as very few of these seeds will make it as a new generation in the harsh climates.

The dead plants were just as captivating as the live ones.  These hooks are known to take sheep captive.

Glimpses of glaciers and snowcapped peaks hidden behind layers and layers of mountains.  The Cordillera Blanca is the birthplace of many Peruvian rivers.

Up and up.

And up.  You can see Lucie and Torrey on the road.

Very few people in the park, but a noticeable presence of stone walls to keep flocks of sheep.

Evidence of civilization from many centuries ago.

The air was getting thin, which made stopping every few minutes necessary but also meant time to just stare in disbelief at the formations all around us.

Nearing the top of the first pass.

This is some people’s workplace, watching flocks of sheep.  I can’t image living at these altitudes.

Almost to the top.

After the first pass, a downhill into a valley with pristine streams and huge tufts of moss.

The afternoon light was disappearing, clouds setting in.  But I still had to climb back up to 16,000 feet.  Icicles clinging to glaciers creaked and came splintering down the slope.  Probably not the best time of day to bike under here.

Finally, at the top, the Continental Divide, at a dizzying 16,000 feet (4,884m), with a few minutes to soak in the views.  See video from previous post for some rather uninspiring commentary.

Off in the distance, clouds were releasing rain and snow.  A few flurries made it over to me, I knew it was time to get out of there!

Out of the park and on to a new highway that took us from 4,700 m down to the town of Huallanca at 3,500 meters.  So exhausted that even sleep was not restful.

A few packs of FRAC, Oreo wannabes, to replenish some calories.

I’ll link to Greg, and Lucie and Torrey’s blog about the day once they post.

16,000 Feet from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

By far the highest elevation so far on this trip!  The day consisted of climbing from the highest overnight campsite yet at 4,100m (13,500 feet) to just under 4,800m (15,700 feet), then a downhill of about 500 feet and then up to 4,884m (16,023 feet)*, but at that moment I didn’t realize it was actually that high.  It is hard to describe the effects of the altitude, other than you and your brain move really slow.  Breathing for the most part was OK, as long as I didn’t try moving too fast.  The views in Huascaran National Park were incredible, stay tuned for pictures later today.

*(according to the guys from panamerica.ch who did it a few years ago).   Also check out Jeff Kruys’ blog, he and another cyclists camped at the pass and got a little snow over night.

I passed lot of agriculture, which I found odd as the sand and rocks that seem to cover the area doesn’t seem very fertile.  But somehow through the magic of irrigation and probably lots of chemicals, you can grow anything from grapes to asparagus.

I reached the famed dirt road that is a shortcut east into the Santa River valley, a private mining road that avoids heading down the coast to Chimbote.  I’m not sure what cyclist was the first to try this route, but this little nugget of knowledge has been circulated amongst cyclists for a while now.

It was on this road I ran into Tommy, a French cyclist who started in Bolivia I believe.  This is the first time I’ve run into a cyclist on the road heading the other way in a long time.

Heading up the valley and away from the coast, it was hard to believe I was heading back  into the mountains.  Everything seemed rather small, but I knew within 150 miles I would be up at 10,000 feet again.  In a matter of 50 miles the clouds were gone and a nice warmth could be enjoyed.

The whole area sees lots of mining activity, though I don’t know many specifics.  Lots of the operations had been abandoned leaving ghost towns.

The first day riding along the Santa River reminded me a lot of Utah because of the colors of the rock, mostly reds and browns.  It was hard to have a sense of scale, the mountainsides were covered in layers of chipped stone that looked like running watercolors.  I’d ask myself if it would take an hour or a day to scramble up these slopes, but didn’t stick around to find out.

On my way up to the town of Yuramarca, I noticed many cacti on the side of the road covered in what might appear as a blight of sorts, a fuzzy white splotches.  From my previous (future?) incarnation as a weaver in the Teotitlan area of Oaxaca, I knew this was the cochineal, an insect used for its deep reddish-purple pigment in fabric dyes and paint.  I picked a few off and dabbed some splotches on my bandana, lest I ever forget I was in Peru.

The intensity of the mountains kept getting turned up a notch at every turn in the valley.  But still rather barren, and to an untrained eye like mine, hard to see many signs of life save a few patches of irrigated land.

I left Yuramarca with my water bottles full and plenty of groceries.  I was determined to camp that night, something I had been doing to little of in Peru.  About 5 miles out of town, I was in the middle of a quiet valley and found a gravel pullout that lead to a concealed spot just out of sight of the road.  The folks I had talked to earlier in the day made it sound like it never rained, so I decided to sleep without my tent.  This is the first time I’ve done this on the trip, and rates as one of my top camping spots.  A couple times an hour a car could go up or down the valley, its headlamps briefly lighting up the valley.  But other than that I was undisturbed, and spent time staring at the stars, realizing I’m now in the southern hemisphere and don’t recognize the constellations.  A little windbreak made out of my panniers, for there is a constant tailwind for those travelling from the coast south into the valley.

The next day a few miles brought me to Huallanca, where the road climbs up.  This was one of the tidiest towns I’ve seen in Peru, most likely due to the hydroelectric project on the river.  Duke Energy’s compound looked more like a private resort, with a swimming pool, sports field, lawns and palm trees.

The ride up brings you to the start of Cañon del Pato, a narrow canyon with its 35 tunnels in the span of about 10 miles.  Most of the tunnels were pretty short and took only a few seconds, but then there were the ones that you couldn’t see to the end of as they were on a curve.  The only safety precautions are signs asking drivers to honk before entering a tunnel, but of course this does little for the cyclist trapped in here!  Fortunately I only encountered two cars, coming towards me, so they pulled over far enough.  But the anxiety caused by biking in the dark, and the awful grinding noise made by the stones I couldn’t avoid running over with my new rim, meant I was happy to be done with this stretch, and on to a paved road.

After the narrow canyon, the valley opened up and had a noticeable change.  The barren slopes were now covered in shrubs and lots of little farms. And of course, views of the peaks of the Cordillera Blanca, named for the snow covering the mountains.

After 4 days of biking from Trujillo I made it to Huaraz.  Here I ran into Greg, who I’d last seen in Cajabamba before I got sick.  Greg’s been coming to Peru for over two decades to hike and then mountain bike, so he’s plenty familiar with the area and is good friends with the Olaza family, who run a hotel.  Normally I’d never stay at a place like this but the connections mean a cyclist friendly rate.  It is a nice treat to stay at a place where the bathroom is spotless, the sheets are clean, the water is for real hot, and there is no sign in the room asking guests to please not spit on the walls (!).  And I can tell you that yes, people do spit on the walls in cheap lodging.  I usually sleep in my sleeping bag in those places.

The city of Huaraz is a destination for trekkers and mountain climbers looking to conquer any of the more than 30 peaks over 18,000 feet in the area.  As such there is a noticeable presence of foreign cuisine, including the most ridiculous burger I’ve ever eaten.  Among other things, avocado, egg, fried plantain and sausage.  It was more like eating a casserole, and after having this for lunch, I didn’t eat dinner.

The view of the mountains is incredible, though a little spoiled by the buildings in town.  Tomorrow Greg and I, and Canadian cyclists Torrey and Lucie who I got to know in Trujillo, are heading a little further south before we head east into the Huarascan National Park and over the Cordillera Blanca.  The route will take us up to elevations of over 15,000 feet!

12000 from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

More or less what I’m saying when it is too windy to hear me:

I woke up in Cajabamba and knew things Weren’t Good. I optimistically went to buy some fruit with the hopes of getting back on the road, but the sights and smells at the market made me rather nauseous. I packed my things up and walked a block to the hostel Greg had stayed at, I wanted a little more comfort and a clean bathroom for what would be a bout with food poisoning. I’ll spare you details but needless to say I spent a few days in bed getting over a fever and not eating much more than a roll of crackers.

Still not 100% better, I decided to keep moving as I had been off the bike for 4 days. The ride to Huamachuco was strenuous, I was still rather weak and there were stretches of deep dust and sand. Parts of the road was being regraded, so should be in better conditions for future cyclists.

Another day off in Huamachuco, as I knew I had a tough day ahead of me. The road would go up to 13,000 feet (a new record for me) before the descent to the coast started. Partway into the day I taped a little video message at what I thought was almost the top “Oh hey this isn’t too bad”, but an hour later I was still huffing and puffing up hills and noticing the altitude. I made it to Shorey late in the day. Shorey is a small town with a lot of mining in the area. There were basic rooms for rent and a dining room with a set menu, visited only by miners.

After a rather restless night at 12,000 feet, I rode the 77 mostly downhill miles to Trujillo and found my way to the famous Casa de Ciclistas. 25 years ago, Lucho Ramirez, who at one point was Peru’s top cyclist, started hosting cycle tourists. Since then the Casa has grown into a cycling legend. The house itself is modest, really just two rooms and a bathroom shared by a few other families that live in the building. But it is a place that has seen travelers from dozens of countries come through its door. I’m visitor #1391 in the log. A highlight of your time at the Casa is to look through all guestbooks. I came across entries from a dozen cyclists that I had followed online in the years before I started my trip. And of course entries by cyclists I’ve already met on the road.

I got here a week ago and met two Spanish cyclists on their way north, and that evening, Lucie and Torrey, a Canadian couple, came back from a quick flight home and back after having left their bikes here. They started biking in Alaska last Spetember. At some point they overtook me in Central America but I didn’t run into them there. It was great to finally meet them, and we spent mornings making breakfast and coffee together. They took off two days ago, I hope to catch up to them at some point. The day they left, three more cyclists showed up, and so begins the process of making more friends all over again.

A map of Heinz Stucke's Christmases spent abroad while travelling for the past 5 decades

All the cyclists that have come through here will say you’ll spend more time here than you originally thought. That was true in my case. There is always something going on around here. Lucho and his family live a few blocks away and are coming and going, inviting you over for cake or to help out with a project. Last Sunday Lucho organized a bike race for kids in a neighborhood on the outskirts of town and Lucie, Torrey and I went as well.

We got there and first biked around the place 5 times, Lucho with a trailer with two huge megaphones advertising the event. Nothing had been planned before hand, but this was no problem as everyone was outside anyway on the curbs eating or playing volleyball and had no other pressing engagements. A total of 6 events, I got to follow the races and shout at kids for short cutting through the empty lots.

On the way back, not only the joy of riding in Trujillo traffic but the responsibility of making sure lucho’s 3 year old, Lance, stays safe on his (training-wheeled) bike. This is much easier than it sounds, though left turns across oncoming traffic make me a tad nervous. Lucho leads the way with his microphone, scolding the taxis and offering deadpan commentary on the lack of culture among drivers. I grab Lance’s shoulder the whole way and am his gas and brakes, he takes care of steering and makes sure to hit as many potholes as he can with shrieks of delight.

