After the salt extravaganza, we had hoped to set off early next day and head south towards Argentina. Unfortunately, Susan had other ideas. A combination of sun, salt and altitude confined her to bed for the day. She couldn’t even keep the coca sweets down. Oh, poor Susan.

So Susan slept all day and I ate pizza and drank beer all day. Not such a bad day after all, for some.

Next day she felt good enough to travel. She’s a tough old girl. The road was good and we made great progress. Susan didn’t barf and she was back on the coca sweets and Ritz crackers for her munchies. We were fine. Happy as two non barfing llamas.

After two days riding we reached the border between Bolivia and Argentina around lunchtime. The border was situated along a back street and it took us three attempts to find it. Crazy. Susan had to get off and walk some of it because the roads were so treacherous for the bike.

It took us a couple of hours to cross the border and we rigorously checked the forms the customs agents completed. It’s always such chaos crossing a border. Queues, people jumping in, form after form, ‘no entiendo’, no signal on phone to complete online stuff, scanner checks of panniers, heat, noise, passports out, passports in, temporary import permit cancelled, temporary import permit entry.

Then we were in Argentina – our fifth country on this journey.

The Argentina border town was Quiaca. What a tumbledown dump it was.

We stayed in the best hotel in town and it actually wasn’t that bad. Bit of a problem parking the bike. Had to ride it up a substantial pavement kerb, up the hotel steps, through the main doors of the hotel, up another step, through internal double doors, down the hall, sharp right turn into an internal courtyard, down a step, eight point turn, and park. Just in case you’re wondering, Susan got off and walked. For some reason she prefers it that way.

Big problem in Quiaca was we had no currency and the few restaurants were cash only. We managed to change the last of our Bolivian currency with a guy at the bus station. Rate was poor but we needed food and beer. I mean we needed beer and food – let’s get our priorities right. Picnic in the hotel that night.

The following day we breezed down 250 miles to Salta and checked into a nice bijou apartment.

Salta is a great place to visit and a tourist town. We had one day off but we didn’t have any time for tourism. We had a mission – we needed currency. Cash is king in Argentina.

Now I’m not going to bore the pants off you by talking Argentina economy and currency exchange, so let’s stick to the basics.

Argentina has an inflation rate of 170% and that’s where the problems begin. Argentinians prefer to save their money in American dollars and, over time, this has led to greater demand for the dollar and two different exchange rates.

Effectively, $100 US Dollars is equivalent to 35,000 pesos on the official exchange market. However, because of the demand for the dollar, there’s also the ‘unofficial’ blue rate where $100 gets you 100,000 pesos.

Obviously you want to tap into the blue rate and one of the ways to do this is to travel with crisp $100 bills and change them with scruffy looking guys that hang about street corners. They’re the local ‘cambio guys’.

After a day trading back and forth with the ‘cambio guys’, Susan and I had a wad of cash. I put the beer can in their for scale. Don’t you wish you had a wad like me?

All that said, since the end of last year there has been an arrangement with MasterCard/Visa and they will now give you the MEP rate (kind of near the blue rate and much better than the ‘official’ rate). What happens is your card is initially charged the official rate then four days later we get half our payment back as a refund.

It’s completely bananas and I haven’t even scraped the surface of all the other money issues. But I’ve even bored myself now so I’m moving on.

The one other important thing to mention about Salta is that it’s elevation is 1150m. Yup you’re hearing it right – we’re off the Andean Altiplano and back down to a reasonable altitude and breathing normally.

Of course, you will be interested in how ‘coca head Susan’ is doing. Well I’m happy to report I’ve managed the situation well. Well done me.

I got her off the coca tea through measured doses of cocktails, Ritz crackers and some tough love. When there were two beds in our hotel room, I made her sleep alone. It had to be done. She’s a trooper though – every time I banished her to the other bed she kept on smiling. Well done ‘coca head Susan’ for taking it so well.

Now we’re down to manageable altitude, Susan is feeling better. She still has a bit of a problem with the coca candy but her source for new candy is back in Bolivia. So once the current supply is finished we should be fine.

