El Silencio

If the mind is full to the top with "I" and "mine," truth-discerning awareness cannot enter; if there is truth-discerning awareness, the "I" and "mine" disappears...

Ajahn Buddhadasa

So, after an excellent month and a half noodling around parts of the desert southwest with compadre Cass, I hopped a train to San Francisco, briefly reconnected with some of the SF bunch, dropped off El Gordo, and then caught a flight to Thailand barely a week later for the final chapter in a journey starting nearly two years ago. The first few days in Bangkok I immersed myself in the mash-up of its heat soaked urban intensity and its quieter Buddhist presence.  The chaos of Bangkok's china town provided a refuge of invisibility relative to the tranquillity found throughout the various Wats dotting the historic center.  After three days, it was time to head a bit further south and get after the main purpose of my sudden arrival in Southeast Asia - El Silencio - a ten day silent meditation retreat at Wat Suan Mokkh International Dharma Hermitage just outside of Surat Thani, Thailand.

Developing an on-again / off-again meditation practice during this entire trip with the help of Headspace, I felt a deep dive into a silent meditation retreat would be a fitting way of celebrating and honoring the final transition from Out For A While's wanderings towards a life a bit less on the road. 

In Colombia, I mentioned wanting to do a retreat to Barb and as she related her experience at Suan Mokkh the hook was set - 4am wake up, two vegetarian meals a day, a wooden pillow and a 8'x6' concrete dorm room, no electronics, no reading, no journaling -  just the right amount of asceticism.

Typical Daily Schedule:

04.00  ***  Wake up                 *** = Monastery bell

04.30  Morning Reading

04.45  Sitting meditation

05.15  Yoga / Exercise - Mindfulness in motion

07.00  ***  Dhamma talk & Sitting meditation

08.00  Breakfast & Chores

10.00  ***  Dhamma talk

11.00  Walking or standing meditation

11.45  ***  Sitting meditation

12.30  Lunch & chores

14.30  ***  Dhamma talk & Sitting meditation

15.30  Walking or standing meditation

16.15  ***  Sitting meditation

17.00  ***  Chanting & Loving Kindness meditation

18.00  Tea & hot springs

19.30  ***  Sitting meditation

20.00  Group walking meditation

20.30  ***  Sitting meditation

21.00  *** Bedtime

21.30  *** LIGHTS OUT

I slipped out of my monastic cell shortly after the first few gongs cut through the early morning darkness, walked the tree lined path towards the main hall and set my intention for the next ten days to simply appreciate the positive moments, the negative moments, and as many moments within the moments as I could.  Not too tight. Not too loose.  

Interestingly, the first three days were the easiest because the stiffness and soreness from sitting gave my mind something on which to focus.  Once that eased up, my restless mind was free to ping-pong around: What am I doing with my life - thinking -  I don't like that tai chi shirt one bit - thinking - I like that bird call - thinking - relax mr. sentient being -thinking - I feel fat - thinking - good to see that double handed wave - thinking - I need to do more push-ups - thinking - and on and on and on at breakneck speed....  

Day nine was by far the toughest because the schedule removed all the Dhamma talks and replaced them with more meditation - replicating a day in the life of a Thai monk.  I was a bit aggressive and sat for two hours straight in the morning, so by the end of the day my ability to concentrate and calm the Monkey Mind was zero.

Overall, each day brought some amazing meditation sessions and some where I could barely concentrate on my breath for more than a few seconds. And it was quite memorable to spend two weeks with a group of people from all walks of life silently sharing the same space and positive energy.  

Intellectually it's easy to comprehend the law of impermanence and know everything changes, nothing lasts, or stays the same. But when a monk gets you to spend multiple days mindfully considering it not as a passing thought but as a way of living it takes on a profoundly more significant character.

Don't let the mind create attachments to the good stuff. Don't let it get attached to the bad stuff. Walk it straight down the middle one moment at a time. Breath in now. Breath out impermanence. 

Or, in the words of the mind blower himself, Alan Watts, it is a contradiction in wanting to be perfectly secure in a universe whose very nature is momentariness and fluidity.

And we spent days mentally noodling around with "I" and "mine."   While I don't think I'll be able to eradicate the ego during the handful of laps around the sun I may have left, replacing "I" with "us" and "mine" with "ours" is one gigantic step and perspectival shift in the right direction.  

I especially liked one of the monk's stories he told during chanting meditation: "The fish don't see the water, the birds don't see the air, people don't see... people don't see the world and humanity." 

My least favorite part of the retreat - the morning of day eleven when everyone got their cell phone back and could talk.

On an afternoon ferry ride out to Ko Samui after we finished, I drew a life line of intention in my mind - After Wat Suan Mokkh | Before Wat Suan Mokkh. And that night in my hotel room, there was a copy of Without and Within – Questions and Answers on the Teachings of Theravada Buddhism with the following quote:

It is intention that propels us into relationships with things and determines the nature of those relationships.  Whether we take anything from situations, how we react to them, how we impose ourselves upon them lies within the power of intention. Whether we act upon unskillful mental states or skillful ones depends upon intention.

Phra Brahmagunabhorn (P.A. Payutto)

NOTES:

It's time to take it slow and shut 'er down.  Yup, sadly, this is the final Out For A While blog post. El Gordo's not seen his last stand but I'm going to step away from the blogosphere. I'll keep the site active, as the blogs I followed leading up to and during my trip were incredibly inspirational and extremely informative.  I hope the pictures, thoughts, and info spread throughout all of the various posts will help someone down the line get after their own journey.

Hold on tightly. Let go lightly!

New Mexico Off-Road Runner - Santa Fe to Las Cruces

After a bit of noodling around Santa Fe, it's time to get El Gordo back on the road for one last tour de New Mexico.  The New Mexico Off-Road Runner is a route combining a series of collaborative inputs from Cass and Gary Blakely's initial work on the Conquistadores Loop, Georges Mally of Santa Fe Mountain Adventures, whose faint singletrack we followed out of Santa Fe, and Matt Mason whose work on the Monumental Loop provide some scratchy Ocotillo miles into Las Cruces.

Cass, buddy Jeremy, and I roll out of town on the bike path through Lamy and quickly trace some squiggles up onto the mesa.

Georges Mally's seemingly encyclopedic knowledge of singletrack outside of Santa Fe made for some twisty fun as we ride his tire tracks in reverse for a while.

The following day after a surprisingly chilly night we head south under bright blue skies through more of the sublime vastness I have come to absolutely love about New Mexico.

A break in the fence line at the end of the day offers up a picture perfect campsite.

We roll into Moriarty the following morning to rendezvous with Gary Blakley. Unfortunately, Jeremy has to return to SF for that thing called a job.

First things first - bike line-up in Manzano - to christen Gary's shiny new rig.

New rig or not, 61 year old Gary can slay. Ex-ultra runner, thru-hiker, and long time mountain biker and bikepacker, I can only hope to ride half as well as he does when I'm his age.

We nudge up along the side of Gallo and Manzano peaks on quiet forest roads before dropping back down to the flat lands.

The other side of Abo Pass deposits us at the foot of this bolt straight stretch of pavement through one of Central New Mexico's desert grasslands, reminding me of northern Argentina's like minded straight shots.

I don't think I'll ever tire of these moments of horizontality and vastness.

Tough souls out here.

The RV park at the other end of the road is definitely big on packing heat.

Watered up for the night, we duck out onto the deserted stretch of old Highway 60 that swings us out toward the base of Pico Ladrón.  Late afternoon skies start to do their thing 

and set up a picture perfect sunset as we settle into a wash for the night.

Morning brings a near circumnavigation of Pico Ladrón, the high point in the larger Sierra Ladrones range. Sierra Ladrones or "Mountain of Thieves" was the preferred spot for Apache raiding parties and later for cattle rustlers who hid amongst its deeply folded contours.

On the other side of the Ladrones lies the ghost town of Riley, a late 1800's/early 1900's mining town.

Surprisingly, there is still an active church and fascinating cemetery reflecting the town's history and hardship.

Riley merges with the distant speckled hills as the afternoon swirling closes in.

A brief hailstorm catches us as the perfect lunch spot appears.  After my Bolivian "tuna" lunch grimness on the Tres Cordilleras Route, my pack is now always stuffed with tomatoes and other produce.   Gary on the other hand is flat-out hard core, especially, when it comes to food.  What wouldn't even be a snack for most mortals, sustains Gary all day long.  If you look closely, Gary can be seen digging into his 1/4 cup of quinoa with a piece of string cheese for a spoon.   

"Gary you want to borrow my spoon?"

"No, I'm good. Mine's somewhere on my bike. I'll find it later."

"Gary, you want a tomato?"

"Naw, I'm good."

From this moment forward, Gary will forever be remembered in my mind as String Cheese Gary, or simply SCG.

Just as quickly as the dark skies roll in they part and give us a ripping tailwind down along the eastern edge of the Cibola National Forest into Magdalena.

The rail line in Magdalena made it a critical point along the "Magdelena Livestock Driveway," a historic 125 mile cattle and sheep corridor that extended west to the town of Datil before splitting off to the north and south. Five to ten miles wide, the "driveway" hit its peak numbers in 1919 with 150,000 sheep and 21,600 cattle.  

Today Magdalena is a mix of wonderful old brick buildings, vintage signs, a library, a few burgeoning art studios, and a saloon serving up surprisingly good pizza.

Another chilly night deposits a dusting on the peaks as we cut across the eastern edge of the Plains of San Agustin in the morning.  The Plains are home to the radio astronomy observatory known as the Very Large Array and prominently featured in the movie Contact.  Unfortunately the VLA is on the western edge so we don't ride amongst them - something on the table for the next trip.

Long time compadres. 

A beat up Ford dump truck in the middle of the Plains is simply too good to pass up.

The desert floor slowly thaws as we continue up towards the snowy base of Mt. Withington.

Suns out, Guns out kind of day.

We top out as Gary enjoys fresh tracks.

The backside dries out as we descend through Bear Trap Canyon's flowy tracks before they deposit us

into a spectacular valley readying itself for an impending hailstorm, while awe inspiring New Mexican light pours down from above. 

Cass heads out to convene with a lone Pinon Pine at the end of the day while golden hour erupts.

The following day we head into the Black Range in the Gila National Forest, a stone's throw east from where the GDMBR passes.  Buttery smooth forest roads give way to a fun little singletrack connector along the CDT.

The Gila is hard to beat. 

A rocky, fun descent drops us into the heart of little traveled Chloride Canyon amongst towering rock walls.

A wall of Petroglyphs marks time gone by.  

Multiple shallow stream crossings keep the feet cool and mark the end of my second Gates Carbon Belt Drive (La Paz, Bolivia - Chloride Canyon, New Mexico), as a bit too much torque shears off about 3" of tired teeth.

While Chloride still has a few residents, it is mostly a ghost town showcasing its silver mining glory days.

We roll into the hard luck town of Winston towards the end of the day. The local's table gets awfully quiet in the General Store when I inquire whether that assault rifle for sale is considered cheap or expensive.

Not far out of town we tuck in for the evening amongst yet another stellar sunset and the longest shooting star flameout I have ever seen. We're taking a few full seconds here.  Cass and I have enough time to look at each other wide-eyed, half expecting a Roswellian tractor beam to lock-in on Gary.

We muscle through a stiff morning headwind into Truth or Consequences where Cass is mistaken as a movie star by a young child inquisitively wondering why he has one leg in the sink, as we "bird bath" off a few days of dirt in the Visitor's Center.

Later afternoon powerline riding and long shadows. Magic.

Morning brings more mellow squiggles

amongst flowering Yucca

and mini-super bloom swaths of yellow at the base of the Caballo Mountain Range.

