The river was icy cold come dawn and having blanketed camp in a thin layer of frost, we took even longer to rise that morning. Our camp was visible from the road, something I always try to avoid and by sun up we had been spotted multiple times by locals on their morning commute. By then the morning routine was steady and habitual, sun with our coffee. As the ground warmed around us, steam rose off the grass, against river water so clear trout could be seen dancing below the surface. Alexander joked we should go for a swim, I didn’t believe he was serious so I said I would if he did. He was serious. As he stripped down, I readied myself down river with a long strap to throw in case he got into trouble. The water was cold glacier run off and moving quickly so I wasn’t taking any chances. He threw himself in with a splash and yelp, quickly swimming to shore, refreshed. It was my turn and I followed suit. Stunned for a split second then frantically paddling to shore, climbing onto the bank to be immediately warmed by the sun. Only slightly cleaner than before but much fresher.

It wasn’t long before we left camp to head up yet another 15500 foot pass. The elevation gain was gradual, 2000 feet across 20 miles. Around midway we planned to stop through Tanta, our last mountain village of the trip, for lunch. The roads were perfect and the riding easy, spirits were high. Our only concern was finding dinner, having eaten our last dehydrated meal the night before, the hope was to find something sufficient as well as portable in Tanta.

We pressed on over gradual hills, climbing steadily upwards alongside green hills and a rambling stream. The road made a wide turn, reaching the far end of a long lake. A damn cut across the water, ripping its clean surface into roaring white noise. I could see a town in the distance but as we rode on the miles seemed to creep slowly by as I looked toward the red roofs, thinking of food and cola. Farther along the lake was dotted with small floating trout farms, a common practice on these high alpine lagunas.

In town we found a small restaurant, welcoming and empty. The owner greeted us, offering us a table followed by a glass of warm tea. The room was low and open. Aside from the few tables there was a fridge in one corner, an old school tv and a shelf that ran the length of one wall. It was lined with chips, pasta, potatoes, cookies and drinks. We could certainly find dinner on that shelf. The TV was on and I noticed a news program playing videos of protesters clashing with police. Back in Lima we had been warned by a local of the upcoming protests against the current president, planned to start on the 19th of July in many cities and towns across the country. Suddenly I recognized the location being shown on TV. It was Huancavelica, where we had started our journey 6 days prior, right in the town square there were police waving riot shields and throwing smoke grenades. I thought of all the friendly people we had met in Huancavelica and hoped they were safe. I was glad to be in a sleepy town and hoped we wouldn’t run into a protest further on.

We enjoyed trout and rice for lunch and bought a few potatoes and ramen for dinner. Afterwards, sitting in the town square we soaked up the sun and chatted with a few men on their lunch break. They were there to work on the dam, in Tanta only for lunch and living in Huancayo. They were interested in where we lived and what we were doing in Tanta. I explained where we had traveled from and the route we had taken. Impressed, they wished us luck then walked into the restaurant to eat. We filled up on water and rode out of town to continue up the pass, leaving the lake and Tanta behind. In the distance snow capped peaks reached high above the horizon. We climbed higher, winding closer to the snow line until we reached the pass. The grassy saddle was dotted with rock towers, overlooking another smaller lake nestled below a magnificent ring of peaks. It felt like a holy place, a shrine to the mountain, a place where man could touch the sky.

The road dropped steeply off the top as we tore downhill round and round the switchbacks until eventually it leveled off. We rode until the sun was low in the sky and the air beginning to cool. Near the bottom, just before the road crossed the river and climbed the other side, we made camp. In a field of massive boulders, tucked behind two of the largest ones and hidden from the road, we pitched our tents. It was a perfect spot for our last night. A short walk to the creek to fill the pot for dinner and soon we had boiled potatoes and ramen. For dessert we enjoyed four packets of a cookie called “blackout”.

We lay on our backs in the grass, wrapped in our sleeping bags watching the sky darken and fill with stars. The Milky Way stood out brighter than I had ever seen. Wispy like a thin cloud, vast and unmoving. Stars shot across the sky one after another, burning through the air above us is every direction, more than I’d ever seen before. I felt that I was exactly where I was meant to be, experiencing life how I envisioned it. I fell asleep grateful for my lifelong friendship with Alexander and the opportunity’s that brought us to that moment.

When I woke the sun hadn’t reached the valley floor so I left camp and climbed the hill towards the first reaches of its rays near the ridge. I sat on a large rock overlooking our tents, imagining the power that brought all those house sized boulders down the mountain so long ago. The sun was rising quickly and dropping its light further into the valley. Alexander would be up soon and we would start our last day of riding. Thirty or so miles and one last big climb up to 16000 feet. Compared to what we had done already it was nothing but the 3500 foot gain still made me wince. My legs were tired and I was beginning to feel the effects of six nights above 14000 feet. I was excited to finish the route but nervous for what awaited us at the end for we still had no solid plan for getting back to Lima. The dangerous carretera central loomed in the back of my mind as we packed up camp, anticipating the day ahead.

With the bikes packed and back on the road we bagan the climb. The elevation gain was gradual for the first few miles then the grade increased and the switchbacks began, thirteen in total. We agreed to stop every 500 vertical feet and eat a snack and have some water. Chipping away at the climb like this was less daunting than tackling the whole 3000 foot at once and truthfully I didn’t have the legs to power up the whole thing. After 3 hours we topped out at 16,150 feet, decently worn out but extremely happy to have conquered our 7th and final pass of the trip.

