The Ultimate Ride - Brother and Sister Motorcycling Duo

Riding to Lima was fantastic. Riding in Lima... Different story. Fortunately we ditched the bikes at the shop and took the bus most of our time there.
The ride to Lima from Huaraz is fantastic twisty mountain road than starts coooold and gets a little warmer with every hour you ride. By the time it's hot, it's also windy, and straight, and desert. We were happy when we finally arrived in Lima.


The traffic was bad. They simply don't look when turning or changing lanes. A cabbie got a little too close to Jayne, and many others cut us off or tried merging into us. Our horns got a work out. Tom's died. But all told, it wasn't as bad as we had really been led to believe.
"That's because it's Sunday" said Jorge, our couch surf host.
"Oh".
We would stay with Jorge and his new puppy Eevie for our whole Lima stay. Great host and great help for telling us which busses to catch while our bikes were in the shop.

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</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Jayne frenching toast during our stay</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6494" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Specialty french toast for "breakfast" at Jorge's</dd></dl>

First item of buisness was to get the bikes in for some work. Crickets freshly cleaned fork seal was already leaking and Jayne has found her suspension a bit firm. I don't like the way it feels either, but then I don't ride cricket everyday.
Jugs needed new rubber, oil leak fix, and a fork oil change, while Suzy's forks also were suspect.
<dl id="attachment_6495" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Good thing we were leaving the bikes, the sidewalk was torn up while we were inside!</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6496" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">KLR's abound at Endurance motors</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6512" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Jugs gets a rear tire change (to Conti Escape), new valve cover gasket, and repairs to a broken fork spring.</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6508" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">500 soles later (200$) I was reunited with Jugs</dd></dl>

With the bikes in at Endurance, we explored the city by bus.
<dl id="attachment_6514" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">We took a lot of combi-bus rides</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6502" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Miraflores was quite nice, reminded me of Santa Monica in LA, and just as overrun with north american chain restaurants.</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6515" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">We worked out on the public gym equipment</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6511" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">mimiced statues and people mimicing statues</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6501" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">and waited for a gust of wind to blow a paraglider into a condo. We ran out of time.</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6503" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Met Diego's dad Carlos riding down the road in San Cristobal, Mexico. 8 months later we finally met up with Diego! For incredibly tasty, incredibly expensive burgers.</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6504" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">See bikes on the street? go in for a meet.</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6509" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Come for the oil change, come back for the oil. Our new amigos had the worst possible experience when the oil wasn't refilled after the shop did an "oil change" on one of their new KLR's. Seize much? The rebuilt engine then failed AGAIN. They were none too impressed. Great folks, look forward to meeting them again.</dd></dl>

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</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Another bike shop in Lima, Mototech. Wish I could have taken Rodrigo up on his offer to use his shop space, but Machu Picchu beckoned.</dd></dl>


<dl id="attachment_6506" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">"you know what this means? NOT. WELCOME!" Fitting, since we spent our time in Lima without our motos.</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6505" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Took a brief visit to American soil when a pickup frisbee game was held at the American embacy!</dd></dl>
Thanks Fred for helping set us up with the game, and to everyone for helping us get drunk afterwards!

<dl id="attachment_6498" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Great chats over pizza and beers with Francis.</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6497" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">We made pancakes instead of waffles at Pat and Don's in Oaxaca, Mexico, because Francis had the waffle iron. 8 months later, we met the waffle iron!</dd></dl>

Once we had the bikes back, we did the one recommended tourist activity and went to visit the fountain park.

<dl id="attachment_6510" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">so much water</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6489" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Running through fountains on the cool night was far more fun in rain gear.</dd></dl>


<dl id="attachment_6487" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Frolic in the fountain</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6513" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">When the speed of light meets the spray of water</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6549" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 330px" data-mce-style="width: 330px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">so many lazers</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6550" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 330px" data-mce-style="width: 330px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Inside the fountain</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6491" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">How are we breathing under water?</dd></dl>
Well worth it! I loved the spraying water!
We leave Lima after a productive stay, now to battle our way out of the city and on to Nazca to look at some lines in the sand...

I got 10 000km on the TKC's. Far more than I expected given their reputation, and my weight.

You would think that a man called "Kiwi" was from New Zealand, but Kiwi who we couchsurfed with in Nasca was Peruvian. I never did find out why he called himself Kiwi.


Kiwi has a small apartment, with one main kitchen/living/sleeping area, and one other room that seemed to be used for storing tools. It was in this room that we slept, once again all on the floor.


Kiwi was very welcoming, and arranged for us to park the bikes in his neighbour's garage overnight.


We went out into town to find dinner and to investigate flights over the famous Nasca lines. The going rate seemed to be $85 each but one guy said he'd give it to us for $80.
<dl id="attachment_6532" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Kelly in Nasca at the bar</dd></dl>
That evening Kiwi took us out to a local bar his friend owns. The live music that had been booked pulled out at the last minute and so a few local teenagers stepped up. They were enthusiastic but terrible.


Kelly offered to improve the entertainment by singing with them. They were very excited, but their repertoire of English songs was limited.


<dl id="attachment_6567" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Kelly with her "band"</dd></dl>
Here's a short clip of one of Kelly's numbers.


<iframe src="//www.youtube.com/embed/CNgX-edEQyw" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" width="560"></iframe>


<dl id="attachment_6533" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The bartender teaches me to play the spoons</dd></dl>
The next day we decided to head to the airport to see what kind of deal we could negotiate.


The ladies at all the desks inside were unmoving from the $80 price tag.


<dl id="attachment_6518" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The small Nasca airport</dd></dl>
In the end Kelly and I went and bought ice cream at the cafeteria and got speaking to some of the pilots sitting there.


We explained our desire to fly for less than the going rate, and the pilots were very sympathetic. One suggested that sometimes they would fly with only 3 people in his 4 seater plane.


