A&V relaxing on the road from the coast to Huaraz.

Volcan Huascaran

The road of 1,000 tunnels.

Which way should we go? Can we make it to the border today?

Immigration for the bikes at the Ecuadorian border.

Ecuadorian highlands.

The road to Quito - watch out for the busses.
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Lima to Quito - Click for Map

Coastal Peru´

From Ica we traveled North along the Pan-American, passing through seemingly endless miles of sand and rocks, interspersed by the occasional burning garbage heap or festering road killed dog. We were definitely passing into another part of Peru, almost another country entirely. The skies turned from a hazy-sunny into dark, cold coastal fog. We started to see police officers camped out along the side of the road. There were lots of private cars traveling at breakneck speed, unlike the south of Peru’s surplus of slow taxis. Our first glimpse of the Pacific after three months was uninspiring; rows of low huts crowded along a cold beach, roofless and broken down, not a road leading to their doors, only trampled paths through the sand. My instincts told me to gun it. It was nice to open the bike up with 97-octane gas at sea level. I felt like I was driving a different machine. We flew north to Lima.

Lima is enormous. Eight million Peruvians crowded into a narrow strip of foggy coastal desert, most living in shantytowns outside the city’s perimeter. It took us over an hour to reach the turnoff for the city center from the suburbs. We flagged down and paid a taxi to lead us to our hotel. The traffic was not as bad as I had expected, but we were forced to drive so slowly that Bee was one bar from overheating when we finally reached Hotel Espania. The hotel was just as I had remembered it from my first visit to Peru but the parking area seemed bigger this time. Maybe the parking area seemed bigger after all of the small lobbies we had squeezed the bike into.

We awoke after our first night in Hostal Espania to find our bikes plastered in the hotels promotion stickers. Mine had four stickers; Jeroen’s had three. I angrily tore the stickers from my bike, crumpled them and scattered the bits around Bee. In my mind, sticking a cheap paper sticker on a nice car or motorcycle is akin to pissing on it; both acts represent marking ones territory, and Bee is certainly not Hostal Espania’s territory. When I told Jeroen about the sticker incident he got piping mad and tore the stickers off his bike. One of the stickers Jeroen pulled off his bike took the paint with it, sending him into an infant’s tantrum of rage and agony. Two hours later there were new stickers affixed to our bikes – What idiots. But wait, it gets better. The hotel decided to repaint the balcony above the parking area, and neglected to cover the bikes or tell us they were going to be working above them. I got off paint free, but Jeroen’s bike now sports thick white drops of white paint that look like seagull shit across his big black KTM logo.

We took out all of our pent up gringo aggressions out on Lima. Val got her sushi, I got my Pizza Hut, my Mac got an upgrade, we all went to discos and stayed out way to late most nights. All of Lima’s entertainment and modern convenience make it easy to get stuck there, but we managed to pull ourselves away from the city after only five days. Huaraz, ten hours by bus from Lima and in the middle of two spectacular mountain ranges was our goal.

I think Easy-E said it best...

Driving out of Lima was no easier than driving in. It took us over an hour of dodging and weaving to reach the edges of the city. The mud-huts and decrepit buildings gave way to dry mountains and sand while the cold foggy air fed Bee’s rapacious appetite for oxygen. We were speeding down four lanes of flat asphalt intent on our destination. All of a sudden the lanes took a sharp right and we were in the midst of a police orgy. They accused us of blatantly exceeding the speed limit and took our drivers licenses. Giving the officers our original licenses was our first mistake; never, ever, hand anyone an original anything. The police took our licenses hostage, told us we must return to Lima to pay the fine ($100!) and pick up our licenses the next day. What an outrage! Gringos can drive as fast as they damn well please! For the last three months, we had blasted full speed past every cop we had seen, ignored stop signs and red lights, driven down sidewalks to get around traffic, driven the wrong way down one-way streets . . . And now this.

As soon as Jeroen pulled out money and offered to pay on the spot for the infraction, the officers thrust our licenses back and tore up the tickets. We were free to go, but our dignity was tarnished. We felt stupid and used and began to hate the police along the Pan-American.

