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3 Tough Days/Beware Kiwis Saying Roads are

We were relaxing by the pool after having spent an hour or so in the jacuzzi (it's a tough life on the road) in our hostal in Vilcabamba on that fateful day when we were happened upon by two Kiwi bikers.  They had heard that another 2 Kiwi bikers were in town and were after advise on where to find tyres. 

 As it happened, Maria had just that afternoon mapped our route over the border and into Peru.  The most direct route would have been to continue on the Vilcabamba road to the border near Zumba, but we had heard that the road on both sides of the border were in terrible condition so we had vetoed that idea and decided to go via Macara, then by the Panamerica to our final destination of Chachapoyas.  It was a long way, over 600km, and we reckoned would take a good 3 days solid riding, but at least the roads would be in good condition for most of the way. 

 We discussed it with the  Kiwis as they had just crossed the border heading North.  As luck would have it (we thought) they'd taken the direct route via Zumba.  What are the roads like, we asked?  "Sweet" was the reply, no problem at all.  What a stroke of luck.  The direct  route would knock at least 2 - 300km off the journey and save us a day. 

 Oh dear!  My suspicions should have been aroused by the fact that they were travelling light (they turned up at the hotel in jeans and tee-shirts with no helmets), with bald tyres "no problem, if you need more grip just lean the bike over", and mostly by the fact that they were both keen motocrossers back in Kiwiland. Contrast that with us, with heavily laden BMWs and with  2 days off-road experience on the BMW course we did last summer. 

  We set off and all seemed well for the first 20 - 30km.  Then the road got progressively worse.  The surface turned to dust and stones and became narrow, steep and twisty.  The only thing between you and certain death were a few shrubs.  The only good thing about it was the fact that there were few vehicles going in the opposite direction (you really don't want to meet someone going full pelt around a blind corner on a road like that).  It took us a full day to do the 130km to Zumba, Maria dropping her bike twice, the second time fairly spectacularly after coming to a halt outside a hostal on a steep, slippy road (see photos for most recent damage).

  Zumba was a dump.  The hostal cost $7 but I reckon it was over-priced and there was no safe parking.  Fortunately there was a big military camp, with a nice big car park, in the middle of the town.  Maria went with the map to ask the soldiers the state of the roads from there to the border and on the other side, and then casually asked if it was safe to park the bikes in the street over night.  The officers said there were lots of thieves around and immediately offered to let us leave the bikes in their car park over night.  Result, it was just what we were angling for!   The worst thing was the shop over the road from the hostal, whose major attraction was the TV playing music videos outside, opened at 6am.  No one found it strange, or annoying (apart from us) that someone should be playing music at full blast at 6am in the morning.  It was time to leave Zumba.

 We had be been reliably informed that the road from Zumba was paved - my arse!   It was just as bad as the previous road.  I managed to drop my bike (though it wasn't my fault - the stupid thing stalled as I was doing a u-turn to check we were on the right road) then we happened across an army check point.  I knew immediately what was going to happen.  The terrain was very uneven and as Maria wobbled to a halt at the barrier the inevitable happened and suddenly she was being helped up by 3 soldiers.  The panniers and rack on her bike are now pretty much at breaking point.  They weren't designed for that sort of punishment.  We need to get them fixed properly at the earliest opportunity because the next time the bike goes down I suspect that the panniers will need to be strapped on!  Anyway, we were informed by the soldiers that we should not continue on the road with such heavy bikes.  It was steep and very muddy on the downhill bits.  Great, what were we going to do?  It was too late to turn back.  We decided to take the luggage off the bikes and I'd take them both down to the border crossing and Maria would get a chiva or a truck down with the luggage. The trouble was the chivas only ran every 3 hours and there weren't too many trucks on that road.  In the end it wasn't too bad and we eventually got to the border with the 2 bikes and all the luggage. 

 We'd heard varying accounts of the state of the road on the Peruvian side of the border.  It was supposed to be better than on the Ecuadorian side.  Yeah, right.  The first bit of road, about 30km, resembled a dry river bed, rutted and strewn with rocks and boulders.  We barely got out of 1st gear!  After this section, the road was shown on the map as a major highway, supposedly paved.  It might have been paved 50 years ago, but had then been left to the ravages of the elements for the rest of the time.  To be fair we had been warned that the first section was in poor condition, but after that it was good.  In fact, the first 20-30km resembled the surface of the moon!  There were so many crater sized pot holes that there was absolutely no point trying to steer around them as the next one would get you anyway.  At this point I was really cursing, very loudly, the day we had set eyes on our Kiwi friends.  The road was torture.  How could any of these roads be described as "sweet"?  Only if the English language is completely different in Kiwiland, and "sweet" really means "crap and dangerous".  If I ever go to Kiwiland and ask a local their opinion on, say, a restaurant and get the response "sweet", I'll expect to come out of there with the beginnings of amoebic dysentery! 

 Eventually, we made it on to the fabled "good" road.  And it was good.  This was a road I would describe as "sweet".  Virtually brand new, with sweeping curves, following the path of the river in a deep valley.  Immediately my spirits were lifted and my enthusiasm renewed.  We still had to negotiate some difficult road, but the worst was over, and, after 3.5 days solid riding, we made it to Chachapoyas where we found a nice little hostal with a great shower and stacks of hot water (I can't emphasis enough how important this is).  Bliss. 

 The moral of the story, Beware Kiwis who say things are "Sweet".

 Unfortunately, the photos don´t do the road surface justice.  These show the "good" bits.  The camera flattens the surface and it was either too dangerous or impracticable to stop and take pictures of the really bad stuff.

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