Cruising to Chachapoyas

I left the swarming mototaxis of San Ignacio after a two day rest not sure what to expect but knew I was headed downhill and the road was going improve eventually to pavement. There are few private vehicles in Peru, maybe one in 15 vehicles that I see are private transportation. Mototaxis (3 wheeled motorcycle) are the most common, then corolla station wagons, then vans (combis). So once I get out of San Ignacio the roads are quiet and good thing because I need the entire breadth of the road to maneuver around pot holes and move to the outside of turns. Once again glad for my full size mountain bike tires while dropping 1000 meters to the Rio Chinchipe. Along the river valley I figure out it is going to be a hot and dusty day dodging pot holes. But gradually bits of tattered pavement appear as I head downriver toward Bellavista where I plan to catch a boat across the Rio Maranon. The landscape reminds me of the Western Slope of Colorado with its big river and high dry mountains - except for the banana trees, of course.

The few towns along the road are on the opposite river bank requiring a cable guided ferry to access or just a cable. People are friendly and curious - a family of three plus a chicken stop on their motorcycle to chat and gave me their cell phone numbers if I needed anything. Though, I do get tired of being called gringo all day by endless children and adults by the road. Gringo! Gringo! I feel like a rare animal sighting, which I suppose I am.As the river valley broadens I begin to pass rice paddy after rice paddy, endless rice. I love rice, rice feeds the world, I eat rice 3 times a day, and the rice here is sweet with a little bite at the center. I watch people prepare rice paddies, plant rice plants, paddies with bending stalks heavy with grains, paddies already harvested – all stages of rice production happening at one time. The growing season here does not change - 12 hours of light and 12 hours dark, always warm, always sunny, all the water you need coming down from the mountains. A quintessential pastoral landscape appearing timeless, simple, and honest. Oxen harnessed in the field. The bottom lands an endless even green that I pass accompanied by the constant babble of water flowing over the paddies, hunting cranes perched over the beds, bordered by papayas, bananas, and corn. The landscape is pregnant with life and all things good to eat. But I stop at a small tienda to buy a coke and to sit on the stoop as men pass on motorcycles with chemical sprayers strapped to their backs, I see figures prostrate in water to their shins plugging rice plants into paddies under the same hot sun I ride under . . . How much does rice cost? How much do you have to grow to make a living? The homes I pass are wattle and daub (woven sticks plastered with mud). Who owns a truck to bring their rice to market? Do all these children have schools or teachers? An easy landscape to romanticize but you can only do that for so many hours sweating on a bike. Towards dark I turn off the paved road onto dirt to Bellavista and more rice. The town is small and sees few foreign tourists . . . but it is on a road that dead ends at the Rio Maranon. I roll into the plaza and begin conversation with several men leaning on their mototaxis, as more gather I am directed to a hospedeja (small hotel) on the plaza and check in for the night (10 soles).Come morning I drink my cold instant coffee and work on my bike for a couple hours - changing back to road tires and tightening loose bolts. After a breakfast of soup, rice, yucca, and beef I head down to the river bank along a rough dirt track through rice paddies to catch a small motor boat to the other side. The crossing is not heavily used but saved me over 50km of riding through the city of Jaen. I head away from the landing on a sandy track passing a PetroPeru facility and helicopter pad to the main highway. The road is in decent shape paralleling the Rio Utcubamba heading upstream. Over the course of 80km the valley begins to narrow heading higher upstream steadily climbing but rarely steep (with a few notable exceptions). Road construction is interspersed throughout whether it is crews hand scraping guardrails to be repainted, paint crews hand painting center lines, or heavy machinery routing the road through landslides. They are friendly and encouraging - I sometimes think I must be winning the race . . . I think they welcomed the distraction. Also, dump trucks in Peru are the friendliest yet. Approaching Pedro Ruiz the canyon is filled with the sound of rushing water and parrots nesting in the cliffs. Once again, I pull into Pedro Ruiz at nightfall to check into a nice hospedeja in the town center (10 soles), take a cold shower (only option) and eat. I realized I have covered as much distance in the past two days as the last week (over 200km).

The next morning I resume my climb up the Rio Utcubamba anticipating a short 43km day, according to the map. I pass coffee laying out to dry beside the road which means I climbed over 1000 meters yesterday upstream to get over 2000 meters where coffee is grown. The road is quiet and beautiful as the canyon narrows - I was going to try out my new fishing pole but the no fishing signs were a little too obvious for me to plead ignorance. The canyon narrows down enough that the road is cut into the side of the wall. Eventually, the road turned off for Chachapoyas at 40km meaning I had 10km to go . . .

Well, I can't say I was not warned . . . but then at 50km the city was not in sight! Just plain rude, I thought. However, I did get some good views of the valley I climbed out of . . . and will descend to leave. Chachapoyas is pretty small so I quickly find the central plaza and walk into the first hotel to start shopping but am really thinking about eating a chicken. . . and who is there but Dylan with an extra bed is his room. Small world, indeed.