Kate's Cycling Curiosity

 
Approaching the "worst border in South America" I was alert ready for an onslaught of money changers, pushy taxi drivers and general nuisances that come from borders. Nothing! The last few Km's to the border on a shiny new road  bore not a single car or person. Convinced I had day dreamily missed a turn I was about to turn around when I saw a sign "Welcome to Peru". How did I miss Ecuadorian immigration I thought. Well it turned out there were two border crossings one in the town and a brand spanking new one which bypasses the town and hasn't a tout in sight. This was looking like the easiest border crossing to date with exit and enter stamps available side by side. If a tour bus of old age pensioners hadn't just beat to the border by seconds I would have been in and out in moments  but alas it was swift enough and I was away pedaling into Peru drama free ....untill I got a puncture for the longest prickly pined tree I've seen to date. there went my record 2 countries without a puncture. I don't hold this against my "schwalbe mondtail" tyres as these spines could well have done damage to a motorbike tyre,  a suspicion later confirmed in due course a KM down the road!


Changing the tyre attracted no less than 7 moto taxis's  to stop and stare and 9 road workers to literally drop tools. Evidently a chance to watch a "Gringa" changing a tyre was above job security. It was an odd situation as I knew the inevitable "Your country?" "Alone?", "Where is your husband?" obligatory questions would ensue so being pressed for time to reach the next town before dark I lied and said "No hablo Espanol" and stuck my headphones in as the mob stared in silence......honestly I feel like an animal in a zoo half the time. To give them their dues they were an incredibly attentive audience never losing their stare and watching my every move like watching a magician performing a trick. They made a simple task of repairing a puncture feel like I had just performed a mechanical marvel. I then blew my cover (the sun fries my brain) as a jokingly asked for tips for the 15 minute show which left them dumb founded as to how I could suddenly speak Spanish. That was my Q to dash before the rapidfire questions ensued....
 
Peru greeted me with this after 5 mins of cycling.....


Tick, country no. 28!

My first interaction in Peru was to prove unfortunately a common conversation "Very dangerous" "You will be robbed and only left with the shirt on your back", "Single girl...very dangerous" "Road very dangerous".....hardly catch phrases from a tourist broshure. Their was an over riding air of despiration on the desolate stretch through the Northern Peruvian desert and I eperienced severe poverty to the extent I hadn't seen in a while. When I say some of the isolated shacks in the desert had nothing, i'm not pwerphrasing I mean literally nothing. No electricity, no running water and no posessions. They barely had a change of clothes and relied on an old man to pedal by every 5 days with 3 gallon drums of water for the family. How you don't die of dehydration with that little water is beyond me given I was drinking at least 6 litres of water a day. Nothing grows in that climate without water, even if you had money there is nowhere to buy food and no opportunites to get a job or earn money.....apart from robbing a passing cyclist which thankfully didn't materialize despite a feeble attempt or two. You can hardy blame them, It's like holding an ice cream in front of a child on a sunny day and asking them not to eat it! 

Tucume.


 and with an epic sunset!

On reaching the first town across the border I was heartily welcomed by the Firemen at the town of Tumbes where we dinned together, accompanied me to exchange money so I wouldn't get ripped off with the fake notes (which they tried... cheeky pups), given a city tour and thrown the keys to lock up after myself when I left in the morning. A perfect end to a first day in Peru.

The slogan for the police in Peru is "We are your friends" which I personally found to be very true. Arriving near dark in the beachtown of Mancora I stopped ouside the Police station to ask for directions to a hotel or a safe place to camp and before I knew it I was installed in the new building at the rear of the station overlooking the two prisoners cells which made for a gossipers heaven watching and listening to dramas unfold. I was swiftly given a tour by the chief of police who loved the concept of travelling by bicyce and told me I was welcome to stay as many months as I pleased.....granted months sunning myself on the beach would be what was required if i was ever  to successfully smooth out my cycling tan but I settled for a token attempt of one day. The trappings that come with touristic towns wears thin after a while and I happily pedalled away the following day.
 

Unofficial dump that is the desert....

The bonuses of cycling by the coast come in the form of unlimited "Ceviche" or raw fish marinated in lemon and onion and pristine beaches. There is nothing quite like jumping in the sea after a long day on the bike watching the sun setting whilst munching fresh "ceviche"....even if it did leave me with a disgruntled stomach on occasion. Raw fish from a moving stall in the hot desert would be a health inspectors dream at home!
 
 How one feels in the desert.

Now where to camp.....

The north of Peru is home to the Sechura Desert, south of the Piura Region of Peru along the Pacific Ocean coast and inland to the foothills of the Andes Mountains. This region is also home to not much else. Wikipedia described it as "nothing but arid, hardscrabble waste for 15 years" and having cycled through it I see no reason to contest this description. As deserts go however this is one of luxury given that there were towns in it at a maximum distance of 210km. Desolate camping was required and it didn't help that their were water shortages and water demonstrations and protests in many towns but none the less I made it out with my most impressive cycling tan to date! 
 
 Wheres your bucket and spade when you need it?....
Tragedy.....spilling precious water whilst making coffee in the morning.

Let me set the scene for you. Imagine a football pitch covered in sand, ask all your neighbours can you borrow their leave blower machines and put them on full blast. For the Irish among you really use your imagination and pretend it 50 deg. Now place a lego man facing said blowers with a miniature tent and bicycle by its side. To recap you should only have a lego man in a sea of sand with insane heat and an almighty headwind with nothing other than a strip of asphalt cutting through the scene like a scar in a straight line......thats the Peruvian desert and my life for just under a week. 
 

Trusty steed tackling some desert off road.

After 80km in the desert I came upon this "oasis" but alas no water.
 
 Liars....."Always Coca Cola" but in the desert it's just a teasing sign.

The roads were not completely empty however.....they were adorned with an unsettling amount of memorials to those that didin't make it off it and it was also used as the unofficial dump of the country. Unfortunately Nappies, Rotting onions and urine topped the popular waste which was so potent smelling at times I almost yearned for the smell of decaying Kangaroo across the Nularbor.....but not quite.The memorials however weren't without their uses. With water rations dwindling before one town and I had dangerously stopped sweating. As my pee had reached the colour of cheap petrol station coffee I felt justified in stealing one of the water offerings at one memorial and doused it with iodine for clear drinking water. For a clear conscience I tidied the flowers and said a prayer!!



Yay, another day of sand, headwind and water rationing! Keep smiling...just keep smiling!

Notice the yellow tongue.....never a good sign in a desert.

