Intro Today was a transition from the solid, predictable ground of Bavaria to the thin air of a transatlantic crossing. The weather was mostly sunny as I traded the quiet streets of Brannenburg for the high-speed efficiency of German rail, eventually ending up suspended over the Atlantic. There were no Read more
Intro The transition from the slate-grey humidity of Lima to the high-altitude hum of a transatlantic flight was a blur of recycled air and heavy eyelids. Touching down in Frankfurt, the tarmac was bright and the air was sharp, a stark contrast to the thick, salt-heavy blanket I left behind Read more
Intro The morning in Lima was a familiar shade of slate, with a heavy, overcast sky that seemed to hold the city’s humidity hostage. After days of grease-stained hands and the rhythmic clicking of my derailleur, today replaced the gravel under my tires with the sterile hum of an airport Read more
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