4/4/2013 San Carlos to Angas
Not all of this passage was ridden
D28, T3.16, av8.17, Max 24, tot12478, 2335
I was up before the Golondrinas (swallows ) had left their perches on the powerlines outside my hotel . There were hundreds of them there. They seem to like sleeping in the bright lights, with traffic relentlessly passing beneath. Puerto Lopez was also home to hundreds on the wires at the busiest spot on the malecon.
Loading up, a stroll across the road saw me enjoy coffee and chicken etc about 0630.
It is always a laugh in many of these places as the husband of the woman cooking always asks if I need a companion as he points to his daughter jokingly. Some of these girls are in their thirties. Some are very nice I might add. Though it is always a joke and everyone has a laugh.
Heading off up the road, many farm workers were on their way to some large plantations of bananas and cacao, with the little wind they get here, the bananas don’t need propping.
This climate was made to order when it comes to growing delicate crops. Without the possibility of cyclones production is pretty much a given year after year. Though flooding maybe an issue.
The road was becoming no more than a narrow tarred one way affair.
As I proceeded east it got worse, then before the Pueblo of Recinta Calderon, gravel took over.
Pretty much as soon as I left the pueblo, the rear tyre decided it wanted to expel all its air.
This time a new tube was fitted the one being used had been patched 4 times, not wanting any more flats it was replaced.
Soon the loud roar of the Balao river was a noise constantly keeping me company. The road was following the river valley.
The country around me had been cleared and was mainly cattle grazing land.
Solitary palms, some 80ft tall reminded one of the vegetation that must have been here in the past.
The rocks on the the road were all smooth from wear by water, some were getting rather big and many were loose, riding was getting very difficult.
On the steeper parts walking was the only way to make passage, moving so slow riding, it was impossible to negotiate all the large loose stones.
A hilux pickup passed me. As did two guys on motos heading to work gold mining the rock further up the road.
Soon the tiny pueblo of Iberia was reached, it had one general store, specialising in the most basic of things. I bought some onions and tomatoes and had a few drinks whilst chatting to the guys in the Hilux.
They reckoned it would take six days to get to Cuenca. My map showed a road yet to be opened. The road I was on was only passable in the dry season. In the wet season landslips kept it closed. It was still really the wet season.
Though not lost, my location was not where I thought I was.
I was now beginning to realise why no one on the coast knew this road.
I was still not to bothered about the situation. The guys offered to take me 10k up the road in the pickup. Looking at my rate of progress and their comments, the offer was accepted. Two other guys were wanting a lift also, they were heading to work with gold in the hills.
We man handled the bike on the back and three of us held it in place on the back.
This road, if you could call it that suddenly started deteriorating at rapid rate of knots into a one way track with massive landslides having just been bulldozed clear.
In heavy rain the place would have been deadly making slow passage, some crosses on the roadside marked where people had lost their lives due to these slips.
There were some corners where the bike could not even have been pushed through, the mud was a foot deep.
“Shit Smith, what have you got yourself into here” was one of the thoughts that came to mind.
In the back the guys and I were having a good yarn about the conditions. Buses actually use the road in the dry season.
Once we got up to a high spot Javier pulled over, we unloaded the bike and the three of us set off on foot.
I sincerely thanked him. It was a situation where money did not need to change hands, we all knew it. He had helped the other two also.
Walking on, we had to pass more boggy corners. Going down the steep sections I couldn’t use the brakes because of all the grit on the rims, they would have ground them away. The only way to control the weight of the bike and gear was to bury the seat in the side of my hip and hang on . We all walked together.
People were living in this unbelievably steep country. A house was on the road side.
More crosses were seen, reminding us of what steep land and rain could do.
Up ahead was something I had never seen before, the road did a double traverse up a near vertical face that was all barren rock and gravel, the whole face had slipped only recently.
On my own, it would have been impossible to push the bike up this cutting. The surface was loose gritty sand with a water course running down the middle. Above us was unstable to say the least.
The three of us all pushed the bike, we literally jogged up here, stopping every twenty metres or so to gather our breath. The guys were anxious to pass this section. Me, I was just awe inspired at the scenery and the grandeur of this enormous landscape.
Before entering this area the guys had yelled at some other people in a truck way across the gorge.