Chiclayo marked the exit of the most desolate stretch of the desert and despite only being in the desert a few days I arrived bearing an uncanny resemblance to a desertarian.......panda eye tan from sunglasses, hair like I've been in a wind tunnel (which i pretty much had) and a thick film of sand and dirt covering my entire body. Every hotel I could find had a narrow staircase leading to reception on the 2nd or 3rd floor....every cyclists pet hate. This presented a little pickle as If I left my bike on the street while I nipped into reception there was no way it was going to be there on my return  so I set about searching for an alternative when I came across the Firestation and couldn't resist. As I dinned and had the banter with this cheerful bunch after the miserable depressing conversations I'd had throughout the desert my mood soared and once more had a renewed appreciation for life! If harsh deserts are good for only one thing its to give you a renewed appreciation for how easy we have it!
 
Like a nutter I climbed up at 5pm before camp to snap this....Desert sea!

 I will never forget that empty glaze that dressed some desertarians eyes like a curtain of misery. When someone is that numb and has lost all hope that they don't even bother to beg you start to wonder are they alive only in body. That empty expression is so impacting you would almost commend them for robbing you as it would show they still held some hope for a better life.
 





The discernible reader will have spotted the sand and emptiness theme by now.



Theft in the desert....stealing water from memorials! We all have our blemishes!

Chiclayo proved to be a very lively town, not because of my obscured perception after the desert but a genuinely upbeat city. I ventured to the famed "Witches market" where you can purchase every love potion known to man and a herb for every ailment you can think of. I settled for "Maca" "Kwicha" and "Quinua" the supposed energy super-foods. The soaring Andes lurk not far away to test their true merits! The vendors were advocating the merits of "Coca" a leaf known for its energetic properties and favored by mountain people who struggle in the altitude and chew or drink it for its enlivening properties. The pick me up is more common in developed countries in it refined form as cocaine. Knowing I have an acute addiction for coffee I was weary of adding another vice to my belt. That said its hard to believe illicit cocaine is derived from the product when you see an innocent child chewing a mouthful of it whilst waiting for the school bus in the morning! 


Huanchaco beach.


 Signs of life after the desert....sugar cane! Good wind breaker too.

Unless one is aspiring to open a second hand clothes shop or construction supply store, one is generally not appreciative of the unofficial dump that is the side of the road in the Peruvian desert. Having pushed the missile through a few deserts in Australia, USA and Mexico I have my benchmarks and this desert tops as the most deserted desert (sounds obvious) to date. Just plain eery. I think this feeling is derived from the fact that there is no flow in this desert. Simply nothing for 200km then boom suddenly a bigish city. It's hard to be mentally prepared for a desert when its disrupted by incongruous cities as opposed to a gradual immersion of small villages which develop into nothing. This stark contrast makes it all the eerier and probably makes it feel more isolated than it actually is. It's significant population of vultures and not a whole lot of fresh meat/ roadkill did also unsettle me somewhat as I feared I may feature on their menu....thankfully no duck-diving magpies like in Australia this time!

Poco a Poco.....little by little.

The town of Paijan in the middle of the desert is just another dusty desert town to most people. However for cyclists it acts as your best chance to make a travel insurance claim as the local "Moto" taxi drivers know the route is well trodden by vulnerable bicycle tourists who are easy targets in the remote desert. I proved to be just what they were waiting for and as I entered I spotted what I had been afraid of in my rear mirror, as 2 moto taxi's did a U turn and followed me busy calling another taxi on their mobile for back up. Knowing exactly what was going to happen I sped into the town trying not to look vulnerable......if you look like a victim you soon become one!! as they say. I took a series of turns to confirm my suspicions that they were indeed following me and to try and lose them but alas I quickly realised a "moto" has a speed advantage over a bicycle and found myself ducking into the first hotel I saw to hide.
 Deserts have their beauty too....if you cycle slow enough to spot it!

The lady at reception understood my predicament and graciously plied me with coffee until I planned my next move. She informed me they had to take the speed-bumps off the road through the town as if pickups slowed down all their goods in the back would be pinched. It would be fair to say the town hadn't many redeeming features and unlikely to ever feature in a lonely planet book as an idyllic desert oasis. Knowing full well the robbers would be waiting for me on the town exit my only chance of escape was to load myself onto a bus or take a dirt road that may or may not still exist along the coast. Checking the coast was clear I took  the latter option which had the added benefit of taking in the archeological sight of El Brujo which even merited a dot on my map. With a constant eye in my rear mirror and my pepper spray in its easy to reach Velcro position I headed into the sugar cane fields towards the archaeological sight.
 
 Novel nights accommodation in a dog center....no childish jibes please!

An hour later it was nearing dark as I reached the coastal sight but alas no town.....so much for the dot on my map. A collection of collapsing adobe huts sat at the edge of the site overlooking the ocean and I spotted a silhouette moving in the setting sun. Appearing like a genie out of a bottle I introduced myself to the fisherman as a tired cyclist who had literally reached the end of the road. He proposed me camping in the courtyard of the sole residents of the "village" which conveniently happened to be his good self, wife and the last son they hadn't managed to marry off yet. I divulged the fact that I was happily "married" to get that conversation out of the way straight away and positively RSVP'd the camping offer. While he marvelled at my Mac Gyver like moves setting up my tent his wife set about preparing the freshest ceviche possible caught seconds before my arrival. 
 
CBD El Brujo.

The evenings entertainment in this off the grid town, lacking in electricity and running water took a turn for the good with the 33% population increase that evening. I haven't enjoyed an evening as relaxed with perfect company as we dinned on delicious ceviche by candle light in a long time as much as I did that night. The atmospheric lighting was more to do with necessity more so than atmopheric fine dining etiquite. I will always remember that familys kindness and totally relaxed nature as if I was a returning old friend.




