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.
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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.

Pisco Sin Fronteras

I arrived in Pisco, Peru yesterday.  It was a short ride south from Lima, just 125 miles or so of sand dunes and dusty little beach towns.  I signed on to do some volunteer work with a group called Pisco Sin Fronteras, formerly Burners Without Borders.  I will be here for the next two weeks helping out with basic home construction and possibly some work with their biodiesel operation.  The current volunteer population here is 70 and there are roughly 15 ongoing projects with a long queue of jobs yet to start.

Today we made preparations to pour a concrete slab foundation for a single family home.  There was a lot of digging and wheelbarrowing - needless to say, I will sleep well and be very sore tomorrow.  The people here are pretty fired up and it seems to be a really good program.

I set up my tent on the roof of a nearby school used to house some of the volunteers.  Apparently it hardly ever rains here; the climate is desert-like with dry, hot days and cold nights.  I'm excited to be involved and hopefully repay some of the many favors I've received on this trip.

www.piscosinfronteras.org

More later.

-John

Dogs are city pigeons, Gas is nothing

Northern Desert of Peru

South America has been rugged and beautiful.  The riding has been some of the most challenging of the trip with intense mountain passes and poorly maintained roads.  The generosity of people here is like nothing I’ve experienced before. 

I spent three days and nights in Bogota, Colombia at a hostel overlooking the city.  The elevation of Bogota is around 9,000 ft, so the temps were nice and cool and my morning runs were spent gasping for air.  The motorcycle is alive in Bogota – everyone has a moto and the riders are decked out in rain gear 24/7 due to the climate.  Sure, the bikes are smaller than the U.S. but they are decent machines capable of highway speeds and often are ridden two-up.  When you see bikes on the road they just look so well equipped, maybe even over equipped, like a group of American touring motorcyclists all decked out.  After some hunting I found the central motorcycle flea market in Bogota – just shop after shop and bikes lining the street for blocks and blocks.  It’s a little shady though and I was warned strongly not to bring my camera or take pictures there.  I should have though – it was epic, and I picked up anything and everything I needed; oil filters, clutch and brake levers, rain boot covers, etc.  It has rained on me every day since I crossed the border into Panama – so roughly two weeks.  You get used to it and it really doesn’t bother me much anymore.  I’ve got a rain suit and all my luggage is covered with various plastic scraps.

As I made my way south of Bogota through Colombia I camped the whole way and each place I stayed the people were insistent on feeding me and would not accept money – even at a restaurant that I camped at they said the food was on them.  No matter how hard I try to pay or turn them down, they wouldn’t budge.  One of my camp spots found me.  I pulled over to the side of the highway to remove my rain gear and this group of Colombian females surrounded my bike asking me questions.  They were laughing and laughing when I told them I’d been camping and riding down from the states - and without hesitation they said I could stay with them.  I ended up ferrying some of the teenagers around town on my moto, three-up.  In the morning they brought me to meet the rest of the family in town and they fed me tamales and black coffee until I couldn’t fit another bite.  They sent me on my way with a HUGE avocado –the size of a softball or larger – with instructions on when it would be ripe enough to eat (two days exactly).

In Ecuador the hospitality continued.  I stopped and asked to camp in front of this sweets shop and the guy said sure, and came back out with a cup of hot milk with rice before I could even get the tent up.  The riding in Ecuador has been challenging due to the high elevation – I’m literally riding up in the clouds at 10,000 ft and above.  It has been very cold and wet at times and the roads have been treacherous; big sections of dirt and rocks, drop offs, pot holes, and big semi-trucks.  All of this around hairpin turns up and down mountain passes.  It keeps you on your toes and the going is slow – I’d say my average speed over many sections is around 20mph.

I crossed into Peru via a less traveled border crossing in the city of Macala, Ecuador.  I had heard many warnings about the border along the Pan American Highway and I decided I could do without the headaches of scammers and corrupt officials.  It’s nothing dangerous really, just annoying.  The temperatures changed abruptly as I got closer to Peru.  It felt so good to be warm again, but I did run smack into some of the hardest tropical rains of the trip – it didn’t matter, I was just happy to be all thawed out.  The poverty is also abrupt and harsh as you enter Peru.  The living conditions are noticeably worse and the building materials consist of tarps and scraps in the shanty towns along the highway.

The highway has dropped down to the pacific stretching out as a flat-out high-speed burn from city to coastal city through Peru’s northern Desert.  The winds have been really strong coming off the sand dunes and my bike acts like a sail with all of the luggage packed on it.  I’m in Lima, staying in a hostel near the beach.  I plan to rest up here and get supplies, most importantly a new set of tires.

This week leading up to easter is celebrated as Semana Santa here in S.A. and people are out every night either going to the bars, hanging out in the town squares or attending church.

Happy Easter everyone.  I miss you guys.



Rolando, one of the Venezualen guys riding a KLR 650 (same as mine) from Caracas to Machu Picchu with two of his buddies.  I rode with the group for a bit and we had lunch.



Gas prices in Ecuador.  Yes, that's USD/Gallon; Reg/Prem/Diesel. Hurry lets get the biggest tub we can find and start taking this stuff back to the states and make a KILLING.  Oh yeah, Chevron already did that.




Colombia




Aguacate Gigante



40 Days & 40 nights

 

I ran into a group of motorcycle riders that were all on my same make and model bike - the Kawasaki KLR 650.  They were three middle aged Venezuelan dudes riding from Caracas to Cuzco and back.  I saw them pulled over at the side of the highway so I stopped to say hello.  We rode together for awhile and had lunch at a strange stakehouse that served these hamburger looking fillets.  They asked if I had stopped at the park at the equator and I told them I didn't even know I'd crossed it.  This disappointed them a little, but they gave me a sticker from the park anyway - to help me remember.  I thought I would be roasting at this point of the ride, but it's just the opposite.  We are at such high elevation, around 9,000 ft, that temps are chilly and there has been plenty of rain.  The roads have been good, but the cold is taxing and these high-mileage days are starting to take their toll on me.  A good night's sleep will do me well.