Linares [Chile]

I've officially reached the Patagonia region of Argentina/Chile!

It really has been a dream of mine to visit this area for many, many years.  And now, I've arrived!  There are big gorgeous mountains and rivers and lakes and pine trees... actual pine trees!

Yesterday, while talking with a friend, he asked me how it was here.  I began to describe the mountains and pine trees and... then I started laughing.  Not fully understanding what was going on, he asked what was so funny.

I told him the area was just like home... I'd just traveled all this way to see what was just down the street where he was... he began to chuckle also.  Ahhhh, the ironies of life.

Las Loicas [Argentina]

Ahhh, the twists that life takes...

Las Loicas is the small town, almost exactly 100 km from Malargüe, where I turned off the road to head to a small homestead along the "Rio Grande" to work as a gaucho.  And it's two weeks later before I return....

Life as a guacho was interesting.  I'm accustomed to farm work, having spent a good portion of my childhood working on a farm.  But this seems somehow more glamorous and mystical... It only takes a few days for the glamour to wear thin... although, I have to admit, that every time I think that I'm actually working as a gaucho, a smile cracks my lips.

The day is pretty straight forward.  Wake early, drink mate (a herbal tea made from a alfalfa-like grass; an Argentine must), herd the goats into a corral where we fed the motherless chavatos (baby goats) milk from mothers that have only one child or are childless, drink mate, go to the other corral, slaughter a goat for lunch, drink mate, eat lunch, drink mate, siesta (hell ya!), and back to the motherless chavatos.

The routine repeats itself everyday.  There isn't an exception.  There can't be an exception.

The spice of each day is a little different.... one day, we listen to the River vs. Boac futbol match (I'm told that I MUST cheer for River); one day, we go to the neighbors for dinner (only a 25 minute walk away.... after crossing the river in a small cable/cage contraption); one day we fish with small crayfish thingies used for bait; several days we work with horses, using lassos to bring them to the ground before we begin; one day, I repair a lasso destroyed by a horse in one of our aforementioned battles (who knew I had those kind of skills?!?!?).

Malargüe [Argentina]

Malargüe is a beautiful little ski town at the foot of the Argentine Andes.  It's amazing how much it looks like it's right out of the US.  There is a classic main street with shops lining both sides.  Immediately off the main drag are residential areas with homes... real homes, homes with yards and fences and gardens.  Gone are the apartments and wrought-iron fences and window bars.  People are small-town friendly... It feels like home...

I find myself a quaint hostel run by a middle-age couple that treats the guests like part of the family.  We talk and eat until late at night, enjoying siesta the following afternoon.  I have a nice little patio to work on the bike and the views are stunning.

Uspallata [Argentina]

Now, it's been a week of moving quickly through the low desert to reach Mendoza for my one-year anniversary (and birthday).  It's been warm and amazing!  There are bugs (it's been too cold for bugs for the last several months) and oxygen and trees, all a very welcome change!  The desert air is warm, and for the first time in several months, I can sleep without wearing all my clothes.  I tell ya, it's the simple things that make life soooo good!

I rolled into Uspallata at about 9 pm on the evening of my birthday, hoping to make a few posts on the incredibly-difficult-to-find internet of Argentina.  Alas, is wasn't to happen.  Truthfully, I was just ecstatic to find somewhere to eat... an all-in-one convenience store/pizza shop that also sold ice cream!!!  I managed to get in just before they were to close, ordering two pizzas and two double-scoop ice creams.  I'm sure it was my appearance that gave the store owners enough pity to stay open a little while longer.

Fiambalá [Argentina] - aka Climbin' the Mountain (Ojos del Salado)

It's been five days at low-altitude and it feels great.  Life here is warm and easy and I can actually breathe.  I want to sit and rot for a week, maybe two.  Food and rest and water... it all sounds too good to be true.  And it is.  My body is quickly acclimatizing to low-altitude and that isn't good...  

The problem is quite a large one, and the reason for the rush; the next point of interest is Ojos del Salado (translates as "Salty Eyes" or "Origins of the Salado river").  This is a massive volcano that we (Shane Hutton, current bike traveling companion and I) would like to climb.

At 6,900 m (22,600 ft), "Ojos" is the second highest peak in South America (behind Aconcagua) and the highest volcano in the world.  This is a massive peak!  The frosting on the cake is that it also has the highest lake in the world.  We've been eyeing this bad boy for three months since first hearing of it's existence.

