Chimborazo: Las Rayas

I figured I´d better write about Chimborazo before we head to Cayambe, tomorrow afternoon, and there is a whole other story to tell.

Driving the Pan-American Highway, six hours to the first refuge at Chimborazo, is quite the experience. As noted in previous entries, highways here are different than in the States, especially the Pan-American. Cows, dogs, and people litter the flanks of this major road, just as much as crater-sized potholes splatter its dusty earth surface. A few hours into the drive, the major delay was the aftermath of a massive mudslide. The road, perhaps several small animals, and the front entrance to a roadside tienda were enveloped by an onslaught of rushing mud, trees, and boulders.



The accumulation of cars had been waiting more than two hours, so we decided to take matters into our own hands and make a simple request, that the largest boulders be removed first in order to make a pathway for the motorists. The thigh deep mud could be slushed around after traffic passed through. The request was acknowledged and we were once again on our way through the verdent and seemless patchwork that is the Andes.



Galo, Anisa, Drew, and I (with Jumar in the bed of the truck) bumped along until we reached just outside of Chimborazo and stopped for a 1.25$ lunch fit enough to feed a king: a full glass of melon and avena juice to wash down a bountiful serving of chicken, sweet bananas, potatoes, and rice. By the time our stomachs had finished digesting we were at the first refuge of Chimborazo, located in a moon-like atmosphere at around 4,800 meters. It was snowing tiny, consistent flakes, and the consecutive sound of thunder followed by streaks of rayas (lightening) alerted us to the fact that a storm, indeed, was right upon us. The plan had been to hike 2 hours up the left side of Chimbo to an area called El Castillo, attempt to sleep at such an altitude, and then depart at midnight for the cumbre (summit). After changing into our snow gear and securing crampons, pick axes, and harnesses for later use we began our trek. Not even five minutes into the hike (we were still within earshot of the first refuge) Drew mentioned that something was biting him, concluding that for some strange reason there were ants in his jacket. As Drew began to squirm, swiftly remove his pack, and unzip his jacket Ana began to feel the prick of these stinging ants. At first I had to laugh, wondering where the ants had come from in such an environment; honestly, it was rather amusing to see the two of them flailing around while removing packs and jackets. Then it hit me, near my sacrum, then on my hip, then my other hip; I had the ants, too, and they delivered uncomfortable little stings. Galo, a few steps ahead with Jumar, watched with a question written across his face as the three of us danced, yelped, and removed articles of clothing. With the storm still upon us, we began to realize that these stings of pain were not from any infestation of ants, but rather from an electricity building up in our bodies from the rayas. We were being shocked as the energy was building up for a strike, and having metal crampons and pickaxes strapped to our backs only aided in the process of this natural phenomenon. Galo directed us to return immediately to the refuge, as he could hear the static electricity moving amongst the three of our squirming bodies. At last, when we saw a jump of electricity travel down the jacketed arm of Anisa, we booked our stinging selves back to the refuge to wait out the storm.



Ñato, a guide from Baños, and his Canadian tourists occupied the refuge along with our convoy, waiting out the storm in order to ascend. After about an hour we slowly hiked to the second refuge, less than a half hour away, where Anisa wisely decided to dorm for the night. Drew, Galo, Jumar, and I decided to haul our packs up about twenty minutes further in order to set up camp in a snowfield held under the shadow of Chimborazo´s magnificent presence. I arrived with a slight headache, but the beauty of Chimbo pulled my concentration elsewhere.

