Chimborazo, Ecuador

The route we planned for the next volcanic adventure was actually on the map, a paved road that circumnavigated the base of Chimborazo. We greeted the new day in vagabondic fashion, fixing coffee in the park and wrenching on the rigs before setting out on what the Ecuadorian estimation might take us "tres horas, no mas." As before, we respectfully heeded this advice and strategically planned for at least double that amount, taking into account the remnants of the party that happened inside Sven´s stomach, the heat that radiated off the asphalt, and the depleting oxygen levels. After four hours of climbing and a few siestas that included an Ecuadorian soccer game, viewed from the nosebleed section, we arrived at what would be home for the night, for us as well as the dozens of sheep, llamas, donkeys, cows, horses, and dogs. The campsite was fertile, which is to say, laden with dung, but with what little energy we had left, it was it. Chimborazo commanded the end of the cultivated valley, granting us another picturesque setting to round out another day of escaping urbanity. The party from Sven´s stomach moved to mine as we unwisely climbed over 1000 meters in a day. Every sign of altitude sickness overcame me as I deleriously faded into a restless sleep, interrupted by falty plumbing and delusional dreams. Soren and Sven enjoyed a full body massage before dozing off as Chimborazo whispered sweet-nothings that shook the very ground they lay upon. Even if the clouds obscured the summit, we were reminded of our proximity by the trembling earth.

The next morning offered little indication of where we were, donning a blanket not of the green patchwork from the day before, but of white, stark white. The rain that accompanied the brightening horizon turned to snow that kept us tentbound for most of the morning. Soren heroically cooked a monstrous breakfast of quinoa, raisins, and walnuts, the excess of which is still with us. As the clouds lightened and the snow melted, we packed up our shit-caked gear and pedaled into the clouds. Unsure of where we were and hesitant about where we needed to go, the day passed in complete obscurity. At 4300 meters, our minds were operating at a proportionately slow rate, to the point that we forgot our most prized piece of gear, the stove, at a rest stop in an abandoned building. The terrain was equally obscure with no indication of the 6300 meter volcano that rose just beyond our visibility, which remained at 20 meters, varying slightly with the alpine winds that whisked the clouds away for a time.

Approaching the far side of Chimborazo, the clouds lifted and we got a fleeting glimpse of the monster we had just rallied around. At our highpoint, we managed to get as far from the center of the earth as we´ve ever been, taking into account the bulge of the earth at the equator. Logging 75 kmph, we flew back into the clouds and coasted the remaining 50 km into Riobamba where we´re now indulging in oxygen-saturated sleep, punctuated by the early-morning karaoke beats downstairs.

The backwards "s" that we´ve mapped from Quito may not have been the most efficient, comfortable, or convenient route, but it has provided us with literal and figurative highs and lows that would have otherwise been levelized on the direct route down the Panamericana. Traveling by self-propelled means has allowed us to seek these extremities and customize our experience of moving through Ecuador, which up to this point has been inspiringly genuine.