Susan is still saying she deserves to sleep alone but I’m trying to persuade her the tough love session is over. Soon we will be as happy as two llamas in one bed.

Salta to Cafayate, our next destination, was a marvellous journey. The scenery was spectacular red sandstone.

Cafayate is the centre of an Argentine wine region and we booked into to a lovely wine hotel for three nights. It’s so nice I actually think I may be too good for Susan – I really don’t want her going all soft and ladylike.

We arrived an hour before official check in time and unloaded the bike. Well actually I unloaded the bike whilst Susan sauntered into reception.

Twenty minutes later I’m still outside the hotel sitting in the baking sun on a bench with the bike and luggage. Honestly, it’s not easy being me at check in time. Eventually, Susan returned in that same sauntering manner.

In these situations I always stare at her lips, trying to descern if she’s had a complimentary drink whilst I’ve been waiting. She’s very good at disguising it and the innocence on her face, when accused, is convincing. Oh but I know what’s really going on and one day I will catch her out but today was not that day.

This time Susan was accompanied by the bell boy who spoke English with a French/Spanish accent. Yes I know you’re thinking what the bloody hell am I talking about? Suffice to say when I greeted him with ‘hola mon ami’ the light of multilingualism was switched on between us – we were both language melting pots speaking ‘franspan’ English.

Susan interrupted the ‘franspan’ love in with some reality – ‘we have to wait until the room is ready’ she said, ‘we can wait in the reception’.

No problem I thought because we’ve got a tactic that works time and time again in South America when we’re asked to wait in reception for a room – we make ourselves inconveniently unwelcome.

This time, I plonked myself on the faux french 18th century furniture, put my helmet on the glass coffee table, filled my plastic water bottles from their nice water cooler. As I sit there the dust from the road starts falling and settling around me, flies start being attracted to me and when I stamp my feet the dust rises.

Now you see the nice cream settee on the right, I was about to sit there when I was given a stern warning from Susan. That was apparently a step too far.

Soon, ‘Franspan English’ bell boy and the head receptionist are deep in conversation and within 3 minutes of me sitting down, the room was ready. Sweet. And we were out of their reception. Now you may think, well done Clif, good tactic but, to be honest, that afternoon, I was upstaged.

You see as I was sitting there seeping dirt and stour, a French girl arrived with her suitcase to be told her room wasn’t ready. She waited two minutes then opened out her suitcase and unloaded her clothes into the floor to find her bikini. Right in front of the reception desk. She had decided if she was having to wait she was going in the hotel pool. What came next I’m sorry to say I can’t tell you.

Oh I know anti climax. Susan rushed me out of reception as I was staring and hoping she was going to get changed there and then. Yes, yes what a feeble man mind I have. I only wanted to compare the effectiveness of our tactics. However, I’m sure she didn’t have to wait long for her room either. Well done ‘French suitcase girl’, je vous salue!

So where’s this place we’re staying at. Let’s see.

Nice parking place for the steel horse.

The hotel had a marvellous restaurant, its own wine and served the best steaks I’ve ever had. So we ate, drank and relaxed in the most lovely surroundings wishing we could never leave. Such a lovely place.

‘Last thing I remember, I was running for the door. I had to find the passage back, to the place I was before’.

Yes holiday over, time to get back on the bike!

Yo VIP. Let’s kick it. Salt salt baby.

We reached Uyuni after a hot 200 miles. On the way we met a local lady and her husband who wanted a photo of the bike. Susan duly obliged.

Then it was onto the Tonito Hotel in Uyuni.

Marvellous place with the best Pizzas in South America. I appreciate that context is everything and I may be losing my mind in the hot blistering sun but, regardless, they were damn fine pizzas. You may scoff at great pizzas in back of beyond Bolivia but scoff ye not because I present the evidence.

You see, the owner was American and has worked and owned pizza restaurants most of his life. Still not convinced? Then how about a reference from the great man himself, once the coolest restaurant reviewer in the world.