A few phone calls to the owners later we had ourselves a 4 for the price of 3 deal.
<dl id="attachment_6535" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Kelly and I practicing flying before taking off.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6536" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Four motorcyclists in a plane</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6522" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The route we flew over the lines</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6539" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Joined by our super pilot and his assistant, ready to see some lines</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6537" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The view of the desert from the plane. Imagine riding through this landscape for HOURS.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6538" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">If you don't fly over them, the only other way to see the lines is from this tiny tower. Just not the same.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6520" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Taking pictures of the lines was quite challenging. Here's a nice one of "The hummingbird"</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6519" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The girls</dd></dl>
The plane journey was great, but during the last ten minutes I started feeling very hot and slightly unwell. I had a stomach upset and it was not feeling great.


Needless to say I was quite pleased to land and made a beeline for the bathroom.
<dl id="attachment_6540" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Phil, Kelly and Tom after the flight.</dd></dl>
Seeing the lines was a very cool experience, but we couldn't help but comment how easily anyone could just make new lines. Especially with the fact that no one knows who made them or when, it was inevitable to compare them to the crop circles in the USA. Perhaps there is a team of Peruvians out there every night with rakes and shovels.


While Kelly and I were chatting up the pilots, Phil and Tom were chatting to the two guys who had pulled up on a BMW 800.
<dl id="attachment_6523" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Jeremy's bike Smiley, loaded with all his stuff, and his friend's too</dd></dl>
Actually it was only Jeremy, the French guy, who was travelling on the bike long term, but he'd given the other guy a lift. We soon convinced them to join us for lunch, and then Jeremy decided that he would ride with us to Cusco the next day too.


While in Lima, Cristian at Endurance motors told us how to make automatic chain oilers for our bikes. We bought three bleach bottles and some hose, and in Nasca, the boys got to work. (Kelly tried to use the bleach to dye the tips of my hair, but it didn't work.)


<dl id="attachment_6541" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Tom working on his chain oiler, the other guy was very interested in our bikes</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6530" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Cricket's new chain oiling system</dd></dl>
Squeeze the bottle to get some oil going through the tube, and it gently drips onto the chain.


<dl id="attachment_6542" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Ready to leave Nasca, the whole crew jumps outside Kiwi's place (Kiwi is the guy beside Phil).</dd></dl>
We said goodbye to Kiwi and his friends, and met Jeremy for breakfast. During breakfast Phil made a worrying discovery.


<dl id="attachment_6524" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Just before we left Nasca Phil discovered what happens when contact lens solution explodes in one's pannier.</dd></dl>
After Phil had cleaned up the rust explosion in his pannier, we hit the road towards Cusco.
<dl id="attachment_6544" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">We stopped and chatted to this guy who had more stuff than even I do, and no motor on his bike.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6516" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The most stuff I've ever seen a cyclist hauling!</dd></dl>
At about midday, Jeremy wanted to stop for lunch, but we convinced him to go just a bit further. Shortly afterwards we were stopped for construction for 45 minutes.


<dl id="attachment_6529" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The bikes waiting to be let through construction</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6528" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">A poorly Phil waits to be let through construction</dd></dl>
Phil wasn't feeling very well, but the rest of us raided Jeremy's supply for peanut butter, bread and fruit while we waited.
<dl id="attachment_6531" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">This is the alpaca I would like to mail to my friend Emma.</dd></dl>
We decided to stop for the night in a very small town called Chalhuanca. Ther wasn't much there, but we found a hotel with parking for the bikes, and that was all we required.


The next morning (the 18th of November 2013) there was a lot of discussion about Phil's state of health. He'd had a fever all night, and wasn't feeling well at all. After the rest of us had had breakfast, Phil decided that he was well enough to make it to Cusco and we loaded up the bikes.


When I pulled my bike up in front of the hotel, I noticed something dripping on the road.
<dl id="attachment_6517" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Cricket leaking coolant the morning of the crash.</dd></dl>
Phil helped me tighten the radiator hose near to my thermo-bob, which was leaking coolant, and we were on our way.


Tom took off in front, with Phil racing behind him. Jeremy and I followed at a more sedate pace.


14km later The Ultimate Ride changed forever.


I rounded the corner and saw Jugs, Phil and Kelly sprawled across the road. You can read all about the crash here, and here.

Cool you got to ride over the Lines via plane.
Julian Nott built a Prehistoric style balloon that is believed to have been used when said lines were built. Which would explain why the lines are actually there :)

His website is down now though

Are you guys alright ?

Hey SnoWing,

Yep we're alright. Phil's in Salta working in a hostel bar while his collarbone heals and I am in Santiago, Chile.

More updates on this ride report soon.

Jayne

Following along with you guys has been great. Winter here....not so much!

Hoping for a quick recovery for Phil and Kelly

Given your location, did you get to see any of the Dakar?

As always, looking forward to your next post. Enjoy the r and r

Have been following this trip for sometime but no entries for some time. Everything OK??

Apologies for the delay in updates. We are both well. Phil is in Peru and I am in Chile. Will try to get caught up ASAP and some posts will be a little out of order.
You can always see where we are NOW on the map on our website. (We both have Spot trackers attached to our bikes now) - Jayne

Four weeks after Phil's crash, he had another x-ray. His collarbone showed no signs of healing. My hopes of leaving in the next few days were dashed to smithereens.


Sunday November 24, 2013, after Phil was released from the five days he spent in hospital, Kelly flew back to Canada as planned, and Tom and Jeremy continued on towards Bolivia and beyond. It was incredibly sad to say goodbye to those three wonderful people who had been such a huge part of our trip.


<dl id="attachment_6648" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 970px" data-mce-style="width: 970px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The fearless five on the day Kelly, Tom and Jeremy left Cusco.</dd></dl>
That afternoon we were picked up by Sandy and Sandra, parents of a college friend of Phil's who live in the Sacred Valley, about an hour from Cusco.


