December 27, 1997 R100GS 23204 R80G/S 33376 Near Piura, Peru - {camped in desert} Outside of Macara, down a short dirt road is the border crossing. We parked the bikes in front of immigration, The official exit stamped our passports. The official asked about were we had gone and where we were going just out of personal curiosity. Out of the blue, he then pointed to a map on his wall which delineated the Ecuadorean boundaries with the disputed amazon territories belonging to Peru. He said that all of this area is Ecuador. Only Ecuadorean maps show the disputed territories as belonging to Ecuador. The rest of the world shows the disputed areas as belonging to Peru. There's still tensions between these two countries regarding this. Related note: A couple days later in Peru. I read the bold print front headlines of a Peruvian newspapers saying that Ecuador claimed some Peruvians were spies. I went to the Aduana office to get the exit stamp for the motorcycle. The aduana agents insisted that I start the motorcycle and move it 30 feet in front of their office, after which they didn't even look at the bikes. They exit stamped our vehicle from our passports, and then we were done. The entire process on the Ecuadorean side taking about 10 minutes. We drove across the river to the Peruvian side. I filled out the short entrance form, and we got our entrance stamp. I then walked over to the Peruvian aduana, and told him that I have a motorcycle. He said, you need a photocopy of your passport and of your vehicle title. I said, "Ok, where can I get a copy?". He said "in Macara." I said, "Macara??? in Ecuador?" "Yes, Macara". "There isn't one here at the border?" I asked. looking as non-chalant as possible,but not making eye contact, he said, "No." Driving several kilometers to get a photocopy isn't so bad relative to the fact that I'd have to cancel our Peru entrance stamp, re-enter Ecuador, exit Ecuador, re-enter Peru, using up an additional 2-4 pages in my space-tight passport, explaining to every official with a rubber stamp why I'm attempting to re-enter on the same day I exited (If that's even allowed). I told him that I could not re-enter Ecuador to go to Macara to get a photocopy. He said, "Then you can't bring your vehicle into Peru." He couldn't care less what difficulty his request might cause. On the Peruvian side, there isn't a town with a copy machine for at least a 2 hours drive through the desert. This course of action seemed so inane for those without a photocopy, I couldn't believe this was the only way. In actuality, Sharon and I were carrying copies of our titles and passports. However, Jim wasn't sure if he had copies. We left the office, and searched our bikes. Jim had a copy of his passport, but not of his title. He had another form that looked like an official document on his motorcycle. At the top in English it said, "THIS IS NOT A TITLE OF OWNERSHIP". But of course, these border guards didn't read English, and accepted the paper. They typed up a form for each motorcycle. They put an estimated valued of $1,500 for each, since they already had the calculations for a vehicles of said value. I was never asked what the real value was, nor did I seriously think that's what they thought it was worth. They were just saving time. About an hour later, and they were done with all the forms. We had received a thirty day vehicle permit, and like all of South America so far (unlike Central America), it didn't cost us anything to enter. The terrain changed to sandy desert. Along the sides of the roads people built homes out of sun dried mud brick, living in the sand. For long stretches there was nothing but sand, rock, however usually with desert vegetation. Unlike North of here where the herds are usually of cows, pigs, sheep or llama. Here everyone has goats, which I assume has something to do with the desert climate. As we were driving along the highway, we could see off in the distance, an on-coming car was coming down the road. As it passed a rock face, a goat, seemingly spooked, jumped off the rock and was hit in mid air jump by the upper grill. At 60mph, the goat was instantly mutton-ized. When we came upon the scene, two seconds later, the smell of the goat's last meal was quite fragrant along the highway. Having just seen how easily spooked goats are, we dropped our speed a bit since we were now continuously driving by herds of goats. We arrived in Sullana looking for an ATM since we were short on cash. At the border I had exchanged 187,000 sucres (~US$43) into Peruvian Soles at a not so favorable rate from the only money changer available. With the sucre falling as quickly as it is, it's not a desirable currency, and there aren't many money changers around. Half of our purchased soles where used on gas, and since it was a Saturday, and banks are closed on Sunday, we were short on cash. Sharon preferred to hang out on the edge of town at a gas station while Jim and I went in search of an ATM around the center square. At the border, the front page of the newspaper said that Sullana was flooded in parts up to 1.2 meters (4 feet). This strange town used an aqueduct as part of the main road through town. Since it had flooded, it was necessary to drive through some deep puddles. Some pedestrians had built up puddle crossing walkways above the water with rocks and boards that the cars then had to drive around. We found the three ATM's in town all of which were out of order likely due to flooding problems with phone lines and or power problems. Giving up on Sullana, we back tracked to Sharon. While we were gone, she said at one time she had counted 54 people standing around her bike checking it out. She said that while waiting a taxi driver had pulled up and warned her that one of the kids in the crowd was a thief and should be carefully watched. On the way out of town, my bike was misbehaving. The throttle seemed to stick open, and the engine would race. I used the kill switch and clutch to prevent the bike from launching into the back of other vehicles. However, when I pulled over to the shoulder of this highway and turned off the engine, it seemed to stop sticking. I wiped off some of the dirt, and sprayed some of Jim's chain lube he had handy on the cable, and went with that. While parked on the shoulder. In the less than 5 minutes we were there, fourteen 3-wheeled mostly vacant taxi's with their drivers had pulled off to the side of the highway to watch me work on the bike. When I was done, they had to clear a path for us to get back on the highway. After a couple minutes on the highway, my throttle began to stick open again. It was holding open around 55mph, I noticed the throttle cable was loose on the left side. Since we were now in a desert, with no shade, hot sun, and nothing around, I kept going at 55mph passing cars slowly when