When you stay here and hang around Lucho and his workshop, of course there is the big realization that your bike needs a major overhaul if it is going to last 5,000 or so more miles. A rather expensive undertaking to replace a rear rim, chain and cassette, but very necessary. And one look at two chainrings with extremely worn teeth, those needed to be replaced as well, but Lucho’s contact in Lima couldn’t help with that. Lucho has a crankset with chainrings that will fit my bike, he had been saving it for a bike he was going to build for himself, but offers to sell me it, and I have to thank my lucky stars!! Not only a replacement but instead of 26 teeth, a 24 tooth one. This two tooth difference will make the mountains to come significantly easier.

The week here has been anything but restful.  Taxi drivers only use their horns and not their brakes.  I’ve been eating poorly, staying up way to late, running all sorts of errands but not accomplishing anything.  Lots of hellos and goodbyes. No silence in which to contemplate, I’m left with more questions than answers. In the upstairs room there is a simple memorial, a framed portrait of a Colombian cyclist Andres who died unexpectedly on his journey after spending time at the Casa (not from a collision, but a medical complication). The picture and his beaming grin is unsettling and starting to wear on me. More and more, each time I catch a glimpse of Andres, I hear “Go, celebrate life”. I must be on my way.

A break to stop and watch a house being built.  I was told the method is called cajon, presumably for the wooden box frame that is used as a mold to tamp a mixture of mud and straw layer by layer.

In Leimebamba I bought a plastic sack at the corner store and filled it with about 3/4 of my stuff, including tent, sleeping bag, extra food and clothes, etc.  I sent it on to Cajamarca on a bus.

Then began the 18 mile climb up to 12,000 feet.  Once again, very quiet road through wide open pastures.

A break before getting to the top in anticipation of the pass and the beginning of a 36 mile ride down at least 8,000 feet.

Looking back at the valley I had climbed out of.

And then the windy Calla Calla pass, some maps say Abra Barro Negro (Black Clay Pass).  No black clay but a huge trash heap (I didn’t take a picture) to spoil the first view of the Marañon River valley.

Layers and layers of mountains, and such large distances you couldn’t actually see the river at the bottom.

Just the road finding its way down.

Stopped plenty of times on the way down to take pictures, rest the hands from holding the brakes, and to take off my jacket that I had donned many thousand feet higher.  Finally at the bottom I arrive on the outskirts of Las Balsas where irrigation is used to grow a large variety of fruits.  Later that evening I would have a refresco made from star fruit.

Balsas is the town at the bottom of the valley, and aside from growing fruit, I can’t imagine living down here.  Hot and grimy.  I was covered in a layer of sweat and dust and just wanted to clean up a little, but the water service had “just” been cut.  OK, no problem, I’ll wash up in the stream flowing through town like everyone else. Shampoo packets and toilet paper was strewn about the banks of the stream, and I didn’t really feel any cleaner after rinsing off.  But what about the bathroom situation I asked the lady renting the room, I was told to find somewhere at the river.

For dinner, a plate of fried yucca and eggs, too tired to wait for the main dish that still hadn’t been prepared for the night.  I also asked the lady if she would be able to pack me a lunch the following morning.  She said she would have it ready to go by 8am.  Sanitation issues aside, this was the end of favorite day 2, I had never biked 35 miles downhill with hardly a few pedal strokes.

Crossing the Marañon for the second time, the first was near Bellavista on a boat.

A gentle ride along the river for a mile, then the climb started.

Views of the river came and went as the road wound in and out of side valleys on its way up.

The switchbacks were incredible!  Not once did I curse the Peruvian road engineers (unlike Costa Rica and Panama sometimes).  The condition of the road was pretty rough but at least the gradients were bearable.  Towards the afternoon the clouds rolled in and provided some nice shade.  My packed lunch of rice, plantains and eggs saved the day.

A view on Google Maps of the road down and up the valley (usually the detail isn’t that great but someone has made a point of showing this piece of work off!).

View Larger Map

View Larger Map

Finally, 28 miles later (and about 4.5 hours of pedaling later), the top, and a short descent into Celendin.  A very long day, but without baggage weighing me down, a very enjoyable one.  Thus was favorite day 3.

I thought about taking a day off but wanted to catch up with Greg and Dylan in Cajamarca.  I knew the 65 miles would be much easier than the past several days.  So I slept in and didn’t get going until after 10am.  The ride out of Celendin was quiet except for the town where I stopped for lunch.  I think for the first time on this trip I walked into an eatery and despite getting the usual stares from everyone (it is impossible to stare and chew at the same time!!), I was enthusiastically motioned over to an empty seat with three people eating lunch.  Unexpectedly outgoing folks, usually I’ll get approached by people in the street to ask me questions, but to be asked to join a table is rather unusual.

It was market day, lots going on including campaign posters being passed out to the locals.  Notice the hat the women wear.  Not sure what it is called but it is quite typical in the area.

The road rolls over the 30 miles from Celendin finally reaching another beautiful pass.

After a downhill to Encañada, there was sweet blessed pavement!  Late in the afternoon, just over 20 miles to go with a nice tailwind and the subtle whhhhhirr of the studded mountain bike tires on the smooth new road.

While biking in Chicago, especially on the lake shore path, I’d often have impromptu races with other cyclists.  A cyclist overtakes you, so you step it up and trail him, a signal that the chase is on. If possible, maybe overtake him.  This back and forth might repeat itself several times.  No words exchanged, and generally in good fun.  No clear winner, just a chance to give each other a reason to go that much faster.  But out on the highways or dirt roads the past year, running into another cyclist like this hadn’t happened, until I met Luis.

Just out of Encañada there was a gentle uphill, and up ahead I noticed another cyclist.  I could see him turn around every so often, and the closer I got, I could tell he was keeping tabs on me as I slowly gained on him.  And so of course I had to give him a run for his money!  Finally the road leveled out and I changed gears and greeted him with a “Buenas tardes” on the way by.  It wasn’t until I overtook him that I realized it was a kid giving me a run for my money!

I slowed down a little and asked where he was biking to, he said Cajamarca, still 20 miles away, so decided to ride with him the rest of the way.  He was very shy, but did ask me a few questions like whether I was a priest and what my country looked like.  He had biked the mostly uphill earlier that day, and was now on his way back.  I was a little surprised a 13 year old would be out biking so far, but from what I could get out of him, he was just biking for the sake of biking.  Good enough reason for me!  I could tell he was running ragged after the chase, so I shared some water and gave his bike a much needed dose of WD40.

And so we flew down the hill into the next valley, and he guided me through Baños del Inca and into Cajamarca.  Excellent way to end off favorite day 4.

Cajamarca was quite a shock after the small towns I’d been in the past few weeks.  Traffic circles, tons of combis, TRAFFIC LIGHTS!!!  Joggers and a couple lycra clad cyclists (a first so far in Peru).  And so I was glad that I already had the name and address of the hotel that Greg and Dylan were at, looking for a place to stay in a large town is often frustrating process.

It was great to run into Greg and Dylan, I hadn’t seen them in over a month when we parted ways in Ecuador.  But our route has been the same for the past few weeks,only I was a few days behind, so it we had plenty of notes to compare and stories to tell.  I spent the day wandering around, eating, and finding the bus company office to pick up my bag.  That I’ve hauled so much junk from Alaska makes me feel rather foolish, I’m definitely going to look into sending a bunch ahead to Trujillo tomorrow.

Tips for Cyclists

The magic numbers are 396, 336, 293 and 232.  The climb out of Leimebamba ends at km marker 396, Balsas is at km 336. The climb out of Balsas ends at 293.  Leaving Balsas there is a clear flowing stream crossing the road several times from about miles 9 thru 12.  At about miles 12 and 13 there are two restaurants (about halfway up the climb).  After this no real water sources but lots of small settlements where you might ask for some in a pinch.

Celendin is at about km 280, and the road out of Celendin flattens out several times, but finally tops out at km 232 before a downhill to Encañada at km 211.  Lunch can be found in the town about 32 km from Celendin.  Pavement starts just outside Encañada, a very gentle climb then finally another drop down to Baños del Inca and Cajamarca.

Don’t know about doing this west to east.  There were a few restaurants further down the valley on what would be a 60km climb the other way.  Also, a few side streams crossing the road but I don’t remember kms.  Probably doable in 2 days.

Locals say the rainy season starts in September or October.  Blogs of folks who’ve done it in the rainy season make it sound a little rough once the roads turn to mud!

11500 from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

Another 500 mile update.  Apparently scrunching my eyes makes talking for the camera easier.  I realize hearing the names of small towns in Peru might not be terribly exciting, I’ll try to have a map up for the next update.

After two rest days in San Ignacio, back on the dirt road. Except it would only last 33 more miles, then the pavement began! It was nice for a change, the last 150 miles from just past Vilcabamba, Ecuador were all rough dirt/gravel/rock/potholed road. I made it to Bellavista, about 68 miles from San Ignacio. Not once that day did I use my little chainring (lowest gears)!!! I can’t even remember when the last time this happened, definitely not Ecuador, probably not in Colombia or Central America. Bellavista was near the Marañon River, I don’t think I was more than 800m (2,600 feet) in altitude, so it was a rather warm night compared to the past week. The whole area has a lot of rice growing, probably the only time I’ve seen this on the trip. And it is good too! I’m not sure what kind they grow, but it is some of the best I’ve had, with a nice and chewy consistency.

From Bellavista, a short ride to the River Marañon where a small boat shuttles motorcyles and passengers to the other side. This is a shortcut that avoids going through Jaen. Some more dirt road riding, but it is nice and flat. Then back on the main highway through Bagua Grande, a big and bustling town, I’m glad I’ve timed it right and don’t have to spend a night here.

Here I stop at a rather large restaurant, and ask if they have Coke (I see a bottle on the big banner with the menu), and if it is helado (ice cold), “yes” I’m told. My plate of rice and eggs comes and the young guy runs out, most likely to the store next door and comes back with Coke. It is barely above room temperature (which happens to be rather warm). “Sorry, anything colder? This is barely cold”,”No, this is helado”,”I’m sorry, it is barely cold, I was hoping for something really, really, ice cold”,”Sorry, we don’t have anything helado”.”OK, this will do, thanks”.

From Bagua Grande the road follows the Utcubamba river to Pedro Ruiz. Nothing like my last experience biking along a road supposedly in a river valley (as it appeared from a bad map) was in Ecuador, where I gave up and took a bus for 50 miles, since the road pretty much kept climbing up to the ridges above and then back down to the river.  The ride to Pedro Ruiz was not too bad, with a few good climbs the last 20 miles during the day. At about 61 miles that day, about 130 miles in two days, which is much more than I’d done in any two days the past several weeks.

