The next morning we wanted to get off around 8:30. We were planning to go to Huaraz, a nice little mountain town in the Andes known for its beautiful hiking opportunities. Our map didn't show kilometers but by using the scale, we went for a conservative estimate of 100 kilometers from the Pan American but figured it was probably less. Our Lonely Planet book indicated it was paved. We had about 130 miles along the coast to Casma, our turnoff, so in total maybe 200 or so miles. We weren't too worried about time as we packed the bikes and Jeff picked up laundry. We decided to go ahead and eat some breakfast before taking off. We finally got on the road about 10:00. We were excited to got off the coastline and up into the mountains that had flanked our left side all the way down the coast thus far, especially since we'd had to miss the mountains in Ecuador. After some bathroom and gasoline stops, we had reached Casma. It was around one. No problem, we were looking good on time to go only another 65 miles. We inquired one last time about the road conditions before we headed towards the mountains. The guy at the gas station assured us the road was paved and in good condition. As we headed towards the mountains, I couldn't help but to notice how dark the clouds looked in front of us. Jeff didn't seem to notice though so I didn't say anything. The road was beautiful and we wound our way through the flat desert, closer and closer to the foothills. After about 30 kilometers and just as we started our ascent, the pavement ended. Well, it would probably pick up again we thought because there are always washed out areas on the roads. We went through some tiny little towns and the road narrowed to one lane. It was good, smoothe hardpack and was still easy riding. We stopped for a little road discussion and decided that even if the road didn't turn back to pavement, this was so good that it wouldn't be a problem. We also took the opportunity to change the lenses in our glasses to clear as the skies were very dark. Just minutes after setting off again, it started to rain. The road hugged a river and the ascent was very gradual so was still easy passing. As the incline became more steep and the rain became heavier, we passed another small town. Jeff stopped to make some inquiries as to how far we had to go. A local man said we had about 80 kilometers. Whoa! That couldn't be right according to our map. We chalked it up to the fact that the guy probably only made a guess based on riding the bus. It was now raining pretty good and the road was kinda muddy but still had good traction. We went up a bit more and stopped for discussion. It was now about 3:30. If we assumed 20 miles an hour, we should still be able to make it by dark. We hated to turn back now as we figured we were well over half way. So the fateful decision was made - we kept on going.

As we continued our ascent, the rain came in a steady downpour and the fog moved in. The visibility was reduced to about 10 feet. The road was now becoming very muddy and was one lane wide. It was also beginning to get very cold as we were going to eventually reach a pass of almost 14,000 feet. We now hardly passed any towns. We crossed paths periodically with indigenous people walking with their herds of goats or sheep and the odd house, here and there. We were starting to pass some trucks though so we figured we must be getting close. We reached a small gathering of about 10 houses and were unable to pass as a truck was blocking the entire roadway to pick up bags of produce from the local people. Jeff took the opportunity to ask the driver how far we had. "30 kilometers" he said. Great, we should definitely be able to make it. After the truck moved on we were able to continue. As my hands stiffened from the cold and the visibility remained virtually nothing, I couldn't help thinking about the newslines 3,000 years from now... "Young woman found frozen in glacier still on her motocycle". I really couldn't tell how sheer the drop off was on the side of the road but I made an effort to stay in the tire track closest to the mountain. Our pace had slowed to a pace of about 10 miles an hour as the road had deteriorated to a thick mud pit. We stopped to put on a layer of clothes and glove liners. We didn't need to verbalize the fact that we had gotten in a little deeper than intended. At this point we had only one option, up. Because the road was becoming so muddy and steep there would be virtually no way to go down without wrecking or sliding off the edge. So up we went. There was one particullarly muddy section of road that lead into a hairpin turn. The mud was so slippery that Jeff stopped and yelled back at me to stop where I was. I watched in horror as he tried to make his way up the steep grade and make his way around the turn. His front tire was pointed in the direction of the turn but his rear wheel was fishtailing all over the place. He found a place to park further up the road and came back to get Suzi up the hill. As I waited for Jeff to return I noticed a nearby indiginous family looking on increduluosly. "Why are you bringing motorcycles on this road? Why didn't you bring a car? Don't you know it is very dangerous?" I responded, "you know us crazy Gringos..."

