It was a short two hour journey down the road from Ollantaytambo to Cusco.

Cusco, once the capital of the Inca empire, was developed into a complex urban centre in the 15th century by one of the most well known Inca rulers. Who am I talking about? This guy 👇

That’s Pachacuti. In the local language, Quechuan, Pachacuti means ‘reformer of the world’ and it’s an apt title because he began an era of conquest that led to Inca domination over most of western South America. It’s surprising, however, that even though the Incas established a sophisticated, technologically savvy civilisation, they didn’t develop a written language, they didn’t have knowledge of the wheel, iron or steel.

Pachacuti is also believed to be the leader who established Machu Picchu as a summer retreat. If it wasn’t for Pachacuti we might never have heard of the Incas and their history would have been be lost amongst the hundreds of other South American indigenous tribes you’ve never heard of.

Now let’s temporarily leave the Incas before you glaze over and talk medical matters. Yes, I’m going to get personal. We have a problem.

Cusco sits at 3400m altitude (that’s 11,200 feet in old money) and this means two old people find it hard going. I’m talking about Susan and me.

Altitude sickness manifests itself in many ways and, thankfully, it all had been relatively mild for Susan and I as we have adapted over the last two weeks at altitude. That said, depending on our travel fatigue, exertions and diet, altitude can affect us more on some days than others. Susan is particularly prone to good days and bad days.

I’m fine and still not listening to advice not to drink alcohol because that’s a step too far. As it is, a bit of breathlessness is my main issue and the worst it gets is when I have to sit down and rest midway through brushing my teeth. I can cope with that as long as I have a beer to sip whilst I’m recovering between brushing sessions. Me and Mr Beer help each other through all sorts of issues.

At Cusco, Susan didn’t feel great. It all started at Machu Picchu. Personally, I think it was the dancing with the Saqra dancer on the train – too much exertion at altitude. If I was allowed to show you the video as evidence you would agree. It wouldn’t be ‘Oh Poor Susan’ it would be ‘Oh Dear Susan What Were You Thinking’. Then there was ‘Mellow Man’ and his coca leaves. All the evidence fits together in my mind and now, unfortunately, I have to tell you that Susan has a coca habit.

Now the coca leaf has been chewed and brewed for centuries among the indigenous people in the Andean region. Most often, the locals chew the leaves and they act as a mild stimulant that supressess hunger, thirst, pain and fatigue. Crucially, especially for tourists, it’s also believed to overcome altitude sickness.

It’s common for tourists to consume coca levels in the form of a tea and indeed many hotels have an urn on the go or will provide coca tea on request. Now let’s be quite clear, this is the same coca leaf from which cocaine is extracted. You will actually fail a drugs test within 24 hours of drinking coca tea.

Now let’s talk about ‘Coca Head Susan’. It’s a serious matter so let’s not have any light-hearted quips. To alleviate the symptoms of altitude sickness, ‘Coca Head Susan’ is drinking coca tea beyond the recommended 2 cups a day and, would you believe it, also eating coca sweets.

Even in the middle of the night I heard the rustling of sweetie papers as ‘Coca Head Susan’ was having a ‘hit’. I present the physical evidence 👇

Okay I feel I’ve got your attention now that I’m presenting physical evidence.

Now altitude sickness is pretty debilitating at times. I’ve already opened up about my issues brushing my teeth so I’ve every sympathy with ‘Coca Head Susan’.

I do, however, appear to be an island of strength in a sea of Coca as I sit in hotels and bars drinking alcohol and where it seems everyone is having coca tea. It’s difficult being me with no mild drug habits in a land of Coca Heads. I’m sure you’re sitting there nodding in sympathy with me. Thank you.

It’s okay though, I’m managing the whole situation with expert medical advice from the Internet. I’m sure I can wean ‘Coca Head Susan’ off the stuff and my main tactic is to get her to drink more alcohol. Why not? I drink lots of alcohol and I don’t have altitude sickness – the logic is pretty inescapable.

With this intellectual logical thinking on display I’m sure you have every confidence in me delivering ‘Oh poor Susan’ back to you in a state suitable enough to pass through an airport drug test on the way home in December. I will keep you posted.

After that medical bombshell you’re probably thinking oh please let’s get back to the bloody Incas! Let me oblige, sexywoman.

No, no I’m not talking about you! I’m talking Incas remember? And more specifically Saqsaywaman, a fortress citadel in northern Cusco. That’s how the locals pronounce it, ‘sexywoman’ followed by a low chortle. Such boyinsh behaviour is beyond me.

Anyway, Sexywoman, was mainly built by you know who? Yes of course, Pachacuti.

It’s more impressive than the photo above can convey. Originally, there were three massive terrace walls that display precision cutting and fitting unmatched in the Americas.

Much of Sexywoman was dismantled by the dasterdly Spanish to build churches and Spanish civic buildings in Cusco. The Spanish wanted to erase all Inca culture in an effort to dominate the local people. They kind of succeeded. For four centuries this fortress has been systematically dismantled and, even until relatively recent times, locals were allowed to blast away the stones for their own building needs.

Talking about stones, have a look at this neat jointing. Why all the irregular shapes? Well the photos below have the outline of a snake and a llama respectively. Try and find them? Its like one of those ‘can you find it’ quizzes you see on the internet’.

Next is a view from where Pachacuti would sit. Right in the foreground are ‘thrones’ carved into the rock overlooking the natural amphitheatre where Incas would gather to hear the proclamations of their ‘god’. The plaza below is capable of holding thousands of people for ceremonial activities.

Finally, another view over the Sexywoman fortress.

So onto our final night in Cusco, we went into town for a rooftop dinner and some local beer.

Then it was to the Pisco Museum for a cocktail.

