Pan American Highway by bike

Monday 23 April 1973. Casma to Camp 44: 194 kms

At about 4 am I made an early start as the moon was still high in the sky. Not much traffic, reasonable road. During the day I had to climb one high hill and no trouble with the bike. As it got lighter, traffic also increased and when I got closer to Chimbote, the traffic was heavy. I am now happy to have spent the weekend in Casma, and not in Chimbote, which combines in its borders a very smelly fish industry and a foul smoking mining industry. The southern suburbs stretch for about 15 kms to the south. In town I had a glass of milk, which is an expensive drink here, leaving the smell of fishmeal, exhaust fumes and open sewers behind me to replace them with the fresh smells of the open air. The next stretch was long and hot through endless sandplains. I stopped twice for a cup of coffee. Not much traffic until came to Virú, the beginning of a green valley. Sugarcane and asparagus. Had some lunch in Virú and a wash in the river. Back on the road, I first had to go up a long sandhill with increasing wind from behind, and just before Moche downhill at a frightening speed. Traffic was heavy just before and after Trujillo and the condition of the road downright bad. In Trujillo I checked out a number of bike shops, looking for tyres and tubes, but without success. Checked for mail at the post office, nothing there either, so I left the city just after sunset, found a place to eat where I ate some rice, and a bit further I found a place to park myself for the night with a stone wall separating me from the road and the wind.

Tuesday 24 April 1973. Camp 44 to Camp 45: 146 kms.

Until about 2 pm heavily overcast sky, and after that is was hot again. Mostly a flat road of varying quality and varying degrees of heavy traffic. Scenery as previous days: desert with every now and then valleys with vegetation. Mostly sugar cane here. Not many birds or flowers here. The “new” birds this week were vultures and canaries. I had breakfast in Chicama, lunch in San Pedro de Lloc, and dinner in a restaurant a little before I got to Pacanga. I had a bath in a river just before Pacanga and took the opportunity to patch my two leaking spare tubes. Today three punctures, all old leaks where the patches have molten off the tube due to the hot bitumen. Camped at a small creek.

Wednesday 25 April 1973. Camp 45 to Camp 46: 131 kms

A very hot day with about 5 punctures. The road was almost entirely flat and of poor quality. Not a good night’s rest because of the mosquitoes and my stomach issues. I decided I will have to go and see a doctor one of these days. Decided to fast today and see if that helps. I had a cup of coffee in Mocupe and another one in Chiclayo. (Note: I am a firm believer that going for a bike ride and having a cup of coffee will cure almost anything. This has not been scientifically proven, so don’t take my word for it. But if you like riding your bike, and if you like a cup of coffee, it is as good a medicine as any.)
At that point my tyres started to leak again. The front tyre is completely worn down and in one place it had torn, and I had to sew it together again. Patching the punctures has become so routine, that I can do it quick enough before it spoils my state of mind. But it does take time, and when you add the poor condition of the road, you will understand the short distance I covered today. The last part was going away from the beach (=desert) and was actually quite pretty: high mountains on both sides of the road, dense tropical forest, a beautiful sunset and a quiet road. Found a nice river to camp at just before Motupe. The water was clear and good to drink. Had a nice bath before turning in.

Thursday 26 April 1973. Camp 46 near Motupe to Camp 47: 100 kms

I had breakfast in Motupe, and a bit more to eat in a roadside café. Discovered my stomach was still as bad as it was before my day of fasting. Up till Olmos things went OK, but then it got hot. No wind and a very poor road. The road sometimes was a bad bitumen road, and sometimes a reasonable gravel road. Dull scenery: bushes. On my right and not too far off: high mountains. Every now and then I had to climb. I had to patch another flat tyre in Inociumles and I took some time resting there. By now both tyres are leaking on a regular basis. In Olmost I had some lunch, but it comes out pretty soon afterwards, so nothing stays in to give me some energy. Because it was a dark moon-less night, and the road condition was so poor, I went to sleep at nightfall. Which is a shame, because the traffic died down while the wind started freshening.

The past few days, I have been making up the balance about this trip and had come to the conclusion that it would be wiser to end this journey right here. My reasons were:
1. I am tired and not enjoying myself at all.
2. I am harming my body by continuing, not a good idea
3. My tyres and tubes are not going to make it to the border, and I can see two solutions:
a. Ask my father to send me new tyres and tubes from the Netherlands
b. Buy new wheels
The first solution would take a lot of time and money, neither of which I have in abundance, and the second solution would be costly as I would probably also have to buy new brakes to fit the new wheels. Also I don’t have any idea what size wheels they have in Equador and Colombia. Not necessarily the same as in Peru. (Note: Remember, this was in the time before you could google such information; I had no way of finding out the simplest bit of information.)
4. The idea of going back “home” to the Netherlands in a few weeks made me very happy inside.

My reasons against this solution were:
1. One likes to finish what one starts
2. I would have to sell my bike, and probably loose money on that deal.

That’s about it.

Although I hate to give up, to just keep on going stubbornly I would be chasing after the wind and nothing but vanity. Amazingly enough it did not bother me much that I would not be seeing a bunch of countries. I have decided to quit right here and now and hitchhike with bike and all to Piura. That already made me feel better and stay there for the weekend. (Note: that shows I had completely overcome my sense of shame of quitting, as I was always very principled, never to accept rides when I was on a bike trip. And if I had, I would leave my bike behind, get what I needed, and then hitch hike back to my bike.

Friday 27 April 1973. Camp 47 to Piura: 31 kms by bike the rest by truck.

Slept late, then rode slowly (because of the condition of the road) to the turn off to Buenos Aires (Perú) where I had a cup of tea. Soon afterwards got a ride.

This is the end of my bike journey through Latin America.

