After leaving the traffic madness on the Carretera Central, we camp at a fish farm. It’s one of hundreds in these parts – most lakes have a trout farm – and the freshly caught fish is a delicious treat. In the morning comes the long climb to 4930m Punta Ushuayca. It’s a lovely quiet road, and we’re left to weave all over it as we please. Which is just as we like it.

Nearing Punta Ushuayca the road steepens and the surface goes a bit muddy. Here’s a haggard looking Neil…

…and here’s a knackered and slightly psychotic looking Haz.

At the top of the pass we meet the day’s second and last vehicle; a truck headed for Tanta. As we take photos it descends, but we soon catch it on the first hairpin. Rather than turning the corner, it has slid down it, and the front left wheel is perilously close to going over the edge. Some careful rock placement and desperate reversing later it makes the turn, only to repeat the performance a few more times before reaching the valley floor.

The descent from Punta Ushuayca immediately turns into the climb to Punta Suija. Though this is a short one at just 500m, the surface is bad and requires full concentration. Haz manages to force her way pedalling to the top, while Pike’s combination of no weight at the front of his bike, and inherited poor balance means he’s left pushing some short sections. Still, as this is the only pushing required on the roads between Huaraz and Huancavelica we’re quite satisfied; we’d readied ourselves for more.

Nearer the top of Punta Suija the terrain eases and we’re able to look around at all the lakes and snowy peaks (out of shot to Neil’s left) on show.

The descent from the pass is on a beautiful road which leads to Tanta. On the way a 10m climb breaks us and we realise we’ve gone way into the red. A stop to eat all our remaining chocolate puts things to right.

After Tanta, Google Earth shows its good and bad sides. The town we’re heading for is labelled as ‘Carhuamachay’ on GE, but our requests for directions to this place draw blank looks. But we know what the village looks like – it’s at the end of a lake, by some pretty waterfalls. ‘Oh, you mean Vilca?’ And yes, we do. But, more importantly, GE marks a road from near Tanta, along the Rio Cañete straight to Vilca. Looking closely at the satellite photos revealed this doesn’t actually exist…

…but it does give us the idea to try and bike-hike the route, avoiding a 50km detour over two passes. Usually we wouldn’t shun the possibility of going over a few high passes, but this bike-hike is just too tempting.

Particularly when you get the opportunity to become troglodytes for the night. Another thing ticked off our ‘To do’ lists. We took refuge in this well-kept cave at 16:00 when a thunderstorm arrived. By 18:00 it was still going, so we pulled out our sleeping bags onto the nice insulating hay.

The sun was out (as usual) in the morning, and we are delighted to find much of the chaquinani to Vilca is rideable.

Laguna Papacocha appears, near Vilca.

And we’re able to cycle all the way round it and to the 4WD track which begins in the village.

The shortcut saves us a day’s riding, and Vilca is indeed as idyllic a spot as GE had implied. With an old Colonial bridge to boot, the road from town leads down the Rio Cañete valley…

…which becomes a highlight of our route.

Rather than a bog-standard river, it turns out to be a series of sapphire lakes, punctuated by waterfalls. Sport Ancash’s biggest fan scoffs some snacks while taking it all in.

We’d never heard of the valley, but it’s known to Limeños – a couple of the villages lower down have numerous accommodation options. It’s easily accessed from the coast on a (mostly) paved road.

The day we wrote this post we were sent an email from the Lonely Planet about the most beautiful landscapes in the world. One of them was Plitvice Lakes in Croatia, which in photos look just like Rio Cañete, only on a much smaller scale. Wikipedia says the Croatian lakes span 7km and drop 130m. We’d estimate these ones dropped about 200m over 12-15km.

After dragging ourselves away from the cruise down the Rio Cañete, a downpour drenches us on the climb to Laraos. We stay in the municipal guesthouse then set off at 05:45 the next morning, hoping to beat the bad afternoon weather to the top of Punta Pumacocha.

It’s a spectacular climb, but near the top becomes savagely steep. Here’s Haz despairing when the pass comes into view (it’s the L of the two low points on the ridge). Only 2km away in a straight line, it’s still 450m above us – the most intimidating looking pass we’ve ever seen.

