Peru Great Divide: Oyon to Huancavelica

As chance would have it, the motley crew which had formed in Oyon all planned to continue their rides on the same day so, in true touring cyclist style, we took the opportunity to ogle at each others’ bikes in all their fully laden glory and say a final farewell over some pan y huevos and hot quinoa drinks.

We were setting off south, finally joining the Peru Great Divide route. The route was remote, wild and mountainous and while we never went for more than a few days without resupply, we barely encountered any Wi-Fi so we’ve pieced together this blog from Liam’s photos and my diary entries.

The route out of Oyon didn’t mess around as we swiftly pedalled up to the highest pass yet of the trip. We were pedalling fairly swiftly, feeling fresh after the rest and with our glycogen stores replenished. A people carrier full of Peruvians cheered us on and gave us some apples which we later paid forward to some grubby siblings who were out herding their lambs.

After the pass we rode through an ugly mine, donned our descending layers and freewheeled almost all the way down to our campsite for the night – the thermal baths at Picoy. I say almost, we were stopped in our tracks by a comedy sheep herding operation as 4 men tried to get too many sheep into the back of a flat bed truck. We made ourselves useful blocking the road with our bikes as one by one the fluffy sheep were lifted into the vehicle. Each 80kg animal was lifted by the wool and willingly accepted their fate. When the lorry looked very full, four sheep remained. They’ve got off lightly I thought. Nope, three were squeezed in and the remaining ewe was loaded into the passenger seat!

We were quite cold by the time we reached Picoy but quickly warmed up in the hot pools. We met Luis and his family who were from the area but now living in Lima. Luis himself is a cyclist so we had a good chat about our trip. We bumped into them again the following morning and he told us about the spiritual properties held by the waterfall that is found between the baths and the village of Picoy.

The climb after Picoy was declared as the toughest climb of the trip so far by Liam; we’d been more preoccupied with the first massive hill that we’d overlooked the length and steepness of the second giant pass on the route profile. Usually I like to be mentally prepared for these things, but with fresh legs I think ignorance was bliss! Liam also remarked at how ‘nice’ it was to do these mountain passes at this stage of the trip, with plenty of experience the 1,820m of climbing was less intimidating. It took all day but that was fine, with plenty of snacks and sunshine we took our time and eventually got the job done. Near the top I switched over from audio book (Brene Brown’s Atlas of the Heart) to motivational tunes. I started belting out the words to Ain’t No Mountain High Enough but Liam discouraged me from singing, warning that I’d soon be in a breathless heap on the floor!

Coming down the other side we bumped into not one, not two but three other cyclists! Two Danes on a brief escape and the legendary Tony Pedales who had ridden south across Africa, travelled to Ushuaia by boat and is now making his way northbound across the Americas. After two high passes in two days we continued on, keen to camp as low as possible passing an incredible rock formation on the way.

The low camp didn’t seem to help at all and we were both troubled by poorly tummies. I’d dug four cat holes and taken two loperamide before 10am. This required a lie down and reassessment. The previous town had seemed like a bit of a dive and I wasn’t too keen to stay there. As usual with bike touring if you keep moving forward then things will change and so I decided that I’d struggle on. We (I) took forever to get up the next valley but it was mild and Liam was patient as I frequently got off to push. Thankfully by the following day I was feeling much better, the climbing relented somewhat and we enjoyed some respite from the big climbs with flattish-to-rolling terrain to Yantac.

Yantac is one of those towns that defies expectations regarding where a permanent settlement can exist! There is one restaurant with one option on the menu (tripe stew) and we were very much in need of a square meal, so happily waited half an hour for lunch to be ready. One lady came in through the front door followed by her pet lamb. I think what we would call an oen swci back home (Welsh for bottle fed lamb, often orphans or runts that wouldn’t stand a good chance if left with the mum). The lamb followed close to her heels, smartly dressed with a bell hanging on a red ribbon around it’s neck, bleated in excitement (clearly as stoked as we were for lunch) and then released a handful of little poop drops which hit the white tiled floor and scattered everywhere! Poor Lammy was promptly shoved out of the restaurant and spent the rest of lunchtime grazing on some tufts of grass in the village square with some random hens.