needed. Sharon and Jim could tell I was still having problems, and so followed me. Fifteen minutes later, I found a gas station, and hit the kill switch gliding in on momentum. I took off the gas tank, and fiddled with the throttle cable only to find that wasn't the problem. My left carburetor butterfly valve seemed to be sticking open. I pulled out the carburetor and looked inside. My stomach dropped. There was a black plastic cap, the kind that might be found on a metal chair foot. It had been sucked mostly through the carburetor, and fortunately stopped at the butterfly valve. Had it made it past there it would have entered the left cylinder head. The melted plastic would have seized the piston rings, and I would possibly ended up with a broken rod, piston, damaged sleeve, in short, a destroyed engine. At the time, I figured the only way such a thing could have gotten in there was when the air filter was removed. The last time I removed the air filter was when I cleaned it back in Panama city. The filter had been removed for over a day while it soaked in cleaner, and then was refilled with air foam filter oil. I assumed that this object which looked like a plastic chair foot cap was inserted into my air box at this time by my 3 year old nephew who was obsessed with helping me work on the motorcycle. A week later, I discovered this was not the source of the object at all. Since I'm writing this a week later, I can tell the whole story now. The air box has an exhaust re-breather inlet intended for reducing exhaust emissions. When I had bought this R80G/S, this had been removed, or never been added. The R80G/S had a plastic plug stuck into the air box where the re-breather should go. I discovered a week later that this plug was missing from the right side. Apparently it had been sucked in from the right side into the left carburetor. I ended up plugging the hole with duct tape, only after riding several hundred miles through sandy deserts, and dusty roads. No telling how much damage has been done to the engine given that this hole bypassed the air filter. I noticed a big improvement in carburetor after removing this plastic piece. The bike runs smoother with more power now. While I was working on the bike we heard a Harley coming down the highway. He saw us, and pulled in next to us with his Harley-Davidson soft tail wearing all sorts of Harley paraphernalia. He introduced himself as Louis. He was a Peruvian by birth, but had been working over seas after receiving his education in the US. He was currently working for Motorola installing a cellular phone systems in Peru. He said recently Harley-Davidson had opened up a shop in Lima, however they (all of Peru) lack a mechanic. We agreed that Harley-Davidson's recent plan to open up distribution into Latin America should do well since it's image is so well suited for the Latin American male. Since it was late, and we were hungry, we had dinner at the gas station restaurant which was surprisingly good. We had fresh made fried plantains, rice and fresh made french fries for 7.5 soles, just under a $1 each. With this we drank some Inca Cola, a popular local soda which is bright yellow, and taste like bubble gum and lolli pops. Given that we were running out of daylight, local currency, and had a desire to camp out in the desert, We asked for permission, and then camped out about 100 meters away from the gas station in the desert hidden by a pile of rocks. During daylight hours, the sand flies and mosquitoes made it very unpleasant, however at night it was very nice. It was a perfect sleeping temperature such that the tent and sleeping pad were all we needed. The soft warm sand ground was very comfortable. Note: In Southern Ecuador and Peru coffee is served differently. The waiter will brink a small cup of concentrated liquid coffee, and a cup of hot water. The concentrated coffee is then poured into the hot water according to customer taste. As far as taste? I've had some bad stuff, and some ok, however I don't think I'll be changing how I make my own coffee. December 28, 1997 Huanchaco, Peru - We found an ATM in Piura, and loaded up with Soles. The Plus system ATM's will let one take up to 2,000 soles in one shot which is close to US$800. In Ecuador, it was difficult to find an ATM that would allow more than US$100 withdrawal. Huanchaco is a beach resort town for the locals. It's located just North of Trujillo, the second largest city in Peru. It's also a big hangout for surf board travellers. The shore is lined with traditional reed boats. These one made half kayak shaped boats are made from bundles of tightly strung together reeds. They are traditionally used for fishing with, and are surprisingly heavy for their size. They look very uncomfortable. We didn't see anyone using them while we where there. Guirmo was our substitute hotel host as the swiss peruvian owners were on vacation. He had been living staying here for several weeks just surfing. He spoke excellent English which he said he learned at Colorado state where he used to be buff. He still looked like a pumped up surfer who was the only person there who never wore a shirt. The hotel had a young fawn named Linda that walked around in the walled grass area. The fawn was very tame, and would walk up to people letting them pet it. Apparently someone was raising it for food and not taking good care of it, and so the hotel owners got a hold of it... For dinner, Jim, Sharon and I tried some Chicharone of fish, scallops, octopus, shrimp, clams. The Chicharone of fish and scallops was extremely fresh, and delicious. Chicharon seems to be the Peruvian term for battered and fried morsels In the morning, we had a mediocre breakfast, however since drinking water is in such short supply, we were thirsty waiting for our drinks to come. While we were sitting at our outdoor table, a juice vendor rolled his cart by. For about $.50, He cut and squeezed a huge orange juice for us. When we were done, we handed him back his glass which he washed in his portable water supply, and then rolled on to the next customer. Sharon said it was the best juice she's had on this trip. December 29, 1997 Tortuga, Peru - (Casa del Padre de Enrique} Just North of Trujillo, we visited Chan Chan the Chemu capital that spanned from Tombes to Lima, and was conquered by the Incas after a 10 year war lasting 1460-1470. The Chemu were one of the four largest empires of that time until they surrendered to the Incas. The Incas who were from Machu Picchu (near Cuzco) cut off their water supply from the mountains which extended through seven miles of aqueducts and rivers to their capital near the desert shore line. The walled city of Chan Chan at that time had walls as high as 30 feet made from hardened mud mixed with sea shells. Many of the walls have washed away due to the