After we made it to the first switch back the gradient eased.
Soon we were at the top. I now realised that this road was impassable to someone alone with a loaded bike at this time of year.
There was no way I could have pushed the bike up here. At best one would have had to ferry things to the top to ease the burden .
Once at the bend where the top was reached we yarned to the guys in the truck.
It turned out that they had a bull in the back and were waiting for some farmers to ride out of the mountains to purchase it. They lived way up the valley even higher than us. Some 3500 metres.
No one was in a rush, me included. They said I could put the bike in the back. Carlos lived in another tiny pueblo further on called San Antonio. None of these places were on the map. Seventy five families lived there.
About an hour later way across the ravine where we had been, a group of horseman could be seen coming down the road.
This was pretty unreal stuff, seeing this life and those living it in the back blocks of Ecuador at some 3000 metres. The horsemen were riding small horses with wooden backed saddles.
Some of the horses were riderless, one was carrying a large gas bottle, the others just unladen .
They too rode at a brisk pace past these treacherous freshly scarred faces.
They were a super friendly bunch of guys. All with strong expressions, expressions often found only on those people that live in harmony with the land and animals they care for.
Even their horses were strong, faithful looking animals. It took awhile for one of them to warm to me. Slowly I presented the back of my hand for him to investigate, he wasn't keen. With some time he had a reassuring smell and allowed me to stroke his jaw bone. These animals were the lifeblood of these high country farmers. They primarily were beef farmers.
Carlos regularly bought and sold from and to them. He got $375 for this beast. Once they decided they wanted the bull after inspecting it in the back of the truck. It was coaxed out of the rear doors.
Then was immediately tied to one of the horses and the two of them, once used to each other wandered off down the road and home to the farm. The horse knew where to go, the bull had no choice.
Another guy on a moto cruised by and stopped, he does a run selling fish to the people living along the road.
All this was an experience to behold. This place was really isolated. Soon we loaded the bike into the now empty truck. The two guys stayed in the back with it, I joined Carlos and the driver in the front.
The gradients on this road were something else, so steep.
Carlos commented that there were small copper and molybdenum mines in the mountains, small clusters of buildings on the distant slopes were workers accommodation
Soon we arrived at San Antonio, a tiny pueblo on the side of a valley. Carlos who was two years older than me invited me to his house for lunch of potato soup and fish with rice. His grandchildren were there, great kids they were. Always shy but once you crack that first smile you have a mate, young Walter enjoyed time sitting on the bike.
The houses here were ever so homely but very very basic. Carlos' house felt very warm from a social point of view, he proudly showed me some wood carvings he did.
He was a hell of a good guy, we got on well. I had to say goodbye and move on. Buying some water, many towns people came to say goodbye or just look in awe at this crazy gringo on a bike in their town. Carlos told me they had never seen another cyclist here before. I wonder why.
Leaving town, I gave it my all just to pedal up the slope visible to everyone. They all reckoned it would take another 3 days to get to Cuenca, halfway up the hill I yelled out, make that a month!!!
Around the bend the slope just got steeper. Dismounting I was doing my best just push the bike up the hill.
Soon a pickup passed me on their way to San Antonio.
About half an hour later I was chatting to a lady and her daughter who were moving a cow along a track. I was getting distances and times off them .
The noise of a vehicle was heard, it was the pickup that passed me before. They offered to give a lift to Angas for $15
By now it was raining and bloody cold. I accepted. It was three thirty and cooling down fast. We had a good yarn about life up here. One of the guys was an electrician who lived in Cuenca.
My guess was that Carlos had said go and offer him a lift. He knew what I had ahead of me. Anyway they took me to where I am now. The cluster of unoccupied houses known as Angas.
They introduced me to some people that lived in a hut down below the road. They were the most humble of Ecuadorians all huddled together on a bench fixing a hand saw. Their house was tiny, though wooden lined and cosy. Dirt was everywhere, this place saw rain almost everyday in the wet season.
It wasn’t suitable to stay in their shed, it was on the side of a hill near the house.
The guys told me to go down a track to a cluster of unoccupied huts.
These were owned by people who live in Cuenca who come up here trout fishing in the weekends.
No one was around in any of the houses, there was a small church and a common area. In luck, power was available here and shelter. The clouds had now closed in from below.
