Biking in the Andes Mountains - Earthquakes, Hidden Volcanoes, and the Three Rules

As we dozed off to sleep, a slight rattling of the windows then a violent shaking of the ceiling and walls had us bolt upright in bed. Earthquake! We went back under the covers. In twenty minutes, again. Another earthquake. These, we learned later, we relatively mild aftershocks from the major earthquake that struck the other day in the jungle of the border region between Ecuador and Peru some 400 miles south of us.

We were awakened the following morning by the sound of rain on our windows. This dreary start did not bode well for our scheduled day of biking from the outskirts of Quito to the cloud forest town of Mindo. We donned our jackets and layers and headed out from our hostel for the several block walk to the meeting point with our biking outfitter.

The owner, Jan, greeted us at a warm, inviting, and great smelling street-corner panaderia. We would be his only customers on this day tour for no one else had signed up. His guides that normally would have led us were off on other tours with other clients. So, the owner himself took us on what became a wonderful private tour of the Andean highlands.

Jan, our outfitters' owner and our guide for the day. 

The skies cleared somewhat as we headed out in Jan’s car to the start point of the EcoRuta at 10,000 feet up in the mountains. Jan shared with us his fascinating and interesting story while on our way. He left his home in Amsterdam when he was nineteen and traveled all over the world for twelve years to more than fifty countries. His typical pattern was to travel for eight months, go back to the Netherlands for three or four months to work to earn enough money only to go back on the road again for another eight months.

In the late 70s, early 80s, when he started these adventures, he was the typical backpacking hippie (his words), just getting by, finding ways to live on only a few dollars a day. On one adventure, he found himself penniless on the streets in Mumbai (Bombay at the time) after being robbed as he wandered north from the beach-party town of Goa were he just had a bad LSD experience. He slept on the streets for three nights with the beggars and the homeless, fending off rats that nibbled at his legs in the middle of the night, waiting for his country’s consulate to open after a long weekend to get some subsistence money so that he could continue on his way.

He matured after that, he said, but continued to travel while avoiding being tied down. “I had three rules that I religiously adhered to,” Jan said. “The first rule was to not have any material possessions, other than what could fit into the pack on my back.” He didn’t have a home, there was no rent nor car payments to make, nor was there anything else that needed his attention back home in the Netherlands.

He continued, “My second rule was to never have a sexual relationship with anyone for longer than three days.” Doing so, he said, was just another way of being tied down.

“And what was your third rule?” MK asked from the back seat of the car.

“My third rule was to always follow rule numbers one and two!”

We all laughed heartily until he held up his hand. “But, after twelve years, I found myself in Ecuador on one of my trips, met a girl, broke rule number two, and ended up marrying her. And now, after thirty years, I’ve been running this bike outfitting business ever since.”

With all of this conversation, we reached the EcoRuta start point in no time. We adjusted our seats, fitted our helmets, and headed out for our mostly downhill ride toward Mindo with Jan and his car providing SAG support. The mountain road we were on was lightly traveled. In fact, we only confronted a few cars the entire way while on our 25-mile descent.

The road’s sharp twists and turns required care and our full attention. Loose gravel, potholes, wandering cows, and dozens of barking farm and ranch dogs were always present. Pasture land and farms were seen in the distance. Deep drop offs right at the road’s edges fell into ravines and whitewater canyons. Many of the cold-water streams had trout with adjacent small, family run businesses where you could try your hand at fishing for them for a fee. Cloud enshrouded hills and mountains loomed above us.

Hidden in the clouds was the active Pichincha volcano. Back in the late 1990s, it erupted and spewed ash and dust over many thousands of square miles. Quito was covered in a foot of ash. The volcano still rumbles to this day. A major eruption is in the offing.

We were deep into the cloud forest as we continued our descent. A couple of lodges catering to bird-watchers hung to some of the hillsides. Vines hung from broad-leaf trees, many of which were hosting colorful bromeliads. The road had turned to gravel at this point. The previous night’s rains created muddy conditions and water filled potholes. The spray off of our rear tires was creating growing skunk stripes on our back.

