Thanks Grandma Sylvia and Grandma Sylvia...

I was hit by a car today.

More accurately my bicycle was crushed between the grill of a skidding car and the concrete lamp post upon which I was leaning, immobile, as I waited for the light to change from red to green. 

It's such a cliché to say that everything goes in slow motion when an accident is happening, but that's exactly how it was.  I saw the little Tico flying down the road to make the green light, and I saw the grey sedan make the left on the red light putting him on a collision course with the Tico.  I knew they were going to collide but it didn't occur to me that I might be in danger.  As they smashed into each other, the grey car lurched towards me and as I struggled to pull my foot from the clipless pedal I was pinned to the post.

Upon closer inspection, the axle of my rear suspension linkage and the bottom bracket bared the brunt of the force.  I will go as far as to say that the frame and its components saved my life, or at least my legs.  The round nut on the suspension linkage bored a hole a half inch deep into the concrete post.  It was shocking to see that because the car didn't seem like it was going that quickly when it hit me, but I guess that's a lot of mass to stop.  I doubt my flesh would have bored a hole in anything but itself.

As I sat there on my bike, stuck to the pedal, I did an inventory.  Amazingly I didn't feel that bad.  Was it the adrenaline?  As it turns out, no.  I am certain that someone, some energy or spirit intervened.  I like to think it was the spirits of my late grandmothers, both named Sylvia, reaching out from wherever it is they currently reside, to keep that car from crushing me.

I agreed to go the to hospital to get checked out and lo and behold, they found me unscathed as well.  I have a cut on my knee, probably from a shattering headlight, and a cut on my big toe which was squeezed against the post by the car.

I am very grateful to be in one piece.  And how ironic is it that while on my hundred or so rides on super technical trails and downhill runs I have suffered nary a scratch, but venturing out onto a street corner proves nearly disastrous.

I am going to get into bed with a book.  I am reading THE LIFE OF PI which coincidentally discusses whether or not God exists.

I don't need any convincing this evening. 

Thank You.

Getting Here, From There...

It was Juan's idea, really.  But that's not to say I wasn't also game to try it.  There is a walk I had heard of traveling from Chinchero to Cusco over very high, exposed terrain following a series of ridges and crossing three 14,000 foot passes before descending, Kamikaze style back down to Cusco.  I had been told it took around 6 hours to make it from one end to the other and we decided to see how it might be on bicycles.

We started the morning off with a 30 minute cab ride to the start of the walk, Lake Piuray, just outside of Chinchero.   The stubbly grass was covered in a hard frost that shone like diamonds in the early morning sun.  Looking up to the pass that we were supposed to ascend I knew we were going to do a lot more pushing than riding.  This was a bit of a drag for both of us, but my bike weighs around 40 pounds, so it was a bigger drag for me.

As we climbed above the lake the views of the "nevados" were amazing.  The big peak on the skyline is Salkantay.  

We stripped down to our shorts after a bit even though the temperature was still quite chilly.  Slogging the bikes up the scree and boulder strewn "trail" was pretty exhausting, but also really energizing.  Once that blood is flowing it's hard not to get motivated.

We soon heard the tell-tail whine of my favorite Andean animal, the llama.  Juan Pedro sauntered right up to this curious herd of thirty as they made their sound, like wind whistling through the grass.  The pass we were heading towards is the one just above the head of the fourth llama from the left.  Arriving there it was obvious we were in the pampa, above treeline in the Andes.  Treeline in New England is around 5000 feet whereas here, at this equatorial latitude it's more like 14,000 feet.  The land here is dotted with circular cactus and grass colonies and stunning flowers like the one below.

The scale of the Andes is hard to describe, but here goes.  Standing at the shore of the lake looking up, it was obvious that we had long way to go to the pass.  Two hours as it turned out.  Then, looking behind us there was Salkantay, rocketing up to the sky like a mistake painted into an amateur's landscape canvas.  To see such a striking summit so much higher than you when you are standing at 14,000 feet is very different from what I am used to in North America.  It makes one feel very, very small.  And the complexity and relief of the valleys and drainages is otherworldy.  This is a young and volatile mountain range geologically speaking, and with youth and activity come dramatic relief and wild shapes on the landscape.