Hitting the rail track, the prospect of a savory meal at the end of the fence in Hatch takes over.

No line length will deter three hungry bikepackers.  Sparky's is Hatch, New Mexico's must stop for mouth watering BBQ and epic shakes. As we enter the door, it becomes apparent that SCG's meager quinoa intake has been a calculated appetite saving strategy all along.

Hatch is also perhaps more importantly the "Green Chile Capital of the World." No small moniker. They shouldn't even ask you if you want green or red.

Properly stuffed, we head back out along mellow levee roads bounded by Pecan trees on either side. Tucked amongst the desert greens and browns, we stumble upon a stash of claretcup cacti in full bloom.

That half pound plate of brisket and oreo shake combo takes its toll as we hit an end of day push along the eastern section of the Monumental Loop. Requisite route hike-a-bike. Check.

Morning light makes the Doña Anas and the distant Organ Mountains look like a grade school theater set.

The last handful of miles have us squiggling along a faint scratching of trail on the outskirts of Las Cruces.  Gary and Cass clean every lose rocky climb while El Gordo and I bobble along behind.  

Prickly Ocotillo gives way to one last washy climb before we follow the power line road in into Las Cruces.

NOTES:

Here's the link to the  New Mexico Off Road Runner on Bikepacking.com.  

I can only hope I can ride as strong as Gary in the not too distant future; a true inspiration. 

And, Cass, well, no words are sufficient.  It has been a fantastic journey tracing your tracks and riding with you has been a true highlight of my life. Thanks compadre

Thanks Matt for all your help. Here's to more bobcat's wondering through your front yard.

The Southern Cal Rambler - San Diego to Los Angeles

Back on U.S. soil, Didier meets me at the San Diego airport clean cut and scrubbed of the Peruvian dirt we shared together several months back. A few email exchanges and kombuchas later, Compadre Cass meets us and the three of us head out to explore some of SoCal’s finest desert riding.  We spend the night in Campo, the southern terminus of the PCT, waiting out a storm.  Morning brings clear skies and a deadpan warning from a local to be careful about the "1700 canabalistic ISIS Kurds pouring across the border who were in a real bad way having survived a nuke strike in Mexico." Ok, then. We should probably get moving...   

Just a bit northeast of Campo lies Carrizo Canyon and the start of a lovely stretch of abandoned railway.  Originally laid down in the early 1900’s to connect San Diego to eastern cities, this section earned the moniker “The Impossible Railroad” as numerous trestles and tunnels were needed to thread track through twelve miles of remote and uncompromising terrain. 

First stop - abandoned cars tagged inside and out.

Trading stories, photographing each other, feeding off different perspectives on the surrounding landscape, or simply listening to some one else crunch along up ahead - it's good to be riding with partners again after a long stretch of solo riding.    

Sadly, MJ, the Bolivian Yungas slayer, didn't stick around for the reunion tour. Cinco it is.

Single track and some long dark tunnels wind us out deeper into the canyon. 

The highlight of the section is without a doubt this engineering gem wrapping across Goat Canyon. A 1932 earthquake collapsed the main tunnel and washed out the track, necessitating an alternate solution.  The resulting 600 foot long and 180 ft high trestle spanning the canyon is the longest and tallest curved wooden trestle in the States.

The latticework of dark timbers set against the surrounding desert grey is stunning.

Deep shadows and crisp light mark days end as we set up camp along the southern edge of Anza-Borrego Desert State Park.  

Unfortunately, Didier has to peel off and heads back to San Diego the following day as Cass and I push on and enjoy some washy, plus sized riding through Canyon Sin Nombre.

Scraggily Ocotillo's up on the plateau dot the landscape in all directions.

One of the things I like most about the Desert Southwest is the expansive scale and those moments where you can truly appreciate the immensity of this this pale blue dot we call home. 

Chasing the setting sun, we arrive in Borrego Springs in time to take in a few of local artist Richard Breceda's roadside pieces.  Spread out around the valley floor, the steel works include prehistoric mammals, elephants, scorpions and a 350-foot-long dragon headed serpent. 

Apart from sculptures, Borrego Springs is a hotbed of tourist activity when the wildflower bloom occurs. We're a few days early for the full bloom, but there are a number of early birds popping up just outside of town in Coyote Canyon. 

The flowering tips of the Ocotillo.

The Fishhook, which rings the top of barrel cacti. This one getting ready to bloom.

The Desert Chicory.

And the Desert Lily.

With our wildflower checklist complete, we push on towards Salton City picking up some sandy miles along Truckhaven Trail to break up a bit of paved riding.

Under afternoon skies, we duck down into one of the many washes littered throughout the area and come upon a spectacular series of lunar mud formations just outside of Salton City.

We spend the night amongst tricked out "jeeper's" pouring into Salton City for the Tierra Del Sol Desert Safari.

One of the things about being Stateside is I can more easily understand side conversations taking place around me.  "You fishing out them Muslims?" asks one jeep banger to a Border Patrol Agent while I order a breakfast burrito. Welcome to Trumplandia. We should deport your dumb ass, dude.  

From Salton City we head south and pick up the soon to be minted Stagecoach 500 (an alternate additional leg to the Stagecoach 400). A quick detour for the infamous Westmorland Date Shake is an automatic.  Medjool dates, vanilla ice cream and almond milk blended deliciousness. I plow through two shakes with little hesitation. 

A series of levee roads run us through gridded farm land out along the southern edge of the Salton Sea.  Long a place I've wanted to visit, the Salton Sea has a continually unfolding history.  

Over millions of years, the Colorado River naturally flowed in and out of the valley every 400-500 years. With no outlet, the valley would alternate between a fresh water lake, an increasingly saline lake, and a bone-dry basin. In the early 1900’s, water from the Colorado was redirected into the valley through a series of engineered canals to establish a farming economy. Like all things that result from humankind's attempt to control nature, the mighty Colorado breached the engineered canals in a 1905 runoff and inundated the basin for two years creating the Salton Sink, before the "leak" could be plugged.  In the late 50’s a rebranding effort changed the name to Salton Sea and established the area as a resort getaway for Los Angeles. A series of resorts were built on both sides of the lake that saw the likes of Frank Sinatra roaming the shores in its heyday. 

Since the 60's, high salinity levels and agricultural runoff has turned the Sea into an ever- increasing toxic soup bringing about the demise of the resort culture.  With the potential of toxic dust affecting neighboring cities should the lake be allowed to dry up naturally, there has been an ongoing campaign since the 90's to “Save Salton Sea.”  With water rights at the forefront of the battle, let’s just say it’s complicated and one more poignant reminder that Nature Bats Last.

Mad Maxian roads.

An abandoned hotspring marks one of many leftovers from the glory years.  

One can never get enough of that desert sign typography.

Rounding the bottom of the Sea, we head for Slab City's Salvation Mountain as the golden hour settles in.  

First rays of light the following morning award us from our perch on the bluff.

Slab City is where Christopher Mccandless kicked off his nomadic adventures in the movie Into the Wild.  Set in the Sonoran Desert, its name is taken from the concrete slabs remaining from the abandoned WWII Marine Corp Barracks of Camp Dunlap. Some come to escape the “Man” while others come for a free place to live before the summer heat cranks up.  When the “snowbirds” (those who stay only for the winter) leave the number of year round “slabbers” drops to around 100 hearty residents.  Without running water, an electrical or a sewage system, The Slabs is about as close to an anarchist community as I’ve seen with two governing rules: (1) be nice and (2) don’t get in anyone else’s business. 

As we cruise around the following morning, we spy a Slabber taking in the morning view from a lounge chair on top of this beautifully muraled water tank that he's claimed for his home. I imagine a Thunderdome set up beneath with Tina barking out "Two men enter, one man leave!"

Repent!

It's hard to get anywhere in Slab City with camera in hand.

After a brief visit at the library and the outdoor performance stage, the Range, we head towards the art installation East Jesus on the far side of town. 

Never passing up an opportunity, we chat it up with one of the "Slabbers"  along the way who says he’s preparing himself mentally for the months of 120+ degree temps to come. Puerto Rican by descent and ex-military, all I can focus on are the size of his gigantic hands gripping the top of the fence and his dreads as he educates us about some flag conspiracy theory.

Cass deftly diverts the theoretical musings towards things more concrete like water and temperature, allowing a less abrupt escape.

East Jesus is the commercial brother of Salvation Mountain.

I think they should re-do this for Señor shithead's reign.

One of my favorites. 

Worried I might just stay, we make a break for it along the canal road out of town and wind our way up along the eastern edge of the Salton Sea.

From certain vantage points, the water looks beautiful, belying its slow death.

Night-ops bring us to the other side of Coachella and sets us up perfectly for a morning climb up through Berdoo Canyon into the far edge of Joshua Tree National Park. 

It's hard not to want to jump off the bike and wander amongst all of the fantastic rock formations.

I swear Cass' ULTAMID 2 zipper is programmed to open up at 5:45 am.  There are obvious benefits though...

After a gusty and freezing night at Jumbo Rocks campground, it's an all layers on and frozen finger tips kind of morning as we noodle out amongst Suessian trees under crystal clear skies.

El Gordo feeling the love.

Ahh those rocks.

Out of the park we head up through Pioneertown with an obligatory beer stop at Pappy & Harriet's Pioneertown Palace; a classic spot that has hosted the likes of Mr. Russell for generations.

The following day we head up Burns Canyon Road towards Big Bear amongst gnarled and more grandfatherly like Joshua trees.

Cinco stopping to pay respects to this fallen old-timer. 

After a few days of relaxing in Big Bear, we leave the desert wanderings behind and head back out.

Paralleling the PCT, we cut through an old burn area outside of Fawnskin on head swiveling deserted jeep track.

A definite perk of being back in the States is the Kimchi burrito.

Reminding me of the Tahoe Rim Trail, we enjoy some afternoon flowy stuff amongst the peppered granite and earthy smells of pine trees and sage.

Cinco picking his way down Devils Slide just outside of Lake Arrowhead.

The following day we head up and over Cleghorn Mountain.  From the top, the southern edge of Angeles National Forest reveals itself with the San Gabriel Mountain's rugged folds and Mount Baldy's snow capped peak beyond .  Standing in stark contrast, the crisp lines of train tracks and freeways snake along below.

Hesitant to leave, each descending kilometer heightens the drone of the freeway. After a quick resupply we head for quieter roads and make our way up to Lytle Creek.

Morning brings a steady climb up towards the snowy backside of Mount Baldy.

Cinco threading the thining line of dirt.

And to think I thought I'd left behind the hike-a-bikes in Ecuador...

After a few miles of slushy off-camber slogging, we duck under the ski inbounds sign and emerge amongst a throng of weekenders enjoying the waning days of a stout snow season.

With our Mount Baldy efforts a quick thing of the past after a few hairpin turns, the following day has us strap on the climbing legs once again for close to 2000 m of grinding.

California's unprecedented story season ensures it's not easy.

Topping out, we descend along the old Lowe Railway a bit before calling it a day at one of my now favorite campsites. Listening to the drone of LA breathing below as the city lights came alive is a memory that will be forever etched in my memory. Goodnight LA.

ROUTE:

In short, this route is a fantastic early spring or late fall ride. Each day saw spectacular cultural and natural highlights stitched together along quiet dirt roads with just a few stretches of pavement.  

Look for a Cass route summary at Bikepacking.com in the near future for GPS files, pertinent route info, and a sure to be much better stack of photos.  

Don Jones

I found out recently from a friend in SF that Don Jones passed away this past January.  

