Pastoruri, Peru

Earlier this week, we breeched the borders of Huaraz. Shortly after, we came crawling back. Along the way, we had a revelation, one that will affect the remaining eight months of our South American stint.

After nearly a month of growing accustomed to pedestrianism it´s a wonder we didn´t need training wheels, but as the gears slowly churned and the road grew sufficiently textured, the hesitation in Soren´s demeanor openly revealed itself. Between laborious breaths, he matter-of-factly expressed his distaste for this masochistic mode, mentioning a possible shift to a motorized unit. This realization came after a day-and-a-half of tormented riding in which nothing seemed to feel right for him - physically, mentally, spiritually, or philosophically.


Schematically posed, we squatted on the side of the road at 4,500 meters under an icy shower and talked it through, piece by piece, considering all possibilities and alternatives. After nearly an hour of spilling what guts we had left, we came to the conclusion that we would blaze separate trails - him with the aid of a motor and me with the aid of a fresh pair of tires. But expeditions end at breakfast, not at the heels of a glacier. So, back in Huaraz, we toasted to each other´s well-being, vowing to spend Christmas together in Cuzco, along with an unforeseeable amount of roadside encounters as the Andes unfold before us. With that, we split, but not before crunching on a bowl of cereal.

Back on the road, I cycled with explosive eagerness, but after the immediate novelty wore off, I caught myself looking longingly behind me in search of the companions that would no longer appear. With a deep and lonely sigh, I reluctantly kept on, believing that my appetite for adventure would return as the kilometers accumulate. Just as my comfort began to establish itself, it was rocked by a gunshot from behind me which simultaneously brought me to a lurching halt. After checking my vitals and inspecting my steed, I found that my tire had blown itself off the rim, obliterating the tube in the process. Not to be deterred, I performed the necessary operations and carried on - through rain, hail, and lightning - until I reached the control post for Huasarán where I shacked up while the storm blew over. While I dipped and sipped the tea and biscuits which I coddled with great affection, I was jolted into attentiveness by another gunshot. Without provocation, the tire blew - again. This time, I figured these weren´t isolated events, so I resigned to return to Huaraz the next day to gather a pair of functioning tires - again.

Thankfully, my crippled rig and I were warmly welcomed with ample reinforcemets that would facilitate my next dispatch. Soren graciously designated Will as an organ donor, the parts of which were accepted by Surely and her doctor in a time of desperate need. After an urgent operation, the transplants have been successfully installed and the patient is recovering at a startling rate. As soon as she whinnies with her characteristic vibrato, we´ll be on the road - again.