From Pedro Ruiz the paved road keeps going along the Utcubamba River for 24 miles, where there is a turn off for Chachapoyas, 9 miles and a couple thousand feet higher. I had hoped not to have to do the climb, but was running low on cash and still hadn’t found an ATM that would take my card. I could have in Bagua Grande, but feel so conspicuous riding up to an ATM on a main thoroughfare and taking out cash, makes me feel too much of a target. So up to Chachapoyas it was. The town had just finished a week of celebration of sorts, so I had to hunt around a little for a place to stay.

The next day I didn’t leave until early in the afternoon, I knew I had an easy day ahead. First down the 9 miles of pavement I had done the day before. Then back in the Utcubamba river valley, the road turns to dirt again. But it is mostly flat and I got to Tingo in no time. Tingo is the turnoff for the road (~38km) that heads up to the Kuelap ruins, and also the start of the hiking route (~10km). So I found a little hospedaje where I could spend the night and leave my stuff the next day while I visited Kuelap.

I woke up early and was on the trail by 7:30. I was kind of dreading the hike which would gain 4,000 feet in elevation, I knew it would be worth it, but was expecting something very strenuous. The sun was out, but very little humidity meant it was a much easier hike than ones I’d done in Central America. I really enjoyed the hike, a great channce to clear my mind and not think about riding a bike. The river disapeared into the valley below and the trail approached a plateau with a small village with plots of crops surrounding it. From here Kuelap came into view, still a ways up, and stopped me in my tracks. A huge walled fortress built on the top of a narrow ridge, built by the Chachapoyans around a thousand years ago.

There were a couple tour groups, but the ruins were big enough that I could wander around and admire the site mostly on my own (it gets but a few percent of the visitors Machu Pichu does).   Kuelap is a settlement surrounded by huge impenetrable walls all around with only 3 narrow entrances. Once inside, save from a few rectangular structures, all the buildings are circular. One can only assume the society was so advanced that they knew that this way the dogs wouldn’t pee in the corners! I walked near some of the guides giving tours, but don’t remember much of the interesting facts. There are a few active digs and restoration sites where workers are reconstructing parts of the walls.

Even without the ruins, the hike itself would be worth it for the incredible views of the area. That I could find a shady tree to eat an orange and contemplate what the place would have been a thousand years ago made it a great day. I waited in the parking lot and got a ride back down to Tingo. I find downhills too rough on the knees and muscles rarely used when cycling. I got a ride with three nice women from Lima who were roadtripping around the area.  That afternoon I spent a while talking with Luis, the retired school teacher who runs the hospedaje. I had taken a walk up the small river that had flooded several times in the nineties and brought lots of mud and rocks with it.

All around Tingo are lots of abandoned houses, most without roofs. I can only assume that these caved in or were used in construction of Tingo Nuevo, located a couple miles up the hill. Tingo Nuevo was built after most of the buildings further down in the valley were no longer inhabitable. Luis regretted the division that has arisen in the community now that it is split between new and old Tingo, he feels like the government aid to the area went mostly to the new town. His property was spared major damage, so he decided to stay put and open the hospedaje. With his own funds, Luis has built a concrete wall several feet high in front of his buildings in hopes of being protected from the next big flood, and also put in reinforcement along the banks of the river.

Aside from getting cash in Chachapoyas, my biggest find was some excellent coffee. At Cafe Fusiones I saw they had whole beans for sale, and they said they could also grind them there. I’m usually given blank stares when I ask for “whole beans, but can you grind them for me”. It doesn’t matter how good your beans are, if they were ground more than a few days ago, you are missing out. But the lady at the shop (an angel, to be sure) knew what was up. They roast the coffee in small batches in a clay pot. And she had a grinder that she could adjust to a coarse grind, which works much better in my filter.

Now, fresh roasted and fresh ground can also mean nothing. But the batch of beans I got is easily the best coffee of this trip. After buying the beans I kept having to smell the bag and its sweet goodness, eagerly anticipating the cup I’d make the next morning. Now, good smelling coffee can also mean nothing. But this coffee is simply amazing, it tastes like a luscious chocolate cake and is so smooth, hardly bitter like most of the charred beans and instant coffee I’ve had the past year.

I’m not just imagining this folks!! When I made the coffee this morning, Luis mentioned that it smelled really good, and he gladly accepted a cup. I said “Congrats, this amazing coffee is from your country”. He commented that Antonio Raimondi, an Italian who explored Peru in the mid-1800s said that Peru was “A bum sitting on a throne of gold”, in reference to the vast untapped natural riches of the country (though I’m not sure at what point in history coffee was cultivated in Peru).

The ride today was my favortie of Peru so far. The road closely followed the river and no more than a dozen cars drove by. I haven’t felt this sort of calmness in a while. The heat and arid landscape reminds me of being in the bottom of Urique canyon in Mexico. All along the valley most of the houses are built of adobe bricks, packed mud and clay shingle roofs. I passed by an unfinished building being worked on, I was tempted to stop and ask if I could apply for an internship. I’d love to learn how to make a house without concrete and rebar.

I’m in Leimabamba, a nice little town. By now the Utcubamba river is crystal clear, as it has been since somewhere after Pedro Ruiz. I’ve been headed upstream, so now it is but a small trickle compared to when I first saw it a few days ago.

From here begins what I might describe as two rather ridiculous days. An 18 mile climb up from to 2,250 m (7,400 feet) to 3680 m (12,000 feet), and then a 2,600 m (8,500 feet) descent over the course of over 30 miles back to the Marañon River. For most cyclists on a trip like mine this is the longest continuous downhill by a long shot. But here is the kicker. From the bottom of the valley the road heads back up about at least another 2,000 m (6,600 feet) over the course of 25 miles!

I’ve been a little anxious about the climb, but the past few days have settled down by making the decision to ship most of my bags and equipment ahead to Cajamarca with the bus company (other cyclists have done this and say it is reliable and safe, lets hope so). So just this evening I did the following: dump out ALL my bags, and make a pile of things I’d need for the next 3 days, basically my stove and cookpot (am not going to let this fresh coffee go to waste), some breakfast supplies, some snacks, a change of clothes, basic tools and some raingear. Everything else, including tent, sleeping pad and bag, I’ve packed into a potato sack.

And it is really, really heavy, and big and bulky (I will look like a fool carrying it a block to the office tomorrow). I know how heavy it is because I carry my loaded bike up stairs and ride it up hills all the time. But when you make yourself pack just the essentials, and try to lift a big bag with all the rest, you start to wonder exactly how much is too much, and the extra wear and tear on your muscles, joints and bike.

So this will be a nice experiment in light travelling, what cyclists might refer to as “credit card touring”, except I won’t be using my credit card, but staying in cheap lodging, and eating lunch and/or dinner at an eatery, as I have been doing since I got to Peru.

From here I’ll be out of touch for at least 48 hours until I get to Celendin. I hear the scenery is spectacular, I think I’ll enjoy it a whole lot more without so much weight.

Tips for cyclist:

There is a sign for Bellavista on the left of the main hwy, it is about a 5 mile ride on dirt road to get there. There is an unmarked guesthouse on big main square.

Tons of hospedajes in Bagua Grande. Also think I saw an ATM from the bank that takes Mastercard/Cirrus, but didn’t stop to verify. Pedro Ruiz only has a Banco National ATM (Visa only), and impossibly slow internet.

Chachapoyas was nice but nothing special. Good market, ATMs, lots of tourist operators, cool weather. A couple vegetarian restaurants. But from Pedro Ruiz easy enough to make it to Tingo in one day.

In Tingo, I stayed at hospedaje Leon. Don’t know what the other one is like. I quite enjoyed getting to know Luis who along with his wife, runs the hospedaje.

When you hike to Kuelap, you arrive on the east side of the ruins, where there is no longer a working ticket booth. I had to hike the mile down to the parking lot and back up. Do the hike early enough in the day so you can find a ride down when you are done.

Heading south from Loja, the pavements ends in Yangana.  After a short day from Vilcabamba, I got to Yangana and knew the road turned to dirt.  The dark clouds up ahead in the mountains made me call it quits for the day, and I found a very basic room for the night.  Of course it could rain  continuously the next day or week, but the gamble paid off and the next day I awoke to sunny weather.  Time to tackle the hills!

The first few miles out of Yangana had a continuous stream of dump trucks carrying the never ending piles of dirt that slide down onto the road.

But once I got past the turnoff for the dump pile, the road was so so quiet, I encountered only a few cars and buses that afternoon.  There were four big climbs and not too much downhill, meaning I gained lots of altitude in a few hours.  I actually had to put my jacket on at the last pass.  Here I could barely make out the valley that Yangana sits in behind several ridges.

Then a few more miles and I caught a glimpse of Valladolid and Palanda way down in the valley, then next two towns on the dirt road.

There weren’t more than a few houses between Yangana and Valladolid, but several crystal clear streams which I drank from, and survived.  It is funny to think that in even in Alaska, Canada and the wide open west of the USA, I was rather diligent about treating water, but after Colombia, where all the small towns tapped the streams from the hills, I’ve been less inclined to filter water.  So far so good, but I may pay for this later on with a bug of sorts.

The descent from the hills down to Valladolid wasn’t easy, the rocky narrow road means you have to go real slow and stop once in a while to let the brakes cool down.

A much needed lunch in Valladolid, then another easy mostly downhill 10 miles to Palanda.  All in all, probably my favorite day in Ecuador!

More great weather for the next day from Palanda to Zumba.  Also more steep dirt road, with a long uphill at the end of the day to get to Zumba.

Not much going on in Zumba, the last real town before the Peru border.  Used up the remainder of an Ecuadorian phone card to call my aunt in Quito and then my parents in Chicago.  More sunny weather the next day to the border, but no pictures aside from the salt colonies growing on my shirt.  When I’m tired and the road is tough I start to lack the initiative to take pictures.

I got to the border, the quietest so far on the trip.  The only traffic I saw cross were a few motorcycles, but no cars.  I didn’t see any Peru plates in Ecuador, or vice versa.  Quite different from what I’ve seen at various Mexico-USA border towns.