But the surface has been recently ‘cleaned’, and to our amazement it’s all rideable. At 4600m my cycle computer registers a gradient of 23% – the steepest it’s ever given in 4 years of ownership. Neil plays hare, pedalling hard for a few hundred metres then resting. Haz’s impressively slow tortoise pace sees her crawl up at 3.5kph.

At noon, and after 6 hours of climbing we reach Punta Pumacocha. Our GPS says we’re at 4990m – 40m higher than the reading on Google Earth, but then the gradient on the north side is near vertical.

It’s a relief to have made it to the pass; the top 4km are at an AVERAGE gradient of 10.5%! Not the easiest thing to climb when you’re at nearly 5000m…

The south side isn’t nearly as steep, but the surface is pretty awful until we reach this lake and have some lunch. Then comes a flattish section to Mina Don Mario. Fortunately there’s no one around there, so we sneak through the mine and climb to the next pass.

On the way we pass the set for the Lion King. The Circle of Life rings out from the valley walls.

Then comes a lovely section of road. The Peruvians seem pretty expert at building great roads which are never used. We love them for this.

Then the next morning…Doh! Good job we’re carrying that roll of duct tape from Huaraz. Supported by a webbing strap, Haz is able to get her pannier to a cobbler in Huancavelica.

A couple of easy passes sees us through Acobambilla and into Viñas. We have breakfast with this cheery pair in a shop, then I ask to take a photo before we continue. 30 mins later the lady on the L has finished combing and plaiting her hair, and is ready to be snapped. Some people!

New region, new candidate, same old graffiti. Vote for Clodo and his maize!

The inevitable ‘it’s flat’ comments are muttered by a few in Viñas, but it’s a 1000m climb to Abra Llamaorgo. On the way my cycle computer records a 24% gradient… A few water purifying rests in the ‘pannier arm-chair’ are called for. Note duct tape.

At Laguna Tanserecocha we chat to Alejandro, who questions us about England, then asks which counrties are nearby. ‘France, Holland, Spain’, we answer, ‘but Europe is small so everywhere is close by.’ ‘If it’s so small,’ he replies, ‘why does it try and dominate the whole world?’ We ponder this as we continue to climb.

The final few metres of up before the 1000m descent to Huancavelica are gentle ones…

…then after crossing Abra Llamaorgo comes the fast descent to town. To our delight, the road surface – from the moment we enter the Department of Huancavelica, to reaching the town itself 2 days later – is absolutely perfect.

Yet still no-one uses it. 5 vehicles in 3 days. Plus a few thousand camelids…

15 continuous days of cycling and we arrive in Huancavelica. It’s small for a departmental capital, and is a charming place. Lots of old buildings around, and very little traffic on the streets. The Mayor of Huaraz could do with making a visit here and taking some notes – the settings and sizes of the two towns are quite similar, but Old Huanky seems to do a far better job with traffic, rubbish and dogs.

This one’s for Anna. Vote….poo?

Time to fatten up, gorging on any cakes we can find. And to our delight, they are very easy to find. Our first rest day sees us downing copious amounts of alfajores, pañuelos, pinapple pastries, churros, cookies…and anything else the pastelerias will sell us for S/.1.

The cobbler in town seems to have done a good job…but only time will tell how it stands up to the strain of the next 700km section of our trip from Huancavelica to Abancay. Fortunately the Ortliebs are 4 years into their 5 year warranty period, so Lyon Equipment have sourced us a new set.

A nice easy start to our cycle. We bus to Conococha, having cycled that paving a few times before, then climb briefly to a small pass. Though we’re expecting the 3000m descent to Cañon to begin here this has to wait another day. This first day there’s an unexpected 1000m of climbing before Rajan.

We arrive in Rajan in the pissing rain, and fears surface that we’ve left our ride south too late in the season. En route to Rajan we are warned in 2 villages that the Rajanites are a bad, unfriendly lot. Which of course turns out to be untrue. Neil did have some uncomfortable moments fending off kisses from a drunk campesino in the main square though… The graffiti is of an educational kind. ‘He who studies, triumphs!’

In the bright morning sun we descend the 2300m to Cañon. Slicing through hillsides, the scenery is on a scale too vast to contemplate.

Descending into the depths of (Gran) Cañon we barely pedal for 40km. Gliding above we spot more condors than in the whole of our 5 months in the Cordillera Blanca.

