Intro
The morning in Yunga began at a crisp 9.7°C under a sky so clear it felt fragile. After yesterday’s forced rest, I was curious if my lungs would cooperate with the 432-meter climb ahead on the hard-packed gravel towards Ichuña, a short 23-kilometer test for my recovering chest.
The Weight of Two Flights
- At 7:30 a.m., the simple act of buying bread became a diagnostic test for my fitness. I walked down to the street and back up two flights of stairs, only to find myself leaning against the doorframe, dealing with that familiar, ragged catch of breath in my throat. It is a humbling sensation when your legs feel ready but your lungs refuse to process the thin Andean air. I spent the next two hours in a slow-motion dance of logistics, retrieving laundry from the hotel roof and shuttling four panniers down to the street. Between each trip, I had to sit on the edge of the bed for five minutes, listening to the silence of the room and waiting for my heart rate to settle.
- I finally rolled out at 9:45 a.m., passing a closed grocery store where I’d hoped to find bananas. The road surface was a relief—well-compacted earth that didn’t fight the tires. As I climbed the first 60 meters of vertical gain to the Yunga viewpoint, the canyon opened up below me. The wind was negligible at first, just a 1.4 km/h whisper that did little to cool the sun’s bite as I began the traverse along the river. My throat, though still tender, felt marginally better than yesterday, provided I didn’t push the pace beyond a crawl.
Canyon Shadows and Sun-Warmed Stones
- By midday, the temperature had climbed to 15.1°C and the wind had picked up, gusting to 15.7 km/h against my chest. The route followed the river’s erratic spine, dipping and rising with the contours of the canyon walls. I looked for shade around noon but found the only suitable bench occupied by a crew of construction workers. Not wanting to interrupt their break, I pushed on for another hour until the hunger became a physical weight. I eventually pulled over and hauled the bike onto a flat, sun-warmed stone right at the river’s edge.
- Lunch was a utilitarian affair of tuna scooped onto dry bread. I sat there for forty minutes, watching the water move and feeling the heat soak into my tired quads. There was no one else around, just the sound of the river and that recurring, ragged catch of breath as I swallowed. The solitude was absolute until I reached the outskirts of Ichuña at 3:00 p.m. Two local boys on bikes appeared from a side trail and flanked me, their small tires humming on the gravel as they escorted me into the village. Over the sound of our clicking gears, a new noise began to dominate: the rhythmic, distant thump of a brass band.
The Currency of Ayni
- Ichuña is a place of high-crowned hats decorated with plastic flowers and conversations held in rapid-fire Quechua. After hauling my gear to a fourth-floor room—another grueling exercise in stair-climbing—I followed the music toward the town’s public venue. I met a man named Edwin near the entrance. He didn’t ask where I was from; he simply ushered me into the middle of a massive wedding celebration. The thump of the brass band was physical here, vibrating in my chest as I watched the ritual of ‘la palpa’. The bride and groom sat on elevated thrones while a line of guests pinned banknotes to their clothes and stacked crates of beer at their feet. A man with a ledger recorded every gift, a ledger of ‘ayni’ or sacred reciprocity that ensures the couple will return the favor at future weddings.
- Edwin’s friends invited me into their circle. I watched as they performed the shared glass ritual: a host poured a glass of beer, flicked a few drops onto the dry dirt for Pachamama, and passed the cup. I could smell the sharp scent of malted beer hitting the dust, a smell that seems to define Andean festivals. I politely declined the drink, my throat still too raw for alcohol and I still don’t like it anyways, but I accepted a bowl of thick soup with a dense chunk of meat. The hospitality was aggressive and sincere, a community ensuring that even a passing cyclist was fed to bring abundance to the new marriage.
Crisp Skin and Quiet Corners
- By 6:00 p.m., the volume of the huayno music was too much for my voice to compete with. I retreated to Pollería Colque for a more controlled dinner. I ordered a quarter of grilled chicken, and it was the best meal I’ve had in weeks—the skin was perfectly crisp and the meat was juicy enough that it didn’t irritate my throat. I even managed to talk the owner into a second plate of cucumber and carrot salad, a rare find of fresh greens in these high-altitude towns. As the sun went down, the temperature dropped back toward 13.6°C, and the wind rattled the metal signs outside.
- I made one final pass by the wedding venue at 8:50 p.m. to buy some spaghetti and rice from a street vendor for tomorrow’s ride. The party had shifted gears; the thrones were now occupied by two elderly relatives, and the dancing around the beer crates had become more erratic as the crates emptied. A group tried to pull me into a dance, and for a moment, I joined the circle, the thump of the brass band echoing off the dark canyon walls. But by 9:10 p.m., the intoxication levels were climbing, and my bed was calling. I walked back to the hotel, my breath still catching slightly in the cold night air, satisfied with a day that covered very little ground but a lot of human territory.
Overnight
I stayed at a hotel in Ichuña where I had to carry my bags to the 4th floor. The bike is stored in a separate garage about 200 meters down the street, which made the afternoon pack-down a bit more complicated than usual.
Reflection
Check the hotel’s garage location before hauling four panniers up four flights of stairs.
Route summary
- Date: 2026-09-19
- Distance: 22.96 km
- Elevation gain: 432 m
- Elevation loss: 262 m
- Duration: 5 h 17 min
- Time in Motion: 2 h 35 min
- Average Speed: 8.9 km/h