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travellers we should jump the queue . When we got there no one seemed to mind that security ushered us straight to a pump . Riding past the hundreds of bikers waiting since before sunrise , we felt equally guilty and yet glad not to have to wait . They seemed to harbour no hard feelings and greeted us with friendly nods .
People would wait for days , and mile-long queues were as common a sight as people teaming up to push cars that had run out too soon . But the locals always changed the subject when we ’ d asked about the reason for the severe petrol shortage , and I suspect it may have something to do with mismanagement and corruption . Whatever the cause , we would have to start looking for a topup long before we were out .
As visitors we were always allowed to the front of the queue , where security-controlled entry to the pumps and usually sent us straight in . But some petrol stations had car or bike only days and would send us to the next if we arrived on the wrong day .
The road took us back in time , through short-grazed meadows and farmland where people worked the small fields of cabbages , onions , and carrots by hand .
A local biker stopped us on the way to the Musuy Hot Springs to ask where we were going . We struggled to understand and regrettably declined what we later realised had been an invitation to lunch . Riding on , he stopped and waited for us every time we pulled over and we soon gathered that he wanted to lead us to our destination , so we rode together . On arrival our self-declared guide shook our hand and wished us well , leaving us to park up , hike to the springs and soak in the gloriously warm water taking in the views over the valley below .
Google Maps insisted we take the highway , but my slightly outdated paper map showed a much more enticing mountain route between Santo Domingo and Bocono . After one last fuel-up from soda bottles in Santo Domingo , a steep gravel road led out of town past grazing cows and cabbage fields . At an altitude close to four thousand metres my carburetted bike began to feel out of breath as we left the world known to Google .
A fun , hard-packed dirt road seemed to lead in the direction we wanted to go , and we followed it past small fields and a lonely red truck parked up at the top of a particularly steep drop down to a small river crossing . The road was almost as steep back up on the other side and it was all I could do to get my breathless bike up there . First gear , adrenalin pumping ; don ’ t lose momentum , no matter how tricky the potholed dirt road .
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