 
The following day I was armed with directions which were distant memories of an excursion to the beach years back. Obediently or stupidly I followed the canal, turned right at the 4th sugar cane field, turned left at the recently burned corn field and turned right at the canal again. Predictably somewhere in the equation I was truly lost but as always luck was on my side and came in the form of a man on a donkey who having once recovered from the sight of a girl on a bike in these parts composed himself and set me in the right direction but threw in "the track is awful" and a hesitant glance at my load. Lack of other options and a dwindling water supply kept me going until I met another fellow cyclist. He however was 90 plus, machete yielding man and on his way to tend to his fields. He reckoned he knew a way out and said follow me....then we were a party of two. All was going bumpingly well as we skated through rice paddy fields until suddenly we arrived at a canal traversing a dried river bed 300m below. I will always remember my reaction as it's not something i say often as i came to a defined stop like a soldier holding my bike like a rifle..."no". The line or in this case canal that needs to be crossed has been crossed...this is lunacy. Unsure if my self assigned guide was suffering from Alzheimers thinking he was 19 not 90 bashfully proposed "lets go". The suspended canal over the 300m drop consisted of a 20cm thick concrete trough that was 3m wide and 5 metres deep. My guide proposed walking on one side "walking the line" if you will whilst simultaneously pushing the missile on the other 20cm. With any luck in the likely event of falling you fall inward falling only 5 metres. Being the right side of 90 I reckoned i had more to lose on this excursion but mid pondering my friend was already attempting to haul the missile onto the death blank. For lack of a better idea I followed. My task was to stand behind the missile and steer it in the right direction. Given that i was squinting my eyes out of fear and pushing the bike with one finger I'd say i failed miserably at this task. In a bid to calm my nerves my new friend  yapped on about the history of the canal as I responded "mmmm" or at best "que interessante" for the longest 1.5km of my life. When we miraculously reached the other end to dry land in jubilation we jumped and hugged each other as if we had just discovered the south pole and he threw in a dance and a beaming smile for good measure. Special moments like this will be hard to forget.

Finicky eater don't push bicycles up mountains....guinea pig!

Turning many a head in a rural village following morning, I was then directed towards a dirt road directly by the coast, by directly I mean a fair bit of pushing was required through sand when the road momentarily turned into the beach on occasion. Well wheres the fun if you have it too easy, sea views AND a decent road....come on now. It was odd cycling metres from a beach and yet a desert on the other side of the road but not unpleasant I must admit given that your main fear in a desert is running out of water. After 30km of nothing and no sign of life (apart from a nudest who I reckon hadn't been uncovered before judging by his reaction) like an actual oasis in the desert Huanchaco appeared, a touristy surfing town. As I pedaled past cafes offering continental breakfast you are quickly reminded how off the grid you have been for manys a day. I pushed my bike into the cramped local market like trying to push a cow into a cornershop at home and dined on ceviche which compared to all other towns on the coast decreased in size as the touristic numbers increased. My lips were stinging like crazy from the lemon in the ceviche so I made a brave move and looked in my bicycle mirror at myself for the first time in a while. Boy had I let myself go....the dusty gravel on the dirt road was a shade of grey which i was now coated in. My misbehaving sooty stove had me with sprinkled with various smudged fingermarks from when I made attempts to rid mosquitoes that dined on me. For good measure I also had a splash or two of iodine on my face from when one tries to put iodine into water on a windy day. Well I'm always stared at on the bike anyway so now they at least had a reason to stare.
 

Canon de Pato.


 Like a hot knife through butter this road was literally carved out from the mountain.

Arriving in Trujillo a policeman spotted me and reckoned correctly I'd be looking for the famous "Casa de ciclistas" the oldest in south America which was started the year I was born so obviously quite recent! Lucho greeting me with "Mi casa es su casa" and a wealth of touring stories ensued. Boy is it refreshing to meet someone local who totally gets what you are doing and describes traveling by bicycle with the passion it deserves....."free like a bird, only on a bike are you truly alive". When asked if I had any problems with the missile I responded naively "not really" but given that your the best mechanic in south America it would probably do no harm to have a peak.
 
The Missiles surgeon, master mechanic and legend Lucho!

The diagnosis the following morning after staying up until 5am working on it was ...."not good but none the less respect for getting here alive on the state it was in". As they say ignorance is bliss and I always look at the Missile as if she is akin to a fine red wine appreciating in value with the years, sentimental value at least. Lucho perhaps thought otherwise but had to admit given the 30,000km it had done it had done well. To cut a long story short an overhaul was required and took a few days to carry out the surgery. While Lucho took care of the mechanical repairs I took care of the more cosmetic yet essential repairs. If you ever have 4 days to while away, perhaps try fixing lots of niggly little things you have been meaning to fix for a while in a city with all its markets spread in various corners and with locals who are unaccustomed to an Irish Spanish accent inquiring about uncustomary touristic requests such as a water heater, cement glue, waterproof silicon, cable velcro and the like. 
 
Are we there yet?.Canon de pato.

When I arrived in Trujillo I was unknowns to myself rather tense after the safety aspect of the desert region. I can honestly count on one hand the amount of conversations I had since I crossed the border that didn't contain the words "ladrones" "Peligro" and "mucho cuidado". (thieves, danger, take care) All well meaning advice of course but it wears thin after a while. After chatting with the other cyclists in residence with the same mindset that it's totally normal to push a bike and 50 KG of luggage up and downs the Andes I was quickly back in the right frame of mind. the customary chit chat among cyclists flowed.....whats the longest you've gone without a shower? What do you add to your porridge in the morning? Petrol or white gas in your stove? Do you kick or spray dogs? When washing yourself, clothes and dishes in the shower which do you wash first?....the usual banter! 


It never ceases to amaze me how ever bicycle tourer is different and you learn something new from each one. From Philip I learned to wear your shorts inside out when cooking to keep them clean (not sure i could be bothered though) From Ted I learned a few more tips to tame my temperamental stove, Lukas thought me a new design for an alcohol stove and a motivational cycling dance (it works too) and most importantly Nigel gave me my sense of humor back and an  unhealthy addiction to "emolientos".  Lucho the master taught me a lot notably don't be shy to treat your bike to more than kind words and an earnest motivational swift hand movement repeatedly from head to calves reminiscent of the karate kid ....."wax on...wax off". The message however was clear, get your head and your legs working in harmony and you'll find yourself in Cusco before you know it. He also remembered the windswept, weathered weary cyclist that arrived a few days prior and slipped some extra strong lip sun block in my pocket and a reminder to buy a new pair of sunglasses before I reach the salt flats in Bolivia....little does he know my  high sunglasses consumption rate on this trip and I doubt my present pair will make it to 4000m in one piece never mind Bolivia.
 
A pleasant day trip with Nigel fellow cyclist in the Casa de Ciclista, was to be had off the bike while it was having surgery to Chan Chan the capital of the Chimu empire meaning "Sun Sun" . It is an enormous mud-brick settlement and is the largest pre-Colombian city in South America. If you want to see adobe construction used to it's maximum this is the place as it's an entire city constructed in a maze like arrangement. The walls act as a protection from the wind which is the main erosion problem but it's simply remarkable that a simple mud construction can last hundreds of years with relief work paintings still in tact.




Chan Chhn.

Peru is not known as a haven of efficiency but one thing I will give them marks for efficiency on is their hair salons. Whilst simultaneously watching a "Novela" soap opera the hair dresser cut my hair in a record 2 minutes 47 seconds! Granted I'm not tremendously fussy about a good haircut since it turns to helmet hair after an hour of cycling but I still found it to be a jolly good result! At $1.25 I said hang the expense sometimes you just got to treat yourself!

