Intro
The morning in Callao started under a light drizzle, with the thermometer hovering at 22°C and the pavement slick with that familiar coastal dampness. It was my final day of mechanical stasis, a quiet morning of fueling up on oats and mandarins while answering WhatsApp messages about the Trans Ecuadorian Mountain Bike Route (TEMBR). For the first time in weeks, the grey sky didn’t feel like a lid, but a starting gate.
The German Connection
- By 11:15, I was hunched over the bike, performing the kind of surgery that only makes sense when you’re about to disappear into the southern horizon. I tightened the shark honk on the handlebars—it had been rattling like a loose tooth—and did a final check of the lights. The real stars of the show, however, were the spokes. These German-sourced lengths of steel were finally laced and tensioned, replacing the mismatched temporary fixes that had kept me grounded in Lima. There is a specific peace that comes with knowing your wheels aren’t a mathematical compromise anymore.
- I rolled out toward Pueblo Libre, a 14-kilometer test loop to see if the bike would hold. The road surface was standard Lima chaos—paved but unpredictable—yet the bike felt transformed. No more phantom wobbles. I reached the Bolivariano Restaurant just as Santiago Queirolo was stepping out. We hugged, and he immediately gravitated toward the rear wheel. Seeing him inspect the very spokes he helped source felt like a closing circle. He flagged down the security guard, giving him strict instructions to watch the bike as if it were made of glass while I went inside to eat.
Twenty-Five at the Table
- The Bolivariano isn’t just a restaurant; it’s a cavern of Lima history. Inside, a table had been stretched to accommodate twenty-five people. I sat between Piedro and Walter, a lawyer friend of Santiago’s, and the air was immediately thick with the smoky vinegar scent of grilled Anticuchos de Pecho de Paloma. It’s a heavy, pungent aroma that sticks to your clothes and defines a Peruvian afternoon. We sat for two hours, passing plates of Paloma Saltado with thick-cut fries and rice, finished off with two massive Picarones dripping in syrup.
- The conversation didn’t drift into the abstract; we talked about the route south, the quality of the pavement in the coming provinces, and the technicalities of the bike. When I finally left at 15:00, I felt a strange weight—half from the food and half from the realization that this was my last communal anchor for a while. I stopped at Plaza Vea to grab bags of peanut butter, raisins, and nuts for the road. Before leaving Pueblo Libre, I handed the security guard a bag of peanuts and raisins. It was a small trade for the peace of mind he provided while I was inside, but he seemed to appreciate the gesture as much as I appreciated his vigilance.
Midnight Code and Final Checks
- On the way back to Callao I had a quick check-in with the wheeles bicycle shop. I handed them the spokes that were just too long for my wheel and in the meantime were replaced with the correct spokes. They accepted them as agreed and handed me the 50 soles we agreed on.
- Back at the Casa Ciclista in Callao, the evening shifted from social to technical. I spent thirty minutes resting before the final adjustments began. During the ride, I’d noticed the handlebar grips weren’t quite right for the balls of my hands. I pulled out the torque screwdriver I’d brought from Germany. I worked through the bike bit by bit, ensuring every bolt was settled.
- Then came the software. I spent four hours locked in a coding session, pushing the final updates to my vlogging chatbot. There’s a particular tension in deploying code to an Azure virtual machine just hours before a departure. I overhauled the statistics slide and added the OpenStreetMap copyright credits to the map trace. When the bot finally went live at 22:18, I felt a massive knot in my shoulders loosen. I’ve still got some of that sticky residue on my fingers from the deep-cleaning session with Fernando a few nights ago—the black dust that seemed to have a life of its own—but the bike and the bot are finally clean.
- Catalina walked in at 22:20, exhausted from work. I had brought leftovers from the Bolivariano, and the three of us—Catalina, Fernando, and I—sat around the table for one last hour. We shared the food and talked about the transition from the city to the open road. By 23:30, I was doing one last bag check, verifying the torque tool and spare brake pads were buried in the right panniers. I finally hit the bed at 0:30, the silence of the room a stark contrast to the month of mechanical noise I’m leaving behind.
Overnight
I stayed at the Casa Ciclista in Callao, an invitation-only space that has served as my mechanical and social headquarters during the long wait for parts. It provided the necessary stability to rebuild the bike and finalize my technical projects before heading south.
Reflection
The bike is no longer a collection of problems; it is a functioning tool again, and the German spokes have finally ended my mechanical stasis.
Route summary
- Date: 2026-08-03
- Distance: 14.42 km
- Elevation gain: 79 m
- Elevation loss: 80 m
- Duration: 5 h 2 min
- Time in Motion: 1 h 12 min
- Average Speed: 11.9 km/h