We stayed with them for a few days. Phil pulled Jugs apart and made a worrying discovery - the frame was slightly bent. Well that would need to be fixed before we could continue on our journey. I'll let Phil post about how he resolved all that.
<dl id="attachment_6597" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Sitting in the garden with Sandy, Sandra and Niall. (Tarn was at karate practice.)</dd></dl>
After a few days with Sandy and Sandra and their kids Niall and Tarn, they had had enough of visitors (they'd had another guest for 2 months before we arrived) and so we reluctantly moved to a hostel in a town called Pisaq.



El Parche Rutero was a dirty, rundown hostel filled with hippies, but it was cheap (something like $2 a night each for a dorm bed) and had parking for Cricket.
<dl id="attachment_6599" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Our room at the Parche Rutero Hostel</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6604" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">One of the residents in the kitchen</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6600" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Our Aussie friend Ollie with a plate full of cacao beans</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6615" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Phil being whipped by a statue in the Sacred Valley</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6614" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The ducks take the bridge instead of swimming.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6611" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">I thought this cactus looked like hands... But maybe actually more like feet??</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6607" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Phil catches some of the local wildlife</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6606" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">This one's for you Michelle.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6608" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Phil and Ollie on a walk in the Sacred Valley</dd></dl>
When leaving Sandy and Sandra's house, I was in the middle of sending some emails from my iPhone. I set it down on one of my panniers to tighten some straps, and forgot to pick it up and put it in my pocket before hopping on the bike and following Sandy's truck.


I realised before we reached Pisac what I had done, and asked Sandy to call home so that they could pick my phone up out of the grass.


Unfortunately my phone hadn't fallen off my bike until I had ridden out of their yard, and when they called it someone else answered and then hung up. That person chose not to return my phone to me, instead immediately taking it to Cusco. (I know this from the “Find my iPhone app” that I had installed on my phone.)
<dl id="attachment_6598" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Watching the thieves on the run with my iPhone. The police wouldn't help us, and we didn't think trying to chase after it ourselves was a good idea.</dd></dl>
That iPhone was our only solid link to the internet at a time when we really needed the distraction and access. It also had all my notes from other travelers about places to see on our way down to Ushuaia.


Words cannot express the frustration I felt at that moment. It seemed to me that the entire universe was conspiring against us. Somehow our great adventure was falling to pieces around us. Phil was broken, his bike broken, my phone stolen, we had to leave the nice house we were staying in, my mojo was gone. I was incredibly depressed.


A day or two later Phil went into Cusco to find a mechanic to fix his bike. While on a bus someone pick pocketed him and stole his cell phone.
Phil's phone was old, and not smart, and pretty broken, but it was our last piece of technology other then my small netbook. I felt like we were cursed.


It was the support I received from around the world that kept me going. Thank you so much to all you friends and family, new and old, who helped me keep things together.


We had to go back to Cusco because of Phil's bike needing a mechanic, so I put in some couchrequests.


Once again, we had been incredibly lucky to find a wonderful family through couchsurfing, who agreed to host us for two nights. Three weeks later I left their Cusco home to their assurances that they would look after Phil until he could ride again, and that I shouldn't worry about him at all.
<dl id="attachment_6643" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Tania, Phil and Philippe on the bus into town</dd></dl>
The first Saturday night that we were staying with Tania and Philippe (we seem to be attracted to staying with other “Phil's” - this one is originally from France) Tania took me out on a girl's night with her friends. After three weeks of chilling out and barely touching even a beer, the two-for-one cocktails hit me hard. We met Tania's friends, Anita and Vanessa, in a hidden English pub near Cusco's main Plaza de Armas. We befriended the bartender Frank, and he made our Pisco Sours very strong.
<dl id="attachment_6618" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Tania, Anita, Me and Vanessa with our first Pisco Sours</dd></dl>
We moved on to several other venues throughout the evening. I have hazy memories of giant fresh passionfruit daquiris and plates of fries and cut up hotdog... It was getting light by the time we stumbled out of the taxi in front of the Red House.


Tania and Philippe live in a big red house on top of a hill with Tania's 18 year old son Luis-Angel. We didn't see much of Luis-Angel because he works from 6am every day, 6 days a week. He works in Anita's restaurant, and I've never seen a teenager work so hard.

<dl id="attachment_6639" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">That's the Red House, on top of the hill, to the left of the stairs</dd></dl>
Phil and I lived in the room on the top left corner. It was amazing to have our own space, and yet be made to feel part of the family. Tania insisted on feeding us along with the rest of her family.


Tania and Philippe built their house on the corner of the land Tania's parents own. Tania's mother runs a small tienda (shop) and Tania's sister Marilu lives there with her husband Joadan and their three children, Ammi (12), Madai (2) and Jatnien (1). There are also several chickens, and a street dog, Cara Sucio (Dirty Face) who are always around.
<dl id="attachment_6631" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Jose (Anita's grandson), Ammi and Jatniel</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6630" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Three little darlings - Jose, Maddai and Jatniel</dd></dl>
Phil became “Tio Jesus” (Uncle Jesus) and I was “Tia Jenny” (Aunt Jayne with a Spanish accent). None of the large family spoke English. Becoming part of their family was very good for improving our Spanish. When Madai first met Phil, she would cry whenever he looked at her or tried to play. By the time I left she was running to him and calling him Tio Jesus all the time.

For the first few weeks we were living with Tania and Philippe, I was trying to replace my iPhone. I had no desire to pay the huge amount of money a brand new one would cost, so I was drawn into the web of the Peruvian used phone markets. I had grave misgivings about buying a stolen iPhone. I did not want to reward the people who had stolen both my, and Phil's phones. However, Apple have done very well to make it incredibly easy to recover all of your information if you buy another Apple product.


The other problem in Peru is the huge amount of counterfeit phones available. It is almost impossible to know if the phone you are buying is the real thing, or a clever Chinese knock-off.


