The words repeated like a mantra in my head: Ollantaytambo, Huayna Picchu, Salcantay, Machu Picchu. I said them silently, carefully forming the words in my head, seeing them written in the space behind my eyes, correcting my unspoken pronunciation. I imagined the thrill of seeing these places in person. I lost myself in an imagined future in Peru.
I was pedaling hard, enjoying the headwind for the challenge it presented, the opportunity to improve my fitness. I was pedaling fast, the wind finally at my back, giving me wings. My eyes registered the salmon swimming along the shore, they not realizing they were as good as dead while being torn apart by the cruel, curved, gold beaks of gulls, they still struggling to reach spawning grounds that didn't exist. I watched in vain for bears, seals, sea lions. I looked, I watched, but I did not see.
The chorus continued: Ollantaytambo, Huayna Picchu, Salcantay, Machu Picchu.
A half-dozen cars were parked on the bike path near Allison Point, their owners on a quest for silver salmon to fill the freezer or the smoker. I flung unworded curses in their direction for being so inconsiderate and nearly blocking the path.
Two miles later, I called out to the two men and two women on the path, couples on foot and on bikes, to let them know I was about to pass by. The did not move, and I scowled, "A little room would be nice" as I rode off into the gravel to get around them.
The chorus took on a grumpy tone as my mood darkened: Ollantaytambo, Huayna Picchu, Salcantay, Machu Picchu.
Then, just across from the Petro Star Refinery, I skidded to a halt. The shear face of Sugarloaf Mountain just across the road caught my eye. I grabbed my camera and did my best to eliminate the road surface from the photo. Really, I asked myself, could anything in Peru be more beautiful than what I have at home?
The chorus quieted to a whisper as I pedaled home, appreciative of where I was, right there in the present.