Please indulge me for a minute whilst I give a quote from Bourdain on the meaning of life.

‘Eat at a local restaurant tonight. Get the cream sauce. Have a cold beer at 4 o’clock in a mostly empty bar. Go somewhere you’ve never been. Listen to someone you think may have nothing in common with you. Order the rare steak. Eat an oyster. Have a negroni. Have two. Be open to a world where you may not understand or agree with the person next to you but have a drink with them anyways. Eat slowly. Tip your server. Check in on friends. Check in on yourself. Enjoy the ride’. Anthony Bourdain.

If that quote doesn’t do it for you then just stick to 42. I’m fine with that too.

Moving on from Pizzas, let’s talk about why we were in Uyuni. In a word salt.

The town of Uyuni sits on the edge of the Salar de Uyuni, the world’s largest salt flat. Formed by the evaporation of prehistoric lakes, it consists of salt crust a few metres thick, covering nearly 10,000 sq. km. Following rain, a thin layer of water transforms the salt flat into the world’s largest mirror. Big enough even to see your …. (sorry if I finish this sentence Susan will just censor it so I may well as well stop there!).

So that’s the facts. However, we’re tourists and what do tourists do? They hire a guy in a ‘nature crunching jeep’ and tear over this natural wonder just to get a few ‘awesome’ photos. And today we’ve got such awesome tourist photos you’re going to be so impressed and so sad you missed out on this awesome salt ‘nature crunching jeep’ journey.

We started at a cemetery. A cemetery for dead trains.

Most of these guys are from Britain and were used to haul minerals such as gold, silver and tin from Bolivia to the Pacific coast. Then the War of the Pacific came along (1879-83) between Bolivia and Peru and Chile. It resulted in Chile annexing the coastal area and cutting Bolivia and it’s mineral industry off from it’s export route. The war put these big guys out of a job.

Over the years, more and more of these big guys came here to rest and their massive steel structures have been weathered down by a mixture of salt and strong winds. Rest in peace big guys. Casey Jones is waiting for you in train heaven.

Now back to salt, salt, baby and let’s start with a photo of me. Freakin’ awesome!

The Dakar Rally is the world’s toughest rally race and this salt monument commemorates it’s visit to Bolivia in 2016.

If you zoom in you will notice the old man beard has gone. I thought the white beard might clash with the white salt and photos would show me with the lower half of my face missing. You may laugh but it was a big sacrifice for my art.

Here’s our ‘nature crunching jeep’ and our fellow tourists. You have to admit we’re looking pretty awesome. Actually, if you look closely you will see four people doing the silly poses as instructed by the ‘nature crunching jeep’ driver. There’s only one person actually looking awesome. I will leave you to make up your own mind!

Let’s now have a photo of Susan with a salt flamingo balancing on her shoulders. What an awesome balancing act that was.

Then we went to an island in the middle of the salt flats where cacti thrive. We managed to get a great selfie of the pair of us.

The cacti were naturally quite awesome. Some were over 800 year old.

Giants standing guard over the salt flats.

We had lunch in the Salt Hotel where the walls and furniture are made of salt. Great spread provided by the ‘nature crunching jeep’ driver. Susan is laughing her head off – she’s just asked the ‘nature crunching jeep’ driver if he has any salt to go with the meal. Oh how we laughed for ages over that one!

Then it was a case of ‘you wouldn’t bloody believe it’.

That very morning I answered a comment from ‘Laid Back David’ on the blog. He asked me if we had seen any other touring cyclists on our journey. Well to date, in all our motorcycle travels, we had only seen a couple.

Oh you may be asking who is ‘Laid Back David’. Well he’s the proprietor of Laid Back Bikes in Edinburgh and is the guy that sold us the Nazca Quetzal tandem. He’s directly responsible for all the pain and suffering ‘oh poor Susan’ had to endure cycling across three continents.

So ‘Laid Back David’ asked the question and after my lunch in the Salt Hotel I walked outside and, lo and behold, I met Jo.

It was a slightly embarassing introduction from myself. I started off pretty confident as I had shaved off my beard and no longer looked like a potential seedy old man.

