2/5/2013 Cerros de
Calla-Calla to Balsas
D62, T3.15, 6, Av19.14, Max47, Tot13744, 3741
Cold and cloudy at Call Calla, some rain, 28°C lower down
Well needless to say, room service at the hotel Cerros de Calla-calla was pretty ordinary, I even had to go outside for a leak in the middle of the night.
The odd vehicle passed during the evening, though a good sleep was enjoyed.
I am finding I only need about 5-6 hours sleep a night. The daily riding has become like getting up to go to work. The fact that every day will bring new experiences, leads to an enthusiasm at the beginning each day, normally my eyes take in the scene about 0430-0500, about when the birds are doing so and the local roosters have been doing so for a couple of hours.
Roosters crowing, is a sound synonymous with rural areas frequented. One will start and get a reply from across the valley, then it’s all on, each one has a different call, it is classic, some birds, probably veterans, have calls that fall way short of the mark, of the three syllables in a crow, some just fizzle out mid second syllable.
This just came to mind, there were no roosters up here!
The locale up here was totally immersed in cloud, 10m viz was about all.
Packing up, it was so nice to have been dry, the cloud and the moisture within it was like rain.
It was a bugger, the cloud was robbing me of views.
A little further on, a group of road workers had just pulled up, they were working on the culverts. I spent some time talking with them. They were having a “tool box” meeting, OH&S is alive and well here also. They were all dressed in orange gear.
They said if I hang about for awhile the cloud will lift.
Going on a bit, parking the bike, just filling in time looking at plants, there were clear patches opening up as the cloud raced on by.
The glimpses received revealed just how high I was. Mountains shrouded in broken, brilliantly white cloud offered mystical vistas.
Moving on, the road was now all downhill and very narrow. The vegetation was changing from the grasses to more variety as the elevation decreased.
In many places the road was one way, any vehicles were blasting their horns at each corner. The country was so steep, at one corner I was talking to a guy below a switch back working his animals ploughing a bloody steep slope. He must have been 300ft below but we could hear each other clearly, he was getting ready to put potatoes in the ground.
Where possible I was riding on the inside of the road, it just felt safer, there were no guard rails here!
Lunch was had at a rustic establishment further down, trout was enjoyed, fried off course.
There were houses and fields on all but the steepest of slopes.
A school was passed at Achupas, here the kids all came out to see and talk with me. For most of these children, these mountains will always be their home, those same fields seen will most likely bear their footprints for many years to come.
Though with a basic education, I feel they will think different things from their parents. However the crops they will tend to provide food for their future families will always be farmed as before, their remoteness and steepness allow for no other methods of production.
This terrain, its beauty and the tranquility offered will ensure that this lifestyle is preserved for generations to come, one would hope.
I couldn’t help myself from stopping every few hundred metres, the scenery was beyond my vocabulary, in some cases beyond the vocabulary of the language we speak.
The scenery evoked emotions that didn’t need words.
I hope the photos included make up for my shortcomings. Though I doubt it.
The temperature was increasing all the time, at one corner, sadly with an epitaph carved into its rock, a stop was made to change into attire more suited to the ever increasing heat.
Asphalt was encountered, further down once entering the Marañon canyon. The country was now rocky, almost barren apart from cacti and scattered trees.
Here things were on a grand scale.
The views into the canyon were quite bizarre, higher up, the Rio Marañon was running in another valley higher than the canyon itself, it was like a brown glacier flowing at a different level.
It was heaven on a bike just cruising down this road towards Balsas, the temperature was comfortably hot, with scenery so different.
Arriving at the bottom of the valley where a bridge crosses the Rio Maroñon, there is a small pueblo before riding downstream a bit to Balsas.
Stopping here, fruit and a coco drink were enjoyed.
A few k on, arriving at Balsas, having ridden for most of the way, under a bunch of roadside mangoes offering an oasis like shade, a bit of a shock was had.
First impressions were how run down and poor the place was. It had only a main street. People were stopping to stare at me. I greeted those I made eye contact with. Asking, I found the only hostal at the end of the street.
It would suffice, I had no choice.
Arriving here at the end of a day, that was overloaded with visual, sensory and emotional delights was a real reality check.
It had been like riding down the side of a wok on a gas flame, I had reached the bottom, I would cook until tomorrow when the other side would be scaled, the side that would begin, once the Rio Marañon is crossed.
It’s amazing, tonight going to bed in about 28°C in a desert like environment, only last night, clouds and cool air were my company.
Dinner was had at the only bar in town, before a walk down to the river was enjoyed.
The Marañon, huge, ochre in colour, runs fast and carries the water and much more, used by many of the families who live in such a different environment only an hour away by car.
During the descent, I had pulled of the road and ended up with burs all over the tyres, sure enough, my front tyre had a slow leak, this was repaired.
