We were exhausted, low on water and had absolutely no idea where the hell we were! But we were also lucky. Because after a three-day odyssey through the mountains, we finally reached the highest point and had an excellent view of the whole valley - we could even see the place where we were supposed to be picked up. So we scrambled on, pedalling and pushing for another two hours until we reached the final summit. Now the water was actually completely out and morale was low, but we were suddenly filled with a devilish ambition: who would get to the bottom first? Because there was cold beer at the bottom - and what could be better than gurgling cold, tingling beer down a parched throat after an adventure?
The beer race: death or refreshment?
We jumped on our bikes - and whizzed over the last slope of the trip. Certain death lurked to the left (cliff), straight ahead seemed too easy, so we kept to the right. Nobody could see what was coming, but it didn't seem to matter to us disturbed people. We had cold beer on our minds, testosterone in our blood and little brain in our heads - so we drove fast where it's better not to drive fast. Far too fast. It was total madness, but we all joined in as if we'd lost our minds. The tyres were jumping, the suspension forks were bouncing and we were clutching the handlebars to somehow control the ride. It was only when KC drifted over the rock slab, finally losing grip completely and skidding towards the abyss, that it was suddenly no longer funny at all! I somehow managed to slow down on the slippery rock, but he just kept on skidding while I could only watch in horror. I was sure KC would fly over the cliff and plummet 50 metres, but someone or something must have held a protective hand over him, because with a jerk he stopped in a crack in the rock, just a few metres from the edge of the cliff. KC seemed surprised himself and looked up at me. I bet I must have looked like a ghost with my eyes wide open and my face drained of blood. But he just laughed. I didn't. Because I knew how close he had come. We continued our downhill, but now much more carefully. At the bottom, my hands were shaking and I reeked of burnt brake pads. Faces smeared with spit and dirt, bloody upper arms where thorns had become entangled during the fast ride, sweat and mud streaks all over our bodies - we looked like we had just staggered off the battlefield. Now it really was time for a beer - no, not just one!
New territory at last: travelling in Peru
We had only been in Peru for five days. Mitch Chubey, KC Deane and I wanted to explore a route in the Ausangate Mountains that had apparently never been travelled by bike before. At home on Google Maps, the tour looked doable, and with the help of Bill and Nicole from Haku Expeditions, everything went pretty smoothly. A small support team of four packhorses would transport our camping gear while we travelled around the area to find the best spots.
We were already cranking along at an altitude of 5000 metres, but we felt like ants as the mountain giants towered all around us, some of them almost 6500 metres high! We saw glaciers everywhere, licking their icy tongues into the valleys. We gasped for air - for no reason. As much as we gasped and pumped, it was never enough and we felt permanently exhausted; we dragged ourselves along. I'd never experienced anything like it before. The sun had no mercy either, burning down from the sky and scorching our skin, no matter how much sun cream we applied.
Trousers at the bottom, stars at the top!
Trails were few and far between. The few that existed were probably from the few locals who herded their alpacas up here, over a day's walk from their village huts. I didn't even want to think about how long it would take to get medical help here in an emergency. That kept me busy and made me drive far more carefully than usual. We had been travelling on narrow paths for days, with steep cliffs as our constant companions. But as much as the remoteness intimidated us, it also inspired us all the more. Far away at last. Away from everything! We camped next to lonely mountain lakes, where people probably only visit once in a blue moon (if at all!). At night, the temperature dropped from 25 to minus 5 degrees. The three of us huddled together in the tent to somehow stay warm while the night wind rustled the nylon tarpaulins. I must have had some bad water because my stomach rebelled and forced me out of the tent. And there I sat - in the frosty night, staring at the starry sky above me. I swear I've never seen so many stars in my life: Mars, Orion, the Milky Way ... Name any celestial star - I saw it that night. It flashed and twinkled above me while my stomach convulsed, groaned and made the most incredible noises - a strange moment of beauty.
We made it out of Ausangate with a few close calls and back to Cusco, as we wanted to spend the rest of the trip in Ollantaytambo. The town is close to the world-famous Machu Picchu mountain with its hair-raising terraces - already in the
In the 15th century, the Incas built it at an altitude of over 2000 metres with a sophisticated automatic water supply system - even today, this city still puzzles us as to how the Incas defied physics and managed to create this architecture, including a network of 30000 kilometres (!) of roads throughout the country. Here we met Ali Goulet, the organiser of the Inca Avalanche. His family was already waiting for him at home, but he was able to squeeze in a week of biking in Peru. So he wanted to do everything but lose any time!