As it approached 5 o'clock, we began to worry about getting there before dark and there was obviously not going to be any towns with hotels. Not to mention that we were nearing hypothermia as our gortex boots and gloves had left our hands and feet completely soaked and were now freezing. We came upon another gathering of houses. Jeff asked how far we had. "40 kilometers" was the reply. I thought I was gonna die. Apparantly the truck driver we talked to before gave us the distance in miles, not kilometers. Jeff then asked if anyone had a place where we could sleep. Everyone looked at each other and shook their heads no. I could already feel the tears welling in my eyes. I was just too cold and wet to go on in the dark. We also hadn't eaten since 9:00. We went another hundred yards and were about to pass the last house. I pleaded with Jeff to try knocking there. He was just as anxious to stop and went to the door. No answer. I was crestfallen. As we sat there trying to figure out if we could atleast pitch our tent, a woman came out of the house. A gleem of hope. After asking if we were bad people and Jeff's assurances that we weren't, she agreed to let us stay. I already felt warmer. She had a huge stone patio that was covered and we pulled the bikes in and started to unpack. It was our first time out of the rain in five hours. We assured our house mother that we had food and supplies and proceeded to pull out our summer sleeping bags and thermarests. She stared down at the stone floor and then back at our stuff and started shaking her head. She went over and started grabbing sheep skins, which she laid on the floor. We put our themarests on top, then the sleeping bags. She then grabbed a thick wool blanket and put it on top. She watched with great curiosity as we pulled out our headlamps and our food - camelbacks full of water and dehydrated camp food. Meanwhile, I needed to use the bathroom so asked where it was. She took me around the back of the house, up a hill and pointed to a small field. So there it was. When I returned we put on dry clothes and asked if we could cook our "peasant omelette". She put some oil in a frying pan for us and we stepped into the overwhelmingly smoke-filled kitchen. I could feel an asthma attack coming on already! We immediately noticed the 30 or so guinnea pigs running around on the floor. "Cuy", as they are called in Spanish, is a commonly eaten meat in the Andes, all the way back to Incan times. After all, this woman and her daughter and two grandchildren were of Incan descent and spoke both Spanish and Quechua. We have been wanting to try cuy and were secretly hoping she would offer some to us when she saw the pitiful meal that we had. No such luck but as Jeff cooked the eggs our new family started to warm up to us. By now the daughter and two little girls had come in. We inquired their names to which they replied - Syliva - the mother, Felicitas - the daugther and the two little girls - Janet and Florita. We were curious about them but could tell that we needed to let them tell us what they wanted rather than for us to probe. Sylvia asked where we were from and we told her the States. She wanted to know if we lived near Chicago. "Not too close" we said. She proceeded to tell us that her brother had gone there about 13 years before and had died there without her even knowing as she didn't have a phone - and she started to cry. We felt terrible but didn't know what to say. We continued talking and Jeff served up the eggs. We shared them with them but I don't think they were too impressed. After we finished eathing, Syliva said "let's go" and we all went to the house and got into our bed. Pretty comfy actually. It was only about 7:30 though. I read for awhile as the family went into the room where they slept. They listened to the radio and talked and laughed and laughed. I was so curious what these quiet, private people could be laughing so much about. I finally put down my book but couldn't sleep as my left toes were still numb and cold, despite 4 pairs of socks. I was also too tired to sleep.

Morning finally came and we were happy to find that it wasn't raining. It was still socked in but the family said once we crossed the final pass, it should be clear on the other side. As we packed up the bikes, Sylvia came by with a bundle of oats and asked if we would like some oatmeal. We came into the kitchen and had some homemade oatmeal. Jeff asked if he could snap a few pictures too. We took two and they were excited to see the photos on the camera. Sylvia had told us that Thursdays were market days in Huaraz and we assumed that the men had gone there the day before. We must've been right as a young man came in to the kitchen for breakfast too. He was nice and shook hands with us but it seemed that the women became more quiet around us. We asked if we could take one more photo of them outside and Sylvia said "no, that's enough". We weren't sure if it had anything to do with the man being there or not. Anyway, we cranked up the bikes to warm them up but no one came out to say goodbye so we just left. It was strange for us but they knew we were grateful to them and that's what was important. Jeff gave Sylvia 30 soles and I had given them some little gifts for the girls. They were like angels for us though, as we were in quite a predicament when they came to our rescue. Thank you Sylvia!