Herein lies the difficulty.  By now, we are very well-prepared for a summit attempt.  I've been doing hard physical labor at high-altitudes for several months.  However, each day spent at "low-altitude", our bodies begins to acclimatize, growing accustomed to the rich oxygen and warm temps, making us weaker and less able to get to the extreme altitudes.

So, reluctantly, we begin preparing for "the" mountain.

We spend two days in Fiambalá, the last town before climbing back to the mountains.  It just enough time to be able to walk again and buy supplies.

We talk to the famed "Jonson", the dude in town that knows all the mountains and has the route info that we need.  It appears that we are the first people for the season to make a summit attempt.

We talk to the local police and register.

We spend a day buying 15 kg (35 lbs) of food, rent a cold-weather tent, and then we pack everything into our small 40 L day packs.

We eat as much as possible, trying to put some "meat" on our skinny frames.

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The weather report shows two major storms moving-in during the next ten days.  There is a small break in the weather that will allow just enough time for a summit attempt.  It's now or never; final preparations are quickly made, full of anticipation.

Jonson drives us halfway up the pass, turns into the vast desert, and drops us... pointing to a gulch.  "That way" he says, and turns around.  So it begins, again...

We walk 35 km (20 miles) with a "waaay too heavy pack" that day and camp next to the headwaters of a small spring at 4,000 m (13,100 ft).  We begin stacking rocks to add to a preexisting rock wind-break trying to add as much protection as possible.  Then we stash some food to eat on the way down.  It's howling cold... I'm back in the Andes.

The next day is more of the same.  But now, we are away from water.  We walk through sand and rock, navigating through several dry gulches, to make it to a large boulder at 5,000 m (16,400 ft), a journey of 20 km (12 miles).  This is camp for the night.

Shane begins breaking and boiling crazy, knife-shaped ice pinnacles for water and I work on the rock wall.  We leave another food and water cache.  I leave the already frozen water bottle positioned to catch the afternoon sun so it will hopefully stay "less frozen"... we hope to return to this camp the same day as the summit attempt and I want everything ready as possible.

If all goes well, we'll camp tomorrow at high-camp (6,100 m/20,000 ft), and then have a summit-attempt the following day.

We hunker-down early.  We are making good time, very good time... and everything is going according to schedule.  The every present wind has picked-up a notch and is howling with all it's might.  Today should be the worse of the first storm system with winds of up to 100 km/h (60 mph).  According to the weather forecast, things should begin to settle tomorrow.

We wake the next day, boil more ice pinnacles (my water bottles have long since frozen solid) for the daily breakfast of oatmeal.  As soon as the sun hits camps, we are ready to go.

We work our way through several small ice fields, careful not to slip with our tennis shoes (the only shoes I have).  By noon, we make the final pass at 5,600 m (18,400 ft).  There is great news, good news and bad news:
-The great news is, that from here we can finally see the summit!  It is a spectacular volcanic cone.  The sky is clear and it looks like the weather is good.
-The good news is, the altitude hasn't been bothering us.  I do have some labored breathing, but my heart rate is good and I'm making very good time!  I'm quite accustomed to being above 13,000 ft and it feels good to not have the typical "low-oxygen" problems.  Simply amazing for this altitude.
-The bad news, is really bad... the wind hasn't died down, at all.  All morning there have been gale-force gusts up to 120 km/hr (70 mph).  It is cold, about -15* C (5* F), and wind chill drops it to about -25* C (-15* F).  I'm wearing all the clothing I own and I can't keep warm.  My nose is very cold, and I haven't been able to feel my fingers for the last couple of hours (I only have thin cycling gloves).

I quickly take one hand out of the glove for a quick photo and get off the windy ridge.  We move as fast as possible.  We don't talk.  The wind is strong enough to push me back and forth, nearly causing me to lose balance several times.  We continue for about 45 minutes, when my heart drops.... clouds are pouring over the top of the summit and the entire sky is filling with clouds.  There are snow flurries and I feel a few flakes on my cheeks.

We walk another 10 minutes to a knee-high rock wall and hunker down against the increasing winds.  By now, the summit is no longer visible and I know what is happening... the second storm has moved-in early... there won't be a break in between the two storms.

I can't just turn-around without giving every opportunity for a change.  So, we decide to wait a little... there are still have a couple of hours before we absolutely must leave.  I'm only semi-hungry, a change from the usual ravenously hungry.  Loss of appetite is one of the effects of high-altitude and I know that I need to eat something.  We decide to cook something while we wait.

