Intro
The morning in Bella Vista didn’t start with a surge of energy, but with the realization that my body was finally catching up to the weeks of grit and high-altitude exposure. My throat felt like it had been scraped by the very gravel I’ve been riding, and the overcast sky matched the flat mood I woke up with. With a dwindling cash supply and no mobile data to navigate, the 22 kilometers to Cajabamba looked like a daunting vertical puzzle (although I just need to follow a single road).
The Oatmeal Hesitation
- I spent the first two hours of the morning sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at my panniers and wondering if I should just stay put. My nose was a constant leak, and the internal engine felt like it was misfiring. In Bella Vista, options are thin; there are no shops to replenish stocks, and my wallet was looking dangerously light with the nearest ATM 25 kilometers away. Without WiFi, I was essentially flying blind, save for a lingering WhatsApp package that let me send a few ‘still alive’ pings back to Germany.
- Despite a total lack of appetite, I knew I couldn’t climb on an empty tank. My host brought out a few boiled eggs from their own hens, their shells still warm, along with some dry bread rolls and apples. I mixed my own oats and nuts with hot water, creating a thick, heavy sludge. The texture of the oatmeal was the only thing that felt substantial in a morning of uncertainty. It took a full hour to force it all down, but as the calories hit, the fog in my head cleared just enough to decide to roll out at 11:00 AM.
The Rhythmic Grind and the Megaphone
- The first five kilometers on the paved road were deceptive. The surface was smooth, and the hills were gentle enough that I thought I might have imagined the severity of the cold. But then the road tilted. The next 10 kilometers demanded a 600-meter vertical gain, a brutal stretch when your lungs feel like they’re filled with wet wool. I dropped the chain into the lowest gear and kept the cadence slow, stopping every few hundred meters to clear my sinuses and catch a breath that didn’t burn.
- During the steepest pitch, the silence of the mountains was broken by a sound I’ve come to recognize as the heartbeat of the Peruvian countryside. From a distant village below, the rhythmic, distorted call of a vendor’s megaphone drifted up: ‘Rrrrrrrrrrico pollo! Rrrrrrrrrrico pollo!’ It was a strange, mechanical comfort, a reminder that life was moving at its own pace while I was crawling up a wall. A brief, ten-minute rain shower threatened to soak me through, but I refused to stop and dig out the waterproofs. I just kept pedaling, and as quickly as it started, the clouds split and the sun began to bake the damp asphalt, sending steam rising around my front tire.
The Tacu Tacu Mountain and Sad Witches
- By 3:00 PM, the worst of the climbing was behind me. I had reached the 15-kilometer mark, and the road leveled out into the high-altitude flats leading toward Cajabamba. My energy was flagging again, the kind of deep-tissue fatigue that makes your hands shake on the bars. I pulled into a roadside spot three kilometers outside of town and ordered the Tacu Tacu with fried egg. At 25 Soles, it felt like a robbery given my low cash reserves, but when the plate arrived, the price made sense. It wasn’t the neat, fried patty I expected, but a massive, steaming mountain of rice and beans mixed together, heavy and salt-rich. It was enough food for three people, and I ate only half of it and packed the other half. I took the chance to top up my mobile data chip in a nearby shop.
- Rolling into Cajabamba felt like a victory of attrition. I checked into Hotel Tiriboa, a quiet place where the shower actually felt like a luxury that felt better than any descent. Later, I took a slow walk to the central plaza to find something sweet. I spotted a sign outside a cafeteria advertising ‘Sad Wiches.’ I stood there for a minute, laughing quietly at the typo. It felt appropriate for the day; I was tired, congested, and a bit ‘sad’ myself until I saw the strawberry pudding-topped sponge cake inside. I ate the cake, watched the locals circle the plaza, and realized that even when the engine is coughing, you can still make it to the next town if you just keep the gears low enough.
Overnight
I stayed at Hotel Tiriboa in Cajabamba. It was a necessary choice for the proximity to the central plaza, allowing for a low-effort evening after a physically draining climb.
Reflection
When your body is fighting a cold, the distance on the map is irrelevant; the only metric that matters is managing your internal temperature and keeping the calories ahead of the fatigue.
Route summary
- Date: 2026-04-15
- Distance: 22.47 km
- Elevation gain: 653 m
- Elevation loss: 31 m
- Duration: 6 h 23 min
- Time in Motion: N/A
- Average Speed: N/A