For lack of time, the following sums up my overnight at Chimbo: Food, nausea; let´s try to sleep, respiration as if I just ran a mile, cannot catch one´s breath; heartbeat thumping in my ears, headache only worsening, heartbeat in my eyes, tears in my eyes; no sleep, nausea; shivers in sub-temps; ears, eyes, head pounding; breath cannot be caught, overwhelming stench of Drew´s farts seals the deal; sometime past midnight Anisa´s voice is heard calling us to ascend. You sound like death Laura. Jumar and I descend to the second refuge in a stumbling haze of fog and cold with a dim headlamp and pounding nausea. After stomping his wet paws across my face and chest for what seemed like hours, Jumar at last settles in and I slip into sleep with the aid of some advil (I had to). The others trek as far as weather would permit them; dangerous crevasses and less than negotiable weather conditions soon cause the demise of their ascent. Around 4am I am awoken by Anisa. I feel significantly better and she needs to sleep, so Jumar and I head out into the cold once again and watch as tiny headlamps descend the sleeping body of Chimborazo, stars slowly trading posts with morning. By 6am I am up at the campsite with Jumar, Galo and Drew just returning from their night´s adventure. I secure my crampons and hike up for about an hour or so, breathing in the beauty, appreciating and adapting. I lay down on the snow and hear nothing and everything all in the same moment. The energies of the earth and of Chimborazo, specifically, interchange with my own. It is a mutual understanding between the two of us. The sound of nothing sounds like everything, a white noise of peace. I give my thanks and my respect, and descend in contentment to stir the others for some breakfast. I will return.

Potpourri for Five Hundred

Below are a mix of photos from Cuenca and our second trip to Montañitas. Enjoy.

One of my favorite poets, Pablo Neruda, is painted on the wall outside of the library in Cuenca´s center. After taking this photo I decided to enter the library and explore. From what I could see, there were absolutely no books, just a bunch of people on computers who looked up at me as though I had three heads. Feeling uneasy about my two new cerebral growths, I exited the library, dissappointed with my findings. Later on I was told that you must ask for the book you want at the front desk, at which point they will retrieve it for you from some hidden lair. I don´t know what book I want, I just want to explore, isn´t that half the fun of going to a library, crossing paths with texts you would have otherwise not encountered if you had not been browsing? Yes, I used the words ¨fun¨ and ¨library¨ in the same sentence.

Sunset at Samai (Tia Tania and Tio Ed´s place in San Jose, just outside of Montañitas).

I was unable to get my camera out more quickly, but this man with the goats just finished giving a cup of goats´ milk, for a nominal fee, to a young lad. Downtown Cuenca holds all sorts of surprises; traffic can be held up for a number of reasons, two of them being dog´s defecating in intersections and men milking goats in the right hand lane.

More sunset at Samai.

Sunset at Montañitas brought high tides and good surf, which meant the waters were full with talented surfers from around the globe. The energy of a day unwinding emanated a still serenity that could be breathed in, taken for what is was worth, and then exhaled back into the onset of night.

Monstro took some photos of the living barnacles attached to driftwood and scattered along the beach. He also took a candid shot of me through a bicycle wheel.

I had no idea this photo was being taken, and neither did anyone else, which is why I like the results. I can recall what we were all thinking and discussing that the moment, and what Santi was taking a shot of.

Monstro took this shot, capturing the motion of Capoeira very nicely.

After a sweaty ride along the coast.

Me and Mostro loving that we were able to bring our bikes.

Coco Pushcarts

For my recovery ride on Monday I took a spin into the center of Cuenca, which is only two minutes by bike, to do some people watching. There was a man who was abosrbed in nothing else than what he was consuming at the moment, a muffin just the size of his fist. Before the batteries died I managed to capture a few shots of his focus on the comestible in his posession
.

Se venden trigo y granos.

I particularly enjoy the 25cent bags of freshly cut coconut or mango available from any number of pushcarts roaming the streets of Cuenca.

El Contrereloj de Paute

This past Sunday Sula and I participated in our first road race. There were about fifty plus roadies and less than ten mountain bikers who gathered at 8am in front of Christen´s bike shop. While other Cuencanians paraded in finely pressed clothes as they scuttled off to perform rituals and repent, we gathered to pray and give thanks in our own way, donning nothing less than our Sunday´s best.