As we headed up for the final ascent to the summit, the blue sky started to peak through. The road was still wet and muddy but not bad. We crested and started back down through beautiful scenery. The countryside was dotted with the homes of the indigenous people. We continued to pass by women, men and children tending to their small flocks. We would be descending into Huaraz and were mildly concerned about the road but Sylvia had said this side was drier and sunnier so we hoped for the best. It was a beautiful ride but still slow going due to the muddy road. It took us another 2.5 hours to make the final 40 km to Huaraz. Jeff says he could've done it in half the time. I'm sure I'll be faster the next time too. It takes some getting used to riding on this terrain where you slide all over the place. Anyway, we were now very warm as the sky was clear and sunny and we had dropped in elevation to around 9,000 ft. At the edge of town (where we resumed pavement), we spied the sign to Casma. It said "Casma 200 kilometers". 170 unpaved. What an experience! There was a police station there and a local cop took a photo of us and showed us where we were on our map. Now time to get down to the business of finding a hotel. The previous day I had said that I didn't care what kind of room we got as long as it had hot water. We arrived to town at 10:30 and must've checked out 12 hotels. Parking appeared to be a problem. No one had any. We had found one nice little hotel with a flowery courtyard that said we could park there but the rooms were dorm style with about 5 single beds. Finally, I decided it was the best option so we went over. By this time we were starving. We unpacked, took a nice hot shower and went off in search of food.

We found a cute little alpine-looking pizza place. We walked in and were greeted by a European looking guy that spoke excellent Spanish. We assumed he was the owner. We looked at the menu which was pretty pricey but we decided we deserved a little splurge. When we opened the menus, there were all sorts of pictures of him riding motorcycles, of various enduro models. We chatted about motorcycling while we chose Peruvian specialities over the Italian food. We ordered garlic trout and aji de gallina, a typical dish of Peru. It smelled delicious in the restaurant and I asked what was cooking. He brought us out small bowls of the stew that was cooking, delicious! I was already stuffed by the time my lunch came which was even more delicious. By this time, we met the owner's wife who was doing the cooking. They sat down to have lunch at the table next to us and we continued chatting. It turns out that Heinrich (whom goes my Enrique) is Swiss and owns the place with his wife Vivi (whom was cooking). Enrique is also an avid motorcyclist who rents 3 motorcycles out to tourists. He has a Suzuki DR650, a Honda XR600, and a Yamaha Tenere (2 cyclinders) that go for about $50 per day, depending on how long you rent them. (Monta Rosa restaurant tel 721447, cell 691257) He showed us a stack of photos of his many trips that he makes up into the mountains. The pictures were spectacular. If we ever return to Peru without motorcycles this would be the ultimate motorcycle fix to rent these bikes and go tooling around in the mountains for a week or so. We told them about our trip and web site while we ate. We were really hurting for a nap by this time and told them we would come back later to show them our pictures. They also said we could use their phone line to connect for e-mail. So we bid them farewell and planned to come back later. As we walked outside, we were disappointed to find skies that had begun weeping again and it was quite chilly. Next up was a 4 hour nap to recover from our previous day's misadventures.

We found ourselves back at Monte Rosa (the restaurant) around 7:30. We proceeded to show our pictures, get e-mail and chat. After a couple of Peru's national drink, Pisco Sour, Jeff and Enrique decided to try out some weissewurst. Enrique mentioned that if we were interested, he would take us on a ride up into the mountains the upcoming Sunday. We weren't planning to stay that long but it sounded good so we agreed. We'd check in the next evening to finalize our plans. It was a throughly enjoyable evening and when we were getting ready to leave Jeff asked for the check. Enrique would have none of it, he said that we were not customers but guests in his "home".

