3-10-10 Lima, Peru

We stayed a couple nights in the beach town of Huanchaco which was a pleasant change from the dust bowl we'd been riding through.  While there we rented 'caballitos' which are little kayaks made out of reeds that you maneuver with a bamboo shaft cut lenghtwise.  We went out a few hundred yards into the ocean and somewhat rode our way back, catching waves at times. I'm pretty sure there are better riders out there.

We hired a local guide to take us on a tour of a wide variety of things throughout the little town as well as the archeological sites nearby.  Most memorable, though, was the cui we ate. Don't need to do that again. Cui is guinnea pig, a Peruvia delicacy. No, it does not taste like chicken, cui tastes like guinea pig, which tastes exactly like you'd expect it to.  Our guide ate most of the thing happily, incluing the thing's face which he nibbled on tenderly, taking time to spit out the little teeth that fell out of the jawbone.

We got an early start out of Huanchaco, starting the bikes at 6:20, not long after first light.  We hit a gas station on the outskirts of town where the gas attendants asked us if we flew the bikes down to Peru to which I replied slowly with wide eyes, "Planes are for little boys" and we all had a good laugh.

We soon came upon signs for the town of Salaverry.  Oh the possibilities with this one.  I wondered if I could perhaps find a T-shirt that says 'I LOVE SALAVERRY' or how about a coffee mug that says 'MY BOY IS IN SALAVERRY' or a nice sweatshirt with a cui on the front and 'SALAVERRY IS FOR LOVERS' on the back. But alas, I found none of these little gems and we kept going.

We were headed to Lima which was some 8 hours off and were aware that it was a dangerous place.  I had received explicit instructions from a Peruvian friend of mine as to where to not go unless I wanted to continue my adventure via bus.

The ride was long, hot and windy through the desert with nothing for forty or fifty miles at a time. Sand blew across the road and was being cleaned off by crews of men with flat shovels and brooms, a never-ending job.

We came across a little cop checkpoint where a cop waved me over and showed me his radar gun. 78kph. I shrugged my shoulders in indifference. He told me that the limit was 60kph. I told him that there was no sign posted. He countered by saying since there was a small farm road intersecting the main highway that it was in fact an intersection which would mean that the speed limit is 60kph and does not need to be posted.  Our tickets were for around $200 US each. I would have loved to argue with the guy for a while but it was getting late in the day and we wanted to get into Lima as quick as possible so I went to work on the bribing process as that is all they wanted anyway.

"Yes, you can pay here" he said, accepting the notion of a bribe.
"Good, I'll buy you lunch then"
"No, no, a tank of gas"
"Deal, a tank of gas for Marks bike" (3gallons)
"No, no, no, a tank of gas for my truck"
"OK, a tank of gas for my bike, we'll meet in the middle, then and both win"
He laughed and we shook hands as I handed over about $10 US to cover both Mark and me, far more than we probably should have.
"I hope to see you in a few months when I return!" I said

Signs were few and far between and thus we relied on Mark's GPS at times while hitting the small towns, several times taking shortcuts through the sand to get back on the main Panamerican Highway.  We ascended a large mountain which put us in the fog which cleared on the other side, revealing a vast shanty-town.  There were a lot of tarps, carboard boxes and industrial bags and plywood used as building materials. There was clearly no running water or electricity.

We were moving quickly along, gradually getting deeper into the shanty suburb when we started seeing shanty stores and shanty shops. Eventually electricity made an appearance as bare above-ground wires were visible.  Traffic picked up as well.  Lima traffic is legendary and I was excited to get in on the action. They have a different driving style than in Guatemala City, who now takes the silver when it comes to awful drivers, behind Lima.  Here in Lima cars will charge out perpendicular into traffic, cutting cars off before lurching forward, honking all the while.

