Motorbike RTW: Peru: Up,Up and Almost Away

The river valley oasis of Moquegua

SUNDAY 18th MARCH In beautiful sunshine, after a long good sleep, we leave The House aiming to complete the 159kms to Moquegua before lunch and filling up with fuel. The afternoon's ride of 266kms will empty the tank again, but be enough to get us to Puno, where we will stop for the night. Sounds reasonable? I mention to B over our lovely picnic lunch in the park, surrounded by palm trees and greenery, that my heart is notably racing, but put it down to a 'midday sugar slump' and gobble a few extra biscuits. We note on the Garmin that the elevation is 2000m above sea level, which is acceptable. Feeling better by refueling ourselves and the bike we then get lost finding our way out of town, around some diversions caused by a previously burst river and rockfalls.The Garmin didn't know about the disruption and got as confused as us with all the re-routing. It was time to follow our 'nose' so we ignored the GPS, went back into town and followed everybody else out of town. After all there really is only one road to Puno. This cost us valuable time and to this day we are not even sure if the time on the GPS had adjusted to Peru clock. With a full tank, we climbed and climbed up the twisty curvy hairpins, with stunning views both up and down.

Sunshine to Storm in a few minutes, leaving Moquegua

Higher and higher, around and around

SEE PHOTO of ROADS BELOW !

storm clouds approaching and nowhere to hide

We anxiously watched the elevation rise to 3000 metres, knowing what had happened in the North of Argentina (Land of a Million Colours). The arrival time indicated 7pm, which we calculated to be do-able, or perhaps we hadn't taken into account that perhaps the GPS time was incorrect and was more likely to be 9pm. We carried on, there was nowhere else to go, except back. The sun was still shining until 3500m when a dark mist enveloped the mountainside. The temperature dropped from 27degrees to 14degrees, then 9. The visibility reduced from way ahead to about 9 metres, which is about just enough not to go over the edge or get bumped from behind. B carefully picked his way around the corners searching for a stopping place.We desperately needed to get our warm inner liners and raingear on. There was absolutely nowhere to stop. The narrow road, dense mist, reduced visibility , on coming sporadic traffic and traffic behind us made stopping impossible. The Elevation rose to 4533m, then 4678m. We daren't stop as we knew we would be short of breath. The recognised advice is get down to safe levels, so we just kept riding, assuring ourselves that Puno would be lower. At 2degrees we found a little patch of grass by a lake and pulled off. It took ages to unfurl cold fingers, unzip the bags, shake out the suits and get warmer, all the while under laboured breathing and wobbling, shivering limbs.

The skies got darker and darker. Our watch showed 5pm, but it was nearer dusk. At 4570 m B saw a light on in a building up ahead. He stopped the bike, stumbled off, staggered in through the door and declared himself unable to carry on. I followed behind to find him shivering uncontrollably. Action mode kicked in and I stripped the bags off the bike, as well as the clothes of B, replacing wet with dry. The lady cafe owner brought us boiling water for our flask and hotwaterbottle. I made some instant packet soup from our supplies and placed his soggy feet on the hotwaterbottle. The lady owner quietly set about re-arranging her chairs and tables to accommodate all our gear. We nearly filled her place with sleeping bags, thermals, wet jackets, helmets,trousers and gloves. B shivered and shivered for a long time. I was still in full rain gear, balaclava and helmet, keeping warm by rushing around. By nightfall, B had calmed down a bit, so before getting myself into dry clothes, I ventured out in the cold and mist to cover the bike. It was parked just off the road, so I turned the bike cover shiny side outwards, wrapped the hi-vis jacket over the handlebars and clicked the disc lock in place. This mundane task required a mammoth effort, being so short of breath and unsteady on my feet.

When I got back to the cafe, the lady handed me a key and beckoned for us to follow her to a 'hospedaje' next door. I left B sitting at the table whilst she helped me carry all the belongings across the puddled pathway, then we supported him as he dragged himself down the path into the room and collapsed on the bed, covering him over with about 5 soft and superwarm alpaca blankets. With a huge sigh she then indicated that the bike was not in a safe place, so I undid all the covers and locks, roused B from his cosy slumber, helped him 'foot' the bike up the ramp and into the room. The bed and warm clothes were calling me very loudly now, so finally I took off my helmet and raingear, ready to settle in for a warm dry safe sleep.

HEALTH CENTRE

Cuddling up to B, whose shivering had subsided, I heard him say "I can't feel my left thumb". "You're probably lying on it a bit funny," I mutter from beneath layers of soft warm alpacas. The next few sounds were a blurt of incoherent noises. That woke me up. "What's going on?" I barked.

