The last time I was as terrifed as I was today was when I had cellulitis after my breast lumpectomy for cancer. The day started out benignly. At 5, my alarm went off to wake Colombians Tulio Roberto and Elsi to catch the 6 am bus to Lima. We were camping at the Maison Suisse and they had asked the reception to call a taxi for 5:30 which never came. So I took them to the bus station.

With a little trepidation I started out alone on the Panamerican south towards Chile. It was just me and the overnight buses from Arequipa on the road. It was overcast, and although they say it never rains in Nazca, it sure felt like rain. The sun broke through and warmed me for the first time in days. The sun in Lima never really shines enough to warm you up. It hardly casts a shadow when it does break through the low lying clouds.

So I felt a little less worried about starting out alone. After all, a Toyota dealer’s computer said my motor was fine, and the brakes were working well too. What was there to worry about?

It started to rain about 6:30 am, just a fine drizzle, but after about an hour, I had to put on the wipers. The southern coast of Peru is so much more interesting than the northern coast. It has dramatic cliffs, and the highest dune in the world at 8100 feet is just outside Nazca. Then it got really foggy and I could hardly see 30 feet ahead. There was a ghost truck in front of me, and it turned out to be real. So I kept close to it, assuming it couldn’t stop as fast as I could, and at least I could tell when we needed to turn or go downhill.

I got gas in Tico and went to the bathroom, and started out determined to see if I could get to Arequipa today. If not, then Camana. I figure about 35 mph, since you have to slow down for towns along the highway. There were so few towns, that by 11am I was more than half way. I decided to go for it.

Within 10 miles, I was stopped with four big rigs on a widened part of the highway about 60 feet above the sea on a cliff that went up another 60 feet topped with sand. The big rigs weren’t going forward, so neither was I. I had passed a bunch of rocks on the road, and several mud slides, but they weren’t too serious. What we were looking at was a dune over rocks that was 3000 feet high. A waterfall of mud and small rocks came down two different sides. Every 10 seconds basketball size rocks fell onto the highway or bounced down to the sea. In between would be slides of rocks the size of a refrigerator that bounced down the hill, off the highway and into the ocean below. None of us had ever seen such a sight.

There were eight of us, me and 7 truck drivers. One said it would be Monday before the highway patrol would get here with a tractor. I was parked three feet from a 60 foot drop off into the ocean. I gave them all plastic bags to put over their heads and shoulders to keep off the damp. Angel, Miguel, Wilbur and Wilbur were discussing how to move froward. Angel said to take a picture of them, which I did. I said I would put it on my website and they would become famous.

Their primary worry was what they were going to have for lunch. So I offered crackers and said I would cook, but it would be vegetarian—spaghetti with sauce, potatoes and onions, Maruchin soup with noodles. I’m sure it wasn’t coincidental, but they got organized and decided to move the rocks out of the way and move forward. We could see the northbound traffic stopped ½ mile around the curve. They had to keep an eye out for the rocks falling, and all of them ran when a group of about 6 refrigerator size rocks came bouncing down. Wilbur in his EM truck set out to cross. We waited to see if he made it, because where we were parked, there were no fallen rocks on our side of the road. Below the mudfalls he waited an agonizing 5 minutes while his assistant removed rocks and then moved forward.

Another driver and his wife moved in front of me with their sedan. It had been hit by a rock already, and they weren’t going forward. I decided that it scared me more to be a sitting duck and have the whole mountain come down on me than to keep moving forward. I figured if the big rigs could get through, I could. So when Wilbur and the Repsol Gas tanker moved, I went with them. Fortunately, Miguel in a service truck stayed behind me.

The worst was the mud slides, because if I lost control of the car and skidded, it would be to my death on the rocks by the sea. But I stayed within the big rigs tracks, and did not look down. I only skided once (Miguel slid twice).

I was shaking almost uncontrollably as I moved the first place we stopped for Wilbur to move some rocks. Jose who had come from the south told me the south was worse and to turn around and go back to Tico. But he hadn’t seen the road to the north, and Miguel had and couldn’t get through north either. So I stayed with my pack. We had to wait in a safe place (without rocks on the road) every time we got to a mudslide to make sure the truck in front got through before we started out, because if they got stuck, we were all doomed. I don’t think I have ever prayed so fervently.

We had to stop about eight times. One time a German and a paneled truck tried to get in front of me. The truck got slammed by a rock—serves him right. I’m not stupid, I was waiting in places where there were no rocks. When we got through safely, Miguel stayed behind me for several miles to make sure I was okay. He honked as he passed. I passed Wilbur and then he passed me and we honked. I tried to stay close to him in case I had trouble. He sure moved fast. I finally got to Camana about 4, and got the last room in the hotel. It was way too expensive, but I needed a good bed and a hot shower. I’m not camping tonight.