All three crashes were very similar in execution, i.e., the rear tire breaking loose, coming around, and never hooking up again until I low-side with the bars at almost full lock, but 2 of the 3 occurred under different circumstances. They also all happened very quickly.
I left Huaraz about 8:30 with the intention of trying to ride up to Lago Llaca at an elevation of more than 17000 feet. On the way, the road passed the ruins of Willcawain, a Tiahuanaco-style temple dating from AD 1000. It is constructed of stone in 3 levels, and each level has a seperate low entrance doorway, forcing you to stoop to gain entrance. Inside each level are a series of rooms interconnected by hallways and low doorways. There are only 2-3 "windows" in the whole structure, all on the top level. Most rooms have, built into their walls, protruding flat stones to hold candles or torches. Small airways are built into the walls and ceilings to vent air into the rooms from the outside. Several larger "tunnels" connect several of the rooms on different levels, presumably for communication between the different levels.
I asked about the road up to Lago Llaca and was told it was difficult because not much traffic used it, and that it would take 2 hours or so. It was already 10AM, and going to the lake would probably mean spending another night in Huaraz, which I didn't really want to do. But I decided to proceed and see what the road was like and play it by ear.
I hadn't gone very far and the road became worse, basically two rutted tire tracks seperated by a grass-covered mound of earth. The area was very wet as well. Just after crossing a small bridge on a righthand corner, the rear tire managed to slide over to the outside track, and between the wet conditions, the grass-covered mound of earth between the tracks, and the lack of agressive knobs on the sides of the Pirelli rear tire, the back end just kept coming around and I low-sided on the right side, the bike ending up pointing in the direction I had come from. No real damage as I had only been going about 20mph at the time, and I had the bike back up on two wheels in short order.
I continued on a bit further, but the road didn't get any better and I hadn't even crossed 12K feet yet. I still had almost a mile in elevation to the lake. That, coupled with my reluctance to spend another night in Huaraz and wanting to get on to Lima, and undoubtably with my spill in the back of my mind, though I never like to admit that as a factor, I decided to turn around, ride back through Huaraz, and then take the road west back across the Cordilleras Negras to Casma on the coast. I never like turning back like that; I always feel like I've been defeated and it leaves me feeling a bit depressed or bummed out.
At the bridge crossing the Rio Santa, just outside Huaraz, there was a police checkstation and I stopped to ask about the condition of the road on to Casma, 150 km away. The officer pointed to the road around me, which was reasonable dirt, and said similar. That just goes to prove don't believe everything you're told.
As the road climbed up to Callan Pass (13858 feet), it was one of the most washboard roads I've encountered on this trip so far, interspersed with stretches of mud, which were slippery but manageable. The summit was a wide open gently sloping area of grassland, and had clouds covering the surrounding grass-covered peaks. It was raining lightly and about 43F.
As the road switchbacked down the other side it continued to be potholed, muddy and slippery, but manageable for 10 miles or so. Then the road became the drainage system for the whole mountain (or so it seemed) and the mud became quite thick, and 2 times within a mile I went down, both times the rear tire loosing traction in the mud and coming around, resulting in a lowside, once on the right side the other on the left. Fortunately both times, despite the mud, I didn't have to work too hard to get the bike back up. Three times in one day and I had it down to a science. Squat down beside the prone bike, back to the bike. Bring the handlebar pointing towards the ground in against the tank. One hand grabs that bar, the other hand the grab bar behind the seat. I had learned back in the Yucatan (boy that seems like a long time ago) not to grab the bottom edge of the seat when I had ripped the rear latch off. Then slowly stand up while walking backwards a bit.
Fortunately, as I proceeded west, things became drier and eventually the road transitioned into a good graded dirt road. In this area the Andes were huge linear, triangular-profiled ridges, dropping away to rivers far below in deep V-shaped valleys. The road paralleled the ridgeline for a long distance before again beginning to switchback down to the valleys below. Indians could be seen tending small flocks of sheep on the steep hillsides and alongside the rivers far below.
