Written by Neale Bayly
August 04, 2010 0Add
Another pre-dawn departure sees our small caravan rolling out of Cusco as the sun begins its day. Passing the ancient Inca stonework, along the cobble stone streets and out through the modern suburbs we ride. Traffic is manageable and there is an air of urgency with over 400 miles to Aerquipa. Flavio hasn’t taken this route in many years, and the road out of Cusco was mostly dirt in 1995. Throttles pinned, we speed through farmland and villages, before heading onto the barren Altiplano. Colder now and overcast, I am hoping we don’t lose the weather, and thankfully by Sicuani we find the sun. This was the last place I saw Father Gio before he died in 2001.
Learning the direct route is mostly dirt, with few services or amenities along the way, we decide to head towards Lake Titicaca and turn at Juliaca. It is mostly paved and we can certainly make better time. A flat tire slows us some, but we make good progress on the deserted roads. A small locally owned restaurant provides hot coffee and food for lunch before we are again alone on the Altiplano. Harsh and beautiful in equal measures, it reminds me of the Highlands of Scotland.
Dropping off the Altiplano from over 14,000 feet, we aren’t feeling any ill affects now, and while I wouldn’t want to drop and do pushups, it feels good to be functioning in a fairly normal fashion. Periodically we ride into the clouds where it gets cold and damp, but by late afternoon we are positively flying down the helter-skelter road leads to Aerquipa.
Flanked by two large volcanic mountains, riding toward the city as the sun sinks is like being in the middle of a huge 3D postcard. Traveling on smooth, empty tarmac, we have to ride around these mountains to gain access to the city. With the shadow riders to our sides growing longer, and the temperature beginning to fall, we enter the historic city of Aerquipa and make for a secluded hotel Flavio knows.
Exiting the city the following morning, the chaos and confusion we experienced in Lima has gone from my mind. The traffic moves in a predictable way now, and we have fun blasting down the tight, narrow Spanish streets, laughing and waving at anyone who wants to wave back. Three Gringos on large dirt bikes in adventure clothing is something different and the people are having fun with us.
Starting the day in the tranquil hotel restaurant, devouring all manner of fresh fruits and cereal, washed down with piping hot coffee, the mood is perfect. The sight of the mountains providing a dramatic backdrop to the receding city makes it hard to focus on the road. The sun is shining, the temperature is just right, and running closer to sea level it’s like someone bolted a turbo to the old XRs. We practically fly through the twisting canyons before leveling out on the desert floor.
With Moquegua in reach, we settle into a steady 65mph rhythm and make miles across this vast desert. Watching the thin, black tarmac line disappear in the white distance as far as my eye can see, I drift into a hypnotic trance accompanied by the thump of the big single below me. It’s been fourteen years since I first came to Peru, but I don’t think I’ve ever left. Somehow this worn and dusty country has been burned into my soul. With its beautiful people, its rich tradition and culture, and some of the most stunning scenery anywhere in the world, it’s no wonder I just have to keep coming back
We still have a few days of riding up the coast to get back to Lima, but first we will spend a couple of days with the abandoned children of Moquegua at Hogar Belen. Run by 78-year-old Sister Loretta for the last 40 years, we arrive after two thousand kilometers of the wildest terrain Peru has to offer. Humbled by her work, it’s hard to conceive that this quiet, peaceful lady has raised over 1200 children. As always, Sr. Loretta invites us for lunch and gives us a forum to relive our journey. Talking about Father Gio it’s with mixed emotions, as it was through him I learned of the orphanage. Soon we are laughing and joking though, as we remember Gio’s boisterous behavior and loud infectious laugh. Over the next couple of days we show the kids pictures on our lap-tops, take a thousand more, marveling at the beauty and joy in these dirty little urchins’ souls. We will learn so much from these young desert flowers blooming in the face of such aridity.
Leaving the donations we raised Stateside with Sr. Loretta, we ride out chased by a wild, howling dust ball of kids. Father Gio might be gone, but his memory lives on at Hogar, and during this trip he rode with me often in my thoughts. Spinning through the vast, unspoiled desert, before meandering north along the Pacific Ocean gives time to think about the events that led me to this place. A chance meeting in the high mountains of Peru, a life changed, and now hundreds of young lives positively impacted by a group of motorcyclists with a desire to help.
To find out more www.wellspring-outreach.org