One day while walking through a second hand market, I spotted a man selling a used iPhone and took his number. The next day Phil and I met up with Frank, the bartender from the girl's night out (Frank had a thing for me, despite me making up an imaginary boyfriend to put him off, so bringing Phil was my way of reiterating that we were just friends). Frank went with us to meet the iPhone man. The iPhone man never showed up.


Philippe had an expression which summed up my time in Cusco perfectly. “Todo es posible, nadi es seguro” which means “everything is possible, nothing is for sure”. You can get anything done in Peru – just not quickly, or when you want to, or where you want to.


Just before Christmas, after a couple more aborted attempts at buying various used (probably stolen) iPhones, I decided the world was telling me that I should stop my Apple allegiance, and I bought a brand new Android Motorola RAZR D3.



My friend Teri had generously given me an early Christmas present to help pay for it, and it was actually much easier to transfer my contacts and grow used to the Android world than I expected.
All I needed to do was buy an unlock code from the internet, and then my phone would be free and able to accept any SIM card from any network in the world. (Turns out not to be that easy unfortunately, but that's life.)


One evening after Phil and I had spent the day Christmas shopping for our new family, we went for dinner in a small roast chicken joint. Just as we were finishing, a guy walked in and was struggling to place his order with the waitress. We helped translate and got talking. Turns out that Arun was also a motorcycle traveller!


He was staying at the Estrellita hostel, where I had stayed while Phil was in hospital, and he took us back there to meet all the other motorcyclists who were in town. We only met Ryan, another KLR rider from Massachusetts, that evening, who told us the saga of his electrical problems. However we came back the next night and met about ten other motorcycle travellers from around the world.


There were two Alaskan guys on KLRs, Joshua and Jordon who were travelling with a man called Alan from Australia. They were all heading to Macchu Picchu the next day, but we arranged to meet again over Christmas.
<dl id="attachment_6632" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">When I first met the Alaskans, Josh and Jordon, with their friend Bill.</dd></dl>
Christmas in Peru is very similar to the rest of the world. It is a time for family, presents and paneton. Except that Peruvians each eat about a kilogram of the fruit filled Italian bread, and presents are opened at midnight on Christmas Eve, after fireworks are let off in a most alarming “health and safety” free way.
<dl id="attachment_6642" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Thousands of these Panetons were for sale everywhere! Delicious!</dd></dl>
While stuck in Cusco waiting for Phil to heal, cooking became somewhat of a therapy for me. At the house in Calca I helped with dinner a few nights, and in the hostel in Pisaq I started experimenting with quinoa, making a sweet pudding somewhat like rice pudding with apples in it, properly cooked fries (seemingly impossible to find in Peru where they love their potatoes hard and anemic) and a savoury quinoa frittata.



I continued this trend in the Red House in Cusco. Apple crumble, vegetarian chili (with quinoa of course), pumpkin pie, lemon meringue cheesecake, gravy for the turkey, pasta... I was distracting myself by cooking, and by going to the market to buy ingredients.
<dl id="attachment_6638" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Selling fruit and veggies beside the tracks</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6634" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Multi coloured peppers for sale</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6635" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Dried beans and spices</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6636" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Choclo (corn on the cob)</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6637" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">How Turkeys are displayed for sale in Peru.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6616" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Guinea Pigs prepared for cooking!!! (Peruvian specialty)</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6601" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Properly cooked chips!</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6593" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">My sweet creations for Christmas Day, Pumpkin pie, Lemon meringue cheescake and Apple crumble</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6626" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Apple Crumble being cooked in the pizza oven in Tipon</dd></dl>
There were a few quirks one had to get used to living in the Red House. Almost every day, the water would turn off. Usually in the afternoons, but you never knew when or if it would happen each day.


Lunch was cooked by the ladies in a local restaurant and was always soup and then segundo (a main meal), often rice, meat and some type of vegetable. Tania or Philippe would bring them big pots to fill in the morning, and then pick them up at lunch time. Tania's dad would come over to eat, and Tania would bring food over to her mum in the shop.


The kids were always in and out, one or all of them would be around most of the time. Tania is one of six siblings, and so there are a lot of nieces and nephews. They all love visiting their Aunt and Uncle in the Red House.

<dl id="attachment_6628" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The view from the house in Tipon</dd></dl>
One weekend we went to Anita and her husband Angel's house in Tipon (a village just outside of town). They are in the process of building a few cabins on the grounds. The main house where we stayed is built and despite me suffering from a head cold, we had a wonderful time playing cards and playing with the kids.
<dl id="attachment_6619" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Philippe ready for the ride to Tipon. This is how you fit 8 people in a 5 seat vehicle.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6629" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">All the guys hanging out on the steps at the house in Tipon</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6625" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Phil and Anita start the fire in the oven</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6620" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">They have these little pigs on top of all the houses</dd></dl>
There were even llamas and alpacas wandering around the neighbour's garden!
<dl id="attachment_6623" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Local llamas and alpacas (alpacas have furry heads, llamas don't)</dd></dl>

Just before Christmas we helped some of Tania's friends give out meals to the children who come into town for Christmas Eve from the countryside.
<dl id="attachment_6641" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The food was supposed to be for children, but we saw plenty of mothers eating it.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6640" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">It was heart breaking when the food ran out and there were still loads of people wanting some.</dd></dl>
The reason they come into Cusco is the giant Christmas market that takes over the city on Christmas Eve.
<dl id="attachment_6644" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">It seemed like the whole of Peru was in central Cusco for the market!</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6646" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Always easy to find Phil in Peru, although he did have to do a lot of umbrella dodging.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6645" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">A goblin children are warned about</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6589" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Every Peruvian house has a nativity scene, and the market mostly was selling items to put in them</dd></dl>
After Christmas lunch, Phil and I went into town to meet the motorcyclists, who were having their own Christmas dinner at the hostel. We were told the hilarious story of how 65 year old Alan punched an insolent Englishman in the bus home from Matchu Picchu, and how their trip to the famous ruins was okay, but not really value for money.