We had originally planned to spend the next day doing a day trip on the bikes to some ruins and nearby "vistas". However, since we were going to go with Enrique on Sunday, we decided to use the day to work on journals, clean the bikes, look for stickers and go to a gym we had seen. We slept in late and were greeted by a beautiful sunny, clear skied morning. Jeff started typing as I set out to clean the unbelievable quantity of mud from our boots, backpack covers and boxes. I sat outside in the garden and enjoyed the sun as I cleaned everything. As it approached noon, I was finishing with re-waterproofing the boots and noticed that the sky had turned dark purple. Darn. It was way too early for afternoon rain. We decided we'd head on over to gym and while we were changing clothes, the skies unleashed their fury. We recalled the gym being only a block or two away so decided to brave the downpour. Of course the gym was a bit further than we thought and despite our rain jackets, we were completely soaked when we arrived to find out that the gym was hosting a party and was closed. Bummer. They told us about another gym so we caught a cab over there. This gym was being repainted so it was closed too. Simply a conspiracy to keep us from retaining any sort of fitness at all. By now the rain had turned into a drizzle. We set off walking in search of stickers and some lunch and eventually returned to our room to keep working on the journals as the rain was picking up again.

Jeff had a mission of completing the Ecuador journal so that we could use Enrique's phone line to post everthing. However, we had just one small problem. We hadn't recharged the battery in some time and had already gone through the 15 hour battery due to someone's addiction to playing solitaire, though I won't point any fingers. Jeff had started the morning with the 10 hour battery. I am always wary of the electricity in small towns so I hadn't wanted to plug in but if we wanted to finish I was going to have to try. Before checking to make sure that Peru uses 110v, I plugged in my adapter and surge protector and fried them. Ding bat! I pulled out my guidebook and saw that Peru uses 220v. Fine, I got out the converter and plugged in my other surge protector. Everything looked good. When I plugged in my power cord though I got a spark and that hideous-to-all-computer-professionals odor of burnt electrical devices. Great, I had just fried about $50 and I had nothing left to use, not to mention that I wasn't entirely sure I hadn't ruined my power cord for the computer. There was nothing we could do but keep on scrambling with the battery time we had left. I read a book while Jeff tapped at the keys and the steady downpour tapped at the window panes. How depressing. It was just like any winter day in Oregon. So, as the afternoon turned to evening and the battery life dwindled, it became obvious the journals wouldn't be posted that day so we decided to head on over to visit with Enrique and Vivi.

Back at the Monte Rosa ranch we ordered some dinner. After eating what was probably the best beef stroganoff that I've ever had we went over to visit with our new friends. We had also decided that due to the completely lousy weather we were going to cancel our bike trip with Enrique and head off to Lima in the morning. He thought that the roads would be impassable anyway. Better to visit the mountains when its not the rainy season (December to March) Yeah, yeah, yeah. We promised that we would try to come back in the dry season to do some riding. So after another night of good conversation, it was time to say goodbye to more new friends. Before going, Jeff exchanged his Portland Brewing stinky, sweat-stained baseball cap for two Monte Rosa caps. It was a great deal for us, not so sure about for them. Enrique and Vivi gave us two very large pieces of their fabulous Apple Streudel as a going away present and probably because they noticed that I had been eyeing it from the moment we arrived. We thanked them for their gracious hospitality and made them promise to come visit us in Oregon some day. By this time I could tell that Uncle Montezuma was going to pay me another visit as I was feeling lousy. Oh, the life of the motorcycle world traveller.

