Where the hell is Espinar?

So I was feeling pretty accomplished. I’d survived a section of road a few days ago normally reserved for a lunar landers and was none the worse for it. Yes, I’m a real adventure motorcycle rider. Then came the road to Espinar. I’d commented in a Tweet that Peru has no pot hole crews. They don’t. The whole place is a giant pot hole...at least this day. To add to matters we were now climbing into some serious altitudes.

We spent the majority of the day standing on the foot pegs. The seat of the Transalp wasn’t a friendly place as the road did it’s best to dislodge my recent dental work. The conditions once again spread the team out across the landscape. The road did manage to snap Larry’s top box off and fling it into the ditch. Unknowingly Larry forged on while Raul’s curiosity saved the orphaned box. Now with at least two pieces of Larry’s bike riding in the truck space was becoming a concern. The cargo net bulged with the recent additions looking much like me in an ill fitted shirt after a buffet.

The competitive aspects of this road were not only simple navigation but the contention of buses laden with tourists and commuters rocking and rolling amongst the scarcely maintained trucks. We were warned shortly after entering Peru of the Flores bus company and it’s “RULE BY SIZE” mentality. Approaching buses would assume your lane as they attempted to pass others. You were expected to get the hell out of the way. If you didn’t...well draw your own conclusions but suffice to say this story would abruptly end here. We twisted and turned to nearly 5000M above sea level. That's nearly 16,000ft above sea level for my American friends. My coca leaf candies severed as a placebo to combat altitude sickness. It really wasn’t that bad.

Amidst all this were patches of green, tranquil rivers and herds of Alpaca, Sheep and Goats all minding their own business. The Alpaca were inquisitive towards the passing of motorbikes. Regardless of what they were doing...every single one of them would stop and pop his or her head up like a life size wack-a-mole game. They would not break contact staring in amazement or maybe fear. Whatever it was their presence served as welcome scenery amongst the terror of the goat path we were on. Somewhere out there is Espinar.