At the end of 2018, I went on an epic cycling and hitchhiking trip around Peru with David, Espaanglisch’s founder. I had never been on a long-distance cycling trip nor had I ever really cycled any distance that frequently exceeded beyond, say, a leisurely mile long trip over to the local library in New York. As you could imagine, there was quite the learning curve.

During particularly long stretches of cycling on the trip, I would often find myself wondering “Why did I think this was a good idea? Why did I think I would be okay cycling and hitchhiking everywhere?” Then, of course, there were the copious amounts of swearing and muttering under my breath…

In the end, we arrived safely back in Trujillo where I found myself fondly recalling my trip, both for its good and its bad. For its moments of unparalleled beauty and for its moments of seemingly never-ending, uphill misery. There was joy and anger and bliss and pain. I guess that’s what makes some of the best trips though, isn’t it? Those which, somehow, manage to jam-pack those emotions which we experience in our day-to-day life into one, intense experience.

Don’t get me wrong, though. If a relaxing week at the beach presents itself, I’m there, one hundred percent. Would I do a trip like this again, however? Hell yeah.

Here I share with you our journey, from the coastline of Peru to the mountains and back again, divided into three parts. Below, I cover the first part of our journey, from Trujillo all the way to Yungay.

Photos from the trip will be scattered throughout the articles, but you can also find a collection of them here.

Let’s get started, shall we?

Day 1

Trujillo to Pallasca

Our journey began on Christmas Day. Christmas Eve had been spent finishing up packing and making sure the bikes were set and ready to go for the journey ahead along with a delicious dinner of pollo a la brasa and plenty of panetón, a sweet bread with Italian origins which you can find everywhere around Christmas-time in Peru.

In the week prior to our trip, we had equipped our bikes with metal racks and “high-tech” recycled plastic jugs so that they could carry what little luggage we would be bringing with us. This was a heavy set-up but I didn’t give it much thought at the tine, despite David’s warnings that the less we packed, the better.

We headed out on the bikes early in the morning, with a wave goodbye to Señora Carmen, David’s aunt and the Espaanglisch-Casa’s landlady. Our plan for the day was to cycle south along la carretera Panamericana (the Pan-American Highway) to Chimbote, where we would go to visit Isla Blanca and spend some time with David’s family for Christmas.

I remember starting the day with a rush of adrenaline and excitement, ready to get on the road and start cycling. As we zipped our way out of the center of Trujillo, making our way to the Panamericana, I felt indestructible, capable of cycling far and wide. This feeling was remarkably short-lived.

I received a rude awakening during the first upward incline of the trip on the Panamericana, where I was reduced to burning thigh muscles and gasping for breath. This was hardly outside of the city.

We pushed on up the incline and I reached a point where I had to stop, due to lack of being able to breathe, for a short while. I had been pushing myself to try to keep up with David, who is, by far, a more experienced cyclist.

We got through this incline and then, for the most part, it was relatively flat going from there and we pushed on, stopping only to grab a quick morning snack from a store by the side of the highway, having failed to pack any snacks for the road. This stop was so quick, in fact, that we accidentally left David’s camera behind (thankfully, he was able to retrieve it). I was given a much needed break from the exertion which, clearly, I was not prepared for.

I had eagerly awaited this trip thinking that I would be just fine in terms of fitness so long as I kept up with my gym regiment and threw in the occasional bike ride… okay, fine, so the occasional bike ride thing hadn’t really happened or, better put, just hadn’t happened at all. The intention was there. Execution, however, was severely lacking. In my defense, I had just left the snowy winter in New York to come to Peru. Regardless, my lack of training ended up being quite evident on our first day, where subida was already proving to be one of my least favorite words.

Around noon we reached Virú, the first town we’d come across after leaving Trujillo that morning. We had gone approximately 50 kilometers (31 miles), the longest distance I had ever cycled and, yet, weren’t even halfway to Chimbote. I could feel from the aching of my body that there was no way I was going to be capable of cycling all the way there on this Navidad.

We decided over lunch to revise our plans for the day, electing to continue on down the Panamericana just a bit farther to Chao, the approximate halfway point to Chimbote from Trujillo. From there it would be convenient to catch a ride to Huaraz, one of the largest towns in the Peruvian Andes.

After lunch we continued on, cycling another 18 kilometers to reach Chao. Chao, oh what a glorious site it was to see from a distance, knowing that my aching muscles would, at last, be liberated and have the opportunity to rest again.

In Chao, we began what was, to me, the conundrum of trying to find a ride to Huaraz. I had never before hitchhiked in my life yet stories of the adventures of the likes of Chris McCandless and Jack Kerouac had painted dreamy portraits in my mind of the adventure and excitement that came along with it. What I hadn’t fully considered in my readings of these adventures was the certain degree of bold, fearlessness and general faith in humanity that one must possess when partaking in such an activity. It’s not the easiest thing, at first, sticking your thumb out and hoping that a total stranger will stop and give you a ride. Personally, I was intimidated by it and would remain so for the entirety of our trip, my discomfort largely stemming from my lack of conversational skills in Spanish as well as general social awkwardness and anxiety, especially in new, unknown territory.

