Buenos Aires, End Of The Line

I made it to Buenos Aires.  Temperatures have been on the cool side and autumn leaves collect in the streets.  I felt no great joy or sense of accomplishment upon reaching the city.  Just road weary - fond and appreciative of my machine and those who understand them inside out.  I rode out toward the shipping docks and I saw the muddy water from the Rio de la Plata flowing out toward the open ocean.  This was definitely the end of the line, for now.  I stayed in a hostel in the Belgrano neighborhood and during the day walked for hours throughout the city.

The mechanic whose shop I stayed at in Santiago hooked me up with a guy that would store my motorcycle for free.  I made a cold evening ride out to his place in Mercedes, about 60 miles outside of town.  After some lemonade I said goodbye to my moto, then Gabriel gave me a ride to the bus station on his Africa Twin 750.

I bought a roundtrip flight with a return leg in 6 months.  The plan is to come back during south america's summer and do some more riding.

The airplane seat felt unusually cramped, especially for a long flight.  It would take roughly 12 hours to make it over the same land that I pushed through during the last three months.  It seems like some magical compression of time and space.  All the violence in those engines harnessed for the passenger's money and the collective wish to be elsewhere.

I woke up this morning in my apartment in Brooklyn and eased into a lazy day of strolling.  The weather is perfect.  The energy here feels electric, like it has in the past.  So many people pushing so hard.

Back with my girl and my dog; sweeter than yoo-hoo.

Thanks for reading,

John

Map from Wikipedia of the Pan American in it's entirety.  My route began in Phoenix, AZ and hugged the pacific coast through Mexico, picking up the Pan American Highway south of Mexico City and on all the way down to Buenos Aires.  My next trip might be to Ushuala (Patagonia) and/or Brazil.

Steak, Eggs, and Hittin' Licks

Only 20km across the border into Argentina and before me sat a plate of perfectly cooked eggs covering a mean steak.  Everyone from this country raves about the beef, so I had to try it - and it was unreal.  I hadn't even cleared customs yet and I was high in the mountains, buying required insurance from this little shop.  Then I noticed that these guys were sitting down to what looked like a really good lunch, complete with a bottle of wine - so I decided to give it a shot.  Best introduction to a country I've had so far.  Followed by the worst introduction to a city.

I arrived at the first large city in Argentina from Santiago; Mendoza.  I pulled up to a hostel to check the prices and during my two minute convo I was relieved of my netbook, headphones, and dop kit from the saddle bag on my bike.  I didn't see a thing, just my bag hanging wide open when I walked out.  I recruited a young crime fighter, pulling him by the arm, and we ran through the park scanning the masses and bobbing our heads like gophers - nothing.  I let my guard down and I got touched - that's the way it works.

The roads have been great and although I was really worried about freezing when crossing the Andes from Santiago to Mendoza, it was bearable... even enjoyable.  There was snow on the ground and the bodies of water were frozen but I was armed with these new handguard sleeves that cover my grips completely and they helped - that and I was wearing practically every scrap of clothing I brought.

More later,

-John

2000km to Santiago

I've spent the last few days burning through Chile.  Ruta 5 takes you 2,000 kilometers along the western coast of Chile and through the Atacama desert, one of the driest places on earth - scientists estimate that many parts of the Atacama have received no rainfall for over 400 years.  I expected big rolling sand dunes, but it's more like what you'd expect of Mars - craters, cliffs, and rocks scattered in a red sandy mix.

I arrived in Santiago yesterday and planned to make a push for Argentina today.  This was not to be.  My bike broke down in the middle of morning traffic today.  I found a great mechanic online through the adventure rider forums and he had my bike taken apart and the problem (electrical) diagnosed in a few hours.  I'm actually crashed out at the back of his shop as I type this now.  He had a room and I was glad to take it.  It's just me and a sweetheart of a pitbull for the night.  Hopefully I'll be back on the road tomorrow or the next day.


-John

Mano de Desierto

Gas station where I camped for a night (tent bottom left).

The giant mano and my moto.

Camped at a roadside eatery in Chile.

My bike on the operating table.

My roommate.

Running The Inca Trail to Machu Picchu

The Lonely Planet guide begins it's section on the Inca Trail with "You cannot hike the inca trail independently."

To begin, by attempting to run the trail without permission/permits I don't mean any disrespect to the peruvian govt or the people that inhabit this spectacular section of the Andes.  The govt has implemented restrictions on the trail for good reason; to promote fair treatment and fair pay to the porters and to limit the trash, erosion, and the general "footprint" from the masses of tourists that endeavor to hike the classic inca trail to Machu Picchu, the famous Inca Ruin.  The classic hike takes 4 days and trekkers are assisted by porters to various campsites along the trail.  The typical cost of this trek is $450 per person and I have heard from most people that the food was some of the best they had throughout their travels.  You need to book at least 1 month in advance (3 or 6 is better) because of the demand and the requirement of a licensed guide.  The busy, or high season is from June to August.