Don clawed his way out of homelessness and dark times in the Tenderloin and was a staple along Polk Street in Russian Hill, selling the homeless newspaper Street Sheet.  He always brought a smile to the faces of those who passed within his orbit. And for those fortunate enough to get to know him more, he perpetually offered a profound sense of positivity and genuine kindness.  Our conversations reminded me on numerous occasions of the stupidity of the gripes looping around in my head and of the preciousness of life.

Before I left for this trip, I made a deep clean of my apartment.  One of my treasured objects was that SF Giants hat Don is wearing above. I bought my mom that hat to wear as her chemotherapy kicked in and passed it on to Don so she could look out for him while I was gone. She took care of a lot of people and he looked after a lot of people in his own way.  They are kindred spirits and spiritual reminders to appreciate the moment and the space between the moments every day.  

RIP amigo. You live on in all of us who were incredibly fortunate to know you.

Chao South America

Medellin is a bit overwhelming at first, but pretty quickly I settle into enjoying the wonderful parks, museums, and fantastic weather.  Having nine days to kick about before meeting Barb up in Cartagena, there's a nice non-rushed pace that gives me time to re-visit places or spend an entire day in the botanical garden. 

Impossible to capture the subtlety of this art piece at the Museo de Arte Moderno, it is one of the most beautiful pieces I've come across on this trip.  A series of Rothko-esque paintings on scrim, stacked one after another, create an ethereal piece simultaneously solid and translucent.

The streets of Medellin are ripe with murals.

A trip to Parque Arvi and Parque Ecological park seems like a good days activity but leaves me scratching my head a bit as both parks seems largely inaccessible without much in the way of the hiking trails I was expecting when I got off the metro cable. But, the views out over the city from the metro cable are fantastic and definitely worth the trip just for that.

I originally met Dieter and Marcela back in Ecuador's highlands as they rumbled past in their Oregon plated Toyota.  Reconnecting while they await final touches on a rebuilt engine, we share some great laughs and views for the afternoon. Suerte Amigos.

After a lengthy stay in Medellin, I hop a flight north to the beautifully picturesque colonial city of Cartagena to rendezvous with Barb.

The Caribbean cultural shift is immediately apparent.

We duck into a few museums to escape the mid day heat and take in the culture.  Palacio de la Inquisicion is by far the favorite. Set in a beautiful courtyard building and chock full of information, the museum showcases the Catholic Church's grisly years spent trying to purge the surrounding territories of heresy and witchcraft.

One of many gnarly torture devices.

Next it's the impenetrable fortress of Castillo de San Felipe de Barajas that sits just outside the walled section of the city.  A massive military complex, it stands in stark contrast to the modern high-rise towers scattered throughout Bocagrande.

Beneath the complex is a warren of tunnels that provided escape routes and supply locations. 

After a few days taking in Cartagena's sites and mingling with the Tommy Bahamas' of the world, we head north for the mellower thatched hut shores of Palomino.  Morning yoga on the beach, great veggie meals, beach walks, and a lazy tubing trip - not bad. Not bad at all.

Backtracking towards Cartagena a bit, we spend the last few days at Villa Maria - a swanky lodge a stones throw from a nearly deserted stretch of Caribbean white sands.

It feels like a nice closed circle to have wound down my time in South America with Barb.  Integral to nudging me out the door, I feel extremely grateful that I listened to her "do it" from way back when. Thanks B!

One of the things I will miss most about South America is the simple word buenos; a shortened greeting with an implied morning/afternoon/evening depending on the time of day.

I have no idea how many times it has rolled off my tongue during my time down here and how many times it has been said to me.  It is so utterly positive and welcoming, minimally capturing the pure warmth of South America culture. 

Buenos noches South America y gracias para todo.

San Gil to Medellin

I haven't seen a 3D map like this in ages. This one of Colombia in Hostel San Gil brings back fond memories of the one my family had of the U.S.  As a kid, I remember tracing my fingers along the contours of the Continental Divide for hours and hours.

The spine of the Colombian Andes fans out a bit as it extends north from the border town of Ipiales, creating two main valleys. I've zig-zagged across the central spine a few times now.  The time has come for one remaining traverse and one last climb, which will deposit me in Medellin and bring the South American cycling portion of this journey, sadly, to a close.

In San Gil I skip the "adventure" capital of Colombia's bungee jumping and caving trip offerings and instead opt to stroll through the mercado enjoying the ever-changing sights, sounds, and smells.  A far cry from our homogenized grocery stores with perfectly polished apples, the mercados throughout South America are as much social mixing pots as they are places to buy goods. 

Fresh fruits are sourced from stalls an arms length away and quickly blended into healthy juices.  Here, the end of a long line of happy customers.

An easy morning ride outside of San Gil brings me to the white washed and cobbled Spanish colonial town of Barichara - weekend playground for wealthy Colombians and often location for Spanish-language films and telenovelas.  Smaller than Villa de Leyva, the touristy vibe is a bit more bohemian and not quiet as overwhelming. 

Parque Jorge Delgado Sierra is a small park at the top of town and home to 22 stone sculptures, showcasing the town's long history of carvers.  

It's also a good spot to take in sweeping sunset views over the surrounding valley.

A wonderful stretch of dirt swings me east through Zapatoca and San Vicente de Chucuri as I slowly descend down towards the valley floor.

Try as I might, there appears to be no way around an 80 km stretch of Ruta del Sol paralleling the mighty Rio Magdelana, short of riding the railroad tracks. The two-lane highway is a major trucking route and the constant line of eighteen wheelers streaming past make me grateful for every ounce of the crunchy stuff I've be able to ride.

Fast flat riding between Puerto Berrio and Puero Nare bring me past a handful of huge finca's stretching out across the steamy lowlands.  I spend the night just outside of Puerto Nare, where the road spits towards Guatape, trying as best as I can to understand fast-talking Ronaldo tell me about the changes he's seen and experienced throughout his country. His pride runs deep - a consistent thread running through all the wonderful Colombians I've meet.

I emerge out of the quiet back roads to the Sunday sounds of music, clomping horse hoofs, and motorcycles filling the streets of Puerto Garza.

In Guatape I ease past throngs of weekend peeps from Medellin and stake out a nice spot at Hostel Casa Encuentro outside of town overlooking the water and Piedra del Penol beyond. 

The town is full of these moto chivas modeled after the giants usually lumbering around the back roads.

Complete with mini murals.

Late afternoon light.

Heading into the outskirts of Marnilla, local Alirio rides up behind me, invites me to lunch, gives me a tour of town and then invites me up the hill to meet his mom and sister.  Colombian hospitality has never ceased to amaze me on a daily basis. 

After nearly fifteen months on the road, I drop into Medellin weaving in amongst the stream of late afternoon and roll to a stop at the Black Sheep Hostel. Sadly, this time the stop is the last one El Gordo and I will be making together in South America.  It is surreal to say the least and will take some time to settle in.  

I've been asked many times how far it has been. To be honest, I have no idea. For me, the most important thing was simply making the decision to step away from the norm and experience the stunning environments, vibrant cultures, and the people's warmth, kindness and generosity.  Over the last few days, my mind has been replaying one highlight clip after another. Gracias, South America and gracias to all you peeps I shared some rode time with along the way!

Route:

San Gil - Barichara - Galan - Zapatoca - San Vicente de Chucuri - El Cruce - Puerto Berrio - San Rafael - Guatape - Medellin

My GPS route

Notes:

(1) Color de Homiga Hostel in Barichara is resonable priced (22,000 COP) and a wonderfully chill place just off the main square. In hindsight I would have spent a few days off the bike here rather than in San Gil.

(2) The 80 km stretch of Ruta 45 (Ruta del Sol) I did in order to connect San Vicente to Puerto Berrio via El Cruce is pretty dangerous. I've never ridden with as many trucks.  I tried to find an alternate, but nothing seemed to connect other than potentially riding the rail line off to the east.  If I were to do this again I might have gone south from Barichara to Velez and then cut across on Ruta 62 to Cimitarra to what appears to be a series of dirt roads bringing one out well south of El Cruce.     

(3) Hostel Casa Encuentro in Guatape is a splurge (40,000 COP with breakfast and free coffee) but it's a wonderfully chill place away from the crowds while still being a quick walk to town.

Boyaca Wanderings

Colombia has taken a bit of recalibration on my part after being turned into, admittedly, an incredibly spoiled brat by Bolivia, Peru, and Ecuador.  In a way, large parts of Colombia are sometimes more about getting to the next place.  I try to rationalize that it's part of long distance touring, and it definitely is.  But once you get used to endless miles of dirt, man it sure is tough to go back to consecutive days of white line tire humming. That said, the department of Boyaca delivers the near consistent dirt road wanderings I've been craving since crossing the border. For me, it offers the best riding in Colombia.

With one of the largest, if not the largest, cobbled squares in South America, Villa Leyva definitely has it figured out urbanistically; public use fronts just about every inch of the plaza instead of lifeless government buildings and blank walls. From dawn until night, the main square is full of activity.  And with cobbles throughout the entire urban core, cars and people move along at roughly the same pace. 

After a few relaxing days of relatively sunny dry weather, too much coffee and gelato it's time to pick up Dean and Dang's newly minted Oh Boyaca route up towards San Gil.  

Outside of Gambita it feels almost like rural Vermont with dairy farms stacked up out on either side of the valley. Sadly, I miss the bullfight in Gambita by a day as their festival winds down and the town begins to work off its hangover.

I camp halfway between Gambit and Belen as rain sheets down throughout the night. Morning brings the remains of an inversion as I finish off the last few hundred meters of the day's first roller. 

Some local recon and a couple of stream crossings deposit me onto a nearly deserted jeep track, which cuts across the valley saving me 1.000m of climbing. One thing that will remain etched in my mind after this trip is over is the look of locals who turn the corner on their horse and find a sweaty gringo coming at them on a... what the hell is that thing...

I watch the sky morph towards its afternoon activity before creeping over the second pass and descend into Belen in freezing cold rain. 

After a night drying out, I swing past Paz de Rio.  It's oro negro country out here and this is a hardworking mining town.  A chairlift like system transports cars of iron and coal overhead between the adjacent valleys into the processing plant, while pro-mining murals line the descent into town.

Trying to kick a low grade cold, I spend two nights in Socha lounging about.  The following day, a brief stop in Socota to get water turns into an extended round of que es eso as my buddy gives El Gordo the once over squeeze.  Once he breaks the ice, all the timid adults swarm in for the typical questions and send me off with hearty handshakes.

The roadside shrines never get old and are always quirkily different.

I roll into Jericho, the highest town in Colombia, sitting at the not so high altitude of 3.100 m.  Apparently they rolled out the red carpet for Dean and Dang.  The only thing getting rolled out today seems to be an "eye problem" (i.e. the gringo stare down) So, I jam some food down in the park and let the banged up 11:30 am Poker swilling crowd do their thing.

A squiggly descent outside of town brings me into some spectacular foldy stuff to head-swivel away the afternoon climb.

Around the corner, I limp up a series of steep switchbacks into Chita and shut it down for the night.

A wonderful climb the next day brings me back up into the Paramo and slightly thinner air.

There are even some flowers on my favorite frailejones.

Surveying the mornings work from the top of the pass.

Arriving In Cocuy, I've heard threads along the way that Parque Nacional Natural El Cocuy is fully closed and some that it is only partially closed.  It's definitely closed at the moment. The road leading into the park is open, which allows access to a few lakes, but all the good glaciated stuff is closed.  And I'm not up for sneaking in out of respect for the U'wa's conflict with the Colombian government that has forced the closure.  The short of the issue is that the park is in U'aw indigenous territory and they have shut it down in response to the park agencies and government's apparent disrespect of their sacred land.  A more thorough right-up can be found at Amazon Watch.