A sinuous road, weaving in and out of dry side rivulets. The descent has to accommodate numerous photo stops and takes over 2 hours.

Number of vehicles seen in that time? Zero.

The night before it had rained cats, dogs and toffee apples.

Who ate all the other cacti? Oh, that’ll be you on the left then.

As sure as night follows day, a long descent in the Peruvian mountains means you’ll be crawling uphill for the next day (or two). 2300m down from Rajan to Cañon is followed by 3200m up to Cajatambo and Abra Pacomayo.

And just as climb follows descent, hanging on the wall next to the depiction of the Last Supper is sure to be a titty calendar. Or, in the more respectable establishments, a scantily clad gringa advertising some ironmongers of transport firm. But maybe the backlash has begun. Here in Cajatambo someone had covered this chica’s modesty by making a paper mini-skirt for her!

The October rains have come. Fortunately the climb to Abra Pacomayo only has a few puddles, and no mud.

We arrive on Paso Pacomayo early enough for the skies to be clear. It’s never long in this part of the world at this time of year before the lovely photogenic clouds turn to lightning-spitting cumulonimbus though.

We begin the short descent from the pass and soon reach a junction. Rather than consult our GPS which has the track Neil has planned on Google Earth, we just assume the wide road with the good surface leads to Oyon, the district capital. Turns out it doesn’t, though it takes a while for the pin to drop. We climb back up for an hour and take the muddy track to Oyon. A 2 second glance at the GPS would have seen us take this in the first place.

The blue skies turn nasty. Just in time to hide from a violent hail storm we reach Karina’s huts and shop. She turns out to be well educated and super-friendly. We put up our tent by her hut, are invited in for food and drink, and hear about how terrible she found living on the coast when she had to go there during a difficult pregnancy. Soon after Genesis, her beautiful smiling baby, was born 8 months ago she moved back up here, to the back end of la nada.

Pay your bills now! The notice reads: to all villagers of Cashaucro, please pay your water and electric bills for 2011, 2012, 2013 by this Saturday or it’ll all be cut off! The debt collection systems in this part of the world put British Gas’ to shame.

You ain’t seen me, (scoffing all the borachitos) right? These tasty, rum-laced cakes have been a staple of our Peruvian diet for months now. The moment we reach Oyon at lunchtime on day 4 we raid the cake shops.

The following day and we’re climbing again on a typical Peruvian road. This will be an enduring memory of our 8?10? happy months in this wonderful country.

From Oyon we cross a 4900m pass, and outpace the rain down to Rapaz. We’d been sceptical as to the existence of the road, but it was very much there. The village turns out to be a friendly, interesting and quite large place. Unlike in Ancash, there are old buildings around – this colonial church survived the devastating 1970 earthquake. We bump into a miner whose mum lives in the street next to us in Vichay. Even in the immense Peruvian cordillera, the world is a small place.

From Rapaz we descend 1000m down a fascinating quebrada, towered over by these rocky ribs – hundreds of metres high. At night we camp at the Huancahuasi hot springs – nothing like a soaking in some iron and cobalt waters to reinvigorate the legs! Turns out they need reinvigorating. The following day’s climb is a beast.

Some non-threatening afternoon clouds, for a change. We admire them from the thermals.

From our thermal camp we descend to Huancahuasi, take the obligatory mural shot, then continue down to Picoy, at a lowly 3000m.

Then begins the 1900m climb to Abra Chucopampa. In Oyon everyone insisted there was no road over this pass to Vichaycocha. There is, and it’s brutal. Loads of sections over 10%, and in the mud at the top we were having to pause every 30 seconds to catch our breath. It’s been a while (well, our last time in Peru) since a pass has kicked our asses so badly. These sheep, and one moto, were the only traffic we saw all day.

Near Punta Chucopampa the pastel coloured rocks give plenty to amuse the eye on our frequent rests. It’s no wonder really that mining has been a mainstay of the Peruvian economy for centuries.

Showing the strain. After more than 8 hours of climbing we make it to the Punta Chucopampa.

The descent’s a good one, though equally steep. After a few kms we camp in a corral. The cloud obscures all views.

So we get a nice surprise on unzipping the tent door in the morning. Our camp in Maquin is surrounded by some lovely rock walls.

