Peru Great Divide — Cordillera Huayhuash

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

An old friend informed me about this diversion — instead of following the main route of the PGD, I would ride near the Cordillera Huayhuash trek route, along the tracks of the mules. I was mentally prepared to push my bike up long, steep trails, with the promise of epic views and world-class singletracks.

I can’t remember if hike-a-bike has always been a pain. I’ve had to push my bike during races in steep sections, but I can’t recall how hard it was. Certainly, being days on the road and carrying triple the weight of a racing bike makes it a chore.

Huallanca

On my first attempt to start the route, I planned an easy day, aiming to sleep at 4000 meters being cautious with acclimatisation. At that altitude there were only fenced cow fields, so I decided to camp in one. I asked a campesino further down the road, and he gladly permitted me to sleep wherever I liked.

Dinner consisted of pasta with grated maca — a root native in the Andes — I ended up using too much making it bitter.

Cozy in my sleeping bag, checking the route ahead, and realizing my mistake of carrying too little food for the days ahead, I suddenly heard barking and whistles, and a torch lit up the inside of my tent.

The owner of the land, Gabriel, came to check who was camping on his land.

I immediately apologised and asked for permission to sleep, “lo siento — ¿puedo dormir aqui?”. In all his seriousness and alertness, he said “claro” and we both smiled.

He was curious about my journey. “Why are you doing this?” he asked. “Buena pregunta” I replied — “good question”. How do you explain to a farmer living at 4000 meters that you enjoy adventure and all the insights that come with it? The campesinos live in the mountains, face the challenges of the weather and livestock, and use infrastructure primitive by Western standards. Then there’s a guy on his bike seeking challenges and adventure — it was incomprehensible. I tried to give a simple answer: “I like the mountains and exploring”. His face showed anger as he repeated sentences with the word “Diablo”.

“¿Diablo?” I asked. “Are you here to find gold?” he slowly repeated in Spanish which I wrote into Translate. “No, I’m not interested in that”. The next day, I would better understand his concern.

He asked me whether I travel alone and he was perplexed when I replied “solo , si”. Why would someone travel so far, with his bike, in the tough mountains of Peru to be by himself?

He continued with asking about my wife — which he assumed I had. I told him that I’m single. “Oh I have two” he proudly replied. “Your bed is better shared with an esposa” he advised.

I asked him about his life there. “Mucho frio, mucho caliente” he said, it’s too warm and too cold up there. Eventually, he decided to get back to his warmth and two wives.

He made clear that there is no food on the way to Oyón,and that sealed my decision to go back to Huallanca and resupply.

Pour-over coffee from Peruvian roast.

Rarely I get to enjoy the full camping experience. Usually, it’s setting up camp late and leave early. It was almost 11, having a second coffee, listening to music and enjoying the sun. I headed down to the town shortly.

Doggo reminded me of my mother’s dog — Lara.

A local cafe that I enjoyed multiple times during my short time in Huallanca.

Trucha Frita - fried trout. A freshwater fish common in the Andes caught in rivers and lakes.

The hotel was the tallest building in the small town.

My room, offering a double bed, private bathroom and WiFi — as good as it gets.

Streets of Huallanca.

The streets are full of triciclos offering different types food and non-alcoholic drinks.

I felt relaxed in Huallanca and joined the locals for a warm slushy drink — I couldn’t get the name or what it was made from, but it was warming. I sat on the stools next to them, overhearing their comments on the gringo traveling with his bicicleta and wondering where he came from. “Soy griego” — I’m Greek, I noted, and they smiled, thinking I wouldn’t understand! I’m glad I took a few courses so I can have at least minimal interactions.

Entering Cordillera Huayhuash

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

Havena — a warm drink with oats, clove and sugar. The lady preparing sandwiches with eggs and avocado.

Espresso machines are uncommon here. The most common is coffee powder and the best quality you can get is from a mocha pot with Peruvian coffee beans. It’s served with warm water to dilute.

An horde of tracks ready to fill up at the local mines.

First, a truck spills water on the dirt road as it passes and salutes you. Then, a horde of mining trucks spoils the silence. That’s why Gabriel was saying “Diablo.” I stood at the side of the road, waiting for the trucks to clear and the dust to settle.

A ten minute break, a banana, and taking a few shots break the monotony of the climb.

The first trail I had to push my bike was mellow.

Riding the first singletrack. The bike felt agile for the load.

The trail eventually led to the valley.

A campesino farm — not the one described below.

While crossing a farm, the campesino asked me the usual questions, and after a brief chat, he requested a payment of 10 Soles to cross his property. In the Cordillera Huayhuash, the communities issue tickets that cost, on average, 30 Soles. The system is designed so the community earns from tourists, which incentivizes them to protect visitors. As I read in a guidebook, there were armed robberies, but since the introduction of the tickets, the incidents have been eliminated.

However, there are also “scams” where farmers request a payment without issuing any ticket, which happens outside of the community. Even though 10 Soles is not a large amount, knowing you are being scammed and having no other option felt bitter. Fortunately, this was the only scam along the way.

Wild horses were staring at me for minutes before they relaxed and moved on.