I arrived in Piura at 1 pm. Went to the hospital where the doctor checked me out free of charge and prescribe chlorostrep tablets. I am allowed to eat. He also gave me the name of a Dutch missionary couple who live in Piura. Had lunch, and checked myself in in a hotel. Had a shower and cut half of my beard off. Then to a barber to trim my hair to normal proportions. I already feel like another person. Then off to a bike shop where I sold my bike for the equivalent of fl. 225,- Visited some friends in the evening and watched TV together. (Note: No idea who these friends may have been.)

This will be my last letter. I expect that you will receive this letter before I send you a telegram with the date of my arrival home.
I am planning to go to Santa Ana, USA, which is the address where Wycliffe Bible Translators have their office, and then see when I will come to the Netherlands. I am writing this on Saturday morning. I am going to get some new clothes, so that in two days I will changed form a dusty vagabond to a well-smelling normal person again.

I got the address of the Dutch missionaries and will look them up later today. I already feel a lot better after just a few tablets! I checked my weight yesterday afternoon: 63 kgs! And yesterday evening: 73 kgs, so will have to check it again in a while. So, that is all the good news.

In September 2019 I added the following postscript:
1. The missionary was Leen Kolle; he told me I did not have to go to the USA at all, as I could take the training in England, which is what I did a few months later, and where I met Pam, who had come there from the USA. We also got married that same year, so 1973 had been quite a year.
2. After the weekend I took a bus to the border with Ecuador and from there a passenger ferry to Guayaguil as that was the nearest international airport. On that ferry my backpack was stolen (with my passport and money inside) but after alerting the captain, the crew soon found it hidden under a tarpaulin with all contents in tact, and I was then told to give up my hammock in 2nd class and move up to the bunks in 1st class to protect me from any reprisals by the thieves. No objection there.

3. I called home from Guayaguil, found out that Kees and Greet (my oldest brother and his wife) had become parents of my first nephew Jasper who would be baptised the next Sunday. I decided to fly home with Lufthansa as this would get me home by Saturday the 5th of May, our national Liberation Day. So, I came home with all the flags flying!

Monday 16 April 1973. Nazca to Camp 39: 190 kms

I had left the door to my room open, so the light of the setting moon would wake me up. The first part of the road was in the dark but enough moonlight to keep me missing most of the rocks and potholes. Once the moon was down it got dark for a bit, but not long enough to stop me.
(Note: Everyone has heard of the Nazca Lines. I passed these in the dark, and I don’t even remember considering to stop and have a look. Not much of a sightseer I am)

All the way to Palpa the road stayed narrow and in poor condition. Every now and then the road crosses through lush green valleys with cotton, orange groves, bananas and sugar cane. I got to Palpa before 8 am. Then the only hill to climb for today: a few kilometres up a steep climb followed by a few hundred yards through a tunnel. The condition of the road was great, but the scenery was drab and monotonous. An incredibly large sand plain with on both sides some low hills. I had lunch at the exit to Ocucaje.

Ica Cathedral
And here I arrived into another fertile area with lots of irrigation canals, and modern agricultural machinery trying to get optimum crops out of the soil. Especially cotton fields and vineyards. As a result more traffic, more buses, school children in nice uniforms and bad manners. In Ica I took a picture of the cathedral and had a bowl of soup. The town is surrounded by large mounds of sand. By 3 pm I was back on the road. A bit more green, and then back to more sand. A strong head wind gave me three options: 1. Wait until the wind dies down, 2. Make camp and get started again tomorrow, and 3. Just keep going regardless. I decided to do all three: I waited for a while and the wind did go down somewhat, then with decreasing wind and increasing darkness I carried on towards the coast. The heavy traffic meant I could not keep going very long in the darkness.

There are a large number of crosses by the side of the road remembering someone who died there. If that was not enough for a warning, I also saw a car that had recently flipped over and was still lying by the side of the road. So after I had a meal in a lonely restaurant by the side of the road, I went just a bit further and made camp. When I say camp, I mean I roll out my sleeping bag, and either sleep on top of it, or crawl in it, depending on the temperature. No need putting up my tent.

Tuesday 17 April 1973. Camp 39 to Camp 40: 162 kms

As soon as it was light, I was back on the road. A warm day with little wind. I found a place to have breakfast just past the turn off to a town called Pisco. My digestive system is working a bit too fast today. (Note: I did not often mention medical issues as I did not want to alarm my family back home, and also because mostly I did not have any problems worth mentioning, but in Peru I started to have the above mentioned problems, getting worse during the final days of my trip.)
A little past Chincha Alta I was back at the coast. Had a swim in the river just before Cañete, and then a siesta break in town. Once again I am going through cultivated land, with a lot of fruit stalls by the side of the road. I passed through Asaia just after sunset and then started looking for a place to sleep as there was too much traffic on the road. About 6 kms after Asaia I took a turnoff direction beach and after about one kilometre, made camp on the beach.

Wednesday 18 April 1973. Camp 40 to Camp 41:118 kms

A slow start because I had no meal last night and my breakfasts are very minimal. This in order not to have to go behind the bushes all the time. Because bushes are few and far between. Sand, nothing but sand. Got up before sunrise and a dense fog was hanging over the valleys. After plodding on for about a kilometre through darkness and fog, I found a restaurant that was open already, which I couldn’t say was true of the eyes of the man in charge, but it was true of his mouth. After I had woken him up, he made me a cup of tea, and I waited there for sunlight to brighten the day. In Chicha I stopped for another cup of tea. A little distance after that town the “autopista” started, a four-lane highway where bicycles are allowed. An uneventful day bicycling took me to the capital of Peru. A city like all cities. Big, imposing buildings, luxurious homes and slums. Rich people and poor.

