Leaving Nazca, our road west to Chalhuanca was 225 miles, climbing 27,000 feet, dropping 16,000 feet and reaching a top altitude of 15,000 feet. It turned out to be an up and down day in more than one way!

We set off at 8am after a breakfast of deep fried eggs. The sun was shining, the road was winding and clear of traffic. We were as happy as two llamas. That said, you couldn’t tell that from looking at Susan’s face under her ‘hat’ – she didn’t like having to eat two deep fried eggs. She really doesn’t like the finer things in life and you would think she would being married to me!

So there we were, climbing out of the desert into a landscape of grassland. There were hundreds of bends, hairpins and no protection over the side. If you missed a corner it was ‘au revoir’ as I say in South America.

It was all going wonderfully well when this happened 👇

The road ahead was closed due to to roadworks.

Behind the bike is a one mile queue of vehicles that have been waiting up to 3 hrs. You will notice we’re at the front. Well, that’s because I learned from our early days in Columbia that when they close the road motorcycles don’t stop. Even when there’s a roadwork guy with a red ‘Pare’ (stop) sign, you just ride on.

These tactics saved us countless hours at such roadwork roadblocks. through Columbia and Ecuador. Unfortunately, in Peru it’s a bit different and, today, the ‘Pare Woman’ had a motorcycle policia with her. There was no going through. It’s really so unfair.

Nevertheless, we edged up to the front of the queue and waited. This was putting a dent in our tough schedule for today. The photo shows Susan delving into her snack bag – Ritz crackers are her current favourite.

After 90 minutes at 2pm we were allowed through.

Well we were allowed through for a mile then held for another 30 minutes. Apparently the tarmac hadn’t sealed yet. Then we were off again under escort for another mile then held again. This happened time and time again but at least we were moving.

Then it all went chumbawamba. Big time.

We came to a section of the roadworks where they had covered mud and potholes with aggregate gravel stuff – big 3-4 cm aggregate gravel stuff.

Now motorcycles don’t like aggregate gravel stuff. Especially big loaded motorcycles two up. However, when we reached the gravel I found it was a thin layer over the old tarmac road. The bike didn’t like it but it was fine.

I was tense and nervous but we were going to make it. Susan was silent on the back, holding onto the rear bars with a vice like grip. She was no longer thinking about those deep fried eggs. But it was fine. Only another 60 metres to go now. We were going to make it.

We were travelling about 15 mph, maybe slightly more when the front wheel dropped into 5cm deep aggregate. The old tarmac had been lifted and the road leveled with aggregate gravel stuff. There was nothing solid underneath.

There was absolutely no warning when the front wheel went sideways. I pulled steering straight but it was like it was on ice. We were going down.

Now the natural inclination when you’re in trouble on the bike is to brake. That’s what I did. Obviously on this aggregate gravel stuff it had no affect. We were still going down.

So we hit the ground about 15 mph with an almighty crunch. We then scraped along the aggregate gravel stuff, crunchy, crunch, crunchy, until we came to a halt.

Such a hit takes you a few seconds to come together again. Thankfully we were far enough in front of the following traffic to give them time to see us and drive around us. The traffic didn’t stop they just kept on rolling, truck after truck.

Then I was up on my feet trying to cancel the automatic BMW emergency SOS call. By the time I hit the ground, momentarily pause to think if I’m okay, check Susan, extract myself from under the bike, this stupid system is trying to call the emergency services. Give me a minute or two at least! Especially at my age!

At the same time I’ve also got a warning light and message telling me the ABS braking has failed and to go to the nearest BMW workshop. Oh, great!

By now ‘Oh poor Susan’ was pulling herself up. Unfortunately, she had fallen on her hip replacement side. Oh, I know what your thinking – that’s gonna cost us another £16k! Yes, that’s exactly what went through my mind when I saw her lying in the gravel on her right side. But she got up, dusted herself down and was standing. She was fine. Well, she was kind of fine. Not quite happy as a llama but okay.

‘Who cares about Clif’ appeared fine though he had a pretty sore elbow. Well it was kind of sore if he thought about it.

Thankfully, one truck stopped and ‘samaritan guy’ jumped out. We really did need help getting the bike upright and out of the line of traffic.

We had a short conversation where nobody understood each other. I think he was telling us to leave the bike and get to safety. But I had other ideas and so we all lifted the heavy bike and pushed it to the side of the road. Thanks anonymous ‘samaritan guy’.

As the line of traffic streamed by we gathered ourselves together. I checked over the bike and nothing appeared broken. The right pannier had a few knocks that give it character and there were a few scratches here and there. All minor.

