Border cities are always weird. Cities in latin america in general are hard to read, in terms of directions. Keep always a good amount of orientation, mix it with the answer of people you ask and everything is gonna be fine. But if you’re heading for a border crossing, never forget to ask in advance where to find the immigration office. Well, it hasn’t been really often on that trip to search for the immigration office and their normally not far from border crossings. It’s a little different in the case of Huaquillas crossing. I came in the main street and as it happens sometimes, you’re ending up in a crowd of people, squeezing through narrow channels of market stalls, coverd with all kinds of tarp and plastic for sun protection way too low. I don’t enjoy that mix of market and bike, espacially if I don’t want to buy anything and just need to plow my way to the border. There is light coming on the end of the market tunnel, I see a sign "International Bridge" and Bienvenidos a Peru. Not too bad, I thought, but where is the ecuadorian guy who prints me my exit in the passport? Back in Ecuador, over the bridge, I found a uniformed guy and he said immigration is 8km inland. Thank you Ecuador, for not having a sign made for stupid tourists. Well, I made my way back and forth and almost managed it to ride 1000km in Ecuador.

     no immigration at the border, but many money changers who offer false money; back at the pacific in Peru - people drink Inca Cola, which is Coca Cola own brand but yellow

I rode that day with a good breeze of head wind until Tumbes, the biggest city in Peru’s north west. And, by the way, I carry the head wind until today, what adjusts my daily average speed by around 14km/h. I changed the ecuadorian banana plantations for shiny green rice fields. The blue sky was lined with hundreds of fregate birds, my first sign of the sea. The wind is freshen up and the surf of the ocean comes in reach. That was the first day, I saw back the pacific, since I left Panama city. It’s still the same waters, but the sea feels different down here. I remember, how bone crushing the heat in central america was. But right here, the Humboldt streem keeps the water cooler and offers a fresh breeze. The towns I rode through, have a lot of tourist infrastructure, but no one to see. And all the development looks more like being under permanent hibernation. Only Mancora showed a different beat. Is it, because in my map is written "famous beach"?!

I changed rice fields for desert, sometimes more sandy or rocky and now with many oil pumps. The Panamericana takes it’s way a few sand dunes further inland, but I wanted to ride in the first row. I went down to Cabo Blanco, that’s where the world seems on an end. In fact, I was past latitude 81 degree west and close to the most western point of south america. My road option along oil pipe lines ended soon in quicksand. I tried the beach but it was more torturous. High tide didn’t leave me any room of riding on packed sand. I pushed for a while and noticed, it was senseless what I was doing, because the next city was may be 40km away. I went back on the pipe line track, but had to look for the Panamericana the last few miles to Talara. I camped nearby some telecommunication towers. The night guard for one of these towers watched me setting up my camp from 200m away. Of course, the security guy needed to come by to chat. Camping?! His first answer was all right and he left. Talking on the radio to his boss, he changed his mind and said, I should pack up. I wasn’t in the mood for those kind of games after an exhausting day. The guard kept on showing me all kinds of faces now. He went pack to the tower and came back with his shotgun. The sun went down and the bugs came out what felt like being in Labrador in spring time. This guy was so on his NO-trip, I would normally say, it’s not worth discussing anything with him. He’s gone to the tower again and I’m curious with what he comes up next. Yeah - the bullet proof vest! I totally forgot and I had a steel helmet closer in mind. I made him clear, I won’t move tonight. He answers with charging the weapon - I couldn’t believe. I’m somewhere in the middle of a desert, occupy 2 square meter sandy ground and this guy is gun pointing me. You wanna kill me or what, and that’s when I stopped being nice and try to speek spanish. I told him I want to see his boss or/and the cops here - right now! He left frustrated, came back and told me, I could stay, but I wasn’t allowed to leave the tent. He started now terrorizing me all night long. He came up every single hour, lighted out my tent, gave me ten questions - if everything was alright. After coming up to my tent by about 20 times the last 12 hours, the day arrived - oh my goodness! The last thing he said, before his night shift went over, we need to change anything, because we’re good friends now and that’s what friends do. Fortunatly right at that moment, the crew change bus arrived and he had to go - bye bye my friend! I actually had fear all night long, that he would steel anything.

     rough riding through oil fields near Cabo Blanco and remember, steep, steeper as,….hopefully enough grip

I finally passed "Punta de Balcones" the most western landpoint of south america. I found more pipline road and asked this time, if that way really brings me south to Miramar. The latino answers are always the same: "Si, Si - directo!" Yes, direct into no nothing after 5km! It’s more frustrating asking someone, than just go for it. Within a crazy zig-zag course for 15km through oilfields and on their service roads, I ended up on the right way, just before giving up. I arrived in Miramar at the mouth of Rio Chira. All this settlements I passed don’t see so much gringos. A common response of my friendly greating was being kept in a frozen position, with open mouth where any word was stuck in the throat. Is it an alien from another planet, or what?!

     on lonely tracks to south americas west end

The Panamericana cuts of the whole section and leads direct to Sullana. I rode through a beautiful river valley seamed by green fields and their artificial water canal system. Sometimes I just rode on the canal dam, as the locals do with their horses, donkeys, bikes and, of course, their 3-wheel mototaxis. Those mototaxis are like ants. There spread anywhere I go. It’s enjoyable to watch them in the coutry side, but it’s horrible to share the roads with them in urban territory. They’re just like an bee-hive. I passed a couple more cities before a more then 200km strech of plains and desert lies south. I checked the map again and found another road, less direct, but for parts following the ocean at Sechura bay.

    slow and fast living is in Peru just a doorstep away

One and half day of riding, a car stopped and asked me were the hell I was heading to. I showed it on the map. The guy took a pen and drew a huge lake just filling half of the desert. He said - El Niño! The desert is flooded and the road washed away. I was screwd, but the three guys were so lovely to drive me about 200km around the flooded area. How nice was that! One of the guys, Hugo, he was a road building engineer and may be he was shy to show me how disastrous poor some roads were. Anyways, engineers help each other he said and left.

    sand dunes warning but water flooding

Just a little more to come untli Trujillo. For example the "Señor de Sipan". It was in the late 80’s, when some archeologist found the biggest gold treasure ever dug out in south america. It was the tomb of Sipan and 14 others. In Lambayeque is now a super well done museum and much of the gold jewellery to see. It’s terrific, how the Mochica culture 1500 years ago could made such gold fine arts.

Trujillo came too fast to close and I wanted to take another exhausting adventure trip into the mountains. I rode within 3 days above 3000m on rugged mountain roads, slept one last night in thin air and went back down into the desert again. This mountain excursion went so quick, it felt like a movie fast rewinded of all the moutains I’ve ridden in Colombia and Ecuador. And on it’s beginning, I was back in Mocoa facing the green mountain wall of the Andes the first time. The only difference between there and the strech here, between Chilete and Cascas was the semidry landscape and no traffic at all - well, two cars in 6 hours. My second back tire didn’t like this side trip much and a big bubble was building up. Back at the sea in Huanchaco, just 10km before Trujillo and a can see the innertube coming through. It’s possible, everything comes to an end on the last day of riding with a big blast.

     a last time back into the mountains, when I saw the Trujillo sign

Keep up, keep up - my good dear friend! That’s how I pet my bike now. You’ve done a great job and sometimes by night, I cook my meal in front of the tent, watch my bike and just think, unbelievable by all that pain I sent you through, you never cracked down. Just a stiff neck on the last couple of kilometers, but it’s fine, I give you an extra amount of good grease for you bearing neck (head set) ones we get back to Montreal.