Some interesting features: 1. Just before coming into the city I passed the city garbage dump with hundreds of people going through the garbage and running towards the arrival of the next garbage truck. 2. I noticed a large number of water towers spread out all over the city. 3. Several times high school kids stopped to ask me questions, which is normal, and to ask me for marihuana, which I hope is not normal. They told me they all use it. 4. I also remember that halfway into the city a police car called me over, and told me to get off the autopista. After a long ride through the city I arrived at the Plaza de Armas, which always seems to be the centre of Peruvian towns.

Watched the changing of the guard at the palace. Picked up my mail and read it in a coffee shop. Found a police station where I could leave my bike while I went shopping. Finished at about 6 pm.
(Note 1: I did not mention in my letter home that I spent quite a long time at the post office, as they asked me to go through a stack of letters they could not identify as the writing was in some foreign language. My first job as a translator! One letter was interesting: It came from an Australian action group, who had been on the news in Australia, telling the world they had sent letters to all the Pacific Rim nations, asking them to condemn the French nuclear testing in the Tuamotu archipelago. It had been stuck in the lost mail pile for quite a while, until I told them what to do with it. Needless to say that the French did stop the nuclear testing not long after that!)

(Note 2: At the post office I tried to find the address for the Summer Institute of Linguistics, the field organisation of Wycliffe Bible translators, but I could not find it in the phone directory. It wasn’t until later that I found out that in Spanish-speaking countries the organisation is known by its Spanish name: Instituto Linguistico de Verano. I had no idea that Summer wasn’t the name of some person.)

While I still had some daylight, I did another 11 kms going north on the autopista, then took a detour to Comas where I had a meal, and then back to the Panamericano. But not for long: too dangerous, so I found a piece of soft sand at a safe distance from the road. Fell asleep pretty soon.

Thursday 19 April 1973. Camp 41 to Camp 42: 115 kms

A slow start. Lots of traffic all day long. First a four lane highway, which turned into a motorway. In retrospect I should not have taken that one, as it went further away from the coast than the road that was showing on my map, and as a consequence I went further up into higher hills. Low slow ascents, and fast long descents. To make it to Chancay, I had to make a 4 km detour boxing into the sea breeze that was just starting up then. Chancay is a nice fishing village. The fog stayed on until noon. I find this fog interesting: It is caused by a cold water current along the Peruvian coast, when moist warm air passes over it, it condenses and forms large fog banks. Dangerous for shipping, but great for the fishing industry. It was half past two before I finally left Chancay, but the next section was fairly flat, with a good wind pushing me along. I passed Huacho as it was getting dark and passed Huara in the dark. Two more punctures today because the outside tyre is completely bald. I replaced that tyre after the second puncture. I try to use them as long as possible, as I could not buy any tyres in Lima either. It was difficult finding a good place to camp, as it is densely cultivated in these parts, and the moon did not rise until later. I took a photo of one of the many little memorial crosses by the side of the road.

Friday 20 April 1973. Good Friday. Camp 42 to Camp 43: 137 kms

Another slow start. Dense fog. I passed a smashed up Volswagen by the side of the road. I heard that yesterday the driver of that car had died in the crash. There will have been more accidents, as it is a holiday weekend because of the Easter weekend, and they do not drive very careful here. Today not too much traffic. After about 20 kms I had something to eat. For the first time since Sunday I saw my face in a mirror. Decided to get a haircut one of these days. Three punctures before I got to Pativilca. Threw another worn-out tyre away. One spare tyre left.

The long stretch to Huarmey was punctuated by more punctures than I could keep track of. Only the final 30 kms went without a hitch, as I had finally come up with the bright idea, to cut up a worn-out tube and put it inside the tyre, between the tyre and one of my lighter tubes, to give it more protection. Otherwise not much variation: the ocean on the left, mountains on the right and in between sandy hills with the road winding in between or over them. But not a bad road as roads go. It was a hot, thirsty day, but the last few hours the wind freshened pushing me along. I had a good meal in Huarmey and found a place to lie down for the night as the rising waxing moon gave me enough light to find a spot. Slept soon.

Saturday 21 April 1973. Camp 43 to Casma: 81 kms

A nice warm day which I did not allow to be spoiled by a few punctures. Luckily this morning it was not foggy, because it makes riding a lot heavier, as I wake up in a soggy sleeping bag and without the cool sea breeze which does not start until late in the afternoon. Not to-day though. I had breakfast after about 20 km. My intestines are doing a bit better today, so I had a cup of coffee in the next restaurant, didn’t even have to pay for it. Then a stretch of 20kms mostly remembered by a number of punctures. I think it has to do with the hot bitumen melting my patches off the tubes. Initially I had thought to spend the weekend in Chimbote, but today lowered my expectations and decided on Casma. After one more puncture, I could keep going the final 20 kms without any more problems. A gusty breeze just blew me through and around the sandhills. Had a bath in the Rio Casma. High time, because all the sweat and dust and exhaust fumes has made me feeling pretty grubby. After arriving in this small town, I parked myself in the only hotel, patched my spare tubes, replaced my chain and the derailleur with my spare ones, and washed my socks. The bike is suffering from all the sea air: rust spots everywhere. I made the decision to sell my tent at the first opportunity as I don’t expect to use it much anymore, and it is quite an extra burden to carry around. I had a good meal in the evening and went to bed at 9 pm. Too tired to go and watch the circus that is performing in town tonight.

Sunday 22 April 1973: Casma

Slept late, had breakfast, walked around a bit, had lunch at the market, slept, read my Bible on the balcony of my hotel room, with a view of the main plaza. Dinner and back to bed at 9 pm. I wasn’t really all that tired, and that, along with the traffic under my window and the mosquitoes in my room, kept me awake for along time.
Some general comments about Peru (Note: these were made in 1973) Peru is more developed than Bolivia, but not as much as Argentina. Agriculture is going through revolutionary changes, drivers are terrible, and so is the drinking water. In the cities and towns, a lot of drunks and beggars. I also would like to point out that Peru is a very large country!

