Route Ahead . . .

No dotted lines this time. But if you look close there is a one all the way along the Rio Ene from Puerto Ocopa then heading into the highlands . . . just saying it is out there. However, I am taking a boat this time from Puerto Ocopa(top of the map on the crease) to San Francisco (bottom of the map on the right). River travel or small planes are standard because there are no roads. I will travel up the Rio Ene then the Rio Apurimac and I am told it will take a day or two . . . we will see but I am packing lots of coffee. The route passes along the Ashaninka Reserve, largest indigenous group in Peru, through some of the most pristine areas amazon and should be just me and the locals. After disembarking at San Francisco it it will be a nice 10,000+ foot climb back up to the highland city of Ayacucho. Hope there is hammock space on the boat and beverage service . . . yeah right.

Does Black 47 or Dropkick Murphies sing this tune? The Clancy Brothers are classic and remind me of home - so raise a pint of half n' half.

Yanachaga-Chemillen National Park to Satipo

As soon as I was able I was ready to leave Pozuzo. I liked Pozuzo and, perhaps, if I was going to spend some time there exploring I would feel differently, but I could not move. More so than other places people were interested if I wanted to stay - they want people to move into the area who are industrious. And I received a lot of kudos for how I arrived through the mountains. Pozuzo is almost 150 years old but still very much a frontier. The most common stores were veterinary and cattle supplies, people distill the strongest cana I have tasted to date (too strong in my humble opinion), and they grow their own tobacco for cigars, or "puros". But I was bored, though loved the food. Typically, when I travel I go somewhere and stay to explore for a month or more . . . but now I am always passing through. I must. I have two to continents to cross. So onwards and upwards for 1000 meters into Yanachaga-Chemillen National Park on a narrow dirt road.

I originally learned about this park by reading accounts of scientific expeditions to discover new species of bird, bugs, and plants. Made me wonder what I was looking at all the time. The park in re known for some of the highest biodiversity on the planet. So I took my time and watched butterflies, birds, and a troop of capuchin monkeys leaping through the trees feeding beside the road. I tried to take photos but they were quick poking their heads out to stare at me for two seconds then leaping 5 meters to the next tree. The road climbed a steep sided ravine along the river for the entire route through the jungle. Waterfalls continually cascaded off the highlands crossing the road but never so deep that I could not keep my feet dry. The rainy season is just beginning so most waterfalls were dry. But give it a month and this would be a very different ride.


After 50km the road topped out into a beautiful wide river valley that was largely give over to cattle. Every time I stopped people approached me to ask where I was coming from, going to etc. . . People are friendly, curious, and tickled pink that I wanted to see where they lived. . . they also think I am a little crazy but in a good way. Everyone is convinced they live in the most beautiful and friendly part of Peru. I finished my day in Oxapampa - a larger cattle town than Pozuzo and I am pleased to be there. My previous adventure was still exacting a toll. I took a quick tour around town and found a hotel and noticed a nice looking bar. I should have more photos of Oxapampa because I enjoyed it immensely but that is why I have no photos besides the obligatory hotel window picture - this time a sunset. I spent 3 nights parked at Otto Vater's bar drinking beer and pisco with locals and wannabe locals from other areas of Peru and the world. And I spent my days hunched over my computer wrting. I just missed Oxapampa's fiesta celebrating its heritage by a day and spent a night chatting with Oscar, a photojournalist from Lima, that was a driving force behind the event, along with many others. Oxapampa itself is not what you would call picturesque but the area is gorgeous and the people wonderful. Now I wish I had photos but it is a place I will return to. Oxapampa is a place that captures people.

I switched back to my roads treads and rolled out of Oxapampa at a a righteous clip covering 85km in a short afternoon. However, I did pay for my speed with one high velocity slide. The roads have periodic water channels, or concreted low spots to channel drainages from the hillsides. I hit one and noticed a little squirrelly swinggle but momentum kept me going then the next one set me sideways . . . I was reminded why I shave. However, my touring bags took the brunt and kept my legs, mostly, off the pavement and only an arm lost skin - now my arm is partly shaved as well. Shaving makes bandaging much easier because their is no hair in the wound and I don't rip out all the hair each time I change my bandage. (besides it is traditional, feels good, and chicks dig it . . . well some chicks)
I crossed another river and hooked left stopping for a beer. Evening was approaching and after passing through a small city I found a nice camp site beside the river. Perfect for a roadside - 50+meters down on a steep skidder path below a land slide with huge boulders in the road. All vehicles are looking at the boulders, not the river, I was below line of sight, quiet, and who is gong to be there at night. I washed up in the river, made dinner and enjoyed the sunset with a puro.
I woke to enjoy the sunrise and continued on my way.
The sunrise was equally beautiful and perfect riding along the river averaging 23+rkph . . .until noontime then it was hot as Hades (though not Central America hot). I pulled arrived in Satipo in the mid afternoon and checked into Henry's, that was recommended by his brother-in-law from where I stayed in Huanuco. Satipo is the end of the road and has the biggest chainsaws i have ever seen - explaining why the immediate trees are not so big.To give perspective - the poster behind is two feet wide - the bar is over 50 inches!
Satipo is a literally the end of the road, the dreamt of trans-amazonica highway, sitting on a river. I have been eating lots, writing, and caught up with friends from Oxapampa.

Sprechen Sie Deutsch?

