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.
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