I saw the bicycle propped against the wall and approached the only girl in cycling shorts. That in itself is a risky move but I was confident in my new clean shaven wholesome look. ‘Do you speak English?’ I asked. ‘Well I hope so, I’m English’ Jo replied.

In hindsight it wasn’t the best question to ask someone from England, so as a footnote to myself, I’m reverting to my ‘do you come here often’ initial chat up line.

So this is Jo who has cycled from Boston and will sometime end up in Buenos Aires. She was cycling across the salt flats and had spent the night on cactus island in her tent. A very friendly person who must have astonishing strength and determination. We wish her well on her journey.

Now it’s time for more posed photos. I just know you haven’t had enough!

And here’s a photo representing my life on the road.

I can do videos too with my awesome temporary chums.

Then, as this awesome day drew to a close it became even more, can you believe it, awesome!

Just listen to this – ‘nature crunching jeep’ driver supplied us wellies and a picnic!! I bet you’re beside yourself with excitement to see the next photos.

Yup that’s me in black wellies and pink ones for Susan. ‘Nature crunching jeep’ driver really came through for Susan. I was quite taken aback thinking about all the other feet that had stood in these borrowed wellies over many years. It was like walking in history I thought. Absolutely welly awesome.

‘Nature crunching jeep’ man drove us to a part of the Salar where the salt was covered in water, opened out a picnic table with snacks and a bottle of Bolivian red. Nice.

And please, never say I’m not romantic.

Then the sun set.

And it was back in the ‘nature crunching jeep’ to our hotel and the best pizza in South America and draught IPA beer.

What an awesome day.

Salt salt baby.

A quick catch up post as I’m falling behind on our progress through wonderful South America.

On the way to Uyuni we had an overnight stop in Oruro. Look at this hotel we stayed in. ‘The Royal Blue’ hotel.

The bedroom was just as spectacular.

Do you like the careful artistic positioning of the ‘hats’ on the bed for the photo? I’m just a waterfall of ideas.

Have you ever stayed in a more garishly colourful hotel? I think not! Please don’t show these photographs to your partner or they will be saying ‘why don’t you take me to colourful hotels like Clif takes Susan’.

We checked in and went out for a walk, coming across a parade in town that appeared to be representing the indigenous tribes of Bolivia.

In Medellin, I posted a video of some young people and their rap music. I appreciate such music is not to everyone’s taste and so, to cater for older folk and even the balance, here’s something right down your street – big band music just like the Glenn Miller Band. Diversity is my middle name. Please enjoy.

Now it was great day but there was a bit of a downside at the end. The photos below shows our dinner that night – we shared a polystyrene box of chips.

You see all the local restaurants appeared to specialise in chicken and chips. We couldn’t see anything else on offer and the cooked chicken sat in glass cases in the hot afternoon sun. We had a long day on the bike the following day so we took the safe option and passed on the chicken. The chips looked nice.

Unfortunately, as I’ve mentioned previously their potatoes are not like the soft fluffy things in the UK. They can be rough and tough and these tatties were obviously tough enough to be in the Bolivian marine core.

Oh, and next morning I had a dodgy tummy – when you’re trying to be so careful, life can bite you in the ass. C’est la vie as we say in South America.

240 miles from Cusco we reached Puno on Lake Titicaca and stayed in the large GHL Hotel with a room overlooking the lake. We just had enough time to take a few photos and catch the sun setting.

And here’s Susan with Captain Birdseye.

Lake Titicaca is the highest navigable lake in the world at 12,500 feet and, on Titicaca Island, the Inca empire was founded around 1100 CE.

Moving on. From Puno we travelled 164 miles to La Paz, crossing the Bolivian Border at Desaguadero. After an early start we arrived at the quiet border and quickly passed through passport control. Then it was time for the bike. Do you recall the issue at the Ecuador Peru border where they recorded the wrong number plate? Although this was later corrected by another customs guy I had a feeling this could be an issue when we tried to leave Peru and it surely was.

