Intro
I woke up at Viñas Queirolo feeling like I’d accidentally swapped lives with someone else for a night. The morning was clear, starting at a mild 23.6°C, as I prepared to move from the padded comfort of a five-star vineyard back onto the dust-edged pavement of the Ica region. It was a short 44-kilometer ride today, mostly on paved side roads that promised a break from the Panamericana’s constant roar.
The Hum of the Vineyard
- I woke up at 6:20 AM without the usual jarring alarm. The silence of the estate was heavy and expensive. By 7:00 AM, I was in the breakfast room, staring down a spread that felt aggressive in its variety: mounds of sliced papaya, watermelon, and pineapple, followed by a cereals and hot plates of scrambled eggs and sausages. I sat there until 8:00 AM, nursing a hot chocolate as the sun hit the glass walls, turning the room into a greenhouse of high-end calories.
- Before leaving, I had some business to settle. I spent forty-five minutes drafting a scathing review for the bike workshop that botched my recent maintenance. I used an AI tool to help organize my notes into a coherent list of grievances—it felt good to get the technical frustrations out of my head and onto the screen. To balance the scales, I headed to the pool yard to launch my drone. Even though an employee mentioned drones weren’t exactly encouraged, I got it in the air. The rhythmic hum of the drone echoed off the stone walls as I captured the vineyard layout from above. It’s a gift for Santiago, the host; I didn’t have anything else to offer for his hospitality.
- By 10:45 AM, the porter had brought my bags to the reception, and I was back in the saddle. The exit road was paved but hemmed in by spiky bushes that looked like they were waiting for a chance to snag a pannier or wheel. The temperature was already climbing toward 28.5°C.
The Dry Crust of the Road
- The route today was a relief, staying off the Panamericana for the first 30 kilometers. I stuck to paved side roads, though I occasionally veered off onto short gravel shortcuts to keep things interesting. What wasn’t interesting was the sheer volume of trash dumped along these quiet stretches. It wasn’t the smell—the dry air seemed to neutralize that—but the sight of plastic and debris competing with the desert scrub was a jarring shift from the manicured rows of vines I’d left an hour earlier.
- I rolled into Pachacutec around 1:00 PM and found a shady bench in the main square. Lunch was a utilitarian affair: a tin of tuna and a fresh avocado mashed onto two thick slices of bread I’d been carrying since Paracas. The meanwhile soft crust of the bread was a far cry from the bakery-fresh croissants I’d had for breakfast, but it did the job. I spent an hour on the phone with a friend back home, watching the locals pass by while I scraped the last of the tuna from the tin. The heat peaked at 29.8°C, making the shade of the park feel like a necessary resource rather than a luxury.
Coins, Mandarins, and Code
- The final stretch into La Venta Baja was where the day’s most interesting trade happened. A man selling fruit along the road flagged me down, not to sell me anything at first, but to ask if I had any European money. He was a collector. I dug into my kit and found six small German coins—loose change that had been rattling around in my bags for a week. He looked at them like they were ancient artifacts and, in exchange, handed me a massive 2kg bag of mandarins. I could feel the waxy, citrus-slick skin of the mandarins through the plastic bag as I balanced them on my rack for the final few meters.
- I checked into a basic hospedaje near a gas station. It’s a stark, functional room, but after the vineyard, the simplicity feels right. For dinner, I rode to a local Polleria. I ordered a quarter chicken but told the waitress to keep the fries and the salad. I just wanted the protein to eat with my leftover bread. When the bill came, it was only 12 Soles instead of the 18 listed on the menu. She insisted that since I didn’t have the sides, the price should be lower. I gave her five of my new mandarins as a thank you. It felt like a fair loop of exchange.
- Now, I’m back in the room, deep into a coding session. I’ve been refactoring my video processing logic; the file had bloated to 4,000 lines of code and was becoming a nightmare to manage. I’ve had the coding agents breaking it down into smaller, cleaner modules. It’s 11:00 PM, the logic is finally sound, and the bike is leaning against a brick wall in my room. It’s a long way from the Queirolo pool, but the bed is flat and the mandarins are sweet.
Overnight
I stayed at a modest hospedaje near a gas station in La Venta Baja. It was a functional choice, chosen for its proximity to the road toward Nasca and its location near a reliable Polleria.
Reflection
The price of a meal can fluctuate based on what you choose not to eat, and German change is a valid currency for fruit in the Ica desert.
Route summary
- Date: 2026-08-11
- Distance: 44.32 km
- Elevation gain: 74 m
- Elevation loss: 182 m
- Duration: 6 h 29 min
- Time in Motion: 3 h 12 min
- Average Speed: 13.8 km/h