Blog

So perhaps a better ending would be my Mum's words from a week or so ago: 'What an adventure'.

27 December: Penguins

I must confess that I did feel a little lonely down here at the bottom of the world, particularly immediately after Malin left and over Christmas. On the other hand I haven't many days to go and the end is in sight. I have particularly enjoyed talking to so many people on the phone the past couple of days, it makes things seem much more real to hear all your voices. No point being here though unless I get out and do something so today I did; I went to see the penguins. 64,000 pairs of them in fact on Isla Magdelena and it was great trip. We went in a little Zodiac inflatable which made the experience much more personal since there were only a few of us on the island. It is easy to see why they are such popular little birds, their expressions are those of a comical human as they waddle around, occasionally taking little hops or falling onto their bellies. In the water of course, they are quite a different animal, graceful and speedy and able to jump along in the manner of a dolphin.

After the penguins, we went off to see another island beach with a large colony of seals and sea lions. They were entertaining too and surprisingly quick in the water. Really really quick when they wanted to be.

Well excursions over, I must be back on the bike tomorrow. I'll take the ferry to Porvenir on Tierra del Fuego for the final stretch. A stretch it will be too as I've been unable to shift the seized seat post and have decided just to ride it where it is stuck, an inch too high. I think that I'll be able to make it the short distance to the end. Funny thing that 450km is now a short distance, but after 8500km or so that is how it feels. I'll be about a week, depending on the road and wind conditions. At the moment it is beautifully calm but I'm not counting my penguins and I know it could change at any time.

25 December: Frustration!

The second portion of the Carretera Austral continued to be beautiful. In fact Malin and I became somewhat numbed to the standard level of prettiness. Fortunately there were many extraordinary things to make us stop and stare nonetheless. One night, we camped at Ventisquero Colgante in Quelat national park, a large glacier that overhangs the valley it used to occupy. It and the waterfall off it are spectacular. The water appears to turn to snow on its route down, somewhat like a snow cannon. Unfortunately, this night, Malin succumbed to 'South American stomach' which left us with a problem. She felt too weak to ride that morning and we were a distance from the next town. We tried hitching a ride for a couple of hours before Malin, appearing to be a little better, got impatient and decided to ride.

Whether she was happy with this decision when we reached the top of the 500m climb in the rain, I'm not sure, but we camped up there, basically in the clouds. This really was one of those stop and stare places; a really spectacular valley. From talking to other cyclists, we think that it always rains up there, apparently there is in excess of 4000mm precipitation annually.

Slowly, on account of Malin's weakness, we made it to Coyhaique. As we rode in and up from the coast, the valleys became drier. As we approached the town, the valleys became farmed and the road paved. We were at the end of the wilderness section. Malin flew out, I took a bus through Argentina to Punta Arenas and briefly felt a sense of elation at being so near my objective. Tierra del Fuego is just across the water. I say briefly because I now have a very silly and annoying problem. After such a long distance with the bike essentially trouble-free, my seat post is now jammed in a position that makes it impossible to ride.

Whilst putting the bike on the bus, I tried to take the post and saddle out to make it smaller. It went so far, about an inch and then wouldn't budge. I got it on the bus but now can't move it up or down despite all manner of attempts to free it. What a strange and frustrating way to spend Christmas day! Surely it must be possible at least to get it back in a little so that I can ride? Not so far. I'll keep you posted on the results of my efforts.

Happy Christmas and love to you all.

20 December: Coyhaique

We're now in Coyhaique, from where Malin sadly departs. Having just spent 2 hours battling to get some photos on here, I've no energy left to write anything.

12 December: Malin has joined the expedition

After a stressful time in London trying to pack everything Malin might need for three weeks into a small cardboard box (including a bicycle!), she arrived safely in Valdivia. Most things were fine... but we found a couple of ball-bearings in the bottom of the box. Where had the other 20 ball-bearings gone? Apparently some were still in Claygate on Angus's parents' floor, others are probably still in Lufthansa's Airbus plane!

Angus doesn't know the word for ball-bearing, but he managed to find some somewhere.

After five days in the Chilean Lake district in rain, hail and sunshine, often all at the same time, we arrived in Puerto Montt, from where we had to take a ferry to get any further south in Chile. We managed to arrive on a national holiday and soon discovered that the ferry companies here change schedules, boats and even their own names as frequently as the weather. We finally deciphered some of it and ended up on a boat to Chaiten, 10 hours south
CarC. Whether the seats were deliberately missing in order to facilitate donning of lifejackets in an emergency, we don't know but there weren't enough to go round and this was an overnight ferry! Angus slept on the floor.

Having arrived in Chaiten, we joined the Carretera Austral, Pinochet's legacy to cycle tourists. This is a road that connects some very small towns in the south of Chile and was mainly built to prevent the Argentines claiming the land. It is in the middle of absolutely nowhere and has very little traffic. Since the scenery is spectacular, this is perfect. Perfect volcanoes, ancient forests, clear streams and huge waterfalls. Surprisingly, we have also had perfect weather thus far, fingers crossed that it continues.

Oh yes, and we are now engaged.

02 December: Volcanoes in the sun

Finally the weather cleared and it turns out that the volcano was there all along, I just couldn't see it. Taking advantage of the conditions, I booked a trip to climb it with three other travellers from my hostel. We chose the cheap agency which may have been a mistake but £25 to climb a snow-covered active volcano seemed like a bargain.

Of course, if we had paid more, our boots would have been considerably more comfortable and we might have got some waterproof gear, but the essence of the trip would have been the same. We still got to stand on the edge of the crater and inhale sulphur fumes to our heart's content. We were dropped off at 1400m, right on the snowline with a further 1400m to climb to the summit. We donned our crampons, were given a 20 second explanation in Spanish of how to use the ice-axe and set off. It was interesting to note that the pricier tours got a rather more thorough briefing; we tried to listen in.

In reality the climb was a long hard walk. There are no ledges to fall off, no crevasses and the whole thing is covered in nice snow for the crampons. Some parts are quite steep but nothing that couldn't be skied down. Nevertheless, in the back of ones mind is the thought that this is an active volcano. Summit reached, sulphur inhaled, crater snapped and we are on our way back down again. This is rather faster than ascending because of the ingenious method of just sliding down on your behind. Using the ice-axe as a brake, you could reach quite high speeds whilst maintaining a modicum of control. Most of the time.

Fun and frolics over, I have been back on the bike for two days in order to reach Valdivia where Malin will arrive today. The weather has been fantastic and my not-so-direct route took in views of four lakes and three volcanoes. The second day was a beautiful ride down a clear blue river through tiny villages and farms. Now I am in Valdivia, the highlight of which is the fish market with its collection of very fat sea lions lolling about in the sun.

27 November: Rain

I should have checked a weather forecast before taking the bus because, for the first time this trip, the weather gods have scuppered my plans. The last week has seen more or less constant rainfall; there have been 48 hour periods without even a hint of a break. Not the ideal weather for cycle touring you might surmise. And you'd be right. I did ride 60km out of Temuco in the direction of the national parks to a little place called Cunco, but the ride was not fun and I was soaked through. Worse still, in these sorts of conditions, you can't even see the volcanoes making the whole thing rather pointless.