The journey would take us out to Paute (I did not bring my camera with me, but for visual reference there are photos of a climbing bout at Paute in an earlier post), a beautiful trek with a quaint destination. Cradled by the massive forearms of the Andes on either side of us, we rode at a so-called ¨duro¨ pace, which translates roughly to a ¨consistently tough ride.¨ Around 40k out we reached Paute, ate some dried fruit and sandwiches, slugged some water, and then headed back towards Cuenca. With 12k left before the finish, everyone regrouped for the contrereloj. Being the only female mountain biker (there were two other ladies, but they were both roadies) I was first up, with a minute in between each person to follow. I clipped into both pedals as my bike was held upright from behind, and with a Spanish countdown we were off. The results: I felt strong, pushed hard, and surprisingly did not get passed by anyone. Twenty three minutes and thirty seconds after the first pedal stroke I was crossing the finish line content with the morning´s suffering. Acknowledging and appreciating opportunities, and then testing the limits of what I have been given--this is my religion, the flow of my spirituality; this is how I demonstrate I am thankful to be here on earth, this is, in many ways, how I pray.

As for the dynamics of the race itself, and I wish I had a photo to accompany, I must comment: about 1 hour out of the 3 in total was spent riding along the highway, yes, the same as we know them in the states, the highway. By now I have become quite accustomed to riding my bike on the autopista (mom, don´t read this), but to hold a TT on the highway, with an official finish line stretching from the curb to a parked motorcycle in the middle of a three lane highway, was quite the sight to see. There are not as many cars on the highway here as there are in the states, for several reasons, but the traffic is much faster; the scene perhaps parallels that of an early morning 287, to reference one of Jersey´s own autopistas. Although this is only my first road race, besides New Brunswick Alley Cats, I am fairly certain that race officials do not customarily warn riders about the dangers of traffic before sending them off on a TT. Not only must you race against time, but also hold your breath as fuming buses grumble past, and simultaneously keep one eye on traffic as it generally has little respect for you. To say the least, it´s a whirlwind run through an exhaust filled gauntlet; not only do you want to do your best in the race, but you also want to live. Regardless, cheers to racing in Ecuador, as the experience was superior.

Climbing Comp in Cuenca

Daniel, Ana´s brother, and the rest of the Azuay climbing team had nationals this past weekend at their hometown wall. Teams from Pichincha, Azuay, and a few other Ecuadorian provinces came together for a weekend of climbing. Saturday showcased the technical aspect, with several lead routes ready to be challenged; Sunday occurred at a much faster rate, as velocity climbing was the day´s main event and required climbers to ascend with speed. After riding Saturday morning and racing on Sunday, I headed over to the the wall in order to witness displays of strength and technique, support the kids whom I climb with in Cuenca, and absorb yet another experience in another country. With chalk dust drifting upwards like a constant mist lifting, I sat among those I have come to know and like, watching and appreciating as our lives continued to unfold.

Daniel and Bagre before the finals.

Daniel, inside his head, before the last climb. I have known Daniel as long as I have known Ana, although not as well, but I have seen him grow over the years as a climber and I can feel and see how much he loves climbing. Right now, he is the Pan-American Champion, and then some. He has strength physically and mentally, and is smart about his climbing. This kid has technique and sees problems very logically and clearly; I know he absolutely loves climbing, that it is his life, and for these reasons I know it will take him to where and who he is meant to be. Nice job, Sappito.

All climbers are allowed a certain amount of time to look at the problems, might be six minutes, before being taken back to the other side of the wall (so as not to see other climbers ascend) until it is their turn. Props to Marga for winning, both days; I wish I had a photo, although it would not do her justice, as she is smooth, strong, and does not give up.