rains especially during El Nino years. There several palaces built in Chan Chan, only one of which is open to the public for viewing. The ocean was obviously very important to this town as many of the carvings in the wall and pottery has pictures of fish, fish nets, otters, pelicans etc. They had an interesting aqueduct system that would bring water from the mountains partly underground, but above salt water level, to fill up great fresh water cisterns they had inside the walled city. Our hired guide pointed out that many of the inner halls were defensively built to divide and confuse enemies rushing the palace. South of Trujillo, we passed by some beautiful desert landscape. In many places the desert had little vegetation, and some beautiful small rock mountains that appeared to glaciated except the glaciers were of sand that had collected in the crevices. The temperature of the desert was cool making it very comfortable for us to ride in full riding gear. Loose sand swept over the road in some places. The road crews try to keep up. In one drift, where they where using a big Caterpillar scoop loader to clear the drifting sand, there was what looked like a thin layer of sand across the road. Sharon who was in the lead drove across, but as she got half way across, her back wheel started fish tailing. Her fish tail went really wide, until boom... she fell. After the bull crossing her path in Guatemala, and the drop she had heading to Macara, this was only her third moving motorcycle drop. As designed, the bike was supported between the panniers and engine guard fully protecting the weight of the bike from touching her legs. Sharon was fine except for a bruise on her shin. And surprisingly in high spirits. I asked how she was, and she complained that the fall got sand in her vented gloves between her finger nails. If she's complaining about sand between her fingernails, I figured she must be fine. Her leather jacket left her completely unharmed where otherwise she might have scraped up her arm on the sand. The only damage to the bike was the front lower right corner of the aluminum pannier ground away a little where it seemed to have taken the brunt of the fall. The rear tire on her bike was the sport street tire we bought in Quito, not a dual sport which may or may not have help prevented the fish tail from getting out of control. No decent dual sport tires could be found in Quito at that time... Just North of Chimbote there were two police officers standing along the side of the road as they were forming a sort of impromptu police check at this point. As what happened earlier yesterday, all of the traffic ahead of us drove on through, and when they saw us, they blew their whistle, and waved their arms. As we've done at earlier times including yesterday, I waved to the officers as we drove on through not slowing a bit. Implying, "Hello, Yes, I see you. I don't need to stop". Yesterday, the cop just smiled, and we kept on going. Of course in North America this would not be tolerated. In many places in latin america we get away with it, especially since in Central America these cops are on foot. Although we haven't had any problems, many people tell us it's a common way to get hit up for a bribe, so best not to stop if we don't need to. Military check points are entirely different. Running one of these would likely end up with a few M-16 rounds in our backs. Further, our experience has been that military checkpoints haven't seemed like likely candidates for bribe taking. Today, I saw the officers waiving their arms a little more frantic as we passed. When I looked in my mirror, they were walking towards their motorcycle getting ready to chase us down; The motorcycles they had were big enough to do it too. Uh, oh. I immediately slammed on my brakes, and turned around. Jim was doing the same. Sharon, who was leading slowed down and turned off onto the side of the road. As we pulled up to the motorcycle cops who had just mounted their bikes. One of them started up his bike and drove down to Sharon who was stopped about 100 meters down the road. I pulled off my helmet as I walked over to the one cop, and in my cheeriest voice said, "Good Morning, how's it going?" Even through it was long past morning (5:00pm), the officer didn't pick up on my cheery energy, and with a scowl, barked "Why didn't you stop???" I said I didn't see him in time, and indicated that it was because of the vehicles ahead of us and the hill we just came over. Considering I was waiving to him as I passed, to me, it sounded like a blatant lie. He barked back, "When I'm flagging you down...". He waved his arms. "...and blowing my whistle, you must stop. We need to do transit paper checks. Let me see your papers!" I pulled out my papers as Jim was walking up and handed them to the cop. I told Jim, and he did the same. I looked down the road at Sharon. She was sitting on her motorcycle talking to the other police officer that had driven up to her. While the cop was busy looking at the papers, Jim started looking at the policeman's motorcycle. I quietly snickered and walked over to Jim and the policeman's motorcycle. Jim and I started looking over his bike. It was a late 80's Honda 650cc cruiser type street bike. Hoping to get the focus off of police work. Jim and I started regurgitated the same questions we heard from every latin american asking about our motorcycles. I asked the cop, "How big is your gas tank?" He said, "6 gallons." Jim and I let out a "Wow..." After a short pause, "How big is your engine?" I asked. The cop said "650cc". Jim asked, "How fast will it go?" The now distracted policeman stopped doing whatever he was doing with the papers, and stepped over to the bike. He pointed to the speedometer which had a maximum of 135mph, and said "135". While attempting to seem as sincere as possible, we showed how impressed we were, despite doubting his claim. He then told us about how the police force had six Harleys each with 1300cc engines. The other, more amiable looking, police officer had returned from talking with Sharon who was down the road, and was just getting into our spirited conversation. "Wow... very nice, Harley's are beautiful bikes", I said. Jim, said "I like the Harley noise." The police chuckled and agreed they had a nice sound." The second cop then got on his bike and started it up revving the engine several times so that we could hear the sound of his Honda. As it revved, we showed how impressed we were. Then the first cop did the same. "very nice, I said." He then gestured to let me rev the accelerator. As if I never had the privilege of turning the accelerator of a motorcycle before, I gave it a couple revs. "very good...". I then meant to say "very smooth", when in reality I then said "very soft". I could perceive the cop didn't consider this