After drying out a little and coming to my senses, I rode direct to Villarrica where I have been holed up for 3 days waiting for the weather to clear. I haven't actually minded sitting still for a while and getting some rest. I have discovered, as often happens after stopping something tiring, that I am rather more exhausted than expected. Sleep has been much appreciated. I have also enjoyed the excellent company in the hostel, from the Brazilian adventure-racers to a number of friendly Swiss travellers.

Today the weather cleared a little, though still not enough to see the volcano and I am beginning to doubt its existance. It did allow me to take a 3 hour bike ride around the area (in the direction of the absent volcano) which was good fun, particularly without the trailer, and allowed me to practice a variety of methods of crossing the raging torrents that have sprung up everywhere. Once again, this usually involved getting rather wet.

21 November: South

I stayed in a great hostel in Santiago and enjoyed being in one place for three days. I was able to relax, chat to travellers, watch some bad films and generally chill out. Very pleasant after so long without a real break, although I must say that I couldn't do this for very long, I prefer my style of travelling.

I started out on the road south not quite knowing what to expect.The The Lake District

And so it is that I am now in Temuco, the so-called gateway to the Lake District. I'm going to use my extra time to ride back up into the Andes and to visit some of the National Parks protecting volcanoes, lakes and giant monkey puzzle forests. It promises to be a great deal more interesting than six lanes of asphalt and a central reservation.

17 November: Santiago

I've made it to Santiago, it took four days from Mendoza, a day longer than I expected due to the rediculously strong headwind on day two. I'm not sure how long Andrew's flight from La Paz to Santiago was but it was great deal shorter than the month it has taken me; we have thus proved conclusively that the bicycle is slower than the aeroplane. As it turned out, going slow was a blessing as the Uspallata pass was absolutely stunning. I have read that this is the most spectacular pass in the Americas and while I wouldn't go quite that far (there are a lot of them after all), I would say that it is the most impressive that I have ridden. Uspallata was used as the location for the filming of Seven Years in Tibet and it is easy to see why, above this point the mountains are bare rock and snow.

The top at 3100m is not really the top at all, the road crosses the border in a tunnel, somewhat akin to the Mont Blanc tunnel. Fortunately, since riding through would be somewhat suicidal, the authorities take bicycles through in a truck. All very efficient.

The spectacle didn't end at the pass, the Chilean side was equally impressive and had the considerable benefit of being downhill. The road passes countless waterfalls cascading off the near-vertical cliffs from the snowfields above. Anywhere else, any one of these would have been a tourist attraction, here they just line the road. At one point the road itself becomes the spectacle as it takes 27 turns down a steep hillside (see photo), quite unlike any road I've seen anywhere. All good things must come to an end of course, especially when they involve going downhill on a bike. Yesterday involved a ride into Santiago which, though not as memorable, passed through some impressive landscapes. I'm being spoilt, lets hope it continues as I cycle south on Saturday.

12 November: Mendoza

The last 3 days have been a welcome change from the routine of eat, sleep, ride. I very much enjoyed my hosts' hospitality in San Juan, they made me feel absolutely at home and shared their lives with me for a couple of days. We ate well and drank well and I was a little sad to leave them behind and strike out on yesterday's long ride to Mendoza, where I am writing this. The ride turned out to be quite comfortable considering it was my longest day yet at 176km. I put that down to a days rest and the fact it was nearly flat. Better still, there were services along the way so I could get out of the sun for a while and have a cold drink. Temperatures outside were over 40 degrees and the chance to cool down was invaluable.

Mendoza itself is pleasant enough though at this stage nothing special. I've now grown accustomed to Argentine towns, the best thing about this one is the weather which allows one to sit in a cafe in shorts and a tee-shirt late into the night. This is precisely what the Argentinians do and I have found the siesta and then dine at 11pm a little difficult to fit into my cycling routine.
I survived the rather surprising England win in the football, probably because I was in the 'Liverpool Pub' and sitting with a couple of Kiwis. Besides, I don't think that hooliganism is the done thing here, they're too nice.

As you may have guessed, I've very much enjoyed Argentina and it is the only country I've visited so far to which I have an urge to return. Of course, I will be doing so in the far south at the end of the trip but there are huge chunks that I've missed out. As a travel destination it has a lot going for it; it is cheap, friendly, very varied and as South American countries go, has excellent services. If you like meat, I believe the steak is quite good too! For now though, I'm leaving it behind and heading for Santiago de Chile which involves re-crossing the Andes passing Cerro Aconcagua, the highest mountain outside the Himalayas. It promises to be spectacular and should take me three days. More from Santiago.

09 November: Trail magic in San Juan

I've been riding pretty solidly since Andrew left, having had just one day off in Salta. I've covered around 2500km in that time, most of it since I left Bolivia and started making my way down northern Argentina. This is, as I've discovered, a big place. The area is climatically a desert as it lies in the rain shadow of the Andes but in areas where there are settlements, the land has been irrigated for centuries. Using snow melt from the mountains, irrigation ditches criss-cross fields of vines and fruit orchards. It all makes for a schizophrenic day's cycling as you pass from barren desert to lush green. No prizes for guessing which I prefer.

Unfortunately for the past week or so, the towns have been spaced wider apart than before, maybe for lack of water and so I've been riding further and further each day, recently over 100 miles per day. It is beginning to take its toll, mentally as much as physically and so I'm glad to have arrived in San Juan, a relatively large city and provincial capital.

As I rode in, after another long day,a rather remarkable thing happened. A group of mountain bikers drove past in a van, bikes in the back. They stopped and gave me food (always a good way to win my heart) and then offered me a place to stay. It turns out that the main protagonist in all of this has cycle-toured the same route I did, lived in New York and so has fluent English, and is a vegetarian! Trail magic at its best.

I'll be staying here another day before heading to Mendoza, another long, barren day, and then crossing the Andes to Chile. I should also be able to get some photos up here tomorrow.

04 November: Back to dirt

If you'd happened to be driving along a stretch of Ruta 40 in Northern Argentina yesterday afternoon you'd have passed a lone cyclist singing extracts from Massenet's Werther whilst pedalling gently south. Fortunately for them, no one did drive past.

Here's what happened. About 90km into my planned 120km day, the nice asphalt road that I'd been cycling along suddenly became a dirt track. There was no indication on the map that this would happen; the road is displayed as a nice fat red line all the way along, but for some reason, in the middle of nowhere, the roadbuilders must have just downed tools and not come back. As you'd imagine, I was a little annoyed by this however a few kilometers further on, I came to a town, the first that day, and stopped for a Coke (see earlier blog entry on the reviving properties of this fine caffeinated beverage).

I got 'talking' (very badly) to a local who decided that I really ought to try Quilmes, an Argentine beer. After 2 hours, a suprising quantity of Quilmes, a promise to send a postcard from London and a tune in my head, I managed to escape to my bike. Suddenly the crappy road was a great deal more fun and, somewhat fortuitously, I managed to make the final stretch to a hostal in Hualfin in safety.

