Broken Bones

© Alisa Clickenger / RumBum.com

Well, if I had to crash at least I picked the most scenic place possible, I thought to myself as I looked at my downed bike. I'd been staring at my mangled hand for the past 10 minutes, when I finally turned my attention to the motorbike laying on its side. The magnificent tableau in the distance removed all thoughts of panic from my head.

This particular day I had left the hotel at around 10:00 a.m. intent on riding the “Sacred Valley of the Incas” north of Cuzco. This touristy Peruvian mountain town is the launching point for most travelers' visits to the famous Maccu Picchu. I'd signed on with a tour and had a day to wait before we departed. It was raining off and on, as it always does this time of year, but still decided to go and do the circle tour of the ruins North of the Cuzco.

Things were looking up by the time I reached Chinchero. The old stone church and the ruins were remarkable. The rain had subsided and the terraced landscape was awash with sun. An Andino family was grazing their sheep on the far level, the gentle bleats of the sheep offered a relaxing balm to coax me into taking a cat nap. It was an idyllic afternoon.

After my snooze I continued on my loop to see the ruins at Moray. The conical shape of this agrarian engineering feat was fascinating enough that I didn't really notice that the drizzle had come back. In fact, it was now raining. I was about 80 miles from Cuzco at this point, and I decided to continue on rather than turning back because there was still a lot to see. I wanted to see the Moray Salt Mines that I'd heard about.

© Alisa Clickenger / RumBum.comThe road was clay. I was so happy to be doing my little tour that I honestly didn't give much thought to what clay is like with a fresh coating of water. One minute I was cresting a hill, the next minute I was doing  what must have been a magnificent face plant. It all happened so fast I don't remember much save for a few details like the chin piece of my Arai helmet impacting the ground, the breath being knocked out of me, and the sound of my motorbike's engine running in the distance.

My first reaction was to get the bike upright. That was the moment I realized I was hurt —excruciating pain in my left hand brought everything into sharp focus. Not able to pick up the bike myself, I turned the engine off and gently pulled off my gloves. There were scratches on my fingers even though I was wearing thick leather gloves, yet all my fingers moved, which  thought was a positive sign.

Help first came in the form of an ancient shepherd. Between his two hands and my one good hand we were able to get the bike upright after about four tries. Second help came in the form of a private taxi-tour containing two Americans. I asked them if they could help me move my bike off the path of travel. The son pushed my bike, the mother insisted on staying with me until help came. I finally convinced her that the most help they could do for me would be to allow their taxi driver to go out to the main road and ask for a truck to help me.

Alone on the Andean plateau with a useless hand, my thoughts ran wild. What did this mean for my trip? Was my hand broken? Was this the end of my trip? The bike seemed okay, so I decided to stay positive and use my time to admire the scenery. And take pictures.

The sharp peaks of the Andes were a welcome distraction from the equally sharp pain in my hand. Call it a fault of character, but I was determined to make sure the bike was safe before going to the hospital. A truck came about an hour later, and after negotiating a price they loaded up the motorbike and drove both of us back to Cuzco.

About six hours hours after the accident took place an amazing twist of events had the chief of the Cuzco tourist police escorting me to the clinic where they x-rayed my hand. There were indeed fractures, and it was uncertain when I could ride again. Beautiful scenery had helped me forget my hand once already; so I figured Machu Picchu's splendor would be able to provide tomorrow's pain reliever. I decided to go ahead with my tour as planned and hoped the scenery would do it's magic once of making me forget again.