The white line is my single track (The Give Up Tour)

Hello again
and Thank you.

Old Black Toe

Night of the Wierd

Gringo! (honk!)(y?)

Loco
El Frio!
Catcher on the Ride
Flight of the Sacraficial Arm

Mario Barackus! (Mr.T on the A-Team here in Peru)

William Wallace!

El Hombre Perdido

These are all the names given to myself, my bike, and my experience; By myself and those around me on my long and lonely hours riding. H`yahh!!!

Before I begin I want to apoligyze for the format problems we are all experiencing with Blogger. I put a lot of effort into the format of the blog and it seems to all go to shit the instant I post. Not to mention every time I apply pics to the draft. Frustrating.

I Left Puno(!) and bused it to Hulyacas. Hulyacas Blows. I really only spent one night there but my most vivid memory is stepping out into the empty streets at midnight after a few hours of internet love. The scene struck me immidiately as out of a post-apocolyptic movie. Trash everywhere, torn up buildings and a sticky dusty fog that hung in the air on gathered on every surface.

SO, I left. And thusly began my trip to the beach.

I had planned on riding all the way to the beach. This didn`t happen. The First 20 Kilometers (which is only 12.43 miles!) was great. In truth everywhere I rode was great. It is just long and hard. I have riden lots of miles. An 11 mile shot used to be my half hour commute to work. However, not so if you are 1.) carrying a 70lbs. of gear, food and water and 2.) if you are rockin the kinda steel horse I am. That first 20K took me about 2 and 1/2 hours after which I was about half done with my effort for the day. Hmmmm. On the right is pictured Kiwicha. A lot like Quinoa, beautiful fields of it abound here.

I pulled into a town for couple egg sandwhiches, (I said "yes I would like papas (fries) with that, gracias" and she put all the fries in the sandwhich-with mayo and ketchup. It was great.) and rested for a time. In my relaxed state I became aware of the frequency at which a particular cargo truck was procceeding through town and aware also that my rythyme and his were synchronic. This meant that the final moment when I zipped my bag, attached it securely to my other bag and stepped onto the pedals once more, the cargo truck was just taking off. I elaborate on this point only to show those that worry about what comes next that it was ordained by God. And you can`t mess with God. (The biggest of all big homies he`s the number on G.)

I caught the truck and held it for the longest stint I have ever succesfully completed. I let it tow me nearly the full 25 kilometers to the next town at speeds ranging between about 20 mph (fine) to 50mph (yowsah). I did finally loose it about a mile from town but I caught up to it again in town. I thanked the driver and he gave me no sign of comradery, though I know he knew I was on him for the ride. Strange, but he let me pass. Unfortunaely but understandably I have no pics of myself in transit. Only the ass-end of the truck while stopped.

I definately consider myself a lucky man, case in point. And on top of this was layed the following hook-up. I caught the truck from that second town about a mile up the road to a check point. It was getting dark then and I had just been told that the next town was about 100 kilometrs away. (hm.) I was low on food and wondering what I should do. At the check point, in front of the truck was a bus on its way to Arequipa. I walked my bike past it and in a short conversaition with the driver, was encouraged to get on it. I thought this meant sitting on a bus like normal so I was hesitating but I did conceed given my location and reserves. Instead I was told to sit in the front of the bus in the passenger chair (they wouldn`t let me sit on the floor) with the driver and the 1st mate guy. It was great. We talked a lot about a lot of things and I was even able to play some of the music I have purchased. I could even have a small smoke from the tobacco pipe I made in Cuzco.

On that note. I wish to say that I am very hapy with the relationship I have with tobacco at this point. I smoked commercial cigarettes for the greater part of 14years (G & R reference anyone?) and I am glad to be donw with that. Tobacco is, however, the number one thing to have at very specific times in life, such as just after you catch a truck for 25 k., or perhaps atop the San Rafeal Swell at the moment you realize you and your party are fucked and now need to hike all the way back to camp with no water and also trying to out-run the approaching lightning storm. It is still very potentially addictive but I seem to have a firm grip of the earth in this regard. Anyhoo,

I had a hell of a view as we coasted to Arequipa through the low-highlands toward La Mar. I got to Arequipa in four hours and was again told, I could not pay them anything. I hugged the driver and stepped into the night.