Unfortunately the exuberance didn't last the night and today was a 5 hour fight into a duststorm on a road composed almost exclusively of sand. Not too bad in a car but on a bike, sand is a nightmare. Fortunately I'm back on tarmac, at least for now but I'll be viewing the red line on the map with more suspicious eyes from now on.

30 October: What a difference a day makes

I've been through two huge changes since my last entry, one political and one geographical. Firstly, I have finally made it to Argentina. Argentina may not be the richest country in the world but in comparison to Bolivia, it is certainly a couple of steps up. The contrast at the border was marked, dusty, incredibly bumpy road became beautiful smooth tarmac. Suddenly, there were road signs. Riding a little further proved these to be accurate in terms of both direction and distance. Quite remarkable. Showers were hot, coke was cold. In short, the type of Utopia that you have lived every day for the past three months. Interestingly, the people of obvious European ancestry weren't confined to television and politics, they were real and walking the streets. Sometimes they even drove cars. Is there a connection between the increase in 'Europeans' and the improved services - one would have to think that it is likely!

The other major change, which occurred a couple of days later was the descent off the altiplano, the 3000-4000m plateau that I've been riding across since the south of Peru. It has been largely desert up there but shortly before the first major Argentinian city of Jujuy (pronounced Hoo-hooee), I began to encounter trees and farming. Out of Jujuy, there is an old road that leads to the nearby city Salta from where I am writing this. This road was a delight. The traffic is all taken by a dual carriageway and there is a police checkpoint which seems to prevent most vehicles from taking the direct route. They let me through. The narrow, but well-tarmaced route wound through damp forests and fields, past lakes and over some hills. They are definitely hills now, not mountains. Finally it deposited me in Salta where, after 16 days on the trot, I am having a day off.

25 October: Cyclistas

A quick entry. Here's the address for the blog of the guys I have been cycling with for a while. The story of the descent into La Paz and indeed some sewage makes the railway look tame.

www.cyclistas.org.uk

24 October: Planes and trains, but no automobiles

Somewhere in the cycle-touring in Bolivia rule book it is written 'thou shalt not consider that thou hast toured Bolivia until thou hast gotten lost and ridden down a railway line'. I have read many accounts of this eventuality online and am now proud to have joined that happy throng. The more astute of you will note that this occurred on the second day that I started riding on my own. Pure coincidence I assure you.

The ride from Uyuni to Atocha was plainly designed to lull me into a false sense of security, flat, on a good road and, remarkably, with road signs. Atocha deserves a mention for its Cessna light aircraft impaled on a post in the plaza and for the friendliness of its inhabitants. Leaving Atocha was another matter. I was assured that the road to Tupiza was in fact the faint track I could see on the not-so-dry riverbed. Maybe it was. I followed that track and eventually a larger one which deviated out of the valley for about 3 hours, over a 4200m pass before dropping (hurrah) down the gorge that led to Tupiza. Except that this gorge did not lead to Tupiza at all but to a dead-end village.

The only thing that made me feel better when informed of this fact by the locals was that apparently, I was not alone. This was an almost daily occurence with cars, vans and cyclists all taking the wrong turn! The concept of a sign seemed just a little beyond them.

The best way to Tupiza from here was, I was told, back over the pass and along the railway line. I was keener on the road but couldn't find either it, or anyone to help me. The railway must lead to Tupiza so down it I went. There are some benefits to riding along a railway - gradients are gentle, there are no complicated turnoffs. Then there are the drawbacks - sleepers, bridges, tunnels, trains... Nevertheless, I can assure you that it is possible as I rode the 85km to Tupiza at an average of 15kph, better than I had managed on the river/road.

Sadly, this computer doesn't want to let me upload photos so it'll have to wait. Possibly tomorrow, which possibly may be in Argentina. Mike, thanks for the message - when you see the picture of me with the 'tash however, you'll realise that I don't/didn't look great!

22 October: Ten Billion Tons of Salt

Hola! I'm in Uyuni having crossed the largest salt lake in the world. It took some getting to as the roads were terrible and the maps were worse but the experience was fantastic. I am also feeling pretty good right now because I have just had my first shower in eight days of riding on dirt tracks and salt. Glad you're not here?

For some reason known only to them, Bolivian town-namers (if there is such a thing) decided to call four towns around a road junction: Huari, Santiago de Huari, Quillacas and Sancturio de Quillacas. To make matters worse, our maps had them muddled and the locals just dropped the first part of the name. For instance, those in Santiago de Huari insisted that they lived in Huari. So, we were in Santiago de Huari and searching for a road to Huari or Quillacas, and would either be told we were already there or that they didn't understand what we wanted. We met one man who decided that the easiest way to direct us was to ask which country we wanted to go to. Phil (GP from up north) misunderstood, said Peru and then spent ten minutes trying to explain that we had already been to Peru, had no intention of going back and that we wanted to go to Argentina but not by the most direct route. Fortunately, an old man with terrible gums who really did live in Huari (not Santiago) was able to explain that the maps were totally wrong and that all the roads out of town led to the same place anyway...

Several days later and we found ourselves on the salt. A quite incredible place and the more so for crossing it by bike. I'll get some pictures up soon but it was a true other-worldly experience. We were able to stay for a night on Incahuasi, a photogenic island covered in huge cacti, which also (and perhaps more importantly) had an excellent restaurant. Only independent travellers, mainly cyclists, can stay in the free guest room there and we felt quite superior to package tourists. Last night we camped on the salt which was incredibly cold but also a remarkable experience. The salt goes pink as the sun sets, stars and galaxies are crystal clear and the moonlight eerie on the white expanse.

From here it is 3 or 4 days to Argentina, passing through the area in which the outlawed Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid pulled off their final heist and were eventually cornered and Sundance mortally wounded before Butch finished them both off. Hopefully my experience will be a little more peaceful.

22 October: Andrew in Chile

After nine weeks of cycling through Ecuador, Peru and a little bit of Bolivia, I am now driving around Chile. Having left the intrepid adventurer Angus -with, I might add, an extremely silly moustache- in La Paz, I flew to meet mi novia in Santiago de Chile, and so far the travelling experience has been somewhat different. Let me explain.

Whereas previously our idea of luxury accommodation was determined by whether or not showers and toilets drained separately, I have now discovered a marble shower that sprays at you not only from above, but from the side as well. Where previously a town was picturesque if it only had one or two tons of refuse blighting the roadside, here it seems that people have discovered the purpose of the rubbish bin. Not only this, but they have also apparently abandoned the rather avant-garde design sensibility that leads all the other south americans never to actually finish building their homes; completed dwellings are a welcome and civilized addition to the Chilean landscape. Moreover, where in Peru the sight of a lycra-clad man on a bike clearly means a gringo, here it is harder to tell, because the locals actually cycle as well!