The landscape on this section was like Peru’s answer to the Elan Valley, a beautiful area in mid Wales full of reservoirs supplying water for Birmingham (which is in England, yes, this is a sore point). Instead of being fed by mountain streams these lakes are fed by glacial meltwater which is dwindling at an alarming rate. With many signs indicating that this network of lakes is part of a scheme supplying Lima with drinking water you do worry about what the future holds.

Between Yantac and Marcapumacocha we bumped into Julian and Benedek who’d met at the Casa del Ciclistas in La Paz and become such good friends they decided to continue together. They flattered us by saying we had the lightest setups they’d seen so far! As bike touring can feel solitary even with two of you, these little moments are so precious. We then bumped into Colombian cyclist Carlos in Marcapumacocha. We’d previously been wondering about the almost colonial nature of bike touring, all these white Europeans and North Americans, and how did our presence or rusty Spanish impact the small communities we rode through. Carlos didn’t have a huge amount of nice things to say about the Peruvians he’d met along the way and that made us realise we were probably treated better by people we met than our Latino/Latina friends.

After resupplying in Marcapumacocha for what we thought would be 4 days until the next settlement we intended to deviate from the Peru Divide route to avoid a section of particularly busy and infamously dangerous main road. Sadly, on the first climb out of Casapalca we were turned around by a security guard who told us that the road was a private mining access track and would not let us past. The Peru Divide route is made up primarily of current and disused mining access roads so I think we just got unlucky. With our hopes slightly squashed we were relieved to find the main road far less busy and dangerous than we’d feared and managed to tuck in behind a lorry for safe passage to our turn off.

Later that same day, with the busy Carratera Central behind us and winching our way up the Rio Blanca gorge we found ourselves sandwiched between dark, ominous rain clouds. Passing through a small village we thought we’d ask incase there was somewhere sheltered to camp. We found an old lady in traditional dress wrapped in a brightly coloured manta (shawl) sat outside a small shop and busy knitting a sock. She looked up from her needles for long enough to point us in the direction of the school where the caretakers where happy to let us camp. Their son was away studying in Portugal (Liam having grown up there) and her name was Elena (which I give as my ‘Spanish’ name) so we had plenty in common. We were surprised that they would quite happily leave two strangers unattended in their school overnight and thought about Carlos and whether a South American cyclist would receive the same trusting treatment. In the morning we paid a donation to the school and continued our way.

Without a wet tent to pack up we set off early the following morning to continue up the Rio Blanco and with the intention of clearing two passes that day. This valley seemed to have its own species of humming birds with brown feathers and would alternate between humming and soaring as they fed off the flowers growing on the steep sides. Climbing out of the river gorge and into the open mountains, some of which were freshly dusted with snow, the views were once again spectacular making us feel small and insignificant in the landscape.

As we crested the first pass in snow/hail/sleet and sheltered under a rock bivvy to eat lunch at the bottom we slowly accepted that our day would end here. As the thunder clattered above us we pitched the tent under a boulder for extra rain protection. The smell of petrichor filled the air but it didn’t actually rain where we were. Later, the sun came out out and so we washed ourselves and our pants in the stream, read our books and enjoyed cooking in the light. As the settlements along this stretch were all fairly small and rustic we weren’t planning on taking any rest days so an impromptu afternoon off was most welcome, and given that we weren’t doing our ‘detour’ because of the private mining road we had more than enough food.

The blue morning skies reassured us that we’d made the right decision to wait as the views at the next pass were truly spectacular. We thought we’d left the ice covered peaks behind us but we were treated to clouds of rainbows where the wind was blowing ice dust off the frozen peaks and into the bright morning sky. Nature, we take our hats off to you. We also would have missed this if our detour had worked out, so perhaps everything happens for a reason (although it’s probably pretty spectacular from the other side too).

We stopped in Tanta for a refuel, arriving too late for breakfast but too early for lunch we settled on some pan con huevos and then I made the executive decision that we should just stay for lunch. Perhaps my hunger an indication that my body was working harder than usual. Tanta is how we imagine Himalayan towns to be, with all the houses nestled closely together like they’re huddling for warmth. A tiny town arranged neatly into a few straight lines and then quickly transitioning back into open pampa.

The remainder of the day was spent descending the Rio Canete, an unexpected highlight for me. I will admit that I do not always research the upcoming sections as thoroughly as I should, there is a certain amount of complacency that comes from travelling with a map nerd partner.

