Intro
Day 318 began at a high-altitude roadside crossing, with the mercury sitting at a crisp 13.2°C under a perfectly clear sky. I rolled out of my warm sleeping bag at 06:00, knowing the day’s menu would be just as demanding as the 1,282 meters of elevation gain ahead on the compacted gravel route toward Huambo.
Massamorra and the Closed-Shoe Choice
- By 06:30, the shopkeeper lady was already a blur of movement, preparing a massive bowl of massamorra. This wasn’t the sweet purple pudding I’d found in the lowlands; it was a thick, salty highland soup packed with pasta, potatoes, carrots, and beans. The highlight was the thick slices of homemade cheese swimming in the broth, which had a rubbery, satisfying squeak against my teeth. I shared an apple from my pannier with her, a small trade for the warmth she provided. I tried to pay for the meal and the tea from the night before, but she insisted it was an invitation, a gesture of hospitality that felt heavier than the calories.
- Before departing at 08:32, I made a strategic gear choice: closed shoes. Yesterday’s sandals had left my feet coated in a fine, abrasive silt, and I wasn’t about to step into my shoes with dusty feet later to avoid freezing cold feet like yesterday. I knew the long descent into Huambo would be cold and technical, and I’d rather sweat in leather during the climb than freeze in sandals during the drop. I packed two cheese empanadas—each larger than my bicycle saddle—and began the first 9km grind. The air was thin but the 13.2°C temperature was ideal for the initial 380-meter vertical gain.
The Sugar-Cheese Paradox at 4,000 Meters
- By noon, the landscape had stripped itself of trees, leaving only low-lying bushland and the distant, jagged silhouettes of snow-capped peaks. I reached a junction at 12km and banked right toward Querque, opting for the unknown road conditions over the direct route. To celebrate the end of the first major climb, I pulled out the first empanada. These highland snacks are a strange culinary contradiction: salty, dense cheese encased in baked dough, then lightly coated in granulated sugar. The texture of sugar-dusted empanadas—that gritty, sweet crunch followed by the oily, savory pull of the cheese—provided the exact hit of dopamine required to face the next wall of gravel.
- The second climb was a slog, averaging 65 meters of elevation gain per kilometer. By 14:51, my GPS ticked over to 4,000 meters. The air felt brittle. I hit the day’s peak of 4,190 meters at 16:54, after a final 5.5km stretch that forced me to stop for a desperate fuel injection of mandarins and a peanut butter roll. The wind had picked up to nearly 10 km/h, and as the sun began to dip, the heat vanished instantly. I pulled on my jacket, braced for the 22km descent, and prepared for the light to fail.
The Dark Descent and the Washboard Rhythm
- The descent wasn’t the free ride I’d hoped for. A surprise 800-meter ascent interrupted the flow, forcing my tired legs back into a climbing rhythm just as the landscape turned a deep, saturated orange. I passed massive rock formations and crossed bridges spanning canyons that dropped 20 meters into the shadows. As I crested the final ridge, the valley containing Huambo opened up, but the sun had already slipped behind the peaks. The final 10km were a test of endurance and lighting. The road surface disintegrated into a nightmare of loose rocks and deep corrugations.
- The bone-shaking vibration of the washboard roads became a physical weight. Every tooth in my head felt loose as I rattled through the pitch black, my headlight bouncing off the dust clouds kicked up by my tires. I finally rolled into the Huambo plaza at 18:40, the town square beautifully lit and buzzing with a quiet evening energy. I followed the specific directions Álvaro had given me two days ago: turn left at the church, go two blocks, and find the shop belonging to his uncle. It felt like winning the lottery when his daughter showed me a brand-new guest room. The sharp, clean smell of fresh paint was a luxury after two days of camping in the dirt.
A Victory Lap of Chicha and Caldo
- After parking the bike in the hallway and shedding my dusty layers, I headed back to the plaza. A group of locals sitting in front of the church waved me over and offered a cup of hot, yellow Chicha. It was sweet, earthy, and steamed in the 12°C night air. We talked for a while—the conversation flowing as easily as the drink—before they pointed me toward a tiny restaurant with peeling blue walls. The place was cluttered, with only two tables, but the owner was quick with a bowl of Caldo de Gallina.
- The soup was exactly what the day demanded: a rich, fatty broth with a massive piece of chicken and a hard-boiled egg. Coming from a month of coastal riding south of Lima, the highland cold felt aggressive, but the soup acted as an internal heater. I finished the night at a small grocery stall, stocking up on fruit for tomorrow. I’m back in my room now, the scent of new construction still hanging in the air, ready to sleep without the need for a tent or a sleeping bag.
Overnight
I stayed in a newly finished guest room in Huambo, owned by the family of a farmer I met days ago. The smell of fresh paint and the luxury of a real bed made it a significant upgrade from the 2 previous nights in the wild .
Reflection
High-altitude climbing is significantly more manageable when fueled by a combination of salty soup and sugar-coated cheese.
Route summary
- Date: 2026-08-30
- Distance: 60.31 km
- Elevation gain: 1282 m
- Elevation loss: 1226 m
- Duration: 10 h 56 min
- Time in Motion: 6 h 52 min
- Average Speed: 8.8 km/h