Monday 9 April 1973. By truck from Arequipa back to Paty.

Got up real early, did my laundry and bought foodstuffs in the market. Had breakfast and then on to the bike shop. I was lucky: he had two tubes and three tyres on offer. Second hand but in good condition. I bought one tyre and two tubes, then went to try and find transport to Paty. Not easy. The buses were either full or too late. Decided to try hitch hiking instead. Took a local bus halfway out of town, and pretty soon I got a ride to the police station on the outskirts of town. After waiting about 30 minutes, I got a ride from a truck driver. A bit further along, he picked up another 30 passengers, so it got pretty crowded. Some of the were car sick, and soon it got cold, and then it started to rain. Happy to arrive in Paty by dark. I had planned to get on my bike straightaway but was invited by the owner of the restaurant where I had parked my bike, to stay there. Had a meal of rice with eggs, and then put myself to sleep on the floor of the restaurant. Soon asleep.

Tuesday 10 April 1973. Paty to Camp 36: 100 kms

Another hailstorm during the night, so I was happy to have slept under a roof. Quickly changed my back tyre and tube. Started full of energy. A nice clear sky with a light following wind. Initially no punctures. Uphill, downhill and so on. I soon got pretty warm.

My first tyre trouble was right next to a large lake where I took pictures of a group of llamas. And when I say trouble, I mean trouble: it actually exploded. The tyre had a large hole as a result, and I had to sew it together with dental floss before patching it. (Note: I remember to this day the unreal sensation of sewing a rubber tube: sticking the needle through the tube, making all thse holes, while the whole idea of fixing a puncture is to stop the holes from leaking. In my family I am known for fixing everything with dental floss. The one I am most proud of was during a bike ride in the U.K. when one of the young men in the youth group I was part of had a broken chain, and I managed to fix it with dental floss.)

Patched the tube, and then came first a hard stretch: dusty road, going up and up and up, and much of the time I was riding in the clouds. Cold, because the wind was blowing straight in my face. Finally the long-awaited descent started. This lasted for about 20 kms all hairpin corners. The first half no problems but then the road got very rocky and my back tyre started exploding again. Three times, but then I was down in a valley. I camped close to a fast-flowing river about 27 kms before Arequipa, at the foot of the last set of hills on that side of the city. Made a campfire and cooked soup. Another can of sardines complemented my dinner.

Wednesday 11 April 1973. Camp 36 to Camp 37: 195 kms

After patching my tyre, climbed the last hill before riding towards Arequipa. The first part of that downhill stretch was gravel, and then it turned into bitumen. And at exactly the place where the gravel turned into bitumen, another puncture. After fixing that one, I was flying into Arequipa. Checked the post office for mail, got my side bags stitched, bought two more tyres and solvent and then got back on the road. A dry sandy area, sometimes going up and more often going down.

It was a warm day, especially the part just past Uchumayo where I was going uphill for a while. Then back down to Reparticion where I had something to eat. Then the road went through a desert-like area, no vegetation whatsoever, just sanddunes. I crossed a few rivers and then all of a sudden, there was a sudden outburst of green. I had a cup of coffee and a sandwich just past Tambillo. While I was the there, the sun set, but I decided to keep going: good quality road, not much to look at as far as the scenery was concerned, and especially: I wasn’t at all tired yet. Had another cup of coffee later on. A nice warm evening. The last ten kilometres the road went down at a good pace through a narrow valley, and all of a sudden I heard the thundering surf. About 5 kms before Camaná I made camp on the beach. A satisfying day.

Thursday 12 April 1973. Camp 37 to Atico: 137 kms

Back on the bike at first light. I expected a road like the one along the Adriatic coast of Italy: close to the beach, fairly flat and somewhat monotonous. However, the road was more like the west coast of Italy: winding up and down following the coastline, but rocky outcrops prevent it from staying close to the water, sometime having to go up quite a way to find a way forward. Ever changing panoramas; I wanted to keep taking pictures all day long. In the morning the wind came from the right (the landside) and in the afternoon from the sea. My Japanese friend had complained about the wind in Peru always being against him, which is good for me, as I am going in the opposite direction.
I had breakfast in Camaná and lunch in Ocona and I had a bath in the ocean about 40 kms before I got to Atico. Washed my clothes, patched my spare tubes and put it all to dry in the sun. Just before packing it all up a large wave broke against the rocks so I had to pack it all up soaking wet. A bit further along I had two punctures, and I decided not to keep going in the evening: tired, bad road, more traffic and I would miss all the beautiful vistas. I had dinner in Atico and went to sleep on the beach.

Friday 13 April 1973. Atico to Camp 38 near Acari: 151 kms

Not as spectacular as yesterday, so not as many photos, but more kilometres and fewer punctures. After a few kilometres I found a restaurant that was open and had some breakfast. The road stayed much closer to the coast now. I had lunch in Chala, stayed a couple of hours on the beach cleaned up my chain and oiled it. At 3 pm the bank opened so I exchanged another travellers check. Then a long climb on a poor quality road. Just past Chala, during the only reasonable climb of the day, I had a puncture. It was an old wound that had gotten bigger. Before I patched it, I had to sew the two sides of the leak together. Otherwise no problems with the bike. When I got to the highest point of that climb, the sun set. The descent into Tanaka went without any mishaps even while riding in the semi darkness of the early evening, and after that a long flat stretch on the beach by the light of the moon. The road was at times covered with sand blown over from the beach.

When I came to Yauca, I was surprised to find myself riding in a forest. I can’t remember the last forest I have gone through, it must have been the other side of Jujuy. I could not find a place to eat in Yauca, so kept going to the turn-off for Acari, about 13 kms past Yauca where I found a restaurant. I had fish soup fried fish with rice. Just a bit further I laid down for the night: out of view from the road, but within the comforting sound of the surf.