I had not learned my lesson. I took off like a rocket trying to forget the incident with the police. I was intoxicated with the cold air and long, sweeping turns ahead of me, and was determined not to let the police ruin my fun. Less than 100km later, the police pulled me over again. In hindsight, I cannot believe I stopped for them and let them take my license. Stupid. I was in the same mess all over again, and they had my license. The police claimed to have me on radar going 107km per hour in a 60km per hour zone. Jeroen zoomed by, staring in disbelief at us.

These police were audacious. They told us we had to go to the next town’s bank and pay the $100 fine, and we would get our licenses in the mail in our home country. I almost went berserk until I remembered that they had guns and I didn’t. They had us by the balls; there was nothing we could do. I tried to negotiate with them for over an hour, but they just kept telling me I had to go to the bank and pay. I finally completely broke down and offered to pay the full fine on the spot if they would just give my license back. They took my $100 gladly. My self-esteem was really in the gutter, and I was mad.

We met back up with Jeroen and resumed our ride. In every town we passed through until the turnoff for Huaraz, the police tried to stop us, even when we were traveling the speed limit and doing nothing wrong. We never stopped for them and they never gave chase. Lesson learned.

Tips for dealing with the police in northern Peru (or any other place with corrupt police)

• Do not Stop
• If you must stop, leave your helmet on, don’t turn the bike off, and don’t speak their language. Hand them only copy’s of your documents.
• Refuse to pay.
• If you pay, take a picture of the cop and his vehicle, get a receipt and go to their police chief (or tourist police) and explain your situation.
  

Leaving the Pan-American

Turning off the Pan-American Highway and into the mountains towards Huaraz was a welcome change. The fog disappeared, the roadside police paid no attention to us, and the road was full of twisties as we climbed the Cordillera Blanca. In no time at all we were at 3000 meters with cactus all around us. We passed 4200 meters and descended through altiplano, forest, desert, and finally to Huaraz in the river valley at the foot of Volcan Huascaran, the highest mountain in Peru at 22,334 feet. We were in another world.

Aside from admiring the mountains surrounding Huarez, we didn’t do much. There are all sorts of hiking and climbing options, but hey, we are on a motorcycle trip. I am not walking unless I am out of gas.

The road leaving Huaraz to the north was incredible, 70 miles of dirt road passing through at least 30 tunnels hammered out of the rock bordering a raging river. The sides of the canyon went up at least 2000 meters. We felt very small as we twisted our way down that valley. The tunnels were long and dark with signs at the entrance advising to honk your horn before entering. There is nothing like riding a fully loaded motorcycle through a pitch black tunnel on a dirt road, trying to see through the dust, avoiding potholes and high spots, honking all the way.

This road even gave me the opportunity to engage in one of my favorite fetishes, rolling large objects off the sides of cliffs. I found a granite rock Valerie and I could barely move, and together we inched it to the edge of a 500-meter precipice. With a careful shove, the rock was off, creating cacophonous booms as it ricocheted off the granite walls of the canyon. The rock took 30 seconds to come to a rest. It was wonderful.

Just in time, the road turned to pavement, and we made our way to Huanchaco by the sea. It is a little seaside resort popular with locals from Trujillo and for us it was just fine. Our hotel had a huge garage, which allowed us to do some much-needed maintenance on the bikes. Jeroen changed his battery (finally) and I ran brake fluid through my engine, hoping to clean out some of the carbon deposits and reduce the pinging. The brake fluid trick seemed to have worked. We also checked and adjusted my valves.

Ecuador at Last

The border to Ecuador was now only 350 miles away. I was hesitant to commit to the ride in one day, but Valerie was insistent that we go for it. We left early and rode almost nonstop the whole way. We managed to average 80km per hour for the entire ride, and arrived at our hotel as the sun was setting. The sense of accomplishment was awesome, especially as we raced pass stupefied police officers on the side of the road, knowing they couldn’t catch us.