The Peru customs guy was a young lad, spoke English and was friendly enough. He said there wasn’t a problem when he read the certified correction and checked the chassis and engine numbers were correct.

However, it took a 30 minute call to someone else to allow us through. I could tell by the manner of the conversation that it was touch and go. He had a very concerned look on his face. I suspected there was a bureaucratic person on the other end of the phone saying the error had to be corrected at the point of entry. Why did I think this? – because I read in another blog that’s what Peruvian border guards made someone else do. Our issue was that the point of entry for us was nearly 1700 miles away!!

It was a tense nervous time. Susan appeared very calm under the circumstances, munching away on a packet of Ritz crackers. I suspect she had been on the coca sweets this morning – she was just too calm under the circumstances.

Eventually, after a fraught telephone conversation we were allowed through. It had become a very uncomfortable situation and the customs guy had gone from chatty to being unable to look me in the eye then almost running away. I’ve no idea what was going on but we shot off as fast as two old people on a heavy bike could go.

We were now in Boliva.

We reached the outskirts of La Paz at 1pm and looked forward to an early check-in. Unfortunately, traffic in La Paz is a nightmare. The main road into the city was closed and ripped up for repair. It looked like it had been closed for years.

Time after time again in South America we are following the main highway through various towns and cities to find it blocked for about 1-2km. The detour is always through dirt, rubble streets with traffic jams, craters rather than potholes, and pits of deadly sand everywhere. Traffic moves about 3 mph which is absolutely no good for a motorcycle. It’s a bloody nightmare.

We have learned our best course of action is, at the very dodgy bits, Susan gets off and walks whilst I ride the bike through.

Today in La Paz we were detoured into a marketplace through streets lined the market stalls and an absolute jam of thousands of private taxi mini buses. I honestly don’t exaggerate when I say thousands.

Susan got off the bike and walked ahead as ‘spotter’ to try and let me know what’s was happening down the road through the helmet intercom. However, nothing moved so I switched off the bike and sat there in a sea of minibuses.

Oh, and I forgot to mention we were kind of lost anyway. We had just crossed the border and our phones had no local signal in Bolivia. Sat Navs were down and all I had was Garmin maps that I wouldn’t rely on to get me to the end of my bed. Effectively we were going nowhere fast and even if we could get somewhere fast we had know idea where to go fast.

After two hours we managed to free ourselves out of the market jam mayhem. Then it was down into La Paz itself. By now I was guessing the route in a kind of jedi way. Well, I knew we had to go down so down the mountain we went.

La Paz is the highest capital city in the world and sits in a canyon bowl type depression surrounded by the high Andean mountains. Now this road down into the canyon was nightmare, incredibly steep and the tightest of hairpins. Motorcyclists talk about climbs and hairpin routes in the UK – they need to come to La Paz to discover the real horror, I mean the real joy, of motorcycling.

The line of traffic crawled down the mountain. The majority of cars are clapped out and travel far too slow for the motorcycle to stay upright. But we did, just, time and time again. It was a worrying time for me with Susan and all that weight on board.

Nearing the end I had a problem with my brakes. The rear brake in particular was ‘fried’ – I think that’s what cool guy motorcycle people say. Then the rear brake made a ping noise and was next to useless. The front brake slowed us just enough to continue.

Every time I left a small gap to the car in front some idiot driver would overtake, cut in front, brake suddenly then continue at 2-4 mph in a queue of slow moving, downward travelling traffic. I’ve come to learn that they don’t think they’re doing anything wrong or aggressive. It’s just how they drive, its how almost everyone here drives, with absolutely no consideration for any other road user.

Somehow we got to our hotel and parked the bike. We were totally exhausted, dehydrated and struggled to find the energy to unload the bike in the thin high altitude air. I didn’t even want to look at the brakes – that was a problem for tomorrow. I wasn’t avoiding the issue it’s just that sometimes I have to find the energy to properly deal with the issue and think clearly. Today wasn’t that day.