As Chumbawamba says ‘I get knocked down, but I get up again’ – well at least we did today!

I held my breath as I switched on the bike. When I had turned it off in the aggregate gravel stuff it had been flashing like a Christmas tree with all sorts of unhappy messages. It was having a real whinge. On it came. No errors. It had calmed down. It was fine.

We still had to get it out the remaining gravel so ‘oh poor Susan’ walked ahead to where the road was clear whilst ‘who cares about Clif’ rode the bike out. Well if it went over again ‘who cares about Clif’!

You would think this would be the end of today’s story and I’m about to finish with a photo of us happy as two llamas with a beer. Oh no, this story has got a long way to go yet.

To be honest we were both a bit shaken. You don’t crash off a moving motorcycle and immediately put it out of your mind. Well, we did because we had to. We had 120 miles to go to our destination and we still had not reached the road summit at 15,000 feet. And by now time was getting on.

As we climbed, through hairpin after hairpin, to the plateau at 15,000 feet we saw hundreds of alpaca and vicuna wandering the grasslands. It was a marvelous sight. We didn’t stop and take photos because we were too busy focusing on the road ahead. The sky started to darken and we could see storm clouds on the horizon. The temperature dropped from 33c earlier in the day to 3c. This high up was no place to be in a storm

It was dusk when ‘who cares about Clif’ turned on the heated handgrips. ‘Oh poor Susan was so jealous and, by now, frozen. ‘Oh poor Susan’.

The biggest issue for ‘who cares about clif’ was that his hands started getting far too hot. Then the wind picked up, sleet started falling and the road surface became covered in a light slush. ‘Who cares about Clif’ had to stop playing about with his heated glove settings and focus on the road. He really couldn’t put ‘oh poor Susan’ down on her £16k hip for the second time today.

The bike slipped and skidded as we went down the mountain. Gradually, as we lowered altitude, the temperature slowly increased and the sleet stopped. We were back down to 10,000 feet and 30 miles or so from our destination.

You would think that was the drama over. Yes ‘oh poor Susan’ had warmed up and ‘who cares about clif’ sorted his burning hands but there was a sting in the tail – fuc*ing sand!!!

Oh I appreciate you’ve probably had enough of this story and are exhausted with it. Well imagine how we felt. I’m just trying to make you feel our exhaustion.

Now let me tell you about the ‘blinking sand’. Bear with me we’re nearly there.

I’m going to refer to it as ‘blinking sand’ because Susan edits my blog and objects to too much swearing. I think swearing expresses how I really feel but I take her advice. So when I’m talking about ‘blinking sand’ you really know I’m talking about ‘fuc*ing sand’!

So it’s dusk, the road is winding, curve after curve when we come around the corner and there’s a blinking sand dune on our side of the road. Now when I say sand dune, it’s really 1-3 cm of sand blown over one side the carraigeway. Yes one side of the carriageway had sand and the other was relatively okay. That’s the way the wind blows as they say!

You see the mountains are sandy rocky stuff and it erodes with wind and rain, blows onto the road and drifts into the sheltered corners. Nobody sweeps it away. If you come round a bend at 30-40 mph on a motorcycle and are faced with the road in front covered in sand then it’s a problem. A big problem.

This happened time and time again over the last 30 miles – ‘blinking sand’ over the road. Sometimes the bike slipped it’s way round but mostly we rode on the wrong side of the road for as long as we could. Well at least until the oncoming driver flashed his lights in an angry manner. ‘Who cares about Clif’ didn’t care about angry drivers as he was more concerned about angry ‘oh poor Susan’ if she went down on her £16k hip.

It was dark when we reached Chalhuanca and checked into our okay hotel. After an okay dinner of chicken and chips we walked into town to find Mr Beer.

As to our injuries – we were fine. ‘Who cares about Clif’s elbow’ was fine and didn’t amount to anything. Thanks for your concern, it’s appreciated. Also his hands were fine and didn’t suffer any burns from the heated grips. Again, your concern is appreciated.

‘Oh poor Susan’ was fine and doesn’t need another £16k hip. She’s got a bit of a limp but it’s only temporary. Her bruising is spectacular but again it’s only temporary. I would post a photo but she refuses to pose in her pants. So you will just have to take my word – it’s a large, wonderfully coloured bruise.

That evening as I was chatting to Susan with Mr Beer, I casually mentioned that we were quite fortunate to crash in that aggregate gravel stuff, it gave us a softer landing. ‘Oh poor Susan’ glowered and so me and Mr Beer changed the topic.

Time for bed I think or as I say in South America ‘bonne nuit’.

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