From A Letter to the Colombian Minister of the Environment:

"Now is the opportune moment to leave a historic legacy for our future generations, in conservation, care for our mother earth. Because for all the money that man might have, he can't eat money if we don't have water for humanity's survival."
– U'wa letter to the white man

That the park is closed is selfishly sad because it seems like one of the best parts of Colombia.  But after having seen how the Chilean government has handled Torres del Paine, I'm actually all for it's closure until they get a clear strategy and respectful infrastructure for tourism in place. This is definitely a place to come back to once the conflict is resolved as the treking seems on par with the Huayhaush.

So after a day of noodling around Cocuy's uniformly painted mint green environs, I sadly leave PN Cocuy on the table for another visit.

The small pueblo of Panqueba directly below Cocuy is home to a whole series of murals. Top pick goes to the grim reaper.

I stop to chat with local mural painter Jose and his buddy Juan Carlos just before leaving town and they point me in the direction of El Espino where I can trace my way down along the edge of Rio Nevado Canyon.  Without a soul down there except the canyon dwellers, it's a spectacular section.

Morning rush hour traffic outside of Soata.

With passes running out for me in Colombia this one is particularly lovely as it winds its way down towards Onzaga on seldom used jeep track.

A fun little winder outside of San Joaquin takes me up and over to Mogotes. 

Spoting some squiggly lines loosely paralleling the road from Mohotes to San Gil, I opt for some pushing and a fantastic ruta viejo.  Other than a woman walking up the hill with a sack of potatoes on her back, it's deserted and a great backdoor entry into San Gil.

Route:

Dean and Dang's original route info can be found on Bikepacking.com.

I followed most of their route but my wanderings with alternates can be found on ridewithgps.

Notes:

Heading towards Belen from Gambita you go over two 3.800m passes.  In the Bikepacking.com gpx file, you descend down to roughly 2200 m after the first pass before beginning the climb back up to the second pass.  There is a shortcut on your way down from the first pass that will bring you across the valley and link back up with the main route at around 3200 m.  The only caveat to a 1.000m less climbing is there are two smallish stream crossings.  The second stream crossing has a tiny swinging bridge upstream, which i didn't see until I was already across. So maybe only one legitimate crossing... 

Bring your climbing legs for the alternates from Mogotes to San Gil. Both small stretches are winchers and probably a bit easier going towards San Gil, but they keep the road riding to a minimum.

Salento to Villa de Leyva

Plastic cups with a splash of wine make an odd clinking sound, but nonetheless it's a cool sound ringing in Xmas Eve in Salento.  This time a year ago, I was in El Chalten enjoying a snowy hike with "faith girl." Now a year and one stolen dog later it seems only fitting to do another hike to usher in Christmas; this time in Valle Cocora.

Located just outside of Salento, Cocora features a wonderful stand of towering Quindio wax palms - the national tree and symbol of Colombia.  At upwards of fifty meters, they hold Dr. Seussian court over bright green grassy fields below.   

Salento marks the southern edge of El Eje Cafetero otherwise known as coffee country.  I take a side trip to El Ocaso to bone up on my coffee production knowledge. One of the better coffee finca's in this area, I luck into a private tour.  Their sustainable growing practices are pretty well dialed. My tour guide is at a loss for words as I mention entire states in the US are covered only in corn. 

This ingenious invention removes the bean from its skin and is still a critical piece of the harvest without much having changed these days other than being motorized.

Brazil, Vietnam and Colombia produce roughly 70% of the beans on the world market with Colombia providing a significant percentage of that amount.  True to Open Veins of Latin America it's almost all exported, so outside of tourist hotspots like Salento you're hard pressed to find anything much better than a cup of Nescafe. 

A pour over to top off the tour.  The only thing missing was a $5 piece of toast...

It's been roughly two years since I've laid out consistent yogic mellow J's.  El Viajero hostel offers a free yoga class, which is more like Yin yoga and just what my creaky back needs.  Limbered up, it's time to get moving again.

I follow a wonderful squiggly line slicing through dense growth out past La Florida and into Santa Rosa.

Outside of Villa Maria, brings my kind of climbing - just up.  2.000 m later I leave the jungle like stuff behind and nudge up into the paramo ringing the northern slopes of Parque Nacional Natural Los Nevados.

The park has multiple volcanoes with Nevado del Ruiz at 5.300m being the most prominent.  A surprisingly near clear morning gives me a glimpse of Ruiz from my tent door.  Sadly, its glaciated crown is nearly completely gone.  

I can always tell how a day is going by my number of photos/stops.  In the space of a handful of miles, I pause multiple times to look down through the surrounding paramo and glaciated waterways cut generations ago. Beautiful.

A good spot for some Headspace as clouds begin to fill in.

A small laguna mirroring the always changing Colombian skies.

I run into Diego from Libano/Bogota running his Motobecane through the paces on a small tour from Bogota.  An adventure athlete, ultrarunner, and avid cyclist, we chat roadside for a while about his cool socks.

The following afternoon, I meet up with Diego again as he and his family welcomes me into their NYE activities, which includes watching the traditional "flour bombing" of everything that moves through the main square.  

Diego and his family are another reminder of how wonderfully generous and thoughtful the Colombian's are.

Just down from Libano, at the bottom of the valley, lies the remains of Armero; a sobering reminder of nature's raw power.  Nevada Ruiz erupted on November 13th, 1985.  The eruption melted summit glaciers and snow sending a series of three massive lahars down through the valley, completely wiping out the entire village. 20,000 of it's 29,000 inhabitants were killed almost instantly.

Other than a few buildings all that is left of the town are empty paths where vibrant streets once stood and markers indicating where houses and families once lived. 

Typically, we have a tendency to re-build in disaster zones, seemingly proving our resiliency.  In this moment, it seems, those who managed to survive wanted nothing more to do with their town and the memories buried in the mud.

The Colombian wring out:  sweat like a pig - wring out shirt - repeat.

After a long road stretch, I make my way through Zipaquira and over to Nemocon to check out the subterranean salt mine.

In one of the tunnels there is a narrow pool of perfectly still salt water reflecting the cavern roof and a series of lights. 

Who doesn't like a little Franz Kline inspiration.

From Nemocon I follow a short but fun section of single track meandering along the side of an old rail line.

The line runs up along the edge of one of many ridges in this area with views out over fertile plains below. 

Shortly before Laguna de Suesca the rail gets swapped out for a series of little traveled jeep roads. After days of slogging out road miles with bits of dirt interspersed, it feels good to link together a full day on the good stuff.

Guacheta - "Gotta live, gotta live, gotta live..."

Outside of Raquira a step morning climb brings me through mini Tatacoa before dropping into the white washed tourist mecca of Villa de Leyva.

ROUTE:

Salento - Chinchina - Villa Maria - Los Nevados - Linbano - Armero - Viani - San Francisco - Pacho - Zipaquira - Nemocon - Laguna de Suesca - El Crucero - Lenguazaqeu - Guacheta - Raquira - Villa de Leyva

Salento to Armero GPS file here

Armero to Villa de Leyva GPS file here

ROUTE NOTES:

To get from Salento over to Villa de Leyva entails some long road stretches.  I followed much of Dean and Dang's route, but managed to sniff out a bit more dirt here and there. The following route notes are written in the direction from south to north:

(01) There is a pretty beat up pueblo just before you enter Santa Rosa with nasty dogs.  Best to load up on a few rocks.

(02) If you head up into Los Nevados from Villa Maria through Gallinazo and past Hotel Thermals del Ruiz, the connection from this side of the park to Laguna Otun is closed without either a guide or the night time gate jump.  Cass gives a good write-up in his blog but they definitely weren't letting me through the gate, maybe I just happened to run into the wrong person. And, everyone I asked said the entry into the park was only from the Manizales side and not possible through Santa Rosa, but I don't think that's right.  The park is unfortunately supremely understaffed and lacking in clear information. Frustrating.

That said, the ride from Villa Maria to Libano is wonderful with good weather.

(03) If you stop in Libano, make sure you get a coffee in Cafe Aguila on the main square where they still brew up cups from the original espresso machine circa the early 1900's and ask to see the mini church just off the pool parlor.

(04) I missed the section Dean and Dang followed past Villeta up through Nocaima and on over to Supata. Don't miss this as riding east all the way to San Francisco (as I did) on that road is brutal. The file I uploaded has this correction included.

(05) Before Pacho, there's a way to cut across to just outside of Zipaquira on a dirt road.  I missed this but it looks like a good alternate.

(06) The old rail line I picked up has a tiny bit of pushing where it's too overgrown to ride, but it's a super fun section overall and you'll probably have reached your fill of pavement over the previous days.  You could probably ride this all the way from Zipaquira.

(07)  On the final km's into Villa de Leyva, I squirreled my way past some ladies house, under two fences (only about a hundred yards worth) and through the Granja de Avenstruces where you pick up rideable stuff again. You can stay on the road to avoid this if you want.

Colombia - San Agustin to Salento

From San Agustin, I swing wide across the Colombian Massif in search of a bit more dirt towards Popayan.  Just on the other side of the valley a few km's from San Agustin in San Jose de Los Isnos lays Alto de Los Idolos - another impressive archaeological site of burial chambers and stone funerary sculptures.

Afternoon skies do their thing as I leave Isnos and wind my way up to the truck stop village of El Marmol.

Roberto, digs the cockpit while fellow northbounders Tom and Ben from Australia and I catch-up over coffee before camping together for the night.

Back up at 3.000m, we skirt the southern edge of El Parque Nacional Natural Puracé the following day through fields of Frailejones.

Protective goddess mural. Check.

The white-walled, small colonial city of Popayan serves up a few lazy days of coffee and wanderings while I give a small infection some time to mend. 

I pick up a backroad out of Popayan transitioning from paved to dirt to single track before depositing me in some guys backyard. I can only imagine what he's thinking as a sweaty gringo with a weird bike leans against his fence asking for directions. 

Re-routed I pick my way through a few tiny villages high above the valley floor as locals kindly nudge me along.

A twisty descent and climb back up the other side of the valley brings me to the hard luck town of Purace for the night.

The following morning I head up into Parque Nacional Natural Purace.  A bit off the beaten tourist path, the park is wonderfully quite with a moss banked dirt road cutting through Frailejones and winding past a few of the four major Colombian rivers that originate here.  The weather is not great, so views of the countries most active volcano are not happening and I decide to skip hiking out to the laguna and the thermal pools.

From a highpoint of roughly 3.400m, I stand on the pedals for the rest of the afternoon and drop down to the sweaty lowlands and pick up some fast, tree lined riding outside of La Plata.

Bright greens and those Colombian skies.

After a night in gritty Neiva, I head out towards Baraya and pick up the quiet back door entrance to La Desierto Tatacoa.

Surrounded by humid heat and deafening insect sounds on either side of the park, the silence and dryness of Tatacoa seems like a geographic anomaly.  Encompassing roughly 350 square kilometers, the park is the second largest arid zone in Colombia behind the Guajira Peninsula up north. I hop off my bike and scamper around Los Hoyos enjoying the rich veins of greys and subtle yellows.

Not far from Los Hoyos is el Cuzco with its iron rich coloration reminding me of the Desert Southwest. Unfortunately, night skies are not clear enough to enjoy the observatory, but I team up with a great group of Germans and a Colombian for the night at Noches de Saturno. 

The following day I shake off a few too many Pokers as the desert transitions slowly back towards greener hues.

