Peru

Peru.

Story by Neale Bayly.

Photos by Neale Bayly and Brad Alston.

If the world is nothing more than a mirror of our feelings, my soul has dozens of arms, dozens of legs and a sea of brown shining eyes. Squirming, shrieking, laughing and jostling the crowd of seething bodies brings’ our bikes to a halt. Arriving at Hogar Belen in the remote southeastern desert region of Peru, it’s taken five long days in the saddle of our well-worn Honda XR600s to get here. With eyes burning from the tears that are rolling down my cheeks, it’s hard to breathe as the heart threatening to burst the ribs that hold it feels like breaking. Overwhelmed by the moment, I realize that the trip that started in Lima took us up to Cuzco, out to Machu Picchu, across the Altiplano at over 14,000 ft, and down into this desert is merely part of a journey that started fourteen years ago: A journey that started with a chance meeting on a lonely, dirt road high up in the Peruvian Andes.

Riding through Lima in brilliant morning sunshine, adrenaline is coursing through my veins. Vibrant colors fill my peripheral vision as motion blurs, my focus firmly locked on our support vehicle ahead. Cutting and thrusting through the hectic city traffic my mind is working overtime to process all the new stimuli firing through my visor. The energy of the moment is electric, intense, and exhilarating, as we blast through the chaos. Buses compete with bicycles, trucks do battle with motorcycles, taxis come out of nowhere as Lima heads to work with an order my western eyes can’t yet see.

Behind the handlebars, all the months of planning are over, and like ballast being thrown from a hot air balloon my emotions rise even higher into the crazy Peruvian morning.  Soon we are catching our first glimpses of the Pacific Ocean and the desert that runs the coast to Chile. Up front Flavio Salvetti, owner of Inca Moto Adventures, is driving his Toyota Hi Lux laden with our luggage. Spare wheels, tires, tools and parts compete for the remaining spaces, and a tarpaulin covered with a strong net holds everything in place. A group of five, we have four riders sharing three bikes. We aren’t following a regular tour so one rider will be in the truck as we can say how long certain sections might take. These rides in the truck with Flavio become one of the many highlights of the tour. A deep thinker, Flavio inspires us to journey inward as we travel through this fascinating land.

Modern billboards line the highway as I look for the Peru I left behind. It’s here, covered with a modern blanket, as big-breasted girls in swimsuits entice me to eat ice cream and other delicacies. Taking a break to buy fruit from local ladies beside the road brings the first round of photos, laughter, and games that will accompany us around Peru.

The only female member of our group, Christie Frick, presents us with an interesting challenge. The kick-start XRs are too tall for her five foot one inch frame. Traveling with two consummate gentlemen, David Reid and Brad Alston, the problem is soon solved. One of them starts the bike, the other holding her upright until she can start rolling. Coming to a halt is always fun.

With the town of Nazca on the Pampa de Jumana as our destination there’s no time to visit the famous geoglyphs etched into the desert floor this time by. Covering an area of 190 square miles they are at least 1500 years old. Made by removing the red pebbles to reveal the whitish ground beneath, historians can only theorize as to their purpose. Checking in at a welcome hacienda we stroll into town for dinner. A bright, modern place with a wide variety of eateries, it has changed so much since my last visit I don’t recognize it. “How could I ever explain these dusty faded streets, buildings that haven’t seen paint for who knows how long. It’s so earthy, so real…” NB diary 1995.

Leaving Nasza a crisp chill in the morning air, and a huge cloudless blue canopy above, my memories confuse me again. It’s rained a lot in the last ten years so things are greener, and tarmac has replaced much of the rough-hewn rock roads. Soaring like Peruvian Condors on the desert thermals, we climb into treeless desert mountains. Twisting and turning on switchbacks that rival anything the Alps has to offer, we are mostly alone in this wondrous mountain landscape.

As the elevation rises, so the oxygen level falls, and the good news is the euphoric buzz that overcomes us. The bad news is you need to pay extra attention and be cognizant that you can’t really fly. Suitably reined in mentally, we slide past packs of Vicuñas grazing on the huge grassy flats. We pause to watch local Quechuan Indians tend their sheep, as Flavio tells us they speak little to no Spanish, don’t use money, and make all their own clothes. Responsible for the beautiful, colorful fabrics you associate with Peru, they trade goods for supplies. Living without electricity or running water in some of the most remote places in Peru, its fascinating and humbling in equal measures to peer back in time at these ancient people. With a hard life lived at altitude, it’s not easy to guess their age behind their battered skin.

Tune in next week for more exciting adventures in Peru…

Read: Peru - Part Two