IT'S A WRAP

The Incaredible Wallabies are home and dry in Piura... of course the last day was plain sailing... up until the final 35km.

We set of from Trujillo at 6am hoping to cover most of the remaining 450km that day. By 11am we had polished of over 200 and were looking forward to a long relaxing evening. We pushed on down the Pan American Highway, aka the world's most boring road, 10km straights passed by one after another, the desert planes offering little visual distraction. Then Pixius appeared to run out of fuel. We texted the others, who stopped by a shady looking house advertising gas and brought back a jerry can of suspicious smelling clear liquid. She wouldn't start. We blamed the petrol and set off in Betsy in search of a proper gas station.

10km further on Betsy's tank was empty. I hitched a ride in a collectivo and returned with fine vintage Peruvian gasoline. But Pixius, snob that she is, decided it wasn't good enough for her. We swung Betsy round the front and roped her up for a tow.

Surpringly Betsy powered uphill with 5 people and a mototaxi weighing her down... until the wheels came off...literally. the chain was off the sprocket and Betsy's back left had maybe 6 good spokes left and was distinctly oval. A lengthy attempt to respoke failed a few more km along, and so we sent Betsy off to the finish line with Pixie's good wheel to pick up another wheel from the French team who finished the day before. Betsy would barely start and drove like a cow, but we eventially got her going. We towed the Ozzies over the line at 1am, didn't mention The Ashes (much), and kicked back to celebrate with a cold beer.

The Incaredibles thank you all for your support, you kept our spirits up. Remember it's not too late to sponsor us! We'll be back shortly with concluding thoughts.

5 people, 4 near-death experiences, 3 clutches, 2 mototaxis, 1 great adventure... still no idea.

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Beach Bums and Bribes

So then, from the ashes a phoenix has indeed arisen.

We made it to the coast! Not without inciodent though. We left early in the morning, very early again. 5am again in fact. It was bitterly cold and our aim was to get to sea level.

We knew our final assault on the Andes would take us to our highest altitude so far on this odyssey, as we drove past icicles and hairy Llamas oj the ascent. I cant quite describe how cold it was at 7am at 4800m. I know I couldnt feel my fingers when grinding up he behemouth of a mountain we were scaling, but I have it on good authority that it was even colder at the back of the mototaxi (not with a sleeping bag as a granny blanket i bet).

Once we started to descend, as the sun started to also blaze, The Incaredibles spirits were truely lifted, especially as we managed to clock a new speed record for Betsy. 90 kph. Now this may not seem like much to those used to driving their high powered sports car, but if you are used to a sedate 20kph uphill in 1st gear, then our speed going down was a real white knuckle ride.

Our progress though is never just serene. This time we encountered a road block. There was a sign that stated the road that funally got us off the mountain was closed between 6am and 6pm. It was 3.30pm. After much discussion with the high priestess of the road (Moira called her the "Peruvian bitch holding the sign") and the mandatory local bobby, and little joy (where's a demented kiwi when you need one), we decided to have a few beers, and chat (upsetting and amusing) with the locals. The aussies put up a hammock between the two taxis, and the hours ticked by fairly quickly. Once the all clear was given, we set off at a tremedous pace on some quite horrific road to try and get off the mountain before it got dark. Unfortunately before much progress was made, there appeared another road block. Quite infuriating, and our anger levels rose when we were informed, there would be another hour delay. This time we just ramraided the blockade,and sent local road transort workers fying. We meant busuness. Finally we were approaching sea level, and after getting to Casma, ready for bed, Moira teased us with an alluring beach resort a further 20k up the coast. We decided to go for it, but an hour later when we got there, at around 10pm, we realised it was off season and no restaurants or hotels were open for our custom. We decided to set up camp, as two tents were hastily put up on the sea front, as beer and crisps were procured, and we laughed the night away in the moonlight reminising about the previous minutes, hours and days, before letting off a few fireworks to let the whole sleepy coastal town know that we were here..I for one was just happy that the tent, air matress, and sleeping bag I ecarried to and through Peru was for good reason.

The next morning, still high on reaching the coast in what seems like great time to complete the remaing 600km to our finish point in Piura (this has changed from Ayabaca as everyone seems to be flying home from there rather than a 6 hour bus ride further east), we opted for a leisurely breakfast of fish, chips, eggs and bread...and set off in pursuit of a better beach.

The main coastal road, the pan american highway is a rather boring straight piece of road. We can go rather quick on it for a mototaxi, but the cross wind and fast moving trucks going the opposite direction make it a hazardous task.
What made it even more hazardous, was the front end of the bike going dolally everytime we came off the throttle. Quite a scary experience, which had to be checked immidiately. The findings were simply shocking, the front wheel bolt was hanging on by the end of the thread...ready to come off and with it the wheel in a about kilometer (and that at 70kph)....this was a near miss and a half.