Un Otro Mundo

Yesterday I took a little trip with the climbing team here in Ecuador. We visited a spot that was only discovered about two years ago as a potentia mecca for bouldering in these parts. To reach (I have to find out the name) the boulders the road is long, winding, and has been known to have piles of earth just mounded as unintentional road blocks. We are in a third world country here, and the towns surrounding Cuenca stand as colorful and eye-opening illustrations that attest to such a classification. The climbing spot was beyond beautiful, and being able to set the very first routes up and across these massive rock formations was an energizing and humbling experience in the same vein. Cows roamed the background while kids climbed rocks. The handful of families that dwelled at these heights could be heard convesing as fires were lit for nightfall.

The ride home was spent in the back of a pickup with five other kids; laughter, tickling, jokes, and more laughter huddled together for any available strands of warmth against a cool night air. The feeling was that of innocence and freedom, of right-here-right-now and nothing else. Stars whipped past; just born sheep, barking dogs, and clucking roosters became a blur; sounds left mouths only to be stolen by the wind as we snaked down rutted dirt roads. The journey back was as much a memory as the one there, with an unmatchable experience of untouched boulders sandwiched in between.

For many of these kids, climbing is their life; they are SO strong.

A little shot of what lunch time looks like, with unbelievable soups, choclo, and avocado appearing most every day.

Me and Ma, Anisa´s abuelita. She makes me laugh.

Montañitas: La Segunda Vez

Zipping through Cajas on the way back from our second trip to Montañitas, the fog had thickened and soon enough we found ourselves with a flat tire. Those ¨beware of falling rocks¨ signs are no joke in these parts. Often times entire lanes are blocked by mud slides, massive boulders, or gushing water after rain. After leaving behind 90 degree weather at the ocean, a fine mist and 40 degrees greeted us as we piled out of the truck to change a tire; shorts and flip flops would have to suffice. For about 45 minutes absolutely no one stopped to help (we were missing an important tool for removing the busted tire), but somewhere around 1am a trucker en route to Manta (a 12 hour drive) graciously stopped, flagged down cars with us, and then proceeded to change our tire in the rain. I held an umbrella over his head, grateful for his kindness. Ana´s father was also on his way to help, an hour drive for him, and I know we ran into him during the descent through Cajas. After the tire was changed and we were on our way, everything was a blur of bumpy sleep. I recall hearing voices, slipping out of the car, grabbing a soaked backpack, consuming pan y queso, and at some point falling asleep in a small child´s bed (I have been given Ivanna´s room for my duration in Ecuador; each morning I awake to walls plastered with teen idol posters claiming that ¨Zac loves you¨, Barbie legs dangling above my head, and curtains laden with sparkling fairies. I find the image of my sleeping body, a bit too big for her pint-sized bed, amidst a room of magic and make-believe to be quite amusing).

This sign ws about 15 feet from where we hit a small boulder and received a flat.

Flats in the rain and in Cajas.

On the wy back from Montañitas.

Anisa de belleza.

I have a hunch the cow was pregnant, but I am not certain.

This was the first funeral procession through which we passed; another one would be on the way to a new climbing spot. It is kind of nice how an entire town stops what they are doing and attends the death of an individual in their extended family. The entire town goes on a sort of pilgrimage, for how long or for how far I do not know, but there is definitely something to respect about such customs.

Sunset over the ocean at Samai in San Jose.

Our Bungalow at Samai: Twenty bucks a night, which includes breakfast (cafe con leche, pan, batidos, huevos, ensalada de frutas, and all fresh from the surrounding grounds), and plenty of scurrying cucarachas. I am not one for coffee, specifically because of the caffeine, but I felt it almost a shame not to try some at breakfast. The coffee beans were picked from right outside our window and, even for a non-coffee drinker, it was beyond stellar.

Ed, Ana´s uncle and the owner of Samai, is a practicing Shaman. He is actually from the New England area of the states, but after spending years in the Amazonian jungles with indigenous Shamans, he was taught their ways, brought into their family, and is now a respected Shaman. The energy he emits is an intense aura of positivity and connectedness; I hope to return to Samai at some point, as he offered a Shaman ¨limpia,¨ or healing, which I would be honored to experience.

Toschi and a dead fish at Las Friles.