Week 12: Corrupt Cops, Brutal Desert Winds, and Finally–Out of Peru

Alexander Croney

Feb 27

Hey everyone, it's Alexander.

If there’s one thing I can say about this week, it’s this: I am so damn happy to be out of Peru. After weeks of brutal riding, corrupt cops, and endless garbage-filled towns, I finally crossed into Chile, and with that, the weight I didn’t even realize I was carrying just lifted.

This week, I survived another attempted police shakedown, battled intense desert winds, and made the tough decision to cut Bolivia from the route to save time and energy. The ride is wearing me down, but the finish line is getting closer.

Another Attempted Shake Down in Peru

Riding south from Lima, I stopped for gas and a much needed coffee, checking my mirrors (as always) when I spotted two motorcycle cops tailing me. Where the hell did they come from? I pulled into the station, filled up and went to the bathroom. As I was exiting, I saw them coming out of the convenience store, checking my bike and then giving me a nod as I walked into the store. The young lady said something quickly in Spanish and I caught the word, "policía." She then turned her monitor around.

It said: "The police are waiting for you to leave so they can rob you."

Again.

I already knew I wasn’t going anywhere fast. So, I waited and had a coffee. They eventually left but just as I was finishing up, they then they came back. So I had another coffee and waited them out longer. And then, a British couple I’d met in Trujillo rode by–at least I think it was them.

Perfect timing.

It's not like I intended to throw them under the bus, but as soon as the cops had a new target, I took my chance. I pinned it. Those guys were on DR 650s, and with a good tailwind, those bikes might hit 120 km/h. My bike? A hell of a lot faster. I was gone.

This was the final nail in the coffin for Peru. I’d already had enough, but this? I was beyond done.

Riding Hard Through the Desert

After shaking off the cops, I pushed through the desert and about fifteen minutes from my target destination, Ica, there was another checkpoint. I was pulled over but had my goPro on the windshield which I've learned is a good trick because they do not want to be recorded. One of the cops said, "just go" so I did.

I finally rolled into town soaking wet after getting caught in rain and construction delays. At that point, I didn’t care where I stayed. I grabbed the first decent hotel I could find, locked the doors, and called it a night.

The next morning, I left Ica in overcast skies and fought through slow traffic for an hour just to get out of town. Then, finally—open desert.

For three straight hours, I ripped through the high plains, pushing the bike hard to make up time. The west of Peru is pure desert, and anywhere there’s a river, they farm. Every available inch is used. Otherwise? It’s just sand, heat, and relentless wind.

At one point, rain caused a the road to be blocked by sand and debris. A dump truck was clearing it, but of course, some genius in a truck thought he could squeeze by. He tipped over, blocking everything. That meant a 2 km backup and a one-hour delay.

Eventually, I made it to a quiet little coastal town, grabbed a hotel with a pool, and gave my legs a break. Four straight days of riding like this, and my body was wrecked.

Photos: 1. Little fishing town of Chala. 2. Oops, bike down. 3. Passing Cerrillos.

Final Stretch in Peru—Roads That Could Kill You

The next morning, the coastal road was shrouded in fog. The switchbacks were tight, the cliffs were steep, and one wrong move meant game over. Eventually, I climbed back into the mountains, passing trucks constantly. After hours of punishing roads, I finally arrived in Arequipa—and for the first time in weeks, I actually liked where I was for a change. Arequipa was clean. It was livable. It was nice.

That night, I grabbed coffee and ordered a dish that was described as having different types of sausage, fries, and an egg on top. I thought that sounded good. Unfortunately when it arrived it was sliced hot dogs. I also got stink eye from a man who bumped into me and scratched my head as to why I have two night table lamps when there is only one outlet.

Peru...I'm not in tune with your bad vibes.

Completely Exhausted—Cutting Bolivia from the Plan

Every morning I wake up and wipe the desert out of my eyes, and it looks like there'a a lot more desert to go. At this point, I am covering roughly 400 km stretches that take 6-7 hour days, and I'm doing this back to back. I was running on one meal per day, drained from the heat, the altitude, and the relentless wind.

One rest day in Arequipa turned into two. I had to make a decision. Bolivia is out.

Cutting Bolivia will save me a full week, and I just didn’t have it in me. I’ll come back someday, maybe, but not on this trip. Instead, I’ll head straight to Chile, then Argentina, then the final push to Ushuaia.

Finally—Leaving Peru Behind

I eventually made my way to Tacna, closer the border, and woke up with the worst altitude sickness yet. Shortness of breath, pounding headache, like I was being crushed from the inside out. I got on the bike anyway and pushed on. The desert was relentless, with the wind hammering me non-stop at 130 km/h. I crossed through three massive canyons, their scale absolutely mind-blowing. But I barely noticed. I was too exhausted.

Tacna

Then came the final border crossing. Of course, Peru wouldn’t let me go without one last headache. Despite me saying, "exit Peru" and showing them the translated text in Spanish, they sent me in circles and literally ended up re-entering Peru at one point. It took six stamps and three hours to get through.

And then—just like that—I was in Chile and I immediately felt lighter.

It's still desert everywhere but the canyons are massive. It's 29℃ up top, and then you go down the canyon and it's 38℃ and you're melting. After being pummelled by the winds for four-and-a-half hours, I rolled into Iquique, a small coastal town, and finally, I could breathe again.