The officer to stamp me out of Ecuador was nowhere to be found, so I decided I’d find some lunch.  I walked into one place and there was a young lady sitting at a table, slicing away a big tub of meat.  There was a guy sitting with her as well.  I asked what there was to eat, she said “Chicken”.  I asked if she could fry some eggs instead.  I generally avoid meat, twice now on this trip I’ve gotten food poisoning from meat, and figure eggs are a safer choice, and plus you always know what part of the animal you are getting served!  So anyway, I asked if they had eggs and they look at each other and burst out laughing.  I let them giggle and then matter of factly stated “Look, I’m not sure what is so funny, that wasn’t a joke, but a question”.  Either customer service in this border town means laughing at potential customers is acceptable (not so likely), or more likely, laughing at foreigners is acceptable.  The lady went back to the kitchen and came back, and said that there weren’t any eggs.  Once again I ask what is so funny but of course they did not have an answer and just stared at me.

Finally I got stamped out of Ecuador, then found another eatery where I could spend my last spare Ecuadorian (American) coins at.  Fried eggs were not a problem here.

I headed to the migration building on the Peru side to get stamped in.  The first thing the office asks me when I tell him I’m on a bike is if I had any insurance for the bike “just like a motorcycle or car”, he said.  I told him I’d been travelling for over a year and a dozen countries and that no where had required insurance for using a bike.  ”But surely you need insurance in your country, what if you get in an accident?”.  Early on we established he wasn’t talking about medical insurance for my person, but rather for the use of the bike.  That much we agreed on.  ”The transit code says you need insurance”. I also mentioned that I had several friends who had passed through here on bikes, and no one had mentioned needing insurance. “Oh, well then I guess they forgot to tell you, right?”  This was my first clue that he wasn’t a poorly trained migration officer, but rather, one on a power trip of sorts.  I asked him if any Peruvian that gets on a bike has to have insurance, he said no, just foreigners.  I conceded and said “Look, I’ll find some insurance the next town I can”.  This pleased him.  Another debate was had as to how many days I could get.  He originally offered 90, but I asked if I could get 180, as this was the maximum, and my other cyclist friends had received this much.  He told me that it is 180 within any calendar year, but since we were passed the halfway point of the year, I could only get 90.  I do hope to be done with Peru within 90 days, but wanted the max just in case.  Finally he gave me 150, which contradicts his early explanation.

Then began the filling out of the form.  I filled it out and then he compared it with my passport.  I had never noticed that my most recent passport doesn’t have my mom’s maiden name, which all my old passports do.  He stated that if it wasn’t on my passport, I shouldn’t put it on the form.  Fair enough.  So I filled out a second one, and realized I made the same mistake again further down the piece of paper.  I apologized and said, look I’m tired, I’ll just fill out another one.  ”For this you will be fined two dollars, one for each form”.  I rolled my eyes, to myself at least.  I filled everything else except the name part out, and let him do it, unwilling to be told I’d made another mistake.  I had the gall to ask him where it says it costs a dollar for each extra form, and he points to a wall full of printouts of all the official migration laws printed out in colorful mix and match of WordArt fonts.  As hard as I try I did not see this rule, but play into the game and say “Oh yeah, there it is”.  Of course he doesn’t have change for my $5 so he settles on 5 soles (less than $2).  I wasn’t about to ask for a receipt for this “official” transaction.  I wasn’t going to put up more of a stink as he could have found any reason not to let me into his country.

All this while he is blasting away sordid radio hits from years past (Dame Mas Gasolina for goodness’ sake), and of course not wearing any uniform or name badge.  I’m not saying that the US, Canada or Mexico have the fairest of migration officers, but when you show up in their offices, you are at least greeted with a facade of professionalism.  But I guess when crossing from Ecuador to Peru on a quiet dirt road, shoddy service is what you get.  All part of the adventure.

From the border at Las Balsas a few miles to Namballe.  It was late in the afternoon so I found a room for the night.  This is one of those times on the trip where I just stopped for a second, looked around, and said “boy, I really do feel out of place here”.  I couldn’t walk around the corner without every single person staring.  But later that night ran into a very friendly shopkeeper and his nephew, and this mostly made me forget the unpleasant migration officer.  They asked me all sorts of questions about travel on a bike and about life in US and Mexico, among other things, how much cows cost there and how much one could make growing potatoes.  I said I was sorry but had no experience with either things!

By the time I left Namballe I had been on the road for 6 days, which isn’t usually that much, but the last few days I’d been loosing my steam after all the tough dirt roads.  The 28 miles to San Ignacio were very slow.  The last few days have been rather warm after dropping down from the mountains in Loja.  But unfortunately a cold drink has been tough to find.  Unlike most of the larger towns that will most likely have a Coca Cola or Pepsi fridge, and the obligatory beer fridge with the digital temperature reading on the outside, you are lucky if the only store in town has a fridge at all.  If it does, it is like a home kitchen fridge, and often times just used for the shelf space (why buy the fridge in the first place???).  Yes my friends, for better or for worse, there are corners of this world that Coca Cola has forgotten.  Asking the storekeeper if the drinks are “frio” (cold), is of no use, as cold to them means barely above room temperature, then they say, oh you mean “helado” (freezing or ice cold), “no we don’t have anything helado”.

I know I’ve only been in the country for two days, but the shouts of “Gringo! Gringo!” are back in full force and persistent in towns of all sizes, and from what other cyclists say, will continue for quite a while south.  As such, I get to practice my responses to this greeting.  One is to just shout “Gringo!” back.  Another is to shout “No soy gringo, soy Mexicano [I'm not a gringo, I'm Mexican]“.  Or stop and say “No me llamo Gringo, tengo un nombre y es Mateo [My name isn't Gringo it is Mateo]“.  I usually use this ones for adults, who I feel should know better.  Sometimes I ignore it all together.  I know this is simply what is acceptable to do when a foreigner on a bike rolls into town, but in very rare cases is it endearing or does it feel very welcoming.  But really it doesn’t even make sense.  I’m not questioning the choice of the word “Gringo” as much as what the point of doing so is.

Anyway, Peru is one big country and progress is going to be slow along the tough mountain routes I’ll be taking.  But for now am looking forward to the adventure.  From here I head up to Chachapoyas and hope to visit the ruins at Kuelap.

PS I worked on getting the last 4 months of pictures up to my Flickr account.  At last!  Now you can see all the pictures from Central America.  Click [here] for the Flickr page from the trip.

UPDATED

Tips for Cyclists:

Your last chance for an ATM is Loja or Vilcabamba.  The first ATM in Peru was San Ignacio (main square), although it didn’t take my card for whatever reason (which is Cirrus/Mastercard network).  When changing money at the border or San Ignacio, expect them to only take crisp US dollars, or give you a worse rate for bills with even small imperfections.

In Vilcabamba, an option is Hostal Mandango, behind the bus station.  Tell the friendly owner you were referred by past cyclists and he’ll likely charge you only $5.  Kind of on the run down side.

In Yangana, the room for rent is above the store on the corner of main square, very basic, $3.  Ask anyone where it is.

In Palanda, Hostal Merino on main square should charge you $5 for a room, shared bathroom, rather poor ventilation inside room.  Several other options in town.

In Zumba, the hostal a few doors down the block from the main square in front of the military barracks has some airy rooms on the top floor, shared bathrooms, $5.  Internet is slooooow in Zumba.  To leave Zumba, you basically have to go to the other end of the airstrip where a new building (terminal?) is being built, and head downhill from there.  Ask if unsure.

There is a military checkpoint a ways past Zumba, take a right after it.  The soldiers gladly gave me juice and water, but so you know, there is a steep push after it over a ridge.  Right after the ridge is a downhill into a little town with a basic store.

In Namballe, when you get to the main square, if you ask for a hospedaje you may be pointed to the one above the hardware store on the corner.  15 soles, no water tank so fill up your reserves for cooking, as it will likely be gone in the morning.  Just around the corner, however, is the “main street” (didn’t look like it at first glance), there are several more hospedajes that might be a better deal.  The hardware store a block or two from the main square sells gasoline.

Several towns between Namballe and San Ignacio, so no need to go too crazy carrying water.

I was fortunate to have sunny weather on the dirt road, and can only imagine things would be much more difficult when wet and muddy.  Check other Crazyguyonabike blogs for more descriptions of the route and distances.  As for going from Peru to Ecuador, just be warned that the first few miles north of the border in Ecuador are extremely steep, don’t assume it is all this bad, but that isn’t to say it will be great the other way either.

In San Ignacio, at least a dozen lodging options.  First night I spent at hospedaje Santa Rosa II (no idea what Santa Rosa I is like…), half block south (downhill) from the big church one the two-way avenue.  15 soles shared bathroom, quite clean, firm foam mattresses, newish building with a fresh coat of paint in rooms. Further past Santa Rosa II is a large hotel, no idea of prices, probably a splurge.  Next two nights I spent at hotel La Posada as there is an internet cafe on the first floor and they were happy to give me the code for the wifi connection.  La Posada is located a block north (uphill) from the main avenue, just east (away from the square) of the chifa place on the main avenue.

Cheap 5 soles almuerzos can be had at many eateries, but a 1/4 roast chicken with delicious fries can be had at La Caravana for 10 soles, right by the Banco Nacional on the main avenue.  Incidentally, Banco Nacional always has a hundred people lined up outside, so if you want to feel like you are on parade and get stared at, just walk by (may only apply to those with grubby beards, who knows)!  Also, try the Pilsen Polar, a national dark lager (still no ales anywhere, oh well).

If you are a map fan, go to Saja cafe, just off the northeast corner of the main square.  In the back there is a huge topo map with excellent detail of the local roads (switchbacks and all!).  I looked into it, it seems to be produced for a local tourism project, and from research online doesn’t look like you could find one like this for the rest of the country.  Too bad, really good map.

After watching this a few days after I taped it, I realize how unfocused and scattered I seem.  I had been off the bike for a week and the hour of uphill at the high altitude had left me rather light-headed and cross-eyed.  Hopefully in 500 miles I’ll be a little more enthusiastic.

I’m now in Loja, still without my DHL package.  But just yesterday DHL said that it finally got out of Ecuadorian customs and should be here tomorrow morning.  From here I plan to head to Vilcambamba, and further south to cross into Peru on some rough back roads.  All the cyclists who go this way say that it is well worth the difficult riding and it is stress free border crossing. (The Berling brothers’ recent account said they had to go find the immigration officer who was lounging in her bikini with a beer, floating in an inner tube in the nearby river).  I spent the last 140 miles on a busy highway between Cuenca and Loja (for those cyclists that haven’t traveled it yet, it’s all brand new paved concrete with lots of up and don), and I’m eager to find some quieter routes.

The old map in the hotel here has what is now part of Peru (ie San Ignacio) still in Ecuador.  This disputed border has indeed been of conflict for a long time now, but all the reports have made it sound no worse than any other border crossings, so I’m not worried about it.