We struggle with the stove for 45 minutes in the increasing wind and cold.  By 3 pm, the cut-off time, things have only gotten worse.  The temperature is -20* C (-5* F) and -35* C (-30* F) with wind chill.  Winds have increased to 130 km/hr (75 mph)  Thinks are not going to improve... temps and winds can only get worse as the sun has passed the maximum heat for the day.  People die at these altitudes for minor changes in weather and this is a BIG storm coming in... it's time to go!

I quickly thrown-on my pack and get the hell out of there!  The winds increase as we drop in elevation.  We hustle back to the "big boulder" camp of the night before, grab the food and water stash, and hike another 15 km (10 miles) for camp.

The next morning, we wake to snow-covered mountains on everything above 5,000 m.  I know it was the correct decision to back-off the mountain, but still feel minor regret as I turn and continue down.

My body aches with each step as we begin the 35 km (25 mile) hike to the road.  It was been four absolutely brutal days with a pack that is extremely heavy and very high elevations.  And, I'm still not sure what the weather has in store... I pull my hood down-low and start walking.

We drag ourselves to the highway that night and we camp in an emergency shelter on the side of the road.  We have seen a single vehicle in the last 6 hours, the only one we'll see in nearly 24 hours.  We'll try to hitch a ride down the pass tomorrow.  Now, I incredibly grateful to have four walls to protect myself from the wind.

We wake the next day, and begin walking down the road.  It takes 20 km (12 miles) of walking before we see the first vehicle in 20 hours.  I stick my thumb out and we gladly jump in the back seat of the car.

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Fiambalá offers a cooked meal and a bed.  We check-in with the local police and Jonson to let them know that we are off the mountain.  They are both very relieved.  They have been watching the weather closely for the last several days... today there were gale-force winds in the valley, including a tornado that killed several people.  Another bitter reminder that we had indeed made the correct decision to get off the mountain.

Not to waste time, we begin cycling again the next day.  There are still powerful headwinds, but we'd really like to get to low altitude and warmth.  We go a crushing 120 km (75 miles) that day and collapse.

Salta [Argentina]

The big downhill drop from the altiplano to Salta (4,500 m/14,700 ft to 1,100 m/3,600 ft) should have been sweet.  But, there was wind....

If I've learned anything in the last year, it is to respect the wind.  Without exception, every major downhill has had significant wind.  It's usually blowing straight uphill, making the downhill stretches a challenge.  Nothing worse than grunting all the up a climb to then have to pedal downhill.

Even worse, are the sidewinds on downhill sections.  These throw the heavy touring bike back and forth, making any type of speed very dangerous.

Today was no exception.  A relatively easy 2+ hour climb to the top and then six hours of tough pedaling into an incredibly strong headwind just to move downhill.  Nonetheless, it could be much worse, and... I'm stoked to be a "low-altitude".

I can't believe how easy it is to breathe... and it's warm!  Warm enough to only wear a light jacket well after the sunset.  And there are birds and trees and people and flowers and buildings and no howling wind to scurry from at night.  Life is good!

San Antonio de los Cobres [Argentina]

Up, down, over, and through; the mountains never stop.

The rest break in Chile was far too short-lived.  We want to make a summit-attempt on the second largest peak of South America and means moving quickly through the low-altitudes before the body acclimatizes back to "normal" living.  By now, it's been over four months above 10,000 feet, and it looks like it will be a few more weeks...

After a significant pass (and crossing into Argentina!), we bike for several days in the altiplano to arrive to the first real town we've seen in several weeks.  Right as we roll in , a dude in a large delivery truck offers a ride.  We ask a few details and then agree to the welcome change of pace.  He'll be leaving in approximately 3-5 hours, so we settle-down for a wait.

Eventually, everything is in order and we are off for what turns out to be one hell of an adventure.  We load the bikes and lay on the hay in the back.  Mid-route we stop to load diesel (in a highly-irregular road-side stop), unload the hay, load adobe bricks, and upload adobe bricks.  We stop in town to say hello (and ask how much we charge to load and unload items) and eat dinner with some old dude that lives 10 hours away... by walking!  Eventually, we (four grown men) stop at the house of "the old man" and sleep the night on the dirt floor of his kitchen/shed/wind protection for the flocks.

The early-morning finds us looking for food (sounds like all I ever do) in San Antonio with a big ride in front of us.

San Pedro de Atacama [Chile]

Any idea what it's like to roll into town after six grueling days of crossing the Atacama desert?  Good... damn good!!!

