Saturday morning, after a leisurely breakfast of scrambled eggs, coffee and home grown and homemade gooseberry jam, I say farewell to Franco, Susanna, Sonyhangle, and Drinco, and head back up into the mountains. I stay on the small road that runs past Buena Vista, Davids Casa, and ride towards Cajabamba, and then Huamachuco, where there is an Inca site, Wiracochuco. The route starts as good tarmac as far as Cajabamba, then turns to a dirt road. Franco had warned me of a turning on the dirt road, by a police post, at which I arrived but had forgotten if I should carry straight on or turn left. I went into the police building, and was welcomed by two police officers, who, looking at my map, soon pointed me in the right direction. I then immediately came to a busy, bustling village, full of stalls selling produce, where I was met by a police officer on a small motorcycle, who indicated that I should follow him. Whistle in mouth, blowing for all he was worth, he carved a path through the throng, and led me to the far side of the village, over a wooden bridge, stopped, shook my hand and waved me on. The narrow dirt road continued for a short while and then turned into a wide dirt road. The engineers were turning this route into a highway, and soon I was having to cope with an ever changing surface, some places already surfaced with tarmac, others rolled hard dirt surface which was easy to ride, but also loose gravel, which was not too bad, some two inches of loose unrolled stone which was hard going, but the worse was a section of sub base that had just been harrowed into ridges about four inches deep. That was like riding a ploughed field, and I was lucky not to come off a dozen times as the bike got out of shape. Then there were the hold ups as the road was closed, the longest for just over an hour. There was a long queue and when the road was opened again, it was another Le Man start. Absolutely crazy antics as cars and lorries over took on surfaces that threw up clouds of dust as I and many small motorcycles, tried to stay upright. Through all this chaos, I missed the turning for the Inca site. The road turned back into a superbly surfaced highway, climbing ever higher. I was heading for Quiruvilca, where Franco told me to look for a small left turning down a dirt road that would take me through a canyon. It had turn cold and I stopped to put on my heated gloves and extra layers, as I neared the top. I came to a main road junction that was not on my map, saw the sign for Quiruvilca, and went that way, coming to a small unattractive town, surrounded by mine workings. Dropping down from the town, I came to another junction that was not on my map, turned right, came to a fork in the road, on the left the entrance to a mine, to my right a village not on my map. I turned round, retraced my route past the junction to the town, and found myself back at the first junction. Two police officers were now on the junction, so I asked them directions for the turning I was looking for, but they could not understand me, not I them. I again retraced my route, but as it was now beginning to get dark, I decided to stay on the main route and look for a hostel. I came to a small village, Atllpampa, where there was a hostel, right opposite a police building, whose two officers were busy stopping every vehicle and checking the drivers documents on a computer, a laborious exercise that resulted in a queue of heavy lorries, carrying what looked like iron ore, buses, and cars. On top of this, the villagers were bringing their cows, bulls and donkeys back from the pasture to their homes. The police officers let me put my bike directly outside their building were they parked their 4x4, and indicated it would be safe as they were on duty all night. The hostel was dire. The worse so far on this trip, a dark dank room, not only no hot water, but no water at all! If you wanted water you had to scoop it out of a water butt with an old plastic paint pot! The old woman, who also had a shop wanted 30 Sol. I tried to negotiate, but she was not interested if I stayed of not. So I paid the money. I ate some miserable chicken and chips from a stall, and went into a shop and had a bottle of beer and some biscuits, as I watched three men drink their beer and spit on the floor. I went back to the hostel, and went to bed with all my clothes on, it was bloody freezing.
Posted on: Mon, 18 Aug 2014 12:53:14 +0000
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