Locs,
I've been warping around Ecuador, working a lot at a local University doing research projects for different aquifers and rivers and volcano mud slides. It's alright.
I took the Surly on a punisher the other weekend. On Saturday morning I loaded up the panniers for a couple days and went down the street and got bagels with cream cheese (thank god for the American dude who runs that place). I put on my orange and yellow reflecto-gringo vest and headed out on top of about 60 pounds of bike and gear. Weather: partly cloudy, 60 degrees. I headed east out of Quito (9200') up to the 'east bay hills' at the edge of town (9700'). I then dropped into the Machangara valley via a bone-rattling cobblestone road, winding through super wiley cliffside dwellings and home to numerous rabid dogs. I crossed the Rio Machangara (84% untreated sewage, 16% spring water), raging in a frothy brownish grey mass below. I then climbed a bit more on the cobbles, and crested a small hill, dropping down into the town of Cumbaya. Cumbaya is the Marin of Quito- all the yuppies commute from there. Judging from the ACE Hardware, KFC, Pizza Hut, McDonalds, SUVs, and general strip-mall nature of the town, I've concluded that 'Cumbaya' translates roughly to 'Novato' (sorry Richard, no Nave Lanes or Shaky's Pizza with Tron upstairs in the arcade).
Through Cumbaya and continuing down to another river crossing, and things start to look more like the rest of Ecuador. No shoulder on the road, belching buses, full 500 pound pork carcass dangling and bleeding and feeding the masses, cinderblock everything that a 4.0 would topple, and did I say, buses? From the river crossing, I climbed a bit more to Tumbaco, another little town, and then down to the Rio San Pedro for a killer river crossing at the lowpoint of my ride (8000'). The bridge is built with steel overhead guirders, spanning about 300' and about 200' over the river. The canyon is steep and narrow, with luxuriant green patches where springs pop out along the flat-lying volcanic ash sediments that have piled up over the years. Its the second mini Grand Canyon I've seen here (when the proud locals admire the view and ask me if I've seen anything like it, I of course say no). From this point, 2 hours into the ride, begins 4 hours of nonstop billy goating up to the pass. Climbing out of the San Pedro Valley, there are a few major roads that run north-south that siphon traffic off my route, making it a much more pleasureable to ride. The locals in the outskirts are much friendlier, with big doses of applause, honking, cheering, smiling, and oh, buckets of water to the face from oncoming pickups. But those aren't just for me. It seems that the month of February, leading up to Carnival, is water fight month in all of Ecuador. At road cuts, it was common to see 10 kids with buckets and water balloons, waiting for cars or pedestrians to pelt, or for triple-word-score-double-bonus-round-physical-challenge, a gangly gringo wearing a neon target on his back.
Soon I was practically alone on the road, looking out over endless green pastures and wooded hills, with towering snow-capped volcanoes here and there on the horizon. The road, while paved, is a relentless high-altitude granny gear shuffle, with lots of stops for snickers and Tang and bagels and all things American. As I gained more and more altitude, the temperature dropped steadily and the clouds thickened, with sunny spots below heating and expanding the air and sending warm thermal currents at my back. At one point I spotted 3 condors, recognizable by their size and the white markings on top of their wings, soaring around at high velocity and eying me as a potential road-ready flat-snack for later in the day. I stopped for a break at the last establishment of any kind, still several miles from Papallacta Pass, where some rubber-booted rain-slickered roughnecks did expensive welding and repairs on injured big rigs trying to make the climb. Within moments, I was surrounded by yellow PVC clothing and stubby fingers delivering low-budget cigarettes to sun-tattered lips. They were super stoked on my rig, and one guy had some familiarity with bikers like me. He asked if I had the 'herramiento', the 'tool'. I quickly guessed that these guys, being a bunch of professional wrenchers, would be fired up about a bike 'multi-tool'. I produced it from my pack, in the palm of my hand, and they studied it carefully, pulling out all the various tools. 8 allen wrenches, a couple screwdrivers, a small crescent wrench, a spoke wrench, and a chain breaker. They even figured out what the chain breaker was on their own, within seconds. They demanded that I take a picture of them with my bike, which I did, and patted me on the back, commending me on my 'nivel de preparando', my level of preparedness. One young guy told me it was only a twenty minute ride to the pass....
An hour later, I had to get out my waterproof pants and Goretex shell and gloves, and a windy drizzle pelted me in the face, threatening to snow at any minute. At one point, I got a short tow from a Coca-Cola delivery truck, which just barely had the speed to surpass me. After a quarter mile, with my pants melted from exhaust and deaf in my left ear from the engine, I let go. The terrain was green-brown bunch grass, rolling hills, and an occasional glimpse of some rocky peaks. At the pass (13,500'), visibility was near zero, with thick fog, drizzle, wind, and fumes from backhoes working on an oil pipeline. I was laughing at my situation to be sure. I started the descent, passing slow moving trucks and slowly feeling my numb face and fingers thawing as the temperature rose and jungle foliage starting appearing. The road turned to a grey-white volcanic clay field, spitting slime all over everything. After an hour of tedious descent, I arrived in the town of Papallacta (10,500') and headed up a side valley that I knew of. I got a room at the Colombian run and owned Mamallactas hostel, for $7, and quickly changed into my swimtrunks and sandals. I continued up the valley another half-mile and paid my $5 to go to the Termas de Papallacta, a plush hot springs resort with a dozen pools of varying temperature, set in a deep, cool, steep, green valley. I got myself a beer and some chips and slid into a super-hot pool and floated around like an unflushable for hours. Anything to let my mind wander and forget about the return trip in two days...
Hope all is well, and more tales of joyful misery to follow.
Nate