By this point Phil and I had discussed several times the option of me continuing on my way, leaving him in Cusco to finish recovering. I didn't like the idea of leaving him, or of him travelling on his own with a weakened collarbone, but it had been six weeks, and I was more than ready to leave Cusco.


When Josh and Jordon again invited me to join them, this time I said yes. They were planning on leaving with Alan and Ryan on the 27^th or 28^th of December.


On the 26^th I spent the day packing all my things, which over three weeks had managed to jump out of my bags and spread out around our room. I kept having to ask Phil about what things I would be taking and/or leaving, and every time I did I felt a deep pang of unhappiness.


The Ultimate Ride is OUR trip, we'd set out together 17 months earlier. I shouldn't be leaving him, it's not going to be the same travelling without him, this was never supposed to happen. But on the other hand, I had spent six weeks waiting for him to heal. If I'm going to go sailing in February I can't wait any longer, and there really was no point in both of us hanging around Cusco for an unknown amount of time. The latest x-rays showed no further healing, and we both agreed that Phil should not ride without his collarbone being 100%.


I exchanged facebook messages with the boys. Ryan and Arun would be setting out for Puno the next day, the Alaskans and Alan would follow on the 28^th. As I was packed and ready to go, and was suffering greatly from the uncertainty about leaving Phil behind, I decided not to extend the torture, and to go with Ryan and Arun.


The plan was to meet them the next day at 10am at the Estrellita hostel.

Great stuff and so enjoy the ride report. Thanks for putting in the effort and fueling the wanderlust of wayward travelers!

Thanks for the update!

Love the RR

There is more heart in this ride report than there is in most novels. Thanks again for doing it.

Glad you're enjoying it! Stay tuned for a rush of updates. I've been busy typing away... Soon you'll find out how I made it through rainy Bolivia, rode in the Dakar, and had lunch with a KLR motorcycle club in Chile... Phil might even do some updates from Peru too!

The morning I left Cusco I was up early. I carried my bags downstairs, careful not to wake Phil who had been up late that night on the internet, I assumed copying things he wanted off the laptop, which I was taking with me.


When I went to start Cricket, her battery was dead. While annoying, this wasn't a huge surprise, as the same thing had happened when I left her alone for two weeks while we sailed the San Blas in Panama.



However the solution was much more difficult this time, as Jugs was parked with the chickens, and not at all easy to use to jump start Cricket.
<dl id="attachment_6594" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">This hill just isn't steep enough!</dd></dl>
Philippe and I tried to bump start her by riding her down the slight hill beside their house, but her gears were welded together and we couldn't get her into second gear.


I was now going to be late to meet Ryan and Arun, and started flagging down passing cars to see if any of them had a set of jumper cables. None of them did. Philippe went to a neighbour who drives a bus and borrowed the bus battery. With some wire and a lot of fiddling, we tried to charge Cricket's battery. It charged a little, but not enough. Finally a passing cabbie pulled over to help, and with his stronger battery, we finally got Cricket started.


Phil had slept through this whole thing, and came sauntering out of the house after Cricket was started, saying, “I thought you were leaving tomorrow”. I couldn't have been more shocked.



Had he not noticed me spending the whole previous day packing? Did he think I was asking him to find things I wanted just to be extra prepared? Had he not read my facebook status?


By this time I had managed to contact Ryan and they had agreed to come meet me, rather than me backtracking to the hostel. They made it to a nearby gas station and then called me and suggested I meet them there.
I was distraught. The saga of Cricket not starting, my feelings of guilt and unease about leaving Phil, him not realising I was leaving that day, Tania and Philippe and all their family being so incredible; it all just added up to me being in tears and totally unsure of what I was doing.


However I was in too far. My bike was packed and running, and my new travelling companions were waiting for me. It was time to finally leave Cusco.
<dl id="attachment_6595" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The most wonderful family in Peru. Marilu, Tania, Maddai, Jatniel and Philippe.</dd></dl>

Philippe and Tania, her sister Marilu, her mother, the kids – they were all amazing. This family who we had never met before, who had adopted me and Phil as their own, fed us, helped us, supported us and housed us for nearly a month, were now continuing their support as I disintegrated in front of them. Marilu gave me a scarf and Tania told me not to worry about Phil, that they would look after him for me.


I said goodbye to my new Peruvian family, to my brother who I was abandoning, and to the Red House that had been such an amazing place to spend the past few difficult weeks. With great sadness and uncertainty, I got on Cricket, and rode away from them all.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: there is nothing quite like riding a motorcycle long distances.



You become part of your surroundings, experiencing the changes in road surfaces, air temperature, weather and wind in a way you don't when in a bus or other vehicle.


Like a turtle, everything you need is with you, compactly put away with little room for anything extra.


When you decide to stop, finding a safe place for your bike is as important as finding a place for yourself to sleep.


It was amazing to be back on the road. It got very cold for part of the ride, but I was so happy to be moving on finally that I didn't mind.
<dl id="attachment_6663" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Ryan and Arun waiting for me to join them at the gas station in Cusco.</dd></dl>
That first day back on the road Ryan, Arun and I rode to Puno, on the shore of Lake Titicaca. Cricket ran great, as long as I didn't push her too much in the thin air.
<dl id="attachment_6664" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Arun and Cricket, taking a break on the road to Puno.</dd></dl>
We stopped for lunch in a small town where all the restaurants were closed because it was 3pm, in between lunch and dinner. We rode on and found lunch in a bigger town. Went we reached the hotel that had been suggested to Arun by some other bikers, they let us park right in the hotel lobby.


