Spokes and Shoes

Intro The Lima sky was a flat, leaden lid today, holding the humidity down against the pavement of Pueblo Libre. I spent the morning off the saddle, navigating the city’s heavy air on foot before the reality of my bike’s mechanical state finally caught up with me in a shop Read more

Intro The morning in Lima arrived with an overcast, leaden sky that seemed to press the humidity right into the floorboards of the Casa Ciclista. There was no rhythmic clicking of a derailleur today, just the static gray light of the coast and a paved street outside that I had Read more

Intro The air in Lima is a thick, humid soup that sticks to everything, a far cry from the bone-dry cold of the Andes. Today was a day of stationary legs and frantic logistics, trading the rhythmic grind of the pedals for the blue light of a laptop screen and Read more

Intro The thick, salt-heavy air of Callao is a heavy blanket compared to the thin Andean oxygen I’ve been breathing for the last week. I woke up at the Casa Ciclista with a motivated itch to address the mechanical toll the mountains took on my rig. Today wasn’t about kilometers, Read more

Intro I’m writing this from a bed in Callao, my lungs finally adjusting to the thick, humid air of sea level after a week in the thin stuff. Today was a 108-kilometer gravity-fueled plunge that started in the high, green folds of Canta and ended in the grey, chaotic sprawl Read more

Intro I woke up in my tent in a house with four stone walls and no roof, the Andean air settling over my sleeping bag like a wet sheet. The morning was mostly sunny, but at this altitude, the light doesn’t provide much warmth until the sun is high. Today Read more

Intro I’m sitting in my tent tonight, tucked behind four stone walls that don’t have a roof to match. The day started with a heavy breakfast in Huayllay and a paved road that promised speed, but the Andes have a way of taxing you in ways the map doesn’t show. Read more

Intro The morning in Ayaracra began with a sharp, high-altitude chill and the quiet hum of a village living entirely off the sun. I rolled out onto a gravel track under a wide-open sky, trading the predictable pavement of my digital map for a local’s promise of a better view. Read more

Intro I’m writing this from a wooden table in a house that isn’t mine, while the wind rattles the window frames of Ayaracra. The day started at 4,600 meters with a layer of frost so thick it looked like the world had been dipped in sugar, and it ended in Read more

Intro The rest day in Oyón is officially a distant memory, replaced by the reality of a 1,300-meter vertical wall. I rolled out this morning under a hard, cloudless blue sky, but the easy pavement lasted exactly four kilometers before the Andes traded asphalt for a crumbling, sandy mess. My Read more