Panic set in. I ordered B in a slightly hysterical tone. "Sit up, what's your name? Count backwards from 10. Stick your tongue out". It veered to his left.

Pouring the remaining hot water in the flask over a bunch of dried Coca leaves and shouting " Drink this", I fled out of the room across the path to the now shut cafe.

Only the stars lit the way, but I found the metal door and beat upon it with all my might, screaming " Doctora, Doctora" . The man owner of the cafe, still wearing his construction workers suit, bedecked with reflective stripes, unbolted the door, took one look at me and grabbing his torch, ran down the road. In the pitch black of the night, lit only by stars, he looked like some bizarre X-Factor contestant as he zig-zagged from door to door. I rushed back to B, sitting and sipping the coca tea, in between counting backwards from 10 a bit more coherently now. The response time beat all records and within 5 minutes, the door opened and 6 people filed in. A Doctor, a Nurse, a Pharmacist, a Psychologist

and two Onlookers. Where on earth had they come from??

Startled, surprised and utterly distraught I proceeded to explain his symptoms in my best Spanish and sign language. After assessing B, confirming no allergies, HBP or diabetes he was given a shot in the bum, anti-nausea tablets and a supply for 3 days of mega Aspirin. Cost 2 euros.

Wonders will never cease and it was with another huge sigh that I cuddled up to B again as he tossed and turned and moaned all night. Our room had no heating, it was full of wet clothes and a bike, but somehow the alpaca blankets kept us warm.

So where are we actually? This was my mission to find out the next morning, after the longest coldest most distressing night ever.

We are in Titire, a rescue station at 4700m, 104 kms short of Puno. It is a centre where the construction workers live at the midpoint between Moquegua and Puna, where the Alpaca skins are collected and dried, where the ministry of Health has a service centre which covers a huge area, providing rescue missions to one and all. I wander over to the 'hospital' to collect some Paracetomol for my raging headache and spy out the facilities: a Trauma board, Obs and Gynae room, large radio and aerial station. There is No

wi-fi here.

In between resting my limbs and catching my breath, I lay out the clothes in the cold sun, give B his medicine and snuggle under the blankets again. This goes on for 3 days. It's exhausting.

We have a food supply of 'smash' (dried potato flakes), tin of tuna and soup. B is tempted to try a little bit and I sample the soup that the cafe lady brings over. I find the Bach Rescue Remedy Drops in one of our bags and liberally dose the PGTips tea. I wander down the street to find a group of ladies keeping warm on the tarmac and knitting with alpaca wool. I give in to temptation and treat myself to a genuine handmade authentic hand crafted straight from the heights of Peruvian culture Gloves, in exchange for a few 'sol' and a photo.

We are surrounded by snowy-capped peaks which account for the cold and the perfect conditions for farming alpacas. I watch the locals set about their out their daily tasks, but need to rest every few minutes. B sleeps and sleeps. When we left the hospital in Chos Malal, we were given a disposable plastic peebottle. Once again it came in handy. For girls, it's not so easy, however our cooking pot transformed itself into a pee pot. The only loo facility was a 'long drop' amongst the rubble behind the building, protected by black plastic bags nailed to a wooden frame. I prefer the cooking pot.

TUESDAY NIGHT 20th MARCH

At sunset, I hear a roar of motorbikes and braving the snow, rain, mist and dark, pop my head out of our room to see about 6 bikers dismount and stumble in to the one other cafe in Titire. Curiosity got to me and the fact that here was human life on bikes, I wandered over. "Hellos" were exchanged and I thought this would be a good motivator for B to get up and be strong. One of the blokes helped me to get B over to the social gathering, where we chatted, drank soup and watched them shiver and shake. They too had ridden from Tacna, been caught in appalling conditions, but were going to dry out, warm up and continue to the 104 kms in the cold and rain and dark to Puno. All from Argentina, we had a merry time and were sad to see them go. I think this was the turning point for B as the next morning he declared himself fit enough to ride again, at least knowing it was all 'downhill'.

WEDNESDAY 21st MARCH

Argentinian friends propping up B

Sad to see you go, good luck

Sunday seems a long time ago now, when we had set off from sunny Tacna. so much has happened and being cut off from contact and communication with family and friends was not a good feeling. I did make it my daily task to switch SPO Ton, send a location beacon and goodnight signal, knowing our virtual guardians are watching us. It's a misty11 degrees when we mount the bike and with trepidation set off to find a better level of 3500 metres at Puno.