The surrounding mountains became barren, with very little vegetation. I was always amazed, after having come through so many mountains in the past 2 hours, and having dropped so much in elevation, to look down at my GPS and see I was still at over 8000 feet, with mountains stretching away to the west as far as I could see. At one point where I stopped I noticed a casualty of one of my spills: the electrical connector to my Givi topcase, which provides power for charging my palmtop and also provides the serial connection between my GPS and the palmtop, was broken. The pins were still intact, but the rotating collar which locks the two parts was broken. I tested the connections and everything still functioned, but the plug was just a press fit now with nothing holding it in. All the pieces were still there and I hoped I could glue them back together later.
As I approached the coast the terrain became again reminiscent of the Mojave, with a barren, sandy desert floor and barren, craggy peaks away in the distance. Approaching Casma, on the coast I came to the ruins at Sechin where I stopped late in the afternoon. The ruins are set against a backdrop of a huge, barren, rocky mountain which rises immediately behind the ruins. The square temple is completely faced with carved stone monoliths, more than 500 of them, depicting Sechin warriors and gruesome battle scenes such as dismembered arms and legs and blood gushing from eyes and mouths. The carvings were very well preserved as the whole complex had been covered by dirt, some think intentionally, others say by a natural disaster.
In Casma I got a room at a hostal on the main drag, for S15. There is definitely a difference in prices between the highlands and here along the Pan-American Highway. The night was warm, and the room had no fan, and I was back to sleeping with no covers again.
In the morning before leaving town, I bought some instant glue to try to repair the electrical connector. I should have examined it closer before buying the glue, because it turned out, that while a couple small tabs had broken, the collar snapped back on, and everything worked as it should.
South from Casma was more of the same, desert broken intermittantly by small desert oasis villages and towns: Huarmey, Paramonga, Pativilca, Barranca, Supe, Huara, Chancay, and Ancon. The Pan-American is in very good condition and I blasted along at 75mph, twice having to haul on the brakes to stop for police checkpoints. They could care less about my speed, and the document checks were routine. Twice I was passed by luxury cars doing at least 80 mph.
At Paramonga I stopped to visit the Fortalezade Paramonga, the ruins of a Chimu-culture fortress/temple. The ruins sit on high ground with views of the ocean and rise in several tiered levels. The lower levels have no apparent use other than to provide walls and a base for the higher levels. Only on top are there any structures and rooms.
I had been feeling guilty about not having done a better job of cleaning all the mud out of the engine fins after yesterday's spills, so spent about 45 minutes, removing the bash plate and cleaning out the now-baked mud. Overall the bike was still a muddy mess, and seemed to attract more stares than usual when riding through towns.
At 5pm I stopped for the day in Ancon, a seaside "resort" 30km north of Lima. The first hospedaje I stopped at charged S15 for 12 hours or S20 for 24 hours for a room with shared bath. I could have it for the 12 hour rate, but I couldn't get the bike through the narrow doorway into the courtyard. The next hospedaje, Hostal Las Brisas del Mar, had nice rooms, with private bath, in a new, modern 2-story building, but wanted S20. They had secure parking, and the room was nice and clean, so I took it.
In the 19th and early 20th centuries, Ancon was a posh seaside resort for the wealthy from Lima. Along the seafront Malecon are numerous well-preserved 19th century wooden homes with ornate wooden porches and balconies. Alongside these elegant reminders of the past rise tall 10-15 story luxury apaprtment buildings. I think many of these are used by todays well-to-do upper-middle class as weekend and holiday getaways from Lima. They were clearly very posh and luxurious compared to anything else I had seen in Peru. Several posh restaurants lined the Malecon, near the more luxurious complexes. The Malecon itself curved around the small bay which had numerous yachts and powerboats anchored offshore. A large grass-covered plaza with palm trees and benches faced the Malecon, and there was a lot of activity with people enjoying the pleasant evening. It wasn't too difficult to distinguish the wealthy upper-middleclass from the other residents. The wealthy kids were wearing baggy pants and clothes, very similar to what you might see such kids wearing in the US. Mountain bikes, and roller blades were much in evidence.
I went to the cheap part of town, away from the Malecon, for my dinner. S3.50 for a large bowl of soup, a large plate of rice, beans, salad, and filet of fish, and a glass of chica morado, a common Peruvian softdrink made of purple maize. It sort of tastes like Kool-Aid.