Luckily, in addition to being a far more experienced cyclist, David was also an experienced hitchhiker. After a few failed attempts at finding vehicles that would be large enough to accommodate us and our bikes, David managed to find us a ride with a kind gentleman who had a pickup truck.

We headed out of town along the Panamericana where we were then able to grab a road along one of the rotaries to head east, into the mountains. Along the way, David chatted extensively with the man and I cowered in the backseat, which I had eagerly claimed when we first hopped in, contributing little to the conversation, much to David’s dismay, napping, and taking in the shifting scenery taking us from the desert coastline into the rocky Andes.

As David chatted with the man, he began to tell us of a small, beautiful town in the Andes called Pallasca. Ahhh, Pallasca, with its beautiful cobblestone streets and mountain views… not to mention the lake where you could fish! He insisted that we should make a stop there and, with his vivid descriptions, we were sucked into the fantasy. We decided, why go to Huaraz when this man would happily drop us off at this place? On to Pallasca!

Pallasca ended up being at the top of a narrow, bumpy road which had been beaten up by numerous rock and mudslides. Along the way, it was clear that our driver traveled this route frequently, waving to friends as we drove by occasional homes and stores along the way. He even picked up a woman who rode with us for a short while before reaching her stop and paying him a small fee for the ride. At this moment, it became evident to us that we had perhaps not so much as hitched a ride as had hopped on some kind of informal, part-time shuttle service.

We, at last, reached Pallasca in the evening and were dropped off by our kind driver in the Plaza de Armas, where we gave thanks and did end up having to pay him 20 soles or so for the ride.

There was a hostal conveniently located there in the city center, where we checked-in and dropped off our belongings. We then decided to head out to capture what was left of the sunset and to check out this mountain town which we had been brought to.

Sunset in Pallasca. Am I the only one who gets some Batman vibes from this photo?

Wandering over to the edge of town, we watched as the sun descended in a brilliant display of fiery oranges and reds, contrasted with dark greys. Darkness descended upon the mountains and we retreated back to our hostal with the knowledge that our next challenge would be figuring out how to leave Pallasca.

Day 2

Pallasca to 3N

On the second day of our adventure, our first task was to check over the bikes after all of the cycling from the previous day. We would then have to figure out how we were going to get out of Pallasca.

David checked the bikes over and made some adjustments as needed while I assisted. My “assistance” consisted primarily of holding the bikes steady. Unsurprisingly, I wasn’t of much help with bike knowledge/anything bike-related for that matter.

We talked over our options for leaving Pallasca, of which there were two. One was to cycle back from whence we came, downhill and then onward toward Caraz. The second was to attempt to hitch a ride out of town that was going in the general direction of Caraz.

Considering the rough portions of road that we had witnessed the day before (and my aching body) we opted for the latter, much to my relief. We wandered out of our hostal into the Plaza de Armas and then proceeded to wait and ask around for rides.

At some point during this process, I decided to venture into a little shop and see if I could find a chullo and some sunglasses for David (gotta protect those eyes).

The chullo was relatively simple to acquire. I opted for one with neutral colors that was still adorned with plenty of llamas. As for the sunglasses, the options were vastly limited. Both David and I are aviator sunglasses wearers. I eagerly looked at what they had in the small shop and was dismayed to find there appeared to be only one option – a somewhat ugly pair of yellow-mirrored aviators. Perhaps another’s style, but certainly not mine or David’s.

I desperately asked in my broken Spanish if there were additional aviator options but they had none. This would have to be it. Knowing full well that there was no way in hell David was going to wear these, for the small price of 15 soles (if I recall correctly) I bought them anyway in the understanding that some form of sunglasses was better than no sunglasses at all.

When I presented them to David, his reaction was exactly as I had anticipated. Resultantly, for the remainder of the trip, I lent my standard black aviators to David and was left to wear these crazy things.

Some sunglasses are better than no sunglasses… some sunglasses are better than no sunglasses… this is what I would keep telling myself.

We were, at last, able to catch a ride heading to Chuquicara, a convenient drop-off point for us to continue on to Caraz, on a truck that was, for the most part, empty except for some plastic crates filled with bottles. We threw our bikes inside, hopped on, and prepared for a bumpy ride.

The view from the bed of the truck left something to be desired (you couldn’t see anything beyond the walls of the bed) so we opted to climb up to sit on a portion of the truck above where the drivers were sitting so that we could enjoy the views. And what crazy, fantastic views they were.

Photography from the top of a truck driving through the Andes on frequently rough roads is not necessarily the easiest task, but with a little bit of creativity and wedging ourselves into place, we were able to get some nice photos.

As for how the ride went beyond that, there are a few things to know about riding in the back/top of one of these trucks through the mountains:

There’s a good chance that you’ll feel as though a plethora of splinters from the wood you’re sitting on are embedding themselves into your behind. This is only to be expected. It’s probably not as bad as you think… probably.
Be weary of oncoming potholes in the road ahead and, if you have time, warn your travel buddy of them before it’s too late (sorry, David).
You may pass under some guava trees along the way and you may be tempted to grab the fruit off of said trees. If you decide to do so, do so with caution and the understanding that the guava may be far more difficult to pry off than anticipated and, if you are a little too determined to get that fruit for yourself, this may result in you being flung backwards.