Perhaps I am being biased (I have been told I am) but, Arequipa blows too. Maybe it doesn`t but I stepped (pedaled) into the night and was immidiately faced with smelly traffic, trash, warnings of theft and violence and the otherwise urban pulse. My rooftop quarters had an unexpected hot shower though, so I made a high time of it anyway. I slept horribly that night due to the only other guests in the Hospedeja being all night partyers in the room right next to me (second night of the exact same situation!) and in the morning, I got the fuck out of dodge!

I again was on mi caballo (my horse) and I struck off towards the town of Omate. My idea was to get there and then proceed toward Ilo on the coast. God had different ideas, ofcourse.

That day and night was definately my most strenuous but also one of the most beautiful. I rode about a hundren kilometers, 85% on my own pedal power, and ended up in the middle of fucking nowhere! In actuallity I was about 1k from the town of Chapi when I stopped but this was not known to me. It went down like this.

I left Arequipa and after heading 2 miles down hill in the wrong direction (a trajectory verified by 5 independent Peruvian locals, I was so pissed) I did find the highway and kept on keepin`on. On the outskirts of Arequipa I began to see these strange buildings. Made of adobe mud bricks yet filled up to the brim with normal bricks, or having normal bricks stacked everywhere aound them in ways unpracticle for living. Also, none had roofs and did not look lived in. WTF? I rode on.

After a heep-of-great-pork-lunch a Peruvian tourist offered her car for a small tow up hill. I excepted and marveled at the idea of a fully consentual ride, new to me. Usually in the states if you are found out they will stop and infact other drivers will honk and make a fuss. (My god! That man is touching your car!!) This is important because in another hour I reached a point that was the beginning of probably a 20k incline. I decided to try my luck and as the lord would have it, a tourist combi came by and responded to my request and let me tag along. That was slower ride than the truck on the preceeding day, but it was actually much harder to maintain my connection heading uphill. It was there that I titled my ride "Flight of the Sacraficial Arm" and said a prayer for Old Lefty.

I made it to the top of the mountain range (!) and let go with a wave. The ride was great but I knew when grabbed on that that was the commitment. I was heading into the great townless expanse of the dessert hills. I had enough food and water for about 2 meals and that is all. By the time I was at the top of the incline it was dusk. There was a small store and house in the middle of nowhere and I inquired within to learn that I was already way past the split in the highway I was looking for. I reasoned if I could make it to Chapi, then I could get a bus from there to Omate. This was another untrue thing that was said to be true, by more than one person around me.

I set off and did the up and down thing. I knew there was a consistent decline up ahead so I kept on. And kept keepin` on. And on. It had been about 2 hours and it began to rain a bit. If it got much thicker I knew I would have to stop and set up camp, wherever I might be. The rain lifted but was replaced by a dense fog which, despite the moonlight, limited my sight to only 25 ft. or so. This is where I thought of the title, "Night of the Wierd". It was very strange to be riding in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a moving bubble of sight which faded in all directions into grey matter. I began to be scared.

I continued with this mystery-scary feeling for a bit, then I realized the utter beauty of the place and its situation I was in. The terrain here was little more than dessert but at this point was still enough water to support the sage that watched me from all angles and filled the air with a rich and calm aroma. My spirits lifted on this breeze I shook off the last of my fear in the midst of belting out "Wagon Wheel" by Old Crow Medicine Show. That and the dogs barking is what anybody in the 8 house town I blew through a few minutes later would have heard if they were still awake at that hour. No one appeared to be and the dogs chased me away with a quickness. Somewhere near there I wished Sara a Happy Birthday. Sadly, I have no pics of this as my camera is not capable of handling that kind of relationship between light and dark.

In another half hour the road began to decline and I knew I was coming over the range I had been crossing. The fog had not lifted but I had dropped and I could suddenly see the glory of the desert I was in. As I coasted down throught the tight curves and clean air, I was surrounded by very much nothing but earth and moonlit sky. Man that was glorious! There was very little sage at this point and only scattered cactus.

I had to walk the bike up one more hill before turning down again. I had discovered many a trick to riding that horse. Putting my chain in the high gear with my toe (the black one). Creating a platform of luxury atop my seat and back pack as well as my sleep pad foleded four times over, and a blanket. Using the one derailer to assist the other in gear changes otherwise lethargic and temporary. On that hill I realized the relative comfort of letting go completely of the habdle bars and pushing the bike from behind my bag, guiding the wieght and balence in both hands.

At the top I pause a moment to continue to breath in the land. From there it was all down hill.

I remounted and glided through another canyon and down. And down. And down.