<dl id="attachment_6668" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Cricket settled in for the night with the sofa.</dd></dl>
I was still feeling bad for leaving Phil, but the joy of being somewhere new, of seeing the huge expanse of Lake Titicaca, of being with new people, was helping make me feel better about my decision.
<dl id="attachment_6673" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Lake Titicaca</dd></dl>
Allow me to introduce my new riding buddies:
<dl id="attachment_6688" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Ryan on the shore of Lake Titicaca</dd></dl>

Ryan is 31 years old, from Massachusetts, and has been riding his 2011 KLR for the past seven months. He rode up to Alaska and has made his way down a lot quicker than Phil and I. In his previous career he built lasers. One day he might open a hostel for motorcycle travellers somewhere exotic.


<dl id="attachment_6669" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Arun playing his cool clarinet</dd></dl>

Arun is 39 years old. He was born in India, but most recently lived in London, England. He is a photographer. He is filming his trip to make a documentary. He is riding a 2005 BMW 1150GS Adventure. He also went up to Alaska and is making his way down to Ushuaia. Arun plays the clarinet, and has a bamboo clarinet with him on his bike. In Cusco he had a map of the world tattooed on his back. Previously he has ridden motorcycles from London to India. He owns land in Italy.


People are endlessly fascinating, and I am incredibly lucky to have found some particularly great ones to travel with.


The next morning I wanted to go see Lake Titicaca's floating islands where the Uros people live. Ryan and Arun came with me to investigate tickets, but in the end Ryan wasn't feeling very well and so decided not to take the boat trip out to the islands.
<dl id="attachment_6670" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">On the way to buy tickets we found some pigs on the railroad tracks</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6672" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">At lunch before the boat ride, I was entranced by this elegant Peruvian lady.</dd></dl>
Visiting the islands is very touristy, and there is some debate whether any of the people actually still live on them, but I still enjoyed myself.
<dl id="attachment_6681" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The boat we took to the floating islands</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6674" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Me and Arun standing on top of the boat</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6675" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The reeds they make the floating islands with</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6682" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">A house on a floating island</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6676" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Uros handiwork (available for purchase of course) To the left you can see a section of the roots the islands float on.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6677" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Near Puno part of the traditional dress is for women to have their hair in two braids with pom poms on the end.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6680" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Me and my new "friend" Linda. She basically forced me to dress up like her, bit of a hard sell.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6678" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Inside Linda's house</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6679" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">This is what our guide called "the Mercedes Benz" of reed boats.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6683" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">After our boat trip, I wanted cake, so we took a bicycle rickshaw to a bakery.</dd></dl>
That evening Josh, Jordon and Alan arrived from Cusco. Arun and I met them for dinner. They decided to go see the islands the next morning, so we planned to rendezvous across the border in Bolivia.

Thank you for the wonderful ride!

Lake Titicaca is beautiful. So big that you can not see across to the other side, it was hard to keep my eyes on the road as Ryan, Arun and I rode away from Puno towards the Copacabana crossing into Bolivia.


<dl id="attachment_6686" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The bikes and boys on the shore of the Lake</dd></dl>

For lunch we stopped at roadside restaurant for trucha frita (fried trout) from the lake. Three other motorcycle travelers rode by and turned around and stopped. It was Bart and Renate from Holland and Eran from Israel who we'd met in Cusco briefly. We formed a gang and headed to the border.


<dl id="attachment_6689" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The bikes outside the restaurant</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6691" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Great place for trout fresh from the lake. Renate, Ryan and Eran</dd></dl>

When we got to the border, the BMWs wanted gas, and went back to find some. Ryan and I had enough gas, so we started the crossing process. I offered to do the paperwork as I always did with Phil, while Ryan guarded the bikes.


Getting out of Peru was pretty easy. First to the office building on the right, where they stamp the bikes out, then cross the road to the immigration office. They wanted me to have a stamp from the Policia next door, but there was no one there so the immigration man just stamped our passports out and we were free to go. Well that was until I got back to the bikes and suddenly some other officials wanted me to go into another building to show our insurance.


I had bought a month long insurance policy when we entered Peru on the 31^st of October. The six weeks I spent in Cusco waiting for Phil's bones to heal meant that my insurance had expired a month earlier. Oops.



I went into the building with a big smile on my face, convinced that it couldn't be necessary for me to have Peruvian insurance to LEAVE Peru.



There were two men in the office, and they asked to see my insurance papers. I handed them my insurance documents from Colombia and Ecuador (one to each of them). I then deployed my distraction techniques of asking how far it was to Copacabana, if they lived nearby, and if they thought Bolivia was nice.


The more senior man told me that my insurance was from the wrong country. I told him no, it was correct. I smiled and laughed and asked about the weather. He said to his friend that “This gringa doesn't understand us, just let her go.” Sometimes having a terrible Spanish accent works on my side. I understood them perfectly, but happily gathered my papers, sauntered out to the bikes, and said to Ryan under my breath that we had to get to Bolivia right away before they decided they wanted to see his insurance too!


They lowered the chain barrier and we were off. There was another chain at the abandoned Police office, so Ryan just got off his bike and lowered it himself for us to cross. We were out of Peru!


We rode across the bridge to Bolivia, and Ryan gave me his paperwork so I could go start the process of entering Bolivia.


<dl id="attachment_6692" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 460px" data-mce-style="width: 460px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Welcome to Bolivia</dd></dl>
Americans have to pay $135 to enter Bolivia. I wasn't sure what Canadians were going to have to pay, but it didn't matter, because in no man's land between leaving Peru as a Canadian, I took my British passport out of my bag, and magically transformed into a Brit. One of the great benefits of having two passports is that you can choose which to use. It seems Europeans generally are free of the reciprocity charges that other nationalities have to pay.


<dl id="attachment_6695" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Aduana on the left, immigration on the right</dd></dl>
I went down to the immigration office, they gave me a few forms for Ryan to fill out, and then started flipping through my passport to find the exit stamp from Peru. Of course, there wasn't one. Changing nationalities in no man's land turned out not to be as easy as I had hoped. I explained the situation, and they said they would only stamp me in if I had an exit stamp from Peru.