Saturday 14 April 1973. Camp 38 to Nazca: 109 kms

Got going early once again. Looking for a restaurant for breakfast. The restaurant at the exit for Puerto Lomas was still closed, and then I had to climb a fair bit before coming to the next exit where there was a restaurant where I had more luck. The service was bad, and the bread rolls tough, but a bit of rest did me good. The going got better to the next exit: a breeze from the sea had sprung up and was blowing right from behind, so it got warm. It is like I am going through a desert: sand and more sand with every now and then some stony hills and no green. The only things that change is the distance on the kilometre markers by the side of the road. At the restaurant at the next exit, the service was good and the soup was excellent. I stayed for a while to rest a bit, as I wasn't in a hurry today. I got back on the road at 1 pm. The wind had picked up even more speed, and I didn’t even have to paddle going uphill. About 20 kms before Nazca civilisation started again. More green: cotton fields in large fertile valleys with a number of rivers coming out of the Andes being used for these fields. Irrigation canals everywhere and people working energetically in the fields. Nazca is situated on a fast flowing river, where I had a good wash. High time. Washed some clothes while I was at it, and then looked for a hotel to stay for the weekend as there was no camping. A friendly town with a lot of people out and about. Went to bed at 10 pm. Tired.

Sunday 15 April 1973. Nazca

I slept in, then ate some then walked around some, and then slept some more. When the worst of the heat was gone, got up, had a shower, went for a long walk, then had a good meal and by 9 pm I was back in bed. My plan is to get up very early tomorrow morning.
I checked my weight yesterday: 73 kgs, my typical weight on bike trips.

Thursday 29 March 1973. La Paz

I got up at 6 am as I had a lot of pleasant things to do today. But until 8 o’clock, nothing is open here, no coffee shop, no post office, nothing. Walked around a bit, which was good exercise as all the streets are steep going either up or down. Called my family at 8 am sharp and it was good to hear everything was going well in the Netherlands, and that I had passed my Secondary School Certificate exams in Australia. Visited a few tourist information offices, and discovered that the boat going from Guagui to Puno in Peru, only goes once a week, tomorrow evening to be precise. So, all of a sudden I was in a hurry as neither the time nor the cost of the ticket seemed to be very precise. Visited the Dutch Embassy, who were prepared to pick up my photos and mail them to the Netherlands, even though the staff was plagued with illnesses. In the end it was not necessary, as I could already pick them up myself that afternoon. Both the telephone call and the photos were more expensive than I had thought, so I have very little Bolivian currency left to last me the final day. So, I will mail the photos and other mail from Peru. I was able to buy two tubes, so that was one worry less. Early to bed, as I want to get going early tomorrow morning.

Friday 30 March 1973. El Alto to Guagui: 81 kms

Early up and by bus to El Alto. I had to wait half an hour at the police station before an officer came on duty who was willing to give me my bike back, and off I went. A pretty bad gravel road. I already made it to Laja by nine o’clock. A quick cup of coffee, but after that the going was not as fast anymore. Just before Tiwanacu I had to climb a fairly steep hill, but then got back into the same valley that Lago Titicaca is in. I admired the Inca ruins at Tiwanacu and took some pictures there. A bit further along and I had a flat front tyre. Fixed it quickly. Took the opportunity to clean the inside of the tyre, as I had to go through creeks today and that tends to results in gravel getting between the rim of the wheel and the tyre, and grit and rubber tubes don’t go well together.

I arrived at Guagui at about 2 pm. I could not exchange travellers checks there, so I did not have enough money to buy a ticket for the boat to Puno. In the end an American fellow travellor advanced me the money and I made it just in time on the boat for the evening dinner. This boat is an old English coaster - 65 years old, with two triple expansion engines. (Note: the history of this ship is absolutely amazing; see Wikipedia for details.)
Only about 20 passengers on board, and I had a cabin to myself. I did not go to bed until after midnight: nice discussions while watching the night sky: we saw a planet go down towards the lake while its reflection was going towards it, until they met at the horizon. Only at that altitude can you see something like that.

Saturday 31 March 1973, by boat to Puno, then by train to Cuzco.

Got out of bed and my bed long before sunrise. Lago Titicaca is very big which makes it very difficult to imagine we were sailing at an altitude of more than 3800 metres! Watched the sun rise, then had breakfast, and we arrived in Puno soon after that. A small town with a shipyard. We were cleared by customs and immigration officials, and then I tried to change some money. No success. Neither could I buy any tyres here.
I decided to leave my bike in Puno, and travel by train to Cuzco and Machu Picchu. These are old Inca strongholds and I just could not pass them by. The train left at about 10 am. Most passengers from the ship travelled first class, but I found that too expensive, so went for second class. A rather boring uninteresting trip. Initially a flat valley, but later it got prettier, but at that point the sun set, so that was that. After a train journey of about 10 hours, we arrived in Cuzco (391 kilometer which cost me 248 Soles de Oro, which is about 5 Dollar).
(Note: I have no idea about my comment that I could not exchange money in Puno, as I remember re-paying the American for the boat trip, and I obviously paid for the train trip.)
Walked around a bit, and found a hotel at about midnight, not cheap but I was tired. My leg muscles hurt from all the walking these past few days. Had a shower, and washed my pants. I soon slept like a log.

Sunday 1 April 1973: Cusco

My pants were pretty dry by the time I got up, so that was unexpected. Walked around some and then settled in a pretty nice restaurant. Good music, and even better coffee. I had to write a lot of letters. After lunch, I visited the Inca Sun temple; it was being restored. Walked up a hill and then straight back down again, as I could see a rainstorm approaching. Had dinner with a few fellow travellers and we exchanged experiences. Early to bed as I will be woken up at 5:30 for a tour to Machu Picchu.