At some border crossings, there is no obvious change in scenery or the people. Crossing into Ecuador was like landing on another planet. The desert was replaced with thick vegetation, towering trees and turbulent rivers. The Ecuadorian police were helpful and curious. The residents of the towns we drove through were pleased to see us, and offered their assistance without being asked. We could not stop along the roadside to take a picture or have a drink without a car pulling up next to us, asking if we were lost or broken down (I think the sorry condition of Jeroen’s bike may have contributed to this)

Oh, the KTM...

As we pulled into a town past the border for breakfast, the clutch cable on Jeroen’s bike broke. “No worries”, he said, “I have a brand new spare KTM clutch cable.” We ate breakfast and watched as he removed the broken cable and replaced it with the new one. As he was pulling the new cable for the final fit, his brand new cable, made by KTM in Austria under the most strict and exacting of conditions, snapped; so did Jeroen! I had a cable repair kit that was able to fix the cable, but it turned out the cable was not the problem. The whole clutch assembly had locked, making the clutch useless. We were hours from any city and the only option was for Jeroen to ride without his clutch. After starting the bike in neutral, Valerie and I gave him a running push start, and he forced the bike into gear. The only way to stop the bike was to stall it. He rode clutch-less 146 miles to Loja, where he arranged to transport the bike by truck to Cuenca, home of Ecuador’s (and the America’s) largest KTM dealer.

The Worst Hotel in the World

Valerie and I took a room at the Lonely Planet recommended “Hostal Norte” in Cuenca. It was touted in our guidebook as “probably the best place to stay in Cuenca”, plus it had great parking right in the lobby. Our room was in the farthest reaches of the hotel, up four flights of stairs. We didn’t want to carry our heavy side boxes up all those stairs, so we only took the essentials with us to our room, leaving the side boxes partially full, locked on the bike. We awoke the next day to find the locks on one of the boxes completely destroyed, and Valerie’s camera gone. I had mistakenly left her camera in the side box the night before. Big mistake. We first questioned the night watchman, asking him if he had heard or seen anything the night before. Of course, the answer was no. Then we asked to speak to the hotel owner with all the hotel employees present. As Valerie patiently explained to them what had happened, I examined the reactions of the hotel staff. All but one of the staff members looked completely shocked except one. When I looked him in the eyes, he quickly looked down to the left and started sweeping and cleaning in a hurried, clumsy manner. Bingo, I said to myself. Unfortunately, the hotel owner was a complete asshole. His attitude to us was completely apathetic and malignant. He told us nothing had ever been stolen in his hotel, and that we were being disrespectful and questioning his hotels “valor” by asking him to help us get our camera back. According to him, it was impossible that one of has staff had destroyed our luggage and stolen Valerie’s camera. We finally convinced them to post reward posters all over the hotel, offering cash for the return of the camera, no questions asked. The police were parked outside, and were unconcerned with our troubles. In all of my travels, I have never had such a terrible experience at a hotel. A rational hotel owner should be sympathetic and helpful in our situation, not contemptuous and hateful. When we cornered and directly questioned the suspect hotel employee, his reaction was defiant vis-à-vis his bosses attitude. I wanted to kick his ass, but that would only get me put in jail.

Viva´Quito!

Dejected, we left Cuenca the next morning, stopped for the night in Riobamba, and arrived in Quito the next day. Quito is a magnificent city high in the Andes with green hills flanking its sides and several snowcapped peaks visible from its center. We were offered accommodation in the house of an Ecuadorian world-traveler-biker, travel writer and motor-sports promoter named Ricardo Rocco, who offers all traveling bikers accommodation in his lovely house in Quito. We arrived at Rocco’s house and were immediately captivated by the warmth and hospitality he and his family showed us. Our troubles in Cuenca were long forgotten as we swapped adventure stories and shared beers. Valerie enrolled in an intensive Spanish language course to improve her already excellent Spanish, while I busied myself trying to get the locks on our luggage fixed and the bike tuned up. Quito has been good to us.

MOVIE TIME! - Running The Blockade - Click here for download

This is a video clip of us running a blockade in Bolivia. We have been planning to post this movie for quite some time and we were finally able to. It may take a while to download (4.4 mb), so have patience. There is also audio, so turn up the volume. Thanks Valerie for the videography.