Due to the threat of an electric storm, one of my least favourite phenomena in the mountains, I set up camp just below the pass at 4600 meters. I was still acclimatising at that altitude — during the night I kept waking up gasping for air. Opening the door of the tent and letting fresh air in helped.

On a different note, that evening, I enriched my auditory palette of birds — nearby, there was a lake with species whose cries I had never heard before. They woke me up the in the same way, their rich sounds blending with the cold air flapping against my tent.

In the Cordillera Huayhuash

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

And there I was, the top of the pass revealed glacieted peaks, the sun was breaking the cold, and my mood was lifted to the top.

Soon after the downhill ended, I entered a community area, got my ticket, chatted with the locals and finally met three trekkers from Brazil. It was such a delight to have a conversation in English and share a bit of our adventures.

Three trekkers from Brazil on their final kilometres to complete the route.

And soon I was greeted with steep terrain, pushing my bike against a background of six-thousanders.

Few uphills were mellow enough to ride my bike on the trail.

Met a group of trekkers from the Chech Republic.

Just before the next pass I met a lovely company from Chech Republic. We briefly chatted about our routes and focused more on photography!

I also got my picture taken — trail magic. It was so refreshing to meet people along the route that I could communicate with.

Last push before the pass.

Each pass reveals beautiful vistas.

A singletrack with those mountain views — I was ecstatic! Usually, I crave the thrill of the trail, releasing the brakes and feeling the speed. However, this was a different style of riding, ensuring that my bags stayed in place and I could get frequent glimpses of the white peaks.

A group of trekkers met on the route — Australia, Portland, Netherlands.

As I set up camp at a vantage point overlooking the peaks, three trekkers came down from the mountain. Australia, Portland and the Netherlands, having met on the trail and hiked together. I had their company that evening and we enjoyed the vistas together. I consider the part of meeting people on of the most interesting and beautiful aspects of the trip.

Four 1p tents in line.

Woke up in the middle of the night, looked outside and I was in awe.

Last chunk of peanut butter — I enjoyed it at the best spot.

The campesina from the nearby farm, was checking out tickets and selling snacks.

A river crossing at the start of the day set the mood to “hard”.

The steepest, and most awkward uphill trail followed. Two hours of pushing, dragging, and balancing in the narrow trail on either loose rock or fine dirt — it was mentally exhausting. I haven’t moved slower in the mountains, even in climbing I couldn cover more elevation per hour.

Finished with the toughest pass.

A challenging, yet mesmerizing downhill followed.

At the campsite that supports the trekkers and mules.

That day I decided to camp at the predetermined campsites, which offered basic toilets and primarily served to manage trekker’s waste. Many hikers were around, and I met a couple from Munich that was on the trek — small world. Before setting up my tent, I started cooking, as it takes a lot of time to heat water with an alcohol stove at those altitudes.

A little girl who lived in a small settlement on the hill joined me with her baby sister. She was curious about what I was cooking and she wanted to help me setup my tent. Her mother picked her up eventually as I was finishing with the tent. Hungry as I was, I checked the noodles and they looked ready, after all they didn’t need to boil. I also added some protein in the dinner, a can of greater sardines — it felt wrong, like cat food, but hunger is irrational. I mixed everything and called it dinner.

I went to bed early to rest and the sound of trekkers having fun in the big tents was a lullaby. In the silence of midnight, I woke up with nausea, and in a few seconds I threw myself out of the tent, chest on the ground, vomiting everything I had eaten four hours earlier. I realized the water I used was from a stream further up, near animals and their feces, unfiltered and unboiled — two mistakes I paid for.

I immediately sent satellite messages to two doctor friends, informing them of my situation and requesting advice. The ability to communicate provided immediate relief.

Diarrhoea kicked in too, and on my way to the toilets I couldn’t stand and vomited again. I felt horrible, weak, cold, and still full. After another cycle of vomiting and reaching the toilets and it was already morning. I hadn’t managed to sleep, and it was obvious that I wasn’t going anywhere that day. I took antibiotics, and slept through the day. While the midday sun was cooking my tent, I was deep in my sleeping bag not breaking a sweat.

“Amigo”, the campsite warden called to me. “Boleto”, he said, requesting that I get the ticket for the area. I explained my situation after paying and he checked on me a couple of times during the day — I was doing better.

The day passed with filtering water, shaking electrolytes, and sleeping. I received support messages from friends and family — heartwarming.

Being sick in the mountains on my own was a first. I wanted to move and get out of the route. The next day, I had recovered from the poisoning but I was weak and cold. Pushing the bike became even tougher but this was the only way forward.

I had to stop every few meters — I felt weak and needed to catch my breath.

Another pass done — my mood was elevated.

I felt better when the sun was out, being in the mood to take photos was certainly a good indicator.

After days, I checked my temperature measured by my watch, I was 2.5 degrees above the baseline that night, indicating fever which was exactly what I felt.

That was the last pass, rough, cold, and wild. I was happy that it was over.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Poem by Robert Frost — The Road Not Taken.

The diversion in the Cordillera Huayhuash indicated with teal.

I followed the route indicated in Highlux Photograhy blog — many thanks!

The journey continues.