Camino Del Puma - Part 4

Day 15: Challapalca to Aroco: We roll out of our tent in the morning and are greeted by a man in a truck. He shovels sand into the back of it. We eat another pot of ramen and eggs for breakfast and throw our bodies and our gear back onto our bikes. We are threatened by thunderstorms and whipping winds throughout the day. We fill up water at Laguna Vilacota, an oasis of alpaca, vicuña, llama and flamingos. There is a slight crack in the thick gray cloud cover – a sliver of sunlight pierces through and illuminates the water below. It shimmers. I take all of this in while we wait for our water to treat. I look behind me and Derek is sitting with his head between his knees. Gotta go. I take a mental picture. We ride through Vilacota afterwards and plan to do a quick resupply at the tienda there. The tienda is closed and no one is around to open it for us. In fact, we don’t see anyone anywhere. Moving on. We find camp at 15k’ in the arid high desert behind a boulder, our boulder. 

Day 16: Aroco to Abra Huaytire: We say thank you and goodbye to our big beautiful rock. We hit pavement and we cruise. We stop in the village of Huayturi and resupply at the best tienda – cake, gummies, bread, ramen, eggs, peach juice, blue Powerade. We bike over the pass at 15,623’. On the descent we are met with sheets of rain, hail and eventually a whiteout. Soaked and freezing, we pull off the side of the road and quickly pitch our tent. We peel off our wet clothes and scurry into our shelter, teeth chattering. We blow up our sleeping pads and slip into our sleeping bags. We eat gummies and wait. An hour later, it is 4PM and it is gorgeous. We decide to spend the night right where we are.  

Day 17: Abra Huaytire to Chiarjaque: The weather continues to hold out overnight and we wake up to a beautiful bright morning. Derek’s health continues to decline and at this point I acknowledge the idea that there is a slim chance he might crump while we are in the middle of nowhere. We would be fucked. I question Derek’s ability to complete the ride. Derek does not take well to this perspective. There are semi-trucks hauling by on the road just above our heads. We settle our differences and then we join them. We fill up from a powerful stream that runs through the Umalso work camp. Our first climb of the day begins. As we move further towards the base of Volcán Ticsani, the earth beneath our tires, and everything around us, turns to sand. It ranges in color from stark white to tan. There are small herds of vicuña that stop and stare. We come over a crest that reveals a crater-like depression where a laguna has formed. It is hot. The climb becomes even steeper until we reach the high point at 15,959’. The discomfort is of course worth it. The landscape is unlike any other we have experienced. We descend down to 13,800’ and climb our way back up to 15,130’ where we find camp for the night in the high desert, surrounded by shrubs, sand and rock. 

Day 18: Chiarjaque to Quinistaquillas: We start the morning off with the biggest continuous descent of the trip: 9500’ in about 23 miles. Hairpin turns. The edge of the road is a steep drop off. My stomach drops too. Derek is way up ahead, thriving. We stop in the small pleasant town of Muylaque along the way. There is no tienda but the people are helpful and interested. The road turns into a horrendous conglomeration of large rocks, loose sand and gravel, and huge divots that threaten your ability to stay upright. I am so happy when I make it to the bottom. Derek is waiting there, a big smile on his face, with the Rio Tambo rushing behind him. We bike uphill for the first time since yesterday, about 1400’. It is a slow push through the belly of the canyon before descending into the village of Quinistaquillas. We find camp several miles outside of town on a wide ledge overlooking the river. We sit and eat tuna with mustard and mayo and crackers for dinner. The dimming sun casts a pastel wash over the landscape. It feels surreal and serene. 

Day 19:  Quinistaquillas to Coalaque: Today begins our final climb of the trip, a total of 7400’ in 50 miles. The sun is strong and unrelenting and we are so exposed. We stop in the town of Omate along the way. We score some more tuna and things at a tienda there in exchange for the last of our soles. We sit on the street curb and make and eat our tuna sandwiches. We are filthy and people stare at us. Sitting there, we cross paths with the same woman who stopped us from going into that cafe in Juli. We exchange updates and well wishes and go our separate ways. We take this chance re-encounter as a good omen. The day winds on and it is harsh. After a couple more hours of pedaling, we get off and walk. Depleted. Derek looks at me and says: “This is hell”. I agree. Time to start looking for a place to sleep. Derek points out a small terrace to our right. It is perfectly fine. But looking further down the path I see a ball of light shining through a cloud of dust. Something tells me we should keep going. Twenty minutes later we hear a voice call out above our heads: “Necesita algo? You need something?”. We look up and see a woman with a blue towel wrapped around her head. Derek and I look at each other in disbelief. “Agua.” We say in unison. She invites us up and we climb the stairs to her home. Her name is Lydia. She hands us bottles of water and tells us to sit and drink. We are so thankful. She speaks very good English. Her father sits on a burlap sack of soya flour, his back resting on the trunk of a large avocado tree. We shake hands. He has the kindest face. His smile is warm. Lydia tells us her father is in his 80’s and this is actually his house. She takes us further up the terrace and into a sanctuary of avocado, apple and citrus trees. She tells us to take whatever we want. We learn that she and her sister are visiting to be with their father. She invites us to stay for dinner and camp on their property. We stay up late talking life. She is a mother to twins who are our age. She says that she and her father are worried about us. We say that because people like her and her father exist in the world, there is no reason for worry. She tells us of her psychic abilities and that there is no such thing as coincidence. We were supposed to meet. Lydia and her family’s generosity and kindness is the most beautiful part of Peru we encounter. 

Day 20: Coalaque to Arequipa. We wake up early in the morning feeling well-rested and energized. We have coffee and panettone with Lydia before setting off. Her parting words: “Please eat.” We are determined to make this our last day and our final push. 65 miles. We have a couple more thousand feet of climbing before we begin our descent back into Arequipa. It is a beautiful, full-spectrum day that brings us through a mirage of various landscapes. As the day progresses, the land becomes more vibrant, green and lush. We stop in the town of Puquina where we barter packets of ramen for bread and tuna at the tienda. We are all out of cash. (Like I said, final push.) We continue riding and Volcán Misti enters our line of sight, suddenly, like it did that first day. The sun sinks into night. The road winds all the way down into Arequipa’s outskirts where we are met with chaotic and bustling traffic for the first time since leaving the city. It is jarring. Overstimulating. We make it back to the same bed and breakfast from which we started. It is 6PM. We dump our bikes and immediately head out to a spot we know has pizza and beer. We are too ravenous to shower off beforehand. We eat our pizza and drink our beer in a filthy haze, just like every other night. We made it. 

With love, 

DnA