Monday 2 April 1973. Cusco – Machu Picchu – Cusco, by train.

Up early, then breakfast and on to the station. Slight drizzle. The train trip was spectacular: first zigzagging out of the valley that Cusco is in, then about 100 kms south through valleys with cornfields, potatoes and weeds. The valleys are getting narrower as we went along and the vegetation lush with vegetation. The last part was through a sub-tropical forest right next to a wild-flowing river. After 112 kms we arrived at Machu Picchu. Altitude 1200 mtrs. A tour bus took us up to famous Inca ruins. I found the cost of all the tickets too high for actually being there.

The sun was shining through a high layer of cirrus clouds, so I was able to take some pictures. Started my return trip at 3 pm and arrived back in Cusco at 6 pm in the dark. I looked up the American who had helped me with the fare for the ship, and had dinner together.

Tuesday 3 April 1973: Cusco to Sicuani by bus, about 140 kms

As the train for Puno left at 6 am, and as the banks would still be closed, and as I did not have enough money left to pay both the hotel and the train, I could not take the train. So, I had breakfast in the market, had my shoes fixed, and bought a new pump, as my last one had fallen into the water as I was getting off the ship in Puno, then mailed my letters and postcards, paid the hotel, and tried to find transport back to Puno. I could only find a bus going to Sicuani so I took it. We left at 2 pm. The bus was packed, and I had to stand most of the way, which was very tiring, and the height of the bus was designed for people a foot shorter than me. We had engine trouble somewhere halfway so that took another 30 minutes. Finally arrived at 7:30 pm. Slept in a cheap hotel as there was no buses going to Puno until 10 am the next morning. Had a meal, and went to cowboy film.

Wednesday 4 April 1973: By train from Sicuani to Juliaca.

I got up early although the train did not leave until 10,30. Had some breakfast and walked around some. My muscle pain has gone. I travelled second class in the company of two Canadian hippies. The train stopped for 1 ½ hours in Juliaca and then left in the direction of Arequipa instead of Puno … So I got out at the next station and after a long wait, I hitchhiked a ride back to Juliaca. No transport to Puno. Stayed overnight in an hotel. Not a very satisfying day as you can see.

Thursday 5 April 1973: Juliaca – Puno by train. Puno to Camp 34, by bike: 90 kms.

I got up at about 5 am. Caught a train to Puno at 6. Once there, I quickly got back on my bike. And made my way to Juliaca on a nice bitumen road. Back there by 10 am. I met a Japanese man who was making the same trip as me but in the opposite direction. He had started in Los Angeles and is planning to go to Buenos Aires, and then on to Europe. It had taken him 8 months to get this far, more than double of the time I have left to make it all the way to Alaska. (Note: I failed to mention in my letter home, that he was facing a difficult problem: he showed me a stamp in this passport denying him entry into Bolivia according to some Law but he, nor I, had any idea what law he may have broken. His Spanish was very limited, as was his English. I suggested he contact the Japanese Embassy, to see if they can find out what the problem is. If that does not work, he will have to go all the way back down to sea level and then go to B.A, by way of Chile.)

The road I now continued my journey on was terribly stony, and to no surprise, a few kilometres before I came to the same village where I had yesterday gotten off the train, I had a flat back tyre. Unrepairable. So, had to use one of my new tubes. Was unpumpable, as the new pump did not fit. Walked to the village. A small boy, also called Nico, but a lot smarter than me, suggested to take off the little rubber connecting piece and so managed to pump up the tube. Did some shopping for the night, and then kept going until my next flat, put up my tent, fixed the flat and then quickly into my tent as another shower was about to burst loose.

Friday 6 April 1973: Camp 34 to Camp 35: 59 kms

A day almost identical to the 22nd of March. Amazing hey! (Note: This is my father’s birthday, while the 22 March was my mother’s) When I woke up the hail from last night was still lying around my soaking wet, ice-cold tent. Had a chunk of bread for breakfast, and then packed up my tent and started with cold toes and fingers on a muddy road. Yesterday’s stony and dusty road now was stony and muddy. But there is mud and then there is mud. This was the kind of mud that did not stick to my wheels. This thanks to the granite ancestors of this mud. The sun did not come out all day which I could not say about the rain: at about two pm it started to hail, which later changed into rain and every now and then it cleared up for a while. Just like yesterday, the road kept going up and up.

I took a picture of a beautiful lake at about 4100 metre altitude. I took two pictures of myself fixing a flat tyre at 4350 metre altitude. Five flats altogether today. At 4400 metre I took another picture of the bike as I thought I had reached the highest point of the journey. However, later I had to climb even more, and reached 4500 metre.

At sunset I put up my tent just past this point of highest altitude, made a camp fire and cooked a pot of soup, which because of the high altitude was boiling but lukewarm. (Note: water at this altitude boils at 85° C) After a meal of soup, bread and sardines, I crawled in my sleeping bag with nearly all my clothes on. The sunset was surreal with snow capped mountain peaks and a deep valley filling up with a hazy mist.

Saturday 7 April 1973: By bike from Camp 35 to Paty: 43 kms, then by bus to Arequipa

I woke up to a clear morning. The sun soon warmed me which was nice as my fingers were stone cold after folding up my frozen tent. After going downhill for a few hundred metres, I stopped at a cooperative farmhouse where they had a good fire going, so I thawed out some more, enjoying a few cups of hot tea. To my surprise I had to climb again for another 20 kms while I had thought that from here on, I would only be going down hill. A wild, beautiful and deserted terrain, and no leaking tyres. I have no idea how high that section went, but it was high!