Perhaps the greatest change, of course, is that instead of hanging out with a sweaty, smelly moustachioed male cycling hero like Riveros, I instead get to hang out with a sweetly perfumed and decidedly non-moustachioed lovely woman like Alissa... (On the downside, of course, this means that expenditure has skyrocketed since the halcyon days when huevos fritos and papas fritas were considered a gourmet dinner option).

PS Angus I am happy to report that so far all coca-colas have been more than adequately chilled. This is the promised land.

13 October: Leaving La Paz

Andrew left yesterday, inexplicably preferring his girlfriend, Alissa's company to mine. I now have 7 weeks in which to ride to southern Chile in order to meet Malin, starting with a couple of weeks on the bumpy roads and saltflats here in Bolivia.

As a fitting end to Andrew's trip however, we organised two mountain bike rides with Gravity Assisted Mountain Biking, a company that does what it exactly what it says on the tin. The first, and unquestionably the best trip was a day of singletrack riding in the surrounding mountains. We were bussed to the top and let loose on some incredible riding. Describing it here will not do it justice so you'll have to wait for the photos which should be spectacular. Suffice to say that the terrain was like nothing we'd ever seen before, let alone ridden.

The second ride was a more sedate affair down the 'world's most dangerous road', calculated I think by percentage deaths. They lose at least a vehicle a month over the precipitous drops which mark the edge of the car-width-only road; given the suicidal Bolivian driving the only suprise is that they don't lose more. It was actually pretty safe descending on a bicycle, though having lost 3000m altitude, we climbed into a van for the ride back up...

I'm not exactly alone now, despite my abandonment as I have joined forces with the four Mancunians mentioned in Andrew's entry a week or so ago. We will be leaving La Paz tomorrow. Photos have now been uploaded to Peru III and Bolivia albums.

08 October: La Paz

Following our unwritten rule of not riding in major cities, we caught a bus today from Copacabana, on the south shore of Lake Titicaca into La Paz. This turned out to be an excellent decision for whilst the first half of the ride would have been extremely scenic, the second half would have been a semi-suicidal dash through the slums surrounding La Paz in the most manic traffic that I think I have ever seen. All of it would have been in the rain. Yes, for the second time in 2 months, it has been raining hard, making the beautiful weather we enjoyed yesterday, on the aptly named Isla del Sol seem even better.

Isla del Sol is the largest island on the lake and according to local legend is the birthplace of the sun. We took a boat trip out to one end and walked for a couple of hours to the other end before returning home. Of all the touristy things that we have done on this trip, this was one of the best. The lake really is incredibly blue and the island resembled something from the Aegean; even Andrew, not normally one for hikes, was blown away.

I am also glad that we took the trip because up to that point, I had been a little disappointed with Titicaca. The northern end appeared more like mudflat than lake, as if someone had pulled the plug out. The Bolivian side however is much deeper, allowing for the incredible blue vistas that we enjoyed from the island. Pictures to be posted soon.

06 October: Someplace like Bolivia

Following the advice of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, we have now come to Bolivia. Where they rode horses, we ride bikes, and where they set about robbing banks we shall simply chuckle at how the ridiculous exchange rate makes such shenanigans totally unnecessary.

The ride from Puno to here was fairly uneventful, other than our discovery that Juli, allegedly the "Rome of the Americas" was in fact not a replica of the Eternal City but a complete dump. Strike another one against the good name of the Lonely Planet...Anyway, I thought I would use this opportunity to enlighten readers about a key feature of our trip that has thus far gone unrecognised.

This is, of course, the humble Coke. I would like to thank the Coca-Cola company for the aggressive globalizing of its carbonated beverages; the omnipresence of the coke has been the primary factor in our survival so far. I think we have averaged a litre a day, and will need dentist appointments as soon as we get home.

I am not sure anymore where the best coke we had was, but it was certainly not in southern peru. Here the branded coke fridges are never plugged in until you ask, by which time it is of course too late to get a cold one. Further north we did encounter the holy grail several times: the ice cold one litre GLASS coke. This in itself is reason enough to cycle in Peru. (Recently we discovered the 1.5 litre glass bottle - a rare breed indeed- but have yet to locate a properly chilled example).

In fact, we owe coke more than mere icy cold refreshment in the middle of our rides: it has been the times that we have stopped for a taste of this nectar that we have had the most amusement with the locals. Be it in a tiny mountain village where the whole populace and the donkey assembles to watch you sip your coke, or in a dusty town where the pedallers of the rikshaws are amused at your efforts to offer them a glass in spanglish, the coca-cola has been a social lubricant as well as one for our tired and broken bodies. Thank you, Coca-Cola.

02 October: Andrew's thoughts

The 250km since Cuzco have hardly been the most exciting riding we have encountered thus far; today we went over the only pass on the way to Titicaca, but the majority of the altitude gain took place almost without our noticing it. (The only sign was the gradually diminishing leg strength that seems to appear at around the 4000m mark).

However, there have been a couple of distractions from the road ahead. One of these was the delightful and highly educated Columbian woman we met in Andahuaylillas, who gave us the lowdown on how Peruvians are the most apathetic of all south Americans; your Bolivians will strike at the drop of a hat, but your Peruvians will apparently be the first to offer themselves as doormats. Apparently. (Though this is not entirely out of line with our observations). She was a fount of knowledge, and -what is more- she was also a near-lifelong veggie, so Riveros finally had some company in his herbivory.

And now we have about doubled the number of other cyclists we have met: today we bumped into three argentines/spaniards going the opposite direction, and then caught up to four Brits heading the same way. The Hispanic contingent looked like the sort of guys who were going to roll into Cuzco and hit every bar they could find - shame we couldn´t bump into them there. As for the Brits, the first thing one has to mention is that they are each carrying about double what we are - having added it up, we think they each have around 160 litres of capacity to our comparatively measly 90. (But then, they are carrying juggling balls and teddy bears, so they need it...) They are right at the start of their trip, day three or so, so we feel like we have been on the road forever by comparison. Anyway, we had a pleasant afternoon riding with them, and will be having dinner with them later this evening.

And tomorrow we head for Lake Titicaca - the current thinking is to head 140k to Puno and buy ourselves some extra time for singletrack in La Paz...

02 October: Dogs

I don't think that I have written much about South American dogs so far but they are everywhere and I believe that they deserve an entry. Peruvian dogs can be grouped into several categories least dangerous of which, predictably enough, are the dead ones. Some days we pass several a day lying in or beside the road, sometimes we go for a week without seeing any - BSc project on the distribution of dead dogs in Peru anyone?

More interesting are the live ones, generally mangy mongrels. Again these can be categorised, there are those who appear to be 'wanderers' with no fixed abode. These generally eye us with some contempt and go about their mangy business. Dogs with territory however (often as extensive as a patch of ground around a mud hut) are keen to bark and to chase us. At this point, the savvy cyclist weighs up his options. If he has a headstart and the dog appears suitably malnourished, it is worth speeding up in an attempt to escape. Alternatively, some cyclists carry stones for the sole purpose of chucking them at the wretched hound. Personally, I like shouting at it in English, often startled, it slinks of to bark from a safe distance. In fact, the most effective (though time consuming) tactic is to jump off the bike and give chase yourself - the hunter becomes the hunted... Andrew seems particularly keen on this one. No bites as yet so something must be working!