After much tightening of chains, screws, nuts, and buttocks, we were ready to roll again. I took the controls and we were whizing our way towards Truiljos. Our progress was interrupted yet again, when the boys in blue came up our bavksides flashing lights and blaring sirens. We pulled over and were informed that we were not allowed on this road. Our vehicle docs were then checked. Now there are two pieces of paper that sit atop the mantlepiece at home. My driving licence and International Driving Permit. I'd forgotton these two docs in my last minute rush to make my flight weeks ago. They hadnt been requested or looked until right now, from the myriad police who had stopped us throughout the adventure so far. Needless to say i was being done, and our Betsy was being threatened with impound, and i played this really bad, miscalculating my conversions and bribing the policeman well over 100 pounds when a tenner would have probably done sufficiently. Well we live and learn, and this was an expensive mistake. The whole process took enough time, to think some dinner and an early night was the best option (nobody fancied night driving on this road) as we weaved our way through the noisy traffic jams of the well heeled city of Truijilo.

We aim to start early tomorrow, drive some 400km plus and go past the finish point, to relax on the beach and wait for the other teams, some as far as two days. behind us. But if these last ten days or so has taught me anything, the old adage of "the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry".

Make sure you follow us through the home straight, and check our google map page (titled "where are we") on our blogspot. Until next time, this is a slightly poorer and an infinitely more embarrassed Avi Incaredible saying Adios.

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The Incaredible Wallabies

So, it's been a long while and I'm happy to inform you that news of our demise has been greatly exagerated. We're back baby, and we're back with a bang. However, we have found out that driving a mototaxi across Peru is very difficult and frankly exhausting.

I'd like to start by apologising for the lack of updates which for phone credit, no battery and internet absence and more importantly hours and hours of driving (regular 16 hour days with 5am starts), we have not been able to deliver the service we aimed to. I'd also like to thank all the concerned people who have been phoning, texting, emailing as a result of the above. I can assure you we are in fine fettle, and spirits are high.

So, what has happened over the last five days, I hear you ask. I cant possibly go through it all, as this blog post would be impossible to finish from the back of Betsy from which i type this.

I last mentioned that I had a feeling that things would be turning around for us, and meeting our now bestest chums The Wandering Wallabies, Adam Brown and Christian Fisher, was the turning point. Both mechanical engineers, expert motorcyclists, and ruddy good fellas, they have helped us tease an amazing 1000 km in the time since we last blogged, through places like Ayacucho, Huanta, Huancayo and Huanco.

We have though had some other issues along the way, two punctures (both successful roadside repairs), and one for the aussies (caused by lifting the mototaxi onto and off a small boat to cross a river), a missing axel nut (this really could have killed us, as we were travelling downhill at some speed and luckily the chain jammed before the wheel fell off which was a distinct possibility). What followed was a frustrating three hour wait as Adan went to get the part in the town we were heading for, as the repair job only took ten minutes.

I also rolled the mototaxi that day, result one bruised toe and a ripped canvad roof. The aussies repeated this trick with their beast christened Pixius, this time much closer to a cliff edge, and with Moira in it. The only collateral damage was bruised egos, and the fact that Moira can no longer hear the words "Lean Right" without wetting her pants. (Try it when she gets home).

Today was all about the militant Kiwi, Ross, who we encountered at a landslide on the road to La Union. Picture the image, a 5ft middle aged, moustachioed New Zealander running around a queue of parked vehicles, directing a bunch of bemused Peruvians whilst wealding a stolen pick-axe like a demented dwarf hi-hoing his way to work. He had no patience, he was digging a new road when it took more than 1 minute to find the lorry driver blocking the way, but to be fair he got us going again with under an hours delay.

Well tomorrow will bring another early start as we hopeto finally cross the brutal but beautiful Andes, and head for the coast. Only five days left to get up the coast across the jungle to Ayabaca. God I hope we can do it. I can tell you, if we do, it will be one hell of an achievement.

Make sure you follow us to the bitter end, where success and failure hinges sometimes on one turn of a spanner. Also see our real time map on our blogspot page to see us inch ckoser we hope to the finish line.

Bunos Noches me amigios. Until Manyana.. Avi Incaredible

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Clutching at muddy straws

Those of you who have followed our progress on facebook today will know of our third consecutive day of drama.

The thing is, it had started so well. We had spent a miserable few hours in huancarama prison block E, but rose well before the sun came up, eager to catch up on lost ground and get as close to the leading convoy as possible, past Andahualas on the steep mountain road.

We set off in pitch black at 5am, and within an hour unbeknownst to us had taken the wrong fork in a road. The locals of course kept pointing us in the wrong direction, and soon after the cockerals had tarted crowing and the sun had begun to shed light on the blind mutderous corners, we had reached a small river/stream crossing with two banks of squishy mud which circumnavigated a big rock. We sent Moira off Betsy to investigate the ground and also film our attempt. But before she even resched the sure footing of said rock, adam had engaged first gear to hopefully plough through the viscous clay aroud the right hand side of the rock, through the stream and onto the safe footing of the grassy and gravely heaven of the other side.

What actually happened was we stacked it!