Luckily, the last 50 kilometers into town were downhill, a substantial drop from 4,400 m (14,400 ft) to 1,800 m (5,900 ft); down a perfectly-angled volcano so that braking isn't necessary.  If it weren't for this downhill slide, I don't know if I would have made into town until the following day.

The accumulation of several weeks of minimum food and water have taken it's toll.  The last six days, were particularly difficult; pushing the heavy touring bike through ankle-deep sand, fighting sandblaster-strength headwinds, drinking 200 mL of water a day, and today, the final punishing 4-hour uphill push over a volcano to make it to pavement.

I can't believe how warm it is, and then realize that its' the first time in over four months to be below 3,200 m (10,000 ft).  "Wow, life at low-altitude is pretty nice." I think to myself, and then laugh.  I'm still at 6,000 ft... not very low-altitude.

I'm absolutely starving!!!  But there are other things that must come first, including immigration.  We walk up to the window, exhausted, for the fairly quick entry.  It certainly helps that the officer is jammin' hard to Bob Marley.

Then we ask about food... the officer informs us that it is Independence day in Chile and there is food everywhere.  Good news, but also the certainty that there won't be much sleep tonight.

I want to eat anything and everything in sight.  I know I look a disaster with dirty clothes, severely chapped lips, greasy hair, and sun-cracked skin all over my ears and hands.  But, it must be the smell that keeps even the restaurant barkers from talking to us.... never had that happen before.

Driven by hunger, we quickly settle on a place that is large and open-air... that way our stench won't offend people.  Dinner?  Peruvian-style ceviche, large salad (with ham, cheese, avocado and olives), bread, and two massive pizzas.

Eduardo Avaroa National Reserve [Bolivia]

This national reserve is the fancy name for what cyclists call the "lagunas" route.  Lagunas are the high-altitude lakes, in this case the puddles of water trapped in the high-altitude valleys of the Bolivian altiplano.  And they are spectacular!!!

These lagunas come in ever color imaginable... red, green, turquoise, white, black... one just can't imagine the kaleidoscope of colors the water takes on.

The landscape has an incredibly surreal appearance.  It feels like I'm on another planet.  Or perhaps another dimension... One section is titled "Salvador Dali Desert", an incredibly accurate description of the bizzare landscape.

I'm very surprised to find flamingos in all lagunas.  They are nearly the only living thing that can tolerate this harshest of environments.  One night, we sleep next to one of the lagunas to find that these long-legged birds actually freeze themselves into the water at night.  I suppose it's to protect themselves from any possible predators... even though I can't imagine there could be any other animals willing to live in these extremes.

We battle sun and desert cold with a near constant headwind for six grueling days.  The trip made all the move difficult with limited food and water.  Ankle-deep sand and no roads only add to the excitement.  But all worth the incredible views and isolation!

Isla Incahuasi [Bolivia]

I'm sure that almost no one has heard of Isla Incahuasi, and for good reason; but we should know about.  This is a small peak of an ancient volcano that rises up from the middle of the Uyuni salt flats, the largest salt flats in the world (at 10,600 square kilometers/4,100 square miles).  And it is absolutely stunning.

One enters the "island" by aiming in its general direction and then driving/riding out into the great unknown... literally.  There is nothing but white, flat salt for as far as the eye can see.  I pedal for 30 minutes, then 60 minutes, then 90 minutes... finally, as I'm beginning to really wonder if I'm anywhere close to anything, a small dark triangle appears on the horizon.

Over the course of the next 30 minutes, the triangle mystically grows and becomes an "island".  Details don't become evident until the last kilometer.  It's unnerving how quickly my perceptions have changed and how bizarre my world has become... but that is the magic of the Uyuni salt flats.

Of course, we take a few of the 'mandatory' depth-perception' pictures, but the greater magic happens after the few tourist jeeps leave in the late afternoon.  The try, and seldom seen, enchantment is when the sun begins to set.  This is when vision and perception change radically.

Slowly and suddenly, everything above me is filled with a rainbow of colors.  There isn't a single cloud in the sky, but somehow the colors hang against the sky in a way that I have never seen.  The sun lowers it's sleepy head, but it looks like it is within arm's reach.  My shadow finally has nothing to stop it and it grows and it stretches, for the first time in it's short life.

This continues for an hour, the world morphing in ways that I've never seen before.

Then the nearly full moon rises and my new world looks like a stunning frozen ice crystal.  Everything glitters and twinkles and reflects.  I run straight out into the flats as far and as fast as I can until my lungs fill like they will pop (we are still at 3,700 m/12,000 feet) and then spin around, staring at the sky.