We were rewarded with a ripping descent to laguna Yuracmayo. It was fast and the road was sandy, sliding around the loose corners we were having a blast celebrating our achievement. The road leveled out near the town of Yuracmayo and became littered with wheel sucking pot holes. Our speed dropped off completely as we bounced down the road with tired legs and sore bums. Eventually the route dropped again onto a better road and we were once again flying. Back into the lush green trees of lower elevations. The towns became more frequent and I could tell we were nearing the caraterra central. A dog ran from a house barking like mad but stoped short, blocked by a fence. It reminded me of our first day and our first dog chase of the trip, only seven days before, but seemingly much further in the past than that.

I could hear the highway before I could see it. My gps showed the large yellow line only a few hundred meters away. I could smell the diesel as we rounded the bend, stopping dead in our tracks. It was worse than I had imagined. Giant semi trucks hauled ass down the two lane highway around the corner before us, blaring their horns at every chance. Cars and busses followed close behind, passing the trucks whenever they liked. The reality of our situation came to light as we sat in a disused bus stop wondering how the hell we were going to get back to Lima. We tried to hitchhike but no one could stop and we were on the wrong side for the direction we wanted. I searched for taxis and found a few options but they were all about 50 miles down the road. I called the first one and got no answer, the second answered and told me they could take us the rest of the way if we made it to Chicosa, 40 miles west. I could only kind of understand what they were saying and I didn’t know the town Chosica. I thanked them and hung up, not encouraged. As we sat, dirty, tired and discouraged at the bus stop where no bus was coming, our options seemed to dwindle. A few moments later I got a WhatsApp message from Victor Eugenio, the man from the taxi company I had spoken to. He was very helpful and told us where we might get a bus to take us to him and he could do the rest. He sent pictures of his bike rack, assuring me it could carry 3 if needed. Okay now we had something. Either camp out around here and try again tomorrow or pedal down the road and risk murder by car. As we contemplated our fate, a taxi van ripped around the corner coming down from the mountains and heading towards us. We jumped up, waving and yelling. The driver slammed the brakes, skidding to a stop next to us. He rolled down the window and asked us something. Truthfully I didn’t understand a word of it. I responded in Spanish asking for a ride to Lima and again he mumbled a response that I couldn’t quite translate but said “Chosica” multiple times and finally it clicked in my tired brain. He was saying he could take us as far as Chosica. I couldn’t believe our luck.

We would have liked to have put the bikes in the van but the driver was having none of that and not being in a position to argue, they were going on the roof. We tore the bags off and put them in the trunk making sure to take any available strap as we’d need them all to secure our precious bikes to the roof. Our new friend had a roll of twine he suggested we use and again I didn’t say no. It was all we had. With the bikes sandwiched together on the roof, Alexander and I began tying off every bit of frame and wheel we could with titan straps. Meanwhile the driver ran the twine over and through and over again, eventually tying off onto the roof rack after weaving a spiders web across our bikes. All three of us did the obligatory grab and shake of the cargo, nodding in agreement that it felt solid. I was fairly sure they would be fine but it didn’t make much of a difference what I thought, they were up there and that van was going all we could do was get in. We sat in the back as he dropped it into gear and tore off the dirt road and onto the highway. The radio was blasting as he made to pass the first truck. Then he passed another and another. Full gas and often on blind corners. Multiple times we had to swerve back into our lane, narrowly avoiding a head on collision. The driver’s confidence was the only thing keeping me from complete terror. The look on Alexander’s face as we made yet another overtake said it all. I wondered how long we could stay this lucky.

It was dark by the time we arrived in Chosica. It was a crowded city busy with people returning from work or heading out for the night. Stalls selling food lined the roads and music could be heard at every corner. Luckily I had shared my location with Victor as my phone was quickly losing battery life. Just as I was wondering where the hell we would find him in this lively mess the van slowed abruptly as to not hit a man standing in middle of the road. The man was Victor, he been tracking our arrival. He flagged down the driver of the van and pointed down the road, suggesting we meet at a gas station. It took no time at all to swap the bikes to victors bike rack. We paid our friend and thanked him for saving our asses. Back on the road and almost in Lima now.

The taxi took us to Miraflores. A neighborhood in Lima know for tourists and overpriced food. We picked a hotel that seemed nice but not too nice and had the driver drop us off. In the enclosed space of the lobby I could smell the stench coming off my body, the looks we were receiving told me others could smell it too. After paying too much and begging the hotel staff to let us bring our bikes up to the room, we crammed in the elevator and headed up. Inside we lay facedown on the cool bed sheets wanting to sleep but needed to eat. After we both had washed, we walked out into the night in search of beer and food, buzzing off our accomplishment.

We spent the night drunkenly walking around the city, laughing and sharing our favorite moments from the ride. Amazed that we really pulled it off. We woke and rode through the morning haze to the airport, packed up our bikes and caught a flight back to the US. As quickly as we arrived, we left. Back home to our comfortable, easy lives. In the moment it feels good, to return to what you know but quickly after settling in to the usual routine the itch returns and I find myself wishing I could give it all up for a chance to pedal those high mountain passes once more.