Ah, I know the more astute of you will realise this is me putting my intelligent logical plan into action. I’m getting ‘Coca Head Susan’ to be like me and drink herself into health. What a cunning plan it is even if I have to say so myself!

We left Chalhuanca for Ollantaytambo after yet another breakfast of fruit and scrambled eggs. There’s no imagination in these hotels.

It was another day of motorcycling through the Andes – 194 miles and 20,000 feet of ascent and descent. The weather was great and the scenery was greater.

Here’s the road to Ollantaytambo with only 20 miles to go 👇

The bike is parked whilst Susan and Mr Google conspire to send us down a backwater dirt road. That was an unhappy 10 miles.

On this backwater dirt road we motorcycled past a woman in traditional country clothing with a flock consisting of goats, sheep, llamas, dogs, chickens and pigs. All one big happy flock family walking down the road. She looked at us on the motorcycle on the backwater dirt road as if we were mad! I looked at her as if she was mad. We all know who was right, of course!

The approach to this ancient Inca town is by ancient Inca road. The tarmac disappeared, like it does so often in South America, and was replaced by a steep hill of old Inca cobbles.

I careered up with a modicum of control. Half way up Susan must have sensed this trip was now in the hands of the Inca Gods and suggested it may be a good idea for her to get off.

Thankfully, before the tight bend at the top I spotted a few feet of flat dirt at the side of the road and managed to come to a halt. Susan was off as fast as she could before I changed my mind. We then travelled on independently to the hotel. Susan got the best deal as it was only a 10 minute walk whilst I had to negotiate treacherous cobbles and an Inca one way system through the town square.

That night we dined in a local restaurant like Incas.

There’s all sorts of stuff going on in this meal including corn the size of marbles, roast yam, roast chicken, roast lamb and roast alpaca. Yup, I decided to eat one of those cute furry Alpaca things.

Can you see the sideways look it’s giving me. I’m absolutely sure it knows I ate one of its pals the night before.

Alpaca is common in restaurants in Peru and it’s actually very nice. Tastes like chicken! No I’m only kidding, it tastes like beef. I had the opportunity to pair it with roast guinea pig but chose the lamb. Sometimes it’s difficult to choose which cute furry thing you will eat in an evening.

Here’s more Alpacas we saw the following day.

The problem I now have is when I look at this photo of this ancient Ollantaytambo Inca fortress all I can think of is … mmmm that’s tasty!

Apologies for anyone reading that’s not a meat eater. There were lots of veggies on these platters. The yam was beautifully roasted and tasted like an earthy potato. Talking of potatoes, did you know, Peru has over 4,000 varieties of potato. They all have a very earthy potato taste and bear little resemblance to the white fluffy potatoes we have in the UK.

Here’s another photo of the Inca fortress without the tasty additions.

That’s me at the entrance to the Templo del Sol. Certainly not tasty, more like an earthy potato.

Here’s Susan contemplating why she ever agreed to go on a motorcycle.

Ollantaytambu stone streets preserve the Inca architecture. Whilst many of the original buildings were destroyed by the dastardly Spanish invaders, many survive to this day. It really is a splendid, small, tasty town to visit.

Our next task was to visit Machu Pichuu. Well actually, that was the main reason we travelled over the Andes to Ollantaytambo. From here there’s a 90 minute train journey to a legitimate ‘wonder of the world’.

However, we had a major problem – we didn’t have tickets to get in. Now before you smack your forehead and mutter ‘Oh, that’s a bit silly’, please let me explain.

Six weeks travelling through Colombia, Ecuador and Peru on a bike with a plan doesn’t guarantee we will actually arrive anywhere on a specific day. There’s a multitude of issues that can happen between our plane landing in Bogota and us arriving in this tasty town.

Tickets to Machu Picchu are limited and sold out months in advance but there was still an opportunity to buy tickets so this is what we had to do.

Bought rail tickets for train from Ollantaytambo to Aguas Calientes at the bottom of Machu Picchu. Next day, get up at 04:30 to get the train at 06:10. Arrive AG at 07:45hrs. Get a numbered queue ticket from a government cultural building. Wait until 14:30 hrs to join a manic queue with a woman and a loudspeaker trying to control tourist mayhem. After another hour queuing, successfully get tickets for Machu Picchu for the following day. Wait another two hours to catch the train back to Ollabtaytambo. No time to eat another tasty cute animal so it was pizza and beer. Bed at 20:30. Up at 05:00 and train back to Machu Picchu the following day. Exhausting.

At least the train to Machu Picchu the following day had some entertainment.

I’ve actually got a video of Susan dancing with this guy below but I’ve been told in no uncertain terms it’s NOT being posted. Sorry!

As you can see we were in tourist heaven. It was awesome.

So we arrived at Machu Picchu and hired a guide. Here he is with Susan.

He was a lovely guy. I knew he was the one for us when I saw the bag of coca leaves hanging from his arm. ‘Mellow man’ was a cross between Bob Marley and Snoop Dog and the more coca leaves he stuck in his gob the more mellow ‘Mellow Man’ he became. He certainly knew his Inca history though as he was once a researcher on the site.

‘Mellow Man’ was also a good photographer for our selfies – well you can hardly fail when you’ve got subjects like us, I mean this.

Finally, name the Inca bird 👇

It’s a Condor of course. Use your imagination. The Incas believed the Condor had a close connection with their sun god because they could fly so high and carried the dead to the afterlife on its wings.

So that was our trip to Machu Picchu. It is a wonderful place to visit and whilst I admit I did have some misgivings about whether I wanted to see it, I’m pleased that Susan persuaded me. Well actually I had to go – there’s no way I was letting her go herself and fall into the clutches of ‘Mellow Man’.

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’.