Getting over the hump(s) - the final rides in Peru

It was over before it even began.
Although I've only been I've only been down from the mountains for theee days it already feels like a distant memory. I shall try to remember what happened since the last post...

 Rising into the hills above Cajatambo. I didn't realise it at the time but this really was the last charming Andean village I was to pass through. Had I known I would have lingered for an extra day to soak up the tranquility and rural charm. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.  

 Still, I was in a good rhythm and it felt good to be pushing on.  In the next four days I would travel from Cajatambo to the end of the transect. A gruelling daily diet of high passes. It would take its toll in the end!

 Riding from Cajatambo to Oyon meant crossing two passes and passing mining encampments like this one. I felt on top of the world as I powered up the first pass...   

 ...some great scenery along the way...                  

 ...and left nothing  in the tank for the secognd pass! Here I am, pretty much wiped out on the approach to Punta Chanca.

 Punta Chanca. Unusually rideable surface.  

 Usual breathtaking scenery.   

   

 Wise words. Yes, my family are waiting.              

 Cruising down to Oyon, resting the legs.       

 Usually I just ride  past aggressive dogs hoping they'll leave me alone. These two were so cute I thought I'd stop for a chat. God,  I must be getting lonely if I've taken to talking to animals.     

 I had intended to take a rest day in Oyon but it really wasn't an appealing stop - a grey and windswept town  so, after a quick morale boosting call home to  the folks , I made an early start and rode on.  Today's pass would be the highest of the whole trip and, with tired legs from the previous day's efforts, I decided to pause every 500ft I climbed.       

 Unbeknownst to me at the time, this was the highest point (I thought it was a 'false summit' with a bit more to climb around the corner). 16,321ft / 4975m and I wasn't sticking around. It was cold and snow was falling so I kept moving to keep warm.      

 Not the most beautiful descent, this is mining country.         

 This way to civilisation and a tasty lunch in the village of Rapaz. In these small villages the shops and restaurants are often unsigned so you have to ask around , being told 'it's the house with the yellow door', 'it's the building on the corner', 'ask for Ines' etc, etc.    

 Dropping from the mountains like a stone, I entered a narrow gorge on the way down  to Huancahuasi.   

     

 The plaza at Huancahuasi.

A good rest spot for the afternoon/evening as there was precisely nothing to do in the village! 

At least I made sure I stretched my legs well after this ride as the next day's would be even tougher.        

Just look at the climb on the profile from Picoy to Punta Chucopampa!  

 I took the previous day's  strategy, breaking for every 500ft climbed. It really helped but this was a tough, tough ride. Incredibly steep and a gravelly surface meant lots of wheel spin and slow going.     

 It didn't detract too much from a delightful ride though. Passing through limestone grassland, a riot of colour  from flowers and butterflies, intoxicating herbal aromas and soft beds of grass when it all got a bit too much.      

 Bertha took it all in her stride.      

 Eventually it did get too much and I resorted to pushing. Here is a little video of me enjoying the stroll: Sunday stroll in the Andes  

 In the end I really did enjoy the walk and must have done a few miles listening to Desert Island Discs and The Freewheelin Bob Dylan. Why be in a hurry on a Sunday?      

 The High Llamas.     

 Looks idyllic doesn't it? Just wait till the sun goes down and the wind picks up!  It got chilly.  Another reminder of the frustration of camping for me. I love being in wild places, I love pitching the tent and cooking on stoves, but as for getting a good night's sleep, it just never happens at these high altitudes.    

 So, the next day,  frustrated by the lack of sleep and concerned that the strong wind was rendering my stove virtually useless/wasting my dwindling fuel, I decided to ride two days in one. This would mean 59 miles from just before Vichaycocha to Marcapumacocha. Madness! But the reward would be knowing I've camped my final camp...   

Distant vicuña on the first pass, Abra Mio.  As you would expect, this was a challenging day and I felt I got few breaks, more often than not the surface was hard going, a real slog. 

 Having crossed Abra Mio with lots of huffing and puffing I checked the elevation profile and realised that the second pass, Punto Fierro Cruz, was even higher. With a missed turn and a worsening surface I paused for a flurry of cursing that Mr Cody would have been proud of! And that was my strategy for the rest of the day. Cultivate a mood of anger, frustration and rage  and you tend to forget about the painful task in hand. The miles soon began to fly by as I screamed  colourful language across the Andean mountains.  

 Is that a mirage or could it really be Marcapomacocha? 59 hard miles later I was rolling into town.    

 It was my final 'glory ride' - a wholly unsustainable way of riding but very satisfying when you get to the end. 

 For my efforts I gave myself a rest day in Marcapomacocha, another village with very little to do.     

 And the cheapest accommodation of the whole trip, 8 soles is £2. And I got what I paid for, no shower, a saggy bed and wooden partitions meaning I could here another guest's snoring all night long. Nonetheless, luxury compared to a cold camp.   

 Little to do on the rest day so I spent some time stitching my shoes back together. I've been so impressed by other cyclists making things last on their trips. In the West we're far too hasty in replacing anything slightly broken or worn. 

 I took an afternoon walk around the lake and, far from reflecting on or even basking in the glory of a fine few days of completing intensely   challenging rides, I had a painful attack of homesickness and felt there was a chasm of time between now and my arrival home. 11 months so on the road, usually taking the hardest routes possible was taking its toll. However, unlike Alastair Humphreys, who completed the most arduous cycle tour I've ever heard of (over four years!)I've not broken down into tears. Yet!    

 An absolutely cracking day for the final pass, Bertha could not wait to get going.  

 The team. Bertha is one of the few material things I feel genuine attachment to. She's never let me down.    

 

 Getting close to the final pass, Abra Antacassa. When I got there I was mighty relieved and made this little video: Final Pass of the Whole Trip! 

 What a contrast the last few days have been. Riding down the more heavily trafficked Carretera Central and now I'm staying at 'El Champal' a hostel for paying guests and accommodation for volunteers working on the community- tourism project. I am very grateful to the French owner,Yves, who has kindly welcomed me into the hostel for a few days.  This is Ricardo, archaeologist and English teacher, on a field trip that I accompanied him with. His English is way better than my Spanish so I took the opportunity to converse in my mother tongue. .  I was pleased to see that his trips run as smoothly as some of mine with the usual mixture of confusion, bewilderment and tantrums! And that's just the staff, boom! No, but really, it was a great trip and in the end the students got the hang  of what they were doing.  

 Views over the archaeological site. 

And that pretty much is where I've got to and what I've been up to. 

Homd in 10 days, I cannot believe it. As much as I'm desperate to see my family, speak England have a nice cup of tea, I shall do my best to get the most out of the remaining days. On to Lima tomorrow, downhill all the way. A major mission for the next week will be to find the city's best cafe, get cosy and read my Kindle. I hope I've earned that luxury!