particularly flattering, and so I quickly added, "...I like that." The second cop then asked about where we came from and where we were going, and had obviously already talked to Sharon about this. We told them we were headed to Casma, and asked about where it was and how far it was, even though we already knew. The cop asked which one of us were married. We answered, and then Jim says, "I have a girl friend in Great Britain, but I think Peruvian woman are beautiful." I snickered inside at the blatant flattery. The first cop says, "Oh yeah, I'll set you up with my sister. Do you have a place to stay? You can come home with me and I'll introduce you to her." Jim, now backed in a corner, fumbled a bit and says, "Dave's wife knows my girl friend, and she would kill me." That offer safely diffused, we ask again about Casma. Jim says, "the suns going down soon, and we're low on time". The police agreed and handed us our papers and wished us good luck. Jim and I quickly put on our helmets, and were out of there. Sharon, without missing a beat was already rolling by the time we were just behind her, and so took off immediately. I left there with a sense of how phallic motorcycles can be in this culture. Stroking their ego was so effective that it turned a barking cop into a close buddy willing to offer his sister and a place to stay to a friendly stranger. A few miles down the road and we were in Chimbote. We took a wrong veer on an unmarked intersections. The second cop came up from behind and offered to escort us through town, back onto the road to Casma. He took us through some back roads to the other side of town. I'm sure because of his presence, other vehicles seemed to give us much more room. Outside of Chimbote, we were back in mountainous sandy desert along the Pacific coast. It was a beautiful sunset driving from the mountain cliffs that were surrounded by dry rocky mountains and sand. To the left the sand sloped up into the Cordillera Negra arid rocky mountains. To the right the sand sloped between the mountains to the ocean shore which all along we could see many small dry rocky mountain islets jutting up above the water line. Along the shore line in between the mountains and islets was a mist which diffuse the setting sunlight making for a very surreal sunset that belonged to some other world. In this beautiful cove, I was scanning for a good place to pull off the road and camp. The sand looked a bit soft, and there didn't seem to be a good place to obscure the sight of the bikes from the road. In the next cove over there was a sign pointing to a little town called Tortuga which the sign said had some hotels. This tortuga cove was almost as beautiful as the last uninhabited one. We decided to check out accommodations. The road through town was dirt, so Sharon chose to wait at the entrance of this little pueblo. Jim ran into a pedestrian named Enrique who was just out to pick up some cookies from a nearby shop. Enrique said there was a $30 and $40 per person hotel here, and that was it. However, Jim's friendly manic mannerisms got us an offer to camp out in Enrique's back yard. This area was so beautiful, that we had to check it out. We drove up to his cliff house overlooking the cove. Enrique asked his father, who the house actually belonged to, and said they had a room with three beds that we were welcome to use, or if we rather we could still camp. We took them up on their offer to sleep in the room with a single and a set of bunk beds. We parked the bikes in their secure walled parking area. Enrique explained how the bathroom works. He showed me that their is water in the tap, however for the toilet, he gave me a bucket to get sea water for flushing. Enrique said that in this area it usually only rains once a year. However now with El Nino, they're getting rain about once a month. Enrique introduced me to his mother and father, and his niece. His brother and sister both lived in the US. His 16 year old niece Alysia, who spoke perfect American English, was visiting from Los Angeles, and offered translations when we needed. We walked back to the entrance of town to a restaurant we had seen. The entire town was without power. except for a few residences that had generator or battery. Obviously power shortages are frequent. We had a wonderful fresh fish filet dinner. while sitting out on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant with the night breeze blowing over. In Ecuador, the coastal regions are suffering, In Panama, they've been having a hard time fishing. Sullana in Peru was flooded attributed to El Nino. Chan Chan has been suffering so much from El Nino, that the Fugimora government is spending money to build some protective enclosures for part of Chan Chan. December 30, 1997 Huaraz, Peru - {Edward's Hostal} R80GS 33893 R100GS 23705 Beautiful desert landscape glaciated mountains.. except with sand rather than water. sand carved into patterned mounds. next valley over maybe flat Passed through a tunnel spectacular views of the ocean shoreline the desert just runs into the ocean. Beautiful lonely beaches, with no inhabitants near by. I wanted to camp, however had no water at the time. Why is that at transit points, bus stops, ocean ports are such shit holes frequented by uncharismatic motley people. like the love motels... no one stays... weirdos frequent. everyone is on their caution for the weirdo who comes by. no one wants to make friends, as they just move on... >From P*** we turned North West to ride up into the mountains At about a 3300 feet, it began to rain, so we put on our rain gear. The ride up through the valley was obscured by rain and clouds, but what little I could see, I could tell this is a must see during dry times. As the road climbed it got cold. When we started the climb up at near sea level, the temperature was 94 degrees (34.2C), Near the top approximately 4200 meters, it was 42 degrees (6.4C) December 31, 1997 Huaraz, Peru - {Edward's Hostal} Huaraz isn't a particularly attractive town. It's the launching point for people who want to climb or hike in the area. When we arrived last night, Sharon took the tank bag off the gas tank on the R100GS. When she did, the blow valve on the gas cap let off a whistle which lasted 10-15 seconds. not good. The blow tube which usually goes on here was lost several days ago. This air that was escaping was obviously from having risen in altitude from sea level to 4300 meters, and then back to around 2x00 meters where we were now. It then occurred to me that this might be the source of the gas problems we've been having ever since Arkansas. We've been having fuel flow shortage problems. Twice we dumped the gas thinking that the filter might be clogged with crap. However, this was only the case the first time, and the R80G/S which had filled up at all of the same