After a hair raising night ride from the bus terminal we arrived in the fancy neighborhood of Mira Flores. The streets were full for a Wednesday night. Crowds in bars spilled into the street all fixated on TVs showing a local football match. We ordered beer by the liter and bought cigarettes for ten cents. Immersed in the energy we walked the streets until we decided it was time to sleep. We found a hotel away from the center and fell asleep drunk and hopeful.

In the morning we woke with no plan except to try again for the overnight bus. In the meantime we would explore the city and take advantage of our extra day in Lima. For the time being our delay was okay and only meant we would lose a day of acclimation at elevation above 10,000 feet. We hoped it wouldn’t effect us badly and if needed we would spend another day in Huancavelica adjusting. A friend recommended a few restaurants in the Barranco neighborhood south of us so we headed that way. Before lunch we climbed the hill south of town. Its a steep and sandy hill, prominent on the skyline with the monument to Cristo Del Pacifico on the top. As we climbed the city grew bellow us, stretching to the north, foggy and dense. Next to the road, built up and into the sandy hill were hundreds of homes. Built on one another, climbing towards the top. It was a stark reminder of how privileged I am to travel there and live how I do at home. We stopped and sat for a while taking in the view. The local mountain bikers have built lots of trails off the top and we watched as a group lapped a jump line. The trails are steep and not great for a loaded touring rig, but we decided it was time for lunch and rode down anyway. Strait to the restaurant Canta Rana, which is just north of the point and recommended by my friend, Roberto Lozano.

The problem with bike touring in cities is that a bike lock can only lock your bike and not your bags to your bike. Either you always keep your bike where you can see it or you have someone you trust watch it. Outside Canta Rana, Alexander and I debated what we should do. The restaurant was around the corner from where we could leave the bikes and not visible. Noticing our situation the host of the restaurant offered to watch our bikes for us, very kind of him. We sat down and ordered ceviche and a liter of Pilsen. The ceviche was perfect and I found myself almost grateful to have had our bus postponed. An unexpected change of plans is what makes trips like these memorable. After lunch we found the bikes just as we had left them and thanked our new friend. The ride to the bus terminal was pleasant having finally figured out Lima’s system of bike paths. We made good time and arrived early. Again we enjoyed some coffee from the café and confirmed our tickets. All signs pointed to go and the attendant assured us that the bus had room for our bikes tonight. We were instructed to take the wheels off and make our bikes more packable. Four hours later our bus finally arrived and after nothing happening for so long, now everything happened at once. Alexander and I were outside, wheels off, handle bars loose, bags everywhere, struggling to make sure we got our bikes on that bus. At the door to the cargo hold the driver took one look at us and said no way. I was baffled but argued in my best Spanish that we had been promised room. Luckily the other driver agreed with us and convinced his friend there was room. In the end the bikes were the last thing on, wedged together with wheels and bags jammed in. I was left with 4 loose stem bolts in my hand and the image of broken spokes in my head. But as we climbed on the bus and took our seats I felt a deep satisfaction knowing we were making it out of the city and into the mountains. Heading for what we came here to do. I was in and out of sleep on the bus. It felt like 14 hours although it was only 12. I could feel the gravel road under the tires and smell the dust in the air. At one point we stopped to unloaded some things and in the moonlight I could see our bikes out in the road. I was glewed to the window anxious to see them back in the bus. Eventually we began to move and I saw no bikes in the road. As the sun came up I could see the mountains dark on the horizon and with the light I began to see the steep drop off along the road. I said a little prayer and went back to sleep. Soon we had arrived, unloading the bikes was easy and after paying the requested “tax” to the driver our bus trip was thankfully finished. We sat in the sun soaked square, transported to the idyllic mountain top village of Huancavelica.