Whenever I thought of Lima before I always pictured a hilly city at night with people not paying attention to stoplights. I wasn't too far off. The only difference was that it was daytime.  We had each been cut off numerous times by all sorts of vehicles, my closest call was a bus who I exchanged gestures with.  We came to a toll booth area (motorcycles don't have to pay tolls in Peru) but didn't see the ususal sign for 'exempt vehicles' which denotes a free-lane.  A grumpy cop wouldn't let us through nor let us duck under a rope to go around the booths where we were supposed to. Apparently there was a sign earlier that instructed us to pull off the road, into the dirt to go around the booths but we never saw it since we were hemmed in by trucks. The cop made us ride back against the five lanes of traffic then cut across to the shoulder where we were supposed to have gone in the first place. I kicked over a baricade in protest and rode off.

I got into a good traffic rhythm like I usually do where I kinda zone out and let autopilot take over. It's a strange mental place to be in but is relaxing and easy. I'll get in this state and not really remember anything about how I get somewhere.  Traffic was dense, maybe 20 feet between cars as we were moving 40 miles an hour or so. I was in one of the middle lanes of a five lane road with a bus to my right, his bumper about 15 feet ahead of me.  We were cruising along and I had three fingers on the brake lever like I always do in heavy traffic when I saw a flash of color dart out from the front of the bus to my right. It was a guy maybe 16 years old sprinting across traffic. As he darted passed the bus he swiveled his head over towards me. I hit the brakes. The look on his face was priceless. Simply priceless. He stopped then jumped up in the air arching back towards where he came when I drilled him.  He came rolling up and over the brand new windshield that I had made back in Colombia, hit my right handlebar which caused the bike to dart left slightly, then he bounced off my right shoulder. His hat came off and stuck to my chest, the wind holding it on.  I saw him do at least 1.5 rotations and was pushed close to 15 feet ahead  I looked down and was given another priceless look which Mark does a superb job of imitating. He was stumbling to his feet and I saw Mark pointing ahead to which I agreed.  I adjusted my mirror slightly and kept on rolling.

In the US, yes, of course you stop. But this isn't the US. Some people might have a hard time with this but it's very clear in my mind. I did all that I could to prevent it and can't do anything to change what has happened. Just an unlucky day, I guess, for him more than me obviously.  I would, however, like to talk to the guy which Mark and I have dubbed 'Junior' just to see what the hell he was thinking.  Didn't his daddy teach him not to run in traffic?

We rode for a while longer in the city when we stopped at a stoplight where I checked the bike over. Broken windshield, which I yanked off and threw to the side of the road. One of my foglights was facing down a little and I bent it back into position. The fog lights are mounted to a solid bar that protudes out from the bike. If he bent down the fog light it means that he got clipped by the bar pretty good.  There exterior of the bike had a layer of dust on it from the desert except for the right part of the fender and tank which had no dust thanks to Junior polishing it with his ribs.  The bike and I weigh in at around 900 lbs together and were going about 20mph upon impact, so roughly three times harder than any hit in the NFL. Bet he's feeling it today.

Farther on down the road a gringo stuck his head out the window of a truck and asked me to pull over. It was a guy from Delaware who had married a Peruvian girl. They were with the girl's parents and her father was in the process of starting a company to serve the rock crushing needs of the mining industry. We talked for a while and he was interested in my mining and rock crushing experience as well as Spanish abilities and the fact that I was looking for work. Will probably be getting an email from him sometime.  He asked me if we needed any help getting around Lima and I gladly took him up on the offer.  As I get older, I accept help from people more often as it's often a win-win situation. He was happy to help me and I was happy to be helped.  We drove around for a while before finding a huge Yamaha dealership where Mark needed to get some work done and they said they could change my tires and oil too.

Once settled in our hostel I called up my good friend, Juan Pablo, who I worked with at a mine in Chihuahua, Mexico for a while.  He's a native of Arequipa and was working on a project in northern Peru but was on R and R in Lima.  He took us out to some local spots including Taberna Queirolo, famous for their pisco concoctions and bar food, all were good.