Tymor... knots, or your shoe might come off

...Or don't tie any knots, because the point is that there is no secret formula to doing things "the right way," a simple notion strongly reinforced during my recent travels to Ecuador. More times than not you fill yourself through trial and error, try your hardest, and just see what type of shit comes out the other end; in great part, that's the beauty of life, that sometimes you simply don't know, but that you do anyway, I mean really do--and the chips, well, they fall wherever they want to.

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When today's lunchbox tipped over and its contents were spilled onto the pavement of Tymor's parking lot, there was an assortment of wondrous goodies revealed: a thermos of soupy, peanut-colored mud; a sprinkling of rain wrapped in reused tin foil; a salad of moistened coffee grind soil, verdant fern, and carrot-peeled roots; a medium-sized Tupperware full of laughter; and an unopened race. Savoring the scent of pine needles drying, while carefully consuming each and every morsel, to the last crumb, there was a complete and honest sense of inner-satisfaction that seemed to be reached. There was a certain fulfillment found through the process of digesting life's little pieces. Life, at least one vein of it, is about how well we digest things--the food is all there, sometimes we choose and sometimes things are chosen for us, but for the most part, it is about how we digest each, individual meal and about which nutrients we extract from the whole feast.
This afternoon I dined, and I dined well. I was one fluid movement with the contents of today's lunchbox, and although I may not have known what the outcome was going to be, I consumed anyway, knowing that I was capable of digesting the raw food of an experience, and that the chips would fall, one way or another.

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Also bringing a little Latin flavor to today's lunchbox was a Saran wrapped sandwich of the Campeonato Nacional del Ecuador, Ecuador's National XC Championships. I hope digestion went well for my friends racing in Loja this afternoon. As we were most likely on course around the same time, only worlds apart, you were all in my thoughts as we suffered, pushed, and pedaled together.

Paraíso Night Race

I love riding at night.

Ghetto-rigged light system for the race, which faded within the first fifteen minutes off of the start line. It was interesting, not to mention beneficial in several ways, to have to race by memory. Each lap I had to recall what turn was where, which rocks were next, and honestly trust myself and the terrain around me. More words to come on the subject of trust...

People Pieces

Words and stories to follow.

Cayambe!!!

Below is a smorgasbord of photos from my first big mountain summit, Cayambe, which is around 5790 meters (I'll do the multiplication for you, that's 17,370 feet). For sure this was one of the hardest "things" I have ever done, and more words on this will erupt (no pun intended, being that Cayambe is one of Ecuador's many volcanoes) in the future, but for now just enjoy the eye candy.
Anisa and me, after much time in the back of a pickup en route to Cayambe, enjoying some locally produced ice cream known throughout Ecuador for its one-of-a-kind flavor.

The first night at Felipe's farmhouse we dined over a pot of melted chocolate, dipping into its rich mess with grapes, apples, bananas, and whatever else we could find. Anisa and Marga gave the meal a huge thumbs up.

The shutters in my room rocked.

A film would perhaps do this drive better justice in terms of accurately exlpaining just how insane it was. On one side was a sheer drop, on the other was the view of treacherous switchbacks we were to ascend, and in the middle--a "road" littered with massive boulders, holes, flowing waterfalls, and parked cars that could move forward no further. It was a war zone, beautifully exhausted and yet vibrating with energy at the same moment. Our old white Isuzu Panzer made it to the top, at which point it shook its fists in victory at either side of its triumphant head and came to rest aside the first refuge of Cayambe.

Jumar, el oso.

Galo in the gap.
I tried to maintain a very slow pace, along with conscious breathing, hoping that it would curb any grips of altitude sickness that might be lurking just over the top of the next climb.

The first day's short hike to where we would set up camp for the night.

The ice formations are unbelievable, in color and size, in the depth of the fissures they create. And the feeling they emit is that of old wisdom and informidable strength, perhaps because they have been there for thousands of years, steady, confident, and all-knowing. Sadly, though, each year the ice retreats a little more due to the warming of our globe, which supposedly is an occurrence that either a. does not exist, or b. we should not be concerned about.

Karl brought his apron in order to be able to cook us a proper meal of pasta and chili with a side of soup.

The crew, or at least most of us.

Karl and Galo discussing pre-summit route tactics.

Chicititas!

Needless to say, we have a good time when we get together: Marga, me, and Anisa.

Anisa, yo, and the the ice of Cayambe.

This is what I am talking about... the energy of this ancient ice is a steady stream of confidence and unwavering strength.

Karlcito.

Marga's pants, with Galo wearing them.

Night slowly but surely laying its hand over the body of Cayambe.

It was emotional, it was peace, it was like nothing else and so many things at once: The Summit.

From the inside looking out: Felipe's farmhouse.

Cayambe in the distance, from the backyard of the farmhouse.

Segunda Valida Nacional: Ibarra

At the second national race, which I attended the day after climbing Cayambe, spectators could enjoy a view of the entire course as it laid itself out over the hills of Ibarra. Although I was beat from Cayambe, I had to borrow a bike (Orbea Alma, full carbon hardtail named Bacha, sweet!), and I began my race 10 minutes behind the other girls because that was when Bacha arrived (nothing like adjusting to a new bike with an Ecuadorian national race); despite my not feeling prepared, hydrated, or well rested at all, after three sweaty, bermed, flowing and steep laps, I was content that Anisa nearly forced me to follow through and race. More words to follow, tired right now, just enjoy the photos.

Ruben about to enter the off camber switchbacks.

Ruben and the Columbian, sweatin' it out while trading first place back and forth like it was the last Linkin Log remaining between two juvenile architects: they each wanted it badly.

Damas elite: Alexandra, Cristina, y su hermana. Represent.

Las tres amigas. It was always us three, and we always finished the same, and it was always a good time.

Karl, Ruben, and the Columbian.

Afterwards, a night time dip in the natural hot springs.

Roger, Karl, Anisa y su lengua, siempre.

Ruben, driving fast.

Mi Cuenca.