On the road with crazy people
Ali organised the shuttles. They were supposed to help us make as many descents as possible. But under one premise: Everything had to go quickly! Very quickly! Flat tyre? "Sorry, see you on the next run!" - Hungry? "See you later then!" - Tired? "See you tomorrow, adios amigo!" In short: If you weren't on the ball, you could pack up! The declared goal: to destroy metres in altitude come hell or high water. I felt as if I was standing on every mountain peak in the region - gasping for air. Shortly afterwards, I was lying at the bottom of every valley - gasping for more air.
Sometimes we'd come across locals in their traditional costumes on the assault ride into the valley; they'd hike up the trails we were riding down. They looked at us with interest from dark eyes and were extremely friendly to this bunch of mud-splattered Canadian flatlanders, who clung to their bikes with shortness of breath and could only communicate with lousy Spanish and high-fives.
Trails? - Trails!
The trails were awesome. Bloody awesome. And endless. We tore through high bushes, jagged rocks, along cliffs and surfed down monstrous gravel slopes. We were so intoxicated and in the flow that our brains couldn't even comprehend how hairy and dangerous everything that was happening in a split second was. But the next moment it was over again anyway. There was no time for thoughts. We were all so focussed on sticking to the rear wheel of the rider in front of us - that was all that mattered. We didn't even notice the breathtaking landscape, apart from the blurred green and brown that fizzed through the corners of our eyes as a mash of colour. It wasn't until we reached the bottom of the valley that the world around us began to take shape again, but then we were mostly sitting next to our bikes in the dirt, gasping for air and chatting about how "badass" the last section was. Then opinions suddenly diverged: we Canadians were keen to discover something new, but the Avalanche guys wanted to shred their familiar trails. In short, it was better to split up - and everyone could do their own thing. I'm glad we made that decision, because we all needed time to cool off our hotheads. On trips where you sit close together for a long time, this happens sooner or later. You get further with a cool head. If you didn't know that, you'll find out one day!
On the last day, we used the shuttle van to do something good. We took food to a remote village school. A couple of guys who had been favoured by life wanted to give something to people who had not been so fortunate. A quick action: into the school, drop off the stuff and out again. Forget it! The kids went crazy with curiosity. They ran out of the house in their school uniforms, many of them barefoot, and surrounded our bikes. So they were all allowed to ride. In most cases, their feet didn't reach the pedals - and we pushed them around until our backs groaned. Not enough yet? No. They challenged us to a game of football. Of course, the little buggers played us against the wall, barefoot with lots of cheering and laughing.
The downhill wedge
Ever heard of the Inca Avalanche Race? Better not! 300 Peruvian bikers stood at the top of the mountain, ready to race down into the valley over a muddy grass track at the starting shot. Among them: us, a few Americans and a Frenchman. It works like this: The presenter suddenly stops chatting, all conversations fall silent, fists clench around the handlebar grips, eyes narrow to slits and - bang! Whilst the first riders are lucky enough to have a clear track, the rest of the riders get tangled up in a big brawl. Everyone is fighting to somehow get their bike on course. So I had to improvise a lot on the first two kilometres, because riders with and without bikes were tumbling through the terrain everywhere, tyres were slipping, feet were slipping, everything was sliding, skidding, skidding, skidding. I saw bikers riding over other bikes and bikers riding over other bikers - it was completely insane, but somehow also damn funny. I giggled hysterically under my helmet and chased down the track. The grassy track turned into a narrow trail that wound its way through the rest of the 15 kilometres to the finish. I passed bikers hanging upside down in the bushes and bikers crawling up the slope on all fours because they had flown out of the bend. Super! I love chases like this, when I can really give the rider in front of me a run for his money, ride up so fast that the tyres touch and he can't take the pressure any more and veers off to the side. Awesome!
Half the village of Ollantaytambo was waiting for us at the finish line, cheering the finishers, handing out beers and high-fives. You really got the feeling that the locals were happy about every kamikaze biker who had found their way to their village. It was a great end to a great trip. We made friends, experienced an unfamiliar culture and only one of us fell ill and had to constantly squat in the bushes with his trousers down on a frosty night.
Peru rules - in all aspects. From the insanely high, insanely long descents, the nature, to the raw flow of the trails. Just thinking about it makes me wonder how we all survived unscathed. I definitely have to go back, because I want to experience the whole thing again, just to make sure it wasn't just a fantastic dream.
PERU INFO
High mountains, thin air, long descents, crazy landscapes - if you want to go on a freeride mission in Peru, you need to have a sense of adventure. The terrain is challenging; an enduro bike is the ideal bike. There are several local operators who offer adventure à la carte, but also have many ready-made adventure menus in their programme. A trip comparable to ours (ten days over Inca trails) costs USD 2200 with Haku Expeditions from Cusco, for example.
Info on the web: hakuexpeditions.com