D62, T3.15, 6, Av19.14, Max47, Tot13744, 3741
Cold and cloudy at Call Calla, some rain, 28°C lower down
Well needless to say, room service at the hotel Cerros de Calla-calla was pretty ordinary, I even had to go outside for a leak in the middle of the night.
The odd vehicle passed during the evening, though a good sleep was enjoyed.
I am finding I only need about 5-6 hours sleep a night. The daily riding has become like getting up to go to work. The fact that every day will bring new experiences, leads to an enthusiasm at the beginning each day, normally my eyes take in the scene about 0430-0500, about when the birds are doing so and the local roosters have been doing so for a couple of hours.
Roosters crowing, is a sound synonymous with rural areas frequented. One will start and get a reply from across the valley, then it’s all on, each one has a different call, it is classic, some birds, probably veterans, have calls that fall way short of the mark, of the three syllables in a crow, some just fizzle out mid second syllable.
This just came to mind, there were no roosters up here!
The locale up here was totally immersed in cloud, 10m viz was about all.
Packing up, it was so nice to have been dry, the cloud and the moisture within it was like rain.
It was a bugger, the cloud was robbing me of views.
A little further on, a group of road workers had just pulled up, they were working on the culverts. I spent some time talking with them. They were having a “tool box” meeting, OH&S is alive and well here also. They were all dressed in orange gear.
They said if I hang about for awhile the cloud will lift.
Going on a bit, parking the bike, just filling in time looking at plants, there were clear patches opening up as the cloud raced on by.
The glimpses received revealed just how high I was. Mountains shrouded in broken, brilliantly white cloud offered mystical vistas.
Moving on, the road was now all downhill and very narrow. The vegetation was changing from the grasses to more variety as the elevation decreased.
In many places the road was one way, any vehicles were blasting their horns at each corner. The country was so steep, at one corner I was talking to a guy below a switch back working his animals ploughing a bloody steep slope. He must have been 300ft below but we could hear each other clearly, he was getting ready to put potatoes in the ground.
Where possible I was riding on the inside of the road, it just felt safer, there were no guard rails here!
Lunch was had at a rustic establishment further down, trout was enjoyed, fried off course.
There were houses and fields on all but the steepest of slopes.
A school was passed at Achupas, here the kids all came out to see and talk with me. For most of these children, these mountains will always be their home, those same fields seen will most likely bear their footprints for many years to come.
Though with a basic education, I feel they will think different things from their parents. However the crops they will tend to provide food for their future families will always be farmed as before, their remoteness and steepness allow for no other methods of production.
This terrain, its beauty and the tranquility offered will ensure that this lifestyle is preserved for generations to come, one would hope.
I couldn’t help myself from stopping every few hundred metres, the scenery was beyond my vocabulary, in some cases beyond the vocabulary of the language we speak.
The scenery evoked emotions that didn’t need words.
I hope the photos included make up for my shortcomings. Though I doubt it.
The temperature was increasing all the time, at one corner, sadly with an epitaph carved into its rock, a stop was made to change into attire more suited to the ever increasing heat.
Asphalt was encountered, further down once entering the Marañon canyon. The country was now rocky, almost barren apart from cacti and scattered trees.
Here things were on a grand scale.
The views into the canyon were quite bizarre, higher up, the Rio Marañon was running in another valley higher than the canyon itself, it was like a brown glacier flowing at a different level.
It was heaven on a bike just cruising down this road towards Balsas, the temperature was comfortably hot, with scenery so different.
Arriving at the bottom of the valley where a bridge crosses the Rio Maroñon, there is a small pueblo before riding downstream a bit to Balsas.
Stopping here, fruit and a coco drink were enjoyed.
A few k on, arriving at Balsas, having ridden for most of the way, under a bunch of roadside mangoes offering an oasis like shade, a bit of a shock was had.
First impressions were how run down and poor the place was. It had only a main street. People were stopping to stare at me. I greeted those I made eye contact with. Asking, I found the only hostal at the end of the street.
It would suffice, I had no choice.
Arriving here at the end of a day, that was overloaded with visual, sensory and emotional delights was a real reality check.
It had been like riding down the side of a wok on a gas flame, I had reached the bottom, I would cook until tomorrow when the other side would be scaled, the side that would begin, once the Rio Marañon is crossed.
It’s amazing, tonight going to bed in about 28°C in a desert like environment, only last night, clouds and cool air were my company.
Dinner was had at the only bar in town, before a walk down to the river was enjoyed.
The Marañon, huge, ochre in colour, runs fast and carries the water and much more, used by many of the families who live in such a different environment only an hour away by car.
During the descent, I had pulled of the road and ended up with burs all over the tyres, sure enough, my front tyre had a slow leak, this was repaired.
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