“Embrace the risk”, says Henry Brown’s subconscious, precisely the opposite of what comes naturally to his cautious, risk-assessing self. Mr. Brown is Paddington’s foster father from the children’s books (played by the Earl of Grantham from ‘Downton Abbey’), and the risk he is embracing is getting on a plane and flying from his comfortable home in London to Peru, overriding all his fears and better judgement (“land of altitude sickness, and uncharted jungles. Plus three of the world’s most dangerous roads, well, at least on a Harley”).

When I sleepily had selected ‘Paddington in Peru’ from the list of in-flight movies, I’d had no idea there would be a scene that spoke so directly to me and my mixed emotions. Of course, that meant I was already on the flight to Lima, so while I no longer needed the extra encouragement to “embrace the risk”, it was comforting to learn that I had a fictional brother-in-arms nervously flying with me on this journey into the unknown.

When looking at people nomadically traveling the world on bicycles, I think it’s natural to assume that the decision to do so is “easy”, part of the inherent adventurous character of such people. I assume the same about fellow travelers who I read for information/inspiration. And maybe it is easy for those people! But it isn’t for me. Like Mr. Brown, I need to actively suppress my fears and doubts, and goad myself to “embrace the risk”, leveraging the logical and well-earned knowledge that my future self will likely be incredibly-thankful to my current self for the many payoffs that come from that risk-embrace.

This leap to South America feels like the hardest I have had to work to embrace that risk though. The amount of time we hope to be on the continent (at least 9 months), the difficulty of the riding, and the language barrier combine to make it feel significantly scarier than New Zealand, or even Baja, Mexico. But also I’m three years older than I was when we crossed into Mexico, and it feels like my risk-tolerance continues to decrease with age. That’s part of why, when we did some long-term-planning a few months ago, we decided to do South America first, rather than “easier” Europe.

So I’m incredibly grateful for how amazing Rett has been in the run-up to this leap. First of all, she’s the risk-embracing Paddington/Mrs. Brown: without her “c’mon, let’s just do it!” attitude, this is an adventure I never would have talked myself into on my own. And then she has worked very hard to do what she can to decrease the risks I feel. She has been delving deeply into Duolingo, to the point where her Spanish knowledge now easily exceeds the rudimentary bits I have picked up through osmosis (which was not the case in Baja). She’s lightened the load she carries on her bike, which will make every bit of travel over insane terrain easier. And she’s taken on a more-proactive role in managing our daily activities.

But how did I get to be learning about risk-embrace on this one-way flight 35,000 feet over Central America in the dead of night? It all started 10 hours earlier, when Mom & Dad drove us and all our gear to O’hare Airport. We have our usual set of luggage: the two boxed bikes, two blue Ikea ‘Frakta’ bags containing a rear pannier, a front pannier, and a handlebar bag each, and then as carry-ons, we each have a rear pannier, and a front backpack pannier as our “personal item”.

We booked our three-leg itinerary with LATAM, a South American airline, but the first leg (Chicago to Atlanta) was operated by Delta. Check-in with the friendly agent was the easiest we’ve ever had, with no questions about the bikes, or guff about the somewhat fragile Ikea bags (after previous experiences with split seams and abraded holes, I had reinforced them with Gorilla Tape, and double-bagged one of them since we had an extra). The bikes weighed in at 49 lbs. as expected (and the agent kindly shared that Delta’s policy is to allow a grace limit up to 52 lbs., though I still would never rely on that), while the Ikea bags were 44 and 39 lbs. It was so effortless that it was only when we were in the security line that I realized we hadn’t been charged anything extra for our baggage like I’d been expecting. Was it all built into our ticket price? Who knows; I’m not going back to argue!

I always put our two folding bike locks into my carry-on (to prevent them from making our checked bags too heavy), and they always get flagged by security. This time, I took them out of the bag and put them in the tray in the hopes that a secondary inspection wouldn’t be required. I watched the x-ray monitor as the agent zoomed in on them, rotated them, thought, and then…circled them and diverted the tray to secondary inspection. Ugh. At least it was a little faster since they didn’t need to open my bag. I had decided to try out Voile Straps to replace the bungee cords for strapping things to my rear rack, and one advantage already (that Rett thought of) is that they can be used as shoulder straps for our panniers, making inching through airport lines much easier.