places didn't have this problem. The thinking now was that the fuel air tube was getting kinked. As the gas drained out the bottom pet cocks, a suction was created in the tank which hindered fuel flow. I put a thick heavy duty fuel line tube on this gas cap air vent, and tightened on with a hose clamp. The tank bag won't kink this. Later Note: As of one month later, we have not had this fuel starvation problem that has intermittent plagued us these past 6 months. Nowhere before on our trip have we had a difficult time purchasing plain water. Most commonly found is carbonated mineralized water. Sometimes we can find mineral water without the carbonization, however finding just plain non gas, non mineral water is next to impossible. At least not until we got to the tourist areas of Nasca and Cusco. All purchasable drinkable liquids are expensive whether it's water, beer, coke, or Inca Cola, it's expensive. A liter of pop or 1.5 liter of water will cost around 3.5 Soles ($1.27), Up to this point, the only plain water we've seen sold comes in a 20 liter (5 gallon) plastic cube, 1/2 liter of unappetizing tasting mineral water sells for 2 Soles ($.73) and sells for 25 Soles ($9) which is by far the most expensive so far. One would think we were in a desert. :-) At this price and hassle, I got out our water filter, and started using it for the first time on our trip. I iodined the water with iodine solution letting it sit for a couple hours, and then filter it through our .1 micron ceramic/carbon MSR filter. The iodine kills the viruses among other things, and the filter traps the rest. The carbon portion of the filter takes out most of the iodine taste. Walking around town, I noticed most street vendors and stores sold yellow underwear. Apparently it's a tradition in Latin America to wear yellow underwear on New Years. I don't know the significance. Neither Sharon nor I bought any. Indian woman wearing their fancy hats. felt black or brown with a large brim, and a fabric folded fan decoration mounted on the side. They would often be sitting on the sidewalk selling potatoes, Yuca, etc. We celebrated New Years in the dining room of our hotel. We had a couple bottle of wine, garlic salami from Quito, and swiss cheese we found in town. Local tradition is to buy a sort of fruit cake. This fruit cake isn't the traditional dense Anglo-world type, but rather more like a light, slightly sweet yellow bread with raisins, and candied fruit made in what looks like a gallon size bucket container. With this the tradition is to have hot chocolate milk made from a special waxy type chocolate bar, Nestle canned milk, and cinnamon. Edward, the hotel owner, Mark, an Australian climber we met there, Jim, Sharon and I ate and had a nice time just talking. We all conked out around 10:30pm. At that time, locals were migrating to the bars for the celebration. At midnight, local kids blew off fireworks in the streets. January 1, 1998 Huaraz, Peru - {Edward's Hostal} We had planned to leave to drive further down this Andes mountain pass to Caraz this morning. We had a difficult time finding any place that was open for breakfast. One place that was didn't have a cook, and so couldn't serve us anything beyond strawberry jelly sandwiches. We finished our breakfast by 11:30am Still planning to drive the hour or so to Caraz, we packed up. As usual before we leave, I checked the tire pressure. As I was doing so, I noticed that the R100GS front tire had some soft spots where there were cracks in the tread. Pushing on these soft spots had too much give for my comfort. This tire had about 14k miles, and was near ready to replace. We were carrying a spare we had bought in Costa Rica. I don't like to take chances with the tires, especially the front tire. Rather than risk driving to Caraz, we decided to change the tire first which meant leaving tomorrow. Since the R100GS has tubeless tires and rims, the bead is much harder to break manually, at least it was last time. I wasn't feeling energetic enough to try this, so with Jim's help, I carried the wheel and tire to a tire changing place, and figured I'd pay someone else a couple cents to break the bead. Unfortunately, being New Years day, most of the many tire changing places were closed. We found one little tire changing shack that was busy, but willing to do it. Unlike most wheels which are steel and hard, I told the worker that these wheel rims are aluminum, and soft. He nodded his head acknowledging what I just said. He then got out a large pick axe, the same kind someone might dig a mine with, and to my horror was about to take a swing before I grabbed his arm mid swing. Being a tubeless tires, the aluminum/rubber seal must be perfect or else the tire will constantly leak. A pick axe gouge would likely leave me stranded until the new $500 wheel could be shipped in. I had never heard of a pick axe used for tire changing in my life. With all confidence gone, I thanked the worker for his willingness, and left as quickly as possible. I decided this search for a bead breaker was no longer worth it, and I'd do it myself. Later note for myself, If the aluminum wheel had been damaged by the pick axe, I probably could remove the tubeless valve, and put a tube in. We walked back to the hotel, and I began to work on it. The bead broke much easier than it did last time, and the tire came off much easier than I thought it would. Maybe this is due to all the recent practice I've had, or just that tire was well worn. When I pulled off the old Avon Gripter front tire, I could see the bad spots. There were about 7 or more soft spots that were easily visible from within. On the outside these looked like little cracks in the rubber on the sides of the tread nobbies. Despite this being the favorite tire of the BMW GS internet mailing list, I've lost a lot of respect for this tire. In Guatemala, this same brand tire, split between the tread exposing the tube on the R80G/S, which then blew out as we crossed Guatemala city. On the R100GS, there looked like a couple thousand miles of tread left, however the soft spots forming had made this tubeless tire dangerous. I doubt I'll be buying this tire again. In fairness, this tire was running at it's max recommended pressure the whole time as we are carrying a lot of luggage. I put on the German made MT80 Pirelli we bought in Costa Rica for $126. In South America most of the Pirelli's are made in Brazil, and cost a third to a half the Costa Rican price. This new tire had a higher pressure rating at 42lbs max which would allow for even more stability with all the weight of the bike. After an initial couple hundred miles of driving on it, I'm really happy with it. I strapped the old tire back on the bike to use as a potential spare with a tube. While changing the tires, my last pair of pants ripped in the