While in Cusco, Peru, the members of my party and I were trying to figure out the best way to get to the town of Ollantaytambo, which is one of the best places to stay in the Sacred Valley. It’s only about 35 to 40 minutes away from Cusco. It’s also a more convenient place to stay before heading to Machu Picchu the following day.
The idea of motorcycling through the Sacred Valley arose and I told the two guys I was traveling with not to worry. I had motorcycle experience and I would be able to keep up.
Now, my “experience” was riding around on a 50cc in the backyard when I was 10. So I’m not sure why I was so adamant that I possessed the required skills needed to maneuver a motorcycle. Especially since the only notable thing I did while riding it was crash into our basketball goal. *bows head in shame*
That’s a whole other story, but long story short, I nailed the pole trying to beat my brother in a race. It was either lose, or die trying to win and my competitive nature chose pain. I dented the pole and somersaulted in the air before landing in a heap on the ground. Then without a word, I dragged myself inside and laid in my bed while my body pulsed with pain and stars circled around me. By the grace of God, I did not break anything.
Liquid Courage
After a short morning flight from Lima, we sat down in a café off the Plaza de Armas. We ordered pisco sours and I coaxed the guys for an hour, willing them to have faith in me.
The café had several different pisco sours and the more flavors I tried, the more confident I became. They were not having it; especially since I kept asking them to ‘just remind me how to shift gears’. After trying some cuy and alpaca dishes, we finally came to a compromise. I would take a test drive in front of them so they could evaluate my capability of handling a bike.
I was satisfied with that decision. Afterwards, we began our Peruvian adventure by walking up to the Incan ruins of Sacsayhuaman. The hike was about a 30-minute walk to the top of a hill that overlooks the city of Cusco. The path opens up to a large, open area. It’s surrounded by terraced Incan walls that are assumed to be part of a fortress.
The sun had just set by the time we arrived which cast a purple hue across the ruins. We climbed around the ruins examining the stones and the precision in which they are spaced. The stones are so precise that a single piece of paper cannot fit between most of them.
The Test Drive
The next day, we walked through the Incan walled streets to a small bike shop off the plaza. When I saw the motorcycle, I nearly panicked. It was not the small sports bike I expected but rather a fully-fledged off-roading monster. The little woman who was renting them did not even attempt to move it into the street for us. And that’s when I knew I was in trouble.
We were standing in a narrow, cobble stone street with zero traffic. I was instructed to ride down the street, turn around and come back.
Simple.
The guys stood there with the tiny Peruvian woman in a woven skirt who obviously wanted to watch the impending catastrophe. They all watched in anticipation with their eyebrows raised.
I didn’t have a choice. (this is where the narrator chimes in “She did in fact have a choice.”) But I had already tried to convince them I was a seasoned rider (WHY. Why did I think a 50cc was comparable.) and we were already delaying our trip briefly to see if I could ride. So, I clamored on top of the bike preparing to prove them wrong. My toes barely touched the ground and my courage faltered as I realized just how big the bike was. I could hardly keep it balanced and my skinny body was struggling to hold it up. But I turned on the engine and took off down the cobblestone street anyway.
The Crash
The weight of the bike was something I didn’t expect. It was so heavy that I wobbled (greatly) for the first few yards. Then I noticed the street was hardly wide enough to take the nice, big turn I originally intended. As I neared the end, my fear mounted. Deep down I knew there was no way that I would be able to turn in this small alleyway and FOR SOME REASON I did not think to simply just stop the bike. I literally could have just slowed to a stop, BUT NO. It was all or nothing apparently (just like when I was 10 years old).
As soon as I turned the handlebars, the bike started to go down. The weight was too heavy for me to even try to manage. Being able to foresee my collision with the cobblestones, I threw my body off at the same time in order to spare my leg from getting crushed.
The bike hit the ground with a crunch. I tried to heave it back up but my lack of muscle did not work in my favor. I left my dignity on the floor with the bike and shamefully looked back up the street. My two friends and the small Peruvian lady had not even reacted. They all just stood there in silence…or maybe it was disbelief that I actually went through with it. My friends walked towards me and heaved the bike up for me. No words were spoken, just looks that said, ‘now that we ALL know what the rest of us already knew, can we go now?’
The Result
I was tossed on the back of one of their motorcycles like cargo, disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to participate in this little adventure. I was still humiliated, but as we rode through Cusco, I started to notice how many obstacles the guys had to maneuver around. There were Peruvian women walking alpacas across the streets, big trucks that didn’t stop even if they saw you, children running about trying to sell handmade scarves and pedestrians crossing every which way.
I was suddenly glad I wasn’t responsible for avoiding everything. Instead, my attention was diverted to the old Incan walls that formed the city and the Spanish architecture on the buildings.
As I pulled out my camera to start taking some pictures, I realized that I had the much better deal: I got to enjoy the scenery without the added anxiety. Except that when we left Cusco and entered the country, our first stop was a terrifying decision to launch myself into outer space by means of the Human Slingshot (more on that later).
Motorcycling through the Sacred Valley
When we were back on the road, we encountered beautiful rolling hills, quiet towns, a sparkling lake and a pit stop where local Peruvians were roasting cuy (guinea pig) on a stick. We took a few detours to ride through the towns and stopped a few times to take pictures and explore. The wind was a little chilly while riding and at that point I was glad I had been resigned to the back of the bike.
Before driving into the valley, we pulled off the road and stopped at an overlook with a small shop that had handmade sweaters and scarves. I bought two sweaters made from alpaca hair. The shop owner was so happy that she gave me some gloves as well. We thanked her and stopped at the edge of the shop where we had a beautiful view of the Sacred Valley below. On the side of the mountain next to us were Incan ruins. We stood on the edge overlooking the valley, my cheeks still tingling from the cold and my hair in a mess from the wind. I couldn’t help but think that this was how it was supposed to be seen.
This view would have been the same had we of driven to it. But being exposed to the air and the surroundings as we drove up was much more…freeing. And for me, I just got to tag along and enjoy the ride, which seemed like a much better option.
PIN IT FOR LATER
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