The day ends with a soulless 30k stretch of dangerous traffic, depositing me in the truck stop town of Saldana for the night.  The following morning, I follow a patchwork of tiny dirt roads.  As I close in on Rovira, a friendly local motions me over to the side of his truck with a fatherly look of concern on his face. He rattles of a few names of pueblo's I can't comprehend and but I clearly understand "it's a bit delicate."  After a few back and forth as I try to clarify, I show him my route on my GPS and he gives me a thumbs up.  Gracias Amigo. 

Pounding late afternoon rain has me put in a few more km's to seek a dry night in Ibague.  The following morning, I pick up a near silent route tortuously snaking its way in and out of the valley folds up towards Salento while the gear jamming of trucks echoes across the other side of the valley.

The simultaneous existence of more traditional ways of living barely a stones throw from the "progress" of a Dunkin' Donuts in Ibague is an aspect of South America that continues to amaze me.

Toche "wellcomes" me with open arms as an instant fat bike hour group materializes from nowhere. 

The one street town has an amazing array of casita colors in less than a hundred yards.

A wincher shortly out of Toche brings me back up above 3.000 m to ride amongst a few of the tall guys - Quindío wax palms.

Deep greens and one final in and out before topping out at 3.400m and standing on the pedals down into the tourist mecca of Salento to chill for a few days and ring in Xmas.

Route:

San Agustin - Isnos - Popayan - Purace - La Plata - Yaguara - Neiva - Baraya - Desierto Tatacoa - Saldana - San Luis - Rovira - Ibague - Toche - Salento

Original GPX Track

GPX Track for Popayan to Purace connector

Note:  The second "connector GPX track" between Popayan and Purace starts once you cross a bridge and take a hard right and then hard left up a hill.  The original file goes straight after the hard right to nowhere.  Also you'll see a bit of a "tail" in this file.  Skip this as this is where I ended up in a farmer's front yard. 

Colombia - Ipiales to San Agustin

Rain pounds down in the Ecuadorian border town of Tulcan, and other than a visit to the cemetery to marvel at the cool topiaries, there’s not much to do.  With errands run and a couple of cups of instant coffee downed, I settle in to figuring out my route through Colombia.

Everyone I've met heading south has their own tale of Colombian hospitality and warmth as the locals yearn to put some dark years behind them and show off a country with a lot more to offer than powdery noses for the western world.

With a fresh stamp in the passport, I make my way through gritty Ipiales for Cumbal and head up through old FARC territory to the Laguna.

Laguna Cumbal has, well, seen better days...

After a brief bit winding north along quiet dirt roads, it's on with the helmet to Tuquerres and up to Laguna Verde where clouds part momentarily to reveal the lake in all its glory.

I lost count of the blue laguna verdes in Chile.  Ripe with sulfuric content, this one is as green as they come. Stunning.

Not long out of Tuquerres, I sniff out a bit of lesser traveled road and dirt over towards Ancuya.

Recycling or drinking problem? Either or the favorite here is Poker - one of Colombia's "finest." 

A wincher up the other side of the valley from Ancuya deposits me into Sandora where I weave in amongst the afternoon mix of pedestrians, cars, and motorcycles mushing together and doing laps around the main square.

My luck riding between rain showers runs out the following day and it's a wet one to Pasto.

A day in Pasto brings requisite graffiti wanderings.

Navidad is in the air.  A few of the parks are covered in white foam with ten-meter high angels. The locals smile at my smile, sensing I probably know what the real stuff is all about.

Old school brass type.  Solid.

A cloudy morning breaks over Laguna de la Cocha as I head into the Sibundoy Valley.

The thin ribbon of dirt twisting its way over the sub tropical range separating San Francisco from Mocoa is known as EL Trampolin de la Muerte, which translates loosely as "a pretty nice dirt road with some yellow caution tape here and there."

The site of multiple yearly accidents, rank definitely has its privilege along El Trampolin. 

Thumbs-ups were not in short supply from those who make the daily grind. Gracias, Amigos.

The Temple of Brave Face.

Even when I pass military checkpoints on my way to San Agustin, the guys decked out with semi-automatics always flash a thumbs-up and big Colombian smile.

San Agustin and nearby Isnos are home to three separate parks (San Agustin Archaeological Park, Alto de los Idolos and Alto de Las Piedras) housing the largest collection of pre-Columbian megalithic funerary monuments, statuary, an burial mounds in South America. A short walk out of town, San Agustin's Archaeological Park is beautiful with beautiful stone carvings scattered amongst three main burial sites.

The grounds themselves are spectacular with Zen like paths connecting the three main mesitas and offering moments to simple listen to the sub tropical hum of the surrounding jungle.

ROUTE:

Tulcan – Cumbal – Tuquerres - Guaitarilla – Ancuya – Sandora - Pasto - Sibundoy - Mocoa - San Juan - San Agustin  GPX TRACK HERE  

Eco Reserves, Lagunas, and Frailejones - Adios Ecuador

Quito offers up warm sunny days, the standard over consumption of city food and coffee, and time to wander through the historic center's nooks and crannies.

A trip to Basilica del Voto Nacional – the largest neo-Gothic basilica in the Americas – includes a shaky-knee climb to the tower over the nave.  Technically unfinished, though hard to discern what exactly is incomplete, local legend has it that completion equates to the end of the world. 

I wander the city enjoying a "white walls of modernism" tour.   

With the pervasive increase in more "modern" western conveniences in Ecuador, it's always refreshing to see smaller, traditional ways of commerce still holding on.

I backtrack out of Quito on the ciclovia towards Pifo and pick up the mellower Trans Ecuador north.  Sadly, a grumbly stomach the day before thwarts the opportunity to swing by the Dammer Farm and say thanks to Michael in person for his help with routes and random questions along the way.

An on again off again wincher brings me up through a sliver of Cayambe-Coca Ecological Reserve. With nearly a million acres set aside, the Reserve offers a sublime setting of thick grasslands and crystal clear waters. Not on the typical tourist route, it is a study in silence.

I awake to views of Nevado Cayambe; the third highest mountain in Ecuador. And, somewhere out here I cross the Equator. 

From Cayambe, I cut across to Tabacundo and pick up a stout climb up to Laguna Mojanda and its smaller sibling Huarmichocha.

Otavalo mural.  Shame I put my bike in front of it...

A mellow, nearly out an back to Reserva Ecologica Cotachachi-Cayapas to see Laguna Cuicocha deposits me a stones thrown up the road in Cotachachi.

A day long climb up towards Pinan serves up a fantastic midway flat section along a water canal,

including two of these crossings.

The other side deposits me into tomate de arbol heaven.  A staple Ecuadorian fruit and my favorite in SA, these guys send me on my way with a few for the remaining climb.

Since it's Thanksgiving, I follow American tradition and stuff my face with an open-face avocado, cheese, onion, and la Sazon sandwich chased with an apple and a scoop of knock-off Nutella.

And this is what all the days efforts are about - pristine paramo Andino views and a thin squiggle of dirt meandering along. Magic.

Morning brings a decent into the isolated indigenous village of Pinan. 

Rodrigo and his Lee Chan whip escorts me around town with a stern eye.

I drop my bike at the tienda in town and hike out to Laguna Pinan.

Exiting Pinan turns into an ordeal. The whole town is encircled by five foot high dirt walls and drainage ditches equally as deep.  In the span of about a hundred yards, I  cut through someone's yard and piss off the dogs, heft my bike over two walls, cross a pig pen and a waist deep stream.  Then it's deep into the middle of the waist high grassy paramo.  Three hundred meters shy of the highpoint and about four miles before anything rideable, I turn around and make my way back to the edge of the village.  As I try to pry open a gate, a super nice local comes out to assist in hoisting my bike up and over another two walls, before I can escape.  The short of it is currently I can't get my bike on my back, which makes this type of hike-a-bike draining, to say the least.

I exit the village the way I entered, reconnecting with the road and the approaching late afternoon soup.

The following morning brings a long decent down to sweltering, greener lowlands.

I bottom out in Guadual at a roadside restaurant, where the nicest Colombian owners chat with me while I polish of a few Arepas con queso and jugo de guayaba. They send me off with an arepa for the road and hearty waves.

Crossing Rio Mira, I pick up a deserted old train track paralleling the main highway.

Tracks disappear and the slow creep upwards towards the border begins with a stop in La Concepcion for the night.

Outside of El Angel, I enter El Angel Ecological Reserve home to the frailejón. Standing between half a meter and seven meters high, they grow a scant 2.5 cm per year and cover the hills as far as the eye can see. Other than the park ranger, I have the meditative landscape to myself.  I stare in awe at the shear scale of their coverage while they resonate at different frequencies in the morning wind.

February and March are the main flowering months; one can only imagine the spectacular yellows spreading out in all directions.

El Angel Ecological Reserve marks a majestic end to my tour of Ecuador. It's easy to think the bulk of the Ecuadorian highlights exist between Cuenca and Quito, but there's so much more to the country and its biodiversity. Scratching the surface a bit deeper is worth every effort.

Route:

Quito - Pifo - Papallacta - Cayambe - Laguna Mojanda - Otavalo - Cotachachi - Pinan - Guadual - La Concepcion - El Angel - Tulcan

Notes:

For any of you following along on this blog with kids in the high school range who might be looking for a semester alternative to the classroom, please checkout either the Dammer's blog at eltraumara.blogspot.com or their Facebook page Nahual Aventura y Sustentabilidad.  I know Michael Dammer through following the routes he and Cass Gilbert put together and from his help with questions along my journey.  And while I don’t know all of the in’s and out’s of their program, it strikes me as an excellent opportunity to advance beyond traditional classroom settings and gain early leadership skills. I wish I had done something similar when I was getting ready to transition from high school to college.

Los Tres Volcanes: Salinas de Guaranda to Quito

After a mellow day kicking around Salinas de Guaranda enjoying the beginning of the festival, I head out onto Los Tres Volcanes with a few luxurious extra squiggles I add in for good measure.  Another of Cass Gilbert’s growing list of routes, Los Tres Volcanes links together three of Ecuador’s volcanic highlights: the perfectly conical Volcan Cotopaxi, the volcanica caldera of Laguna Quilotoa, and the glaciated mass of Volcan Chimborazo.  It feels good to be riding again at altitude as I follow anything but a direct path to Quito.

Leaving the chocolate and pizza behind, a quite dirt road brings me back up into rarified air, front and center with Volcan Chimborazo. An extinct volcano, Chimborazo is the highest mountain in Ecuador topping out at 6310 m.  Due to the earth’s equatorial bulge, it is the farthest point from the center of the earth, or, the closest point to the sun.

Approaching from the northwest, the bottom flank of the volcano is lunar like with occasional packs of vicuna roaming the arid expanse.

Days before, Chimborazo is out in all its glory without a cloud in sight. Today, not so.

Low on water and wearied by a painfully slow grassy paramo hike-a-bike, I drop down a bit and pick up some deserted jeep tracks ringing the backside.

Morning brings out the glaciated top of Chimborazo in full splendor, but only for a few precious minutes before clouds sweep in for the rest of the day. Its fleeting appearance makes the moments before all the more special.

Lush volcanic dirt roads bring me over to Urbina where I reconnect with the proper route. At one intersection, Jose, a local horse guide, flags me down with a bellowing amigo from the field and runs over for a chat.

Progress is slow but vistas beautiful as I cross the boggy valley floor and make my way up the equally soggy trail to a 4300 m pass on the northeast side.

One last parting glimpse before snaking my way down to a little thermal bathed community.

Morning brings a solid dose of pea soup and cobbles winding up over the 4250 m Loma de Puenebata Pass. 

Gale force winds and rain at the pass give way to sunny skies and New Mexico-esque rocky ripio wrapping around the valley. While the highlights of the route are certainly the volcanoes, the interstitial riding is fantastic.

