Intro
I rolled out of Hotel Don Felix at 08:40 this morning, my legs feeling the weight of the 315 days behind them but my head surprisingly clear. The 20°C air was still soft with coastal moisture as I took a final look at the waves crashing near the Virgen de la Candelaria monument, knowing the paved Panamericana was about to tilt sharply away from the sea.
The Desert’s First Toll
- The climb out of Camaná is a 17-kilometer grind that wastes no time. By 09:10, I reached the giant ‘Camana’ letters at the roundabout, already 60 meters above the surf. I turned my back on the Pacific and watched the blue water disappear behind the brown, folding ridges of the desert. The plan was simple: finish the ascent by noon and push toward Pedregal. But the desert has a way of complicating simple plans. About halfway up, I heard it—the rhythmic ‘zisch’ of air escaping my front tire. I tried to ignore it, hoping the tubeless setup would do its job, but the ‘zisch’ grew louder every time the wheel rotated.
- I pulled over on the narrow shoulder, the sun still hiding behind clouds. I pumped the tire, expecting the latex sealant to plug the hole, but instead, the sticky white latex began to leak out of the tire like blood from a wound. It was a mess. I sat there in the dirt, watching the fluid pool in the dust, the tire going soft again within minutes. I ate a few peanut butter roll and waited, hoping the ‘tubeless magic’ would kick in. It didn’t. By 11:50, I had the front wheel off, prepared to spend some time in the dirt fighting a stubborn tire bead on the emergency lane.
Fidel and Option 3
- Just as I was digging out my tire levers, a pickup truck slowed down and pulled over. A man named Fidel leaned out and asked if I needed a lift. Usually, I’m stubborn about riding every inch of the route, but looking at the ‘zisch’ still coming from my rim and the ruined time plan, I realized I was facing a logistics collapse. Staying meant a late-night arrival or a desperate camp in the dunes. I chose ‘Option 3’ and hoisted the bike into the back of Fidel’s truck.
- We spent the next 58 kilometers talking as the desert blurred past the windows. Fidel didn’t ask the usual ‘why are you doing this’ questions; he just drove and we had a good conversational flow. By the time he dropped me at the crossing to Pedregal at 12:53, the sky was a piercing, cloudless blue that made the sand burn. I thanked him, refilled the tire just enough to roll, and found a boulevard with abandoned market booths around the corner. The shade of a wooden counter became my workshop for the next hour. I finally managed to seat the tire myself—a small victory that made me think I’m either getting stronger or the rubber is finally stretching out.
Lentils and the Second Leak
- Hunger caught up with me in Majes around 14:45. I found a small spot and asked them to mix their menu items: lentils from one dish and pasta in red sauce from another. It was a heavy, salty fuel that I desperately needed. I even ordered a second portion to go, scooping the hot lentils into my container for a planned wild camp further up the road. The tire seemed to be holding air throughout lunch, and I felt a surge of false confidence as I pedaled back out toward the edge of town at 15:45.
- That confidence lasted exactly one hour. At 16:45, at the very last fringe of Majes, the ‘zisch’ returned. The front tire was soft again. I flagged down two local women working near the road, asking if I could use a table to patch the tube. They looked at me with a sort of tired kindness and explained they didn’t even have a table in their home. They pointed me back toward a small tienda a kilometer away. I pumped the tire one last time and limped the bike back toward the shadows of the town.
The Backtrack through the Smoke
- At the tienda, an elderly man came out to help. We worked by the fading light of a single bulb. He helped me patch the old tube while I slid a fresh one into the tire, the sticky white latex still coating my fingers and the rim. By the time we finished, it was 17:46 and the sun just hid behind the Horizont. I asked if I could camp on his property, but he didn’t seem to hear me or chose not to. With wild camping no longer an option in the dark, I had to backtrack into the center of Majes.
- The ride back was a gauntlet. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burnt wax and smoke from roadside trash fires. Every few blocks, packs of dogs would emerge from the shadows, barking at my panniers. I finally rolled up to the Hotel Virgin de Chapi at 20:15, exhausted and covered in desert dust. The lobby smelled strongly of that same burnt wax, though I couldn’t see any candles. I hauled my gear up five flights of stairs, sat on the edge of the bed, and ate my surprisingly still lukewarm lentils in the dark. The Pacific feels like it was a week ago, not this morning.
Overnight
I stayed at the Hotel Virgin de Chapi in the center of Majes. It cost me five trips up to the fifth floor to get all my gear settled, but the room is quiet enough to ignore the dogs outside.
Reflection
Mechanical failures in the desert heat are a math problem, and sometimes the only correct answer is accepting a ride in a pickup truck.
Route summary – Part 1
- Date: 2026-08-27
- Distance: 14.72 km
- Elevation gain: 572 m
- Elevation loss: 9 m
- Duration: 3 h 3 min
- Time in Motion: N/A
- Average Speed: N/A
Route summary – Part 2 – Car journey
- Date: 2026-08-27
- Distance: 57.7 km
- Elevation gain: 1060 m
- Elevation loss: 220 m
- Duration: 1 h 43 min
- Time in Motion: N/A
- Average Speed: N/A
Route summary – Part 3
- Date: 2026-08-27
- Distance: 28.4 km
- Elevation gain: 250 m
- Elevation loss: 240 m
- Duration: 7 h 21 min
- Time in Motion: N/A
- Average Speed: N/A