In the morning I washed the bike out front of the hotel. The hotel had a large cistern of water under the garage, and an electric pump to power the hose. The man who owned the hotel and his young daughter watched me wash it. He is in the process of adding a 3rd floor to the building, with more rooms.
Two blocks away was a store selling oil, and I bought two quarts of Castrol 20W-50 and changed my oil and installed a new oil filter out front of the store. A group of kids gathered around to watch, and I provided English translations of numerous Spanish words. One young girl, accompanied by her girlfriend, wanted to know how to say "chica mal" (bad girl) in English.
Bike maintenance took me into early afternoon and I hung out on the beach the rest of the afternoon. In the evening, around 5pm, fishing boats began to bring in their catch to the pier. There were many booths selling fish and other seafood, brought in by the boats, and open-air restaurants where you could have fresh seafood.
Without too much trouble I found a Banco de Credito, and started to park on the wide sidewalk out front, but the guard said I couldn't park there and indicated along the curb across the street. He said he would watch the bike for me while I used the ATM machine, which was inside the bank. ATMs really make it easy to get money.
From there I headed to the Hotel Roma, several blocks from Plaza de Aramas, which the guidebook indicated had motorcycle parking. Rooms were S25 (US$10) with shared bath. Parking was just inside the front door (locked at night) in a small entrance foyer. It would be a bit of a tight fit for my large bike.
Before parking the bike, I rode to the SAEC clubhouse, not too far away, but far enough that I didn't want to walk. Alex, the manager, said he would let me use the phone once a day to check my email. Fair enough. I got my incoming email, but didn't send any trip reports since I was waiting to hear from Dave Doudna, if he had had any problems with the compressed and encoded test message I had sent him from Quito, the last place I had checked my email. His message said everything worked fine, so I planned to send a large batch of compressed and encoded trip reports tomorrow.
At the clubhouse, I again ran into Rob, who I had met at the clubhouse in Quito, where he had been volunteering. He was now travelling in Peru, on his way to Bolivia, with his girlfriend. They had just that morning, ventured down to the area around the Japanese Embassy where the hostage crisis was still going on, and got into an area where only journalists were permitted, then stopped by some Peruvian soldiers, who gave them a lot of hassle until some nearby journalist began taking pictures of them and the soldiers. After the soldiers saw the journalist taking the photos, the soldiers simply escorted Rob and his girlfriend out of the area.
I met another traveller (forget his name) from Connecticut, who was driving a shiney, silver Mercedes Benz, which I had seen parked out front of the clubhouse when I arrived. I'm not sure I'd choose that particular marque and model if I was travelling by car through South America. He said he often slept in the car. He was in his mid-40s, and said he had done a similar South American trip by car when he was 20. He wasn't using a Libreta and hadn't had any problems.
At some point we got talking about guerrillas and whether they posed a danger to travellers in general and Americans in particular. He had an interesting take on the situation, which I must say, makes sense. He said, during his travels, both on his earlier trip as well as on this trip, he had travelled in some remote, rural areas where guerrilla activity was known to exist. And he had in fact got several flat tires in those areas. His view was the guerrillas know that if they target American travelers, it will result in an influx of military personnel into the area, endangering their operations and supplies, and that their main interest is to get you on your way as soon as possible, and out of their areas of activities. On several occasions, guerrilleras had helped him fix his flat tires. He pointed out that the guerrillers are a military organization themselves, with a well-defined chain of command, and that even if a low-level member may harbor more fanatical anti-US sentiments, he knows that if he does something, he will have to answer to his superior officers farther up the chain of command. It sounds like a good theory to me, but I don't plan to actively try to test it out.
He related another story from his earlier trip in the '70s, of how after crossing the Honduran/El Salvadoran border he had pulled over to the side of the road to sleep for the night. A military officer knocked on the window and said he couldn't stop there. So he drove on a little further and pulled over. Another military officer approaches and says he can't stop there, so he drives on a little further. The third time a general, knocks on the winow and says he can't park there, and that he should follow him into the next town where he will buy him a room in a hotel. Early the next morning Honduran troops, crossed the border, invading El Salvador (or it may have been the other way around). The troops had been massed along the road where he had been trying to park. He also said, unbeknownst to him at the time, as he drove north the next day, the small towns he drove through were later being bombed in retaliation.