The questin struck me all of a sudden, "what the hell is that white stuff?" and I dismounted for a peek. Also of a sudden was my suprise at falling to my knees in the stuff. Softer than snow and much warmer in the cool of the night, the white of the hills all around me was and is to the best of my understanding, powdered pumice. Really, it floated away in the spots I peed on it. I found a strategic spot behind a large cactus and said to myself and the void, "this is where I sleep tonight".

I dug a flat spot with my metal bowl (sorry to the roots I ripped) and set up camp. I then crashed hard after a bit of fruit and bread. I thought that was it but I woke up within a hour and felt alive in the night. My bike was propped against the cactus tree and served, with my pad, as a perfect back rest. Before I did fall asleep I had a good 2 hours of gazing at and contemplating the baren softness of that night. Amzingly, the clouds that appeared thick and dark in all directions, would break when they came over head. This phenomenon continued for hours and it never did rain on me that night. Thank you God. Such was my night, high in the desert air.

Aside from my memories (how sweet they are!) I have only this shot of my bed and the video of the hills the next morning to offer.

The next morning I was quite slow to rise. I got up, ate, layed down, did some yoga, lay down again, packed amd layed down again. By the time I dragged my ass and belongings to the road again it must have been 1. At about 1:03 I was in Chapi.

In Chapi I learned there was no bus to Omate. Fuckin fancy that! (HA!) I was satisfied though and I threw the bike onto and myself into the taxi taking me all the way back to durty dirty Arequipa. This picture was taken as we sped away from the desrt town. There go Chapi! On the way I learned what the strange, brick-filled, spoiling and roof-less buildings were that seemed to be everywhere on the outskirts of Arequipa. They are brick ovens. Like to make bricks in, not pizza. Quothe the Raven, "huh."

In Arequipa I walked dazed and hungry around a market place, ate some amazing empenadas that reminded me of Pies and Pints except cost about 23 cents each (I bought 9), and found the hecktic, hecktic bus station as soon as I could. Immidiately after I freed myself from the crowds and noise I went next door to find another bus station identical to the one next to it except clean, quiet and almost empty. It was very strange to me to see the popularity of the one station and the near sanctity of the other. I sat on that higher ground, on a patch of grass under the shade of a tree, and waited for my next door bus to Camaña. A beach town.

Score!!!!!!!

Without realizing it I had been given the #1 seat at the top-front of one of those double decker busses. The one with the wicked good view of the anywhere you go! Dope. And, Doper still by the fact that my new friend was sitting in the #2 seat on that bus. Her name is Rebecca.

We traveled to Camaña and thusly started the week in which I was canstantly reminded of that song, "The Lazy Sun Bathers" by Morrissey. I gave in and chilled hard in the days to come.

The first of these day was the best hostal I have staye in yet. Best because the two of us were the only occupants and El Dueño Lorenzo was the most chill and humble guy I have met in a while. We had pretty much free riegn of the joint, which included (Finally!) setting up my hammock in the middle of the building and dancing to DJ Miki Gonzoles on the roof. Tight.

For some reason I decided to pose for this shot with my tabacky pie in my mouth. Lookin`dumb and a bit like the retarded guy in Goonies due to mt freshly shaved hawk.

"I LOVE YOU CHUNK!"

"WHAT ABOUT TONYYYYYY!!!!, TONY LOOUU!!!"

Not to mention that I was (and am still) finally on the beach! There is no surfing here but there is swimming, chilling, soccer on the beach, cheap meals served to you on the beach, boogie boarding and at all hours of the day and night, the endlessly sweet crush of the waves as they fruitlessly shoosh the world (Mike Doughty). It feels really good to be back next to the ocean.

After a few days of kickin`it at this beach and that. We headed north to Nasca.

That was really just one night, followed by a mistake trip to Marcona. Mistake because the beaches were days trip only by boat with to access to food water etc. That is a problem to me because I was and am (a few days later) looking for a place to do a silence. 5 days of no speaking and as little interaction as possible. A difficult task indeed. We shall see what happens.

We got the hell out of there and headed north past Nasca again and on to Ica. Or rather just past Ica to a tourist oasis (literally) in the middle of a hell of a lot of sand dunes. This was the first place I saw a boatload of tourists. Usually, I am the only one around except in strange situations like Mythology in Cuzco. Here, that was almost all there was, populas wise. As one can imagine this meant two things: Fun and Comfortable stuff!, and everything is more expensive! We allowed ourselves one day of indulgence and then we were both off to different places. On the picture one can see the buggy were in, the pool at our hotel, some of the green of the Oasis and a bit of the dunes. !