After another climb, this one easy, we reach the large dammed lake at Chungar. It starts raining, and we’re invited in again for some lunch with Johan’s family. They’re from the town of Huayllay (founded by Geordie settlers in the mid-18th century) but are embarking on a quieter life in Chungar. They’ve built a small house and are beginning to set up a trout farm on the lake. With about 4 neighbours and almost zero traffic on this road, we hope they’ll be happy in all the silence up here.

After a few hours the rains stop and we climb to the next pass, Punta Fierro Cruz.

But it’s late, so we camp at 4700m near the top. Expected lake views never materialize as it hails and snows much of the night.

The morning ride is somewhat chilly. And, dare we say, slightly miserable. As ever, we’re grateful for our mountaineering gloves.

Then comes the only flat section of road between Huaraz and Huancavelica. All 5km of it, following a water channel. It’s muddy, then becomes muddier as we join the main Tanta-Huayllay road for a while – plenty of mine traffic on this section.

Leaving the muddy main road, there’s a lovely stretch past more lakes and some snowy peaks to Yantac. At 4650m this is the highest village we’ve encountered in Peru. One side of the Plaza is this lovely church…

…while the middle of the square is dominated by this. It’s difficult not to fall in love with sculptures of such undeniable beauty.

We continue for an hour to Marcapomacocha on a day which saw plenty of sun, and on which we were overtaken by 10 hailstorms. We’re wet and chilly again, but knocking on the Mayor’s office door leads to the keys to this pseudo-grand hotel being produced. Over and over again in Peru we’ve seen big plans not being completed; the money always seems to run out with 95% of the job done. Fortunately this isn’t the case with roads in this country, which are inevitably excellent. Almost every 1-llama-village has a rideable road to it.

The next day, our Google Earth planning reveals a weakness. After crossing a 4800m pass we descend 400m, then take a small road we know leads over an even higher pass to the main, paved Carretera Central. But after 150m of climbing we reach a barrier across the road and this sign. ‘Halt! Under order to shoot’, it reads. We continued anyway, reasoning they wouldn’t bother getting the firearms out for a couple of cyclists. Plus, we’re climbing at such great speeds (3.5-4.5kph) that we thought it unlikely that any of the security men would be good enough shots to harm us…

But then we get to the mine buildings. These guys were willing to let us pass through, but the angry security boss arrives and tells us very firmly that this is a private road, and we must turn around now. Not sure why Neil’s looking so happy here as we lost more than half a day returning back over Punta Seis Lagos for the normal route to the Carretera Central. In the first minute on this horrible road we see more traffic than in the previous 9 days combined. Fortunately it’s a quick 30 minute downhill whizz until we turn off the paving again….

With a £12 Mavic from one of Huaraz’s bike shops. Wouldn’t have gone for it at home, but there wasn’t a whole load of choice out here. That’ll teach us for forgetting to get new rims back in the UK, when we had the chance.

This is Fredy, our landlord for the past 5 months, and a lovely man. Next to him is Greco – the world’s worst guard dog. When Fredy and wife Diana are away from home he’s as meek as anything. When they’re at home, Greco attacks us at every opportunity. So far the battle scoreboard reads: Greco 2 Harriet 0. Greco 1 Pike 0. Pike has tried to kick him in the head about 50 times, but the blighter ducks and dives better than Mohammed Ali. Then bites your calves when your back’s turned…  Just look at those fangs!

Hopefully Haz will be warm enough with all these for the route through Peru.

The contents of Neil’s panniers.

And here’s what’s in his front bag/Osprey pack lid. The thermometer falls within the ‘essentials’ catergory and so gets to come on the bike to Abancay. Most clothes do not.

Haz carries (and is in charge of using) all the cooking stuff…

Neil’s mountaineering kit and front panniers/rack for the Puna. Adds a good 10kg to the bike, so it’ll be nice not having it for all the passes we’ll be crossing as we head south through Peru.

Sadly even all our lovely maps are too heavy – we’ve photocopied the bits we need. Along with these we’re leaving behind lots of downy goodness that we hope won’t be needed on the Puna (it won’t be much below -15C, right?), as well as plenty of non-essentials like non-outdoor clothes, which we had the luxury of bringing to Huaraz.

The campesina. Enough bacon to keep us pedalling for a few weeks…