That night we found a great establishment called Burgers and Beer. I was drawn to the place like a bee to honey. It was run by a young Italian Bolivian who was a knowledgeable beer head and sat drinking his own beer because it’s so good.

Susan ordered a veggie burger and I got the house specialty steak. We were back to being happy as two very, very tired llamas.

The brake issue was an anti climax. After having a quick look at the brakes the following morning I quickly determined they were fine. They had overheated and that was the issue. To be honest, I still didn’t have the energy to contemplate anything else. Sometimes you have to keep positively moving forward on a wave of ignorance. Or so I’ve found.

So we spent the rest of our rest day visiting La Paz. And how do you travel in La Paz, a city built into a steep canyon? By cable car of course.

La Paz has an interlinking system of cable cars known as Mi Teleferico. It’s an aerial cable car transport system along ten lines and 25 stops. It’s the longest aerial cable car system in the world and travel on it is easy, fast and a delight. Just as well because the roads of La Paz are a horrible, chaotic, congested, polluting, noisy environment.

We visited the main city square and it’s not the prettiest. Some of it was a dump but I’ve got to take my hat off to the people that approved the construction of the black carbuncle towering above the main government building in the principal civic square. It looks like an alien spaceship has landed.

At least we came across a Bolivian wedding in the cathedral to brighten up our morning. The local ladies look great in their traditional hats and dress. It’s a pity the women in Scotland didn’t have such style 😉

We walked over to the Witches Market, a tourist trap. As we’re tourists we walked right into it. And as tourists always say, it was awesome. Actually it wasn’t. I can’t say it’s tourist tat like the tat you get in Europe made in China. This stuff is all handmade, local and in wonderful colours. I suppose it’s the Premier League of tourist tat.

However, if you look past the souvenir shops you can find authentic witch doctors, known as yatari, who will sell potions and dried things. The most infamous dried thing they sell are llama fetuses that are buried under the foundations of many Bolivian houses as a sacred offering. And if there’s something unusual going on you can be sure I will take a photo. I’m an awesome tourist so pick your baby llama to bury under your next house extension👇

So that was La Paz. Lovely, nice people. Horrible, traffic and pollution. Glad we visited. Glad to leave. Glad we won’t be going back.

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’.

We left the west coast of Peru and headed inland. Our eventual destination was to be Ollantaytambo, an old Inca town, in the Sacred Valley. First we had to cross some desert, see some lines in the sand and scale the Andes.

Our first stop was a place everyone has heard of – Nazca. In the desert landsacape, about 2,000 years ago, the Nazca culture etched lines into the earth’s surface on the arid ‘red plain’. They extend over 190 square miles.

In total, there’s over 800 straight lines, 300 geometric figures and 70 plant and animal designs. Some of the straight lines run up to 30 miles.

The lines are created by removing the top 12 inches of red oxidised rocks on the surface to reveal a light coloured contrasting sand underneath. The lines have persisted because there’s so little rain and erosion.

There have been many theories as to why the Nazca lines were created, ranging from astronomy to the popular 60’s ideas of ancient astronauts and aliens. However, current theory is the lines are related to rituals related to water and fertility.

Nazca region receives so little rain a year and water was clearly an important factor. The straight lines are not used to actually find water but rather used in connection with the places rituals were performed to pay a debt to the gods and plead for water.

Here’s a tree, a jumping toad and a bit of a lizard (the road cuts through its poor big body). All three are related to water and fertility in the Andean world.

Now a view across the desert landscape.

Finally, a view down the road through the valley. This is typical of the landscape we have been travelling through in the last few days.

To get these photos we had to climb an observation tower. No easy feat in full motorcycle clothing. Susan was lucky – she had some nice Galahad to carry her jacket for her.

When we arrived at our hotel we had the offer to go up in a small plane and see more lines in the sand. But after a very hot dusty day being jiggled about on a motorcycle, one of us climbing a blinking high tower in the basking sun lugging two heavy heavy motorcycle jackets, what do you think we chose to do?

Of course, we spent the latter part of the afternoon with our good old friend Mr Beer. It was awesome!