I really was in luxury, with a light and running water and shelter.
Here at days end, I look at the feather taped to the angle bar on my bike, presented to me on the shore at Lake Winnibigoshish in Minnesota in June 2011 by the Native American elder who said “ Nigel, I give you this feather from the Bald Eagle, don’t let it touch the ground and it will look after you”.
On this particular day, on this isolated road, these people and I crossed paths, enriching both all our lives, experiencing the inexperienced. It was such a coincidence that we should encounter each other my heart tells me. This spirituality arises occasionally, its presence among other things allows me the strength and will to make and enjoy this journey.
Today without the help of these high country people I could have been in big trouble, had I not turned back.
They had helped me achieve the impossible with their generosity. I had witnessed life in this part of Ecuador in an unorchestrated way. It made me realise how easy life is back in Australia. It also reminded me just how kind and warming country people are. No matter where they live.
I had seen fields of maize and banana plantings that were located in places where the nearest piece of level land was miles away.
Having not ridden all this road meant nothing, firstly it was impossible and secondly at the end of the day sometimes it’s best not knowing what lies ahead.
San Carlos down on the coast seems like somewhere in my imagination. Life is so easy in a warm forgiving climate.
It is now ten pm here in Angas and very cold. Last night I slept with a fan going at full speed and still sweating. Tonight as I type this I am now shivering, though rugged up in all my woolen gear.
The day had been enjoyed all the way from sea level to 3000 metres,
I am fortunate to have this shelter. The sound of the river in the valley below will make for a restful sleep I feel.
Not all of this passage was ridden
D28, T3.16, av8.17, Max 24, tot12478, 2335
I was up before the Golondrinas (swallows ) had left their perches on the powerlines outside my hotel . There were hundreds of them there. They seem to like sleeping in the bright lights, with traffic relentlessly passing beneath. Puerto Lopez was also home to hundreds on the wires at the busiest spot on the malecon.
Loading up, a stroll across the road saw me enjoy coffee and chicken etc about 0630.
It is always a laugh in many of these places as the husband of the woman cooking always asks if I need a companion as he points to his daughter jokingly. Some of these girls are in their thirties. Some are very nice I might add. Though it is always a joke and everyone has a laugh.
Heading off up the road, many farm workers were on their way to some large plantations of bananas and cacao, with the little wind they get here, the bananas don’t need propping.
This climate was made to order when it comes to growing delicate crops. Without the possibility of cyclones production is pretty much a given year after year. Though flooding maybe an issue.
The road was becoming no more than a narrow tarred one way affair.
As I proceeded east it got worse, then before the Pueblo of Recinta Calderon, gravel took over.
Pretty much as soon as I left the pueblo, the rear tyre decided it wanted to expel all its air.
This time a new tube was fitted the one being used had been patched 4 times, not wanting any more flats it was replaced.
Soon the loud roar of the Balao river was a noise constantly keeping me company. The road was following the river valley.
The country around me had been cleared and was mainly cattle grazing land.
Solitary palms, some 80ft tall reminded one of the vegetation that must have been here in the past.
The rocks on the the road were all smooth from wear by water, some were getting rather big and many were loose, riding was getting very difficult.
On the steeper parts walking was the only way to make passage, moving so slow riding, it was impossible to negotiate all the large loose stones.
A hilux pickup passed me. As did two guys on motos heading to work gold mining the rock further up the road.
Soon the tiny pueblo of Iberia was reached, it had one general store, specialising in the most basic of things. I bought some onions and tomatoes and had a few drinks whilst chatting to the guys in the Hilux.
They reckoned it would take six days to get to Cuenca. My map showed a road yet to be opened. The road I was on was only passable in the dry season. In the wet season landslips kept it closed. It was still really the wet season.
Though not lost, my location was not where I thought I was.
I was now beginning to realise why no one on the coast knew this road.
I was still not to bothered about the situation. The guys offered to take me 10k up the road in the pickup. Looking at my rate of progress and their comments, the offer was accepted. Two other guys were wanting a lift also, they were heading to work with gold in the hills.
We man handled the bike on the back and three of us held it in place on the back.
This road, if you could call it that suddenly started deteriorating at rapid rate of knots into a one way track with massive landslides having just been bulldozed clear.
