Intro
I rolled out of El Pedregal this morning under a relentless, clear sky that pushed the mercury to 21.2°C before I’d even cleared the town limits. My panniers felt leaden, stuffed with a three-day grocery haul of avocados, bread rolls, and fruit intended to get me through the arid stretch to Huambo. The pavement was smooth, but the weight of the supplies made every slight incline feel like a mountain.
The Weight of the Haul
- The day began with a series of small, quiet kindnesses. The landlady at the hotel handed me a cold blue Powerade as I was strapping down my bags, a small gesture that felt significant given the heat. By 11:14, I was lingering near a local mass when a motorbike pulled up, the engine making a distinct put-put-thwack sound as it idled. The driver was selling humitas and chicken tamales from a thermal box, and the steam smelled like sweet, cooked corn. I bought a few, adding more weight to my already bulging bags.
- A few miles out, I reached a dusty bus stop where a woman was waiting for a collectivo(local van transporter). She waved a banana at me as I pedaled past, and when I turned back, she handed me an orange too. We sat together on the bench while I ate my tamal. She told me her husband was a cyclist—a ‘ciclista’ but without the ‘viaje’—and she even called him so we could talk about the road ahead. It was a brief, grounded connection that ended as quickly as it began when her bus pulled into the gravel turnout, leaving me alone with the rising heat.
The Fifteen-Minute Sprint
- At 12:50, I pulled over at a roadside shop to buy refrigerated yogurt, the same spot where I’d patched a flat the day before. I didn’t stay long, just enough to cool my throat. It wasn’t until forty minutes later, when I stopped at a scenic overlook to document the valley, that the panic hit. I reached into my top tube bag and felt nothing but empty space. No wallet. No phone. My heart did a slow, heavy roll in my chest.
- The next fifteen minutes were a blur of adrenaline and heavy breathing. I turned the bike around and hammered back the 4km I had just climbed, my legs ignoring the fatigue of day 316. When I rounded the corner to the shop, I saw a small black shape sitting on the porch, completely untouched. I grabbed the wallet and phone, my hands shaking slightly, and sat on the concrete for a second just to let the heart rate drop. The desert is indifferent, but today it was leaning in my favor.
The Two-Tone Horizon
- By mid-afternoon, the temperature hit 24.7°C. The landscape was a monochromatic study in yellow and beige sand, but far in the distance, the mountains were capped with a startling, deep green. I ate a cheese empanada in the sliver of shade provided by a roadside hill before tackling the steepest 3km section of the day. It was slow going, the kind of climbing where you count pedal strokes to keep from stopping.
- Around 16:05, I pulled over at a desert overlook marked by two crosses. A man named Alvaro was there on a motorbike, taking photos of the rolling peaks. We started talking, and within ten minutes, he offered me a place to stay at his farm, about 7km further into the mountains. ‘Look for the white house by the road,’ he said. As the sun began to dip, the mountains opposite the valley turned into a two-color display: the bases were swallowed in deep purple shadow while the peaks glowed a sharp, bruised red.
Garlic Fields and Bamboo Walls
- The final 6km was a jarring transition from pavement to loose gravel. I found the white house and followed Alvaro’s directions down into the valley, passing through rows of garlic and heavy-limbed avocado trees. His farm is off-grid—no electricity, no cell signal, just the sound of water running through irrigation taps. He led me to a dormitory building with bare concrete floors that felt warm because the sun heated the stones all day.
- We spent the evening in his kitchen, a structure made of bamboo wood walls that let the cold night air move through freely. Alvaro made tea using fresh hierba Luisa, the citrus-sharp steam filling the small space. In return for his hospitality, I took over the stove, whipping up a tomato soup with onions, carrots, tuna, and angel hair pasta. As we ate, he laid out the logistics for tomorrow: there’s a construction zone at kilometer 47 that only opens for an hour at noon. If I don’t time my departure perfectly, I’ll be stuck in the sun for hours. I’m writing this now from my bed, ready to disappear into the blankets.
Overnight
I’m staying at Alvaro’s off-grid farm in a simple dormitory with concrete floors. It’s basic and quiet, surrounded by his avocado and garlic fields, with no electricity or phone signal to distract from the sound of the valley.
Reflection
Check the top tube bag zipper every single time the bike moves, regardless of how short the stop is.
Route summary
- Date: 2026-08-28
- Distance: 34.65 km
- Elevation gain: 770 m
- Elevation loss: 123 m
- Duration: 8 h 10 min
- Time in Motion: 4 h 7 min
- Average Speed: 8.4 km/h