OK. I admit it, we go looking for adventure.

We keep our ears to the ground and listen out for difficult routes that will present a bit of a challenge. We had always wanted to visit Manu but it had seemed hopelessly expensive. Then we got the idea of of cycling down, seeing Peru's National bird, the cock of the rock, and then going home. Instead, our journey became a quest to reach the end of the road.

Its low season and the reason why there are fewer tourists is because it's the totally wrong time of year to be crossing mountain passes. Nevertheless, armed with an excess of wet weather gear we set off brimming with enthusiasm. Two minutes after arriving at the pass between Pisac and Paucartambo it's hailing and we are drenched.

Our descent would have been truly exhilarating in good conditions - when it's freezing it is hell. Our hands, though gloved, are the first part to lose feeling - not a good situation to be when you should be able to feel your hands to brake on the hairpin corners! Your lips go first, and then your nose starts running and your knees begin to freeze up in the cold. It is pure agony. An alpine village, that appears to be warmly welcoming from above, is coldly abandoned and shut up as we pass by closed doors.

About three hours later, bedraggled and sorry, we arrive at Colquepata, from where they tell us its only forty minutes downhill to Paucartambo - it takes us over two hours, but its downhill at its best - smooth roads, good gradients and high speeds. We whip through pretty farmland, eucalypts and herds of cattle and sheep on their way home at the end of the day.

Paucartambo emerges around the corner, a charming colonial delight, with cobblestone streets, narrow alleys and whitewashed houses. People in skirts and colourful mantas (blankets) add an old world charm and one feels like they have stepped back centuries.

We hear that the ascent from Paucartambo is steep and elect to wait for a truck which dumps us in a cloud covered, musty, damp place. 1.5 hours later, we have descended more than 1000 metres (this gives the World's Most Dangerous Road in Coroico, Bolivia a run for its money) and we are in the high cloud forest where its green and lush - and it rains a lot. It pours for us. We solider on, well wrapped up and thinking that the rocky potholed road can only get better. Cascades crash down the verdant mountainsides - as the road continues down, down, down.

We arrive in San Pedro to see the Cock of the Rock (Gallito de las Rocas) doing their dance, camp on a nice man's soccer pitch, and wake up at midnight to rain - incessant, heavy, continuous rain that pelts the tent with a somewhat dismaying regularity. We rouse ourselves within this damp quagmire to see the Cock's dance again, wondering who possibly would look for a mate in this foul weather - we were right, very few!

A flat tyre, brake adjustments, and load rearrangements and we are jolting our way downhill again, through ever more beautiful and warm jungle. Soon, we are racing along through pampas luxuriant with grasses - the rich moist air of the jungle fills the lungs that feel, suddenly, as if they have been starved in the Andes. It is heady and intoxicating - and you just want to smile and laugh, out of sheer happiness. Great flocks of big bright buttercup yellow butterflies are feeding on the road so when we pass, they flutter up and surround us, so we are cycling in a haze of butterflies - it's like a 90's video clip - utterly dreamlike!

We continue along over those bone-jarring rocks and becomes a bit of a game to try and smooth the ride, and in the middle of the flattest, straightest bit of road I lose my tyre in a ditch and at full speed those hideous teeth like rocks come up at me horrifyingly fast and I plant my hands to save my face. Two ripped open hands, a swollen bruised knee and numerous grazes reveal a far graver problem - I've bent the back rim of the bike which now rolls down the road lurching drunkenly and catching on the brakes on each revolution.

As such we wobble our way into Patria (a town of patriotism) where no one wants to talk to us. Locating a bicycle repair shop, the man takes a look at the job and says he is far too busy and can do it tomorrow. He then returns to playing soccer with his friends. The next place is also closed because the owner is drunk or drinking (or both) and they direct us across the street to a place where the guy isn't home but the niece begrudgingly lends us some tools. We gather a crowd of kids as we drag off the wheel, hoping to straighten it out with stones, brute force or willpower. When all this fails, a man approaches us, "I'm not from around here," he says, which explains everything. One and a half hours later in the heat of the tropical sun he acknowledges he has made no difference, disconnects the brakes, and waves us on to the next town.

If you put an average looking girl beside a rather plain one, the average girl is going to look pretty. So it was with Pilcopata, after Patria. People who wanted to talk to us and best. a tiny little wizened man who chattered indecipherably like a monkey and had my wheel off quick as a flash. A tropical rainstorm slowed his progress, but in this time we had chatted with the locals about the lost city of Paititi and the native tribes of the area. We also discover that all the buses out of the region are full, and there are no more buses for two days. We decide to visit some native villages, and continue deeper into the jungle where people vaguely indicate there might be more transport options.