In heavy rain the place would have been deadly making slow passage, some crosses on the roadside marked where people had lost their lives due to these slips.
There were some corners where the bike could not even have been pushed through, the mud was a foot deep.
“Shit Smith, what have you got yourself into here” was one of the thoughts that came to mind.
In the back the guys and I were having a good yarn about the conditions. Buses actually use the road in the dry season.
Once we got up to a high spot Javier pulled over, we unloaded the bike and the three of us set off on foot.
I sincerely thanked him. It was a situation where money did not need to change hands, we all knew it. He had helped the other two also.
Walking on, we had to pass more boggy corners. Going down the steep sections I couldn’t use the brakes because of all the grit on the rims, they would have ground them away. The only way to control the weight of the bike and gear was to bury the seat in the side of my hip and hang on . We all walked together.
People were living in this unbelievably steep country. A house was on the road side.
More crosses were seen, reminding us of what steep land and rain could do.
Up ahead was something I had never seen before, the road did a double traverse up a near vertical face that was all barren rock and gravel, the whole face had slipped only recently.
On my own, it would have been impossible to push the bike up this cutting. The surface was loose gritty sand with a water course running down the middle. Above us was unstable to say the least.
The three of us all pushed the bike, we literally jogged up here, stopping every twenty metres or so to gather our breath. The guys were anxious to pass this section. Me, I was just awe inspired at the scenery and the grandeur of this enormous landscape.
Before entering this area the guys had yelled at some other people in a truck way across the gorge.
After we made it to the first switch back the gradient eased.
Soon we were at the top. I now realised that this road was impassable to someone alone with a loaded bike at this time of year.
There was no way I could have pushed the bike up here. At best one would have had to ferry things to the top to ease the burden .
Once at the bend where the top was reached we yarned to the guys in the truck.
It turned out that they had a bull in the back and were waiting for some farmers to ride out of the mountains to purchase it. They lived way up the valley even higher than us. Some 3500 metres.
No one was in a rush, me included. They said I could put the bike in the back. Carlos lived in another tiny pueblo further on called San Antonio. None of these places were on the map. Seventy five families lived there.
About an hour later way across the ravine where we had been, a group of horseman could be seen coming down the road.
This was pretty unreal stuff, seeing this life and those living it in the back blocks of Ecuador at some 3000 metres. The horsemen were riding small horses with wooden backed saddles.
Some of the horses were riderless, one was carrying a large gas bottle, the others just unladen .
They too rode at a brisk pace past these treacherous freshly scarred faces.
They were a super friendly bunch of guys. All with strong expressions, expressions often found only on those people that live in harmony with the land and animals they care for.
Even their horses were strong, faithful looking animals. It took awhile for one of them to warm to me. Slowly I presented the back of my hand for him to investigate, he wasn't keen. With some time he had a reassuring smell and allowed me to stroke his jaw bone. These animals were the lifeblood of these high country farmers. They primarily were beef farmers.
Carlos regularly bought and sold from and to them. He got $375 for this beast. Once they decided they wanted the bull after inspecting it in the back of the truck. It was coaxed out of the rear doors.
Then was immediately tied to one of the horses and the two of them, once used to each other wandered off down the road and home to the farm. The horse knew where to go, the bull had no choice.
Another guy on a moto cruised by and stopped, he does a run selling fish to the people living along the road.
All this was an experience to behold. This place was really isolated. Soon we loaded the bike into the now empty truck. The two guys stayed in the back with it, I joined Carlos and the driver in the front.
The gradients on this road were something else, so steep.
Carlos commented that there were small copper and molybdenum mines in the mountains, small clusters of buildings on the distant slopes were workers accommodation
Soon we arrived at San Antonio, a tiny pueblo on the side of a valley. Carlos who was two years older than me invited me to his house for lunch of potato soup and fish with rice. His grandchildren were there, great kids they were. Always shy but once you crack that first smile you have a mate, young Walter enjoyed time sitting on the bike.
The houses here were ever so homely but very very basic. Carlos' house felt very warm from a social point of view, he proudly showed me some wood carvings he did.
He was a hell of a good guy, we got on well. I had to say goodbye and move on. Buying some water, many towns people came to say goodbye or just look in awe at this crazy gringo on a bike in their town. Carlos told me they had never seen another cyclist here before. I wonder why.
