Intro
I’m writing this from a room in Atico that actually has running water, which feels like a luxury after the morning I had in Chala. The day started under a heavy, overcast sky at 14.4°C, with the kind of damp chill that makes you want to stay in your warm bed. After a week of desert grit, the plan was to gamble on the coastal road and hope the reports of it being open were actually true.
The Patacone Promise and the Dry Start
- The day began at 6:00 AM with a forty-five-minute call to Germany. There is something grounding about hearing a familiar voice while sitting on a mattress eating the same breakfast of bread, peanut butter, and fruit. By 7:00 AM, I went downstairs to see if the landlady had made the patacones she promised last night. The lobby was as empty as a ghost town. I wasn’t surprised, but the lack of follow-through stuck in my craw. To make matters worse, the communal bathroom taps were still dry. I ended up brushing my teeth with bottled water, a gritty, wasteful feeling that always makes me feel like I’m failing at basic logistics.
- I hauled my panniers down at 8:00 AM and prepped the bike. The landlady, despite the missing breakfast, was kind enough to let me fill my water bottles from her personal 20-liter bidon. I rolled out of Chala at 8:30 AM, feeling a genuine sense of relief to have that place in my rearview mirror. The first climb was a slow grind, but once it was done, the hills inland showed a rare dusting of green from the recent rains. By 9:40 AM, I reached the fork in the road – mountain or coast? The news said the coastal route was clear, so I turned toward the water, leaving the mountains behind.
Black Sand and the Mark of the Beast
- The landscape changed almost immediately. The road was flanked by massive yellow sandstone walls, their surfaces etched into deep, vertical lines by centuries of erosion. I could reach out and touch the stone; it felt chalky and brittle, like old bone. To my right, the dunes were strangely beautiful, covered in what looked like a deliberate sprinkling of black sand. This together with the light fog gave the whole coast a monochromatic, moody vibe. Around 10:55 AM, I hit a flat stretch where the Pacific really made itself known. I watched local fishermen standing right in the surf, their silhouettes small against the white foam as they waited for a catch. The air here was heavy with the smell of salt and drying kelp, a sharp contrast to the dusty interior.
- The wind was surprisingly gentle—so light that I could actually stop for a roadside bathroom break without the usual struggle of positioning myself against a gale. By noon, I reached a spot near Puerto Viejo. I sat on a large, edgy black stone right on the beach and ate the chaufa I’d packed. The sound of the surf was the only thing breaking the silence. Back on the saddle, the Panamericana stretched out like a ribbon. At 1:55 PM, I passed the KM 666 marker. I’m not superstitious, but there’s a certain grim irony in hitting the ‘number of the beast’ on a solo stretch of desert road where the only other living things are the occasional barking dogs.
The Sandstone Cathedrals and the Cheesecake Reward
- By late afternoon, the temperature had climbed to 22°C, though the sky remained stubbornly grey. I reached a small hospedaje called El Gatito around 4:55 PM. I’d flagged it as a backup spot to stay, but it looked shuttered and unwelcoming, guarded by a few noisy dogs. I didn’t linger. I ate a couple of ciabatta rolls stuffed with dried olives—a salty, oily fuel boost—and pushed through the final stretch. The landscape after El Gatito was the highlight of the day. Huge sandstone rock formations rose up like jagged cathedrals on either side of the road, glowing with a dull gold as the sun tried to punch through the clouds.
- I rolled into Atico at 6:30 PM and found the Hotel Miralmar almost immediately. It’s brand new, clean, and ironically cost 5 soles more than that waterless room in Chala. After a shower, I went out for a victory dinner of pollo con broccoli at a local Chifa. But the real win was the panadería I stumbled into afterward. I went in looking for breakfast rolls but walked out with a slice of Maracuja cheesecake in my stomach. The texture was incredible—thick, creamy, and tart enough to make my teeth ache. Back to the hotel, I was checking my Duolingo rank. I’m still sitting at number one in the league. It’s a small, nerdy win, but after 89 kilometers of sandstone and salt, I’ll take it.
Overnight
I stayed at the Hotel Miralmar in Atico. It is a brand-new facility that provided a much-needed reset with working plumbing and a much better price-value-ratio than the previous night.
Reflection
A coastal route gamble pays off when the road is open, the wind is down, and the day ends with creamy cheesecake instead of dry taps.
Route summary
- Date: 2026-08-23
- Distance: 89.00 km
- Elevation gain: 773 m
- Elevation loss: 755 m
- Duration: 9 h 58 min
- Time in Motion: 8 h 8 min
- Average Speed: 11.0 km/h