Yes, we sunk our tempremental steed in the mud bank.only inches from toppling it completely and nearly taking Moira out in the process. It may have been bettet if we had (of course I mean toppling Betsy, not taking Moira out...cough cough), as we had submerged most of the bike in the mud as the picture shows. What followed was the full gamet of emotions which started with humour but quickly descended through denial, anger, despair and finally hope as we went through plans A to F all ending in failure in the need to unstick ourselves from the mess we were in. We finally suceeded using logs, rope, brute strength, and sheer willpower as we inched our now very dirty mototaxi and very very dirty selves to the dreamland of the gravely bank across from the stream (I kid you not, i'm typing this still cakedr in mud). The whole process took about two hours. And we had the early start and the sheer joy of accomplishment to think things were finally on the up.

And on the up they certainly were, as we washed ouselves the best we could in the stream, reloaded all our gear and set off forhigher firmer ground and the road to Andahualas. But within half an hour we had reached a new low. Struggling with traction had been a huge problem on these muddly roads and the mototaxi refused to take anyone but the driver uphill. This meant a lot of walking for already exhausted bodies, but there was a steely determination to make today a big day, until disaster struck. Our clutch gave out again. Yes our brand new clutch fitted less than 24 hours earlier, would not engage outside neutral. A little tickering with the clutch cable gave us a tiny bit of power and movement, but we were again stationary and suffering from the same problem as the day before yesterday. We called a local mechanic who took an hour to arrive from the town we had left early that morning (yes - wankarama), whilst we were bitten to shreds by flies we referred to as yellow f*****s

The most bizarre thing was the mechanic arrived from the town we had left but from the road we were heading up. The most demoralising feeling ever, to realise the whole mornings work had been for nothing as we had clearly taken the wrong road. To cut a long boring fly bitten afternoon short, we basically lost over 5 hours stationary waiting for the mechanic, parts (new clutch and cable, our new oil from earlier had turned black too), or the actual fixing of the bike. Once fixed, we were told it would be suicidal to leave for Andahualas as darkness would be setting in, and it was bandit country, and the fact that Wankarama was only 2 km away. We reluctantly decided to follow advice and return to our starting point, meaning we would have made zero progress on our supposedly big day,a real kick in the teeth.

As moira and myself we ushered into a car back, we realised from the 10km descent that we were conned into thinking we were that close to Huancarama,and that we would have been better off taking refuge in the village school that the local village teacher had offered us whilst working on our tans when we were waiting for our clutch.

It was a very bitter feeling, as some progress is better than none. However every grey cloud has a silver lining, as we met up with the aussies Fishe and Adam, the wandering wallabies, who were pulling into Huancarama for the first time. We shared stories, pics and vids aplenty of the last three days (They were the early frontrunners who had taken a bad wrong turning), and we made a pact, that we would be sleeping in Ayacucho tomorrow night, a full 200 km away. Is it possible? I don't know, but we will be giving it a try. I've got a strange feelling though thst things are turning around for the The Incaredibles.

This is Avi Incaredible signing off for someshut eye, as it will be another 4.30am start, and it may continue into the night, so please stay tuned for more fun and frollics from Peru, but please no more clutches.

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Betsy's Back but We're in Jail

We woke Benjamin, the mechanic, at around 7:15, it turned out he sleeps in the back of his workshop with his wife and child. We then spent a further 15 minutes banging on the door of the friendly neighbour who had Betsy locked in her courtyard. Benjamin and his apprentice Roni got to work. They replaced the shitty original clutch with a quality Peruvian model. They straightened the wheels that the The Adventurist's crappy mechanics failed to do, they readjusted the brakes and rebored the screw threads of our losely hanging exhaust. We felt deeply unimpressed by the original Cuzco 'mechanics' who were supposed to have rebuilt poor Betsy. We should have guessed when one, Victor, really struggled to show us how to change a tyre...

At just before midday we were off. Another friendly neighbour of the mechanic, to whom we had been chatting all morning, offered to show us the road. He led us for 15km back to the Huancarama (remember it's pronounced Wankarama) fork. None of us had the heart to tell him we had covered the route twice yesterday.

So we drove back up the mountain. Betsy's new clutch worked a dream, but she still struggled to get out of 1st for much of the climb. We passed many bemused villagers who looked like they had never seen a mototaxi loaded with gringos traverse their mountain roads. As we passed through one village a group of kids came charging after us, imitating the wild dogs we passed earlier (with less barking). A random Peruvian stopped us to borrow a pump, he told us in fluent English about the fantastic 4 months he had spent in Ipswitch. On the way down the road turned bumpy, but Betsy was strong and we ploughed on into Huancarama this evening.

We are now sitting in the only hotel in town. Moira has already branded it a prison block, and I concur. The rooms have only barred windows facing the corridor, there is no water and the toilet came preused. Avi says the room reminds him of his childhiid bedroom(!), and Moira has threatened a bad TripAdvisor rating, the owner will be scared (once she's explained what 'The Internet' is).

Tomorrow we plan to leave at 5am in order to hit Andahuaylas by lunchtime and gain some ground on the others. Maybe Avi and Moira can catch their flight? The saga continues tomorrow...

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