A lady in the market in Saraguro asked me why I don’t shave my beard.  I really don’t have any better reason than “Why shave?”.  But this wasn’t an acceptable answer, she kept insisting, so I asked why she didn’t shave her hair off.  I wasn’t trying to be nasty or anything, but I guess just trying to make the point that a beard seems just as natural as her hair.  I think I’ll just start lying about the beard, maybe say that I’m running from the law and this is my disguise. Any other creative explanations?

I’ve visited the two rather large grocery stores here in downtown Loja (a city of 180,000), and of course hoped to pick up some butter.  Despite having many other refrigerated dairy products, and shelves full of many margarine choices, there is no butter to be found.  I always thought butter was a staple grocery, but it has been difficult to find lately in Ecuador.  Not sure why this is.

Even More Observations from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

In Latacunga, Greg, Dylan and I say goodbye, we’re all headed to Baños but each at our own pace. An O-ring on my stove has split, and the replacement one does the same after a few days of use so I send an email to the stove company asking if they can send parts to Cuenca. I leave Latacunga at noon, and the rain makes me almost call it a day a few miles outside of town. But it isn’t too hard, so I keep on. This is the first time since Costa Rica that I’ve biked alone.

There are signs for a back route to Baños (via Pillaro and Patate), so I decide to check it out. A mile up the hill, a delivery truck stops me and strongly warns me about the road ahead. Later I would look a topo map and see that it indeed would have gone up and down the sides of several valleys, so I’m glad I turn around and get back on the Panamerican.

It is still early in the afternoon when I arrive at the outskirts of Amabato, so I decide to keep going and take the road around instead of going through the center. This drops several miles into a gorge, and the climb back out of it is very slow. Several more small towns and the drizzle starts again. I know it is a long descent to Banos, and descents are never enjoyed in cold wet weather, so I stay the night in Pelileo.

On TV is a Mexican movie that takes place in the Sierra Tarahumara. The movie opens with a family taking the ChePe train up to Creel. The dad works for the saw mills that are stripping away the hillsides. His young son befriends a Tarahumara boy. The Tarahumara son and dad are going on a trek into the canyons, and invite the city boy along.  They teach him about nature and their traditions, and see a bear. So wonderfully 1980s, so wonderfully Mexican, but I fall asleep before the end.

In the morning, on my way out to find a bakery, the manager asks if I’m not leaving yet. I tell him no, I still need to find breakfast and pack, and that I was told check out time was at noon. He kindly asks if I can leave any earlier, the whole hotel is booked for the town’s patron saint celebration, and all the rooms need to be ready for the various dignitaries coming into town.

The 15 miles to Baños go quickly. On my way down into the valley I pass a couple on touring bikes, but am going too fast to stop and find out who they are.

After two plates of llapingachos in the food market (cheesy potatoes with fried eggs and sausage), I run into Greg on the street, he’s made it from Latacunga in one day. I spend the afternoon talking to taxi driver, food vendors, police and tour operators about the road to Riobamba. It follows the base of Volcano Tungurahua and has been in various states of disrepair for the better part of the last decade. Some say it is completely blocked off, so I ask how the folks of the small towns in the area get around. Oh, maybe it is open after all. Other folks say it should be passable on a bike, I ask when the last time they saw it with their own eyes was. Not before the most recent mudslides. I’m sure I could get through, but it might be a very muddy and dangerous affair.

My only option if I want to stay in the mountains is backtrack to Pelileo or Ambato and take the main highway, but I hate to backtrack. Plus, Greg is headed down to the Amazon, and I start considering the possibility of going with him. The mountains in Ecuador have been kind of a let down in that it has been cloudy and rainy, even though it is supposedly the drier season. The famed snow caps have failed to make many appearances, and I decide that if it is going to rain on me I might as well be in a warmer climate and change up the scenery a little.

Later that evening Greg and I head to the thermal pools, which give the town its name. It is Saturday during holiday season so the place is packed with tourists, nationals and foreigners alike.  Baños reminds me of Pigeon Forge in Tennessee or Navy Pier in Chicago, it is a town for tourists. The streets are lined with tour operators, buggy rentals, and restaurants with bilingual menus. Signs advertise jungle treks, bungee jumps, hotels, massages and laundry services in awful English. I seek refuge once again in the food market, a place where tourists don’t venture into. Why pay $1.50 for a plate of llapingachos when you can buy bad pizza for much more? I spend the day researching the Amazon route and getting groceries.

Greg and I head to Puyo, about 50 miles ride. Several times the main road heads through tunnels, but bikes are forbidden, but the old road goes around the side of the valley and cars don’t head this way so it is rather pleasant. Some illwill ambassadors ride by in a truck and the passenger throws an orange at me. It hits me in the back and stings pretty good. Greg is just a ways up ahead, and I shout out to warn him about these guys even though he can’t hear me. They toss something at him as well, the chase is on. A few minutes later I get to the next town, and I catch a glimpse of the back of the truck again, it has slowed down for the speed bumps, but I don’t see Greg, so I know he’s gotten ahead of them. They’re surprised when they see Greg again, Greg is merciful and makes sure not to break any windows.

The valley eventually opens up and as far as your eyes can see is the jungle. This is the Amazon basin, no longer boxed in by the mountains in every direction. Puyo is much much bigger than I had imagined and the center of town not straightforward to find. I haven’t seen Greg since the orange tossers, so wait in the main square, the obvious place to run into him, and he rolls in a few minutes later.

We find a hotel, food and internet. The stove company has already sent a package to Cuenca via DHL, it should be there soon. Now that means I have to get back up to the mountains. I was just about to email them and ask if they will instead send the package to somewhere in Peru, I’m still a few weeks away from there so that would give it more than enough time in case of any delays.

We watch the highlight show for the Tour de France. It is the first time I’ve watched the Tour for more than 5 minutes, and it is good to have Greg there to explain the intricacies of bike racing. In the morning the mountain stage is on and so we can’t leave until it is over. A little bit of teflon tape wrapped around where the O-ring should be means my stove is back in business, so I’m not without my mandatory morning coffee.

We don’t get going until very late in the morning, and the 80 miles to Macas seems a little far for such a short day. But having watched the pros that morning means we’re stoked and the miles roll be easily. The road is quiet and newly paved. The weather is warm, but sweat isn’t rolling down my arms, and it is rather enjoyable. We eat lunch at the Pastaza river halfway to Macas, rest up a little in the hammocks and don’t get going again until after 3. We know we’ll get into Macas after dark, but are determined to get there.

As the sun sets, I take my eyes off the road to take a look to the right, the west. The clouds have cleared and the ridge of the Andes are out. I’m at 3,000 feet (1,000 m), and over there is Volcano Sangay, 17,000 feet (5,200 m). We stop to take pictures and right then Sangay lets out a puff of smoke. All in all a great day.

From Macas we head to Mendez, again the road is in very good condition and very quiet. The ups and downs a little more pronounced than the day before. We pass a pickup truck with the hood open, the driver waves me over. He shows me the steel cable running from the cabin, it is damaged somehow and he wants to know if I have one like it. I’ve been carrying an shifter cable since Whitehorse, Canada, it is thinner than the truck’s cable, but the guy thinks it will do the trick. He offers to pay, I just ask for a picture in return.

Macas is a town at the junction of the Troncal Amazonica, the road that runs north-south in the jungle and the Transversal Austral, a road that heads up to Cuenca and over to the coast. I had a nice detour in the jungle, and heard the road gets bad further south headed to Zamora, and besides, I need to get the package in Cuenca, so I part ways with Greg once again.

[Click here for Greg's account of the Amazon route]

I knew I was in for a challenge, the few cyclists’ reports about the road made it seem tough. Greg talked to some travellers that said it took them 6 hours to travel the 100 miles down from Cuenca. I figure I’ll take it easy and spread the 100 miles over 3 days.  When I leave Mendez the sign said 165km to Cuenca (though maybe it should have said 185). The math says the chunk missing on the ITMB map would be 40km to Amaluza… good target for day one. After 4 hours of pedaling mostly standing up, averaging 5mph I’m exhausted and all I see is the road continue to climb the side of the steep gorge. Some guy walking on the road says “2 hours to Amaluza by car”. I camp for the night in a gravel lot by a house.

Day two… Amaluza is close, right? Surely I can get there and then maybe make it to Sevilla de Oro later that day. After all, the road on the map stays within one elevation color, it must just follow the river up the valley. I stop in front of a maintenance station and ask a worker how many kilometers to Amaluza. He stares at me blankly, so a few seconds later I ask again. This prompts a head scratch, but still, no response at all. He stares for a little longer, I say thanks and keep on.

At some point the road turns into gravel. I talk to the girl at the yogurt stand, a Spanish cyclist had spent the night there only a few days ago. She said he said the same thing, the climbing is the worst he’s done, supposedly he’s been on the road for over 2 years. Who is this guy?

4 hours of pedaling and again this time an average of 5.4 mph gets me to Amaluza. That makes a total of 40 miles, 65 km in two days. In a moment of weakness that I’ll probably regret later, I get on a bus to Paute. From the looks of things, it could have easily taken me another 2 days to make it those 50 miles. Either up or down, the road curves in and out at every waterfall.  I have no idea what the folks who aid the road gets flat ahead were thinking.

I spend the bus ride thinking about my decision. Surely I’ve had stretches of road much worse than this? The ride in Panama from Almirante over to the Pacific, the day between Huehuetenango to Xela, or from Ciudad Quesada over to Alajuela in Costa Rica come to mind. But at the end of those days I had gone much farther than 20 miles, and never before on the trip had I averaged less than 6 miles an hour, much less two days in a row. It wasn’t that I was unable to bike any further (though I don’t think my knees would have liked too much more standing up all day). I think it was more that I became bored, impatient, anxious and frustrated with such lack of progress.

Getting a ride on a bus is a slippery slope, now that I’ve done it once, will I find it more difficult to resist the temptation again? I justify it in a way, after all my detour into the Amazon meant that I’ve biked more miles overall than if I had just headed straight to Cuenca from Latacunga. But if I’ve given in now, do I stand a chance with the tough roads awaiting in Peru and Bolivia? For know I just try not be too hard on myself, and tell myself to remember this the next time I think about getting a ride.

I check the DHL status in Paute, it says the package has been in Guayaquil for the past 3 days with a “Clearance Delay”, which I guess is a nice way of saying stuck in customs hell. Another reason to regret riding the bus, I’ll be in Cuenca and the package may still be days or weeks away from delivery.

