Intro
The morning in Cajamarca broke with a rare, clear sun that promised a reprieve from the grey static of the previous week. I set out onto the mostly gravel route with a lighter bike, having stripped away the bulk of my gear to tackle the 1,244-meter climb toward the ancient heights of Cumbemayo.
The Weight of a Sign
- I rolled out of the hostel thirty minutes behind schedule, my mind already occupied by the logistics of the coming weeks. My first mission was the SHALOM shipping office. I spent ten minutes cycling past it, my eyes glued to the pavement, watching for the texture of parcels or the movement of loading crews at eye level. I missed the massive sign perched four meters up on a storage gate entirely. It took a local pointing back down the hill for me to realize I’d overshot the mark by over a kilometer.
- Inside the office, the process was surprisingly smooth. I handed over a box containing 6.7 kilograms of gear I won’t need for the push to Huaraz. The clerk processed the paperwork using the DNI of my next host in Huaraz, avoiding the bureaucratic wall I usually hit with my German ID. As I walked back to the bike, the frame felt suspiciously light, though I wondered if I’d actually notice the difference once the grade hit double digits. I began the long grind out of the city, the road transitioning from abrasive asphalt to a loose, vibrating gravel that would become the day’s primary rhythm.
The Hike-a-Bike Conversation
- The climb toward Cumbemayo is a series of steep, unrelenting ramps. My GPS chose this moment to fail, leaving me navigating by intuition and the occasional shout to people on their doorsteps. About halfway up, the grade became a wall, and I transitioned to pushing the bike because I met a fourteen-year-old student walking to his grandparents’ house. For the next hour, the sharp stone of the trail crunched under our feet as we walked together.
- We traded stories in a slow, rhythmic pace. He told me about the realities of school life in rural Peru while I tried to explain the logistics of cycling across continents. It wasn’t a fast way to travel, but the shared effort made the 3,500-meter altitude feel less like a barrier. When our paths finally diverged, the silence of the high puna felt heavier. I reached the summit around noon, the sun still holding strong against the thin mountain air.
Echoes of Engineering
- Lunch was a simple affair at the Cumbemayo entrance: avocado, crunchy bread sticks, and trail mix. I spent the next two hours walking among the rock formations, and this is where the contrast of the day became vivid. I was looking at an aqueduct carved directly into the volcanic stone over a thousand years ago. The precision of the lines, the way the water was meant to flow with mathematical certainty, felt at odds with my own day of missed signs and failing GPS units. There is a specific kind of sharp stone craftsmanship here that makes modern tools feel flimsy.
- I pushed further to find the Sexemayo ruins, which required another round of navigational guesswork. I eventually found the site at 4:45 PM, hidden behind overgrown brush and sun-bleached signs. The engineering was there too, though it was being slowly reclaimed by the earth. I launched the drone to capture the scale of the stone work before realizing the light was failing. The transition from the ancient, silent stone to the reality of a night descent was abrupt.
The Peanut Butter Mechanical
- The descent back to Cajamarca was a teeth-chattering affair. The rattle of the gravel was constant, a high-frequency vibration that seemed to loosen everything on the bike. Just as I neared Cumbemayo again, the sky opened up. I ducked into the interpretation center, shivering for twenty minutes while the rain hammered the roof. When it let up, I began the final plunge into the city, the lights of Cajamarca spread out below like a fallen constellation.
- I rolled into a pizzeria, exhausted and craving salt. While waiting for a vegetarian pie, I opened my lone pannier to grab my wallet and felt it: something thick and sticky. The relentless rattle of the descent had unscrewed the lid of my peanut butter squeeze bag. The interior of the bag was coated in a tan sludge, covering my electronics and rain shell. I spent the next fifteen minutes scrubbing gear with napkins while the smell of roasting dough filled the room. The pizza—topped with broccoli, olives, and bell peppers—was excellent, even if the dough was a bit too sweet and my hands still smelled faintly of roasted peanuts.
Overnight
I returned to the Chakraruna Hostel in Cajamarca. It’s a familiar space, which is lucky because I have zero energy left to organize my remaining gear for the long haul to Huaraz tomorrow.
Reflection
A lighter bike climbs better, but it vibrates significantly more; check your lids twice or expect to eat your pannier liner.
Route summary
- Date: 2026-04-11
- Distance: 56.30 km
- Elevation gain: 1244 m
- Elevation loss: 1224 m
- Duration: 10 h 25 min
- Time in Motion: N/A
- Average Speed: N/A