With the bike in full working order it was time to hit the road....or dirt road up the "Canon de pato" to Huaraz. When describing the "Canon de pato" there is invariably descriptions of buses falling off the rough road that has been dug into the mountain and boasts no less than 50 or so tunnels. I lost count. It is a truly stunning route as you pass settlements with no electricity and often rely on houses that cheekily place a speed bump outside their door to slow traffic (the little that there is) and sell fruit. My first night was spent 40km from the next village in the middle of nowhere and found myself going a ridiculous ways off the road so as not to be seen camping. I could have lit a bonfire and none on the road would have seen me yet I paranoidly used my tiny head-torch minimally to avoid been seen. After sleeping in a city for over a week the stark contrast somehow put me on edge as I spent the night jumping every time the tent flapped.....the solution came in the form of ignorance is bliss as I put in my ear plugs and slept like a stone....on stones. 

But they said there would be a restaurant in 50km....they failed to mention it closed a few years back!

The following night I made for a "village" with the CBD consisting of three adobe mud huts with one boasting a faded "inka cola" poster that  gave evidence of a shop in existence at one time in the distant past. Given that the population of dogs outweighed inhabitants I thought it best to seek shelter in a building as opposed to a nights entertainment of throwing rocks at dogs all night. With no electricity life was not to be found in the customary manner of a light bulb instead I listened attentively for signs of life in the mostly abandoned houses. Soon I heard a transistor radio and made myself known "Hola, Bueanas Noches". The population was down to three this evening but the kind gentleman refused my request to camp in his garden and instead opened an adjacent building which contained 3 beds.....I was elated. My happiness soon faded when I was awoken during the night to the sound of scuttling. Grabbing my head torch I shone it round the room to discover it was in fact a dormitory.....a dormitory of no less than 11 rats.....on first count, perhaps more! Like a night club at closing time they all scuttled away with the light and their entry was no mystery as they shot for the gap under and above the door frame. 
 
 Said rat house....

The only solution would be to set up my tent but this seemed like quite at feat at 1am. I quickly packed my food away in its sealed bag as it was most likely the main attraction for the visitors. I covered my face in insect repellent, jumped into my silk sleeping bag liner to cover my body, popped in my ear plugs and prayed for the best. I awoke only once to shine my torch and see a train of them repeating their exit. Following morning in daylight I spotted rat prints on my pillow, on my kindle by my head and all over my bags.....doesn't bear thinking about! On the upside I am evidently still a very deep sleeper if I slept through all that and at thankfully they don't bite like in India.


Ahhhh that's why the place looks familiar....

Starting to get a bit nippy in the mountains....
 
 As I was saying a touch cold in the tent....


But it looks so cold....only the thought of coffee gets me out of my sleeping bag in the morning.....and the isn't half bad either.

By the time I reached Caraz 2 days later I was very much in need of a shower and a day off. Caraz plays little brother to the busier hiking city Huaraz further south. Caraz is a tranquil town brimming with indigenous locals and I always find the behavior of the dogs as a benchmark for the atmosphere in a town. It was all quiet ambling and wagging tails in this gem of a town  with a superb temperate climate......if one is looking to retire in Peru I'm marking this as the town to do so. Myself and the sole fireman Edwardo slipped into family life at the Bomberos taking turns to cook. I cringe to say this but i think he equally enjoyed my "breath of fresh air" company from an otherwise lonely job and as always I was delighted to slip into a "normal" life for a brief sojourn. After showering and removing the caked on mud from the dirt roads it became quite clear that the mud had acted as a natural plaster although not an entirely sanitary one and I was covered in blood from all my little tumbles off the bike on the rough roads. These tumbles were due to an appalling act of balance on my part and secondly due to rocks falling over head and hitting my helmet (take note mum wearing my helmet) and knocking me off the bike. Both incidents happened in such slow motion it was really the material comics are made from. Edwardo jumped into action like something out of a soap opera and had me sucking oxygen before I knew it, whilst he doused me in iodine and alcohol. I must admit the oxygen did wonders for my throbbing altitude induced headache so I happily allowed the over reaction to continue. 

Pig tucked up for bed in a clay oven, Caraz.
 
 Thieves at the meat market.....and further reasoning as to why I'm practically a vegetarian of late.

As I was preparing our coffee the following morning in the kitchen like I'd lived there all my life, there are simple moments like that that hit you now and then.....this is surreal! I never thought over 2 years ago I'd be making the head fireman coffee in the morning before we start up the truck and I get a city tour from a unique viewpoint....if a little noisy with the siren!

Hiking in Huaraz.

A swift days cycling brought me to the trekking capital of Peru, Huaraz. The only interruption came in the form of the "Bomberos" siring truck speeding up behind me on the road. I stopped and ducked off the road so they could easily pass but instead they grounded to a screeching halt right beside me and casually asked over the blaring siren if I was ok for water or needed anything. Blending into the casual nature of the interaction I assured them shouting over the siren that I was fine and gently suggested they may need to get going to some emergency down the road. 
 

With that I chomped on a wad of Coca leaves like a horse chews hay to get me up the road to Huaraz the hiking capital of Peru! 

 
The land of the sun , a country that boasts 4 worlds- the amazon, Andes, the coast and Galapagos, not to mention a dizzying array of scenery and cultures to experience. With these thoughts I crossed the border brimming with excitement.....only for it be knocked out of me on the first hill! 

 Sugar cane on the move!
 Mango vendor.

As I freewheeled to the border from Colombia I couldn't hold back a smile. Aged 27 I had now cycled a country for every year of my life thus far and a world of impressions, experiences and characters in between. I truly felt like I was living life to the full, exhausted every night, countless random yet wonderful experiences every day and waking up next morning to another day packed with adventures. Mid pondering I snapped out of my dreamy state and slipped into administration mode to attack the border. On the one hand I love borders as they are a great motivational boost as you inch into yet another country but they are also the last resort workplace for many the world over and this border was proving no different "Don't worry about your bike I'll mind it while you go get your passport stamp" was uttered by one drunk (8am) as he simultaneously tried to slip his hand into my rear pannier. Borders are sadly rarely wheelchair friendly...or bike and heavily laden panniers friendly but I got such a bad vibe from this border I wasn't going to let my bike out of my sight. I wish I could pedal with someone just for the border crossings sometimes! After eventually lugging my bike and load up the numerous steps to immigration (it would have to be on the 2nd floor!) I was heartily welcomed into Ecuador and had the stamp to prove it once we coaxed the printer into working .