The thing about "native" villages is that you never know what your reception will be - as we carted our bicycles up a washed out rock-strewn road, we wondered, would they greet us with sticks and stones? They were genuinely pleased to see us, and after a hair-raising downhill ride back to Pilcopata over river rocks, we headed onwards to Atalaya, the tourist port for Manu. On the edge of town we encountered wide, deep and powerful river, which reflected the bright greens of the jungle, and the dark sky with 20 different shades of grey threatening to rain!

We cross, thigh deep, the water deliciously warm and the rocks below clean and fresh - this is the deepest river of the trip - little do we know that we have innumerable more rivers to cross. We've crossed five by the time we arrive in Salvacion - which appears, complete with internet (one very old slow computer for the whole town) and the chance to camp in the Ministry of Agriculture's machinery shed. We jumped at the opportunity, squeezed in between a motorbike and tractor, on a bed of barley husks!

With no transport options, we continue on the next day to Shintuya, a hellish hot six hour ride upwards! With the humid heat of the afternoon bearing down on our shoulders we find the community practically deserted, a town past it's hey day, no longer the port for the region and not even on the main road. After being furiously and rapidly attacked by sand flies we get out of there quick. There was no transport, nor was there likely to be, according to the people of Shintuya.

We could go back -or we could go onto the end of the road, at Itahuania. We camped by a beautiful jungle stream, alongside the road, figuring we could always flag down any passing traffic that might be returning to Cusco. The next day would be Sunday and there was general agreement that transport would be few and far between on this day of rest.

The truck had passed us before we woke up, and gone before we had wiped the sleep from our eyes. So much for a quick ride for Cusco - we were now all out of transport options.

We rose with the birds to hear their magical early morning opera - a cacophony of parrots and other birds as they flew over the jungle canopy. The howler monkeys rumbled in the distance and we were truly out in nature - a magical feeling.

The final run into Itahuania was blissfully pretty and we arrive to find a town in construction, with a frontier air. But we also discover that we have not reached the end of the road - in recent months they've extended the road. In fact, this whole region is being opened up at a rapid rate. Whereas once only accessible by boat, the road reached Itahuania two years ago - and one day the road will extend all the way along this river into the heart of Manu.

I wonder what impact this will have on Manu's famed biodiversity, as every extension of the road means migration by those looking for new opportunities and riches. It will also mean greater accessibility for the tourists that already flow in for between $500 and $1500 a pop.

Our transport options look grim until we find out there is a community meeting bringing officials from Salvacion - once again our salvation. It seems that half the people that should be in the meeting are drinking in the shop where we are waiting for the return transport. These are community run towns - the bills need to be approved, and people need to have achieved certain goals (eg. Building a house) by a certain date. They bemoan the lack of "doers" and ideas people in their town and I muse the world is the same the world over.

In these long hours of waiting one also develops the art of conversation with complete strangers. In our time-oriented society, it's not something that we do. Everyone is far too busy or has lots of friends. It seems that with the heat of the jungle people aren't in a hurry and are happy to discuss things with strangers. I get into a conversation with a woman who has lived all her life in the region - she exclaims, "do you know how much tourists pay to go to Manu?" She adds, without bitterness, "and not a cent reaches our town. They come with all the food they need - even bread and water! And all they leave is rubbish!" I frown and defend my fellow foreigners - surely tourists wouldn't litter? She laughs, "no they leave their rubbish tied up neatly in bags! What will we do with it?" She says that the cooks or helpers on tours often throw these neatly tied up bags into the rivers.

It strikes me just how important it is to buy local, and be environmentally conscious in all your actions. It makes me pleased that when we travel we buy at small shops and eat in local restaurants. You can't please everyone, but you can make a difference.

We'd reached the end of the road - only to find that the road continued, and I guess that's the whole thing, the road never ends, and there are new discoveries each day and fresh places to go. There will always be new experiences that make this world so rich and wonderful - even if they do cause us a bit of pain along the way!

To return to other Anecdotes and Stories about Peru, please click here.

To have a similar adventure yourself, please check out our Mountains to Manu adventure.

APUS PERU Adventure Travel Specialists - Email: apusperu@westnet.com.au

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© A.Svenson 2005. The design, content and photographs (except where noted) are 100% original. The majority of our treks were designed by Apus Peru.