Intro
I am writing this from a room positioned directly over a hardware store in La Union, where the smell of oil and galvanized steel drifts up through the floorboards. The morning began in the stark, thin air of the Pastoruri Glacier complex, under a sun that felt more like a spotlight than a heat source. After days of high-altitude grit, today was a staggering 2,200-meter drop from the frozen silence of the peaks down into the oxygen-rich chaos of the valley.
The Frozen Ridge
- Leaving the ‘Informacion Turistico’ building at 7:30 AM was an exercise in layering. The cold at roughly 5,000 meters doesn’t just sit on your skin; it probes for gaps in your zippers. I skipped the stove this morning, opting for speed over a hot drink. I sat on the edge of a table and chewed through a few dry bread sticks topped with avocado, the crunch echoing in the empty, tiled room. It was a functional breakfast, supplemented by a handful of trail mix and a banana, fuel for the immediate task of clearing the park.
- The elevation profile promised a descent, but the Andes always demand a final tax. I had to negotiate a small, stubborn ridge right out of the gate. In a way, the climb was a mercy. It forced blood into my quads and took the edge off the morning chill, though my fingers remained stubborn. Even inside thick winter gloves, my tips felt like marble. By the time I cleared the ridge and began the first 10-kilometer stretch of gravel descent, the sun was high enough to turn the frost into a blinding glare, but not high enough to actually warm the air rushing past my face.
The Painter’s Palette
- Once I cleared the initial drop, I hit a 10-kilometer ascent that felt less like a road and more like a gallery opening. This is where the landscape shifted into something surreal. The mountains here aren’t just heaps of earth; they are geological experiments. I found myself surrounded by rock formations that looked like a giant had run a comb through wet clay, creating deep, vertical ripples in the stone. The colors were aggressive—slashes of oxidized red cutting through slate grey and coal black, all set against the distant, jagged white of the glacier peaks I was leaving behind.
- I stopped frequently, not just for air, but to stare at the texture of the rippled rock. It looked like a painter’s palette where the colors hadn’t been fully mixed. I leaned my bike against a boulder to eat crackers and tapenade, realizing I’d officially run out of fresh produce. The silence was absolute until 12:30 PM, when the mechanical growl of a BMW engine broke the stillness. I met an Austrian motorcyclist—the first human I’d seen in twenty-one hours. We stood on the gravel for ten minutes, two Europeans comparing notes on Peruvian mountain passes, before he roared off toward the glacier and I tipped my bike back into the descent.
Gravity and Green Rice
- The transition to the paved 3N road felt like cheating. After days of vibrating over washboard gravel, the smooth blacktop felt like silk. I tucked into the drops and let gravity do the heavy lifting, winding down switchbacks that followed the path of a growing river. However, my body was starting to protest the altitude changes. The slight headache from last night had blossomed into a full-blown cold. I reached into my handlebar bag for a tissue, only to find the crinkling plastic pack was completely empty. I spent the last hour of the descent into Huallanca sniffing back a runny nose, feeling decidedly less like an explorer and more like a soggy mess.
- I rolled into Huallanca by 2:30 PM, stopping just long enough to inhale a plate of green rice and chicken. The salt and grease were exactly what I needed to push the final 20 kilometers to La Union. My GPS decided to quit somewhere near the river, leaving me to navigate by the physical world. I eventually spotted a massive sign on a bus station that read ‘La Union – Lima,’ and I knew I’d arrived. A man standing outside a hardware store watched me roll past, then called out to ask if I needed a bed. I didn’t hesitate. I followed him upstairs to the Sol de America hostel. It’s a basic setup with a shared bath, but he handed me a fresh, full roll of toilet paper with my key—the most valuable thing I’ve held all day.
Overnight
I’m staying at the Sol de America hostel in La Union. It’s located directly above a hardware store near the Plaza de Armas. It’s a simple, no-frills room, but it’s dry, the owner is friendly, and it’s a much-needed break from the isolation of the high-altitude camps.
Reflection
The scale of the Andes can make you feel invincible, but a lack of tissues and a head cold will bring you back to reality faster than any mountain pass.
Route summary
- Date: 2026-05-09
- Distance: 73.24 km
- Elevation gain: 601 m
- Elevation loss: 2229 m
- Duration: 5 h 5 min
- Time in Motion: N/A
- Average Speed: N/A