30 September: Towards Titicaca

We've left the tourists behind. Nothing has made me more glad to be travelling by bicycle than the Machu Piccu experience. Herded with umpteen other Gringos onto the train, onto the bus, round the ruins, back to the bus and the train. You get the picture. The ruins themselves are impressive but, in my (and I think Andrew's)opinion, not quite as amazing as they are cracked up to be. We paid $30 extra in order to be on the posh(er) train and to get back 2 hours earlier. An unexpected benefit of this was that halfway back the carriage stewards, one male, one female morphed into models to put on a fashion parade of Alpaca-wear. Peru Rail it appears has its own fashion label! Although we declined the option to buy their wares, it was fun watching the American tour group ladies prizing credit cards from their husbands to purchase shawls.

The riding from Cusco has been relatively easy as the road has followed a river and a railway up a valley. The presence of either of these implies gentle gradients and some easy miles. Of course, there is a certain link between effort and reward; though pleasant, the riding has not been as spectacular as we are used to. Tomorrow or the next day however, we will reach Lake Titicaca and I think that that should be something special.

28 September: Sacred Valley tour

We've been a little less adventurous in the past week and rather more on the tourist trail, though of course, still on the bikes. Once again, Andrew decided to complicate matters by getting a dodgy stomach; how he achieved this eating in a fancy Cusco restaurant after so many meals in the back of beyond, we aren't sure. Fortunately for him, our itinerary was not taxing beginning with a largely downhill ride to the market town of Pisac, 30km from Cusco. We had planned to leave our trailers there and take an afternoon ride to the spectacular Inca fortress 600m above town. In the event, we took a taxi the next morning.

As you would expect, by now we are getting quite well acclimatized to the altitude; we have, after all spent some considerable time between 3000m and 4500m. It appears however that in the main this acclimatization applies only to cycling. How is it that we ride a thousand meter climb and feel fine but a brief stroll up some stairs leaves us gasping? Inca Pisac has a lot of stairs.

The next day, with Andrew popping Immodium like smarties, we decided to see the other side of the accomodation spectrum by riding down the Urubamba river to the luxurious Hotel Sol y Luna. This was the place that Andrew's mother stayed on her trip to the Sacred Valley last year and she kindly agreed to foot the bill for our couple of nights of pampering, in the process managing to provide fine accomodation and food even from a distance of several thousand miles. The Lovel Dene experience at a distance - many thanks Jigga.

We completed a loop back to Cusco today and paid for all that downhill riding with a stiff climb of over 1000m. Tonight we'll have dinner with a couple of Dutch guys who are also cycling (during their 5 week summer vacation) and whom we have now met on three seperate occasions in Peru. Tomorrow, a trip to Machu Piccu by train and then it's back on the bikes to Lago Titicaca. More news from there.

23 September: Cusco

So we have arrived in Cusco at last, after what has been the toughest weeks of the trip so far. Starting at Nazca, we crossed the Andes and in the process climbed something approaching 11400 vertical metres. There have been so many silly things happening over the last week that I can only relate a few of them, but hopefully they will provide a flavour... We were cycling on the PanAmerican highway, which is the biggest and best road in the country. This may lead you to believe that there was alot of traffic; there wasn't. In fact, in a moment in which I needed something to maintain my sanity while climbing interminably upwards, I decided to count the vehicles that we passed. I stopped when I got to thirty in the space of about five hours of cycling... there won't be a congestion charge here in a hurry.

So we were in an incredibly desolate, high Andean altiplano for a lot of the time. On the way, we camped in some very strange places. On the first night we pitched the tent outside the school in a town that had fifteen buildings at most, and perhaps forty inhabitants, most of whom were children under the age of ten and absolutely fascinated with us. Even when an Australian couple in a camper van pulled up to camp in what will surely go down as one of the most unexpected of places to meet travellers, we retained our place as the most exciting foreigners due largely to the stacks of cool bike and camping gear we had about us. It was like being surrounded by Frasers, except of a lower level of conoisseurship: they thought the stove was cool, but missed the glories of the Chris King headset or the XTR derailleur.

Another night we pulled off the road at 4300m in the middle of nowhere to camp, only for it to start snowing. It had been quite chilly enough already, and the snow sent both the temperature spiralling rapidly downwards and us scampering for sleeping bags. Rivers chuckled to himself as he unfurled his silk sleeping bag liner, knowing full well that in an effort to ditch weight I had sent mine home with Will. Undeterred, however, I saw his liner and raised the stakes by one survival blanket which, although causing the strange sensation of being wrapped in tin foil, was a thoroughly successful warmth creation option.

Two days ago, having been out of the range of what the lonely planet deigns to cover for a week, we also discovered that our map was totally inaccurate. So we made it up as we went, and arrived at night in a tiny town with a tiny hostel. The combined bill for dinner, breakfast, and the room was less than ten dollars. The room was a dollar each...but then, while the room itself was lovely and clean, the toilet bowl and the shower drain were one and the same.

Also, I have now tasted Alpaca, and let me tell you, if llama tastes anthing like it, then the inhabitants of our paddocks are not safe at all once I get back...

17 September: Another hill

Andrew and I are in Puquio, not a place you are likely to have heard of. We have spent the last hour here being followed around the town by a six year old with a motorcycle tyre over his shoulder. I should point out that this is not the strangest thing to have happened in the past 3 days as you will discover.

Our route once again took us from the coastal plain up into the Andes. This time the ascent was from 600m to a notional 4400m (although I don't think it was quite this high) up a paved road. The road was rather remarkable in that it was never obvious where the next altitude gain was going to come from. We could never see a point more than about 200m above us. The road simply headed for this highest point and when we got there, it did so again and so on. This apparently haphazard approach worked however and we didn't have a singledownhill for two days. It was at the end of the first day's climbing that we pulled into Hualhua, a town of about 25 inhabitants, at least 3 of whom were donkeys. Some traffic police suggsted we camp in the school, an offer we gladly accepted. We settled down to our fine pasta meal, prepared under the watchful gaze of the village children, and were watching a fine sunset when two Australians in a camper van rolled up. They proved excellent company for the evening in this most unlikely of places and (praise be to God) even shared a bottle of wine with us. True trail magic. For our part, we thanked them by avoiding mentioning the Ashes all evening which I feel was most magnanimous.

The second day was more of the same and we camped in a Vicuña reserve. The vicuña is one of the rarer South American camelids, better known members of the family being the llama and alpaca. Other than this, all I can tell you about them is that they are smaller and considerably prettier than their cousins.

We are very much in the middle of nowhere here in Puquio and have just bought four days of food to get us the 300km to Abancay, from where it is a further two days to Cusco and civilization. We'll be in touch from there.

