Intro
I’m writing this with toes that feel like ten little ice cubes, waiting for my sleeping bag to do its job. Today was Day 317, and on paper, a 23-kilometer ride looks like a coffee run, but when those kilometers involve 1,163 meters of vertical gain under a relentless Andean sun, the math changes. The road was a mix of fresh pavement and sun-baked grit, starting at a crisp 17.8°C before the mountain heat really took hold.
The Morning Steam and the Excavator’s Song
- The day began at 06:00 with the sharp, herbal steam of fresh mate. My host, Álvaro, promised the sun would crest the ridge by 07:00 to thaw out my fingers, and he was right. I sat outside on an improvised table and chair, watching the light hit the peaks while the scent of the mate anchored me to the morning. Álvaro refused any money for his hospitality, sending me off at 08:08 with a quick hug and a warning about the road closures ahead.
- The climb started immediately—a 50-meter vertical punch just to reach the main road. By 10:00, the heat was rising. I was grinding upward when an excavator driver stopped his machine and played a rhythmic melody on his horn. We talked for ten minutes in the middle of the dust; he seemed genuinely impressed by the bike and handed me a 2.5-liter bottle of water. That weight was a burden on the climb, but a necessity in this dry air.
The Clink-Clonk of Mechanical Reality
- Thirty minutes after the water gift, the rhythm of my pedaling was interrupted by a rhythmic clink-clonk coming from the rear wheel. I’d been so distracted by the gift of water that I’d forgotten to tighten the straps on my rear bag. One of the nylon straps had worked its way into the axle, wrapping tight until the plastic clip snapped clean off. Now the bag hangs by a single strap, a temporary fix that will have to survive the vibrations all the way to Arequipa.
- I reached the road closure at 11:00. These mountain roads are often strictly regulated, and I had to wait until the 12:30 opening. I spent the ninety minutes sitting with a group of construction workers, applying thick layers of sunblock as the temperature hit 18.6°C. We ate lunch in the shade of a pavillion they set up, and they posed for photos with the bike before the gates swung open and let me back onto the steep, winding asphalt.
The Pacific Gap and the Human Engine
- The higher I climbed, the more the vegetation thinned out into a landscape of hardy cacti and low, scrubby bushes. At 13:30, I reached a high ridge where the mountains parted just enough to reveal a sliver of the Pacific Ocean far below. It felt surreal to see the coast from this altitude, a reminder of how much vertical space I’ve occupied in the last few days. The air was getting thinner, and my average speed dropped to a crawling 5.4 km/h.
- By 16:05, I was flagging. A construction worker standing by the road struck up a conversation, but I was too exhausted to be much of a talker. After I told him how tired I was, he did something I didn’t expect: he grabbed the back of the bike and started pushing. He ran alongside me for several meters, providing a human engine until we reached his colleagues further up the hill. It was a bizarre, helpful intervention that got me through the final pitch.
Grit, Cheese, and Frozen Toes
- I finally reached a remote crossroad at 17:00, marked only by a handwritten sign for a shop. For a while, there was no one there but a few suspicious chickens and dogs. I started cooking a survivalist soup—concentrated tomato, a tin of tuna, and angel hair pasta—just as a white car pulled up. It was the shopkeepers. Their son, Miguel, immediately stepped in to help, showing me a flat spot to pitch the tent that is not completely sandy.
- They invited me inside for tea, bread and thick slices of homemade cow’s cheese, which was salty and exactly what my body wanted. But I made a tactical error. I’d spent the day in sandals, and when I went to clean my feet before bed, the grit of dust on wet feet became an abrasive mess. Now, inside the tent, my feet are like blocks of ice. I had to crawl out once more because I forgot to pee, and the 12.1°C night air felt like a slap. Tomorrow, the sandals stay in the bag; the closed shoes are coming out.
Overnight
I’m camped at a remote roadside shop and farm. The shopkeeper’s son, Miguel, helped me pick the spot and even helped me pitch the tent after we shared tea and homemade cheese.
Reflection
In the Andes, distance is a secondary metric to elevation; 23 kilometers can be as draining as 100 on the flats.
Route summary
- Date: 2026-08-29
- Distance: 23.84 km
- Elevation gain: 1163 m
- Elevation loss: 0 m
- Duration: 8 h 48 min
- Time in Motion: 4 h 26 min
- Average Speed: 5.4 km/h