My plan was to run, shuffle, and hike my way along the 28 mile trail in one day -I was hoping to get it done in 8hrs, but was budgeting for 11hrs.  I attempted to hire a guide and go the legit route, but no one would take me.  Besides an annual marathon that typically gets about 10 to 15 participants ($2,575), most people aren't interested in running it and the 4-day regulated hike is the norm.

I took the cheap bus ($5) and got off at the nearest town to the trailhead, about 30 mins away.  After a nice meal I asked the waiter, a smiley young dude, about how to get to the nearest village to the trailhead, Chilca, and where to stay.  Turns out he is from Chilca and after a call to his mom, I was set up with a place to stay.

When I arrived in Chilca the moon was so bright that it lit up the entire valley of fields and small farm houses.  The waiter's mom met me at the end of the trail leading to their place.  As is the usual around here, extremely generous and kind people.

I got up a little before 3am, packed my remaining gear and food, and headed in the direction I believed the trail was.  I ended up trapped in someone's backyard with two barking dogs on either side of me.  An old man came out with a flashlight and he led me through his house and out the front door to the road - he even gave me some tips on finding the trail.  I shuffled hurriedly down the road along a river 2km until I came upon a bridge that was brightly lit with a spotlight.  This was the official trail entrance, but the security booth was unmanned and luckily the metal gate was wide open.  I tread lightly over the wooden bridge with the spotlight all over me.  I felt like an escape convict.

I had the basic details from elevation profile dedicated to memory and knew the most challenging part was the first pass, "dead woman's pass", where I would climb from 9,200 feet to 13,800 at a pace of roughly 1,000ft per mile.  I knew that once I started this climb it would be unlikely for any run-ins with rangers or "control" as they call it here.  I passed the second control point an hour or so in although there were campers waking after their first day of hiking, I just slipped by and didn't hear a word.  Now I was free to climb and climb.  I passed a couple of porters that were hauling supplies for the campers below - their packs were probably two or three times the weight of mine.

The path of the Inca trail is for the most part still as they left it - a tight formation of rocks and stairs.  There is not much dirt on the trail and running it reminds me of jumping across boulders on a beach.  It was fun to try to get my rhythm down while I danced down the trail trying not to fall flat on my face.

Cresting dead woman's pass was the highlight of the hike for me, even though it was relatively early on - maybe 10 miles in and 3hrs on the trail.  I was light-headed from the altitude and my heart was pounding in my chest so hard that it felt like my ear drums were banging to the beat.  By the time I reached the summit it was still a shadowy pre-dawn as the sun hadn't made it's way over the mountains, but the view was spectacular.  The green mountains towered across the horizon in rows, only their upper reaches licked by the first rays of sunlight, and the weather was crisp and cool, perfect for a tough hike.

The downhills were more challenging than I expected.  They are extremely steep stone stairs of various heights and one stumble could lead to a serious ride.  The impact on my knees was intense and after a while they began to ache.  I just kept my mind concentrated on the task at hand, one foot in front of the other - even if I was going slow, just keep a steady pace and resist stopping for breaks too often.

I filled up for water where a stream crossed the trail and treated it with iodine.  I took a little lunch break, snacked and ate a couple of sandwiches.  The only thing I was a little depleted on was salt, but for the most part I felt good.  As the trail dropped lower in elevation the temps quickly heated up.  I ran into the final control check point but no one was at the booth.  The huge fence structure was locked and for the first time I had to do something blatantly sketchy and climb down behind this gate, and squeeze my pack then my body under some barbed wire.  I wasn't going to just stop.  The last 6km was humid and jungle-like with one last climb to the Sun Gate, the ruins that overlook Machu Picchu in all it's glory.

The place was crawling with tourists.  I snapped a few photos, made my way to the visitor center, and sat down to one of the most expensive meals of my trip - a chicken sandwich, gatorade, and a small soft-serve ice cream for $17.  I savored every bite.

Next, it was a bus to Aguas Caliente, then a train back to Olletaytambo where I passed Chilca and the trailhead again.  It felt surreal seeing where I had started.  When we reached the square I tried to run into the restaurant to thank the waiter, but I couldn't find him.  I hopped in a colective - a van share - and we careened back to Cuzco.

It can be done.

8 hours and 30 minutes for the hike in total.  Chilca (@km79) to Machu Picchu.
------ 5/18/2011-----

Unfortunately my camera was all jammed up with sand so I had to take my iPhone for photos.  Below are a few, but they didn't come out great.

Dead Woman's Pass - first look.  13,829 ft.

Dead Woman's Pass.  Turnaround view.

Dead Woman's Pass.  Makes mustache happy.