12 September: Lima

We're down to two. Will is now safely back in Blighty whilst Andrew and I are in Lima preparing to head further south. As a final hurrah, Will and I went on a fantastic guided singletrack ride from Huaraz with Julio, the local mountain bike guru. Sadly, Andrew was covalescing at the time, though he is quite healthy (and solid) again now. It was, Will and I agreed, one of the best rides we have ever had and it was evident that the scope for biking in the Cordillera Blanca is huge. Great trails and great scenery are a winning combination. All good things must come to an end however (although from my point of view, the end is some way off) and the next day, the Dunns caught a bus from Huaraz to put Will on his flight in Lima.

I was on my own once more for some more great riding. 1000m up a gentle valley from Huaraz to a 4000m pass in one day and then the next day, the payoff for all that climbing, a 100km descent to the sea. We discovered courtesy of the Saturday Times, which we bought in Lima and devoured, that the highest village in Britain stands at a startling 350m above sea level. The topography out here is rather different! Equally startling is the difference between the mountain villages and Lima. Miraflores, the district in which we are staying is very much a modern, cosmopolitan city. The food is excellent and we have eaten a lot of it. A meal here however can easily cost over 100 soles, or around $30. In contrast, the lunch I had in the mountains yesterday cost a princely 5 soles. There was a noticable difference in quality but even so...

I wasn't expecting much of Lima, but it is really very pleasant here and I shall be a little sad to wave creature comforts goodbye tomorrow for our trip to Nasca. From there, we ride to Cuzco, following a 600km long paved road into the Andes. The Lonely Planet devotes a generous page and a half to this region and we are therefore going in rather blind. Certainly it will be hilly, which is always a good start and I am guessing that lunch will once again cheap and cheerful. Beyond that, who knows?

09 September: Huaraz Part 2

So, it appears that my earlier hubris was amply rewarded with the twin nemeses of dodgy bowels and heatstroke all at once. Having been crowing to all and sundry about being the healthy one, I have in fact been an invalid for the last three days. Now that I am feeling better, I thought I would fill in the gaps left by rivers in his last entry, and tell the story of the OTHER trip up the mountain.

This story is much the same until 70km, at which point I was broken, and soon felt really pretty awful. I will leave out the gory details, knowing there are perhaps some sensitive readers out there. Anyway, the next day Will and I were basically hitching to try and get over the mountain. After an hour of waiting by the side of the road, the first vehicle came along - a minibus - and though I had no idea where it was they told me they were going, there was only one road, they were heading the right way, so we hopped in.

That took us as far as a little nowhere town high up in the mountains, with dropoffs of something like 1000m just on the other side of the main street. Actually, ´street´ is a little too strong of a word, because asphalt in this sort of place is about as rare as people who speak english. At any rate, there we managed to catch another bus, and this was where the real fun began. The bikes went on top, and we were faced with a moment of uncertainty when we tried to board the bus and saw that it was full. How naive we were. Five minutes later, as we trundled up the road, Will was wedged in front between two breastfeeding mountain peasant women, and I was crammed into the stairwell in the back with another such woman snoozing against my shoulder and the goat belonging to the malodorous chap next door gently nibbling my fleece. All the while, I was feeling steadily more sick, and worrying about the prospect of vomiting in the bus. Still, we made it to Huaraz, and then Will and I had to cycle about 1km to our hotel. I felt so rough that I had to get off and walk; all this was of course while team hero, aka Riveros, was high atop a mountain pass, gloating at the enormity of the day´s physical achievement. For me, this was one of the toughest days so far, and I was only on the bike for about two minutes.

08 September: A big hill

Things have been pretty good for the past 4 days (for me at least, Andrew got ill). We rode from Chimbote with the intention of having lunch 60km down the coast at a town called Casma. From there we were to ride a little way up a road into the mountains and pitch camp. On arrival in Casma however, we found a that the hotel that we had chosen for lunch was rather pleasant; green and lush, with a swimming pool and a friendly English-speaking owner who had lived in Ramsgate. Well this seemed too good an opportunity to miss and we decided to enjoy the facilities for the night.

The pass we had to cross to reach Huaraz was 4200m high, quite a climb from sea level. In fact, I cannot think of many places in the world where such a climb is possible. The first day, we rode a little over 70km but unfortunately illness struck once again and Andrew really suffered in the afternoon. We were able to camp in a lovely spot by a stream but the next day it was clear that Andrew would have to take a bus. Will elected to go with him, leaving me to tackle the remaining 50km and 2600m to the pass. I left at 8.00am and rode solidly uphill all day. Average speed was something in the region of 8kph which is not fast! The climb was relentless and it just kept going up and up, I have never climbed for so long without a break. Being alone, I met more people than I would otherwise have done, although my conversational Spanish is somewhat limited. It was nice to have the company. I finally made the top at 4.30pm which would have given me just enough time to get down 1000m to the town of Huaraz. I figured however, that I might as well enjoy the sensational view over the snowcapped peaks of the Cordillera Blanca for the evening and so pitched tent right on the pass. The sense of adventure and freedom was not tempered in the least by the knowledge that the next morning I could freewheel for an hour to breakfast and a hot shower! A fabulous couple of days where hard work was rewarded by a great sense of achievement and some incredible scenery, just what a bike trip should be. Long may it continue.

04 September: The end of the desert is in sight

We are in Chimbote, but the last week has not exactly gone to plan. Let me explain. As you will have realised, we have been riding in the desert and into a headwind for some time now (since entering Peru ten days ago). Unfortunately, we also seem to have chosen this point in the trip to get ill. Will and I have both been struck down by a fever that seemed to come and go over a few days. Andrew, meanwhile would like to take this opportunity to point out that he remains a titan of immense strength and resiliance against all microbial insults. Idiot.

Anyway, we've managed a ratio of approximately one day's riding to one of convalescing, taking us through Talara and Piura as above.From Piura, we rode into the desert for 110km and camped, miles from anywhere. Of course, my fever chose to return the next day, forcing me to ride 80km to the nearest town. From there I was able to catch a motorcycle rickshaw a further 30km to the city of Chiclayo. Being that the bike and trailer had to travel with me in the rickshaw, I would have to say that this was only mildly preferable to actually cycling there. Cycling in the desert is not the gold standard treatment for a high fever and predictably enough, I didn't leave my hotel bed for nearly 48 hours after arrival in Chiclayo. During this time, the Dunns went to a museum of relics excavated from Sipan, a pre-Inca settlement nearby. This was apparently excellent and it appears that I managed to miss the only thing of interest in 1000km of desert.

We were way behind scedule and it had become obvious that a bus would be required to get Will to Lima on time for his flight. We therefore decided to skip some of the desert and to bus 320km further down the coast to Chimbote. Though this went against my initial intention to ride the whole distance, nothing about the view from the window made me wish that I had ridden it instead. Sand, mostly. Circumstances dictated that this was necessary and, in fact we will take more buses to get in and out of Lima as riding would be both unpleasant and dangerous.

From here we ride up to the Cordillera Blanca. It will probably be a two day ride from sealevel to Huaraz, over a 4300m pass. Not something that you can do in many places in the world! Expect an update from there.