Once again we awoke to brooding skies. Still a little gun shy from our previous mountain roads-during-the-rainy season experience, we weren't looking forward to the day's journey to Lima. I also was a little skeptical when everyone told us that the road to Barranca was paved all the way. Yeah right, that's what they told us about the road from Casma to Huaraz. This time we wanted to get an early start to beat the afternoon rains. For the moment it looked like we were going to get a little morning shower anyway. The air was brisk at this elevation and without any help from the sun it was even colder than normal. We still had enough gas to make it to the Panamerican Highway so we decided to hold off filling up the tanks. Off we went both crossing our fingers that we wouldn't have a repeat of the road conditions from a couple of days ago. No sooner did we leave the city limits when the skies cleared and bathed us in brilliant sunshine. The road was in fabulous condition and followed along a mountain stream. We climbed out of the El Callejon de Huaylas valley up to an altiplano. It was breathtaking scenery. To the left of us were the snow covered peaks of numerous 20,000 ft in elevation mountains and to the right were rolling 'hills' (around 15,000 ft). The scenery was so large we felt like tiny ants making our way along the ribbon of asphalt. It was reminiscent of a motorcycle trip we took a couple years ago down the Icefields Parkway in Alberta, Canada. Our senses were inundated with the mountains for a couple hours. We continued climbing in elevation until we turned toward the ocean. Then we plunged straight down for the next hour. As we managed the tight turns we left the sun washed altiplano and entered the fog shrouded side of the Andes that catches all the moisture from the Pacific Ocean. When we emerged from the fog we found ourselves on quite possibly the best motorcycle road of the trip so far. It followed along a large canyon and with very little grade the road produced one sparkling turn after another. Because there were very few towns and little to no traffic, I was able to use the whole roadway as I negotiated turn after turn. A little slice of heaven here on Earth.

As we got closer to the Pacifc ocean the greenery gave way to bleak desert. For some reason both Linda and I had to switch to our reserve tanks about 50 miles early. When we calculated the mileage to the next gas station it looked as though we would have a hard time making it. I guessed that the lousy fuel consumption was due to the inordinant amount of riding we did climbing up to Hauraz. It was about 8 hours and we rarely got out of second gear. Up to this point we were getting a little over 50 miles per gallon. Now for whatever reason we were getting about 8 miles per gallon less. So instead of a triumphant return to the Panamerican Highway we came in limping, riding pathetically slow to conserve fuel. When we finally arrived at a gas station it only had the cheap stuff, 84 octane. Not sure how far the next station was we filled up. I filled Linda's tank with 5.1 gallons even though her tank only holds 5 gallons. She was definitely running on fumes. I still had half a gallon to spare. It was very sad to say goodbye to the mountains as we sped down the arid plains of the desert towards Lima. We both made a promise to one day return in better weather. Maybe this trip, maybe another, who knows.

We've heard all sorts of negative things about Lima, the Capital of Peru. The Lonely Planet guidebook had very little too say except to get out of there quickly. Which brings me to the LP South American guidebook - it stinks. Whoever did the Peru section was either burned out on traveling, which can happen, or on drugs because he seemed to think it was a miserable, wretched place full of pollution and thieves. We found exactly the opposite to be true. In Quito we were able to take a couple of quick glances at the Footprint guide books and they appeared to be much better at capturing the true spirit of travel. Big thumbs down on the Lonely Planet guidebook. Next chance we get we're either going to donate it or toss it and pick up a Footprint guide. Now where was I, oh yeah, Lima. So our expectations were very low when we arrived. As with any Latin American capital city that we've visited so far, the outskirts were dirty and littered with overcrowded slums. Since it was Sunday afternoon we didn't experience any of the infamous Lima traffic. We did notice a couple of female motorcycle cops riding "big" Suzuki 650's. That was a first. We picked a hotel close to the SAEC clubhouse and navigated towards it. After we turned off the Panamerican Highway we found the Hotel Iquique in a matter of minutes. At first they said the place was full but then later recanted and we got a large enough room to park Linda's motorcycle in it. The smell of the gas and oil took a little getting used to. Now we know why they invented garages. My motorcycle was too big to fit down the hall way so I parked it close to the lobby. The price was right, $6 per night, and they had a kitchenette and Cable TV in the lobby.