I leave Paute the next morning , the busy traffic resumes as I get close to Cuenca. The riding is slow, my legs are tired, but I also feel sore in my arms after balancing on the handlebars while standing up on the bike the past few days. It is drizzling and in for a second I loose my concentration and ride into the shoulder, and try to get back on to the road. But my front tire won’t grip the ridge of pavement and the bike slides out from under me and I roll over onto the road. Fortunately no one runs me over.

By the time I find a place to stay in Cuenca (on a street called Benigno Malo, which I think is humorous name) it is still early on a Saturday afternoon and the DHL website says they have location open. I know the package isn’t here but I at least want to talk to someone and get an idea of what I’m up against. I write down the address, it is Av Americas 6-118. I came into the city on Av Americas, a main road, so I know where it is. Surely this will be easy to find. I walk up to Americas and I’m at address 4-134 or something. Going west the next block goes to 4-82 or something, then 5-842. The numbers make no sense to me, I’m running out of time, so flag a cab.

He has no idea where the number would be, I ask him if they don’t go in some sort of sensible order. Of course not. How anyone gets pizzas delivered or ambulances called in Ecuador’s third largest city I have no idea. I give him the corner street and he radios his pals for a few minutes, until someone radios back. The intersection is a ways out and it will cost me $3 dollars.

Finally we get to the intersection, but the 6-118 is no where to be seen, just the cross street, and I don’t see any DHL sign. He’s as fed up with me asking why we can’t just go to 6-118 as I am with his boozy breath covered up by mint gum. So I pay, get out, and take a bus back into downtown for $0.25.

The historic center is dead on Saturday evening, it seems that only one in 20 storefronts are open, even more so on Sunday. This makes procuring butter an issue, even in the large stores everyone only has margarine. I spend my time walking around aimlessly, in between bouts of catching up on cable reality TV. For almost the past 4 months I’ve been travelling with other cyclists, so the solitude is something to get used to. The company was a good to have, but for now I’ll have to take advantage of the change of pace, I’ll run into more cyclists again sooner or later.

It is Monday morning and Cuenca has come back to life. The DHL office says that they can’t release the package from Guayaquil until I approve and pay the customs charges on the package. It could be here as early as Tuesday. I worry about how much it will cost. Originally I had asked Optimus to just send me new O-rings, but the kindly sent a whole new pump as well, which may end up costing me more than I bargained for. But looking down the road ahead, it may not be a bad thing to have a backup pump.

[The smudges on the lens are from taking a picture of the mushrooms frying in butter...]

After a week of rest and relaxation in Quito, Dylan and I headed out through Cumbaya and Tumbaco, towns to the east of Quito, and made our way to Sangolqui. From here we headed south, the road turning into cobblestone. After 5 miles of this it was already 4 in the afternoon, and the clouds up ahead were dark. All we could see ahead was more steep cobblestone, so we decided to call it quits in Rumipamba.

The only store in town was closed so we picked a house at random and knocked on the door to inquire if there was somewhere in town where we could camp, possibly with a roof, a shed or old barn perhaps, as we were sure it was going to rain.

After a minute, the family we talked to said “Oh, well we have an extra house just around the corner, no one lives in it, why don’t you spend the night there”. So for a night we had a little house with running water, lights, and a radio. It didn’t actually end up raining, but it was nice nonetheless to have a place to stay like this.

Next morning we were on our way, up the cobblestone, when we ran into Greg. We last saw him in Otavalo, where he ended up spending some time off. Though we discussed going the same route, we had not agreed to meet up at any given time, but knew we’d be on the same road on the same day, so were not surprised to run into him.

After several hours of uphill on rough road, yet only making 10 miles, we stopped for lunch at the junction that heads south oe way to Cotopaxi National Park, or east another way to Machachi, a town on the Panamerican Hwy. We still had not seen Cotopaxi as it was rather overcast, and it started raining. We could either keep going up (we were already at 11,500 feet or 3,500m) and pay $10 to go through the park and still not see the mountain, or ride 10 miles mostly downhill on cobblestone to Machachi. Either option had us getting wet and cold, and no chance to see the volcano, so we called it a day and hung out at a lodge in front of a fireplace. Our hope was that things would clear up in the morning. We slept outside in the carport of the lodge (as rooms were $24 a person), which was fine as we stayed dry and it only got down to 42 F. Falling asleep was diffcult though, I’m not used to the elevation yet.

Sure enough, the next morning Cotopaxi (one of the highest active volcanoes in the world) was out, so we enjoyed the beautiful view as we made breakfast. On our way up to the park the clouds came in and we wouldn’t see Cotopaxi again, but we had a great time riding the dirt road through the treeless paramo in the park, a world away from the busy Panamerican Hwy. It would have been even more incredible if we had clear views, but it was a fun day anyway as I set a new altitude record for myself.

Greg had spotted bolete mushrooms outside the park and picked some. I was a little uneasy about eating them, but Greg assured us that he had picked mushrooms for decades and knew how to recognize them. So at the 12,770 foot pass we broke out the cast iron skillet and we sliced fried up the huge mushrooms in some butter (did I mention it is cool enough to carry butter again?). Almost 24 hours later I am writing this so I guess they really were edible.

We’ve made it to Latacunga, and hope to get to Baños today. Here Greg and Dylan are thinking of heading east into the Amazon basin, but I’ll most likely continue south in the mountains.

[Click here for Greg's account of the Cotopaxi route]

More Observations from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

A sequel of sorts to Observations.  Starring Greg [blog], Dylan [blog], kids who love to run and bike alongside us, the city of Medellin and the countryside of Colombia and Ecuador.  And a garbage truck in Tulcan that plays a little Andean ditty.

Or, why folks in the Midwest are roasting and my toes are chilly.

3,000m is approx 10,000 feet.

Dear family, friends and fellow cyclists,

A year ago this evening I boarded a plane in Seattle, spent the night in the Fairbanks airport, then flew to Deadhorse, located on the Arctic Ocean in Prudhoe Bay. Here I put my bike together and departed on the first day of this journey. That makes today my 365th day on the road, where I am currently in Colombia, a few days north of the Ecuador border.

A few numbers. My odometer is at about 10,300 miles, though the actual distance travelled while making forward progress (which doesn’t include backtracking or biking done around cities on rest days) is about 10,000 miles. As the crow flies, I’m 5,650 miles from where I started. I’ve covered 68 degrees of latitude. Out of the past year, I’ve been on the bike making progress down the road 205 days, giving an average of 49 miles for my typical day on the bike. The furthest I biked in one day was 85 miles, from the end of the Dalton Hwy into Fairbanks. The most pedaled in one month was July of 2009, over 1,400 miles. October 2009 was the last month I biked over 1,000 miles, since then my pace has slowed significantly as I have not been racing against winter.

I spent a week or more off the bike in the following places: a train trip in the Copper Canyons; Mexico City and Guadalajara over Christmas and New Year’s; Morelia getting over food poisoning and waiting for rain to stop; San Cristobal de las Casas indulging in French pastries; Antigua during Holy Week; and boat travel between Granada, Nicaragua and Los Chiles, Costa Rica.

Depending on when you last saw me, I could be up to 45 pounds lighter (I currently weigh in at 175 lbs). I’ve replaced my drive train (chain and rear cassette) twice, in British Columbia and Guadalajara. I started off the trip with two new Schwalbe Marathon Plus tires, have replaced one of them with a Marathon XR. I stopped counting flat tires; although this is a handy number to evaluate tire quality, it is something I try not to think about.

My route has gone through 10 countries: USA (Alaska, Montana, Wyoming, Idaho for 3 miles, Utah, Arizona), Canada (Yukon, British Columbia, Alberta), Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama, Colombia. I’ve crossed the Continental Divide (the imaginary line between the watersheds of the Pacific and the Arctic/Antlantic/Carribean) over a dozen times, although these haven’t always been the most difficult passes nor the highest in elevation. The highest elevation I have reached is about 10,000 feet, in Utah, again in Michoacan, Mexico, and once again in Guatemala (this number will soon be broken as I head further into the Andes in the coming days). The coldest night was about 10 F, just south of the Grand Canyon (needless to say, the water bottle in my tent was frozen in the morning).

I have been assisted for short rides in vehicles when the situation dictated (road construction or through a highway tunnel), but the only real break in the route was 40 miles in the Tehuantepec isthmus where the winds blew me off the road and I decided it was too unsafe to cycle through. Boat travel has included short ferry rides across rivers, and longer trips across Lake Atitlan, Lake Nicaragua and from Portobelo, Panama to Turbo, Colombia (to get around the Darien Gap).

Beyond these numbers though, summarizing the experience of the past year in a few paragraphs is an impossible task. For me the thought of miles covered in more than a few days down the road ahead can often be overwhelming. As I tell people, “Just one day at a time”. It is just as difficult to look back on a year of cycling and make sense of the distance covered.

Without a doubt the people I have met along the way comes to mind as an explanation for getting this far. At some point in the last couple years you’ve offered encouragement and advice as I planned the trip; given me shelter and fed me; left a comment on my blog; or accompanied me on the road. For all this, a hearfelt thank you! I truly would not have made it past the first week without the support I have received.

So what lies ahead? I expect to travel through Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Chile and Argentina over the next 6 or 7 months, and get to Ushuaia, the southernmost city in Tierra del Fuego. There are plenty of questions and challenges ahead. Will my knees survive several hundred thousand more feet of climbing up hills? Will my will to keep going succumb to another bout of homesickness or bad weather? Will my bike put up with the inevitable wear and tear to come? Where will I find gainful employment when the trip is done? For now I’ll try not to worry about this and just keep on, one day at a time.

All the best,

-Matt.

PS Keep up with the latest updates of my trip at http://pedalpanam.com

*****

Querida familia, amigos y ciclistas;

Hace un año esta tarde aborde un avion en Seattle, pase la noche en el aeropuerto de Fairbanks, y despues vole a Deadhorse, ubicado en el Oceano Artico en la Bahia de Prudhoe. Aqui arme mi bicicleta y empeze el primer dia de mi viaje. Hoy es el dia 365 en ruta, actualmente me encuentro en Colombia, a unos dias al norte de la frontera con Ecuador.

Algunos numeros. Mi odometro esta en mas o menos 16,580 km, pero la distancia recorrido es mas bien de 16,100 km (lo que no incluye distancias que no contribuyeron mi avance en el camino). En linea directa estoy a unos 9,100 km de donde empece. He viajado 68 grados de latitud. En el ultimo año he estado avanzando en el camino 205 dias, dando un promedio de 79 km por dia en bici. La distancia mas larga en un dia fue 136 km, entrando a Fairbanks. Lo mas pedaleado en un mes fue julio, mas de 2,250 km. Despues de octubre no he pedaleado mas de 1,600km en un mes, desde entonces no he tenido que estar huyendo de la clima de invierno.

