Intro
I am writing this in a quiet room in Tilali, tucked away where the mobile signal doesn’t reach. The day began in Huancané at a biting 2.5°C under a sky so clear it felt fragile, transitioning from frozen pavement to the sandy fringes of Lake Titicaca. It was a 75km push that felt like a treasure map unfolding, ending with a sunset arrival at the very edge of the Peruvian border.
Maca, Styrofoam, and a Gritty Shortcut
- The day didn’t start with a gear check but with a search for a towel, which my landlady eventually delivered via WhatsApp request at 6:00. By 7:00, I was standing outside the hotel in the freezing morning air, the sun just beginning to hit the asphalt. Breakfast was a street-side affair: a hot maca drink that tasted of earth and malt, paired with three fried egg sandwiches. I left Huancané at 8:30 after buying some fruits, the thermometer still struggling to climb. Halfway up the first small ascent, I pulled over to brush my teeth and saw the first crack in the scenery—a drainage ditch choked with white Styrofoam food containers. It was a jarring sight against the deep blue of the sky.
- At 9:30, a construction crew blocked the main road, forcing me onto an alternate route. It wasn’t much of a delay, just a slight incline that led to the first real vista of Lake Titicaca. By 12:35, I hit a turnoff to avoid the main road into Moho. This is where the sensory landscape shifted. I smelled it before I saw it: the sharp, resinous scent of Nadelwald—pine-scented woods—drifting off the slopes. The shortcut was a grueling stretch of fine sand and wild rocks. I could feel the texture of the loose grit grinding under my tires, but the width of my rubber kept me upright where a narrower bike would have washed out. It was a relief to reach the pavement of Moho, even if the town was in a state of total chaos.
The Hundred-Dollar Break and the Garden Rally
- Earlier in the day, around 11:00, I had pulled over for a sip of water and to catch my breath. As I leaned my bike against a patch of dry grass, something caught my eye. It was a slip of paper, weathered but unmistakable: a US$100 bill. I picked it up, turning it over in my hands. It’s real (?), though there’s a significant tear right through the center. I tucked it into my wallet, wondering who on earth loses a C-note on a remote Altiplano roadside. It felt like a strange omen for the rest of the ride.
- Entering Moho at 13:40, the quiet of the pine woods was replaced by the sound of political megaphones. The town, known as the ‘Garden of the Altiplano,’ was living up to its name with beautifully manicured trees, but the plaza was a sea of people. It’s election week, and mayoral candidates were shouting from a stage while supporters waved party flags. I didn’t linger long. I found a small spot near the terminal and ate a plate of lentil stew. I asked for no chicken, which resulted in a mostly vegetarian meal, save for a few stray pieces of pork belly. The energy in the square was too frantic for a post-lunch rest, so I got back on the saddle by 14:00.
Flamingos and a Drink for the Earth
- The descent from Moho opened up into a series of wetlands near the lake’s edge. At 14:15, I stopped dead. In the shallow pools, about fifty pink flamingos were standing perfectly still against the high-altitude backdrop. There was no one else around, just the sound of the wind and the occasional splash as a bird shifted its weight. The pink was so vibrant it looked artificial against the muted browns of the surrounding hills. By 15:45, I reached Conima. I had told myself if I made it here by 15:30, I’d push the final 15km to the border town of Tilali. Being only fifteen minutes off my pace, I decided to go for it. The road was nearly flat, hugging the elevated shoreline.
- Just outside a small village near the finish, a group of locals celebrating on the road blocked my path. One man, already deep into the festivities, stepped out and insisted I share a beer from a communal plastic cup. I declined, explaining I don’t drink, but he wouldn’t let me pass. He handed me the cup and gestured to the ground. ‘For Pachamama,’ he said. I poured the beer onto the dry earth, a ritual offering to the goddess for a safe journey. He nodded, satisfied, and waved me through. I rolled into Tilali at 17:15, exactly thirty minutes before the sun dipped below the horizon. The ‘Tilali’ sign in the main square was my finish line, and I caught the last of the light for a quick photo.
Overnight
I’m staying at a modern hospedaje near the Tilali main square for 25 Soles. The owner appeared just as I was parking my bike, and though there’s no WiFi or signal, the room is clean. Dinner was a simple semolina soup followed by beef cooked in vinegar with rice and potatoes at a small, signless restaurant across the plaza.
Reflection
Pushing the extra 15km to Tilali was the right call; it’s better to wake up at the border with the work already done.
Route summary
- Date: 2026-10-01
- Distance: 74.88 km
- Elevation gain: 769 m
- Elevation loss: 795 m
- Duration: 9 h 45 min
- Time in Motion: 6 h 23 min
- Average Speed: 11.7 km/h