We now had to accomplish the last part of that days journey over 150 miles of seemingly superbly paved Peruvian toll-road into Arequipa. The worst of the journey was now over, but a vile sandstorm made even this part tiring and dangerous. We had triumphed over the Andes. Nothing would ever be that bad again, except, in very small doses, and with that reassuring feeling we devoured a steak and a few beers before sleeping the sleep of the just, the triumphal and the exhausted. Tomorrow would bring us to the Pacific and blissful Corniche driving that brought a song from our Hero’s tyres.
The departure from Arequipa was fairly early, at 6 o’clock, and therefore we had to do some mileage without a spare tyre and it also meant going back for 60 miles along the same road we had come in on the previous night and then forking off south and then west for a headlong dash across Sahara-like terrain to the Pacific. The forked junction had a lot of garages and two shanty tyre repairers. I extricated the owner from the more salubrious looking shed who indicated he would be happy to repair a tyre so long as it was ‘piccolo’. When he saw the Bentley he exclaimed the wheels to be those of a ‘camion’, but the rally stickers and sleek lines of Hero soon won him over from his early morning stupor. He wanted to be part of the ‘Carrera’ and was soon separating the tyre from the rim with a blunt pickaxe and water. This crude and primitive system to break the seal was very effective and his sure aim never hit the rim or damaged the tyre bead, moreover it caused no damage to the painted surface of the wheel, nor to his bare toes which he used to tread the bead down into the well after each pickaxe blow. Then with our gaiter he repaired the split and after fitting our spare inner tube we were able to set off doing about 85mph down to the coast on excellent road which was just as well since our goal was Lima,and 630 miles before dark.
Our arrangements for lunch with Alberto, of the lime green Mustang, and John Smallwood in the Alfa Romeo, went awry as we decided to paddle in the first sandy cove of the Pacific. It was a great feeling to have traversed South America coast to coast, and a picnic on the clean sand would have soothed away all tensions of yesterday. But the nagging journey ahead soon had us driving along one of the most well finished roads with the best coastal scenery we have ever seen in all of our travels. This was a majestic rocky cliff-face coastline with unspoiled sandy beaches, palm trees running down to the sea sparsely populated with little fishing villages all free from that ugly curse we are all guilty of: tourism.
Somewhere short of 300 miles before Lima we caught up with Bill and Eileen in the Chrysler and were very surprised how far ahead they had gone despite the high speed we had been doing on these excellent roads. This shows how even a short stop, let alone paddling and changing tyres, can reduce your average speed dramatically: tortoise and hare.
Having overtaken Bill with a hoot and a wave, we noted that he was clocking along exceeding 70mph, which must be remarkable for a 1929 side-valve. Sometime later, a new and powerful looking Jeep pulled in front of us as we were about to leave a little congested town and through the heavy smoked glass windows, which are so popular with the Latins, we could just make out some gesticulations coming from the driver. This looked menacing so we dropped back following him at a distance until we came to a long uphill climb where he seemed to overtake leisurely a lorry and we did the same but realised that with an oncoming bus we had to get a move-on, thereby creating a triple overtaking as we also overtook the Jeep who was still trying to overtake the lorry. The driver of the Jeep wound down his window giving me abroad smile and a massive thumbs-up. He was flat out and could go no faster, he was an enthusiast, not a belligerent. We were going over 75mph as we crossed the ridge of the hill with the Jeep trailing, but he was soon onto us after the climb and there now ensued a chase of bravado and admiration as the Bentley leapt along a well made arterial road for the next 100 miles in the upper 90s with the Jeep following. While this was good for our average, and our ego, I was seriously worrying about damaging the car as we were still only half way to our destination, Acapulco, and probably only a third of the way to our final destination, Missouri.
As the light began to fail and the 100th mile of the bravado race clicked round, I decided to slow down whereupon the Jeep came along the inside asking with the aid of shouting and the use of his fingers “how many zylinders – 16?” “How many litros?” and then “eez zat car a Bentley?” All of this at 80mph with his pretty girlfriend leaning over him to take a photograph, which I sincerely hope came out – wonderful stuff – and typical of the sort of response we received throughout our entire journey. We now settled back to a steady 65 to give the Bentley a rest, and after refuelling were soon embroiled in the heavy rush-hour traffic around Lima.