front. My other pair had been torn 10 inches in front in Macara. They are disintegrating, and requiring more work than they are worth. Last night I had spent an hour and a half sewing up holes. I decided it was time to pitch them, and picked up some blue jeans in town. It's a sacrifice since my previous pants were well engineered travel pants, securely holding all of my possessions safely from pickpockets, and dried fast when washing. With blue jeans, I'll have to carry a money belt, and watch my pockets closer. January 2, 1998 Caraz, Peru - {Hotel Chamana} R100GS 23959 R80G/S 34154 We drove to Caraz to a place called Hotel Chamana who a friend, Doug Ruth had nothing but good things to say about 10 months earlier when he visited. It was run by two Germans Ute and Reiner who had lived there the past 14 years. Both Reiner and Ute had worked in 5 star restaurants in Heidelberg, and had lots of training on how to run a nice place. We arrived for in time to have breakfast. No guests were there at the time, and Reiner looked like he had recently woken up from one heck of a New Year's celebration. We had breakfast in a beautiful green flowering vine canopied outdoor garden. The table was nicely set with seven pieces of silverware per person, a plethora of nice serving dishes, fresh cut flowers on the table, and the air was filled with nice classical music... starting with Bethoven's Pastoral. They brought out excellent coffee, fresh made delicious rolls, home made strawberry preserves, juice made from blended banana, papaya, strawberries, and grapes. Later a plate of scrambled eggs were brought out. This wonderful breakfast with the exception of Bavarian apple pancakes substituted for scrambled eggs was to be the kind of breakfasts we ate for the rest of the week. Rich in both flavor and atmosphere, it was a vacation from our trip. After negotiating an incredible deal to stay there for 15 Sucres per night per person ($3.16), we later found out what they get you on is the food. We were so spoiled eating there, that there was no way we would consider anywhere else. We checked into one of the cabanas inset in the garden. Reiner is an artist in everything he does here. They have five bungalows, all of which are artisticly formed and irregular in shape. Each one is decorated with interesting wall murals that Reiner did himself. The cabanas are spacious, and tastefully decorated. Reiner gave us a tour of his garden which is nicely laid out full of flowers, and streams that run every which way through area down to a pond in front of the horse stables where he keeps four horses. Sharon got a kick out of hanging around the horses, and would visit and feed them at least once a day. Reiner says the horses are excellent recycling machines. He says he puts in flowers, and get out flowers. referring to feeding them alfalfa, and getting manure which he spread on the flower beds. We just hung out and relaxed the rest of the day in our Cabana. Jim showed up around noon. He had gone off in the morning from Huaraz up to the Canyon del Pato which we planned to do another day. January 3, 1998 Caraz, Peru - {Hotel Chamana} After the past several days of long driving, her butt soar, Sharon said she wasn't interested in getting on the motorcycle for a while. Jim was going to be moving on out of this canyon tomorrow, but before he did, I had talked him into doing the Yungay mountain pass through the Cordillera Blanca Mountains. I had given him my palmtop to read Doug Ruth's journal on doing Cahuaz San Luis pass. Edwardo in Huaraz, who was a local mountain treking guide recommended doing Yungay pass over Carhuaz since the road conditions and views were slightly better. We got up at 6:30, had some coffee, which Ute had made for us, and then were off. In Yungay, we stopped and had some breakfast in a little dive of a restaurant. We had stale bread, butter that tasted like motor oil, cheap strawberry jam, scrambled eggs, and a sprite. Neither of us made comment on the savoriness of the meal, but rather ate and enjoyed the local atmosphere. Outside, but within our view, through the door, some locals were looking a little too close at our bikes. Jim decided to have some fun, and pulled out his alarm remote control. A couple clicks caused the motorcycle to chirp and made them scurry looking as innocent as possible as they quickly walked on with their business. We hopped on our bikes, and road up the mountain. In 1970, this town, Yungay, was wiped out by a mud slide after the great earth quake that hit this area. At the time, I had forgotten it was this town, and didn't notice. On the way up, through town, we passed through several swarms of butterflies, orange and black in color, but too small to be monarchs. Yesterday, when Sharon and I had ridden by Yungay, I noticed the same swarm and felt guilty as they ended up splattered all over the front of my motorcycle and helmet visor as I passed through. Throughout the entire Huaraz valley, only here did I notice these butterflies. The road wound up the mountain passing through several other little pueblos. Occasionally we caught some glimpses of white capped mountains as we drove up. We entered the park where we paid our 2 sol entrance fee. After the park entrance, the road enters a deep steep canyon where the mountain sides are 80-100 degree flat vertical cliff faces. From the road there was a beautiful view of the valley in the distance that we had come up from. We stopped and took a lot of pictures. Sometimes climbing in some dangerous places to get just the perfect shot. We drove on up the road to the first of two tier lakes. The lake spanned almost from one vertical cliff face to another. It was a beautiful turquoise blue that reminded me of the glacial lakes like Lake Louise in Banff, Canada, except this one was cleaner. Here again, we stopped to take some nice photos waiting for the rapidly rolling cumulus clouds above to move aside allowing the sun to provide the perfect lighting for our picture. We drove on, and twice more decided we had to stop and take pictures because the previous spectacular scenery just wasn't quite as spectacular as the current one. This was the story all the way up. Just when we thought the vista couldn't be any better it was. Lighting was perfect, and the colors vibrant. Shortly after the first lake, was a second turquoise lake. Above this was an attractive marshy plain with running clear or turquoise colored tributaries running every which way, but in general from higher in the valley to lower in the valley. Further up from this marshy maze of tributaries was a small grassy plain where several llamas roamed. At the high end of the grassy plain we came across a camp ground where on two sides are beautiful snow capped glaciated mountains. Off to the right, the huge snow capped mountain melted off