Loma de Jesus

Mollendo – Loma de Jesus, Peru

Kind of a different day. 

But then, it seems like every day is unpredictable in its own unique way when you’re biking through Latin America.

Right from the start we knew. Or, rather, we didn’t know. That’s what we knew. That we didn’t know where we would end up.

You see, the closest hotel was 83 miles down the road. We’ve done that much distance in one day before. But pretty much only on flat terrain, or with the wind at our backs – or, like yesterday, when we know we’re going to have a big net downhill. 

None of those things applied today. Yes, we started out flat – but that came with a HUGE headwind. When you’re working hard on the flats and still going only eleven or twelve miles per hour you know you either have a big headwind or a flat tire . . .

We didn’t have a flat tire. Do a little math and you’ll discover that it would have taken us seven or eight hours of solid biking in the blazing, relentless, desert sun to make it 83 miles. Wasn’t going to happen. 

But, of course, as it turns out, that was the fast part of the day. Eventually the headwinds went away – but that was only because we started climbing. Now we’re down to maybe four to six miles per hour. 

Okay. You get the point. We weren’t going to make it 83 miles . . .

So the option was to camp. Fortunately, thanks to our Tiendita shopping trip last night – combined with a little last minute addition this morning – we were ready. 

Kind of. 

Oh, one other little problem. You know how Google Maps did not show any hotels? It also didn’t show any campgrounds. 

So we would have to wing it. Our plan? Hopefully find a spot on some abandoned section of beach. As it turned out, the abandoned part was easy. After the first 20 miles of the day there basically was no sign of life – anywhere. No people. No stores. No restaurants. No movie theaters. No outlet malls. Not even plant life. I think Mars has more going on. At least there’s that Land Rover thing.

We might as well have been biking on the red planet. Pretty sure there are no people at the beaches there . . .

But we did have a lead. We met a group of mountain bikers this morning. They told us about a beach called La Platanales (translates roughly to Bananas Beach) – which, they said, we could camp at, and there was also a restaurant. Perfect.

We bought groceries in the next town – which they assured us was the last place to buy food or water before the beach. Well, we went to a grocery store. Kind of. The place had a few cans of tuna, some laundry detergent, and some yogurt. Pretty sparse, actually . . .

So we head out into the desert laden with water, whatever food items we could scrounge – just in case the restaurant didn’t really exist – and the camping gear that we had managed to put together. 

And it’s all good for a while. But eventually late afternoon approaches, and we’re still a ways away from Bananas Beach. The wind and the climbing – probably combined with our long day yesterday – were finally starting to take their toll.

This is where we meet Gorilla. 

Like a mirage, we see a restaurant ahead. Now, we’re not talking McDonald’s. We’re not talking Perkins. We’re not talking really anyplace that you might consider a normal restaurant in America. No, this is a Latin American restaurant. There is no indoor part of the restaurant. Just a couple tables sitting out front. And there is no extensive menu. They have one thing: some kind of potato balls or something. 

There are three people sitting at one of the tables. They are drinking beer – or at least that’s what we gleaned from the multiple beer cans sitting on the table and the alcohol on Gorilla’s breath. 

Gorilla knows English – and he is very talkative. To be fair, his name is actually Juan Carlos. ”But people call me Gorilla.” 

We ask about Banana Beach. Yes, it exists. But, no, neither Gorilla, nor his companions, know of any restaurant there. 

“After this, the next restaurant – the next store of any kind – is in Ilo – about a 40 minute (by car) ride up the road.”

That’s when it really hits us that we’re done for the day.

Banana Beach is about 15 miles further – and with no discussion we both know we’re not going there. Why bike further only to wind up at a place with no restaurant . . .? We can eat at Restaurante Potato Balls and maybe camp there too. 

”Can we camp here?” I inquire. 

“Sure,” says Gorilla, “but you should really go to Loma de Jesus.”

”Where’s Loma de Jesus?”

Gorilla points to some tiny dots that apparently represent buildings or something – some miles away on a slope going down toward the ocean – actually in an area we’ve already been past. “Down there. Top secret. There’s a restaurant and you can camp on the beach.”

”Just five minutes,” he adds . . .

So we head out. Turns out it is 100% downhill to get to this place. Which may sound good, but we’ll eventually have to come back up. We find the road heading down – which, we now notice, has a sign talking about fishing, golf, tennis, etc. Sounds great – except there is clearly no golf down this desolate dirt road. Tennis? Yeah, right . . .

When we finally arrive at the bottom of the road I see nothing but a construction site.

”I’m going to kill Gorilla,” I think. “Now we have to bike all the way back up the hill just to get back to Potato Balls.”

But then, miraculously, I see that there actually is a restaurant hidden behind the construction. I don’t know how or why. Who could possibly know about this place?

There’s camping as well. Right on the beach. There’s even bathrooms and showers.

Score.

One last thing I wanted to share with you. The one other purchase we made this morning? Two beach floaties. Complete with starfish and stuff. Pretty handy sleeping pads, really. And the price is right – $11 total for both of them. 

I was pretty happy with myself for that purchase. Except that when we arrived and I went to blow them up I quickly realized that these mattresses are meant to be blown up with those high volume pumps. I tried our bicycle pump – but that was like trying to fill the ocean with a teaspoon. 

Oh, no.

Until I saw that another party down here had a big mattress they were laying on.

Light bulb.

”Tienes una pump?” I asked, using my advanced international sign language to indicate a device one might use to inflate the big mattress.

”Si.”

People are so nice.

So now we’re sitting in our $20 tent, enjoying our $5.50 air mattresses while resting in our $10 sleeping bags – with the sound of the surf lulling us to sleep. 

All is well that ends well . . .

Hopefully we can buy a pump somewhere tomorrow. Maybe Potato Balls has one . . .