Ruins along the way to Machu Picchu.

Spiral stairway.

Just as they left it.

bam.

Who is that creep?

Bridge crossing at the trailhead.  I took this from the train on the way back.

Chilca.  The farm area where I stayed the night.

Company to Company

*Below are some pics from the ride between Pisco and Cuzco.*  I'll try to start putting these on fb.
________________________________________________________________________

Day 68

I'm at a hostel in Cuzco near Plaza de San Francisco.  On Wednesday morning, I'm going to attempt to run the inca trail up to Machu Picchu, about 50k or 30 miles.  The altitude is going to be a factor and there are some other hurdles as well.  Namely, the inca trail is monitored by the peruvian government and they have implemented rules and regs that have led to 6-month long queues to do the traditional 3 or 4 day camping hike up to Machu Picchu.  I have checked with tons of travel agencies and guides about finding someone to run the trail with me in a single day - no porters, no tents, much less impact on the trail (and less expense for the travel co)- but to no avail.

I've decided to take a bus to the nearest village from the trailhead, spend the night there tomorrow night, and try to hit the trail at 3 or 4 am, and hopefully make it past the guards and control points.  Yes, this is a long shot.

My trail running fuel.  Too much junk, I know.

______________________________________________________________________

Pisco to Cuzco

A little random violence, likely canine.

(a) full speed ahead (b) turn around (c) talk to the cotton farmers

My best impression of WinDoze.

Some aussies and europeans racing moto taxis for charity from Cuzco to Piura, Peru.

Camping near Ocros, Peru.

My first river crossing with the bike.  The road was washed out.

The chickens go first.

Easy.

In the clouds.

I think the police offices in Kishuara shot this.

I stayed the night at the police station, on purpose.

Congressional candidate.  He's the little man standing behind Keiko in pictures all over Peru.

Playing Chicken

Ok worry warts, get ready for inflammation.

It was saturday morning... yesterday.  I had just headed out on the road and wasn’t more than a kilometer away from where I spent the night and I got into an accident.  The road had been exclusively dirt for the last 150 miles or so.  Sometimes it was decent hard-pack but often it was littered with deep potholes and these small water crossings - basically it was a single lane dirt road snaking through the high mountain terrain of the Peruvian Andes.  There are no guardrails on these roads and often a tiny slip would precipitate a flight to the bottom of massive cliff.  All of this, and somehow you have to share the road with commercial semi trucks.

Then it came for me.  This huge semi truck was barreling at me and he just wouldn’t give me an inch.  He was on the cliff side, and I was waiting for that instant when you know they see you and they move at least a tire or so to make some room.  This instant never came.  He kept his path straight for me, his tire right in the last track of normal road.  I just kept waiting for him to yield and I didn’t really slow down much either.  I remember just thinking a frantic but simple ‘why’ as I steered the bike onto the tiny hump of a berm that bordered the ditch.  This hump was like a 4 inch deep clay paste.  My front tire slipped out from under me and the bike shimmied out of control.  I was high-siding and heading back into the semi.  He seemed to be on the gas because all I remember is feeling the friction and the force of banging into the side of him – and those big black wheels were just flying, right at my body level.  I sort of dove away from the truck at the same time I was connecting with it.  As I dove I went up and over the bike landing out in front of it, flat on my stomach, facing the back of the truck as it drove on.  I immediately got to my feet and looked at my legs and feet – I was standing, I still had both feet – how did they not get caught and mangled in those wheels?  The bike looked to be in worse shape – there was plastic everywhere – my instrument cluster had exploded like a piñata and was littered all over the road.  All that was left was the ignition cylinder, sitting there alone.  It reminded me of wrecked bikes I’d seen at Bill’s Boneyard, a motorcycle junkyard in Salt Lake.

My first thought was that the trip was over.  The bike is done, it’s all over.  I don’t think I felt like “im quitting riding” right off the bat, but it's been on mind since.  I put the key in and tried to start it – nothing.  One thing that struck me was that neither of the wheels looked like they’d been damaged – I expected to see spokes all over and the bead broken around a flat on at least one of the tires.  I decided that I would get all of it trailered to Cuzco and figure things out there – I'd just wait for a pickup of a commercial truck and be on my way.  I stripped the bags and waited.  One guy stopped and yes he was a cargo truck headed for Cuzco but said he wasn’t allowed to take the bike, or me.  After waiting a while longer I decided to take my gear back to Kishuara and try to arrange a ride from there, maybe the policia guys could help me.  Someone pulled over in an suv, three middle-aged Peruvians.  After we loaded my bags the guy asked if I really wanted to leave my bike there on the side of the road.  I said maybe we could push start it if he and his buddy would help me pull it out of the ditch.  And like that, it came back to life – it felt like I was driving some mangled Frankenstein of a bike and soon it would all just give-up and grind to a halt. 