By afternoon the clouds are in a constant state of contraction and expansion – sunny with distant views one moment, engulfed with near zero visibility the next. 

After a night in Angamarca, it's a two pass day over to Laguna Quilotoa along sublime dirt roads.

Late afternoon clouds completely obscure Quilotoa when I arrive.  I decide to take a day off upon awaking the following morning to clear blue skies, spending the morning wandering around the rim and down to the lake surface.  I have the hike nearly to myself, stopping at various points to watch cloud shadows play out against the lakes green surface far below.

The pull of the Black Sheep Inn - famed Ecuadorian Ecolodge just down the hill in Chugchilan is too hard to resist.  After a mere 20km, I park El Gordo for the day and enjoy the Inn's amazing grounds, eco atmosphere, and wabi-sabi detailing.

Crisp modernist detailing fits seamlessly with traditional roofing materials on the dorm house.

The yoga room is an absolute oasis.  I get some Headspace on and even roll out the mat for a few Mellow Johnnies.

"I stand tall as I remember the true sun is within me."

Bottles or all shapes, sizes, and color as wall infill are found throughout the property. Here, the shower.

Inside corner detail.

Composting toilet.  "The world is divided into two categories of people: those who shit in drinking water and those who don't."  J.C. Jenkins The Humanure Handbook

The power of a good graphic.

Grey water bathroom irrigation system.

It goes on and on.... door details

Stair details.

Resident baby llama, check.

Rounded off with the World's highest Frisbee Golf Course.

Apart from the completely chill nature of the property, a great group of people is here for a few days and we commiserate about the recent election over bottomless cups of coffee and handfuls of free cookies. Reluctantly, I pull myself away from the allure of ditching my bike and becoming a permanent volunteer at Black Sheep Inn.

Shortly out of the driveway of the Black Sheep Inn, I pick up a trail dropping down to a jeep track that mellows its way along the valley floor.

Arriving in Isinlivi, I decide to sit out what looks like an approaching wall of rain at Llullu Llama Hostel.  The resident pooch greets me at the door without the slightest of cracked eyelids before a pounding rain settles in for the day.

Casting off from a luxurious detour, I climb back up towards Laguna Quilotoa and pick up a stout sandy hike-a-bike.  I especially like the “where are you going???” questions from the locals tending to their fields as I inch upwards.

Mama.

The following day brings another turn around the sun as I head towards Volcan Cotopaxi, but celebratory priorities first.

Crossing the Panamerican Highway, I enter Parque Nacional Cotopaxi and pick up a series of dirt roads cutting through the heavily wooded northwest edge.  The circuit follows La Vuelta de Cotopaxi, and had I been a bit more tuned in I would have realized I was only two days away from seeing it, or riding against it... Instead I enjoy a few Honey Stinger gels that landed trailside.

After scrounging for water from left over piles of hail, I awake the following morning to a clear view of Cotopaxi from on high in the surrounding paramo. Magic.

GPS map reset at 4000 m. Step one - take a deep breath and be grateful for where you are.

Similar to my tour of Ausangate, I love visually experiencing the changing faces of Cotopaxi against its adjacent landscape.

Ruben and his buddy are all smiles away from the camera as I swing through the tiny hacienda waypoint - Tambo.

The second 4000 m pass of the day is nothing short of wonderful as the typical cloud cover holds off and gives me a full day of Cotopaxian bliss. 

The northeast edge of the park opens up to buttery smooth tracks and other worldly conical grass mounds.

Too cool to just pass in one setting, I set an early camp and enjoy the morning fog burn off.  

Bidding goodbye to the Park, I leave the last bit of the dirt wiggles behind and make my way over to Quito.

Route:

Los Tres Volcanes with a detour to Chugchilan (Black Sheep Inn) and Isinlivi (Lullu Llama Hostel) 

Thanks to Cass for formalizing another fantastic route; it's one not to be missed.

Notes:

For north bounders there is not much water in the following two locations:

(1) The Salinas side of Chimborazo.  The first road you come across after crossing the more lunar section at the base of Chimborazo will take you down to a refugio/park entrance if you need water. From here you can either easily link back up with the gps track or stay low following mostly dirt roads to Urbina and then link back up as I did.

(2) As you enter PN Cotopaxi from Mulalo there's not a reliable water source until you get over the first pass.  There is a stream you'll cross before you start up towards the pass, but it was only viable with a filter.

As you descend from Quilotoa (heading towards Cotopaxi) there is a new dirt road being put in from the first river crossing up to the plateau.  That hike-a-bike from the river (3200 m) up to the plateau (3450 m ) is a sandy grinder from this direction. South bounders enjoy.

Cuenca to Salinas de Guaranda

Rolling into Cuenca is like a homecoming of sorts. I know the city like the back of my hand and spending a few days off the bike with Elena and her extended family is fantastic. The Original Barber Shop goes to town on my mange and I emerge looking like a pre-teen Swedish boy.  Jen, Dave, and Sora arrive a day or two ahead of me and it’s great to catch-up with them over a few stiff artisanal beers.

It feels good to be approaching more of the proper Trans Ecuador - a route the Dammer brothers along with Cass Gilbert put together running through Ecuador north to south on dirt roads, single track, some stout hike-a-bikes, and a few 'connective' paved sections.

After a healthy dose of Cuenca's finest rush hour bus diesel, its back out onto quiet dirt roads passing through sleepy little towns like Solano and Nazon.  

Sometimes buried beneath cow hoof comings and goings, sometimes battling encroaching grasses, and sometimes smooth as butter, I pick up an old rail trail in the afternoon over to Ingapirca.

Not bad Ecuador. Not bad.

Ingaprica deposits me at the start of the Inca Trail; a roughly a 40k stretch following the route - and sections of the original road - of the Incan Royal Road that extended north to Quito.

The initial clearly defined road transitions into a mix of boggy and grassy single track running along the edge of a huge valley. Not much time on the bike...

I stare at my GPS in the late afternoon light and search in vain for the supposed climb in front of me. Nudging straight up through the grassy tussocks, I finally come across what turns out to be the most heinous hike-a-bike I’ve experienced to date - steep, ditched, and rocky switchbacks make for tortuously slow going.

Midway up I find a 'flat' area just wide enough to get my tent down where I regroup and enjoy the distant view of Laguna Culebrillas.

The previous days effort is rewarded with a rideable ridge line splitting uninhabited valleys on either side. Justice.

Light on food, I peel of the Trans Ecuador for the moment and pick up Dan and Gina’s tracks into Achupallas. Having not seen too many bikepackers in this area, the few locals I run into on horseback curiously look down at me and run me through the standard questions. The remoteness I have longed for since leaving Peru makes the Inca Trail grind worth every bit of slogging.

Leaving Achupallas the next morning, I pick up the Trans Ecuador again and follow a series of mellow dirt roads that seem almost too easy.

I pass through tiny communities and encounter some of the nicest Ecuatorianos I've met thus far.  Luis gives me a thumbs up and hangs out with me over lunch. He's a good little dude who enjoys his first taste of Nutella.

Morning brings the final bit of a 4000 m bump.

Grassy paramo gives way to the antithesis of monocroping above Guamote.

The next day I skip the "water bar" gully traverse and noodle into San Juan before heading east over to Guaranda, crossing a 4000 m pass being readied for the white line. I grab onto the back of a few trucks lumbering upwards but the dust is unbearable.

After cleaning out of my ears, I piece together a few dirt roads up to the small Andean village of Salinas de Guaranda, taking in some pretty ridge riding and a nice tree lined bit.

Salinas de Guaranda is an excellent example of community cooperative based projects including chocolate, cheese and textile factories.  There are supposedly thirty factories in town, each working together to economically support Salinas and the outlying regions. There's also a solid pizzeria and cafe.

Apart from lining me up perfectly to ride Cass' newly minted Los Tres Volcanes route in reverse,   my arrival coincides with the beginning of a three day festival.  

A visit to the old salt mine on the edge of town.

I wander amongst Ecuadorian tourists through the tented main square sampling chocolate nougat,

standard chocolates,

and leaf wrapped trout.  

There's one slight caveat to Salinas - if you don't arrive on Tuesday (market day), your resupply options are pretty much limited to chocolate, cheese, salami, bread and cold pizza.  

ROUTE:

Cuenca – Nazon - Ingapirca - Inca Trail - Achupallas - Guamote - San Juan - Guaranda - Salinas de Guaranda

NOTES:

Base Extreme in Cuenca carries a few Maxxis fatbike tires.

La Balsa to Cuenca

Peru has been arguably tough to leave.  At some point, I’ll have to look back across the blog and see what I’ve previously listed as favorites.  But, for sure, Peru has been my favorite country thus far.  Occasional gringo hang-ups aside, the riding was simply fantastic with day after day along the Peru Divide and the Tres Cordilleras serving up a near continuous stream of epic mountain vistas and splendid valleys. And both Nevado Ausangate and the Huayhuash Trek were incredible highlights.

With a fast descent down to the river in La Balsa, I pick up an early morning stamp and immediately head up one of Ecuador’s famed winchers.  They’re not long, but they are steep.  On the Yungas route, I joked with Cass about measuring the climb by my shirt saturation.  Ecuador instantly takes it to a new level as I roll into Zumba saturated front to back, top to bottom.  

In Zumba, a weird culture shock confronts me while peering into stores packed with fruits and vegetables, and I stare in awe at the bread choices before me in the local panaderia. While the border is an invisible political line, the contrast between the two countries is felt immediately.

Not long after a morning climb out of Zumba, I veer off to the west on a grassy-medianed squiggle of silence for the rest of the day before emerging in Palanda.

The slow life of Sunday afternoon Bingo.

A mix of road and dirt swings me through the sleepy little town of Quinara and into the gringo mecca of Vilcabamba.  Affectionately known as 'Gringobamba,' the cafes edging the plaza flow with Kombucha and iced coffee, while retirees from the States and Canada trade seeds in their handcrafted hippie pants.

Ecuadorian colors abound.

After one last vilca verde smoothie, I nod goodbye to Mo the local anarchist community ‘not leader leader’ and head up to Malacatos, where I pick up my all time favorite type of grinder - the ditch grinder.  With the upper body strength of a twelve year-old, I grunt my way upwards until eventually topping out along a wonderful ridge high above Loja.

A rare flat stretch along the river towards Vinoyacu the following day brings me through tiny communities.  The local crew from one village gives El Gordo some extra squeezes to ensure my tire patching skills are up to snuff before sending me on my way.

Back on the road, I make fast time north to San Felipe de Ona.  As I crest the last climb before turning back onto the dirt, Dave's smiley mug of @longhaultrekkers appears out the window of a collectivo. Having not seen them since way down south, hugs are briefly shared and Sora gets a quick head scratch knowing we'll reunite for longer in Cuenca.

Out of Nabon, I pick up Fatcycling's patchwork of sublime dirt tracks leading into Cuenca. 

Bone dry for me, tiny dirt roads snake amongst the hills, at times vaguely reminding me of New Mexico 

and New England.

On a quiet Sunday morning, I drop down into Cuenca. Riding through the center of the city, it is one of a few times where my mind registers that I have covered an awful lot of miles and memories. It feels good to be back where it all began nearly a year ago.

ROUTE:

La Balsa – Zumba – Back Road to Palanda – Yangana, Loja – Back Road to Vilcabamba - Loja - Saraguro - San Felipe de Ona - Nabon - Gima - Cuenca

Cajamarca to Ecuador

Cajamarca serves as a good place to get things sorted out and enjoy my fill of cappuccinos for a few days.

With late afternoon skies doing their thing, I backtrack out towards Celendin on a long way round to the border in search of one last stretch of dirt.  

