Well, I recieved some interesting medical advice today (from a real doctor) that goes something like below…
It seemed as good a point as any to start on.

¨the important thing is it seems the infection is outside the knee joint. That is very important since if inside a joint the bacteria will destroy the cartilage in no time and that requires major surgery to flush the knee out. I guess no where along the way has anyone cultured the pus and determined sensitivity or resistance to the particular antibiotic that your are taking. Remember to protect the scab which is natures way of keep the cells in a liquid environment so that they can stay alive. Iodine/povodone should only be used once initially to clean a wound and not thereafter since it kills the cells. I triple antibiotic ointment like bacitracin-neosporin will keep the wound moist and speed healing. try to keep your knee straighter while riding to decrease tension and sex is o.k. if the girl is on top-none of that kneeling or missionary stuff. recomment pg 17 thru 46 of the Kama Sutra.¨

Well that`s a relief.

Anyway, confident that my knee doesn`t need to be amputated, I set off for Macchu Picchu from Cusco. Now getting to Macchu Picchu isn`t as easy as simply getting on a train. Well it is, if you don`t mind paying exorbitant international tourism prices. Due to it`s geography, the only road into Aguas Calientes is along a railway track. The train has been privatised and the prices are segregated between Peruvians and locals. So, having been living on $20 daily and less, the $80 for a return 2 hour train ride from the last town of Ollantaytambo seemed an affront.

There is a backpackers`route taking time and effort to circle around Macchu Picchu to the small town of Santa Teresa so that is what I did.

I met Teresa in Cusco and offered her a ride to Santa Teresa. As a Peruvian she gets free entry to the site on a Sunday so it seemed like a fun chance to have some company and a couple of days cruising. As luck and this trip would have it, it wasn`t to be. There was a landslide that had closed the road and it was significant. But an alternative pedestrian route had been established and I figured if people could walk it, I could probably bike it.

So after a big breakfast in Cusco, we hopped onto the bike with a backpack and a change of clothes ready to see what the deal with this slip was. The road leads through the `Sacred Valley` of the Inca people, rich in archaeological ruins. Although very sacred, geographically the valley seems to be more of a floodplain wedged between the mountains of Cusco and the Lares region where the tallest peak tops 6300 metres. I notice that the modern towns sit on the plain whereas the Inca villages tend to be some 50-100 metres above any rivers. Perhaps irrigation has tamed the flow through the valley. The hills are a sunbaked bronze - the UV levels in this area are among the highest in the world.

As we push through the Sacred Valley, the highway leads up into the mountains and begins to climb sharply. The ashphalt is coated with windblown dust so I must be careful on the switchback corners where local taxis simply cut the centreline to get around. We climb from the valley of about 2000 metres to over 4000 metres and the air thins further. The wind is chill and the houses are small, squat and isolated reminding me of the Lord of the Rings. Children roam the hills, rugged up in alpaca jerseys searching for entertainment. I reach the summit of the highway, which looks across to an enormous peak named Veronica.

Eventually we come to a work site, having passed 20 minutes of roadworks. A policeman flags me down and it is the end of the road. ¨No hay paso¨ and this time I think I may be beaten. I walk up to the landslide to survey the road. Loose scree is everywhere and the highway has simply disappeared. No, there`s no way through here. The other option is to backtrack to the town of Ollantaytambo and catch the night train. Although expensive, it will keep the bike safe and get us to Macchu Picchu. The pedestrian pass is a hard climb up about 70 metres but some enterprising locals are offering portering services. They assure me they can get the moto through. And how much for this service? 10 soles, a little over 3 dollars per man. Will I be able to get the bike back? The safe and probably smart option is to backtrack.

Fuck it, lets go.

I recruit 3 of the men and we start pushing the bike up. Without a knobby back tire, the engine isn`t much help as the wheel spins helplessly and we resort to lugging the weight up the hill with the help of a rope. With the altitude, I am exhausted but we reach the top. The descent is steeper, large rocks dotting the path. Perfect for a mountain bike, I have 180 kgs of weight to control but am confident of riding down. I don my helmet, jacket, but where are my gloves. Uh oh. I look at my helpers but they`re good people. Who was holding my helmet? We find the boy who had been wearing it and no he doesn`t have my gloves. A little persuasion from my friends and the gloves are `found`in his pockets. Thank goodness for some honesty in this world.

So, I kit up and fire up the engine but my helpers attach a rope to the back so they can help stay the weight if I start to slide. Actually the descent is a lot of fun, like any bike starting and stopping are the hardest parts. My helpers run ahead and point out the hazards and I find the smoothest lines and lean on the rear brake as much as possible. At times, I cut the engine and let out the clutch to shore up the rear brakes as I slide immediately and locking the rear wheel seems to cut through the gravel when you `just have to stop`. I make it to the bottom in front of a bus loading passengers/appreciative spectators and I`m through! Now how will I get back…

The sun is setting, crossing the landslide had taken several hours. I ride hard for Santa Teresa but night falls. I ask a local how far to the town. ¨Oh, with a bike like that 15 minutes to Santa Maria, 15 minutes to Santa Teresa.¨ I look at him dubiously. Locals` estimates are rarely accurate and often require you to ride at the speed of a helicopter to achieve. The fact is on single lane dirt tracks I need to look out for overloaded vans, homicidal buses and contend with sprays of dust billowing behind them. But I make for Santa Teresa.

Having reached Santa Maria, locals assure us we aren`t far. I am nervous, it`s a pretty simple rule not to ride a motorcycle at night but one I`ve been breaking too often. I set off and the road heads straight up a huge hill, perhaps 500 metres. I notice I am overheating. Damn, something must have happened while lugging the bike. I stop and let the bike cool down and a girl walks past. How far to the town? ¨Well by moto I don`t know but by car an hour and a half. Shit.

With no option I plow on, riding fast to keep air running through the radiator. I`m exhausted but have no other option. There is no accomodation on the road, not even any lights of houses. Finally, an illuminated cross appears. While common near towns, I am confused. There is no other light to be seen. We round a ridge and there is the rest of the town, a sleepy village called Santa Teresa. I collapse into bed, unsure how I will get up at 6 the following morning.

Pictures

Posted on Thursday, July 12th, 2007 at 11:04 pm in Josh's Journal.
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