27 - Nazca to Casma

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!