Day 11

Hiking: 4.4 mi / 2300 ft. climbing
Biking: 22.3 mi / 8.2 mph / 2390 ft. climbing
Home: Nancy’s AirBNB

All the exhilaration and anguish that our lifestyle can bring was compressed into this one very long day.

It began with a repeat of our ride from five days ago, up 2400 feet on paved PE-14A to Pitec, and the trailhead to Laguna Churup. The ride was just as excellent, and in a sign of our improving fitness at altitude, we did it 10 minutes faster. But this time, instead of turning back down, we would continue up on foot. We had carefully packed so that we could each take a backpack with us and leave minimal other stuff behind on the bikes (mainly our helmets). I feel like most other bike tourers would think us insane for leaving our bikes unattended for hours in South America (even though they were locked to a road sign), but part of our last trip up here was to scout out what it felt like. And it felt pretty safe, essentially empty except for adventurers doing the hike, and they (or their taxi drivers) just don’t seem like the bike-thief demographic. Plus we locked them in plain view, which would hopefully discourage anyone from trying to cut our locks.

The hike immediately starts upward, along a broad and well-engineered path with hundreds of stone steps. I tried to encourage Rabbit Rett to walk slowly, with the idea that we would be faster overall if we could keep moving steadily, vs. needing to stop to catch our breath every 20 seconds. The altitude is definitely a bitch!

Due to our 2.5-hour bike ride to the trailhead, it felt to me like we were the last hikers of the day heading up, and that was effectively confirmed by the rangers collecting our National Park entrance fee (S/30, or ~US$8 per person) while passing us on their way down for the day, rather than at their official station further up.

We continued plodding upward, step by step, and soon the broad path become more trail-like, and we even hit a near-vertical section with a chain to hold onto. I knew that the trail would eventually split, and we would have a choice between a steep, longer, but “normal” trail to the left, or a more-direct, but more chains-and-rock-climbing route to the right. Neither seemed like an obvious winner, so we essentially flipped a coin and went left. The final few hundred feet of elevation seemed interminable, as we neared 15,000 feet above sea-level (higher than the peak of the tallest mountain in the Continental US), since we could only go about 10 steps before needing to pause and breathe. But finally, 2.1 miles and 2h15m in (less than 1mph!), we reached a giant rounded rock with a view to the lake below. We quickly bundled up against the cloudy breeze, plopped down, and scarfed down our packed egg-salad sandwiches.

We didn’t have any time to dally, and couldn’t perform our usual lengthy debate over which route to take back down, the devil we knew, or the devil we didn’t (except that it would be a scramble over rocks with chains required). We again essentially flipped a coin and headed down toward the lakeshore and the unknown route.

The path down appeared to essentially head us straight down a waterfall, but luckily there were a couple of Swiss girls (we weren’t the last ones up here after all!) who had come up this way and were able to lead us on the path down. It was straight down the waterfall, but they were at least able to guide us to a route with the chains and occasional iron rungs. But there were still some super-technical bits with no assistance, and it was definitely the most “rock-climbing” hiking we’ve ever done. The mountain-goat girls quickly left us behind, but with their guidance the route soon became more obvious.

Now through the all the challenges, and just “easy” downhill to go, we could finally soak in the magic of the day. Now we truly were the only people up in this vast alpine landscape. It seemed we no longer needed to be concerned about storms rolling in, and with the late-afternoon sun putting its patchwork of spotlights on the complex folds and angles of the mountains, we felt tremendously lucky to have the luxury to experience this place at this hour, when everyone else had to be on a schedule to catch their transport back to town.

At one point Rett climbed onto a big boulder and sat down to bask in the sunset. In this open-air cathedral, with a more-direct connection to the heavens than we’ve ever had, she suddenly heard the voice of her mom, saying her name. It’s the first time in the four years since her mom’s passing that Rett has heard her voice, and if our day until this point hadn’t been emotional, this certainly flung the doors to her heart wide open.

After tears and a long hug, we continued down the final segment of the trail. Half-a-mile away I could zoom in with my camera to see our bikes still unmolested, though it still took a while to reach them because the too-tall rock stairs were wreaking havoc on Rett’s knees, forcing her to go backwards down many of them, with me holding her hands for support.

With the sun setting, we quickly repacked our bags into bike mode (under the curious eyes and noses of several dogs), and set off back down the road. One last colectivo was collecting hikers and villagers for a trip down, and we kept pace ahead of him for much of the way.

Then, 98% of the way through one of our most epic and exhilarating days, disaster struck. Coming downhill on the straight, wide, concrete road into the outskirts of Huaraz, I looked back to a couple of dogs that came screaming out at us from the curb, and when I turned back forward Rett’s bike was wildly fishtailing in front of me. My heart froze as she tried her damnedest to bring it back under control, but there was nothing for it, and the whipping was dragging her to the oncoming side of the street, where a colectivo (minivan taxi) was heading straight for her. Thankfully the driver saw her and managed to bring the van to a stop just as Rett and the bike slid down onto the concrete, inches from the front wheels.

Even before I stopped my own bike and leaped off to run to her, I knew what had happened: she had (instinctually) glanced back at the same dogs, and at that precise moment, hit one of the sewer covers in the middle of the lane that are inexplicably in raised domes 3-4 inches high. Once that dome kicked her wheels sideways, she had no chance.

The colectivo driver was out of his van to give aid just as quickly as I got to her, and several residents were there nearly as fast. I had to fight them off from dragging her up too quickly, but miraculously she was able to move and get to her feet with minimal assistance. Her elbow hurt, along with a spot under her ribs, but she wasn’t bleeding and just wanted to get home and in bed. The shock and terror meant my Spanish skills had completely evaporated, though Rett could say “no, no”, when the small group gathered around kept saying “hospital”. It was nearly impossible trying to figure out how to get us a taxi of some sort, and how to deal with our bikes, but eventually one of the women called her son, who spoke English, and put him on the phone with us.

Ciro arrived some minutes later in a taxi, and by that point Rett’s adrenaline had settled enough to reveal other pains, and she finally agreed that maybe getting checked out wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. The people who had come to our aid from the small shop opened their garage and directed us to store our bikes there like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then Rett, me, Ciro, and the taxi driver got in the cab. The first clinic we went to was closed on this Saturday night, but Clinica San Francisco de Asis was open, and Ciro led us inside and helped us get checked in. Rett was lowered into a wheelchair, still wearing her bike gloves (and with my down jacket around her shoulders). It wasn’t long until we were wheeled in to see the doctor, whose office felt a bit more like a lawyer’s. He performed a quick examination, and with the help of his assistant who spoke some English (but mostly through their demeanor), we learned that nothing was worse than we feared. Rett was prescribed a load of unknown pain medication (including an injection the butt applied on the spot), given directions to return for a follow-up, and then we got in another taxi.

This time, without Ciro, it took us a while to figure out how to communicate directions to the driver (he may have just been stupid), but eventually we made it back to our AirBNB. I was able to help Rett get showered, and cooked up some ramen (I don’t know how we survived so long without eating). It was already clear that we would not be riding off across Peru in a few days as we had been planning, but that would be a topic for later. For now, we were both just thankful that we were alive, safe, and cared-for.