My cop friends greeted me with concerned faces.  The honcho, a 26 year old from Cuzco, and I pulled off some of the headlight plastic to expose the frame and attempted to bend it back into place.  We were reasonably successful and the fender no longer made contact with the headlight.  It still looked frankled.  The headlight didn’t work, I had no speedo or odometer and it all just hung there in this mash of splintered plastic and cables.  After we finished the bike and we were going to head up to get breakfast, I got a little emotional.  I didn’t cry or make a scene.  I just hung my head like I was trying to touch my toes and I couldn’t help tears from forming.  I thought about how close it was – if I had moved to the shoulder a bit earlier I would have been thrown in front of the semi and not into its side.  I thought about my body getting trampled and crushed under the meat-grinder tires.  I thought about Debbie and my Mom, how they might feel, how it would be so selfish to go out and get myself killed like this.  I thought about people coming to clean up the bike and my body –what they might say, maybe it would be the same cops I stayed with.  I thought about my head hitting the front of the semi, my brain smashing against the side of my skull, pulped, everything over – blam – on a cold morning beside a mountain road in peru.

We didn’t talk much at breakfast.  I just put my head down and worked the plate.  I didn’t give a f*ck about getting peru-belly or avoiding any of the food, I ate with vigor.  We took pictures before I hit the road and we all shook hands.  I felt like saying that they were my angels, but decided that sounded gay and didn’t.  I offered money and of course was turned down.  

 Back on the road - headed to Cuzco and Machu Picchu.

Day 60

Day 60

I went camping last night with the other volunteers on an isolated beach cove about 20 miles south of Pisco, Peru.  The desert landscape continued down the coast but the rolling dunes were dense with salt almost like sandstone.  It looked great for ripping around on with a motorcycle, but I decided to leave the bike stored.  So many people wanted to go that we rented buses - about 45 of the 70 volunteers came.  We cooked, hiked, and hung out late into the night.  I got up early and had a pretty amazing two hour run through the desert and along the cliffs overlooking the ocean.  Since the ground was so firm I didn't have to stick to a trail and could just sort of run wild, weaving through the dunes.

My two weeks of volunteer work at Pisco Sin Fronteras have flown by.  I have had the opportunity to work on several different projects, mostly doing carpentry and masonry work for local families in need of basic shelter and sanitation.  The days pouring concrete have been some of the most difficult but also the most satisfying.

The project I have worked on the most is one for a 19 year old mother named Marchit whose home is located in one of the shanty towns left from the 2007 earthquake.  The homes in this neighborhood are built with woven bamboo panels called astera, plastic tarps, compressed cardboard (masonite), and thin wooden poles with nails and tacks holding it all together.  Our objective is to provide a level of security from thieves and rodents, install running water and toilets, and generally improve living conditions.

My first reaction is to want to build the family a house exactly as I've seen and worked on in the US - with 2x4s and drywall, etc.  This is not an option for many reasons.  Basically, we are trying to build the best home we can for people in need and use materials that they can service and maintain on their own.

On Thursday I am taking off, but I would like to come back for a longer stay.  This organization is well structured and open to anyone with initiative to drive projects forward.  Former volunteers have started community development initiatives to address domestic violence, to teach english, and to provide computer access/instruction.  They have also started to make biodiesel from used cooking grease collected from the local restaurants.  It's a grass-roots org and they don't have the funds or the infrastructure of the big aid orgs, but they provide food and lodging at very low cost to volunteers ($2/meal, $2/night for lodging).  I would encourage anyone interested in volunteering abroad to take a look at this place.

www.piscosinfronteras.org

Biodiesel Home-Brew Setup

Building wall panels for homes from donated pallet wood.

Concrete pour.

School.

Mural near PSF.

PSF work truck - runs on home-brewed biodiesel.

Marchit home - just after concrete was poured.  Next we put up walls and ran electric and lights throughout.

Bottle cap washers and masonite panels at the Marchit house.

Asa (Volunteer from Israel) and Darien, Marchit's 4 year old son.

Marchit's new security wall built with recycled pallet wood from a local steel company.   You can see the improvement compared to some of the homes nextdoor.

Marchit's neighborhood in Pisco.

Francis, a rescue that lives at the school house where I'm staying.  We're good friends.

Morning meeting before heading out to jobs.  Typically 7 to 10 jobs are running concurrently.  I've been told the queue for newly approved jobs is over 45 and growing.

Me, Asa, and Lynn walking to hail a moto-taxi.  Yes, all of us, the ladder, and our tools fit in a single Tuk-Tuk

The Marchit house, almost done.

A litter of 6 puppies behind Marchit's mother-in-law's house.

Pups.

Phil using the other house dog Gringo as a pillow.

Stephen (Germany) and Max (Brazil) hauling firewood and supplies for the beach camp out.