Big Sur

Leaving Cajamarca, our morning stop in the square at Namora has us admiring an array of hats.

By lunchtime, we are admiring the condor statues at Condormarca – unfortunately none of the real birds make an appearance.

The pattern repeats: more hats, this time with the ubiquitous pot of Peruvian jelly…

…and more statues; an enormous Virgin Mary marks the entrance to Cajabamba.

Into the rural fields outside of Cajabama and James gets a whirlwind intro to tile making; moulded out of earth, sand and water…

…left to dry in the sun…

…they eventually make a picturesque roof. 

A classic Latin American view as we pass through the regrettably named Shitabamba: maize kernels drying on sheets in the sun and political campaigning painted directly onto the walls of houses.

We unload the bikes at Huamachuco and make the 10km rocky climb up to the pre-Inca ruins at Marcahuamachuco…

…where we find they buried their ancestors in funeral towers with incredible views.

Back down in Huamachuco, we weave through hundreds of mototaxis…

…to get to the market for supplies – before all the vendors nod off for their afternoon siesta.

More than once on this section we are scratching our heads about which of the identical unsigned tracks to take…

…and when there’s someone on hand to ask it’s always a relief.

After 21,000km another rocky descent is one too many for my front tyre. Not bad for two years of rough riding. So we swap a Marathon Extreme (now discontinued) for a Marathon Mondial – initial impressions are that it doesn’t seem to offer as much grip, but we’ll see how it goes.

Afternoon riding through pastoral scenes…

…brings us to the dairy at La Victoria near Cachicadán. A beautiful camp spot and chatting with lively local dairyherder Marléne (on the right) is the perfect way to end the day. 

The following morning, we can’t leave without buying some of the produce; the kids wave us on our way…

…but it’s not long before I insist on stopping to sample some of our purchases: manjar, spreadable fudge, on fresh crusty bread. Yum.

Fuelled up on manjar, the morning is spent rolling up and down through pretty villages.

Lunch feels practically European. Unexpectedly, we have been able to get hold of Swiss-style cheese, meaty olives, juicy tomatoes, creamy avocados and fresh bread. More yum.

The afternoon delivers a nasty punch with a challenging river crossing on a bridge that looks about four hundred years old, a scramble over rocky roadworks and then a gruelling climb up to Tulpo.

Arriving in Mollepata, small details pop out of the woodwork…

…while ladies with brooms keep the main square looking pristine.

We make a delicious descent into the hot valley…

…only to be confronted by the afternoon’s challenge. Twenty four hairpin bends and a 20km climb to Pallasca…

…where, when we arrive, the most pressing job as always, is to seek out calories. Sometimes we hit the jackpot – this fritter is the perfect quick fix…

…and sometimes there are bitter failures; what appears to be tasty looking cake is filled with a foul excuse for jam, rendering it nearly inedible.

Proof of the day’s sweaty climbs: my salt-encrusted hat.

We make sure to visit the bread lady before leaving Pallasca not knowing where we’ll end the day – but certain that…

…there’s a big downhill in store. 25km of descending into the Rio Chuquicara gorge and then it’s all flat riding or downhill.

Textures, tastes and smells are all different at the bottom of the valley.

If you look hard enough you can see a cyclist here…

…before she gets swallowed up by the rocks.

Further along the road, the canyon opens up…

…and we’re into mining country.

The road weaves through gorges and tunnels and we’re not sure how far we are from Chuquicara…

…when magically a roadworker appears, painting the kilometre marker in front of our very eyes.

Sure enough, exactly 10km later we are sheltering from the wind in a palapa at Chuquicara. A morning stretch is needed before we set off towards Caraz through the Cañon del Pato.

Dawn brings more beautiful views.

We pull over to investigate some pretty rock formations, the catci pop out to greet us…

…and I am caught napping on some perfectly moulded boulders just an hour after we set off.

Passing through Mirador, incongruously named “town of faith and hope”…

…we see the effects of the disastrous 1970 earthquake and subsequent landslide are still evident. 

Deeper into the gorge with seemingly no one around…

…when James is joined by a companion on a bike. Segundo, a local security guard who patrols this stretch of road on his two wheels, tells us there are two other touring cyclists just ahead.

They are Spaniards Kalima and Charco, riding up into the mountains on handbuilt bikes from the coast, with their new puppy “Cicla” (rescued from a rubbish dump in Trujillo) stowed away in a box on the handlebars.

We camp together that evening…

…before they teach us a thing or two about taking roadside breaks the next day. Charco has a blender attachment on his bike and they soon knock up four papaya smoothies…

…even Cicla gets a taste.

The final stretch to Caraz is through the famed Cañon del Pato, a series of thirty six tunnels cut into the rock where the passage between two mountain ranges is more than a tight squeeze…

…and we’re in and out of tunnels all day…

…eyes adjusting to the changing light…

…it’s a long way down to the bottom.

Breathing in for the cars and buses which come screeching through is not an option; stopping is mandatory.

Last stop on this leg: Caraz and the gateway to the Cordillera Blanca. From the town square the stunning peak of Alpamayo is cutely juxtaposed with swaying palms. Snowy mountain adventures await us…