Slowly I return to the tent and sleep, but wake again at 3 am to look at the wonderfully clear, and now dark, sky... feasting on the billions of stars until the cold drives me back into the tent once more.

Challapata [Bolivia]

This will forever be known as the place that I slept above a video game arcade.  Don't judge, sometimes these things must be done...

To understand, one must appreciate that most everything is quite difficult to find in Bolivia.  The entire region is altiplano, a flat, high-altitude (4,000+ m/13,000+ ft) desert.  Almost nothing grows here; the lack of water and oxygen make it difficult for life to thrive.  There is some tuft grass that manages to keep a few sheep and alpaca alive.

And so it is, that I roll into a town of 10,000 people and can't find any type of lodging.... nothing.  After four hours of looking, I accidentally come across an all-in-one video game arcade/auto service/computer repair/lodging establishment.  Do I mind sleeping above the racquetball court and next to a pinball machine?  Not at all!

Oruro [Bolivia]

I love the way that Oruro just doesn't roll off the tongue, not at all... each time I say it, I feel like my lips are numb and my tongue is swollen.  I'm confident that I sound like a blubbering fool, but... each time people seem to understand what I'm saying.

I have to say, that I found Oruro to be much more charming that the pronunciation.  This was a wonderful break from the barren isolation that we've seen so far in Bolivia.  There are trees and murals and statues and food and art.  It's a welcome reprieve from the road.

We take advantage of the services to start preparing for the rapidly upcoming crossing through the Atacama desert.  We eat great food (don't believe what everyone seems to say about Bolivia having horrible food... it is rather difficult to find most of the time, but very good once procured), buy supplies, and wash clothes (always an amazing opportunity when I can have clean ropa, for everyone involved).

Batallas [Bolivia]

It doesn't happen often, but every once in a while, I actually find a camping spot.... a real honest-to-goodness camping spot that is scenic and proper and everything else.  Such was the camping location for my first night in Bolivia.

This particular evening concluded a day of riding along lake Titicaca (supposedly the highest navigable lake in the world, whatever that might mean).  It really was a day of beautiful riding.  It had been relatively flat terrain with enough ups, down, and curves to be enjoyable.  It was chilly (the lake is at 3,800 m after all), but the sun was shining and a good pedal kept me warm enough.  There was wind, but then again, there always is...

About an hour before sunset, I found a small dirt road that turned off the undivided highway.  It looked promising, but turned out to be next to some houses, and even worse, dogs (these buggars have the annoying tendency to bark all night and keep me awake).  About 500 m along the lake shore, I saw a grove of Eucalyptus trees that looked even better... and it was!

In between two small clumps of trees was a wonderfully flat stretch of ground that had a couple of large logs on the ground to make a perfect place to sit.  On the upwind side of the grove was a built-up river bed to provide a perfect windbreak.  Gorgeous!

Puno [Perú]

Good to be back on the bike, very good!

It's been over two months since I've been biking.  The work has been good, but it's time to get moving.

To make matters even better, I've reunited with cycling friend, Shane Hutton.  We "take it easy" by only cycling 100ish kilometers per day.... we know that it's been a while and we have hard roads ahead, no need to push ourselves.

Along the way, we take a "rest" day to hike up to 5,200 meters (17,000 feet).  It's a gorgeous view of  Ausangate, one of the sacred mountains for the Inca and the Montaña Colorada (Rainbow Mountain).

Now, it's a true rest day in Puno (full of eating and internet and eating and resting and eating) before heading into Bolívia.

Cusco (II) [Perú]

I decided to stop for a a couple months to work with teenage groups from North America and Europe that are part of service/adventure programs.

The work is good... we wake-up at 6 am every day to go to our work site, a small village outside of of Cusco called Mayrasco (found at 4,000 meter/13,000 feet).  Our goal is to build fish ponds in which the local village can begin to raise trout.  The trout will provide an additional source of nutrition for the local children and potentially an additional source of income for the village.

Over the course of a few months, we dig three holes that are each 10 meters (30 feet) long by 5 meters (15 feet) wide by 2 meters (6 feet) deep.  It takes about 5-weeks of solid digging with picks and rock bars before we have the holes complete.  Then, we begin pouring a cement floor and lining the walls with rocks (previously broken into manageable pieces with sledgehammers).

The final product is complete with plumbing and running water!