Our flight to Atlanta was delayed a bit due to storms there, but due to Hartsfield’s excellent layout and train between terminals, and the fact that we didn’t need to retrieve our baggage meant we had no problem making our next flight to Lima.

With a 10:30pm CDT departure and 5am CDT arrival (conveniently Peru is in the same time zone as Chicago!), it was unclear what kind of meal service we would get; it turned out to be a decent “dinner”, and then just granola bars for “breakfast”, and lessons from ‘Paddington in Peru’ in between!

Coastal Lima was shrouded in fog, as it almost always is apparently, so I didn’t feel bad that we were immediately departing. Immigration was simple, no visas are required, we showed our AirBNB booking in Huaraz, asked for and were granted a 90-day stay. Collecting our luggage, a couple handlers came in the door carrying Rett’s boxed bike upside down. Should be no problem, I pack them so the can stand on any side, but we soon saw that it wasn’t just because the baggage handlers were morons: at some point the boxes had been sitting in (rain)water, or dragged across wet ground, and most of the staples holding the bottom closed had been ripped out. Ugh. Remember for next time: add tape on the bottom! Otherwise the boxes appeared in good shape.

With everything stacked on a cart, we headed to the domestic departures counter (there was no explicit customs check of our baggage, like there had been in New Zealand) to check in to our flight to Huaraz. This was probably the most stressful bit, as the clerks didn’t speak English, and with our negligible Spanish we didn’t know why it was taking so long to get our baggage checked. We asked for tape to re-seal our box, but that didn’t get much response, and with less than 3 hours to connect, we didn’t really have time to seek out packing supplies elsewhere. But then I realized that I had a load of Gorilla Tape stuck to our Ikea bags! I began peeling it off while the agent dithered, and reapplying it to the cardboard box, and it stuck well. Phew! At some point it sounded like maybe we would have to pay something extra for the bikes, but once again we were handed our claim tags without any charge.

Arriving at the gate, we had just enough time for Rett to pick up some breakfast for us at a Starbucks (another example of her taking the lead, and ordering in Spanish, in a way she would not have done a year ago), and then we boarded our third leg, coffees in-hand. The 40-minute flight time to Huaraz would lift us to 10,000 feet, far easier and faster than riding it (or even taking a bus). And now in daylight, above the fog bank, we began to see the gleaming white peaks of the Cordillera Blanca. This is why we “embrace the risk”!

The “Huaraz airport” is actually about 20 miles outside of Huaraz (likely the only flattish stretch of ground in the deep river valley between the Cordilleras Blanca and Negra), and while it would have been possible to reassemble our bikes in the comfortable sun at the airport and ride them 1000 feet uphill, Rett had wisely booked an Aeroexpreso shuttle to make the final leg of our nearly-day-long journey easier. On account of the bikes, they asked us to book three seats, but it still only cost us US$21. Rett believed they would take us directly to the door of our AirBNB, which seemed impossible for that price, but they did!

Eva, our warm and wonderful hostess, was there to greet us (we’d been able to arrange a 9am check-in), help get our baggage and still-boxed bikes in the house, and give us the tour. Entirely in Spanish, she did an excellent job of speaking simply, and using gestures to explain the various systems, and we feel like we understood most of it. She had 3rd-breakfast of soft cheese and rolls waiting for us, along with coca leaves and a Thermos of hot water if we wanted to make a tea to sooth altitude symptoms.

All risks forgotten, living in Peru suddenly feels correct, easy, and obvious!

Days 2-3

We have two weeks booked in Huaraz, to give us time to adjust, both to the altitude, and to the culture and everything else in this foreign country. For the first couple days I worked on getting the bikes back together, and while the idea of leaving our comfortable sanctuary raised my nerves every time, every time our “success” raised my confidence. Whether it was shopping at a grocery store, and learning that tap-to-pay works fine, or finding an ATM that didn’t charge fees (it took a couple tries, and Banco Nacional is the one, allowing 400 soles (~US$110) to be withdrawn per day), or best of all, hitting the bustling Central Market and collecting a load of fruit and vegetables (the branded supermarkets sell little to no produce), and even shrimp and salmon to cook up some healthy dinners with (for a grand total of US$16!)