Finishing on Top

All along the coast you see them in the distance. They’re often shrouded in clouds, but their silhouettes leave no doubt of their magnitude. They explain why we cross rivers in the desert and why travel clinics push altitude sickness pills before traveling here. They are the Andes. Stretching 4,300 miles from Venezuela to Chile they are inescapable. If you want to go inland, you’ll have to face them. And, really, why wouldn’t you?

At least that’s what we thought as we made a hard left turn from the coast one sunny day. The road that lay ahead was unknowable and yet almost surely up. On the map it appeared as a faint line interrupted by squiggly sections that we presumed meant physical pain. We weren’t wrong.

A Note on Acclimatization

The benefit of bike touring is that you cannot go from sea level to 15,000 feet in an afternoon. Instead, you climb up in increments and enjoy the unique scenery, and blackfly subspecies, at each climate zone. Call it forced acclimatization.

Cow Thieves

With the help of three types of carbs at every meal, we found ourselves setting up camp amongst the majestic peaks Huascarán National Park after 7 days of climbing. Per usual, Ryan and Cait laid out their sweat soaked bicycle clothes to dry while they busied themselves with the important business of photographing the tent from various angles. All of a sudden, a cow who had suspiciously followed us up from the pasture grabbed Ryan’s bike shorts! Enraged, Ryan charged the cow and managed to coax the shorts free from her mouth. That was weird. Maybe she liked the sweet flavor of biker’s sweat?

Not one hour later and the same cow returned for more apparel. This time it was Ryan’s sweaty hat. See the pattern here? When Ryan finally cornered the cow, the hat was partially consumed. We assume her rumen took care of the rest of it.

What Ryan and Cait didn’t know at the time was that the cow was only on her appetizer course. For as soon as the sun went down, she and her gang of cow thrives arrived for the main course. Throughout the night there were repeated attacks with cows reaching their heads under the tent flap in search of loose objects. One made off with Cait’s bike helmet and only dropped it when Ryan gave chase like a madman (in long johns).

Even though the camping was free, the cow cartel extracted a steep price for stopping in their territory: one hat, one chewed pair of bike shorts, one slobbery bike helmet, and a night of terror. Lesson learned: avoid cows at all costs. They aren’t passively munching grass, rather, they are mischievously plotting their next heist.

Passes and Mines

For the next two weeks we plotted along the Eastern side of the mountain range. The villages were tiny, traditional, friendly, and full of people who liked shouting “gringo!” at Ryan and Cait as we rolled by. The roads were rutted and steep. Often, we’d come around corner and see a brightly dressed female shepard leading her flock down the middle of the road. In 100% of the cases they would stop what they were doing to wish us a nice trip. Their smiles were infectious.

Each day consisted of a challenge of varying degrees. One day we climbed 4,000 feet and camped early. The next, we climbed 6,000 feet and set up camp in the dark. The poor road conditions made for slow progress but the same potholes and washouts that slowed us down also kept the drivers honest (when there were cars, that is). We crossed 15,000 feet several times and rode through open pit mines with snow on the road. There were many days when every switchback was the best view we’d ever seen. Simply put, the Andes were the most challenging, scenic, and ultimately rewarding riding we’ve done.

The End of the Road

Technically, the road ends at the southern tip of Argentina. But for us, the end of the road is in the capital of Peru: Lima. Apparently, the call of domestic life with weekend group rides and direct deposits was too much for Ryan to resist. I’m afraid of what will happen to me. I suspect I’ll be relegated to the “bike parking” area of some downtown office building. I only hope that he still bike tours on the weekends and doesn’t fall victim to brunch Sundays and jogging.

All slander aside, Ryan exceeded the low expectations I had for him. We biked for over a year and carried everything from surfboards to Cait’s monster hiking bag. We crossed mountain passes, rivers, and rebel blockades. We experienced rain, sun, fog, sleet, and lightning. I’d like to think this brought us closer together. Perhaps not as close as Cait who showed up out of the blue and spun 1,300 miles with us, but I’ll happily take second place in Ryan’s life.

For now, all I hope is that when Ryan rides along some bike path on his way to work, he never loses the desire to skip the turn to the office and keep going. For when that day comes, I, and this blog, will be ready.

Gracias

• To the countless people who gave us directions
• To the homeless man who showed us a safe place to camp
• To all the people who bought us lunch
• To the friends who welcomed us into their homes
• To Mike Dowdell for another memorable surfing trip
• To Ray Delgado for coming down to explore past civilizations
• To Mom for not one, but two great trips
• To Cait for hanging with us through blowing sand and freezing temps
• To all the readers of this blog for your support and love over the past year