The pass that was supposed to deliver us to the downhill portion of our day turned out to be just the first of four 14,000 + foot passes that we would have to cross to get back to Cusco.  We worked hard to stick to the contours of the landscape as we made our way from one pass to the next, and we were able to bike for a solid hour at or just below 14,000 feet.


Some of the descents were downright scary as the rain has subsided, turning the once tacky loam into ball bearing pebbles on top of bedrock.  Breaking, while obviously necessary, was not a pleasurable experience on the double fall-line sections of trail.  Juan had a near miss almost catapulting himself over a bank and into a creek 10 feet below.  We had been at it for over four hours and we were getting a bit loopy.

We were happy to finally hit our familiar bit of trail at a diminutive 3800 meters.  Along the way we spotted a number of families cooking a Watiya.  This is a crude oven made of mud clods that is super heated with a twiggy fire.  Once the dirt is hotter than Hades, potatoes and fava beans are thrown in  and the igloo-looking oven is smashed down upon them.  20 minutes later, voila!  Deliciously smoky potatoes and beans, ready for eating in the middle of the very field where they were cultivated and harvested.

It was a great day, and I am really thankful to Juan for showing me the way.  We made the trip in just under five hours and I am  excited to do it again, but on foot next time.  Humping my behemoth Kona Coiler over those monster passes was something I don't need to repeat any time soon.  And despite all the cacti covering the landscape, neither of us flatted once.  I guess the mountain spirits were looking favorably upon us on this gorgeous Cusceñan day.

Corpus Cristi Procession of Saints

Some images from today's festival in the central plaza.  Imagine the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, but instead of guiding enormous balloons filled with helium, these devout Catholics are crushed under the weight of saints weighing thousands of pounds each.  The onlookers oohed and ahhed as the effigies teetered on the brink of crashing through the crowd, just the way we do on 72nd street when a stray breeze takes hold of Bart Simpson and pushes him into harm's way.  Kidding aside, this was one of the most amazing spectacles I have ever seen in my life.  

Corpus Christi (not the one in Texas) by Lawrs

It's safe to say that June is party-month in Cusco.  There are at least three major holidays, the last of which is Cusco Day, on the 24th -- the same day our Isabel entered the world half a world away in Ann Arbor in 1998.

The June fiestas kick off with a variety of pilgrimages and processions of saints celebrating the Holy Trinity of The Father, The Son, and the Holy Spirit.  In Colloriti, a four hour drive to the East, hundreds of delegations dance at what was once the toe of the Colloriti glacier.  As equatorial glaciers shrink at a rapid pace, the celebration now takes place at the abandoned terminal moraine and no longer includes carrying hundred pound chunks of glacial ice to Cusco on the three day pilgrimage.    

Here in Cusco the prelude to the fiesta includes many "devils" guarding the images of their saints with bull whips.  Masked invaders ceremoniously attempt to break through the guards to get at the saint and are whipped on their feet and legs as they pass by.  The guards are not pulling their punches and the snap of the whips on the intruders' legs is so loud that we all wince and rub our own legs each time we hear it. 

The devil-guards also have a bit of Keystone Cop flair to them.  There is a lot of  slapstick and one of the stars of the show is a "woman" (actually a man in drag) with her face obscured by a black scarf.  She is the representation of a housewife who can't cook, can't clean, can't take care of the kids or her husband.  She is taunted and disparaged by the crowd but takes her revenge on the guardians with a bullwhip of her own, dropping her critics to their knees with merciless blows.  

There is music, music, music everywhere.  Brass bands are cranking all over the place, fueled by copious quantities of beer.  It's a bit of a competition really -- who can play louder, better, longer?

The most impressive musician of the afternoon was this man playing his percussion instrument with his comb.  He was in a bit of a trance and appeared to have been walking for a very, very long time.

I was tempted to try a little street barbecue (Anticuchos) as we walked home, but thought better of it.  There were barbecue and beer vendors everywhere.  

Tomorrow morning the saints will begin to enter the cathedral through these gargantuan doors. That's Sophia providing a sense of scale to the entrance. 

On the way back home this was our view from our front door.  The weather continues to dry out and the views of the mountains ringing the city are getting clearer and clearer.  It's a good time of year for a party.