Tulcan cemetery.

Next on the to do list was to rid myself of all Colombian money which was easily done given half the population at borders are money changers. Given  a decent exchange rate I was commenting to myself  how easy life can be, however when I recieved my money it fell rather short of what i expected so I borrowed her calculator and re-typed the sum but sure enough it was the same. I was about to agree and walk away when I decided I'd show off my long division skills on a piece of paper first....with that the lady was all smiles ..."Oh sorry I pressed the wrong button silly me" and presented me the correct amount. The cheeky lady had a button on the back of the calculator which I have no idea how it works but it knocks 30% off the rate. 30% is rather substantial but what can I say I'm slow off the starting block in the morning....but at least I noticed!

El Angel, Reserve.


 The popular cobble stones in Ecuador make you wish you had a softer saddle!
 
 North of Ibarra.





Ecuador is famed for it's UNESCO heritage town such as Quito and Cuenca but beyond the cities, the Ecuadorian landscape unfolds in all its startling variety. There are Andean villages renowned for their colorful textiles and sprawling markets, sweltering Afro-Ecuadorian towns standing in stark contrast to the misty Andes and remote settlements in the Amazon where shamans still harvest the traditional rainforest medicines of their ancestors. Before me lay a bicycle tourists Menu of adventures.....
 
Quito.

Tulcan the first town was a pleasant town and a welcome introduction to Ecuador. Given that the next bed lay 35km uphill on a cobbled road I decided to nurse my cold, drink copious amounts of fresh juices to the amazement of the market vendor, snack on flu medicine and painkillers for my shoulder and oddly enough visit the cemetery.I was assured it was a special cemetery as cemeteries don't normally lie high on my to do list. One of the most luxurious Fire-stations to date became my home with the thickest mattress I've seen in a long time....things were looking up in Ecuador! The fire-station was also home to another cyclist Anna from Australia.The second solo female cyclist I've met in person to date and both were Australian..... there must be something in the water there. Ecuadorian hospitality was also pulling out the trump card as we were invited for breakfast the following morning and laden with more touristic brochures / cd's etc than any touring cyclist could care for.....welcome to Ecuador indeed.

The wonders a siesta and a good nights sleep on an actual mattress (no offense to my trusty beloved 2cm Thermarest mattress) does leaving me fit and fighting the next day. Tempting offers of staying for lunch were hard to resist but I was eager to get keep going while I was on the up.....and up I went to El Angel. I'd heard of a dirt/cobbled road favored by cyclists which I was keen to get on but as I took the turn off the Police were having none of this. I pleaded, even lied that my imaginary friend was already in front of me on the road but given that they had been patrolling the road all morning my little white lie was not washing with them.....I reluctantly pushed my bike onto the Pan-am once more rather disappointed. Later in the day whilst sipping coffee at a local "Tienda" Police concerns from the morning became more clear when I overheard there had been some "Bandito" bandit action on my desired road the previous night. Bullet dodged.
 
The trusty steed "the missile" crossing the Equator. 

Going the long way round and backtracking I none the less made my initial destination. The jourrney was also spiced up when I met a young boy on a horse carrying two jerry cans of milk who offered to be my guide through the reserve to make a short cut on traffic free roads....I greatfully accepted and stunning scenery and tranquility followed. He spoke no spanish only some indigenous language so body language ensued and he seemed genuinely happy with the company as we exchanged smiles the entire journey. We stopped at a "junction" ....track roughly branched in two directions and after directing me in the right direction he pulled the reigns to return the way we had come. My puzzled face led him into hysterical laughter and he eventually communicated that he was afraid I'd miss this turn and had gone 8km out of his way (16km including round trip) to make sure I was on the right path. I thanked him profusely and gave him 2 bars of my emergency chocolate as a gesture of gratitude for such an incredibly kind act.
 

The track ceased 5km prior to my arrival leaving me emerging from the wild pushing my laden bike.... like a genie in a bottle if you will. I was met by dropped jaws as three locals sat on a bench and stared in amazement.  The biting cold of the town El Angel hit hard once I had stopped moving and armed with an address on a scrap of paper of a friend of a friend I swiftly set about keeping warm and deciphering street names. Finding said house I knocked only to find an endearing elderly couple hidden behind layers of ponchos and thick glasses. My best Spanish did little to explain how a sun burnt Irish cyclist in shorts and t-shirt looking very incongruous to the cold Andian surroundings claimed to know their daughter. They quickly composed themselves, diagnosed me as a harmless fool on a bike and decided to adopt me none the less. They seemed genuinely surprised when their daughter did return a few hours later and had indeed been expecting me.....expected or not didn't seem any form of an issue for this delightfully open family. Imagine sitting down for dinner at home one evening when a Tibetan on a yak claiming they know your son or daughter knocks on the door looking for a bed....that's about the equivalent!

Following morning I headed into the Reserve of El Angel which provided an 18km asent on a dirt road....road being a slight exaggeration most of the time. Numerous vehicles stopped to access my sanity reafirming it was "Muy largo" or "very far ". My arrival was timely as it was coffee and "empanada" (calorie loaded sweet fried dough) time for some local cyclists who arrived from the other direction and invited me to join the party. Steaming hot coffee and warm empanadas in the deepening mist was a very welcomed treat indeed. The other reward of the day came in the downhill, my teeth may have been rattling about my head on the rutted stoney dirt track but the views were simply stunning once I descended enough for the mist to disappear and for the sun to make an appearance. A memorable day made considerably more enjoyable by the fact that  I didn't have to lug all my gear up with me as they took a rest back down in the town with my new family.

A delightul downhill brought me from biting cold and misty El Angel to the sweltering heat in the Afro Ecuadorain Valle del Chota at the base of the town Ibarra where I was told "If the heat doesn't stun you the blacks will". Yes  there was indeed a black Afro community living in a town just before my final destination for the day, Ibarra. It's quite normal in South America I have noticed to call someone by their physical charactersics such as the "The fat one" "The fattest one" etc....at home you'd be up for harassment in the work place if you called your colleagues in such a manner! I'm simply known as the "Gringa" white foreigner on a "Bici" (bicycle) who may be a little "Loca"(crazy). Admitedly a fair representation! 

Ibarra was home to Arturo my host and world famous ice-cream and I was happy to greet both. I had totally forgotten it was Easter Sunday, given that I was travelling through remote parts of northern Ecuador on a bike this is hardly surprizing. Having made the journey to Ibarra in record time (for me anyway) I realized I had timed it nicely for a family Easter dinner and of course in typical Ecuadorian hospitality I was treated royally. Given that the only fish I am accostomed to eating on this journey is canned tuna, delicious fresh prawns made for an Easter meal to remember. Whilst in Ibarra I met Alturo's friend Eduardo another avid cyclist living in Quito who within moments of meeting each other offered me a place to stay with his family when I reached Quito.....and so I did!