The descent finally started and so did the punctures. I am riding here through a dry, desert-like terrain with in the distance snow-capped mountains. In the afternoon I had the unexpected satisfaction to pass all the cars that had passed me, throwing up dust all over me. What had happened?

A truck had fallen over, and blocked the road for the cars, but I could get by. My sense of satisfaction was dampened considerably by my next flat tyre, followed by all the cars passing me throwing more dust over me. I arrived at Paty at about 4 pm. This is small village without an hotel. I was told there were no hotels further along the road, and a weekend in my tent in this barren environment did not appeal to me, along with all the punctures, so I decided to take the bus to Arequipa, spend the weekend there, and then come back to Paty, armed with more spare tubes. The bus came soon after I had decided this and had left my bike at a small restaurant. The bus was a shaky affair who took the curves much too fast in my opinion. Arrived in Arequipa at about 10 that evening. Found a reasonable hotel in the centre of town, walked around a bit, ate something, and then to bed. Altogether a rather unsatisfying week: as far as the finances is concerned: a catastrophe, and as far as the biking distance is concerned: an absolute minimum. I’m afraid that the tourist attractions do not balance the books.

Sunday 8 April, 1973: Arequipa

A warm day. Walked a lot. Arequipa is a big city in a magnificent environment: on one side snow-capped mountain peaks including a colossal volcano, on the other side barren hillsides and towards the West: nothing. That’s where the world goes down towards the ocean. It was too misty to take pictures. I have been considering another route: by way of Colombia to Venezuela and then to Surinam. Not sure if there is a road going that way, that would make a big difference. In the evening I went to the R.C. Mass. An enormous, impressive cathedral. In front of me a man was playing with a talisman on a keyring. I could not understand a word of the sermon, but was under the impression, judging from the people around me, that I wasn’t missing much. But a friendly congregation. Later in the evening I had a meal at a food stall by the side of the road. Early to bed.

Thursday 22 March 1973: Potosi to Road Workers Camp: 95 kms
(Note: Another day I won’t forget)

I was in such a rush to get going, I forgot to have breakfast. After going downhill for about 20 kms I made it to a hotel where I could get something to eat. Also patched my leaking front tube. This was followed by a climb of a couple hundred meters. The weather was good, the scenery dull in a beautiful way, and I felt fine. The last 10 kms before Yocalla were steep downhill to about 3400 metre altitude. I had lunch there and repaired my altitude meter. It started to get overcast again, but I decided to take off anyway. More climbing, back up to 4200 metres. The first two hours of the climb I was riding in a real downpour. But the view is getting more and more beautiful. The valley I was riding in was mostly cultivated, small holdings of irregular shape, separated from each other by low stone walls. Because of the many colours in the rocks, it all looked like a giant jigsaw puzzle. The surface of the road changed from solid, hard mud to one large mud pool. But with this bike that does not bother me too much: mudguards and gears. I am pretty happy with the performance of this bike.

(Note: towards sunset I was beginning to worry about where to make camp, as I could not see any shelter from the rain, and I considered the fact that on this day, my mother’s birthday, they would all be having a great time in a nice warm house back in Loosdrecht, and here I was in the rain with no place to lay my head. But read on.)

Just before sunset a group of road workers offered to give me a ride on the back of their truck to their camp about 15 kms ahead. In principal I do not take rides, so I declined. What they then did was most amazing: they stayed behind me so I could keep riding in the deepening darkness with their light beam just in front of me. Fortunately it was a fairly flat stretch of the road, so I made good progress. The sunset was spectacular. When we arrived at the road workers’ camp, I was welcomed with open arms; straight to a meal and then to bed, a real bed! Nice, rough men to whom neighbourly love comes naturally. Happy birthday, mum!

Friday 23 March 1973. Road workers’ camp to Camp 33: 89 kms

I got up early and had a good breakfast (Note: I remember it was spaghetti), and got on my way. More climbing. To my chagrin I discovered that my altimeter mal-functioned: whenever I was going higher, the indicator showed a lower altitude. After riding for about three hours, I came to a village with a small hotel. Had a cup of coffee and then kept going. Pretty soon after that I arrived in a wide valley, and that meant the end of all the climbing, at least for the time being. In the afternoon it started to get all clouded over again, but I managed to make it to a hotel before the rain got to me. Had lunch there: some kind of birds, and I did not dare ask what kind of birds they were. After lunch the sun had come out again, and so I continued over a road varying in quality but mostly very bad. Every now and then I had to cross little creeks, sometimes riding, sometimes walking. I could not find a hotel, so rolled myself in my sleeping bag in my tent. Bread and sardines for dinner today.

Saturday 24 March 1973: Camp 33 to Challapatta: 30 kms

My feel felt very cold when I woke up, and no wonder… the bottom half of my tent was frozen stiff! I had two choices: 1) Wait until the sun had defrosted my toes and the tent, or 2) go as soon as possible. I went for nr 2. I put on a couple of wet socks and then my shoes. Dressed in all my clothes, I got warm pretty soon. Especially my woollen beanie and my ski gloves came to good use finally. Except my feet. They kept getting colder rather than warmer. Even riding a bike does not solve the problem of putting on freezing cold wet socks. Fortunately I did not have to cross too many mountain creeks. The first and the widest I could cross by jumping from one rock to another holding my bike up on my arm. Not easy to do, as I had lost all feeling in my feet. After about 15 km of this, I could switch to normal clothing, and my feet were slowly thawing as well. Most of the road was going downhill, and about 10 kms before Challapatta I arrived in a large flat valley, and this valley will take me all the way to La Paz. In the distance I could see Lago Poopó. I arrived at Challapatta at about 10 am, and decided to stay there for the weekend. I first had breakfast, and then gave my bike a good cleaning. Fixed my pedal axle that had gotten stuck, and oiled my chain. Then did my laundry and had lunch. I slept in the afternoon, and then went out to do some shopping. At the grocery store I was treated to a beer by a few regulars hanging out there. Everyone is super friendly here. I went to bed soon after dinner, as not much is happening here, and it was getting cold.