The Canete actually starts off in a dammed lake, then flows as a regular looking river for a few miles before disappearing underground (first photo in the gallery above). When it re-emerges on the surface it is transformed into a crystal clear, deep turquoise thing of beauty which cascades down the valley in a series of lakes, pools and waterfalls. Sadly the pattern of clouds and rain in the afternoon continued and no swimming occurred which is possibly one of my biggest regrets from Peru so far. By this point we were feeling pretty crusty, having been on the road for a week without staying in accommodation (mostly because camping on the Peru divide is spectacular and the hospitality options in the remote towns all seem a bit rustic). Thanks to the Canete, Huancaya boasts a large choice of options for tourists so we decided to check in to a hotel for the night. Although it was over priced and the shower could have been hotter we both slept so well. This was certainly a tactical decision as we knew that there was a massive climb looming in the route profile: Punta Pumacocha.

The tactical decisions continued as we opted for a shorter day to a wild camp spot 300m above Laraos, not quite cutting the climb in two but chopping it up into two much more manageable chunks. The town was full of life, celebrating their foundation 85 years ago. I’d love to do a statistical analysis of the probability of happening on so many anniversaries by random. It seems like there’s always a party going on somewhere in South America!

The tactical pacing and decision making paid off, while Punta Pumacocha was “an absolute bastard”, we got it done without any sense of humour failures or bad weather.

Over the other side the landscape changed quite dramatically and we could see the colour change in the road indicating we were changing from limestone to sandstone. Seeing the more rolling landscape was also a relief, there are only so many high passes you can do, it just wears you down!

The disadvantage of not descending for kms on the other side was that we’d stay above 4,000m until Acombambilla in 2 days’ time. After Punta Pumacocha we pushed on, through an abandoned mine and along an unbelievable section of limestone paving, to crest another pass before bedding down in a dried up lake bed for the evening at around 4,600m. This was probably the toughest single day of the tour so far, and while it is encouraging to witness how your body grows stronger and adapts, the high camp meant that the capacity of our bodies to recover was severely limited. I think after this day I started on a steady downward spiral of fatigue that was completely unavoidable given the combination of terrain and altitude.

The scenery remained spectacular but will less variation in altitude there was much less variety in the vistas. We passed some lonely flamingos in the lakes which hadn’t dried up and miles upon miles of endless grassy pampa. I was cheered up by the sight of two very patient llamas sitting happily in the back of a Toyota Hilux.

Eventually the relative monotony of the pampa changed into a spectacular road cut into the cliffs above Acobambilla. Dropping below 4,000m also brought with it a welcome change in the temperature. We resupplied from a small shop and I gorged on some cake in the blind hope that I might find some enthusiasm for the next climb. Given the amount of time we’d been in the remote mountains we set ourselves the stretch target of getting to Huancavelica the following day. The long distance bike touring equivalent of a sprint finish.

We had a final snowy/rainy pass and decent on the final morning into Vinas which left me feeling homesick for British pubs with their warm log fires and cozy rooms. Instead we had second breakfast in a draughty, bare, restaurant. One climb separated us from rest and cake in Huancavelica but it was savagely steep at the bottom. We managed to make it in daylight and to our delight the showers were truly hot with good water pressure. To a tired, weary cycle tourist there really is no finer luxury.

From Huancavelica we decided to shortcut the Peru Divide to Ayacucho. From there the plan was for me to take a bus to Cusco, where I would be able to get a longer rest while Liam would rejoin and finish the route. We had two dreamy days of smooth tarmac riding (sadly no photos), but months of dirt road descents had caught up with Liam’s front tyre and it was oozing sealant. We’d posted fresh tyres ahead of us to the hostel in Cusco, so reluctantly he boarded the night bus with me. I’m relieved that he did because getting some tests to try and get to the bottom of my GI issues turned into spending the night in hospital for intravenous rehydration and antibiotics. It seemed totally over the top, and possibly a feature of treatment in traveller clinics where they throw the kitchen sink at a problem once they’ve confirmed the patient has insurance, but perhaps after so long of running on empty, it was what my body needed to clear the infection. I was grateful for Liam’s company and language skills. Also the hospital had no appreciation of cyclist portions and I needed him to pop out several times for extra snacks!

We’re now nearly a week in Cusco, the bikes are looking sharp with new tyres and cassettes and we’re enjoying city comforts like good coffee, apple pie and beautiful old buildings. Hoping to be back on the bikes soon but also taking the rest and recovery seriously.

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Routes

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