Intro
I pulled away from Yuri’s restaurant at Laguna Sausacocha around 9:15 AM, feeling the first real spark of curiosity I’ve had in a week. The sun was out, the road was paved, and for the first time since my throat felt like it was scraped by gravel, my lungs didn’t feel entirely like wet wool.
The Sculptures of Huamachuco
- The ride into Huamachuco was smooth, a rare stretch of easy spinning that felt like a gift after the high-altitude grit of the last few days. When I hit the town limits, I found another pedestrian zone similar to the one in Cajabamba. I dismounted and pushed the bike through the center, eventually reaching the Plaza de Armas. I wasn’t expecting much, but the garden there stopped me in my tracks. It wasn’t just well-maintained; it was a display of strange, leafy artistry. Every tree in the square had been meticulously carved into topiary figures—animals, shapes, and intricate patterns that looked completely surreal against the backdrop of the rugged Andean peaks.
- I spent some time just walking the bike around the square, looking at the way the sunlight hit the dense green leaves of the sculptures. It felt like stumbling into a gallery where the art required a watering can. I saw similar, though smaller, carvings in Shiracmaca earlier on. Before leaving town, I made a quick detour to the market. I’m still cautious about my energy levels, so I stocked up on pre-sliced vegetables, tuna, avocado, and bread. If I ended up wild camping, I wanted a meal that didn’t require an hour of chopping in the dark. By 11:50 AM, I was back on the route, leaving the topiaries behind for the open road.
The Eight-Minute Gamble
- By 1:00 PM, I reached the junction where Route 3N splits off toward Tres Ríos. There was a small restaurant at the exit, and I managed to negotiate a vegetarian spread: a bowl of veggie pasta soup followed by a plate of lentils, boiled potatoes, and rice. They served a lukewarm tea that had a deep, earthy flavor—the kind of heat that sits heavy in your stomach and fuels a climb. I finished the meal with a strange, likely non-vegetarian jelly and checked my watch. It was 1:35 PM. I set a hard rule for myself: if I reached my planned wild camping spot by 3:35 PM, I’d push through the extra 30 kilometers to Cachicadan.
- The road turned to gravel, but it was high-quality stuff. The traffic vanished, replaced by the sounds of small farmsteads. I rode past houses where pigs were tethered in the grass, chickens scattered across the path, and I even saw a few rabbits hopping around garden plots. The views across the valley were wide and unobstructed. I hit the designated camping spot at 3:43 PM—exactly eight minutes past my deadline. I stood there for a second, looking at the flat ground and then at the road ahead. Given that the remaining stretch was mostly a 1,000-meter drop with only 300 meters of climbing, I decided the eight-minute delay was a rounding error. I kept pedaling.
Descent into the Steam
- As the light began to fail, the road surface changed. It was what I can only describe as an asphalt patchwork—stretches of old pavement that nature was slowly reclaiming, leaving behind a rhythmic vibration of potholes and loose stones. A man in a truck pulled over to ask if I wanted a lift. I told him no, and he pointed out the quickest way into Cachicadan, warning me that rain was coming. I thanked him and pressed on, eventually stopping about 10 kilometers from the finish for a sunset picnic. I stood on the side of the road, eating avocado and bread, watching the orange light disappear behind the mountain range.
- The final descent happened in total darkness. Because the sky was so clear, I kept stopping just to look up at the stars. There was no light pollution out there, just the cold air and a massive, glittering ceiling. Navigating into Cachicadan itself took nearly half an hour because the town is built onto a steep hillside, and finding the hotel required a lot of vertical maneuvering. I finally checked into Hotel Cachicadan for 25 soles. The room was basic, but it came with a private thermal pool. I filled it up and sat in the 40-degree water for twenty minutes. It was right on the edge of bearable heat; I could feel my scalp sweating and my pulse thumping in my ears, but it finally hammered the last of the cold out of my bones. I finished the night by cooking that bag of market veggies with some angel hair pasta on my camp stove.
Overnight
I stayed at Hotel Cachicadan for 25 soles. The price was low, but the private thermal bath made it feel like a luxury tier stay after weeks of cold mountain air.
Reflection
It is a strange irony to read a sign in a thermal bath hotel telling you to use cold water sparingly while the hot water flows endlessly from the earth.
Route summary
- Date: 2026-04-19
- Distance: 67.19 km
- Elevation gain: 917 m
- Elevation loss: 1143 m
- Duration: 9 h 39 min
- Time in Motion: N/A
- Average Speed: N/A