Peru Great Divide — Laraos to Licapa

The decision to end my trip.

The most tranquil night I had.

Everything had become mundane, focused on efficiency and speed, constantly checking the distance to camp. Gone were the days of joy. If I were to finish the route on time, I had to push every day.

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This post is the continuation of the chapter below.

Weakened by sickness, with stormy weather shortening the days, the spontaneity faded. I kept going, riding whatever came — exhaustion and pain. Desperate, brief stops on passes, all to make my body suffer and mind to touch my soul.

Leaving Laraos behind, I also left as cellular reception; I used the last bit of it to connect.

A bit of a drizzle, a bite of milk chocolate, and a chance to zone out.

The pass ahead looked unwelcoming — my GPS showed intimidating grades.

Met two motorcyclists from Spain and Mexico; refreshing to have a chat!

Trucks used to cross here, but not any more; the mine closed a few years ago.

Entertaining myself while the camera shoots the last photos of the interval.

Quick lunch before I reach the other side of the pass — the side of snow and wind. You eventually learn that if a spot feels good to rest, you take it.

In the late afternoon, the weather cleared.

The abandoned mine.

Mining facilities were mostly left untouched.

A rare occasion where I set up camp in the warmth of the golden sun.

I was happy to end the day with a sunset and stretching.

In rare moments of tranquility, the golden sun touching my skin, warming my body, colouring the sky and filling me with courage. “It’s worth it”.

One of the most peaceful nights I had.

I took this picture to capture a feeling — when frozen fingers meet the first light of day — the comfort, warmth, and optimism.

Riding on this plateau for a day and a half at 4300 meters.

A desperate break to finish my last alfajores and cough endlessly from accidentally inhaling the leftover powdered sugar.

Finishing a short pass he approached me to chat. A lovely senior, we shared laughs trying to explain my journey. “Suerte” he said wishing me luck.

The most compact gravel I’ve ridden, I rolled like I was on tarmac.

The downhill to Acocambilla was a pleasure to ride.

Acocambilla; a small village to get a warm meal and a bed.

The feeling of arriving in a village after a long day, having internet, and enjoying a refreshing drink while waiting for food.

Vertical stratigraphy; the bottom layers of rock are older than the top.

I’ve heard Peru is a paradise for geologists.

Taking a small break at the village attracted a bunch of kids; they were interested on my bike and camera!

Huevo sandwich at the top of the pass tastes different.

Delighted to reach Huancavelica to resupply and rest. It was the only city of the route.

Finding my pace and joy again was what I needed to reach my steady state — until I got sick again, weakened further, muscles aching from laying in bed, my gut twisting with every breath, dragging myself in the smelly toilet. Walking through the city with shivers, missteps, cold sweat, and powerless legs, asking for medicine and bread. When you’re solo, you need to take care of yourself. “Enfermido, metrozinadole o tinidazole?”.

A new low; cooking pasta in the shower was my treat after eating plain bread and crackers for three days.

Had I eaten too many different things on my rest day? It must have been strawberries that poisoned me; regardless, my rest day became six days of recovery.

I was mentally exhausted. I’d lost my pace; there was no improvement but only decay. “It’s part of the journey”, I comforted myself, but my time was running out.

The city noises and smells made me sick. I couldn’t imagine riding in the mountains again. Yet, after six days I got back on the saddle and felt at home.

The mind-opening people I meet on my journey; Andy.

On my last day of recovery, I met Andy. “Sailed the seas on a sailboat we repaired with seven other like-minded folks, reached our destination, sold it and went our separate ways” was one of the stories he shared. He has been traveling the world on and off with his bicycle since 2015.

Riding up the first pass after Huancavelica; I was feeling unwell and took frequent breaks.

Things got strange; I ended up pitching myself to ensure I’m awake. My body moved but my awareness lagged by a few seconds; similar to having had a couple of drinks. “It must be the antibiotics”, I thought. Had I left too soon? I wanted to move; I couldn’t stay in the city any longer. I preferred nature’s toilet over my hostel’s. Whatever I used to ride before was now a struggle, even at 50% of the distance. I couldn’t think clearly or ride straight. Was it a mistake to be riding in this condition?

I was lucky to set up camp just before the storm.

While planning my trip, my father asked me what I’m scared of. “Electric storms at high altitudes”, was my answer. That evening, I experienced the most intense storm of my adventure. I would see flashes, a second later, the lightning blast would shake my body and press my lungs. I was mentally prepared for such phenomena, and it wasn’t the first time I would experienced them; still intimidating.

Waking up at 4500 meters, the surrounded peaks were lightly snow-covered and my bike was frozen.

Tiny villages on the plateau looked deserted, but there were people around, and even a small shop.

Pucapampa; another tiny village

I wasn’t feeling like myself; I was only thinking about resting in my tent. Taking photos, something I enjoyed, had become a chore. “This is a nice shot”, I thought many times, only to find excuses to not take it — I just didn’t have the energy.

Huayraccasa pass 4969 meters. There was an active mine nearby and had to wait for twenty trucks to pass.

It became common to get snowed on passes.

How a brief moment of exhaustion looked.

A couple of alpacas passing by stared at me and I stared back at them; somehow it was comforting.

I could easily take a nap there but my camping spot was only an hour away.

At the top of the pass, after going through abandoned roads reclaimed by nature with vegetation, ruts, and landslides.

This would make my last camping spot, but I didn’t know it yet.

Throughout this Andean traverse, I have always admired the contrast of the terrain, vegetation, and skies.

The boss for the rear rack cracked my frame.

Heavy duty tire-ups to reinforce it.

As I mounted my panniers, I noticed my rack moving more than usual. Inspecting the mounts I saw the crack. I felt indifferent, almost as if I had expected something similar to happen. Fortunately, I caught it early enough to reinforce it — braking could have been a big issue.

I didn’t mind the suffering, but I started to feel unhappy; I was losing my interest, and once more, felt in a rush. I even questioned whether I should fix my bike or not to continue, although I knew it had to be done. “Is this frame damage the end of my trip?”. “I won’t come back on the route once I am in a city”. The damage planted the seed of stopping, making me realize that it was a valid option.

Given my pace and the route ahead, I would barely reach Abancay by late October, just days before returning home, leaving no time for other experiences I wanted. It felt like my journey was coming to a natural conclusion with more experiences and insights than I expected.

There was nothing to “finish”, it was a route ridden by a couple years ago that became established and was given a name: the Peru Great Divide. There was no true start or finish, only suggestions.

My last night on the road in Licapa.

I never quitted a race apart from accidents and injuries; I approached them as training when things didn’t go well. But this was not racing. This was about finding balance and making choices best for me.

Waiting for a bus to Ayacucho. There was no time schedule and I had to wait two hours.

Meeting with Alwin once more in Cusco!

Suffering forces you to look deeper. The cycling chapter closed; I went with the flow. As I write this in Cusco, I feel satisfied with my decision.

It’s been a journey of self-exploration — a thousand kilometres in the Peruvian Andes. I’m grateful for all I experienced.