Bike-packing Peru: Out of Arequipa

Sunday, November, 17 at 5:30am Reilly, Kimberly and I began the ride out of Arequipa, population one million. At that time of morning, the streets in the central, touristy area of town were empty. As we made our east, however, the city’s vibrancy made itself known; although, in a strange almost sinister sort of way.

The roads quickly filled with the ubiquitous tiny little taxi cabs competing for fares as the clubs spilled their drunken clientele onto to streets. In the rural parts of Peru, those sitting at roadside looked at us with curiosity. In Arequipa’s east end, it was bloodshot suspicion. Those same roads became dirtier and dirtier, littered with all sorts of household garbage, even a dead dog.

As we climbed and climbed our way out of town, the houses got smaller and more ramshackle; the children smiled less and the teenagers jeered more. Once free of the city’s foul grip, the last people we saw included a taxi full of drunken kids that passed way too close and a guy in Umbro sweats out for an early morning run. While we had a good time visiting Arequipa, it felt nice to finally be free of the city.

After a few hours climbing through the countryside, we stopped for a snack. Moments later, Cesar(not the same as from Cobanaconde) and two friends rolled up on legit mountain-bikes and in cycling kit. Turns out there was a large organized group of riders being shuttled to the top of the pass and beyond. Super-fit Cesar and his slightly less than enthusiastic friends planned to ride to the top and join the others for the long descent back to Arequipa. We chatted and bid them farewell; with full bike-packing gear, we didn’t stand a chance of keeping up with Cesar.
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After five hours of slow dirt-road climbing, we three stopped to take another little break. I had been riding smooth and steady, feeling good. Within ten minutes that would all change. Suddenly, I had just enough energy to turn the pedals at a snail’s pace, nothing more. I watched as Reilly and Kimberly pulled away from me with ease, there was nothing I could do to real them back in. I’d stand on the pedals only to quickly fall back on the saddle, shattered by such a pathetic attempt at generating a bit of extra power. I put my head down, acknowledged that this was my day to suffer and simply inched my way forward for the next four hours of climbing on that sandy switchback filled road.

As we neared the summit, Cesar and his troupe of 50-60 cyclists began to pass us in the opposite direction. It was tremendous; to be atop that road and amongest our brethren. I wished only I had energy enough to capture their Lycra smiles on camera.

Although we had summited that monster climb, the road rolled up and down for another hour. I had had enough and just wanted off the bike. Finally finding a spot protecting us from the habitual afternoon winds, we made camp not far from the dry salt lake, Laguna Salidas. As the sun set it lit up the sky, capping a tremendous, yet tough, day on the bike.