Intro
The alarm went off at 05:00 in Chivay, a cold slap to the face with the thermometer hovering at 2.7°C. Today was about one thing: a 1,628-meter vertical climb onto the high Altiplano, mostly on paved but unforgiving gradients, testing whether my lungs could still function at nearly five kilometers above sea level.
The Vertical Tax and German Techno
- I started the morning by shoving a massive bread roll smeared with peanut butter into my mouth, followed by a banana and an apple. By 06:30, the panniers were locked on and I was rolling. The initial 23-kilometer stretch was a long upward grind. As I hit the first set of switchbacks at 07:05, the sun finally cleared the ridge. I could feel the texture of the biting, dry wind against my cheeks—a thin, abrasive cold that seemed to peel away layers of skin. My thumb tips were numb, but the rest of my fingers began to thaw as the sun gained strength.
- By 08:35, I had chewed through a third of the climb and my stomach was already demanding a refund. I pulled over to eat a takeaway bowl of cold creamed rice and a mandarina. To keep my head in the game, I cranked Scooter’s ‘How Much Is the Fish’ on my phone. There is something absurdly effective about dancing to aggressive 90s German techno at 4,000 meters while clutching a metal spoon. It broke the silence of the ascent and gave my legs enough of a spark to tackle the next 390 meters of vertical gain. The wind picked up to a steady 16.8 km/h, forcing me to huddle inside a tiny half-moon stone shelter I found on the roadside to eat my leftover arroz chaufa.
The Volcanoes and the Pink Paradox
- The air grew thin and metallic as I approached the Patapampa Pass. At 13:30, I hit the 4,800-meter mark, but the road wasn’t done with me. It kept tilting upward for another four kilometers until I reached the Mirador de los volcanes. The official sign claimed 4,910 meters, though my GPS suggested it was slightly lower. From that height, the world looks jagged and ancient; I counted eight different volcanoes piercing the horizon. There were no cheers, just the sound of the wind whistling through my helmet vents and the heavy, rhythmic thud of my own heart in my ears.
- The descent into the Salinas y Aguada Blanca National Reserve was a transition into a different reality. The landscape became a stark expanse of ichu bunchgrass and salt flats. I watched herds of wild, golden-furred vicuñas bolt across the road with an agility I deeply envied. Then came the paradox: in the middle of this frozen, volcanic desert, I saw them—bright pink flamingos foraging in the shallow salt lagoons. The sight of those vibrant birds against the white salt and snow-capped peaks felt like a glitch in the geography. I stopped for two quick bananas at 16:50, knowing the light was beginning to fail.
Sixteen Kilometers of Void
- By 18:15, the sun had dropped behind the layered hills, leaving a bruised purple sky that quickly turned to total ink. I still had 16 kilometers to go to reach Patahuasi. The temperature plummeted back toward freezing, and the paved road became a series of invisible rollers. Riding in total darkness on the Altiplano is a sensory vacuum; your world shrinks to the ten-meter patch of light provided by your headlamp. My legs were leaden, and I had to stop every few kilometers just to convince my muscles to keep firing.
- I finally rolled into Patahuasi at 19:45, my fingertips and toes feeling like wooden blocks. I found a small eatery where the air smelled of woodsmoke and boiling fat. I ordered a bowl of caldo de gallina—a simple, salty chicken broth that I drank more than I ate. The steam from the bowl was the first thing that made me feel human again. The owners were quiet until the other customers left, and then we sat in the dim light, talking about the road and the cold while I nursed a cup of chamomile tea. My mood was flat, drained by the fourteen-hour effort, but the salt in the broth was doing its work.
Overnight
I stayed at a basic hotel just down the road from the eatery. The room was functional and the shared bathroom looked new, though I was too exhausted to even attempt a shower. The landlady’s only interest in me was the price of my bicycle; she seemed disappointed when I gave her a low-balled figure, though even that was more than she expected.
Reflection
Climbing to 4,910 meters is less about the view and more about the mechanical reality of how much fuel you can burn when the air is missing.
Route summary
- Date: 2026-09-07
- Distance: 84.49 km
- Elevation gain: 1628 m
- Elevation loss: 1248 m
- Duration: 14 h 34 min
- Time in Motion: 8 h 11 min
- Average Speed: 10.3 km/h