At 4,500 feet we met a busy paved road. Rain threatened. Instead of pedaling another 15 miles to Mindo, we diverted the tour, got in the warm car, and visited Mitad del Mundo, “The Middle of the World.” It is here that monuments have been erected noting the presence of the equator based on surveys at the time. With the more recent advances in GPS and satellite technology, it was determined that the actual equator is at a spot about a quarter of a mile away. Despite this, we still hammed it up for the camera straddling the line with one foot in each hemisphere.

We said our goodbyes and thanks to Jan when we got back to Quito. While we will use his outfitting company tomorrow for more Andes biking, we will likely be with some of his guides instead of him.

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Low hanging clouds and spitting rain greeted us as we peered out the window while drinking our morning coffee the following day. Conditions for our Cotopaxi Volcano bike ride weren’t looking too good.

There were six of us, two other Americans, two Dutch, and MK and me. We all met at the same panaderia as yesterday morning. Jorge, our guide, and our driver soon arrived and we were off for a two-hour drive south to Cotopaxi National Park. Once there, we climbed a switch-backed road in our Land Cruiser up the flank of the volcano, stopping at a point after reaching 14,750 feet. The volcano was another 4,600 feet above us, topping out at 19,350 feet, one of the highest volcanoes in the world.

Temperatures were in the upper 30s. Winds were strong. Rain was pelting us in the face. We shivered as we put on our various layers and wet weather gear, all of which we topped of with elbow and knee pads, padded gloves and, of course, protective helmets.

We were off! Our pace accelerated quickly due to the steep descent. Hand brakes were squeezed hard to arrest a too fast of a pace. In no time, we were below the cloud ceiling and, as such, there was nor more rain. The vast views of the treeless slopes opened up before us. Wild horses grazed off to our right. A large fox hunted for prey off to our left. Off in the distance were a dozen horseback riders being led by an Ecuadorian Chagra in a cowboy hat and a woven poncho.

The gravel road’s ruts, potholes, and large exposed rocks presented themselves as dangerous hazards to be avoided, which proved difficult and required strong concentration to do so at our growing speeds. My hands grew numb, not from the cold, but from the jarring jolts they were receiving.

Meanwhile, Cotopaxi continued to do what mountains often do: it stayed hidden in the clouds. Pausing as supposed viewpoints presented low clouds instead of a snow-topped conical peak.

What we hoped to see (photo by Tovar).

What we saw instead.

When we finally reached the valley, the trail veered off of the road and became a single track across the tundra. We actually started to gain elevation. Even though the gain was slight, it was difficult to push the pedals and grind our way upward. Added to our struggle was a strong headwind, an elevation at this point of about 12,000 feet, and the fact that it was only a couple of days ago that we left two weeks-worth of time at sea level in the Galapagos.

A break was called at a site of some Incan era ruins. It is here that we ate our lunch while listening to Jorge describe our surroundings. Archaeologists have concluded that these ruins were at one time used as a fort for one of the far northern reaches of the Inca empire. It is also here that men, who relayed messages from one to the other after two to three days of running over these mountains, would rest and rejuvenate, waiting for a return runner’s message that he would then take back to where he started. An Incan pony express, without the ponies.

Up and down we pedaled over the open tundra and treeless plains. By two o’clock, we reached the park’s northern gate. And just in time, too, for a hard rain had started a short time earlier. While there was just a few more miles to go, most of us chose to forgo any further bike-time and climbed into the truck for the ride out to the main road that took us back to Quito.

The past two days of bike riding was exhilarating for sure - sometimes tough on the lungs and heart - but always with the fascination of seeing a new part of the world moving along atop two wheels powered only by us and our determination.  

To see more on our biking here and in other part of Ecuador, please see the following video: