PA21: Ayacucho to Cusco

After a bit of rest we headed out to do a few bog standard tourist activities in and around Ayacucho.

It turned out to be Raquel’s turn to get the dreaded stomach bug. She ended up spending a couple of days laid up on the sofa recovering. 

She still wasn’t feeling 100% when we decided to set off. No point sitting around beyond a certain point. Let’s just get on with it. 

There are 5 big mountain passes to tackle between Ayacucho and Cusco on highway 3. 

This stage was going to involve an awful lot of slowly crawling our way uphill, before zipping all the way down into the next valley, and then repeating the process all over again. 

The initial hour and a bit of riding out of town was seriously steep. Once we got out of the centre I selected a dirt road section to keep us away from the worst of the traffic, but it demanded a greater expenditure of energy for every meter of elevation gained, and so Raquel ended up walking much of it. Bad call.

All in all we made just 10km that day, climbing 556m up to an isolated hostel overlooking Ayacucho. Probably our shortest horizontal mileage of the trip to date. 

I ended up cooking our dinner with the gasoline stove in the hostel toilet. We couldn’t be bothered to step out into the cold, and figured that a little extra carbon monoxide poisoning couldn’t hurt, since we’d been constantly breathing fumes from passing traffic for the last month or so. 

The next day we got a reasonably early start. Nothing but climbing. Mostly steeper switchbacked sections, with a few gentle bits thrown in to catch a breather for a few minutes. We both shamelessly grabbed a pause by the roadside every couple of minutes to get the heart rate down again before tackling the next bit.

The gradient eased up on us at the same moment that we really began to feel the effects of altitude. So no real net improvement in the physical ordeal. 

Eventually we broke through the tree line and found ourselves in the Pampa again. 

We pushed on for a bit longer, eventually topping out at Abra Toccto pass, 4184m. 

We dropped down the other side slightly, before finding a cosy patch of grass for our evening camp.

We had managed 26km of horizontal progress, with 1115m of climbing.

Day 2 complete, but we could still see Ayacucho down in the valley below. 

Day 3 started with an improvised breakfast of questionable nutritional benefit: Chokkie biscuits and chewy caramels, washed down with several cups of tea. 

Fortunately, we didn’t find ourselves climbing up a wall this morning, rather a gently undulating high altitude plateau. We managed to get the wheels spinning along nicely.

Absolutely zero civilisation up here in the Pampas. No chance of resupply until we dropped down again on the other side. 

The sky darkened behind us, and rapidly developed into a thunderstorm. We appropriately increased our wattage to try to give it the slip. The undulating road brought a corresponding rise and fall in our hopes; during the downhills we felt sure that we were leaving the storm clouds behind in our dust, but when we reached the climbs, our progress dropped to crawling speed, and we started to feel the first spitting of rain. 

While we were playing out this private struggle with the elements, we began spotting our first vincuñas. These are a member of the camelid family, related to llamas and alpacas. Watching them jog along the roadside helped keep our spirits up as the rainfall steadily increased. 

We reached the top of our last climb. The storm clouds now loomed heavily on top of us, but we could finally click up through the gears and surge forwards once again. 

The gentle downhill generously developed into a steep, switchbacked descent down into the next valley. We thundered downhill flat out, grinning our way through the tight corners.

We rolled into Ocros for a bite of lunch, grateful for returning to civilisation.

A gang of local kids lined up on top of the town hall and shouted ‘gringo’ at me for a few minutes. All good natured fun. 

We cracked on again. A slight initial exertion climbing out of town to rejoin the main road, before continuing with our descent down into the valley. 

We could have kept on, but the sun was disappearing, and we didn’t fancy riding the highway at night unless we really had to. 

We espied the village of Chumbes from above, and rolled down the last couple of switchbacks into town, getting ourselves set up in a nice cosy hostel.

We felt like we had done a reasonable bit of work that day, OSMand told me that we had managed 70km, with 1022m of climbing, and a hefty 2374m of descent. 

We got adopted by a local teenager in the town square. Ruth insisted on zipping back to her house and bringing us blankets to keep us warm. She told us how she always took care of passing travellers. 

We didn’t have the heart to refuse her gifts, although our lives as touring cyclists are often spent reflecting upon whether each of our possessions are really necessary. We both carried rather expensive down sleeping bags for the chill of the mountains. 

We ran into Ruth again on the way out of town in the morning, and she insisted on giving Raquel a poncho. There are some real angels out here in the world. 

We still weren’t finished going downhill… We had another roller coaster switching descent, before finally reaching the river at the base of the valley, just 1956m above sea level.

The climate had changed dramatically in the meantime; It was baking hot, and there were plenty of biting flies about. Noisy flocks of parrots passed overhead as we made our way alongside the river.

We took a mid morning snack at a small roadside café, and I ended up drinking a couple of beers, and playing a bit of harmonica. 

We rolled on for a few minutes before finding an ice cream seller. Obviously that had to be tested.

We made a few more moves, before discovering that this valley was famous for caña distilleries (sugarcane liquor is very popular in much of Latin America). Obviously we had to try that too. In fact the bartender insisted that we try out all the flavours that they had to offer. 

We bought a smallish 350ml bottle for just 5 soles (about one and a half dollars), and they tipped us off that there was a recreational area with a swimming pool and camping nearby. 

At this point any thought of attempting serious progress on the bikes had completely evaporated. Too bloody hot for manual labour. 

We cheerfully rolled into the campground and immediately dived into the cool waters of the pool. 

It turned out that they had a ready supply of cold beer in the fridge, which we were all too happy to take off their hands. 

We had done just 25km that day, but we didn’t regret the opportunity to live life like we were on holiday for a change.

We slept in a bit too much, and woke up baking hot in the tent. The biting flies were already out in force, which made for an uncomfortable time breaking camp. 

We eventually got moving. A short section of relative flat, before the road began heading straight up the other side of the valley. Back to the grind again… 

After several minutes we were really suffering in the heat, and soon we were both obliged to get off and push. 

A bit of riding, a bit of pushing. 

I discovered that I had made some bad choices with our food yesterday. Once again the hammer had come down, and my stomach was not at all in a good way. 

No fart without trepidation. 

Raquel was in excellent form, but she was forced to keep stopping to wait for me to catch up all day. 

We eventually completed 21km, with 1006m of climbing to Chincheros. 

There was some kind of street festival going on. Everyone was out dancing and playing music in their colorful indigenous dress. 

The next day I felt even crappier, but decided to make a go at the climb. We made it the short 8km, 402m climb up to Uripa, where we paused for lunch. I couldn’t really get anything down besides a bit of bread and some orange juice. I really wasn’t feeling up to carrying on, so we pulled the plug and grabbed a hostel room. 

The next morning I felt a lot better. By now we were getting pretty good at getting antibiotics into the gut at the very first instant of symptoms showing, which seemed to be reducing the amount of time spent laid up in recovery. 

I grabbed a bit of breakfast in bed, and immediately suffered a rather sudden allergic reaction. I felt like I had gotten sunburn on my face, and rushed to check the mirror. Raquel pointed out that all of my face and arms were covered in hives.

 

I necked an antihistamine tablet, and waited for the redness to go away. 

As far as I’m aware this is the first time that this has happened to me in my adult life. A bit unsettling really. 

The symptoms disappeared, so I decided to give the bike a go. 

We cracked on. Nothing but climbing all day. I felt brand new, and could really apply myself to the task.

Nearing the top a truck came up slowly behind us, honking incessantly. Now what? 

They pulled up alongside, shouting encouragement and tried to pass me a beer. I really didn’t want to mess up my stomach at this point in the ride, but they overtook and then pulled up in front of us. 

Three lads spilled out of the cab in various stages of inebriation. The oldest (and drunkest) appeared to be the driver. Smiles all round and lots of back slapping. I relented on the beer, and everyone took lots of selfies with the gringo.

Eventually they all piled back into the cab and gassed it, swerving right out into the opposite lane, only just correcting the maneuver in the nick of time, somehow threading the needle between Raquel and myself, and the oncoming traffic blaring their horns in alarm. 

We pressed on a short distance to finally top out the mountain pass at 4255m.

The sun was getting low in the sky, and we had a long descent to go before we could hope to find a hostel for the night. 

We gunned it as fast as possible down through the twisties, trying not to overdo it on the curves and wind up in the bushes.

I was constantly dreading that I might see the party truck run off the road on one of the tight corners, but, fortunately, it looked like our three new mates had managed to make it all the way down safely. 

Eventually reducing light levels required us to pop the bike lights on.

 

Beautiful cruise into the sunset.

We cracked on. Some flat bits, and even a short section of climbing, before yet more descent. 

We could see the city lights of Talavera and Andahuaylas for a long time before we could get anywhere near. They just didn’t seem to be getting any closer, until suddenly we were spat out at the bottom of the last switchback and found ourselves finally rolling into town. 

We grabbed the first half decent hostel that we came across in Talavera, which turned out to be on the same street as the most incredible pizzeria we had experienced in Perú. We ended up buying another one to take back to the hostel for our breakfast. 

All in all we had managed 67km that day, with 1536m of climbing, and 1931m of descending. 

The next day we rolled a whopping 7km, climbing 106m up to Andahuaylas, where we took a couple of days off the bikes.

Raquel’s bike got a bit of maintenance, and I made some DIY rear panniers for my bike, which freed up my fancy Ortlieb Back Rollers to be put on Raquel’s bike. 

All squared away, we rolled out of there with our usual post-restday pereza (laziness). We took a long lunch and continued a short distance to a nearby lake, a bit of a diversion off of our planned route. Just a short 15km, 506m up to camp on the beach of Laguna Pachuca. 

The next day we decided to stay away from highway 3, and follow a dirt road alternative instead. 

We had a slow start, discovering a Ceviche restaurant right next to our campsite. A nice lazy brunch with a couple of beers before we got on with the task. 

The ride began with a casual, flat ride around the lake, before we faced a bit of climbing.

Raquel was struggling to get up the gradient, and generally got off and pushed. She wasn’t thriving in the gravel whatsoever. 

We reached the top, and began our descent. I made the most of it, flying flat out down the gravel switchbacks with a massive grin on my face, before pausing for 10 or 15 minutes to wait for Raquel to catch up. 

She gingerly picked her way down at a fast walking pace. To be fair, her tyres were pretty skinny and with a road oriented tread, while I could get some stoke with my chunky 2.5 inch meats that Heidi had given me in Baja.

We took a good hour and a bit to get down to Quillabamba, the village at the bottom of the valley. 

There wasn’t any official accommodation, but we were directed towards the local administrative centre, where free accommodation was provided for passers by, at the government’s expense. 

We met the 2025 census team, who were spending their days visiting every little farmhouse cottage in the valley to record the population. There were also two guys carrying out the national survey on the wild vicuña population in the province. 

The census team told us that there were quite a lot of people in these hills who barely spoke any Spanish, so they were obliged to carry out all of their communication in Quechua. We also got a free ecology lesson from the vicuña crowd. 

The next day we carried on riding the gravel. 

For me this was a perfect day; almost zero road traffic, beautiful surroundings and a rugged, adventurous, off road trail.

Raquel started strong, but didn’t eat anything besides a couple of water biscuits, and her strength waned significantly later on in the day. She stopped talking to me and mostly walked the climb. 

I tried striking up casual conversation with the locals, but I didn’t seem to be making much headway, until I remembered what the census crowd had told us the night before. Quechua. 

We made it 35km, with 1400m of climbing, before descending 1100m down to Huancarama. 

I reckon that this was Raquel’s hardest day since Cerró de Pasco; We’ve definitely established that she isn’t a fan of off-road touring in the mountains. I can appreciate how she feels; it’s bloody hard work climbing with a loaded bike on broken roads.