The drop down to valley bottom out of Celendin follows the classic Andean scenario - drop over 1000 m, climb over 2000 m.  Nothing new, but the blazing sun on the climb undoes me. Thinking I'll arrive in Pallan for lunch, I limp into the village after 4:00 pm, salt encrusted and gassed. 

Quiet roads snake me out towards tiny pueblos like Chiguirip. 

Sugimoto-esque skies.

El Senor keeps a watchful eye on me.

I roll through Cutervo and re-fruit before heading down to the Peruvian tourist 'mecca' of Socota.  

The following morning in San Andres de Cutervo, at the request of the hostal owner/professor, yours truly gives his first and likely last recap of my trip in Spanish to about 200 giggling students standing at attention. 

After months in the rocky, dry Cordilleras, the lush, multi-hued green hillsides come as a pleasant change.

I pass through coffee country with groves of coffee plants dotting the hills and drying beans laid out roadside. While Peruano’s and the rest of South America enjoy a “rich” cup of Nescafe, these beans may likely end up in the artisanal dark roast handed out by some bearded, toast eating hipster.

In Cuyca, the Peruvian dirt odyssey, sadly, comes to an end as I air up for the thin continuous white line that runs interrupted to the border.  Fresh coco juice and roadside fruit stalls offer breaks from the afternoon heat.

Rice fields spread out on either side of the road soaking up the humidity.

In a non-descript roadside village, I duck out of the heat for a mid-morning break and chat with Jose for a while about bikes and the parts of his country I've been fortunate enough to visit.  A kind-hearted soul indeed. He has me riding on thinking longingly back across over four months of epic riding and Peruvian generosity.  Gracias, Amigo.

ROUTE:

Cajamarca – Celendin – Bambamarca – Chiguirip – Cutervo - Socota – San Andres de Cutervo – Pimpingos – Cuyca – Jaen – San Ignacio – La Balsa (border)

Huaraz to Cajamarca

You know you’ve been in one place a bit too long when you get a shave upon arrival and need another before leaving.  But following the Dean and Dang mantra of “leave no stone unturned,” I feel like I gave Huaraz a good run for its money.  If rain wasn’t on the doorstep, I’d probably still be there checking off a few of the less technical peaks.  The surrounding Cordilleras are a thing of beauty and definitely not something to rush.

However, the northern pull of the border beckons as I re-teach myself how to ride a bike and roll out of town, finding tiny parallel bits of dirt to enjoy the slower life.

Things get all winchy the following day as an easy spin back into the Blanca gives way to Punta Olimpica’s (4890 m) Andean stack of switchbacks.  Cold morning rain turns to sleet and finally light snow as I crest the pass and lay down some fresh tracks.  Sadly, I think, this is the last of the big passes in Peru and I turn back several times on the descent to take it all in.

Hands thaw slowly as I drop towards Cachas.  With an abundance of wood in the hills, there’s a strong craftsman spirit as evidenced in doorways, balconies, and the interior of the church.  Still fighting a bit of a cold from the Huayhuash, I shut it down early for the day and sit in the afternoon sun watching kids play soccer and families picnic in the grassy Plaza de Armas.

The next morning brings Pupash (4070 m), an easy long spin up a quiet valley and descent through a pine forest down into Yanama, arriving in time to enjoy the last of the days light.

As dawn breaks, I drop down to Rio LLacma and pick up the tail end of the Northern Cordillera Loop.  Building heat throughout the day marks a distinct contrast from months of riding in the cooler altitudinous air.  Even pigs seek out whatever sliver of shade they can find.

On my way up to Abra Cahaucocha,  I roll through one remote settlement after another; the agrarian quality reminds me of Bolivia, with people operating at a subsistence level. This little guy couldn't resist giving El Gordo a once over on one stop.

The valley on the other side of the pass is spectacular with deep yellows and splotches of green spreading out across another huge Andean valley. Shallow at the pass, the valley steadily inverts until the bottom drops out into a seemingly bottomless gorge. 

I stop short in Yanac as rain clouds build and spend the afternoon walking between showers around the town.  Bisected by the main road, the rest of the town clings to the hillside in a type of Peru/Greece mash-up.

More of that Andean light and interlocking valleys...

The following day brings me down to Yuracmarca, where I bid a final goodbye to the Cordilleras and start heading north in earnest.

An afternoon long descent brings me deep into a canyon as I snake around massive interlocking slabs of rock through a blasting hot headwind.

A few tunnels offer momentary breaks from the heat.

After a night camped behind the Chuquicara polica station, I cut up through a second canyon towards Mollepata. The inhospitable environments where people work at carving out an existence never fails to amaze me. Mad Maxian towns like Galgada offer a cold Coke and a brief glimpse into life in the bottom of the canyon.

I take an alternate out of Mollebamba following an abandoned road up over a 4300 m pass; a wonderfully remote stretch.

White dusted roads abstractly wind through the Pampa on the other side

and long-ago glaciated outcroppings cup pristine waters.

In Cajabamba, I run into Justin Bill as he spots my bike from afar and we catch up on each others trips, gear, and his recent run through the Santa Rosa gringo gauntlet which still continues today minus the pueblo arrests,  Concerned I might get a bit retaliatory, I decide to leave them alone in their odd little world and stick to the pavement under moody skies.

The Sunday market in San Marcos is all a buzz with the Peruvian version of their northern neighbor's Paja Toquilla.  I inch my way through the crowd, stopping to sample every juice stall's offerings before making the final run into Cajamarca.

ROUTE:

Punta Olimpica – Punta Pupash to Yanama – Northern Cordillera Loop - Yuracmarca – Caraz to Cajamarca route with alternates.  

INFO:

The canyon sections of the Caraz to Cajamarca Route have been entirely paved except for the section down close to the river, which I skipped by heading up to Pallasca. Coming up from Chuquicara, there's water in the village of Galgada and another tiny village a few km's before turning off to either the river section or up to Pallasca (neither spots are on Openmtbmaps). A woman in the tiny village sells cold soda's from her house if you ask.  The river is nasty so I wouldn't count on getting water from it.   

I took a longer alternate out of Mollebamba - essentially the eastern legs of the "triangle" if the original leg to Huamacucho is the hypotenuse.  The climb to the pass is rocky and I pushed a bunch of it, but it's worth the effort.  The upper valley connecting back to the main route is quite nice. Over two days, I think I saw about five people and no cars. 

Cordillera Huayhuash: Cognitive Shifting

Immediately on the heals of the Santa Cruz Trek, I decide to let El Gordo sit a bit longer as Orlando of Eco Ice Peru needs to do little convincing to get me to sign up for an eight day Huayhaush Trek.  Billed as one of the top treks in the world, second only to the Himalayas, the Huayhuash is easily one of the best things I’ve done on this trip thus far.  Each day brought head swiveling beauty as we circumnavigated the entire Cordillera Huayhaush.  I feel grateful to have done it with new friends and even more grateful to have had the opportunity to experience the Huayhaush now as glaciers are quickly melting and the character of the trek will continue to change rapidly with each passing year.

Below are a selection of my favorite photos capturing eight days of mind blowing vistas:

Looking down the valley towards Pocpa and a glimpse of the northern edged of the Cordillera Huayhuash (D01).

Laguna Mitucocha with Ninashanca (5610m) beyond makes for a stunning lunch break (D02).

Ninashanca's striated leading teeth.

Sunset on Toro (5965m) and Yarupaja Chico (6089m) from Laguna Charaucocha camp brings a meditative close to the day.

Near perfectly still waters at the edge of Laguna Charaucocha (D03).

 Laguna Charaucocha's mirror like surface looking down the valley is no less fantastic.

The famed Tres Lagunas on the way up to Punta Siula.

More jagged beauty from the top of Punta Siula (4800m).

At times the Cordillera Huayhuash stretches out and at times becomes compact; the scale shifting daily (D04).

Roberto, our Huayhaush on again off again companion, takes a break at Portachuelo (4750m).

A short day brings us to the hot springs of Atuscancha for a long soak and a cold beer.

The first pass of the following day brings us up close and personal with snow packed Cuyoc (5400m) (D05).

A toes only grinder up San Antonio Pass (5000m) affords a breathtaking look through the afternoon haze deep into the valley where Joe Simpson's epic survival struggle unfolded in Touching the Void.

The west face of Siula Grande (6356m), the peak from which Joe Simpson crawled back to his base camp barely alive. Stunning.

 Love that Andean fading light. 

We awake to a dusting of the good stuff (D06).

Ahh those deep Andean valleys.

A quick pass through Huayllapa for a new stash of Blancos. Sublime

Flash back to the back porch at 86 Buxton Hill circa '88: Filson trips on Horton's boney leg, smashes into all three Glovers, stumbles past Corey still wearing the dog collar, and "waters" the bushes.  Udi whips up a set of "cards" and we while away an afternoon hail storm with a more mature, dry reprise of A-hole. 

The morning silence at Paso Tapush (4800m) passes straight to your soul (D07).

Paso Yaucha (4800m) brings cold moody skies.

We skirt the top of the valley, head swiveling backwards at the south western face of the Cordillera Huayhuash. Nearly impossible to capture the majesty on film, it is one of the highlights of the trek.

Guide Gilmer in his office.

A quick 700m drop brings us down to Laguna Jahuacocha and yet another fantastic campsite.

Andean sunsets flat-out never get old.

Adios amigo. Suerte (D08).

In a weird way, standing atop the passes and deep in the folds of the Cordillera Huayhaush has me thinking multiple times about the “Overview Effect.”   

Coined in 1987 by Frank White, the "Overview Effect" refers to a cognitive shift in awareness reported by some astronauts and cosmonauts during spaceflight, often while viewing the Earth from orbit or from the lunar surface.

It refers to the experience of seeing firsthand the reality of the Earth in space, which is immediately understood to be a tiny, fragile ball of life, 'hanging in the void', shielded and nourished by a paper-thin atmosphere.

From space, national boundaries vanish, the conflicts that divide people become less important, and the need to create a planetary society with the united will to protect this 'pale blue dot' becomes both obvious and imperative.                                                                                Wikipedia

Cynically, I admit to often shrugging and thinking the “pale bue dot” has progressed past the tipping point and is beyond repair.  But, I also realize that’s not very positive and exactly what the “machinic” nature of our consumptive society wants us to do – shrug and go back to business as usual waiting for someone else to figure it out. Being an utterly tiny spec in the engulfing beauty of the Cordillera Huayhaush, however, makes you want to do everything in your power to try to ensure the “pale blue dot” sticks around for as long as it can.

Cordillera Blanca North: The Santa Cruz Trek

Spoiled from years of ultra running and not having to carry anything heavier than a light pack, I opt to drop some cash on the Santa Cruz Trek organized by Eco Ice Peru and let the donkeys do the heavy lifting.  One of the shorter treks north of Huaraz at 50 km, it is a great way to experience the Cordillera Blanca's masterful collection of big peaks, deep valleys, and pristine alpine lakes.

Unfortunately, a nasty little stomach bug wreaks havoc with my system and delays things. In the mean time, Jo's Place sees a steady inflow and outflow of north bounders and south bounders.  Australian Damion and Didier get things squared away and head off towards Punta Olimpica. Dean and Dang (@pedalling_slow) show up fresh from the Trans Ecuador, while Danny and Jess (@rollingontwowheels) whom I'd first crossed paths with down in El Bolson arrive a few days later.  

Eventually sorted with the help of some meds, I depart for the Santa Cruz Trek a week later.  

Day one brings us up through Parque Nacional Huascaran, passing one of many famed turquoise lakes dotting the Park: Laguna Llaganuco.