into a boulder covered mountain side which led into a cliff where a waterfall poured out clear cold water that eventually fed the two lakes below. At this point, the road took many switch backs as it climbed the side of a mountain. Of course, the view just kept getting better and better with the twin lakes below framed on either side by the vertical cliff face canyon, snow capped mountains with waterfalls pouring out melted glacial streams. At the rate we were taking pictures, it was slow going getting up to the pass. As we climbed above 4,000 meters (13,200 feet), the altitude started getting to us. I was getting so lethargic, that it felt like my camera was turning to lead, and I started whining about all the damn gold electrical contacts they use in these cameras, making them heavier. Further up, the thought of getting off the bike and framing up a picture which would leave us out of breath was becoming less appealing despite the view. We were also having to deal with the temperature and sun at altitude. While riding, it was cold enough to want to wear two liners. However while stopped, the sun was so intense that I'd break out in a sweat after only a couple minutes. The road up was rough dirt rock and gravel. Despite my top box not carrying anything heavy, it began to rattle much more than usual. I pulled over, and noticed that the top box rack screws had come loose with all of the road vibration. I needed to tighten this before the rack broke again. The altitude was getting to us making us giddy and tired. As I was emptying out the top box, I discovered my missing black sock, and said so. For the next couple minutes, while standing on a cliff facing the beautiful snow peaked cliffs and valley below, Jim sang Handel's Messiah full chorus version with lyrics altered to celebrate the joyous reunion of my not so immaculate re-found black sock. We were nearly at the top of the pass, and drove the rest of the way up. We drove the last fifteen minutes up. From the top, on East side, we could see the two glacial fed lakes that eventually fed into the Pacific. To the West, was a new small lake that eventually led into the Atlantic. We were standing on the continental divide looking at one of the many sources of the Amazon river. After an enjoyable moment taking in the scenery from the top of this pass, Jim's front tire had gone completely flat. He said that he started noticing towards the top, as we were coming up. He was able to forget about it for a moment while he took in the views. What a place for a flat... We were at 4778 meters (15776 feet). It was hailing, with occasional rain and the ambient temperature, not including wind chill, was 45 degrees (7 degrees Celsius). Not being acclimated to this altitude, a little moving around left us breathing hard. Fortunately, Jim had everything he needed to fix his tire, including the dinkiest bicycle air pump in the world. While wonderful to pack, it requires literally a 1000 pumps to inflate a tire. Fortunately, the bead on his TransAlp rims are much easier to break and reset, than on the BMW. A thorn had punctured the tire and inner tube. He patched up the tube, and we put everything back together mean while trying to keep the tools and parts from getting wet from when the hail would turn into rain. We took turns pumping up the tire putting about a 100 pumps in at a turn before a little oxygen starvation set in. While Jim was packing up the last of his tools. I was looking at the R80G/S, and noticed a hole in the lower air box. Not good.... Unfiltered air was being sucked into the engine rapidly deteriorating the life of the engine as it ran on this dirty road . This hole is were the re-breather system which is accompanied with most BMW's attaches. There was previously a plastic plug here, and then I remembered the plastic chair end cap that I found in the carburetor butterfly valve that was millimeters from destroying my engine a week ago.... I patched up the hole with duct tape. I had left mine at the hotel, but Jim had some with him and gave me some. Almost every motorcycle traveller carries duct tape since it's such an essential tool. It's the tool of the gods. When Helios drives his fire chariot across the sky every day, he caries a roll, with extra UV protection of course. It was getting late. Afternoons always rain in this area, and so we had planned to be out of here and off these bad roads before then. We had already eaten up a lot of time stopping for photos. After the flat tire, we just wanted to make it down to pavement before night fall. On the way down, we stopped several times to put more air in the tire as the air pressure decreased from altitude. The little pump was a killer to work with so little oxygen in the air. On the way down, the top box center mount clamp broke. I secured it as best as I could with my bungee cord, which was barely adequate, and so took it easy going down the hill. I've had so many visits to the welder for these three top box mount points on this trip. Failure rate, requiring a visit to a welder after dirt/gravel/rock roads is about 75% so far. Each time I beef up the existing system, however I believe this design is altogether a weak one, and needs a bit more engineering, When we made it to the bottom, Jim looked about as exhausted as I felt. At Yungay, we pulled over, and had an Inca cola from a road stand as the dusk light was fading. We said our goodbyes, and he took off. We both just happened to be planning to be in Ushuaia (Southern most town in the Americas) by the end of February, and so we thought we might meet up there. Failing that, maybe in England or Australia. January 4, 1997 Caraz, Peru - {Hotel Chamana} Sharon and I spent the entire day sleeping. We only left our room to eat and visit the bathroom. We spent a lot of time in the toilet. Yesterday afternoon, I had begun to feel ill (digestive system). This evening, when Reiner found out we were sick, he asked if we were burping up the taste of "old eggs". Sharon wasn't, but all day yesterday afternoon, I was getting tired of burping up this taste. Reiner being had picked up a common disease of this valley. Reiner said about half the visitors around here seem to experience this, but it goes away in a few days. Well, at least it was a nice place to be sick. January 5, 1998 Caraz, Peru - {Hotel Chamana} Woke up around 9:00, had breakfast, we slept again until 1:00pm, spent the afternoon in bed reading to each other "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea" which we had downloaded onto the computer off the internet. When I sit up, my torso sounds like a Japanese pachinko machine. January 6,7,8 1998 Caraz, Peru - {Hotel Chamana} Still sick and tired. We stayed in our nice cabana most of the day resting. It's been raining most of the days. We've been reading more Jules Vern, and