Colitas Con Canas -Part 2

The vollie cycle is in full swing, those who were here when we first rocked up have drifted off to their next adventures, which somehow makes us the “old crew” now. How did that happen so fast?

This arvo we welcomed two fresh faces: young women from Germany. Sweet as, full of smiles, but you can tell they’re still finding their feet in the big wide world. Friendly, fun, and they’ve already brought a new spark of energy into the place.

They arrived late though, after most of the chaos had settled. Lucky them. Tomorrow the doggies will roll out the true welcome committee—muddy paws, slobbery kisses, and the odd surprise they’ll wish they were wearing gloves for.

This morning me and Maree each got paired with a new vollie. My one got a real doggo welcome—while feeding the back crew she discovered a surprise “pressie” left in the night box. A big ol’ squishy poo. Classy.

Once the gift was dealt with, we moved on to the next morning ritual: treasure hunting. Otherwise known as poo pick-up around the yard. Some people start their day with a coffee. Here, it’s a steaming pile of dog shit. Same buzz, different flavour.

The day got a whole lot brighter when a box turned up with my new butterfly handlebars. Game changer! Between dog pats and trips to the hose, I spent hours deconstructing the old Jones Bars and piecing the new beauties onto my bike. It’s nearly ride time again, baby.

By the arvo, once the last kibble was scoffed and the poo bags were tied, Maree and I shot the gap to town and jumped on a bus to Cusco. Two whole days of freedom—no kennels, no steaming landmines, no plastic bags dangling off the wrist. Just us, swapping dog hair and shit talk for pisco sours and Inca ruins. Bring it

Today we did something shocking. We became real tourists. Yup, bus, guide, ticket stubs – the whole shebang. A Cusco City Tour, no less. Temple of the Sun and four Inca archaeological sites.

And you know what? We actually enjoyed it. Our guide was genuinely good – warm, patient, and not phased by the fact we were the only English speakers on the bus. Bonus: he didn’t treat us like numpties.

I learnt heaps about the Incas and the Spanish takeover. Turns out the Incas didn’t value gold as wealth – it was their way of celebrating the sun god. Gold was sacred, not status. Then the Spanish rocked up, saw all that shimmering glory, and went full magpie. Plundered the lot, bulldozed the beliefs, and forced Christianity down everyone’s throats.

The Incas, though – clever as. The way they built, engineered, and worked with the land was centuries ahead. Instead of learning from them, the Spanish just crushed them. Bloody waste, if you ask me.

The Temple of the Sun had so much gold once upon a time it apparently stopped the conquistadors in their tracks. Well… for about five minutes, before greed got the better of them and they stripped it bare.

Then we headed to Sacsayhuamán. Except for half the visit I thought the guide was saying “Sexy Woman” and was genuinely scanning around for a statue in heels. Nope – just colossal stone walls. Still impressive, but not what my brain was picturing.

Tambo Machay was next, a water temple where the Incas honoured springs and streams.

Qenqo blew me away – limestone tunnels winding underground, reminded me of the caves in Kahurangi back home.

And Puka Pukara was like a rest stop for travellers on the Inca highway between Cusco and the Sacred Valley.

After ticking off the ruins, we did what any self-respecting tourist does – hit the San Pedro market for “dunch” (lunch at the wrong end of the clock) and a nosey around.

Maree’s been crook the last few days, so I dropped her back at the hostel and soldiered off on errands solo. Top of the list: wrist brace and ergonomic handlebar grips. Simple enough, right? Wrong. Nada. Zip. I traipsed around until my feet were screaming, and to top it off my heels are now cracked like a drought-stricken paddock. Pretty sure my Crocs have given up the ghost – there’s more sole on a piece of toast.

So tomorrow’s mission: round two on the wrist brace and grips… plus hunting down a new pair of Crocs.

We treated ourselves this morning, a proper café breakie. Think American-style breakfast but with a Peruvian twist. Eggs, meat, fruit, the works. Bliss.

Powered up, we hit the streets on a mission: bike handlebar grips, a wrist brace, and some new Crocs.

Roscos, the last bike shop we stumbled into, turned out to be a goldmine. The lady behind the counter literally blew the dust off the only ergonomic grips in Cusco, possibly the country, and I was so stoked I hugged her. Bike nerd jackpot.

Next stop, a local clothing market where we found “Big Foots”, Crocs’ dodgy Peruvian cousin. At 22 soles a pair, we weren’t arguing.

The wrist brace was proving harder to nail down. Back in Urubamba, after our standard market food restock, I parked Maree on the market steps and started the pharmacy crawl. Boticas and farmacias everywhere, but no brace. I was about ready to chuck it in when I ducked into one last shop and....ahhhhhh, cue the heavenly choir, there it was. The exact brace I’d been hunting for. Victory.