Up over Portachuelo de Llanganuco (4676m) we head out towards Vaqueria to begin the trek.  Part of the famed Triple Heart Bypass route, my cycling ego struggles with simply stepping out of a van at the top of a pass.

Afternoon sees cloudy skies settle in above the Rio Yurma valley as we head up towards our first camp.

Morning brings all smiles as team Australia / France / Holland / and yours truly head up towards Punta Union.

Guide Abel in his element.

Punta Union at 4750 m gives us some quality time gazing at Taulliraju's fluted, snow capped faces.

Aquamarine blues await us below.

I stake out a spot in Taullipampa where we camp for the night and I stare in awe at the last breathtaking light of the day on Taulliraju

while the valley on the opposite side comes alive with Andean reds and oranges. Grateful.

A brief side trip the following morning takes us up into a quiet valley to Laguna Quitacocha where we bathe in the silence and subtly wind swept turquoise waters below.

More head swiveling as the backside of Alpamayo keeps a watchful eye on us.

Descending back through the valley evidences the fleeting nature of the Park's natural beauty.  Ten years ago the glacier on Alpamayo extended down to the grass line.  Projections suggest in twenty years all peaks in the Cordillera Blanca below 5000 m will be without glaciers. The time is now.

The iconic Paramount Pictures peak, Artesonraju at 6025 m, is already a far cry from its snow covered big screen glory.

Afternoon brings us down through the deep V-shaped valley dropping into Laguna Jatuncocha as we soak up the final highlights of the trek.

In my more fit ultra days, I likely would have turned the time out there into a long run focused on a definitive start and end. But this time around, the slower pace allows some time to reflect on Alan Watts' Why Life is NOT a Journey; focusing on travel not towards an end but on fully experiencing the moments throughout that travel allows:

The existence, the physical universe is basically playful. There is no necessity for it whatsoever. It isn’t going anywhere. That is to say, it doesn’t have some destination that it ought to arrive at.

...But we don’t see that as something brought by our education into our conduct. We have a system of schooling which gives a completely different impression. It’s all graded and what we do is put the child into the corridor of this grade system with a kind of, “Come on kitty, kitty.” And you go onto kindergarten and that’s a great thing because when you finish that you get into first grade. Then, “Come on” first grade leads to second grade and so on. And then you get out of grade school and you got high school. It’s revving up, the thing is coming, then you’re going to go to college… Then you’ve got graduate school, and when you’re through with graduate school you go out to join the world.

Then you get into some racket where you’re selling insurance. And they’ve got that quota to make, and you’re gonna make that. And all the time that thing is coming – It’s coming, it’s coming, that great thing. The success you’re working for.

Then you wake up one day about 40 years old and you say, “My God, I’ve arrived. I’m there.” And you don’t feel very different from what you’ve always felt... Because we simply cheated ourselves the whole way down the line.

We thought of life by analogy with a journey, with a pilgrimage, which had a serious purpose at that end, and the thing was to get to that thing at that end. Success, or whatever it is, or maybe heaven after you’re dead.  But we missed the point the whole way along. It was a musical thing, and you were supposed to sing or to dance while the music was being played.  

Alan Watts

Huancavelica to Huaraz: Peruvian Goodness

As I while away a bit of time before heading back out on the Peru Divide, I find myself staying up late watching Hardrock 100 and Bob Graham videos, reading about Dave Chamberlain’s “Huge Run” exploits in Sidetracked, Googling prams, and enjoying some of Peru's more vintage moments; a momentary mental break from the efforts at hand.

Didier, the Peruvian Pass Crusher, makes short time of Peru Divide sections three and four and catches me in Huancavelica just before I'm ready to shove off again.  

We wind our way north, stretching our legs on the initial passes.

Acobambilla's canyon engulfs us at days end. 

Peruvian skies off of Paso Don Mario mix it up and lend interest after days and days of blue sky riding.

Turning the corner after a gentle afternoon spin up a quite valley on day three brings us face to face with Punta Pumacocha's first wall.  Grinder. 

What Pumacocha taketh on the front side, she giveth on the backside. Sublime

Admittedly a nearly 2000 m drop into Laraos leaves me a tinge grumpy as I've become a bit of a +4000 m spoiled brat.

But such grumpiness is short lived as we momentarily bottom out and begin a steady climb up through one series of crystal clear interlocking lagunas after another on the way towards Huancaya.

The wide stuff gives way to a short but fun stretch of single track tracing the edge of a lush valley on the outskirts of Vilca. 

Afternoon moody skies

and distant glaciated peaks lead us up towards Abra Suijo

before dropping us through another huge, sun soaked Peruvian valley on the backside.

One of the unlucky.

Without a doubt the bedbug debacle was the bleakest period of this trip, but a close second was the 25 km stretch of Carretera Central breaking up an otherwise sublime run of Peruvian dirt squiggles.  The finger came out with insane frequency as trucks double passed each other towards us on the shoulderless two-lane road connecting Lima to the Amazon.

We breath a collective sigh of relief as we escape the madness and wind our way up an over Abra Sungrar deeper into the quiet folds of Peru.

The following day brings a late afternoon climb up and over Abra Mio and down into a deeply shadowed Tolkein-esque valley.

After a frozen fingered morning, we heat up with some time on Abra Chucopampa before dropping into Parquin.  Salvador and Ardel serve us up almuerzo while showing us the signatures of Divide cyclists who have passed through and stayed with them. They are a super friendly couple that especially enjoyed some magical Steripening before we head back out.

A morning wincher the following day brings us up through a canyon to the base of Abra Rapaz, which piles on another stack on Andean switchbacks to get us up and over 4900 m.

A 'happy hour' of more swithbacks tilting in the opposite direction

take us drown into Oyon to enjoy some later afternoon soccer and yet another Peruvian street packed / music all-night festival.

In the morning we battle nippy street dogs before jamming the Rohloff back into its Divide 'home' of 1 and inching up and over Punta Chanca and Punta Pacomayo.

Welcome to another huge Peruvian mind-stretchingly remote valley.

In elevation profile, the Peru Divide looks like a horrendous EKG with one upward spike after another and an occasional malicious downward spike erasing the previous days efforts in the blink of an eye.  From Cajatambo we drop from the sky to the sweaty low point of just under 1400 m; one BB7 brake pad frying hairpin turn after another and the first time the sweat soaked t-shirt has appeared since the Yungas.

Sorry Mike, your bus didn't fair too well in the intervening years...

After a touch more than two weeks of clicking off countless +4000m passes, we a gifted a gentle ascent up to the last bump before the fun comes to an end in Conococha.  Dirt gives way to white line as we reel off the last 80k into Huaraz and immediately into a Cafe Andino french press full of real coffee.

ROUTE:

Again, thanks to Neil and Harriet of Andesbybike for the effort involved in putting this route together.

Salkantay to Huancavelica

Nevado Salkantay figures prominently in the Machu Picchu trekking scene, with five day treks starting out of Sorypampa.  Day one brings one up close and personal with Nevado Salkantay before descending down into the jungled remains shrouding Machu Picchu. Still eager to see Salkantay, I make my way from Cusco to Sorypampa where I leave my bike and hike up to the Pass for the day. 

I arrive as loaded pack horses are taking a brief break to the side while guided groups proceed to take multiple "air-jump" and "arms spread to the world" selfies.  If you have the arm span of MJ, fine.  But you, Mr. Jack Wolfskin, sorry, knock it off.

A brief side trip to an overlook above the turquoise watered alpine lake at the base of the glacier, brings "jumpless" tranquility. 

The following morning, I head up to another emerald lake just above Sorypampa at the base of Nevada Tucarhuay. Headspace.

Other than a road stretch into Cusco at the end of the Tres Cordilleras route, El Gordo has seen very little Peruvian pavement.  Unfortunately I'm not so lucky with the connection from Cusco to the southern start of the Peruvian Great Divide.  I try to ply the locals for a "supposed" back road link between Mollepata to Choquequirao but there's a bit of handwaving and gesturing that says it's not possible, so I drop down to the Abancay Highway and catch-up on past RRP podcasts. 

White line purgatory finally abates a bit past Santa Rosa as I begin one of the multitude of climbs and descents famed on the Peruvian Great Divide.  Stitched together by Neil and Harriet Pike of AndesbyBike, the Divide crosses upwards of 20 passes over 4000 m along the spine of the Cordillera de Los Andes running from Santa Rosa to Huaraz through multiple tiny Andean communities. An instant classic of squiggly dirt lines.

Barely into the first day, I enter Sanyaca and Louisa (in red) peels out of her family compound to as if I like chicha de maize, a ferrmented maize drink and staple of Peru.  A bottomless cup of chicha is thrust into my hand along with a bowl of mote y queso as we chat away.  Wonderful generosity, kind-heartedness, and a chance to expand both of our horizons.

Further up the road before Abra Millamar, two couples whistle me over.  As I approach, I think they are having a picnic and find it strange that a cow is lying on the ground near them under a blanket.  Closer inspection reveals a severed head and various cow parts sliced up and ready for transportation.  They ply me with whiskey; one shot for each eye and a follow up shot for good measure before I settle back into climbing.

The following day brings quite dirt roads winding upwards towards Abra Putongo; some well worn,

others less traveled.

I spend the night in Putongo and make the rookie move of camping in the main plaza. Fifteen kids gather round on hands and knees with an additional eight adults taking in the ensuing “excitement” of watching me put up my tent and cook pasta. The fun continues into the wee hours with donkeys, dogs and horses all stopping by to check on me.   Bleary eyed, the next morning, I skirt the edge of the valley dropping down to Rio Pampas, which carves its way through the seemingly only flat section of Peru.

A twisty, descent of nearly 2000m feels more like dropping into New Mexico with Dr. Suess-esque plants hanging from tree limbs and temperatures increasing with each switchback.

The bottom arrives at the structurally questionable suspension bridge spanning the Rio Pampas and leading into the tiny pueblo of Anta.

I swap queso fresca weight for water weight while watching Anta's pigs, chickens, donkeys and cows come and go before a late afternoon wind back up the otherside of the valley towards Abra Tucuccasa at 4500m.

Peru's "veins" are still a bit "open" when it comes to gringo's.  Diego and his primo in Pomabambo remind me of a Pema Chodron quote that says something to the extent that "there's always sun above the clouds." Good little dudes.

Squiggly lines to set up another 2000m climb.

Leaving the dryer southern end of the Peruvian Great Divide, Abra Ritipata is a nice long gentle climb back up to 4500m. Mineral rich peaks roll out as far as the eye can see.

A quick swing through Licapa for refueling and its back up into those windy mountain roads I love best.

Andean traffic jam.

I camp at the base of the climb up to Punta Caudalosa Chica and awake to a frosty, cloudy morning with Andean rays streaming through any opening they can find.

Looking backwards off the not so "chica" Punta Caudalosa Chica at 4990m. 

I make short time of the final climb up Abra Huayraccasa at 4870m, which winds up through the tracery of mining roads running up every valley wall. Over Huayraccasa, it's a quick nearly 50k drop into Huancavelica.

 ROUTE:

Cusco – Mollepata - Sorypampa – Salkantay - Abancay – Santa Rosa – Soros – Vilcashuaman – Cangallo – Chuschi – Totos – Paras – Licapa – Huancavellica

From Mollepata, I took a nice dirt road up high, paralleling the Abancay-Cusco highway, but eventually I’m forced to drop down to the highway from Huamampata Baja.  Supposedly, there is a way to get all the way from Mollepata to Choquequirao on dirt, but the locals told me it was closed.

Peruvian Great Divide:

Special thanks to Neil and Harriet Pike for stitching together the Peru Divide.