Crossing the Andes, the hard way

Three friends, three bikes, high altitudes, and mechanical issues.

A new day, a new bike. New company, and a new leg of the adventure. Home is where the road is, and I’m glad to be back.

My months-long Southbound journey on my entirely unsuitable, weathered, battered, yet still incredibly beautiful RC390 has come to a pause, and I find myself on a brand new $1,800 Chinese dirt bike. In my ear, the eternal sound of wind and engine revs has been joined by the jolly banter of my old friend Tibet and my new friend Alex, who have flown down to join me on our tour of every mechanic’s shop in South America. The first major site was last night, when my gear shifter stopped working with less than 200km on the bike, and Tibet had to tow me into the nearest town. Only teething problems, I’m sure!

All bikes once again in running condition, we hit the road. It’s only a handful of kilometers until the unremarkable hairpin in a small village where our man on the ground Toby has instructed us to take a left down a narrow dusty unmapped dirt path. The plan is executed, and our gravelly Andean adventure opens up in front of us.

“Toby said to turn left at Pariamarca, and then take all the rights”.

“All of them? Some of these rights look pretty sketchy.”

“All the reasonable rights, then.”

“When do we stop turning right?”

And so it continues. Dirt turns to gravel, then gravelly dirt, then a small river crossing, then a signposted fork. Neither town appears on our maps, so we ask someone, fail to understand his Spanish, and take the right. The scenery is beautiful.