Leaving town, I gave it my all just to pedal up the slope visible to everyone. They all reckoned it would take another 3 days to get to Cuenca, halfway up the hill I yelled out, make that a month!!!
Around the bend the slope just got steeper. Dismounting I was doing my best just push the bike up the hill.
Soon a pickup passed me on their way to San Antonio.
About half an hour later I was chatting to a lady and her daughter who were moving a cow along a track. I was getting distances and times off them .
The noise of a vehicle was heard, it was the pickup that passed me before. They offered to give a lift to Angas for $15
By now it was raining and bloody cold. I accepted. It was three thirty and cooling down fast. We had a good yarn about life up here. One of the guys was an electrician who lived in Cuenca.
My guess was that Carlos had said go and offer him a lift. He knew what I had ahead of me. Anyway they took me to where I am now. The cluster of unoccupied houses known as Angas.
They introduced me to some people that lived in a hut down below the road. They were the most humble of Ecuadorians all huddled together on a bench fixing a hand saw. Their house was tiny, though wooden lined and cosy. Dirt was everywhere, this place saw rain almost everyday in the wet season.
It wasn’t suitable to stay in their shed, it was on the side of a hill near the house.
The guys told me to go down a track to a cluster of unoccupied huts.
These were owned by people who live in Cuenca who come up here trout fishing in the weekends.
No one was around in any of the houses, there was a small church and a common area. In luck, power was available here and shelter. The clouds had now closed in from below.
I really was in luxury, with a light and running water and shelter.
Here at days end, I look at the feather taped to the angle bar on my bike, presented to me on the shore at Lake Winnibigoshish in Minnesota in June 2011 by the Native American elder who said “ Nigel, I give you this feather from the Bald Eagle, don’t let it touch the ground and it will look after you”.
On this particular day, on this isolated road, these people and I crossed paths, enriching both all our lives, experiencing the inexperienced. It was such a coincidence that we should encounter each other my heart tells me. This spirituality arises occasionally, its presence among other things allows me the strength and will to make and enjoy this journey.
Today without the help of these high country people I could have been in big trouble, had I not turned back.
They had helped me achieve the impossible with their generosity. I had witnessed life in this part of Ecuador in an unorchestrated way. It made me realise how easy life is back in Australia. It also reminded me just how kind and warming country people are. No matter where they live.
I had seen fields of maize and banana plantings that were located in places where the nearest piece of level land was miles away.
Having not ridden all this road meant nothing, firstly it was impossible and secondly at the end of the day sometimes it’s best not knowing what lies ahead.
San Carlos down on the coast seems like somewhere in my imagination. Life is so easy in a warm forgiving climate.
It is now ten pm here in Angas and very cold. Last night I slept with a fan going at full speed and still sweating. Tonight as I type this I am now shivering, though rugged up in all my woolen gear.
The day had been enjoyed all the way from sea level to 3000 metres,
I am fortunate to have this shelter. The sound of the river in the valley below will make for a restful sleep I feel.
"The machine of a dream, such a clean machine"- (Queen, circa 1970's)
Early morning San Carlos
Just the lushest of vegetation
Remediation works, just to allow passage nothing more.
Without the guys, San Carlos would have been the only option.
Carlos on the right, was waiting for the cattleman to come down from the mountains.
he had a cattle beast to sell to them.
Their new purchase, at the beginning of the journey to his new home.
Carlos' houses, the blue one on the left, such a nice person.
Leaving San Antonio.
Thanks to Carlos and the guys in the pickup, the night was very comfortable by my standards. I even had a school desk at which to type today's entry.
|
Leaving San Carlos, little did I know what lay ahead. I feel all life exists with enthusiasm not knowing what the future holds.
Cacao plantation, these and bananas were on a big scale, with many workers modes of transport parked inside the entrances.
My first lift from Iberia 10km east. Over some knee deep mud in some sections.
We all pushed with much haste to pass these sections.
Such spirited, faithful and loyal companions for these people.
Carlos and Walter
At Angas looking back to the west. It was nothing more than a community centre and small huts here and there
The small church at Angas, the cloud had set in for the evening.
The Angas community centre looking west.
|