Back I went to the nice man in the Peruvian immigration office. I explained the situation and asked him to stamp my British passport as well. He said he could only do that if I had an exit stamp from Bolivia.


Caught in no man's land, I was unable to do anything. However this was just a matter of a couple of stamps. Surely a simple policy could be circumvented and he could just do me a favour and stamp my passport?
By this time his two colleagues had taken an interest in the frustrated gringa. One of the said that it was possible but only if I went to the bank across the road and paid a $40 fee. However as it was Sunday, the bank was closed, so I couldn't do that today. I saw where this was going.


I have managed 17 months without paying any bribes, I didn't want to start now, but they were not budging, and even if I wasn't going to have to pay to enter Bolivia, I knew for certain that it would cost me $100 to enter Argentina as a Canadian. When one of the officials said I could pay them the fee, and they would give it to the bank when it opened, I pulled an American $20 bill out of my bag, and told them that was all I had. It disappeared very quickly, and in no time I had Peruvian entry and exit stamps in my British passport.


<dl id="attachment_6693" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">My sad face after having to pay $20 for an extra set of stamps.</dd></dl>

When I returned to Bolivia, Ryan had finished filling out his forms, and so back I went to immigration with my newly stamped passport. Two buses full of tourists had arrived in the meantime, now there was a long queue. Part of the joy of border crossings. Luckily one of the staff noticed that I had filled out paperwork in my hand, and ushered me to the start of the queue.


<dl id="attachment_6694" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">What two bus loads of people standing in a line looks like...</dd></dl>
After carefully inspecting Ryan's US dollars for even the tiniest tears, Ryan's passport was stamped in, and so was my UK one, no questions asked.


By this time the others had caught up with us, and we all waited at the customs office for our bike paperwork together.


Other than my self-created insurance and passport issues, crossing the Peru-Bolivia border was one of the easiest and most straightforward of Latin America.


We rode the few kilometers to the town of Copacabana and found a hostel that had been recommended on the shore of Lake Titicaca. For the equivalent of $3.75 I got my own room with a double bed.
<dl id="attachment_6699" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Our hostel on the shore of Lake Copacabana, Bolivia style.</dd></dl>
Ryan was smarting from the border fee, so he chose to camp even though it only saved him a dollar or so. Arun also wanted to camp, and while they were setting up their tents, the Alaskans and Alan pulled up.


We now had nine motorcycles hanging out together.
<dl id="attachment_6696" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">All of the bikes at the hostel</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6697" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Bart and Renate's bikes look so sweet locked together</dd></dl>
I felt great. Back on the road, new friends, and new country. If only Phil had been there too, everything would have been perfect.

Once everyone had arrived in Copacabana, beers were acquired, and there was a lot of motorcycle talk and a bit of maintenance going on. Bart helped me adjust my rear brake pedal so that the brake comes on sooner, and I borrowed some silicon from Alan to try to get my homemade tool tube to seal better, keeping out rain and stopping my tools from further rusting. Bart pointed out that it was somewhat wrong that a BMW rider was helping the KLR, when there were so many other KLR riders there.


Once everyone was settled in, we went out for dinner, which ended up being a bit of an ordeal. The first restaurant we chose had a greedy owner, who wouldn't let us order the cheaper set meal, and then reneged on a promise to give us happy hour prices on drinks. We became annoyed with his attitude and cancelled our order.


Hungry and back on the street, we suffered greatly from groupthink. While a few of the others were looking at various menus, Alan pointed out to me that the Alaskans had disappeared into a pizzeria. We broke ranks and went to join them. Soon the rest of the group showed up, and we all ended up eating together.


As the evening progressed, more wine and beer was consumed, and Bart started to get a little overbearing. A few comments about Americans rubbed the Alaskans up the wrong way, resulting in one of them calling him a “Dutchbag”.


Despite this being a once off occurrence, and Bart and Renate being very nice people, the name stuck, and ever since we've been referring to them as “the Dutchbags” (sorry guys).


It had started to rain, and we all headed back to the hostel. Someone had bought a bottle of rum and the night progressed as expected, well except that one of the gang had been flirting with me and decided to kiss me! (I'll leave it to your imagination which one.) While unexpected, it wasn't at all unpleasant.


I was determined that I would not let anything ruin the dynamic of my new traveling gang, and so thinking about that kiss, along with the torrential rain pounding on the rooftop, kept me from sleeping very well that night.
In the morning it was still raining. Poor Ryan had not been able to stay dry in his tent, and everything was wet. We headed out for breakfast without the Dutchbags, as they had not yet emerged from their room.


The rain intensified as we discussed our options. It was the 29^th of December, and we all wanted to be in La Paz for New Year's Eve, but we didn't much fancy riding in the pouring rain. In the end we decided to see if there were any hotels available with good internet and perhaps a TV to watch movies on, and give the weather a bit of time to see if it improved.


By the time we got back to the hostel, the rain had stopped, and everyone seemed to burst into action. Soon the Alaskans and Alan were packed and decided to head off towards La Paz. Ryan and I followed soon behind them, and the rest of the gang seemed to also be packing up.



I liked that the group seemed happy to split up, because keeping nine people together would have been extremely difficult.


Ryan and I found the Alaskans at the only gas station in town. I'd been warned that getting gas in Bolivia is a pain, and they confirmed this by telling us that the attendant had just stolen 50 Bolivianos from them (claiming he didn't have change).


Ryan and I decided not to give our business to thieves, and that we would just stop at the next gas station we found. This turned out to be a risky decision.


We rode ahead, along a very pleasant route. The rain did not return, and the road was in good repair, something I had been concerned about, as tales of the poor state of Bolivian roads abound.


We arrived at a ferry, which goes across a short expanse of the lake. The Alaskans and Alan turned up shortly after we arrived, and I negotiated a cheap fare across (10 BOB each – about $1.50).


