AN ADVENTURE IN ITSELF

Once we made our decision and set on a departure date, we started our ritual of getting everything ready. Luckily, this wasn’t the first time we’d undertaken such a trip, so we knew what to pack, how to attach it to our bikes securely, and that our battle-proven BIG.NINE 10Ks would be once again a reliable companion for our adventure. And getting to the start of our bikepacking trip was no mean feat and an adventure in itself. Our journey from our home to Huaraz took around 63 hours: from our home to Munich airport, Munich to Istanbul, Istanbul to Panama City, Panama City to Lima and finally a bus from Lima to Huaraz.

By the time we arrived, we were incredibly tired. Not only the 7 hours’ time difference but also the altitude left us with exactly zero energy. But luckily, we had already decided to stay in Huaraz for two nights to acclimatise, and so we had some time to rest and explore the bustling city.

Huaraz sits at around 3,200 metres above sea level, and the route goes straight up to 4.800 m within the first 100 km, so we knew altitude would be something to take seriously. What we didn’t quite appreciate was just how much it would affect us.

Looking back, two nights were definitely not enough.
 

The first few days of riding were brutal. It was much warmer than we had expected, the dogs were chasing us, and on our very first day, Till even got bitten in the leg by one of them. On top of that, our heads were pounding, and our heart rates seemed to be through the roof. To give you an idea: in altitude, my resting heart rate was about 25 beats higher than at home, and my HRV dropped from the 90s down to 17-25 during the night.

Instead of the distances we were used to covering on bikepacking trips, we had to stop after just 24 to 30 kilometres in the beginning. It felt strangely slow.

But there wasn’t really anything we could do about it. We had to let our bodies catch up. And, fortunately, things did start to get easier.
 

To be fair, we weren’t necessarily in best shape. From the beginning of the year to the start of this trip, I had collected a stunning 757km on my bike (due to other projects and lack of time). Luckily, I hadn’t looked it up before the trip, or otherwise I might have called it off out of fear that I wouldn’t be able to do it.

But even with more kilometres in the legs, the Peru Great Divide isn’t a ‘fast’ or easy bikepacking trip. There simply are no easy days. Every day is a challenge, whether it’s the altitude, loose gravel that slows you down, headwind, or the freezing temperatures - there’s always something.
 

On our third day, we met three bikepackers - Ian from Australia, Jens from the Netherlands and Lirón from Denmark. We had a chat but didn’t really plan on travelling together. The day after, we met again by chance, and somehow, we ended up spending the next three weeks together and became a little bikepacking family. It was a wonderfully random combination of people from completely different places, but we got along incredibly well. There was something nice about meeting in the middle of nowhere, all struggling with the same climbs, cold nights and questionable food options, and still finding joy in all of that.

We’ve never spent such a long time together with other bikepackers, and I think we both would have said that we also didn’t want to. In Norway, we spent two days with Carlo and in the US it was just the two of us for four weeks. Never ever could we have imagined spending 3 weeks 24/7 with other people. It’s funny how quickly things can change…
 

The mornings were the other half of the ‘problem’. There was simply no point getting out of the sleeping bag before the sun came up. Temperatures were often below -5°C, and one morning we woke up to -13°C. So, we usually went to bed at about seven in the evening and got up at around seven in the morning. Twelve hours in the tent sounds like a lot — and it was. But our bodies were tired, too. We were sleeping around ten hours most nights, and the rest of the time we spent with editing photos and videos and social media. And honestly, it was amazing as it was. On some days we stopped around 3 pm, collected firewood, made a big bonfire, and listened to each other’s stories about previous trips. Sometimes we even enjoyed the luxury of washing our bibs in a lake or river. We could have done more kilometres, but this was far better.
 

One thing that surprised us in Peru was the way people interacted with us. It was quite different from our experience bikepacking in the US, where everyone would stop, ask us where we’re going, how we’re doing and if we need anything.

In Peru, people would often just ignore us until we started a conversation. And even then, interactions could sometimes feel a little forced or distant. Even when we stayed in a hospedaje and asked about getting a room, it sometimes felt more like we were causing an inconvenience than being a welcome opportunity to earn some money. Oftentimes, we were just the “gringos” - sometimes said with a smile and sometimes with a little growl.