Tethered horses lined the road out of town,  pegged to the ground by a stake and rope with a circle of mown grass around them as far as their rope would stretch. I'd be lying if the thought of swapping bike for horse didn't cross my mind given their frequency.

 Siesta time outside the Otovalan market.

An enjoyable afternoon was spent exploring the following town "the best market in South America" of Otavalo. Leaving the missile entrusted in  the police station I made my way on foot with camera in hand to explore the indigenous market town. If you have a hankering for all things woolen and hand-made this is the spot for you. If you already have bulging panniers ike I do, you will have to make do with photos which are much lighter. Otavalo seemed a friendly and prosperous place that takes pride in its heritage. The population consists of those of European descent, mestizos and indígenas (indigenous people). The indígenas, who mostly live in nearby villages, dress primarily in traditional attire and are very photogenic when they agree to have their photo taken. Mens attire consists of dark felt hats, short cotton pants, blue ponchos and long ponytails. Women on the other hand braid their hair and wear frilly, embroidered white blouses, long black skirts, fachalinas (headcloths) and bright layered necklaces.
 
 
 
 I couldn't help but smile as wide as these characters were. Life can be as simple as enjoying a good times with old friends.
 
 Quito, just another day in the office.

Cayambe before Quito was once of those charming little towns that you wouldn't find yourself in unless traveling by bicycle. Not enough attractions to draw a tourist but bed and food is enough to attract a cyclist. 5km before town as I was debating how tired I was and would I make it a few km's further to another town, when the "Bomberoes" slowed down in their rescue vehicle beside me to ask where I was planning on staying that night. Little convincing was required to install me in one of the most friendly "Bomberoes" to date where I was given my own room with attached TV lounge. I'm indulging and enjoying the fire-station life so much I may well have a future career for the next life! There is also something rather uplifting about starting your day by sliding down a pole! Todays Spanish lesson came from "Bombero" Angel who describes his love life like a "Novela" or soap opera and 2 hours of tragic and dramatic love stories ensued whilst I contributed a sympathetic nod or grimace when appropriate. His bid to add me to the tally of future stories was politely refused. Other than the fire-station the towns market was the only other memorable event where I watched in amazement as a gardening trowel of sugar (20 teaspoons?) was added to a glass of fresh "jugos" natural juice in the blender! I imagine dentistry would be a lucrative career in this town.

I'm practically a fire woman by default at this stage, especially with my present of an official t-shirt.
 

Quito the  rumored colonial capital of South America lived up to expectations. Unesco World Heritage Sites, lined with photogenic plazas, 17th-century churches and monasteries, and beautifully restored mansions. Wandering the cobblestone streets amid architectural treasures from Spanish colonial days is a fine way to delve into the past providing some fantastic photo opportunities. Quito proved to be a lot bigger than expected but after all it is the capital so I'm not sure why I expected otherwise. It is a city of contrasts with the "Centro Historico" only a stones throw from the new town and the nature encircling the bowl of buildings that make up the city in the valley bellow. Numerous attempts were made hiking to said mountains encircling the city in a bid for a good panorama and at 4000 plus metres they were hard earned.Flashbacks of gasping breath and headaches from my Himalayan days are becoming a reality in the Andes presently. 
 
Taking a breather in the middle of the road....an advantage of traffic free roads!

Staying with the extremely welcoming Ayala family made for a much appreciated change, slotting into family life, not constantly packing and unpacking my 4 bags every morning and instead of wondering where I would be sleeping that night I only had to question would I need one or two duvets. The tent, sleeping mat and sleeping bag got a break. Oh the luxurious life I lead....sometimes! I've met some families on my journey which I will be grateful to and remember for ever and the Ayala family is certainly one of them. Between taking Cable car rides up mountains, hiking to 4000m (I can clarify cycling and walking use different muscles uuuch) family dinners, dining on "ceviche" (raw fish) visiting the middle of the world that is the equator and ambling through the streets of the UNESCO old town..... I had a blast!


Exiting Quito by  bicycle was as enjoyable as entering it, not very. Passing two white bicycles which stood as memorials to recently deceased cyclists did little to settle my nerves but with no other route available I adjusted my mirror and tightened my helmet strap. I brushed tyres with 2 bullying buses on the outskirts of the city leaving me strangely rattled and felt the need to compose myself at the side of the road for a moment.....you'd think I'd be used to traffic at this stage. 30 deg heat didn't help much either. The tunnel out of the city also didn't permit cyclists, no complaints but the alternative was also less than ideal. A dirt track  hugging the cliff face 30cm wide at points which barely allowed my bike to pass never mind the two of us. A sheer drop off the side made me selfish as I jilted the missile and put her on the outside while I hugged the cliff face. I found myself replaying the security guards non pulsed flick of the finger as he directed me towards this route . Evidently he had never ventured up this path. The icing on the cake came in the form of a 3 tiered staircase which now possessed approximately 20% of the steps an agile youth would need to navigate the staircase. Turning around at this stage was actually impossible given the width of the path and so I removed the panniers and set about "bike-packing" and clambering down the staircase with the Missile on my shoulders. In my mind I demonstrated feline skill as I navigated the bare metal frame of the former staircase.....in reality im sure it was far removed from graceful. Two return visits to the top and I had all my baggage again, exhausted in the midday sun (thats what you get for leaving so late in the morning!) and I hadn't even left Quito yet!!

 
 Shop Cuenca.

A drawback with traveling like a local, camping many nights with local families,sleeping in small communities with little in the way of shops or accepting gracious invitations from friendly locals is that although you are 100% dropped into the culture you also eat like a local every day. This of course is what I signed up to when I chose my method of transport and I woudn't want it any other way.  In poorer rural parts meals can consist of nothing other than bread and sugared coffee for breakfast and dinner. Lunch being a more extravagant affair. Bread and coffee in the morning wouldn't get me up the first hill and solely bread in the evenings doesn't quite cut the mustard either so I have to ensure I've eaten before I arrive. As they tuck into their bread and coffee I can hardly whip out my canned tuna and avocado to taunt them, which they also implicitly refuse when offered. Some of the poorest families I've met particularly in the amazon region exist solely on stale bread enlivened in sugared coffee for breakfast and dinner. I find this bizarre as they only have to look out their window to see fish jumping in the river and the other window frames Guava trees with fruit rotting on the ground below and bananas and a multitude of other fruit an arm stretch away. I've encountered this problem in many a country and tend to just graze on fruit which requires no preparation as my solution. Given the price of fuel in Ecuador $1.45 a gallon (yes a gallon not a litre) it would appear I've found a country where it's possibly more cost efficient to fuel a car than to a fuel a cyclist!
 