<dl id="attachment_6706" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">A ferry making its way across the lake</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6703" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Josh and Ryan on the ferry</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6704" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Alan making sure his bike, Blue, doesn't fall over.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6705" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Jordon loads on to the ferry</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6708" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Riding Cricket over the lake</dd></dl>
To this day I am not convinced the ferry was seaworthy (or lake-worthy) but a bus and us five bikes made it safely across.
<dl id="attachment_6712" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The rest of the gang got their own ferry</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6710" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Lots of people watching us push the bikes backwards off down the ramp</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6709" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The last bikes off before the bus can finally move</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6711" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Safe on tierra firma</dd></dl>

After we had unloaded, we saw the others loading their bikes on the other side, so we waited for them to get across.


At this point my gas situation was becoming a bit of a worry. There hadn't been another gas station since Copacabana, I hadn't hit reserve yet, but I knew I would be fairly soon.


We headed up the hill, away from the lake, and towards La Paz, which is one of the highest cities in the world.


<dl id="attachment_6713" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">No gas here</dd></dl>
We passed a few gas stations, however they had no gas.
<dl id="attachment_6714" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Another gas station with no gas. Thank goodness for Alaskans!</dd></dl>
As predicted I hit reserve shortly later. Luckily for me, the Alaskans had a big jerrycan on the back of Josh's bike, and when I pulled up at yet another gas station with no gas they let Ryan and I have some of theirs.


The next gas station had gas, but wouldn't sell it to us. The attendant told me he didn't have any receipts for foreign license plates, and pointed to the cameras directed at the pumps, saying that they could only sell us gas (at a rate 3 times higher than what locals pay) if they give us official receipts.


I explained that if I didn't buy gas I was going to be stranded on the side of the highway and he assured me that there was a gas station two minutes down the road which didn't have cameras where we would definitely be able to buy gas.


Fortunately he was right, and we all filled up for 5 BOB a litre, about halfway between the local price and the official rate for foreigners. Gas proved to be a frustrating experience the whole time I was in Bolivia, even though the official rate for foreigners (around 9BOB or $1.30 per litre) isn't that expensive compared to other countries, it grated on me to have to pay so much more than the locals, and the need to beg for gas at most gas stations and then negotiate for a lower rate grew tiring very fast.


It is symptomatic of the Bolivian attitude to foreigners, which I found indifferent at best, and outright hostile at worst. When I asked for help I often wouldn't get it, or was given completely incorrect information. A big change from what I have grown used to, and made my time in Bolivia less enjoyable. There were of course some wonderful Bolivians, but they were few and far between.


We made it to La Paz with no further issues. The nine of us must have made quite a sight. Arun became official leader due to having a reliable GPS (mine works some of the time, but likes to restart repeatedly when I need it most). We pulled into the main hostel area, and found a room with six beds.



The Dutchbags and Eran had some other options so they went to investigate those, while the rest of us prepared to ride our bikes up a very thin plank into the hotel courtyard. Luckily Ryan agreed to ride Cricket up for me, because I really didn't fancy the challenge!


<dl id="attachment_6715" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">This is how to ride up stairs</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6716" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Well... Maybe not like that...</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6718" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">All the bikes settled in for the night</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6717" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Aussie Alan celebrates making it to La Paz</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6719" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">The rest of the gang chills out at the hotel. Ryan, Arun, Jordon and Josh</dd></dl>

There is a strange custom in Bolivia of burying llama foetuses under a new house. You can buy these shrivelled up creatures in most markets.


<dl id="attachment_6722" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Shriveled up and creepy...</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6725" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Fluffy, but no less creepy</dd></dl>

Our first day in La Paz was spent exploring the city, looking for GPSs, new motorcycle boots for Alan, shoes for Josh (he'd somehow lost his previous pair in a hostel in Cusco), and checking out the witches' market. We didn't end up buying any GPSs, boots or shoes, but we did explore the extensive markets packed into thin steep streets, and see the potions and ingredients for sale in the witches market, among all the tourist tat that was also for sale.


We ran into Jacquie, a Canadian girl we'd met in Cusco, and she joined our group for the rest of our stay in La Paz.
<dl id="attachment_6720" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">A Northern Canadian and two Canadians. Jordon, Jacquie and I</dd></dl>

<dl id="attachment_6721" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Alan, Josh and I enjoy the bar at the Wild Rover hostel</dd></dl>
New Year's Eve was really fun, the Alaskans and Alan really know how to party. It's difficult to believe that Alan is 64 years old. He acts as though he's in his 20s and tells hilarious stories and jokes that many people would find too raunchy. A true Australian bloke, he's macho and opinionated, and I got on with him really well. His trip report is a series of emails to his friends and family, and they make me laugh until I cry. Unfortunately for you all, they are not available on the internet. Hopefully he'll write a book.
<dl id="attachment_6728" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 610px" data-mce-style="width: 610px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Alan and I on NYE</dd></dl>
Our hotel was across the road from the Wild Rover hostel, who threw a Black and White Masked ball for New Year's Eve. It was great fun, even if none of us had masks!
<dl id="attachment_6726" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">No mask, but Josh had a stellar white furry hat.</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6729" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Ryan and I</dd></dl>
<dl id="attachment_6727" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Jordon with Jacquie and her friend (with masks)</dd></dl>

New Years day I was feeling quite fragile, and some of the boys decided to go ride the Death Road. Also known as the most dangerous road in the world, I decided to opt out. Jordon also wasn't feeling up to it, so he, Jacquie and I stayed behind.


The boys came back jubilant, having really enjoyed the death road (only one of them dropped their bike, and not over the cliff).
<dl id="attachment_6730" class="wp-caption alignnone" style="width: 810px" data-mce-style="width: 810px;"><dt class="wp-caption-dt">
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">All the bikes lined up ready to go</dd></dl>
That done, it was time to move on. The next day we packed up and headed South.