30 August: Piura (and more desert)

We are dropping like flies at the moment. Two days ago Will had a bit of a fever in Talara, forcing us to delay departure by another day, and now today we are hanging around in Piura while Dr Rivers recovers from a fever last night. I feel fine at the moment, and hopefully that will continue...

Fortunately Piura is a bit of a nicer place to get stuck than Talara. The latters major claim to fame is that it is the home to -wait for it- Perus largest oil refinery. (Oh boy!). Piura, on the other hand, is a relatively large city, and has a decent selection of restaurants, while our hotel room has a far superior selection of english cable tv channels. For the first time so far this trip we have been able to watch english language news, and for the first time ever in my life, I realized that all along I had been missing Wolf Blitzer on CNN...

On the other hand, Talara did have one major advantage, which was the Gran Hotel Pacifico. This was, according to the Lonely Planet, the nicest place in town, and so it proved, being about the only place in town where we were not molested by street urchins seeking a "propina". Trish will probably be able to guess that this is the spanish translation of the Arabic "baksheesh" or what in English roughly equates to "a tip for doing absolutely bugger all". But I digress. The hotel had a beautiful outdoor pool, complete with sun loungers under palm shades, and for most of the afternoon we were the only ones there, eating lunch or reading our books to while away the spare hours. (Will was asleep).

Perhaps Piura has such a hotel, but we have yet to find it. Tomorrow, if everyone is ok, we head out into two days of riding in the desert, which should bring us to the town of Chiclayo, and almost into Wills last week with us.

28 August: The desert

Whilst Will, who as we may have mentioned eats a lot, may have been hoping for dessert, all he got yesterday was desert. In fact, 15km more desert than he bargained for. This, it might be added was not due to our map reading skills, which to a man are exemplary, but due to the fact that Peruvian mapping leaves quite a bit to the imagination. Even the road signs appear to play a largely decorative role, so little do they reflect the geography.

To cut an 85km long story short, we rode most of the day into a strong headwind, through a lot of sand. Then, on arrival, Will bowed to the inevitable and got ill. He has resisted valiently so far, but either the Peruvian beasties are fiercer than their Equadorian counterparts, or his body was simply protesting at the extra mileage. And so it is that we are stuck in Talara for a second night.

Talara is a desert oil town, pure and simple and is not really the sort of place to linger. I strongly suspect that we are the only tourists here. I like to think however that we have made the most of it. We checked into a relatively cheap hotel and promptly went to the smartest establishment in town for lunch. This just happened to be in the big business hotel and our lunch was drawn out through the afternoon as we lounged in the sun by their pool before returning to our squalor.

Tomorrow, we try again and will rise at 6am in order to maximise daylight and to minimise the afternoon headwind. With luck, I might also find somewhere where I can upload my photos. Sadly, Peruvian internet cafes, whilst plentiful, aren't exactly state of the art and I have been unable to connect my camera for some time.

26 August: Dunn's back again

Which way is the beach? This way, of course...(cue very skinny and bike-tanned arms in full pump).

We rolled into Mancora yesterday afternoon, after 100k more or less along the coast. The beaches are beautifully sandy and all that, but the intriguing thing is how the sandiness just continues everywhere. On one side of the road is beach - so far, so good- and on the other is what looks like more beach, just without the water part. In a few days time, we will have lost even the wet bit, and be just in the desert.

Anyway, Mancora is pretty nice, a beach town popular with surfers when there are some waves (which there aren´t at the moment) and really rather achingly hip. If ever you wanted to ´find yourself´, which seems to mean little other than finding a cool ´ethnic´ necklace or somesuch bauble, then this is the place to do it. Still, after 360km in 3 days none of us are complaining too much about the prospect of hanging out somewhere that they can make a decent stack of pancakes.

In other news, we had our first encounter with other foreigners yesterday evening. The innocent question of whether the chocolate cake being consumed by two dutch girls was any good led to beers and onto dinner, along with an English girl for good measure. They were horrified by how much food we consumed; we were gratified to have someone other than Will - ´team negative´- to talk to...

Oh, and the chocolate cake was excellent.

26 August: Enough of the Dunn nonsense

Enough of the Dunn nonsense, I have reclaimed the Blog. Today we are in Mancora, a surf town on the shores of Peru. Quite possibly the one that the Beach Boys were singing about. Unfortunately, the waves aren't gnarly enough for me to even contemplate donning el wetsuit (ie the sea is dead calm) and so we are reduced to sitting on the beach, wandering from restaurant to bar, and back again. Life sucks.

The place is actually rather pleasant and is something of a backpacker hangout. For the first time on the trip, we spent the evening with some other westerners and we all agreed that it was nice to be able to talk to someone else. Of course, we felt a degree of moral superiority having arrived by bicycle and rubbed it in by ordering twice as much food as anyone else.

For the next week or so, we will take the costal road and the riding here is flat and easy, allowing us to make good progress. Unfortunately the flat terrain makes for rather dull biking. As we have already realised however, this trip is not entirely about the bike and what we lose during the days riding, is made up for by the fact that we arrive early enough to enjoy our destination. After Trujillo, we will turn inland and up into the mountains to the Cordillera Blanca, a spectacular range of mountains, before returning to the coast and Lima to put Will on an aeroplane.

One final thing that we feel we must mention now that we have left Ecuador in safety. We have been planning this trip for a number of months, pouring over maps and slavishly reading the guidebooks. We didn't know anything about Ecuador (who does?). Well it transpires that Mr Matthew Daggett, who at present is living with the Dunns at Lovel Dene has not only visited Ecuador extensively, he actually wrote the guidebook. When did he inform us of this? On the evening before our departure. If anyone out there wrote the guide to Peru, now would be the time to step forward.

24 August: Peru Baby!

Two weeks into our expedition and we sailed across the border into Peru at midday today. When I say that we sailed, I of course do not mean that any form of boat was involved, but that the crossing was relatively easy and quick. So easy and quick was it that Angus has described the border as being "porous"; it would not have been at all difficult to push past the crowds of touts, hawkers and hangers-on and in so doing elude the attentions of the border guards. Bear in mind that when I say this I am aware of the fact that all three of us are about three feet taller than the average local in these parts. And we are wearing silly bike clothes - but it STILL would have been that easy.

Fortunately, law-abiding young chaps that we are, we dotted the i and crossed the t of the bureaucratic necessities, and were safely on our way. The way, as it turned out, was long, straight and flat. Having ridden 150km down out of the Andes yesterday, through everything from arid canyons to steamy banana groves, we were not surprised by the flatness of the road, but are still very grateful for it. Any boredom resulting from riding in a straight line for long periods is more than adequately compensated by the absence of climbs up to 3500m passes, and by the ability therefore to predict with some degree of accuracy the time of arrival at the daily destination.

Having said that, the road was not all boring; along the way there were many signs that politely informed us that all around it were uncleared minefields dating from the war between Ecuador and Peru in the early 1980s. We took the advice that was offered, and stayed on the road, thankful that we had no intention of pulling off the road to put up a tent tonight...