Of course, that wasn’t always the case. And some encounters were the complete opposite!

A girl wanting to see photos of Germany and being absolutely in awe of the ‘Marienplatz’ in Munich, the women at the juice stalls at the market in Huancavelica who always seemed to smile, the kids who pestered us with questions and many many more happy encounters.

One of the people we remember most is a man named Jesús. We had already had a huge climb the day before, and after another 700 metres of climbing, we were starting to feel pretty tired. We knew there was still another 1,100 metres of climbing ahead of us and at some point, we thought: Maybe we can find someone with a truck who will drive us to the top.
Jens spoke the best Spanish out of all of us, so he went into a shop and started asking around. Less than ten minutes later, our bikes were loaded onto Jesús’s truck, and the adventure began.

He drove us up to the pass on a very bumpy gravel road for about an hour and a half — and when we arrived, he didn’t even expect any money. Of course, we gave him some anyway.

It was one of those spontaneous moments that you couldn’t really plan for. And after all the hard riding, it felt even more special.
 

So, there was usually a bit of back and forth. But eventually, it mostly worked out. Often, my meal was nothing more than a plate of plain white rice with two fried eggs. Sometimes I got lucky, and there was some spring onion mixed in. And every now and then, there was even a fried banana. That’s called “arroz a la Cubana”.Not exactly culinary highlights every day, but after several hours on a bike at altitude, you learn to appreciate a plate of any hot food pretty quickly.

One thing we noticed was that some of the food, especially eggs and trout, is so deep-fried, you could barely recognise it. And that’s (mostly) for a reason. One time Till’s fried egg was still a bit runny and tadaaa: 30 minutes later he vomited his guts out.
 

It’s difficult to explain just how incredible the Peruvian Andes are. You can ride for hours through landscapes that seem almost impossible. One moment you’re surrounded by dry, rocky mountains, then the landscape becomes greener. Narrow canyons open up into huge valleys and wide, empty plateaus. And then there are the mountains themselves. Standing on a pass at almost 5,000 metres above sea level is something you don’t forget easily.

The combination of the altitude, the work you had to put into getting there, the silence and the scale is hard to put into words. There are no cities in sight, barely any traffic and sometimes seemingly nothing around you except mountains. And of course, you’ll see plenty of llamas, alpacas or vicuñas wandering through the landscape with their cute fluffy fur. It’s almost funny how much excitement a group of tired bikepackers can get from spotting an alpaca after a long climb.

Of course, Peru wasn’t easy. There were the dogs. The altitude. The freezing mornings. The long climbs that seemed to go on forever. The heat during the day and the cold as soon as the sun disappeared. There were days when 30 kilometres felt like we’d ridden 100. But that’s also what made the trip so memorable.

Bikepacking in the Peruvian Andes isn’t just about riding through beautiful scenery. The landscape constantly demands something from you. You have to adapt to the altitude, the weather, the road conditions and your own energy levels. Sometimes that means riding slower. Sometimes it means stopping much earlier than planned. And sometimes it means putting your bike on the back and carrying it over big rocks. I think that’s part of the reason the trip felt so rewarding. We weren’t simply passing through these landscapes. We had to work for them.
 

Looking back, Peru is one of those places that is difficult to compare with anywhere else we’ve been bikepacking. The remoteness. The rough climate. The enormous mountains. The endless climbs and descents. The incredibly clear night skies. The feeling of standing at nearly 5,000 metres and realising how small you are compared to the landscape. And then there are the little things: meeting other cyclists in the middle of nowhere, sharing a camp, finding food after a long day, spotting vicuñas on the side of the road, or getting a lift from a complete stranger.

It wasn’t always comfortable, and it definitely wasn’t always easy. But that’s exactly why we loved it.

If you’re looking for a bikepacking adventure that takes you far away from everyday life, pushes you physically and gives you landscapes you’ll probably still be thinking about years later, the Peru Great Divide should be very high on your list.

Just don’t expect to cover huge distances in your first few days. Give yourself time to acclimatise, bring warm gear, be ready for some seriously long climbs—and leave a little room for plans to change.Because in Peru, some of the best parts of the adventure seemed to happen when we weren’t quite sure what would happen next.

And that’s probably what we’ll remember most.