He tomado aventones cortos en vehiculos solo cuando era necesario, pero el lapso mas grande en la ruta fue 65 km en el istmo de Tehuantepec, donde decidi que el viento que me estaba arrojando fuera del camino era demasiado peligroso. Viajes por agua han incluido el cruce de rios en lancha, y distancias mas largas en el Lago de Atitlan, el Lago de Nicaragua, y desde Portobelo, Panama hasta Turbo, Colombia.

He estado una semana o mas sin andar en bici: un viaje en tren a las Barrancas del Cobre; la Ciudad de Mexico y Guadalajara durante las fiestas decembrinas; Morelia recuperando de enfermedad; Antigua, Guatemala durante Semana Santa, y el tiempo entre Granada, Nicaragua y Los Chiles, Costa Rica.

Dependiendo de la ultima vez que me viste, puede ser que peso hasta 20 kgs menos. He reemplazado my cadena y estrellas traseras dos veces, en Canada y Guadalajara. Empeze el viaje con dos llantas Schwalbe Marathon Plus, y he reemplazado uno de ellos. Deje de contar cuantos pinchazos me han tocado.

Mi ruta ha ido por 10 paises: Estados Unidos, Canada, Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama y Colombia. La elevacion mas alta ha sido de aproximadamente 3,000 m, en Utah, Michoacan y en Guatemala (ire mucho mas alto en los proximos dias continuado por los Andes). La noche mas fria fue en Arizona, de -12 C.

Mas alla de estos numeros, tratar de resumir el ultimo año seria difícil. Simplemente pensar mas de unos dias en el camino puede ser demasiado. Por eso le digo a la gente “Solo un día a la vez”.

Sin duda la gente que he conocido en el camino es la razon de como he llegado tan lejos. En los ultimos 2 años, tu haz dado consejos y apoyo cuando planeaba mi viaje, me has dado comida y posada, has escrito un comentario en mi blog, o me has acompaniado en el camino. Por todo esto, muchas, muchas gracias. De verdad no podría haber ido mas que una semana sin todo el animo que me han dado.

¿Que queda por delante? Espero viajar por Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Chile y Argentina en los 6 o 7 meses que siguen, hasta llegar a Ushuaia, la ciudad mas al sur en la Tierra del Fuego. Quedan muchas preguntas y retos. ¿Pueden mis rodillas sobrevivir miles de metros mas de subidas? ¿Podrá mi deseo de seguir sobrevivir el mal tiempo y ganas de regresar con amigos y familia? ¿ Podrá mi bicicleta sobrevivir el desgaste? ¿Podre encontrar empleo cuando el viaje termine? Por ahora trato de no preocuparme de esto, al contrario, solo seguir adelante, un día a la vez.

Les deseo todo lo mejor,

Mateo.

PD Sigan las ultimas noticias de mi viaje en http://pedalpanam.com

[June 6, 2010]

yesterday we went to get tickets again, this time the boss was like 50,000 for the bikes, but nothing extra for weight. we went along with it, hoping it would get us out of capurgana. this morning us 3 went to the dock and two other cyclists (one argentine with only 2 panniers, another CRAZY 65+ year old german guy with a home made trailer with fake wooden panneling and a weiner dog) had also bought tickets but there was just NO space in the boat, so we figured they’d have to wait another day.

our boat had 33 passengers, really packed, though the bikes were OK for the most part. we get to Turbo and are at the military checkpoint when sure enough, a same sized boat with ONLY 10 passengers, including the 2 cyclists show up. why they didn’t evenly distribute the passengers between the two boats is beyond me!

we made it 35 miles south of turbo, hope to do the rest to medellin in 4 days.

[June 13, 2010]

Was 15 miles of up up and up to the pass, where we asked a cop about the tunnel (only ’cause he had a pickup). He didn’t know about the cyclist restrictions, but offered to take us through anyway. I think he was in a hurry, he had his flashing lights on and drove like a maniac, but a well trained one. Missed out on a bunch of the descent into the valley since he didn’t stop to let us out until the first town.

Medellin is incredible. Maybe it is just the feeling of vastness of any other big city, which I haven’t experienced since Guadalajara, but there is something particularly captivating here. Wandered and took a ride on the Metro system, which includes cable cars that float over the steep hillside barrios where it isn’t feasible to build rail or bus lines. Mexico City is my first love, but Medellin seems a little less frumpy, grimy and, well, Mexican. Am staying with an old friend of my parents way up above the city where the breeze makes you consider putting some socks on.

Greg and I went on a bike shop crawl and finally found me some Tektro levers, but no luck for his 22 tooth chain ring. Was looking at the Surly website, it says maximum tire size for 26″ rim is 2.1″. Fatties don’t fit fine?

Yes! Hot water and shampoo and conditioner… felt a little unnatural.

[June 19, 2010]

Leave Medellin Wednesday afternoon, just barely make it over the 2,500 m pass when it gets really dark, cold and rainy. We’re hoping to camp but glad we get a hospedaje above a gas station. Not just goosebumps, but feel cold down to the bones. Our bandeja dinners end up costing only 11,000 for both, not sure how.

Next morning we descend all the way down to La Pintada at 600 m, back to the river Cauca, same river that goes through Santa Fe de Antioquia. So what was the point of biking all the way up to Medellin? Follow the river for quite a while, then camp out after the road left the valley. Warm? Yes, hot even, but the prickly heat is gone for now. Next morning a gentle climb for most of the day, then the long uphill to Manizales at 2,200 m. Very deceiving, we keep thinking we’ve reached a pass, but Manizales is not at the bottom of a valley, but kind of spread out on a side of a mountain. Would be happy to avoid another big city but my ATM card is supposed to be here Monday.

Thankfully there are Calles and Carreras so directions people give us mostly make sense. Greg and I find the hostel and then go grocery shopping. We’ve missed the ‘ley seca’ cut off time by one hour, all the booze shelves are taped off. After the long climb we were hoping for a beer with our pasta dinner (sauce was: 2 sticks butter, 2 cups cream, half a pound parmesan cheese).

On our way back a young guy approaches us and starts walking backwards, facing us, mumbling incoherent things. I notice a wooden handle in his hand, blade up his sleeve. I point this out to Greg and right then he tries to grab Greg and pulls out the knife. But the guy is too wasted to be of danger. This happens on a busy intersection in front of a huge mall with tons of people walking about. Other than that Manizales seems like a pretty safe town, there are 6 universities, so plenty of hip students around.

On our way back we stop at a tiendita, the owner happy to sell us a dozen beers, “just be discreet”. That should be more than enough for the next three days, but somehow the supply dwindles as other hostel guests are helping themselves.

My card is supposed to be here Monday morning, so we’re thinking of leaving right after that. We’ve got to figure out if we head straight east from here, around the north side of Nevado de Ruiz, where the road tops out at 3,800 m, or if we should go south via Pereira and Armenia, then head east via Ibague (pass is ~3,400 m), which is what you did. How have the roads been? I hope you’ve been staying warm enough!

After crossing the ridge it seems like an easy two or three days or so southbound along the Rio Magdalena valley. Then probably to San Agustin and over the mountains again. Need to sit down and figure out how to get out of Colombia in 14 days.

****

just added up miles if we go the manizales-neiva-san agustin-popayan-ipiales (according to bing), and it is 650. if we leave on monday that is 13 days left in the country… yikes. manizales-cali-popayan-ipiales is only 450. might need to try and get an extension but who knows how complicated that might be. or maybe get close enough to the border, take bus to ecuador and back. dunno.

****

[re: extending via]

based on the DAS website… 70,000 pesos, passport pictures, and an official request/form of sorts. no mention of turn around time (1 hour, 1 week?). DAS office in the main (capital?) cities of each departamento.

looking at maps greg and i think we may just go the express route to ecuador… there will be plenty more rough mountain roads further on.

[June 20, 2010]

The ‘blue law’ is due to the 2nd round of presidential elections today. I explained the cashier that I was a foreigner and couldn’t vote, and so would she please sell me the beer, but that didn’t fly.

After looking at the mileages and the terrain, it looks like Greg and I are going to scrap the idea of the magdalena river valley. We’d have to bike ~650 miles in 12 out of the 13 days left on our stamp, assuming no bad weather or sickness delays (Greg basically slept in the bathroom last night with food poisoning of sorts). We’d end up killing ourselves and/or having to bus a hundred miles or two to Ecuador. So we’re hoping to just stay off the busy roads and enjoy a slower route through the Cauca valley.

The following is from an email sent to some cycling friends, Phil and Manu (also posted on the PanAm Riders discussion group, for those interested in hearing about other boats), who inquired about my boat trip from Panama to Colombia. Currently (and for anytime in the near future), there is no highway linking Central and South America. Some daring travelers have braved the poor trail conditions and lawlessness in the area known as the Darien Gap, but not all have survived!  Boat or plane are a much safer option.

Am currently working on getting all my Central America pictures uploaded.  Stay tuned.  In the meantime, check out Greg’s post about the boat trip, as usual, great pictures.

***

[June 15, 2010]

so far, the trip has just been from turbo up to medellin. there have been some climbs, but nothing terrible. depending the various routes through colombia, there could be lots of climbing. after all, the andes start here.

paul and i ran into greg a few times in central america and biked with him a little. we all got to panama city at the same time, and after a week there we were about to bike to portobelo when dylan showed up, so he joined us for the boat. paul went to cartagena via bus after turbo, and greg, dylan and i biked to medellin.

the broken lever… yeah, it happened on the last leg of the trip, the “ferry” from capurgana to turbo. the guys were just tossing the bikes on with little care and my lever got caught in another spoke. i was planning on replacing them in medellin anyway, but still shouldn’t have to be that way.

the darien gapster worked out pretty well. we packed our 4 bikes up with cardboard around the delicate parts, derailleurs, handle bars, etc. took pedals off, and straightened handle bars. we were able to fit all 4 bikes in the front row of the boat. just assert yourself when it comes to packing the bikes, remind them you’ve done this before! they would have fit better had there not been a 50 gallon barrel of petrol on the floor.