I am dropped off in Pozuzo after dark, dump my bags on the corner and reassemble in front of a vaguely curious audience. I cruised around the center which took all of 10 minutes to do twice. I was silly exhausted jacked up on sugar and just needed a place to crash. The Hotel Chela with a 10 soles room, adjacent store and restaurant did the trick - access to cold beer, food, and soap. What does Pozuzo look like? Who cares . . . I hobble around town for the first two days to find food then return to my room for a nap. When I talk with locals some inevitably ask, "sprechen sie Deutsch?," and seem vaguely disappointed especially after explaining my family heritage is actually Scottish, Finnish, Quebecois - to them a typical American mutt. To me it is weird they seem so German . . . after all they arrived here 150 years ago. Definitely not like the Spaniards who shacked up upon arrival . . . much to the chagrin of the Spanish crown that kept losing its conquistadors to the local ladies. . . . but give them another 300 years I suppose. The next question is, "why are you here?" Hard not to be existential, "por que no"? I am just a tourist on a bike that is not prospecting for gold or looking for land to start a cattle ranch. However, I am told there are pretty young ladies, cheap land, and you can buy a young bull for $100. I get the distinct impression if I said hook me up - my woman and I would be in the middle of the selva with a chainsaw and attending the next cattle auction. Evidently, if you continue downriver farther into the selva towards Codogo del Pozuzo land is very available tothe industrious.Next is, "how did you get here"? This one I always have to explain two or three times. Evidently, nobody arrives via Panao, Pampa Wasi, Piura, Buena Vista and I have a pretty good idea why, but once understood they are impressed and call my crazy . . . fair enough.
The ladies running Chela are kind and flirty, I just adore confident flirty older woman, and they let me use the basin on the roof to clean my clothes. However, with the weekend arrives a horde of youth from Lima and I have to move (for sanity) and relocate to a room in El Mango (10 soles). The owners are quite Germanic and also have tourists from Lima but they are not drunk 16 year olds. While there I finished reading all the critical essays in the back of Anna Karenina and left the book for the next book starved English reader. The owner is an older gentleman that lets me use his tools on my bike and his taciturn sons eventually warm up. During a lunch of German inspired cuisine he entertains the guests on a concertina playing traditional Tirolean songs, then all the ladies line up to have their pictures taken with him. I feel much less the tourist all of a sudden . . . actually some Limenos think the guy writing on his lap top beer in hand is a Pozuzino and I freely dispense directions around town. I am glad to see Pozuzo and it is a different place that still feels like a frontier where with a little hard work you can cut out something of your own - obviously the residents of Pozuzo feel the same way.
Top of my errand list after the sleeping and eating is to find a good cobbler and there is only one. Thankfully he is very good. I have the sole and rand of my shoes reattached, the inside of my heel cups relined with leather, and he repairs a tear in the toe box from the inside that caused one hell of a bloody blister. Later, on my way to Satipo the buckle on my cycling shoe blew as well and there is no replacing that but zip ties are amazing things!


I should note that many of the photos in the post are from the local museum and people actually wear jeans and t shirts. Pozuzo has a small tourist contingent that appears on weekends from Lima and tourist groups from Germany. They seem to stick around for two days to see the museum, the church, and sample the excellent German inspired food - the only thing Pozuzo lacks is a decent German brewery.

After four days of relative inactivity I was getting bored and ready to move on. I packed my things up and headed out of town. I stopped on the edge of town to fill my gas bottle and was immediately approached by a couple middle aged guys. The usual questions and when I explained my route to Pozuzo they were positively convinced that I was the first to do such a thing. He made a point of recording my name, age, route etc. . . and said he would enter it into the annals of Pozuzo. They convinced me to stick around for the local fiesta with rodeo. I am easily swayed by more weinerschnitzel, I still felt tapped out, and any river crossings promised to be high from the previous days deluge.

So i checked back into my old room at the Mango. The fiesta is in celebration of cattle and this new statue was erected in the main square for the occasion. I actually watched the statue get trucked into town a couple days earlier while I was sitting around with other curious folks. The statue pretty much says it all . . . cattle and hard work clearing land. The rodeo itself was men and boys on horses trying to spear ribbons onto a small hand held peg at a gallop. Interesting for a short while but I noticed that most people were taking the time to get drunk and visit with their neighbors while the rodeo was incidental. However, they were playing country music in English which was refreshing if only because I actually knew the songs and understood all the words.









Somehow when I received attention for the route I took my bike through - stretching it to say ride - I feel a little sheepish. I just followed a dotted line on a map that intrigued me for a decade. Not something many are going to want to repeat . . . except me, of course, but next time on my rigid single speed 29'er with a light pack and more food.

In the end I am just passing through.

Further Observations from Matt Kelly

Further Observations from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

Matt and I have ridden together for months. We parted ways through much of this video segment, as Matt went to Trujillo while I continued to Angasmarca in the high sierra. However, our routes were similar and Matt's videos are always worth seeing. pedalpanam.com

Quick Note

All Peruvians are not liars about time and distance . . . The areas I was in lack electricity so no clocks and no watches. If I wore a watch it would probably be the most interesting thing with me - I have had that exact experience before in remote areas. People have no idea what an hour is, therefore I have long gotten in the habit of asking, "is it a days walk, half days walk, can you complete the walk before lunch?" But some people insist on using hours perhaps because I am a gringo . . . but they do not know what an hour is. Additionally, people do not travel that far from home. So despite being relatively close to Pozuzo people had never heard of it but they could name every farm and collection of two or more houses down the valley. Giving directions is cultural. I am getting more comfortable with the "vueltas,""adelantes," and broad waves that encompass half the horizon . . . So all you Peruvians out there that may have taken offense - none meant.