Right, tomorrow we head to Mancora, and will be riding along the Pacific coast, seeing what are apparently some beautiful sandy beaches.

22 August: Cuenca, the Dunn version

We have now made it to the lovely town of Cuenca, and have been conscientiously resting ourselves after a few days of brutal riding.

To cut what for us was a very long story short, let´s just say that between Riobamba and here there was a great deal of climbing, and that it often seemed that what went up did not necessarily need come down. In fact, it just kept going up...

So, dusty and broken, we pulled into Azogues two nights ago, the worst of it over, and found ourselves a hotel room that fortuitously had cable TV. In the interests of improving our Spanish, we watched ¨Jaws¨ with spanish subtitles, and are now able to deliver movie quotes in more than one language. Hence ¨Hooper drives the boat, chief¨ is now ¨Hooper conduce el bote, jefe¨...

And the following day, still weary enough to feel that 30km was a tiresome distance, we pulled into Cuenca to commence relaxation. William has been eating more or less all the time, though he gave us a moment of shock when he failed last night to finish his brownie. Apparently - and fraser will appreciate this - it needed to be warm, if possible, and to have a few scoops of vanilla on the side.

Today we have made an effort to be cultural, and to see some local sights. Which we did indeed do, and the most intriguing thing to come out of our meanderings is the knowledge that the pre-colombian tribes here used to squish the heads of their babies, altering the shape of their skulls for the purpose of some rather dubious aesthetic enhancements.

On that note, I guess it is time to sign off once more...

20 August: Survival

It's been a while since we had an update, the little beasties in the Ecuadorian water finally caught up with me when email was last available. Fortunately they only put me out of action for a few hours and I was able to ride the next day. Will alone remains unscathed.

Down to business. We are 30km from Cuenca, Ecuador's third city and apparently its most attractive. I can't tell you the name of the town we are currently in as Will and I have both forgotten, but it is unremarkable and it has a pizzaria and a bed (three beds actually before you start getting any ideas...).

The ride from Banos has been hard and we are all feeling it in our legs and in our heads. As you will see from the previous entry, we rode out of Banos with some trepidation, wondering what the closed road had in store for us. As we arrived at the turnoff, a bus drove down it. A little further along, another, and the usual cars, trucks and donkeys. There were roadworks in places but otherwise, it was a paved road like any other. It's easy to listen to the ex-pats who speak English, but it seems that the locals may know better.

The next day was fabulous. The Panamericana now carries a car every minute or so, and it undulated through a strikingly picturesque high plateau. We made good time and our only regret was that we were riding it on mountain bikes with trailers - it was tailor made for road bikes. Our road finally dove off the plateau through a canyon, dropping several hundred meters to Alausi, a town just off the Panamericana.

Sadly, those meters had to be gained again and yesterday became a day of pure survival. We woke at 6.30 to find that the locals had more or less decimated our shared bathroom and got on the road as soon as we could. Suffice to say, despite riding literally all day, we made only 80km, the last 15km into a gale.

We need a rest, and we'll get one in Cuenca, mañana.

16 August: Dunn let loose on the blog

So Dr Rivers has let me have a go writing this thing while he does some highly important research on our route out of this place. We are still in Baños, although we did get up this morning with every intention of leaving. Heavy rainfall which had been going all night delayed us a little, but the real kicker came when we found out that the road to Riobamba was closed, and has been since a volcano took out chunks of it five years ago. Then, however, we believed that we were correctly interpreting one of the locals when he told us that the road was in fact open. At that point it was a 1-1 draw between the opens and the closed´s, so we decided to go have a coffee and consider our options. Fortuitously, the cafe was owned by a slightly eccentric Dutch woman who cleared up some of the mystery for us: the road is in fact closed, but is passable by bicycle. Given that she herself had cycled from Santiago to Quito, and in various combinations across the USA - she had the bike to prove it- we considered this to be the final word, and have determined to stay here one more night and set off early tomorrow morning. It would help to reassure me that the road is passable if this woman did not seem a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but you can´t have everything, and after all, tomorrow she is making us the sandwiches for our picnic.

I myself am quite happy to hang around here for another day, given that I am feeling rather under the weather. On the first day that we were here I ate something that did not agree with me, and have had a dodgy stomach ever since. The annoying thing is that whatever it was clearly agreed with Angus and Will, because we ate almost exactly the same things and they seem fine. Iron-clad stomachs, no doubt, Angus´ from dealing with all those hospital superbugs and Will´s thanks to the inability of any bacteria to live in the alcohol-lubricated stomach of a college freshman.

Right, I think that´s it. The only other thing I have to add is that Board Boy is probably Jesse, who is the only person I can think of who would type ¨respec to the London Pride Massive¨. It was a very passable warner imitation up to that point, but there were certain stylistic touches that never seemed right. Now we are fairly certain that we have our man.

14 August: Off the mark

We´ve ridden about 200km south from Quito in 2 days and are now in the spa town of Banos. For those of you stuck in the office and envious of this trip, don´t feel so bad. The first day in particular was rather miserable, riding out of Quito, a suprisingly large city and climbing from 2800m to 3500m. We failed to find the campsite where we expected it and it got dark. Enter one Cotopaxi National Park ranger who took pity on us (Andrew´s drama queen antics helped) and set us up in his ranger station, complete with cooking facilities and a TV showing a re-run of the South American equivalent to the Eurovision song contest from 1970. Truly awful.

Fortunately, what goes up must come down. Yesterday we rode 125km but descended to 1800m (there were one or two ups along the way) down to Banos. It is a national holiday weekend in Equador and all hotels were full. By way of contrast from the night before, we had to camp in a garden. Today the holidays are over however and we will be checking into a luxurious hotel (we have 2 floors) for the princely sum of $7.50 each.

We´ll be here in luxury for a couple of days and will be in email contact. Hopefully we´ll do some kind of trip down into the rainforest to see some waterfalls which are meant to be spectacular. This is usually done by mountain bike - we may or may not feel up to it...

07 August: Two days to go

On 9th August, Andrew Dunn, William Dunn and I will be flying to Quito, Ecuador. If our bikes survive the flight we will be cycling south down the Andes, my ultimate goal being Tierra del Fuego, the last piece of land before Antarctica. Will will be leaving after one month, probably in Lima, in order to go back to Stanford for the second year of his undergraduate course. Andrew will be with me for three months and will fly back from northern Chile. He has sold his soul (for a hefty price) to Boston Consultancy Group in New York.

Meanwhile I will be continuing south through Chile and Malin will come out to join me for 3 weeks in December. After Christmas, I'll be left with a final Andean crossing into Argentina in order to brave the winds of Patagonia and reach Tierra del Fuego. Hopefully, I'll be home in mid-January in order to take up a post in the Accident and Emergency department at Charing Cross Hospital, London.

Total distance is expected to be in the region of 10,000 miles, most of it uphill.

Back to Tyretracks.org.uk

Cycling South

03 January: The End of the World