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One of my favorite parts of each program is the four-day trek around Nevado Verónica (Mount Veronica).  This involves hiking and camping around the beautiful mountain at altitudes up to 4,400 meters (14,000 feet).

It's wonderful to escape the city and spend time in the mountains.  We walk past llamas, high-mountain villages, and see condors on each trip.

The final piece of the trek is a visit to Machu Picchu, the stunning mountain ruins of the Incas.

Cusco (I) [Perú]

The road to Cusco is full of literal ups and downs.  I'm in the mountains!!!

I leave Nazca with a MASSIVE day of climbing... in the first day alone, there is a vertical gain of 3,600 meters (nearly 12,000 feet).  The next several days are full of the same... 1,500 meters, 2,000 meters, 1,800 meters...  In a single week, I climb nearly 13,000 meters (42,000 feet).

In that week, I spent five entire days above 4,000 meters (13,000), climbing to a maximum height of 4,500 m (15,000 feet).  It's cold and windy and lonesome, and I love it.

One night I slept with alpacas to keep warm.  Another night, I ask to sleep on the concrete floor of a farmer's shed.  It's bitter cold at night dropping from 20 degrees to -15 degrees Celsius (70 degrees to 5 degrees Fahrenheit) in just a matter of minutes once the sun goes down.

And that's how I roll into Cusco.  Tired, but strong.  In fact, the strongest I've ever been.  It feels good... and I'm ready for a break.

Nazca [Perú]

After a week of rolling through the desert, I realized that I've cycled right into the famous Nazca lines.  What to do?!?!?  I take a few stops to appreciate these ancient and mysterious designs.

Upon arriving to Nazca, I'm exhuasted.  I've cycled over 500 kilometers (300 miles) since leaving Lima, four days.  Even more importantly, I have some massive climbing to do to reach Cusco... I have to cross several Andean mountain ranges, and I have a time-line.  But first, I need a rest day, my first in two weeks.

So, I start to rest doing the most natural thing possible... I find a pizzeria and order a massive "family-size" pizza.  The waitress looks at me strangely as she questions whether it's all for me.  I laugh...

"Don't worry," I tell her.  "I'll be able to eat it."

"Are you sure?" she questions again.

I just wink and ask for an ice cream also.

Lima [Perú]

A long downhill from the Andes mountains finds me on the coast again.  It's good to be in thick, sweet, sea-level oxygen. I can breathe deeply and without problem.

I roll into Lima in the morning and make it to the Plaza de Armas (the name for the central square on all Peruvian cities).  I take some time to view the royal palace and national cathedral (and eat two amazing home-made ice creams).

As I'm getting ready to roll out of town, someone stops me.  We begin to talk and he invites me to watch the fútbol match at his house.  Before you know it, we are eating and watching the game.  That evening I play in a local fútbol match and dance my way into a neighbor's birthday party... Life is good!

Conoconcha [Perú]

A long beautiful uphill brings me to Conoconcha.  It's 85 km directly south from Huaraz and a perfect uphill angle to still be able to move at a good pace.

Along the way are big, beautiful snow-capped mountains.  I put my energy into a consistent pedal and focus on the stunning scenery that surrounds me.  I ride up to 4,200 m (13,800 ft) and still, the mountains tower over me.  I'm in awe and I love it.

Huaraz [Perú]

As I've cycled through northern Perú, several people have told me about Huaraz and the mountains.  After two weeks of heat and desert and continual headwinds, I'm ready for a change of pace and turn east into the mountains.  I am not disappointed!

I arrive well after dark into Huaraz and find a cheap hostel for the night.  I'm hoping to make it to the mountains for a bit of cool weather and hiking the following day.  I ask the hotel manager if he knows how to get to Laguna 69 (so named by the government who numbered any lakes that didn't have a proper name).  I'm in luck... he is from Yungay, the town that is closest to the lake and give me detailed instructions on how to arrive.

The next day, I wake early and take two different local buses to Yungay.  There I wait for another local taxi-bus that will take me to the top of the pass from where I can begin trekking to Laguna 69.  I wait for several hours before there are enough people to fill the van.  And we are off!

An hour and a half later, we have traveled the 30 kilometers to my drop-off point.  It is later in the day than I hoped to start and I start walking quickly.  I'm told it is still four hours up to the lake, at 4,600 meters and about two hours back... no time to waste!

I make it up to the lake quite quick, breathing very hard, but enjoying the change of being off the bike.  I jog back down the trail to start hitchhiking my way back to town... got to get back before the last cars go down.