Since it was still early, around 4 p.m. we quickly unpacked and jumped on the Green Hornet to do a little sight seeing. We were very suprised to find a beautiful and vibrant city full of palacial squares and colonial architecture. The roadways were also very nice with abundant parks and numerous sculptures and other works of art. We quickly encountered why Lima is so famous for it's driving style. Nobody stops at intersections. They just drive right out in front of you, slow down, then zip right on through. We almost were slammed into on a couple of occasions. Mostly because I incorrectly assumed that since I obviously had the right of way they would eventually stop to let me through. But once I figured out this pesky problem we adapted and were just another crazy motorcycle amidst all the crazy cars. We eventually made our way down to Miraflores and the Ocean. Omigod, the buildings and coastline, like, totally reminded us of Los Angeles, totally. After parking the bike and strolling along the numerous cliff side parks we spied a small wharf. We rode the bike down to the dock, found a very upscale restaurant and ordered a couple Cusquenas. From our oceanfront table we watched the numerous surfers fade off into the sunset. When we got the check we had a little bit of sticker shock. The cost for the three beers was 25 Soles or $7. These were American prices but, to be able to catch the beautiful sunset and take in the views it was well worth it. As we returned back to our hotel we were shaking our heads in disbelief, this was as nice as a big (~7 million inhabitants) city gets. How could you not find the beauty that is so abundant here. It is true that big cities do have crime, pollution and other inconviences but that's just the way big cities are.

We quickly returned to the hotel, showered and caught a cab to Miraflores, the West Hollywood of Lima. We walked through an open air art exhibit, ate at a quaint outdoor cafe and finally found ourselves catching a movie. On the way home we caught another cab around midnight. The memorable thing about our cab driver was that she was female. She explained to us that because of a grant from the United States Government many women in Peru were able to obtain training and enter the workplace in what were previously male dominated professions. Which explained the female motorcycle cops. Finally, the US is meddling in other peoples lives in a positive way. But not so fast my furry friend. We later heard the downside of the US involvement. Some gringos were taking a city bus in Lima when a female motorcycle cop pulled the bus over. She wanted to see the elderly bus driver's license. Of course after driving a bus for decades, he never bothered to get one. The bus was stopped and the reaction from the locals was, "...if this was a male cop the driver could just bribe him and we'd all be on our way." Oh well you can't please everyone. All in all a very eventful day. I would easily rate today's ride as the best yet. We started in a very cold mountain town, passed through small indiginous villages, high mountain ranges, twisty canyon roads, stifling desert heat and finally ended up in the large capital city. You could ask for more but you probably wouldn't deserve it.

It turns out that our Hotel is quite noisy during the early morning hours, what with the numerous roosters crowing and dogs barking and buses honking. Oh well, did I mention the price was right? We finally got moving to do laundry, breakfast and a visit to the South American Explores' Club clubhouse. We were still trying to figure out how to get to Cuzco. From our little jaunt to Hauraz we learned that these mountain roads can be a bit tricky when it's raining. For all the enthusiasm and helpfulness of the Quito clubhouse it was just the opposite for the Lima clubhouse. Gathering useful information was like pulling teeth. If someone didn't know the answer to a question, well than I guess you're just out of luck. Also the half motivated staff seemed like they'd rather be someplace else. We couldn't make up our minds what to do about crossing into the mountains so we decided to stay a couple extra days in Lima. Next on the agenda was to find a computer store and find some replacements for our dead surge protectors. We found a computer store and replaced our very expensive surge protectors with some $6 versions. Then it was a walking tour of the town center keeping our eyes peeled for the ever elusive country stickers. We walked around the vibrant city for hours but no luck in finding the stickers. When we returned to the hotel we stored our stuff and went to the grocery store to buy some dinner. I scoped out the wine selection and found some Chilean wine for 6 Soles or $2. Now this is more like it. I bought two bottles. Not so fast my fluffy friend, as is the case with most of Peru, some prices are listed in dollars and some in soles. You really have to pay attention. Needless to say the wine price was in dollars. We went back to the hotel to cook our dinner which ended up costing us more than if we ate out. But we are getting really tired of restaurants.