getting caught up on journals. We worked on repacking our bikes. With the intention being to empty the R80G/S which Sharon is going to start riding, and put all of the luggage on the R100GS which I'll start riding. The problems has been that with such a heavy tall bike as the R100GS, Sharon doesn't get much practice with slow speed maneuvering since the bike is out of her comfort range to even try. Her dependence on me to navigate the heavy tall bike through bad road stretches is weighing on her moral. I lowered the suspension on the R80G/S by reducing the rear pre-load about as far as it would go. January 9, 1998 Caraz, Peru - {Hotel Chamana} Last night the nearly full moon was bright. There was clearly visible halo around the moon which filled about 1/4 of the hemisphere of the sky. I assume the halo was due to a barely perceptible haze. This morning was a beautiful morning with a clear blue sky. The snow capped mountain tops where clearly visible. This hasn't been the case the last couple days when it rained most of the day. We chose to seize the day, and make the most of the beautiful weather. After a wonderful breakfast, we hopped on the R80G/S, and drove down to Canon del Pavo (Canyon of the duck) which is at the North West end of the Valley separating the Cordillero Negra and Cordillera Blanca. The road follows the Santa river which runs North West. Previous to the bad earthquake of 1970 which did serious damage through out Peru, this road use to be a railroad which follows the curvy river, but is relatively flat. It passes through the river valleys, and then as it approaches the canyon the mountains seems more vertical, the river narrows running faster, and the road along side, in the canyon, passes through a series of 35 tunnels. We turned around at the hydro-electric dam at Huallanca, and then facing the surrounding mountains from a different direction saw another half. It was beautiful. In some places we were in a narrow parallel passage way with the squeezed narrow river flowing 25-30mph over a hundred feet below. Along the far wall, the river had carved the steep rock face over millions of years. Occasionally we would come upon waterfalls pouring beautiful clean clear/turquoise water into the silty brown Santa. Surrounding the waterfalls, the arid cliff face became green with vegetation. Our excursion took us a little over two hours. Afterwards, we walked into town. We needed to find a welder to fix the top box support bracket that broke a couple days earlier while riding Yungay pass, and to reweld the left mirror that had broken when the bike rolled over it's kickstand and fell over, on our way to Vilcabamba two weeks ago. We found a welder in town who did an excellent job making the support bracket stronger than before, and charging me 5 Soles ($1.89) for both. Observations on the town... In the outlying areas of town, aqueducts run everywhere that it seems every one has a stream of fresh mountain water running by their home. This is the same as the Chemu and Incas have done for many centuries. The rapid flowing water still has glacial silt from the mountains. Some houses that depend on this glacial melted water can run short in the morning after the cool night, or if it's been overcast for too long. Hot sunny days usually insures plenty of water. Also, just like the Chemu's of several centuries before, everyone is still using bricks made from sun dried mud mixed with pebbles as the primary building material. Most of the buildings today are then plastered with a layer of cement and painted such that it's difficult to tell that it's just a wall of mud. Many of the roofs are spanish style clay tile. Woman wear white cane hats with wide brims. They look like a white witch hat, except that the top cone has been cut off and replaced with a flat top. Notes: Over the past several months, we've been encountered many insects which Sharon refers to as B.F.B.s. This is not the technical name for them, but rather is short for Big F****** Bug. B.F.Bs. have been found everywhere since Costa Rica. Here they are most often large beetles. At night with lights on, they fly in with a low hum pitch that's louder and lower in pitch than a humming bird. They are like an ungraceful clumsy flying walnut. In Panama we encountered beautiful brass and copper colored beetles that looked like a 19th century miniature mechanical creation from Faberge. The next morning, the large beetles lying on the ground make excellent cat toys. The cat bats them around the floor. The hooks stick to the hair on the paws some times. When they're upright, they instinctively stand tall moving attempting to frighten which only serves to further antagonizing the cat. This can go on for hours until the cat is distracted. I've been adding iodine to a pot of water, and then letting the sit all night. In the morning, with cooties dead, and much of the sediment that would clog the filter settled to the bottom, I pump it through the filter. Although recently, the water filter seems clogged, since it takes way too long to pump out a liter of water. Fortunately this water filter is designed to be field cleanable. However, I wasn't as careful as I should have been while cleaning this. The problem is that inside, surrounding the ceramic filter element is concentrated bio hazard from all the water that has been filtered. While I was careful what I touched while handling the inner elements, and washed my hands, I think next time I would handle it with gloves or plastic bags. The next couple days I was sick. Sharon was not, and we had been eating the same things. I suspect, some of the concentrated cooties later entered my body somewhere later, and I got sick from this. Nasty stuff. On an unrelated note... Reiner was talking about a disease that is specific to this area that's transferred by a kind of flying insect. It's not a mosquito or fly, but is somewhere between the two. language barriers were interfering in his explanation and my understanding. He said a Western medical researcher had been through here, and came up with a cure and tried to sell it to several major drug companies, however since the market is so small for this disease, it wasn't cost effective for the companies to produce this drug. This disease is apparently local to the Huaraz valley only. Reiner says the local remedy is a particular flower indigenous to this area. Most local people get this when they are children. As an adult, Reiner says it can be fatal. He says the worst thing that could happen is that you contract it here, and then fly back home where foreign doctors are not familiar to this rare remote disease. However, I'm not sure I'd want to chance it with some local flower remedy. ---- Dave Thompson thompson@pdnt.com www - http://sdg.ncsa.uiuc.edu/~mag/Thompson Net-Tamer V 1.09 Palm Top - Registered