Crossing into Peru for the first time rivals the trickiest of legalities. In all, six stamps were the key to unlocking access to the country. The final nod of the border guard and a twist of the throttle and you’re in the midst of a stew of the unknown. If you believe the reports of your own government you’ve gone completely mad to even ponder the journey. Fuelled partially by that wisdom and the element of the unknown it’s both daunting and entirely exciting.
Reliant on those in our group who spoke Spanish, the GPS and some marginal common sense we set off across the remnants of what might have once been a road. Immediately enveloped by swirling dust and diesel smoke the nine bikes spread out across the landscape in a formation far from what we’d discussed a few days before. Out here it’s the road that dictates your position. Argument with that would result in certain disaster. We’ve left the asphalt behind and embarked on a test many of us neglected to study for.
The reward for passage across the dust was a smooth ribbon of road stretching north along the Pacific Ocean leading us to Ilo Peru. The comfort of open road is quickly replaced by nerves as a government check point appears at the next hill. None shall pass. “This is it...” I mutter in my helmet... “this is where they take our money...the unruly local officials working as pirates looting unsuspecting travelers...what the HELL am I doing here?” It was nothing like that. Big smiles, friendly chatter and laughs followed by a quick look at Passports and we were soon on the road again and more glorious coast line views. Lunch soon in Ilo.
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