Intro
I left Batán Grande under a sun that was already drilling into the pavement, my legs still feeling the weight of the last week’s desert miles. The air was a static 32 degrees Celsius by mid-morning, and the road surface quickly deteriorated from predictable pavement into a jarring collection of loose, oversized stones. It was the kind of heat that turns your water bottles into tea and makes every kilometer feel like three.
The Gritty Grind and a Purple Miracle
- I didn’t roll out until nearly 10:00 AM, delayed by a necessary run to the local bakery for a stack of fresh ciabatta rolls. For the first six kilometers, the road was a manageable crust of compacted earth, but as soon as I hit the first major turn, the world turned into a vibration machine. The surface shifted to large, loose gravel that shifted under my tires, forcing me to white-knuckle the handlebars to keep the fully loaded bike from washing out. The sound of the gritty, loose crunch under my tires was the only thing breaking the silence of the scrubland.
- By km 15, I was scanned the horizon for anything that wasn’t a cactus. My water was hot, and my internal temperature was red-lining. That’s when the settlement appeared—a cluster of low buildings that looked like a heat-induced hallucination. It was a tiny schoolhouse. I found the lone teacher, who manages a handful of kids of all different ages, and she let me use a bucket of water to wash the dust from my hands. I spent my lunch hour sitting on a tiny wooden chair at a miniature table in their basic kitchen, feeling like a giant in a dollhouse.
- Just as I was packing up, the school day ended. A woman appeared with a block of frozen chicha morada—that deep purple, spiced corn drink. She scooped out a half-cup for me. The brain-freeze sting of the frozen chicha was a physical shock, a sharp, icy contrast to the 32-degree glare outside. It was the most unexpected refreshment I’ve encountered since crossing the border.
The Snap and the Shortcut
- The post-lunch miles improved slightly as the gravel gave way to compacted sand, which allowed me to pick up the pace, even if the occasional deep patch tried to swallow my front wheel. However, the mechanical gods demanded a sacrifice at 3:00 PM. While crossing a shallow creek near the Tinajones reservoir junction, the front strap of my left sandal finally gave up the ghost. I’ve worn these things every single day for a year, and the strap just reached its limit. The rhythmic slap-thud of the broken strap against the pedal became my new soundtrack, making any attempt at walking a clumsy, hobbling mess.
- A few minutes later, I reached a dead end: a half-meter wall of loose rock and earth blocking the path to the reservoir. A sign clearly stated that entry was forbidden. I scouted it on foot, dragging my broken sandal through the dirt, and saw a ribbon of perfect, compact gravel on the other side. I decided to take the risk. I unloaded the bags, hoisted the bike over the rocks, then lugged the gear over piece by piece. The next six kilometers were a dream of smooth rolling along the southern edge of the reservoir, even if I was constantly looking over my shoulder.
Security Lectures and Floodwater Washes
- The smooth ride ended at a cluster of administrative buildings and a construction site. A security guard flagged me down almost immediately. There was a long, formal process of him photographing my German ID and explaining, in no uncertain terms, that I had bypassed a private perimeter. I played the part of the tired, confused tourist, and eventually, they opened the gate to let me out onto the main road. The final stretch into Chongoyape was pure, glorious pavement.
- At the entrance to the city, the road was submerged under a shallow overflow from a nearby river. Local drivers were using the flood as a makeshift car wash, so I joined them. I stood in the shin-deep water and splashed the grey desert silt off my frame and bags, cooling my ankles at the same time. I rolled into town feeling flat and salt-crusted, eventually finding a brand-new hotel a few blocks from the Plaza de Armas. The staff let me store the bike in their downstairs party venue, which is currently empty and cool. After a massive plate of arroz chaufa and a quick chat with a very talkative fruit vendor, I’m back in the room, using the desk to run some LLM coding agents for my blog bot while the fan moves the heavy air around.
Overnight
I’m staying at a new hotel near the Plaza de Armas in Chongoyape. It’s quiet, the room has a desk for my laptop, and the fan is strong enough to keep the mosquitoes from landing.
Reflection
A year-old sandal strap will always break at the exact moment you need to walk over a rock wall.
Route summary
- Date: 2026-03-25
- Distance: 50.63 km
- Elevation gain: 304 m
- Elevation loss: 193 m
- Duration: 9 h 45 min
- Time in Motion: 4 h 3 min
- Average Speed: 12.5 km/h