The coolest thing that did happen that day was a Dune and Sand Board Tour! I feel hecka dumb writing this but it was really fun. They do things different in 3rd world coutries. They nickel and dime you for shit like this but they also don`t worry about stuff like saftey, weather or not you have a glass bottled Inca Cola in your hand that you subsequently spray on yourself and buggy-mates, or weather we role the damn car or not. In my opinion this is the way to go. The guy driving definately had his ego involved with the control of the vehicle. We didn`t end up rolling but we did get stuck in a little sand hole and had to push our way out. Heh heh heh.

The of course there was the sand boarding. This shit continued in the same vein as fun and deadly. It is basically snow boarding but with harder ground and really poor equipment. The first thing I did was gather all my speed down a relativly small 50ft hill and plant the front of my board at the bottom. I swung around and slapped the back of my head on the ground like a mace! After a quick check to see if I had broken, rippped or knocked our anything, I was up and running. Other hills did similar things to all of us including rip our skin off in places and otherwise remind us of friction and gravity. It was tight though! I eventually decided on laying on the board for the huge hill (down 70ft, off a lip then down 250ft. No joke) I was even able to get a bit of air off the lip with this method. (This was after I went off it standing, caught a smal but respectable amount of air, and soved all my potential energy in the first ground I could find. I climbed back up to the top to shoot the whole thing at once.) That was a blast, I would imagine at the very bottom I was going about 45mph and that was the speed at which the sand shot into my mouth and eyes. I swear to God it was really fun! Just hard too. I am thuroghly inspired to do this myself with a real snow board from Goodwill, and my truck to pull me (us?) down the beach. I know the perfect beach too. Who is with me?

The picture caption would be, "hhmm, no skin here."

The next day Rebecca and I parted ways and I got myself to Pisco. Pisco is at the mouth of the Parakas nature reserve where I hope to do my silence. If not there than outside it in one of the small towns to the south of the park. Pisco is also the home of the pisco sour. I dont really drink so I have made it all the way here without trying one. I will probably leave same way.

Before I go I want to contnue the Food and Culture report.

I had somthing yesterday called a Papa Relleno (Refilled Potato). No pic cuz I ate the whole thing before my brain could think of anythin else. It was a papa shaped mass of mashed potatos and had a center of salsa-y, chicken-y whatever. Bomb!

I want to mention the ceviché keeps comin´. I was only trusting of "high class" sources of the stuff but appearantly it is hard to fuck up. it is a very simple recipe, being raw and all, and christ is good! and good for you!

Cultrally speaking, when I arrived on the coast two things happened: Suddenly all the toilets have seats on them! Also, everything is a tiny bit more expensive. An interesting correlation.

Another thing I wanna mention is that everywhere I go, I would say about 40% of all the people I walk past (If you think about it that is really a lot of people) say somwthing to me. One of a few things: "PELO LINDA!" or , "MARIO BARACKAS!" or "HKEaiLLO!" , "HOLA!" or plain old "GRINGO!!!!" Someone said "BINGO as I passed by and I was relieved (after a clear interpretation). It is strange for me to be so mentioned all the time. I am used to it in situations where I am soing something out of the ordinary (kind of a lot). But not when I am just walking around. It is what it is.

Finally, I just want to mention that I was in a restuarant an hour ago and there was a commercial for dog food on the everpresent restaurant T.V. The Dog´s name in the advert was Gringo. No joke, I checked it and laughed with owner of the restuarant.

I am in Pisco for the moment. Pisco is OK. My time here has been mainly on the internet so I can`t really judge. I do wanna show you this tree though as a parting gift.

Trees all over the world are at verying degrees of dancing. Some are calm and move like Tai Chi. Some are pestigous and move only in there honor. Some are shy and just sway like wall flowers. Most of the Madronas I know in NW dance like lightning from the ground up. This tree moves with the fury of too many pisco sours and a wicked desire to fight back the trash and concrete that slowly creep up its skin. Maybe one day it will riegn victorious over the petty humans worshiping it at its feet. Maybe one day it will know the peace of death. One day we all will, and this is part of the overwhelming beauty of it all. The beauty that in this form, we can only temporarily taste, lest we are destroyed by the light.

Until next time. Peace, K