Sunday 25 March 1973: Challapata

Sunday is market day here. Took the opportunity to take some pictures. Some of the typical produce sold here are large bags full of coca leaves, drums with alcohol, and medicinal herbs. The first two are the cheapest way to stay warm and to be happy, so I’m told. I had lunch at the market. Napped in the afternoon, and walked around some. In the evening I went to an small Evangelical church which was packed with people and the singing was loud. The sermon was against the use of cocaine. I was asked to say something to the congregation, and I thought that went well, if I may say so myself. A very enthusiastic audience. The preacher was hardly able to read the Bible text, but his sermon was no less authoritative and full of fire. He kept mixing in Indian language words. After shaking many hands, back to the hotel and to my bed.

Got up early; packed up my stuff and had breakfast. I wanted to get on the road early, as I want to get to Oruro by nightfall. Progress was good with the wind from the side, and sometimes even from behind. Had a cup of coffee in Pazua and lunch in Poopó. The road was flat but by and large of poor quality. Some parts were stony and other parts soft sand. After Poopó it started to rain and the stony parts of the road became very slippery while the sandy parts turned into soft clay. Soon my wheels got stuck with all the cooked-on clay. Walked for a bit, pushing my bike in a gutter with running water, and then I could get back on my bike again. A truck stopped to offer me a ride, which I declined, but in the process he slithered off the road and it wasn’t until much later that he finally passed me.

In Machacamarga it stopped raining, and I had a coffee break, and gave my bike a good wash under the village waterpump. After Machacamarga no more clay, but what Australians would call bull-dust that forced me to walk more than I liked. Gradually more traffic. Every now and then signs of mining activity. I arrived in Oruro by sunset. A mining town, just like Potosi. Checked out a few bike shops to buy spare tubes and tyres. No luck. Booked myself into an expensive hotel as it offered a warm shower, which I really needed. After getting rid of all the dust, I went into town where I bought two complete meals, as I was very hungry. I had just gone to bed, when there was a knock on the door: police inspection to see if I was carrying any drugs. Sort of funny where the sale of coca leaves is legal and you see a large portion of the local population chewing these leaves. I decided not to make this point.

(Note: By then I had found out that I had to report to the local police station whenever I arrived in a new town, and then also let them know where I would go next, so the visit was not unexpected. To facilitate speedy processing by these nightly visits, I would leave my bike in the hotel lobby in a storage place, so when they came to my room in the middle of the night, they only had to search my back pack. This particular search resulted in me having to explain what my refill cartridges for my fountain pen were. To them they looked like some injectable drug. After taking my cartridge out of my pen they finally believed me. Obviously most “gringos”, as foreigners are referred to, have the reputation of doing drugs.)

Tuesday 27 March 1973. Oruro to SicaSica: 110 kms

I slept late as breakfast would not be served in this hotel until 7:30. Then off to the Immigration office, as I had discovered that my visa was only good for 10 days, even though I had been told at the border it was good for three months. Cleaned my bike, replaced my back tyre and visited a few more bike repair shops trying to find spare tyres and tubes. Today no luck either. Left town at about 10 am. A nice bitumen road. The same wind as yesterday except more against me than from behind. Lunched in Carracollo. Then back uphill to Panduro (4325 metre!) In general going uphill and going downhill goes very gradually here. The scenery is less than imposing: wide flat valleys with mountain ranges on both sides in the far distance. Lots of little hamlets and lonely farm houses, people with donkeys and people harvesting potatoes and onions. The soil is not quite so stony here. Never stopped between Carracollo and SicaSica, because I was being followed by a threatening shower. I arrived there dry and just before sunset. I had a meal in a small restaurant and then looked for and found lodging for the night. SicaSica is a country town with five trees. That is quite an improvement on Oruro, where I had seen only one tree 2 km outside of town. In Challapata on the contrary most streets were lined with lush green trees.

Wednesday 28 March 1973. SicaSica to El Alto (near La Paz): 119 kms

I got up quite early as my stomach was unsettled. I did not have to pay for my stay there, so it wasn’t long before I was back on the road. Head wind. Initially it was hard going. On top of all that I had to go uphill again, slowly but nevertheless, uphill. In Patacamaya I filled my rumbling stomach with bread, followed by a cup of coffee and a glass of Coke to revive my flagging spirits. Things went better after that. The road wasn’t going up as much as before, and the wind also died down somewhat. It was getting warm. In Calamarca I bought some chocolate, as I could not find a hotel (for a meal) so without too much time lost I got back on the bike. Unchanged scenery: large, wide valley with mountain ranges with snow on their peaks in the distance. Still going uphill. All around me it was raining and thundering and straight ahead of me I could see fresh-fallen snow.

But it stayed dry to El Alto (4082 metre), a small town about 10 kms from La Paz (3577 metre). To prevent me from going down into La Paz in the rain, and then having to come all the way back up again tomorrow, I decided to park my bike at the police station in El Alto, and go to La Paz by bus. Took some pictures of La Paz in the distance, as it looks quite stunning from that altitude.
Once in the city, I went tot he post office, and received the following mail: two Spanish (from Jujuy) letter, one English (from Australia) and one Dutch one. Then I bought a pair of dry socks, took the film to be processed to a photoshop and parked myself somewhere behind a glass of beer to read all my mail. Good news all around. (Even exciting, but that is for another time and another audience) Then to a small hotel for the night. Back into town, had a couple of meals in a couple of different places. It was too late to call the Netherlands. Will try tomorrow. I had just gone to sleep, when again, I was awoken by the police searching for drugs. In spite of my excellent humour, I was still a little upset by that.