The next morning we went to the same computer store from the day before to use their phone line to upload the Ecuador journals. Yesterday the agreed upon price was 10 soles for the first half hour and .50 centavos for every minute thereafter. We used 38 minutes and when we went to pay they wanted to charge us 34 soles or $10! It took some convincing but we finally talked them down to the previously agreed upon price. We quickly retreated back to the hotel for another nap. We really like our hotel and the friendly staff but it is impossible to get any sleep before midnight and after 5 am. When we awoke it was off to the much heralded Gold museum. There were many artifacts from the pre-Colombian period. The museum cost $5 per person and was well worth it. The gold museum was in a vaulted basement and housed numerous treasure troves over 3,000 years old. There were fabrics weaved in gold, head ornaments and breast plates. It was also very evident that the pre-Inca cultures that flourished so long ago had very "progressive" sexual practices as was evident in the artwork. We saw a mother shepparding her daughter quickly through some of the more graphic pieces of art. On the first floor was the war museum with numerous weapondry on display. Upstairs was a very boring, from the layman's point of view, textile museum with rug after rug hanging from the ceiling. I'm sure to an textiliologist this place was extremely exciting. After the museum we went off in search of a gymnasium. We found a nice one in Miraflores and thoroughly enjoyed a 2 hour workout. Then it was off to replenish any of the fat cells we may have burned off during exercise. During the course of the day Suzi was running terribly. I couldn't quite figure out what was wrong but decided to stay an extra day so we could find a Suzuki dealership to have her looked at.

The next day we drove Suzi all around the city looking for a dealership. The more we drove the more concerned I was because she was not performing well at all. We finally found it on Avenida Benavides on the 39th block. One of the guys who worked there was a former Peruvian national champion motocross racer. He showed us pictures of his competitions and Evil Kenivel exhibitions held all throughout Peru. They said that they could take a look at Suzi that afternoon. Since it was close to servicing time we wanted to have the oil filter and oil changed also. And the front brake pads would need to be replaced. We went back to the hotel to gather the spare parts and returned to the shop on both bikes via the expressway. Uh oh we noticed a female cop motioning for us to pull over. When we pulled over she asked to see our permission to ride on the expressway. I thought that she meant our paperwork that we received at the border. Unfortunately it was back at the hotel. Then she informed us that motorcycles weren't allowed on the expressway and we were in violation. Instead of asking for payment she kindly showed us the next exit to take. Maybe this female cop thing works afterall. If it was a male cop in Central America he would have wanted a $100 bribe to keep us out of jail. While we waited for Evil to return from lunch they washed all the cubic meters of dirt we'd gathered on the ride to Hauraz off of both Suzi and TGH. I provided the oil filter and what I thought was the proper brake pads. As part of our trip preparation I've been carrying around spare brake pads the whole trip. Thinking that there would come a time when I would need them. Well that time was now. The only problem is that those nincompoops back at our bike shop in Portland ordered the wrong brakepads for us. I've been carrying around front and rear brake pads for a 1990 to 1995 DR650. Unfortunately for us Suzuki dramatically changed the model design in 1996. To make matters worse I had two sets of the outdated brakepads. Completely worthless and weighing about 5 pounds. I should have double checked the order before bringing them with me but I just ran out of time. Those guys at the motorcycle shop are going to owe me big time for this one. Anyway we had to find brakepads that would fit Linda's 98 DR650. Evil knew of a place that might have them so we jumped aboard The Green Hornet and found a really cool motorcycle shop stocked full of Honda XR 600's and other assorted goodies. He had the brakes and for a spendy $35 they were all mine. The cost in the states for the same brakepads were about $22. We returned to the bike shop and had them installed. They cleaned the airfilter, changed the oil and took a very cursory look at Suzi for $25. I could have done it for $10 (the price of the oil). They couldn't find anything wrong and put her back together. Of concern for me was that they put the air filter back in bone dry! I had them take it back out and lubricate it. I always hate watching someone else work on our bikes. I was finally losing patience and when we finally got Suzi back together she wouldn't start. We took her apart and did a more thorough review and again found nothing wrong. It sounded like bad gas. Then I remembered that we filled her up with the 84 octane crap when we almost ran out of gas. The guys at the bike shop thought that it could have been leaded gasoline. As a side by side comparison, the KLR ran as well on the bad gas as the 97 octane stuff while the DR650 barely went at all. Another note is that the DR doesn't perform very well at altitude while the KLR eats it up. We drained what was left of the gas and I manged to get Suzi to a gas station and filled her up with the $2.85 per gallon 97 octane high grade gasoline. Once I took her out for a test ride after just a few miles she came back to life. We'll have to be more careful next time. We thanked the guys at the bike shop and left to get ready to leave tomorrow. That night we ate leftovers from the previous night and watched a movie on HBO Espanol.