Ecuador, out with a bang.

After another stellar breakfast it is time to hit the road, first back North to get some gas where we fill the bikes, top up the jerry cans and even fill the two 1liter fuel bottles just in case. The information on hand reads that there is no gas available between Vilcabamba and San Ignacio which is about 250km, which could take anywhere from 4 to 9 hours depending on the road conditions. According to all reports the road is paved for only the first 100km to Zumba, then it is dirt all the rest of the way to the border with mixed reports of what lies beyond that. The reports of were all wrong, the road was only paved for about 50km, thereafter it was a mix of packed gravel, bare dirt, packed red clay or a combo of everything. This was all well and good until it started to rain, or should I say until we rode into the rain. The road quickly turned into a muddy soupy mess, with road construction happening and cargo trucks beating the road into oblivion.

 

The first few little towns are very much frontier towns, basic essentials only, no gas as expected, but we have plenty enough anyway. We wind our way down a fairly good road until we come to the washed out bridge we had heard about, the three workers were optimistic that we could portage the bikes across their makeshift bridge, I was more interested in finding the detour we heard about.

The problem being is that the construction guys did not appear to know where the detour was, we were about to ride away when a taxi pulled up and dropped off some people. I thought I would take a shot and ask him if he knew where this mysterious detour could be found. Thankfully he replied in English and after a few words he just said to follow him. After about a 10km backtrack to the last town, he pulled over at a school to pick up a few kids, then proceeded to draw us a map for the rest of our journey. I use the term map very generously here, it was two “forks” with an X over the road we were not to follow.

Then he pointed off in the start direction and wished us well. He would not take any money for his time or assistance but I managed to throw a few dollars in his lap before he got his window closed. I yelled Feliz Naidad but I am not sure if he heard me over all the kids and the pouring rain.

The map was actually fairly helpful, and to our surprise there were signs indicating village names and directions.

This was an interesting one, there was not traffic circle, just a 5-way intersection of sorts.

The road was not much more than a path through the forest/jungle but we eventually made it to Zumba via the little detour that was 40km long. The first thing we see when we get to town is a gas station, it looks fairly new and the army was checking plates for who was buying what. We probably don’t need any gas but it is not wise to pass up something as essential as fuel. Now the last stretch of road to the border is about 30km and like much of Ecuador the town of Zumba has road construction happening, after a couple of wrong turns and no signs indicating the direction to the border we find our way out of town. We have a few more hours of riding to reach San Ignacio and we have not crossed the border yet, in our experience the border can be a time consuming process but we are hopeful that this crossing will be remote enough to not have any line-ups.

We get exactly what we expect, once we get there...the little road to the border is merely an unmaintained dirt road that snakes through the hills and then drops down to the bridge that links the two countries.

The Ecuador side is very fast, the Aduana officer kept the paperwork for the bike as per usual, and the immigration officer did his stamping then we were directed to the bridge. The short ride, in no man’s land between borders, across the bridge brings us to the Peru side where we find a control arm across the road. Of course we have to stop and then we are greeted by a very friendly Aduana officer who even hammed it up for a picture.

He directed us to the immigration office to start the process of entering the country. First our passport stamps. The immigration officer in the yellow building takes down all our pertinent information then gives us a form similar to the declaration you fill out on any international flight.

Then he says we have to go find the Police Officer to get these stamped, he is somewhere around the corner and down the hill in the brown building.

We find him easy enough, while pawing through the desk drawers looking for a pen he notices my riding boots and want to know how much they are worth. These questions always make me nervous because I never really know their intentions, I answer his question regardless of the consequences and he gives me a surprised look. I guess $300CDN is a bit much for boots in Peru. I noticed how shiny his boots were and made a brushing motion over mine which made him laugh a bit as my boots are completely filthy after riding in the mud and rain all day. Stamp stamp, it is back to the immigration guy. He looks over the document stamp like we may have forged it or something then he stamps and signs them as well as our passports, yay we are in. The last step is to get the bikes in and our overly friendly Aduana officer seems eager to complete this as it is getting late in the day, about 5:00pm. He starts to type the info into the computer but it goes to an “error” screen, so he tries again, and again, and again. It must be the information he put in, so he tries to type in my info instead of Brenda’s, “error” screen imagine that. One more time, yay!! it worked this time for some reason. Then he tries to print the “certificate” we need to keep with us until we exit the country.

The dot matrix printer will not cooperate and after using all the certificate templates he excuses himself from the office in order to get more. While he was gone we noticed that the last person in his entry ledger was 3 days ago, so not a very busy crossing at all. He promptly returns with more paper, but these look different, why was I surprised when he started to hand write the certificates. 6:00pm and we still have to do my certificate, and you guessed it he tries to use the printer again but gives up after the first try and finally hands over my certificate. While all this was happening, Brenda had walked across the road to the Hostal to check on a room, we figured it would be dark soon and it was over an hour ride to San Ignacio. The riding after dark rule was looking a little fractured at this point. No luck at the Hostal, and the Aduana guy confirmed our suspicion by making a bad face in reference to the Hostal. He wishes us well and lifts the control arm, our bikes have been sitting in the middle of the bridge this whole time. From the border it is 47km to San Ignacio, but it is supposed to take 1 hour due to the design of the road, we get on the throttle and roar through a couple of very small towns. There was a possibility of a room in Nabelle, but the town had every street torn apart and we just find our way out and carry on to San Ignacio, well at least around the next curve where there is a road block. The backhoe blocking the road is trying to load a gravel truck, and although we usually just ride through this type of thing the flag person would not let us through, so we wait...now it is dark and we have no choice but to carry on.

This is another first for us as we have never been out on the highway after dark, and it quickly becomes apparent why we avoid this. Cows don’t have reflectors, local bikes don’t have any lights, and everyone and everything in the small towns collect on the highway after dark and there are no street lights to highlight the gathering. We dodge and weave our way between the living pile-ons and are very happy to see the lights of San Ignacio. The next obstacle is to find a hotel in the dark, most hotels just have little signs beside the door, our best bet was to find the central square and then comb the streets close to there. When that didn’t work luck kicked in and after a wrong turn we seen a Hospadaje La Pasada sign. We pull up like a couple of gunslingers in an old western movie, loud dirty bikes, dusty clothes, tired and weary looking for a hot meal and a room. I didn’t really care what the room looked like actually, but was pleasantly surprised to find it clean with hot water and a comfy bed. One thing we had not done yet was get any Peruvian money, the cheery desk clerk pointed down the street but said we could pay later. The rest of the evening was routine, walking, bank, food, trying to stay awake until 10pm so I could push the bikes into the restaurant for the night, sleep.

250km’s 9hours of travel time, and that is why it is hard to answer the common question of how far or long do we ride in a day.