When we at last reached Chuquicara, we were a bit tired yet still had to find another ride which would take us to Caraz. I grabbed some food at a restaurant down the road and we proceeded to wait to see what options would present themselves.

After a few failed attempts to grab buses heading toward Caraz, we managed to grab another ride with another truck. Again, we threw our bikes in the back and prepared for some more mountain-road truck-riding adventure.

Just your typical mountain road traffic jam

The route along 3N going toward Caraz which we were traveling is quite narrow (on most portions, there’s only enough room for one car) and often involves sheer mountain on one side of the vehicle and a sheer drop on the other down into a raging river. This made for some interesting moments when there was oncoming traffic, to say the least.

3N also happens to have a ton of tunnels going this way which, hey, it’s fun going through a few tunnels. We did have a moment of startled surprise, however, to discover that the setting sun also translated to some animal friends (namely, bats) making their way out into the oncoming night. This resulted in us nearly being hit in the face by said bats as they left their tunnel homes several times throughout the journey.

At a random point along 3N the driver stopped and informed us that they would have to drop us off, insisting that it was only another twenty minutes or so farther that we would have to cycle to get to Caraz. We leapt out with our bikes into the darkness and set up camp next to what appeared to be a kind of compound behind some fencing, after letting whoever was staying there know first. Dinner was what we had leftover from the food I had bought in the restaurant earlier, the scraps of which we left out for a nearby stray dog.

I went to sleep knowing that the following day would involve more cycling but, hey, at least Caraz wasn’t that much farther away.

Day 3

3N to Yungay

Caraz was A LOT farther away. Or at least that’s how it felt as we resumed cycling after our day of rest with no food and very little water. Perhaps the driver the day before had meant 20 minutes via car because by bicycle it took hours.

I’m guessing it would have been much quicker had subida not been such a challenge for me, the inexperienced cyclist. We were, of course, cycling through the mountains and had quite a bit of climbing to do to reach Caraz. The lack of food and water was exasperated by a beautiful, sunny day which led to rather hot conditions.

Thankfully, along the way, David discovered a tiny waterfall which we paused at for a break, enjoying the cool water and rinsing off some of the travel we had undertaken since leaving Pallasca the previous day. It. Was. Heavenly.

As we cycled on farther, and as Caraz was still not in sight, I found my hangriness growing exponentially. When at last there were signs of homes I insisted that we had to stop at the first place that indicated even the slightest sign of selling food and water.

It took some more cycling but, at last, we reached a gas station at which they were kind enough to make us some breakfast, including some coffee! I was saved and my spirits were vastly improved, disregarding the question of how much longer it would take to actually reach Caraz.

Luckily, Caraz wasn’t that much farther from that point and we took a break there for a while and had the brakes checked out on the bikes. This proved to be a very wise decision for the sake of the next portion of our trip.

We then made the decision to grab a ride to Yungay rather than cycling there. After a few failed attempts at hailing a ride, we managed to grab a taxi that was willing to somehow squeeze the bikes into the back in some jigsaw-type fashion.

In Yungay, we found a small, cheap hostel to stay in for the night and I made my first attempt at hand washing some of our clothes, which proved to be a failure. Whoops.

That evening, the weather was a bit dreary and we decided to head over to Baños Termales Chancos (thermal baths) to relax and enjoy the heat, especially after our chilly last couple of nights.

We paid for, what we thought, was to be a single bath large enough for a couple but ended up becoming confused upon entering the facility and, glancing a bit too quickly at a sign, veered off to the right to where we thought we were supposed to go.

The entrance to the bath was different from what we were accustomed to but this didn’t phase us. Upon entering, we realized that we had made some type of mistake. Rather than finding ourselves in what we were expecting which was, quite simply, a room with a bath, we found ourselves in a small room that had a door leading to our own personal little hot and steamy cave. It was like an all-natural steam room.

We stripped down to our bathing suits and entered the steam-room cave and sat down on a bench to soak in the ambience, and sweat significantly.

We didn’t stay long and a bit dismayed, thinking we had paid for the wrong experience, left our cave. Upon exiting the area, we discovered that we had made an error and that the sign clearly pointed to the baths we had intended to go to, which had been in the opposite direction. Recognizing our mistake, we opted to head over to what we had initially paid for anyway and enjoyed a bath soaking in hot mineral waters, the cave proving to have just been an added bonus.

When we left, it was dark, cold and rainy. We got into a bit of a grumpy argument only to come to the realization in this dreary atmosphere that no rides to take us back to town were going to be coming anytime soon.

Frustrated, we headed off in the dark along the dirt (now muddy) road heading back to town. On a whim, before catching a combi back to Yungay, we decided to stop by a pharmacy and purchase some pills for altitude sickness. We didn’t need them yet but figured, who knew? Perhaps we would need them in the days to come.

Interested in reading more? You can find Part II here.

Originally published at https://themobilefeast.com on December 3, 2020.

Cycling/Hitchhiking Chronicles – Part I