December 27th Update: New pictures added from Machu Picchu and my last ride in Peru
The road from Huaraz to the coast was paved and plunged from over 13,000ft to sea-level in just over four hours. Since the descent was spread out over 100kms, rather than 10kms, the road was a lot more relaxing than riding the usual switchbacks, and the pavement helped me cover some ground. For brunch I stopped at a roadside restaurant in a small town, and the woman who owned it came to the front door to greet me. "Oh Gringo, Bienvenidos!" she said with her arms raised in the air and with all the enthusiasm of an Italian grandmother welcoming home her long-lost grandson. She promised to cook me the local specialty: another variation of chicken and white rice. While enjoying my meal, her daughter, who was probably in her 20's, arrived and said a shy hello. She went back outside and I finished my meal. I thanked the woman for my lunch, and headed out to the bike. As I stripped off some of the layers that had kept me warm that morning, the daughter returned with four friends and they asked if they could each get a picture with me. All of them, the mom included, were acting like giddy school children, and I heard "Gringo guapo" quite a bit amongst their banter. I felt like Brad Pitt! I've had a handful of people ask to take pictures of me because of my red hair, but no one has ever been borderline ecstatic over my presence. It was a lot of fun being a star for 5 minutes, and I have to admit that I felt pretty cool as I rode away.
As I was plodding down the Panamericana, through a desert landscape that could easily pass for North Africa, I crested a slight hill and low and behold, there was a police 4x4 waiting on the other side. They waived me over, and I cautiously slowed down and pulled off the road, hoping that the pick-up truck and SUV tailgating me wouldn't hit me. I took off my helmet and gloves, put on a fake smile, and greeted the Police officers as if it was the highlight of my day.
They started with the usual battery of questions: Where are you coming from? Where are you going? What kind of bike is that? Then they told me that I was going 73kmh in a 45kmh zone and asked if I saw the sign. I explained that I didn't see the sign, and then I decided to get a little creative with my Spanish and said, "With the two trucks on my ass, I thought that I was driving too slow!" As the words came out of my mouth, I realized that the Spanish word "en" can mean "on" or "in", which could explain the unusual look the cops gave me. One of them went back to his post along the roadside, while the other told me to get my paperwork and meet him by the truck. Having a bad feeling about the situation, I took this moment to empty all but 30 soles ($10 USD) from my wallet. I grabbed all my paperwork and grudgingly made my way to the cruiser, wondering what games were about to be played.
The officer took my license and picked up a stack of licenses that were rubber-banded together and resting on the dashboard. He explained that those licenses belonged to the other people they had given tickets to, and that it's standard protocol to withhold the license until the fine is paid. That's a nice story, but I can think of a lot of other reasons why a cop would have a stack of confiscated driver´s licenses: fakes, expired, etc. He added mine to the stack and placed the pile back on the dash. He began writing me a ticket for 330 soles, or $110 USD, and explained that I had to go to a town back North on the Panamericana, pay the fine in an office there, and then return for my license. "I don't live here. How am I supposed to find an office in some distant town and pay the fine? I'm going to get lost, and you won't be here when I get back", I said to further the game along.
"Hmm, well how about you get into the truck, we'll bring you to get your money and bring you to the office," he replied.
"Thank you sir, but I'm not going to leave my bike here."
"Well how about I get on your bike with you, and show you how to get to the office."
"Sir, there isn't enough room on my bike for two people." I was hoping that response would finally get him to the punchline, and it did.
"Well, you can pay me the 330 soles, and I can give you your license back right now!" How convenient!
"I have an idea, we can go to the police station, and I can give your boss the $330 soles, and then you can give me my license back. But I am not going to give you 330 soles here on the side of the road."
He didn't seem to like my suggestion, and said, "What else can we do about this? I want to help you get your license back."
"I think we should forget about the whole thing. I know what the signs look like now and I will drive more carefully."
"So you want me to annul the ticket?"
"Yes, I think that is best"
"Ok,", and he tore up the ticket and handed me my license back. Are you serious? After giving me my license, he looked at me and said, "You should invite us to lunch." I understood exactly what he said, but pretended to misunderstand him.
"Thank you for the invitation sir, that is very generous, but I ate an hour ago, and I really need to continue my trip." I'm not sure how much he believed that I misinterpreted him, but he said, "Go, my friend." I turned and walked away trying to hide the smile on my face. I'm pretty sure the cop was seething with frustration at my last comment, and I had felt like I had redeemed myself after paying off the cop in Costa Rica!
Ironically, before my trip, I made a fake drivers license specifically for circumstances like these, that way I can bluff and drive off with the promise of returning for my license. I keep it in my wallet at all times...except for when I actually needed it of course! I always put my real license into my wallet at border crossings since the officials there are usually trustworthy. But when I entered Peru a couple weeks ago, I forgot to put the fake one back into my wallet after I had crossed. In addition, all three of my expendable international drivers licenses, were buried at the bottom of my panniers.
The Panamericana continued through the desert and followed the coast. This area certainly makes it on my list of, "Top-ten most depressing places to live." I was forced to drive though Lima, the capital city, and aside from a seemingly endless traffic jam, it wasn't as bad as driving through some other cities. At least the highway goes through the city, rather than dump into the urban sprawl.
The next day I cut back inland and out of the desert. The desert was a nice change of scenery for a day, but I was happy to be heading back into the mountains. I stopped in the plaza of another small and pleasant mountain town for lunch. Four local guys were at the restaurant and they invited me to sit with them. I shared the story of the police encounter and they were laughing out loud at the part when I told the cop I'd give the money to his boss. They said 330 soles was way too much, and that it was abuse. I then told them about how the office asked me to buy them lunch. "What? They wanted you to buy them a lunch! That's ridiculous! You only have to buy them a soda if they don't write you a ticket!"
Just in case anyone had the illusion that every day is sunny, warm, and beautiful, here's a couple pics from the rest of my ride that day. As I continued to ascend to 15,500ft in the mountains, the clouds moved in and drenched me with rain, then freezing rain, and then hail and ice. I'll openly admit that the icy roads, brutal winds, and freezing temps made for an absolutely miserable ride, but in hindsight and from the warmth of an internet cafe, I can say that it was exactly what I was looking and hoping for in my South American adventure!
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