Popcorn the Ecuadorian adaptation of croutons?

To continue my moaning my stomach had been acting up since Colombia so having met fellow cyclist Anna in Tulcan I took her advice and got myself tested for parasites. A way to "while away an afternoon" as Anna put it and so I did. The results confirmed my suspicions and revealed I had an impressive 9 squatters in my stomach. Between my cold, wonky shoulder and the parasites i'm on so many pills at this stage I reckon if you shook me I'd rattle!
It's not just the parasites on the up, thankfully the food is too. Being Irish I'm happy to see the trusty potato making a re-appearance on the menu once more. . .with an impressive 4000 varieties in existence it makes for an interesting change from rice. I know well the potato is a vegetable and it sure is treated as one here and very often the dominant if not sole vegetable on offer with rarely a green in sight. A token salad in the form of a shred of lettuce and tomato is not unknown however. Also not unknown in the smaller towns, is for the meal of the day to consist solely of rice, potato,spaghetti, yucca and a piece of chicken. Colourful it is not!
A particular favourite of mine in the highlands is "hornado" or whole roasted pig. In markets, vendors will slice tender morsels of meat right off the golden-brown carcass.  Fried porkskin sadly is popular in Ecuador too. It's just something I never got the swing of nor am I pushed to ever acquire a liking for it. Ever since the Colombian/ Equadorian border Cuy, or roasted guinea pig has been a feature on the menu and remains another popular highland meal, and is sometimes cooked on a spit and served whole....paws , teeth and all! For those of us more accustomed to seeing guinea pigs in pet shops it's a little unsettling at first.
 
Time stands still.


Portrait of the Missile.

 In more rural areas it's quite acceptable to pay a local family to prepare you a meal if no alternative is available and I have done so on a few occasions when desperate. On the outskirts of an indigenous village in northern Ecuador I came upon a woman preparing a guinea pig so I inquired if I coud purchase some. The old lady must have been 90 plus and spoke very little spanish (thats saying something coming from me) Before I knew it the missile was in a heap outside the door of the makeshift house, I was signalled to enter and within moments found myself muttering along to some chanting ritual while an elderly woman rubbed the inards of a "cuy" (guinea pig) on the stomach of a pregnant woman. Normally even if I can't understand the language I get the gist of whats going on.....this time I was totally clueless. Given the intensity of the occasion asking questions mid chant was out of the question but I was honored that they allowed, even invited me to such a private event....if event is the right word. All I wanted was something to eat yet spent the following hour entranced in this ritual which as far as I could make out was a blessing of some form for a healthy birth with the organs of the cuy taking the bad energy out of the body. That said I could be way off the mark so don't hold me to it. Surprizingly they were open to photos and after our throats were dry from chanting I bid the community of little indigenous old women farewell and assured them I chanted my heart out for the unborn child! I pedalled off bewildered, little the wiser and hungrier....




 
 
Guinea pig inards we rubbed on her pregnant stomach...as you do!


 We were all a bit worried mid chant but thankfully the inards and perhaps also my chanting made some contribution so we were all relieved in the end.

The amazon in Ecuador represented possibly my only chance to enter the amazon on my route. Given my affection for warmer climates my mind was made up as I left the heights of the Andes to the lowlands of the Amazon. Jungles in movies present an image of exotic fruits, colourful wildlife, sweltering heat etc which is all very true. They don't often show however the days on end of rain! My first day after descending from the delightful natural hot springs town of Papallacta in the mountains to the lowlands, I was hit with a stifling heat which left me like a drowsy fly after getting spray with insect repellant. Touching up my sunscreen I headed off the following morning only to be soaked within moments. My raincoat even with the help of my newly aquired "jenny" from colombia did their best but no fabric was going to hold out these buckets of rain. I now believe the phrase "bucketing down" has origins in the amazon and not solely in Ireland.
 

On the lonely stretches in the torrential rain you fixate on the brief interactions to power you up the net hill. A thumbs up, a jaunty beep of a horn, a smiling driver looking in his rear mirror, the cyclists that ply you with "empanadas" and coffee, the family in a pickup who overtake you slowly only to decide to relocate their picnic location a short ways down the road "thinking you might like to join us"....you hit the nail on the head with that thought! You need to experience the trying times to appreciate the good times and given my aversion for rain this was never clearer than my sodden journey through the amazon. If I needed further confirmation as to how wimpy I was moping in the rain,  the local children skipped down the road to school like it was a light drizzle whilst I had difficulty seeing a meter in front of me. 

Running out of dry socks by day two wasn't ideal and by day four I was about to confirm the presence of trench foot when finally the rain let up. I took a day off solely to dry clothes and it felt simply amazing just to be dry. A warm shower would have been the icing on the cake but no one likes a glutton!!

The Amazon.....just like the paintings!

The towns in the amazon solely stood as trading posts with indigenous people from far and wide in various traditional attire arriving to sell and buy goods. The towns seemed to be used to moving and shifting people and goods with a steady flow being felt in the town....everyone was doing something and going somewhere albeit slowly. A single store was like a minute Chinese "Walmart" where you could buy anything from a tractor tyre, a wedding cake, a bicycle or a rice cooker in the very same shop. Given the remote location prices where high and I often wondered where on earth the people got the money to pay for these goods given the majority of families I passed mainly survived from subsistence living. 

White water rafting was big business in these parts, boasting grade 5 rapids but given that I was consistently wet the prior 4 days this didn't feature very high on my to do list. The firemen in Macas however had other ideas and insisted a tubing adventure (a tractor tyre tube) down a class 5 river was a must. This coincided with their tubing rescue training so off I went in full fire-fighting attire to embark on a days tubing rescue training in the amazon. Much fun was had by all, perhaps lacking rescue training but the sentiment was there at least!
 
Pristine oil money Amazon roads. Reminded me of cycling through Brunei in Asia.

 

The towns offered tours to visit the "indigenous communities" with signposts on the roads to direct you towards them. Should the bigger towns have a sign saying "Normal people" ? I have seen that touristic line being crossed many a time in Asia too and can't bring myself to visit these villages as part of a tour where we watch them like animals in a zoo and the vast majority of the money going to the middle man and not the communities. Cruising through by bicycle presented no problems however with the children always being incredibly friendly and curious and the adults mostly so but not always. This is understandable given the majority of white people who visit arrive in a big air-con bus, pause for 10 minutes to take pictures and leave. Not much of an interaction.