The bikes survived that portion of the ride mostly unscathed. my brake lever covers got a little worn down by the bumps, but this could have been avoided if i protected them more.

our trip was the inagural ride with paying tourists, so we got a pretty good deal. $175 for the ride, $30 for the bike each. this included 4 out of about 8 meals, unfortunately the places we stopped the prices were much higher than we had encountered on the highways in panam. but to be fair stuff does cost more as it is out in the middle of nowhere. so bring groceries and have your stove handy. and beware of the other hidden costs. IE nights at hostals before and after, etc. They have a cooler with pop, juice and beer for $1 each. $5 rental for snorkel gear. i know they will be changing prices in the future, so please get the info straight from them.

paul and i took one route from panama city to portobelo (some of it on the toll way until we politely got asked by the authorities to leave it), greg and dylan took another (which went by some of the canal). from the stories, greg and dylan’s route was much more picturesque and definitely worth checking out.

we left portobelo early tuesday morning, stopped for breakfast at an island when we got to san blas. then to another island to wait while our passports got processed. that night we camped on the beach of a kuna family’s plot on an island. wednesday we went to an uninhabited island for several hours. never really been snorkeling until then, but other folks who had said it was some of the best they’ve ever done. little current and incredible reefs. we swam to a nearby island that had at most 5 coconut trees on it. wednesday night we spent at another kuna island, but this one had one end that was set up more for tourist use (flushing toilets as opposed to outhouses on the pier that go right into the ocean). great time walking around the village, saying hello to folks but generally not being able to communicate more than smiling and laughing. thursday we had another while on the water, spent some time at an island for swimming and lunch, and then got to sapzurro by dusk.

i felt safe in the hands of marcos the captain, but communication lacked at times. if in doubt about anything, ask adam first, marco’s strength is driving the boat and his relationship with the kunas after years of travel in the region. it was their first outing, and i know they were eager to hear our feedback to improve for next time. unfortunately i don’t what they’ll do with bikes in the future, after all, the bikes have to use up a row of seats, and that could mean lost opportunity for passenger fares. but on the other hand, that still leaves 14 seats free, which i thought was a good number for the trip. i do wish them the best in their endeavor, but it just might be hard to fill the boat up every time. that could be good for cyclists though, there would always be a place for bikes, and they’d happily take the surcharge for the bikes.

the first night at the hostel in sapzurro was free camping included in the price, but you’ll necessarily have to spend another night in either sapzurro or capurgana. the immigration office in capurgana, the next harbor east of sapzurro, opens after the ferry leaves from capurgana to turbo at 7:30 AM. though sapzurro was nice and relaxed, and we spent 2 nights there (be sure to find the senora Tila who sells coconut popsicles near the dock), to decrease the amount of bike-boat related stress, i’d head over to capurgana with all your stuff, buy your tickets beforehand (especially since a dozen other darien gapster backpackers will also be heading in to town as well, the lancha might get full) and find a cheap hotel for your 2nd night. that way you can be at the dock at 7:15, instead of having to take a lancha from sapzurro to capurgana at 6:30am.

paul was lucky and got on the boat the morning we were supposed to leave, but there was no way greg, dylan and i were going to get on the boat with our bikes and bags. we spent another day there. the first time we had bought tickets for 50,000 pesos (~US$25) for the passenger part, and that they’d assess the bikes in the morning. we found out that the small print on the ticket says passengers are allowed 10kg each, plus another 500 pesos per extra kilo.

the whole process is really ridiculous, there is no order on the dock. so the second time we gladly accepted the boat owner’s offer for a flat fee of 50,000 pesos for the bike, with nothing extra for weight (i think that is what byron paid?), even though i can guarantee our bikes and gear weighs less than 100kg! makes me wonder if we should have just avoided mentioning the bikes, bought two passenger tickets each… less crowded boat, more space for the bikes!

remember, your last chance for an ATM is off the main highway in sabanitas, panama before turning off to head east to portobelo. you next chance for an ATM will not be until Turbo. Make sure you have enough for a few extra days, you never know where you’ll get stuck!

turbo to medellin was great, we did it in 6 riding days (some really short days, to spend time in Santa Fe de Antioquia), although you could do it in easily 5, possibly 4 but you’d get to Medellin burnt out. the road was quiet, real beautiful. i took notes about the way and i’ll try to post those at some point. one other option is to take a bus or bike to cartagena, but we were anxious to get back into the cooler mountains and skipped it. can’t see it all! costwise, i think you could get to cartagena via turbo for less than directly on sailboat, but the hassle of three boat rides and three bus rides certainly takes its toll (maybe Paul can chime in, that is what he did).

so… maybe you are in panama already? i really don’t mean to scare or discourage you, but i thought i’d give you fair warning that the crossing from the carribean to pacific was BRUTAL. greg had to push his bike lots of the way… and that is saying a lot. but the views were INCREDIBLE from both sides, hopefully the clouds will be clear. paul and i camped the night next to the visitors center at the dam of La Fortuna reservoir. it was somewhat cooler up at the elevation which was nice.

To mark a year since I’ve not been in Chicago, I’ve compiled a list of top bike rides in the city (and a few bottom ones as well), it is by no means exhaustive.  Clearly this list will be skewed towards my experience of Chicago, which generally was on the north side.  Feel free to chime in if you have something to include on the list.  In no particular order:

Elston Ave
If you’ve been to Chicago you know it is laid out on an almost perfect grid, with a numbering system that means getting lost is almost impossible.  But all the right angles mean that you can’t always get places as the crow flies.  Here is where Chicago’s diagonal roads, which mostly fan out radially from downtown, come in handy (Milwaukee, Clark, Lincoln and South Chicago come to mind).   A big advantage is that there is a nice wide bike lane, but no CTA route on Elston, so you won’t get stuck leapfrogging those buses.

The first time I biked to work, I headed down Elston never having biked it before, and little by little fell in love with it over the coming years.  Because it was the shortest route from Albany Park to the Loop, I used it frequently and got to know every bump and crack on the road, and learn how to time the stoplights.  Heading southeast, Elston joins up with Milwaukee Ave and the best part of my morning commute, especially on a winter day, biking by the Blommers Chocolate factory.

Lake Shore Path
This multi-use path between Lake Michigan and Lake Shore Drive is a perfect way to soak in the skyline of Chicago.  Starting in Edgewater and heading all the way south mostly uninterrupted (except for the real annoying bit near Navy Pier), it heads all the way down past the Museum Campus and to Jackson Park.  Of course, the path is no secret, and during a summer weekend, the path will be full of joggers, rollerbladers with iPods, strollers, dogs, tourists in 5-person bikes, and things become a little unpleasant if not dangerous.  The most enjoyable time for me would be on a cool evening, waves crashing on the breakers, on my way home from work, planning what groceries I need to pick up for dinner, with the path nice and empty.

Alley just west of Kenmore between Irving and Montrose
Although there are many roads closer to downtown where you can bike under the L tracks (a la Blues Brothers), there is a little hidden alleyway where you can do this as well.  It follows the eastern wall of Graceland Cemetery.  You’ll most likely have a Red or Purple line come thundering overhead.

Most any Chicago alley
On weekends, with time to kill while looking for old coffee mugs at the various Village Discounts, or going to used bookstores, getting lost in alleys was a favorite activity of mine.  As I mentioned, getting lost in Chicago is tough as every corner has street signs with coordinates, but if you take alleys you can almost lose track of where you are.  I don’t know of very many cities that have alleys on every block, but this is the place to meander around and take a peek at the odd things Chicagoans throw out.

Wilson Ave
Also one of Pete Strom’s favorite street to drive on, it is a great way to getwest from the Lake Shore Path over to Albany Park (once again, no CTA buses west of Clark).  It heads though well kept neighborhood Ravenswood Manor (home to Blagojevich). The bridge over the North Branch is probably one of the largest climbs you’ll ever have to make in Chicago.

Western and Ashland
These large north-south thoroughfares are just not bike friendly.  They go through a lot of commercial areas and I’ve just had too many close calls and never enjoyed biking on them.  The best alternative is right between the two, Damen, a much better option with bike lanes.

Fox River
In the western Chicago Suburbs, the Fox River has a nice path along it, which can be accessed via the different Prairie Path branches which more or less start in the Oak Park area.  If you aren’t up for biking to the Fox River valley from Chicago, take the Metra to either Elgin or Aurora, bike along the river (stopping for chocolate chip cookies at aunt and uncle’s along the way) and the take the Metra back in at the other end.

North Branch Trail
One place to pick up on this trail is right by SuperDawg on Milwaukee (the other is by the Forest Glen Metra stop), a perfect excuse for a Chicago style dog (no ketchup, for Pete’s sake).  It heads up north to the Skokie lagoons and the Chicago Botanical Garden.  I also would take this path part of the way to visit my grandma and the REI in Northbrook, back before there wasn’t an REI in Chicago.   It is real fun during the fall when all you hear is the whoosh of the crunchy leaves in your wake.

Critical Mass Rides
Critical Mass is a bike awareness event of sorts, which takes place on the last Friday of every month in hundreds of cities around the world.  Hundreds (thousands in the summer) of cyclists meet up at 5:30pm in Daley Plaza, and head out through the city as one big stream of cyclists.  I agree that disrupting traffic (especially for folks on public transportation) doesn’t really win over the hearts of motorists (in fact some confrontations with hot-headed folks on car, bike, or police patrol can get violent), but the ride generally has a peaceful atmosphere, and all sorts of bike nuts show up in droves. One or two cyclists will often tow a sound system on a trailer, and the street becomes a party. Pedestrians stop to smile and wave, cyclists yell “Happy Friday” back, and the tourists eat it up, “Look honey, the weirdos are on parade!”.  The cars can clog the roads the remaining 99.5% of the month.  The Halloween ride is not to be missed.

Miss you tons Chicago!

At the beginning of April in Antigua, Guatemala, Paul and I were looking at a map of Central America when he informed me that we had at least 1,200 miles to go until Panama City.  I was a little skeptical, after all, wasn’t Central America kind of tiny? I was honestly not looking forward to these 1,200 miles.  I didn’t know much about Central America and the places to visit, and the heat made me think I’d never make it.

Yet somehow we made it this far and are only 50 miles away from Panama City.  Lots of early mornings, sometimes up at 4:30 or 5, lots of time spent on the side of the road on a long uphill waiting for our heartbeat to slow down to a safe rhythm, lots of soft drinks (much more than usual).  It will be hard to forget the sweat, but there were highlights that made the past 2 months worth the effort.

Yet this isn’t only almost being done with Central America, this is actually the end of North America as well!  What next?  Some how get to Colombia (not Columbia, cyclist bloggers take note, misspelling, of geographical names in particular, is a pet peeve of mine, but I guess that is my problem!), by either boat or plane, but all that still needs to get worked out.  For now I’m just excited to be arriving in Panama City, where my high school physics teacher and his family live, and are letting me stay with them.  Should I still refer to him as “Mr. Worthington” or “Sir”?  Either way, Paul and I have an ongoing disagreement about a certain knot and its suitability for hanging hammocks, which I’m hoping can be tie broken (the disagreement, not the knot) by Mr. Worthington.