We tuk-tuked our way back up the hill, arms full of goodies, and settled back in with our doggie whānau.

This morning it was just the three of us on dog duties—me, Maree, and young Angus—while the two German girls took a well-earned day off. Feed the pack, clean up the chaos, a couple of walks around the block. Standard drill.

Once that was sorted, I couldn’t wait any longer, I was gagging to get my new ergonomic grips onto the butterfly bars. Bit of a game-changer for comfort.

I stripped off the old handlebar tape, rewrapped it over the fresh bars where the grips ended, slapped the gear cradle rack back on, and fussed about with a few other tweaks. Nothing like a bit of bike tinkering to make you feel road-ready.

After that, Maree and I had ourselves a logistics meeting, one of those serious chats that puts a frame around the adventure.

There are some deadlines carved in stone now. November 14 in Santiago, Chile, to meet Maree’s mum. She’s been inspired by our whole caper and is off on her own South American trip, no bike but. We’ll have four days together there.

Then it’s full tilt south, aiming for Ushuaith, The End of the Earth, by February 11. That’s when our flight out to Buenos Aires leaves. From there… home.

No pressure.

We’ve knocked off most of the monster climbs by now, no more back-to-back thousand-metre grinds. So we’re thinking bigger daily distances are on the cards. Still, it’s a tight timeline. To me, though, it feels like one massive five-month, 7,000-odd kilometre adventure race. I like the challenge. Bring it on.

“Have you done that already???”

That’s the usual line Maree and I get from the German vollies.

. We just like to crack on, get the work done, tick the boxes. Efficient as. The two German vollies are a different kettle of fish, younger, cruisier, learning the ropes. Not bad, just a different pace.

Today rolled out much the same as all the other doggie days. Feed, water, walk, clean, repeat. But I can feel the end creeping up now. A bit sad, if I’m honest. These furry mates have wriggled into my heart, some more than others.

The last few days I’ve been making a point of sitting with them in their yard after chores. At first they keep their distance, but then one by one they edge closer, plonk down beside me, or just flop right onto my lap. It’s ridiculously cute, and makes it even harder to think about saying goodbye.

In between all the wagging tails, Maree and I started the packing process. Bikes sorted, gear shuffled. The plan had been to hit the road tomorrow, ride north to Ollantaytambo, squeeze in another Inca fix before heading south. But then we had a brainwave.

Angus would’ve been left solo on Monday with the girls taking their day off, so we pitched him a deal: we leave the bikes here Sunday, bus it up to Ollantaytambo, chase the Inca stones, and be back the same day. That way we’re here Monday morning to do doggie breakfast with him. He was keen.

So that’s the new plan. One last Inca hit, then Monday we roll south

We were off chasing another Inca fix today, destination: Ollantaytambo.

By now we’re pretty savvy at this bus caper. You don’t “book” anything; you just stand on the road, stick your hand out, and next thing a van screeches to a halt. You leap in as it takes off again and hope your butt’s in a seat before the driver hits second gear. Easy as.

I glued my eyes to the blue dot on Google Maps, because we wanted to jump ship halfway and check out the salt mines.

From where the bus dropped us we walked through a rustic little clay-brick village with a river humming beside it. Then came the climb—hot, steep, sweaty.

Halfway up, we met a local lady in full traditional dress. I sparked up a conversation with her in my classic broken-Spanglish. She was warm and curious,.

The views opening up were unreal. At the top, there was a booth charging 20 soles to look down on the mines. But honestly? We’d already scored an epic view for free. We turned back, and Maree, sharp-eyed as ever, spotted seashells embedded in the cliff walls. Tiny ancient shells everywhere, proof we were literally walking on an old seabed. That blew our minds more than the salt pans ever could.

Back on the road, hunger hit hard, so we rolled into Ollantaytambo’s plaza and went hunting....lunch. Being a tourist town, prices were more than double what we’re used to, but hey, today we were tourists. Maree grabbed a pizza, I got a Lomo Saltado, and we treated ourselves to craft beer. Strong craft beer. Strong enough that after a pint, we were feeling a little… floaty.

Fueled (and slightly tipsy), we decided to tackle the “budget ruins”, the free ones on the hillside. And wow. Not just tumbled stones, but sweeping terraces carved into impossible slopes, with killer views back over the valley and village. The Incas were next-level geniuses. The wind whipped up, sending tourists wobbling on narrow cliff paths. We, being mountain goats in disguise, handled it fine, but watching others had us holding our breath.

Later, Maree went to explore the main paid site, joining the slow-moving line of ant-like tourists. I stayed put, happy to people-watch.

Once reunited, we climbed up to a balcony restaurant for another beer and a final look over the town. Between the mountains, ruins, and colourful chaos below, it was one hell of a view.

By the time we made it back to the shelter, the dogs swarmed us in a furry explosion of love. My heart aches already, leaving these guys is going to be rough.