 Gossiping locals in the Amazon. "She said what now?" ...."She never!"




Blue billed Toucan.

Sunny weather whilst cycling in the Ecuadorian amazon is simply life at it's best. A multitude of birds coming at you in all directions, monkeys trying to steal your lunch and my favoured blue billed toucan spotted 3 times. You feel as alive as the terrain you are cycling through. High % Deet is a must however saving your sanity from the mosquitoes and flies and apparently their was a recent malarial outbreak I was rather keen on avoiding too.

Not just the inhabitants that were colourful.

Apart from the rain my only other gripe in the amazon was the dogs as they are either very partial to Irish blood or they are more territorial. In a sole day I added 3 teeth tattoos to my ankles. On the upside value for money on my rabies injections! With advice from other cyclist I am now the proud owner of a piece of flexible tubing which is rather akin to a giant straw and happily flex it at snarling dogs with a swift kick to follow for the more persevering ones.
 
Cycling from the amazon to Cuenca was definitely my toughest ride in a while. 200km of solid incline keeps you honest! I stocked up with supplies as I imagined a night or two in the wild on this particular stretch. Little traffic, dry weather and friendly locals made the journey not only possible but enjoyable. The smooth road thanks to oil money provided a stark contrast to the makeshift houses that dotted it. Little other than the standard fare available worldwide in small shops were available: rusty sardine cans, dusty pasta packets and electric orange fizzy drinks. 

In one remote village one morning the road was lined with jerry cans full of fresh milk sitting in glacial streams to act like a natural fridge. All self restraint was used not to dip my water bottle in to be filled up. I could have made an epic latte to go had I not been so honest! Turning a bend I spotted free range chickens in a cornered off area but with the gate open and fresh eggs catching the morning sun and reflecting back at me.....well that's how I recalled the scene anyway. With nobody about to inquire about buying some eggs, not able to resist anymore I quickly grabbed 3 and left a dollar coin (more than 3 times the price) where the eggs had been laid. I hope the owners aren't disappointed in the future when their chicken ceases to lay dollar coins.

Cacao "chocolate" seeds drying by the roadside. To think your Cadbury's bar started here....

Just as the road was about to turn to rubble a local worker on the hydroelectric plant stopped to chat about my journey and informed me of a private route not on any map which climbed the mountain up to the town of Piernas and then allowed me follow a northerly route into Cuenca. A change of route but definitely a desirable one. He also offered to carry my bike in his pick-up past the check point and I could cycle freely pedal from there. The following 10 hours of cycling involved only traffic of the 4 legged variety, llamas, cows and dogs. At an indigenous settlement at 4700m I encountered my coldest night in a while in hotel "Mountain alps"....my tent. Too tired to even attempt to crank up the stove and cook, heaven came in the form of gifted soup  in a take away bowl and popcorn delivered by a shy little boy who was to be my neighbour for the night. Popcorn is the Ecuadorian adaptation of croutons I think, as it accompanies most soups. Once you get over the initial disappointment that no film/movie is to follow it's rather nice actually. Dusting frost from my tent the following morning whilst a llama tried to chew my panniers, I quickly proceeded down (at last!) to the town of Azogues to warm my bones. A short stop in the town to visit the Cathedral impressively built into the mountain towering over the city was a must before 30km on the noisy Pan-am highway I have grown to hate led me to Cuenca in need of a long rest....which is precisely what I got thanks to amazing host Sam.
Traffic in the amazon.

After wandering the colonial downtown of Cuenca, visiting the hot springs in Banos and not yet receiving my bank card in the post I decided to hike the Inca trail in nearby Cajas national park as I waited. I may not have been walking like a penguin for the next day or two but what a stunning hike. Over the 8ish hours I met only a pair of indigenous fishermen trying their look with inadequate bamboo rods. Perhaps it was their skill not their equipment but their fish bags showed no signs of any loot although their faces were alight as if they had just caught the catch of the day. They assured me a solo "Gringa" on this trail was a rare sight and deserved a smile, they then continued to apologize they had no fish to give me. I assured them I wasn't overly upset by this news as carrying a smelly fish in the mid-day sun in a backpack I had borrowed from Sam wasn't perhaps a superb idea. 

Camping neighbour in the depths of the amazon.

Two swift days cycling brought me to the town of Santa Rosa which doesn't feature in any guide book .....perhaps with good reason but this day it had no less than three Gringos as I had planned to meet cousin Rory and his new Fiance Cathy there as they made their way north. Last time I saw them was back in Sydney well over a year ago.....a subtle reminder how long the Missile and I have been chugging along! The previous night with an hour of daylight left I was wondering should I push on for another town or call it a day in Santa Isabel. A local at the junction told me the town lay only 5 mins away so I caved and turned off only to discover the town was hidden by a towering mountain and was infact over 1200m up to the town itself.....why didn't I just keep going! Off the bike and pushing due to the insane incline I gave the locals plenty of time to stare at this strange spectacle. Pushing through the centre on dirt road whilst the local drunks attempted to use the "Gringas" bike as a taxi trying to sit in the back.....I was not impressed and wasn't shy in letting them know this. I surprized myself with my knee jerk reaction of pushing the drunk off my bike....i think over the years I have become overly attached to the Missile!  As always the silver lining came in the form of a stunning view and a warm welcome at the Bomberos! 
 
 I also fell victim to the popular presidient Correa...he's even an avid cyclist!

Road works interrupted an otherwise perfect days cycling the following day with the only other interruptions being friendly locals stopping to offer me water, bananas and crabs ? in that order. I graciously accepted the former two and the novel live crab I accepted half expecting it to be a practical joke and swiftly gifted it to the next family house I saw. Alas my little camping pot simply isn't big enough to cook a giant crab! The final 30km was through "Chiquita" and "Del monte" territory and is apparently the largest producer o bananas in the word with the security guard at the petrol station informing me 25KG of bananas retail for $3. At 5 US$ cents a banana it's definitely an economical fruit here! Poor Rory and Cathy didn't quite have such an easy ride with protests blocking the roads the entire way to the border, however after a few Pilsner beers all was well again with the world!


Cajas National Park in perfect weather.

 


 Banana plantations as far as the eye could see before the border.
Having been gently kidnapped by the Bomberos on my y way into town the previous afternoon, I slid down the fire-pole the following morning after breakfast had been delivered in bed to me......there's a first for everything on this trip! With thousand year old civiizations awaiting me....and also thousands of opportunities to dine on delicious ceviche I turned my wheels towards Peru!