This is her first ever bike tour, and she’s consistently taking on 4000m+ mountain passes. I think she is doing an absolutely fantastic job! 

The next day we rejoined highway 3S. A pretty laid back road ride of 49km, 1248m up, and 2484m down to the river at the bottom of the next valley. We found a place to stay at Riverside hostal Los Balcones de Pachachaca.

The hostel owner was a really friendly bloke; he said that he gets a lot of over-landers passing through, and he was keen to tell us all about the goings on in his country. 

Our next big stop was Abancay. Kind of an unusual city, as it was built onto the hillside. It had appeared somewhat precarious when viewed from the other side of the valley. 

So we still needed to do a bit more climbing before we could enjoy our victory pint. 

Hot, with swarms of biting insects. The same tired old story all over again. I reckon that the cold and difficulty breathing at high altitudes are the lesser evils out here in the Andes. These sweltering, low lying sections are gruelling. I tried smearing myself with insect repellent, but the little bastards kept drinking my blood all the same. 

Intolerable, but there’s no option except to just get on with it, and try to take comfort in the fact that with every little bit elevation of gain it will become slightly cooler, and eventually the evil little parasites will be left behind.

We made our way up a steep, but short climb of 15km, with 723m of elevation gain, and rolled up to our Airbnb in Abancay. 

After a blissful shower we popped out to buy groceries, but instead ended up getting drawn into the local craft beer pub, and getting utterly plastered. 

We both woke up with a splitting hangover, and were stunned to discover that we had at some point managed to accurately complete our grocery shopping after all, despite being completely shit faced. 

We took a couple of days off, vegetating in front of Netflix, eating too much. Raquel got a cold, so we opted to extend our stay an extra day to give her a chance to feel up to the task. 

A bit of a lazy start leaving town as usual. We clunked our way steadily up the hill. It was going to take a couple of days to actually reach the top. 

As the sun got low in the sky we were flagged down by a local farmer, who told us that passing cyclists usually camped in their football field. We certainly weren’t going to turn down a direct invitation. 19km, 1248m of climbing. 

The next morning we were in the middle of packing up, when a truck pulled up, a road crew spilled out onto the street, and began setting up to work on maintaining the highway right beside us. A bit awkward.

We got on the move again, making another 51km, with 1350m of climbing to the top of the hill, before descending a solid 1970m down to Curahuasi.

Beautiful views of snow capped mountains in the distance.

The next day we continued with our descent, but rapidly found ourselves back down amongst the biting flies and the sweltering heat.

We spotted an apparently clean restaurant with a fantastic view of the valley, and decided to call an early lunch.

A fantastic trout ceviche, perhaps too much beer, a bit of a siesta, and were back on the move again.

We descended a bit further, before crossing the river. From here the only way was up… 

We cranked out a bit of climbing, before plonking the tent down on a rocky beach on the banks of the river. 

We decided to set the alarm for 5am, to try and get a headstart on the climb, before the heat kicked in. 

For some reason I didn’t get any sleep that night, I just started to drop off when the alarm sounded. Right! Let’s go. 

We spent a solid 11 hours on the bikes that day. Making 47km, with Raquel’s biggest climb yet, 1976m, before dropping 673m down to Ancahuasi. 

We got so close to making 2000 meters of climbing! I suggested that we jump up and down 24 times to reach the magic number. 

I don’t remember exactly what Raquel said in response to this, but I believe it involved suggesting exactly where I could shove that idea. 

We discovered an absolutely smashing ‘Pollo a la brasa’ (spit roast chicken) restaurant in town. We washed the meal down with a six-pack of beers to dull the pain from the saddle sores. 

We both slept like babies that night. 

Last day. Let’s go to Cusco! 

Nice lazy descent to start the day off. We rolled down to Izcuchaca, for a pretty hefty lunch, topped off with coffee and cake. 

Somehow we dragged this extra bulk up the last hill, and dropped down into Cusco.

44km, 505m up, 573m down. Fin.