I wake up at seven o'clock because I want to be at the workshop at eight o'clock. Breakfast is postponed.
The Vespa has held its water - apparently. I don't trust the peace and check the water level in the water tank. No more water there. I am well-rested, manage without curses, and get to work. The cunning matron is already ready and doesn't want to see me or the Vespa here anymore. She tells me that it won't be easy to get the Vespa out of her driveway. There's a market outside. Her driveway is filled with market stands under which tables and chairs are placed. I tell her in an appropriate tone that I'm not interested in that right now. I have problems with the water hoses. She makes a wrinkled face, and I turn away from her.
Take out the helmet compartment, attach a new clamp to the connecting point, close it, assemble it, and fill it with water. I let it run for a moment, it stays dry, and now it's time to face the challenge of getting the Vespa out of the driveway unharmed. Here, like everywhere else in Peru, the curbs are above average high and separated from the road by a gutter. To overcome this gap and height, there is a ramp. The sidewalk is crowded and requires a lot of maneuvering until I have the right angle to drive the Vespa over the ramp. The front wheel is over, I push the ramp with my feet towards the rear wheel and then slowly drive over it. It worked.
The city is unrecognizable. Tents and people everywhere, I have to look three times to find the right street to my mechanic. No - you can't go through here. I don't behave as a guest of the country now but energetically explain to the policemen that I have to go through because I have to go to the mechanic. I could take a detour. No, I say firmly, I will not do that. There would be problems with the coolant. I get the green light, get stopped again at another location, explain the situation again, and finally get through.
The street that was chaos yesterday evening has undergone a transformation. Women are sitting everywhere, in front of them a large number of flowers that they put together into artistic bouquets.
The workshop and the hardware store next to it are closed.
Across the street is a restaurant. I decide to have breakfast first and then look for another mechanic. I have an eye on the Vespa. The flower women are also sitting in front of the store, a self-made umbrella is set up. The restaurant owner is concerned about her customers, the umbrella has to be placed one meter away from her entrance door. A youngster orbits the Vespa but leaves it alone, and I get three buns with fried eggs and a cup of hot milk, which quickly becomes a milky coffee with Nescafe. I try to reach the mechanic by phone. Doesn't work.
I pay, and when I go outside, the workshop is open. There is also activity at the hardware store. Just like in Wilfried's times, I help to push the motorcycles and scooters out of the dark and small workshop, and then the work begins. Feddy, that's the name of my mechanic, quickly realizes that there is a size 80 nozzle in the carburetor. I inserted it yesterday afternoon. If the value of the nozzle is not correct, then my system is not correct either. The measurements in millimeters are so small on the nozzles that I can't recognize the values. The list I made with the hostel guys in Cusco has shifted...
The hardware store is open. I get the hose and coolant. This hose is covered with fabric and its material is much firmer! I have three meters measured. The new hoses are quickly connected, the carburetor is installed, the Vespa idles smoothly, and at the highest speed it runs cleanly and without jerking, the coolant level is brought to maximum, and then we are done. Wait - there is a screw that looks very familiar. And indeed, the assistant only inserted it yesterday without screwing it in because he didn't feel like struggling or because I was impatient? From my workshop experience, I know that it takes a lot of patience and finesse to tighten it again. I ask the mechanic, he struggles like I struggled with other scooters, but after some time, it's tight. The street gets crowded, passersby stop, watch with interest, ask the familiar questions, one person comes with his son, stays, and wants to take the obligatory photo later.
The new cooling hose is in place, the engine is running smoothly again
It's 11:00 am. The city is chaos. To top it all off, a truck with a large water tank drives through the unpaved streets and distributes water to control the dust. Traffic is congested. My patience is almost at its end. I risk daring overtaking maneuvers that would have led to murder and manslaughter on Germany's roads. Finally, I find myself directly behind the water distributing truck, clench my teeth, and drive past it under a fountain of water. Finally, I have a clear road.
The Vespa is running and purring. Although I notice that the temperature gauge is not rising to its usual level and the Vespa is also not delivering its full power, but maybe it's due to the headwind and the higher quality coolant, which prevents the engine from getting too hot...
However, after half an hour I stop in a parking lot and find that the air filter hose is not properly attached. After fixing it, the temperature gauge settles at the right place, and the performance improves.
We are steadily going uphill. At 4,000 meters above sea level, the engine stalls, and a nozzle change is necessary. While I'm doing my usual work, a police pickup stops, a friendly greeting with a handshake, que paso? - what happened? And then the usual questions. There are three policemen who have time. I finish my work and then ask them if they have some time - furrowed brows - and ask about the quality of their eyes. Another puzzled furrowed brow. I fetch the nozzle set and ask them to read me the numbers. I write them down and hope that I am prepared for the future.
Then the desire for photos again. One of the policemen quickly gets his MG out of the car, and many photos are taken - of course also with my smartphone. Nice farewell.
The Vespa is running again, easily handling the long climbs and curves. We are above the tree line, it is cold, the landscape is barren and bleak, but no alpacas in sight. We are at 4,300 meters. There is hardly any traffic. The road is in top condition. Driving is fun again. On the horizon, I see the peaks of the Andes at eye level. Finally, we are heading back down. 2,000 meters of altitude have to be overcome. Curves, some debris from falling rocks, the rocks rising on my right side, it is gradually getting warmer, greener, spring-like. The stutter returns - rightfully so. When I arrive in the valley, I switch back to the 90 nozzle. But soon it goes up the next mountain. The stuttering starts again and even slows the Vespa down. I come to a stop in front of a clay house. A mother with her two children is sitting in the afternoon sun a short distance away. That doesn't bother me. I let my anger run free and curse loudly and extensively. Finally, I go to the Peruvian woman with a nozzle and ask her about the quality of her eyes. She also looks surprised. She deciphers the number 80. I take out the appropriate nozzle, the Vespa starts again, and off we go. It is already afternoon, and I decide to finish for the day in Chincheros.
The stutter is back but moderate.
Chincheros is located on a hill, the Plaza de Armas can only be reached by a steep, very steep descent. Will I be able to make it up there again? There is no hotel in sight. I ask and get the answer arriba - meaning up. I gather momentum, and the Vespa effortlessly conquers the slope.
The hotel property is right by the 3S, but then the big surprise, the house itself is several meters back.
In the garden, guinea pigs are served on the table like rabbits in our country
It has a beautiful large garden, and my room has a great view of the valley. It is warm and spring-like here, orange-red blooms on the trees, and the plaza, which I visit after check-in, is empty of people and without traffic. An unusual calmness, even birdsong can be heard.
From one minute to the next: just gray and hazy and now this change
There is still a fantastic evening sky, then chicken with rice, a little walk through the village, and back to the hotel to write and email the Vespa club in Switzerland.
Tomorrow we will continue. Another day full of surprises?
