June 22, 2016
La Poma: route 40-km4591 to 4533
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It was a morning of careering downhill with many streams to ford. Those high up within a few kilometres of where I'd camped completely frozen over, where I had to get off and carefully find a way across, watching my step in case I slipped and went on my backside. Then farther down there were many unfrozen I could ride through. In the bottom of the valley though, there were three too big to ride, so I'd to get wet feet pushing the bike through. Fortunately it is a warm day, so wet feet isn't the hardship it would be if it were cold.
I have reached the next place, La Poma in time for lunch. It is two kilometres off route 40, across the valley on the right when coming from the north, though first, I reach the old village ruined in an earthquake in 1930. Some of the houses still inhabitable; indeed, a door opens and an old man emerged wheeling out an old roadster bike. He gets astride the bike and rides down the deserted street. I follow him as it isn't clear where the modern town is.
He turns a corner of the last house in the row into a narrow laneway enclosed either side with high stonewalls. It could be a northern English scene from the 1920s except for the aridity. Soon he leads to where I see the beginning of the new town. A wide avenue with plaza to the low side. A chapel with bell tower with date of completion over the door, 1931.
There's a shop, but its shut, supposedly for siesta. The only people I see about, a policeman and policewoman standing outside the police station, who greet me "Maestro!" as I pass. I see a sign for a "Comidor de Cay" (place to eat), which leads me to the next street up from the main avenue.
I an famished when I stop outside a tidy white house, the woman of which welcomes me in and to take a seat in a lilac emulsion painted wall dinning-room with frame photos of the valley I've been descending. She mentions there's steak with chips, then goes out. Her husband then come in and fixes me up with a drink. I couldn't face any more coke, so have a bottle of beer. He lays out a plate full of bread with a big slab of goat cheese, which I demolish while waiting. Then she come out with a big plate of steak and chips and seeing the bread empty offers to come with more.
I though the bill would be hefty, but am surprised to see 100 pesos (£5) for everything.
The one litre bottle of beer leaves me with legs feeling like lead as I ride on upon the road back out to 40, but I only feel heavy the first hour of the afternoon.
I was hoping to reach Cachi, but fall short by sunset and find a place to pitch the tent upon a dry riverbed.
Today's ride: 78 km (48 miles)
Total: 11,064 km (6,871 miles)
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