Whether at home or on the road, my favorite way to get around is by bicycle. Upon my arrival in Lima, the bus from the airport to my hotel traveled along the coast where I saw a long bike path.

After spending a day recovering from my overnight flight, I went down to the hostel front desk and asked where I could rent a bike. They directed me to the popular Kennedy park, just two blocks away. When I arrived at the park, I saw a big stack of bikes but it turned out to just be an overfilled bike rack.

I walked the full length of the park and saw no other bikes so I approached a woman wearing an official looking vest and asked her if she knew where I could rent one. She pointed me to a gentleman wearing a vest similar to hers, and I had to ask again to be sure she was directing me to the gentleman in the wheelchair to find out where to rent bikes.

He suggested I try the local department store. Either my Spanish isn’t that good or he misunderstood what I was asking for because the department store didn’t have bikes for rent either. I gave up my search for the moment but later came across a sign in the window of a clothing store that said, “we rent bikes”.

Though it wasn’t exactly the kind of place I expected to find bikes for rent, the sales clerk told me I could rent one for just $8 for the whole day. I chose the mountain bike over the beach cruiser as I didn’t know what type of terrain would tempt me as I rode.

I headed out one of the many bike paths I’d seen until I got to a cliff overlooking the beach. After a few photos, I decided to ride the cliffside path that weaved along the edge of the city with grand views of the Pacific. At some point I managed to find the same road I’d ridden on with the bus that morning, and descended to the beach.

Because the bike lane had disappeared, I rode the sidewalk as it serpentined its way down the cliffside along the road. Near the base of the cliff, I arrived at the end of the sidewalk. This was unfortunate because between me and the beach was a six lane highway with an endless flow of speeding vehicles. I looked either directions along the highway and saw, about 50 feet down the road, was the remains of, or the beginning of, a pedestrian overpass. It was in a state of dilapidation that encouraged me to instead choose a game of frogger to get to the other side.

It took awhile, but I found my break and made it half way across. A few minutes later, and I had crossed the freeway to get to the bike path. The path was unusual. For the most part it was in good condition, like a path that had just been built, but it also had the feel of something that had just been built two years ago and forgotten about. There were large slabs of empty concrete that made it seem like it was some day intended to be part of a waterfront development but they had run out of money and forgotten about it.

Indeed as I made my way along the beach, there were a couple times where the path ended, and I either had to ride in the street or make my way along a dirt path. This is why I had chosen the mountain bike.

Eventually, I reached a part of the beach that was more populated. I found it surprising as the sandy beach I’d been riding along earlier had turned to large round rocks that didn’t seem particularly comfortable to pitch a beach blanket on but made a nice deep rumble as the waves crashed and then tried to pull them into the sea.

Equally unappealing as the rocky beach was the water which was as brown as a cup of hot chocolate. Having experienced coastlines around the world, I can assure you that this is the type of water just itching to deliver a parasite to non native swimmers. It was clear I wouldn’t be joining the locals in the surf.

Things began to pick up as I headed further south. I passed several night clubs and restaurants until I got to a part of the beach that was sand again. Not that you could see any of it as it was filled with blankets and covered with umbrellas. I found it ironic that about this point was a sign that read, “fumigation integral”. Even if you don’t know Spanish, you probably know better than to step on a beach with the word “fumigation” posted.

In the parking lot opposite the beach, I passed several cars serving ceviche from open hatchbacks. I chuckled to myself as I counted the number of ways eating ceviche from one of these vendors could go wrong for me before ordering a serving of the classic Peruvian dish of which they’re so proud.

As I ate, a group of tough looking guys carrying a boombox sat around me, and though I was nervous for just a second, it turns out they were there to enjoy the ceviche as well. We all consumed our afternoon snacks while watching bathers clean the saltwater off themselves using the water coming out of a sewage pipe just above the beach.

Having taken in the beauty of Lima’s beachfront, I headed uphill towards a statue I’d seen previously in the distance. On my way up, I was passed by a group of skateboarders soaring downhill. This continued with a certain regularity as I pedaled uphill. I was also passed by skateboarders heading uphill, but that was because they had grasped onto the bumper of a car heading to the statue. Once at the top, they would let go and descend rapidly around curves until they returned to the beach.

I noticed that I had about one hour to return my bike so I chased a set of skateboarders down until I reached the main highway to town. I noticed when I was heading downhill that my bike was exhibiting a behavior that I can only describe as squirrely.

As I continued towards home, it got worse, and I realized my handlebars had come loose and were no longer responding very well to my attempts to turn the wheel. I found that if I didn’t make any sudden turns I could keep the bike relatively straight, but it was a challenge as drivers in Peru don’t give a lot of concern to cyclists, and I found myself turning my handlebars out of sync a few times. Try riding straight while your handlebars are at a 45 degree angle.

At one point I thought maybe I could steer by using my feet on the forks of the bike. That didn’t wok as imagined.  I have to say, in all the times I’d rented a bike, I’d never come across this problem. What was surprising was that the usual suspects: bad brakes or non-shifting gears were not a problem on this bike.

I kept checking the map to see if I was getting any closer to where I had to return the bike, but with the unusual mode of steering, progress was much slower than normal.

I was just 6 blocks from the store when I heard a large pop that sounded like a gunshot. When the back of my bike began to sway like the front had, I realized it was my tire that had exploded. I got off, took one look at it and realized I’d be walking my bike the rest of the way.

When I got to the bike shop, the woman asked how my ride was. Sadly, I could only recall the last part which was a disaster. She felt so bad that she offered me my money back, something I have never had happen. I told her that she could keep it since she’d have a lot of repairs to do on the bike, but she insisted, so I pocketed the money and walked back to the hostel.

Perhaps Lima is not quite ready to embrace cycling culture and that was the reason for the unfinished bike path and lack of bike rental shops. Either way, at a cost of free, I was still able to take in the city in a way that I feel can only be done by bike.