I bought a replacement map of Peru, to replace the one I had lost on my way to Caraz. Just as I was getting ready to leave, a non-SAEC-member wanted to buy a map, but they are sold only to members, so I volunteered to buy it for him, and he insisted on giving me US$5 for my favor. I turned around and used the money to buy another map of the Arequipa/Colca Canyon area which I had been debating whether to buy.
Back at the hotel, I rode up the front steps a bit too quickly and bottomed out on the top step, taking a small chip out of the top step. They didn't seem to mind too much.
After dinner I bought some rolls to snack on tomorrow.
At 8pm that night I venture out briefly to buy some water and more rolls, then return to my room. I try to sleep, but between the fever, my achey muscles, and having slept most of the afternoon, toss and turn for most of the night. Finally at 3:30am I fall asleep and sleep till 6:30am.
I still feel terrible, with a fever and sore muscles. For a while in the morning I start to feel a bit better, but then it gets worse again. I spend the day in my room again, drinking lots of water and munching on the bread I bought. At 7pm I venture out again and buy more water, but am not hungry and pass on dinner. I hadn't slept during the day, instead having read and written in my journal, so I had no trouble falling asleep, but didn't sleep that well during the night.
I awake and the fever and sore muscles are gone. Not haven eaten much the last two days, I feel a bit weak, but other than that, whatever I had seems to be gone. Probably a minor case of food poisoning of some type. My stomach and intestines are still not 100% up to par however, and I have a light breakfast.
I'm not up for a big day of walking around and sightseeing and limit it to sights around the Plazas de Aramas: the Palacio de Gobierno on the northeast side with the colorful Palace guards stationed out front, the Cathedral and Archbishop's Palace on the southeast side, and the Municipalidad and Club Union on the northwest side. A large bronze fountain dating from 1650 dominated the center of the plaza, and the grounds were covered in red flowers. The plaza was crowded with people enjoying the sunny weather, and it was almost impossible to find an empty bench. Just off the plaza was a large bronze statue of Francisco Pizarro, the founder of Lima, on a horse.
Near the plaza a folk music group was performing, and as I watched them, an attractive woman in a long pink backless dress came up to me and started talking. Immediately I get a bit suspicious and wonder what the scam is going to be. That is the unfortunate side effect of bad encounters while traveling. It turns out there was no scam. Jacklyn was a nurse at the local hospital and was also studying English for use in her work. She had in fact just come from her English class and was carrying her English books and dictionary with her. She asked if she could practice her English, and we spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the area, visiting some museums and several historic churches, she practicing her English, me my Spanish. At one point, she started to ask me something which came out as "Can I have you?" , but then she pulled out her English book to look something up, and we got off on another subject and, the original question, whatever it was, was never asked. It did bring to mind some interesting possibilities however.
Her parents were of Indigenous descent, originally from near Puno on Lake Titicaca, but she had been born in Lima. She was 25. Interestingly, her parents were Mormon, though she said she was not. She lived with her family in Miraflores, the more modern, more affluent area of Lima near the ocean. There are a lot of restaurants, bars, and nightclubs in Miraflores, and we decided to take the bus there for dinner and to see what else was going on there. It was a beautiful Saturday evening, and the Parque Central in Miraflores was full of people and artists displaying their work. A local music group was performing in a small amphitheater in the center of the park. Miraflores was definitely upscale, and there were a lot of hip, well-dressed people enjoying the sidewalk cafes and restaurants. Jacklyn suggested an Italian restaurant across the street and I ordered the lasagna. It was above my usual budget, but I considered this to be one of those splurge meals.
I had left most of my money and credit cards back at the hotel, and the dinner wiped out most of my cash, so after dinner we agreed I'd go back to the hotel for some more money and meet her and a friend of hers who had joined us, back here in Miraflores. It was 11:45 when I got back to the hotel. I laid down on the bed for what I told myself would be 5 minutes. I woke up at 4am. Oh well. I had been fairly tired, not having slept real well the last two nights. I kind of hoped she'd call the hotel the next day, but she didn't.