From Anchorage to Ushuaia by Bike

We stayed a couple of days in Cuenca, just enough time to visit a Microfinance Institution, adjust to the altitude, and visit the town. The rainy season was supposed to be over 2 or 3 weeks ago, but most days seem to be sunny periods in between the rain.

There are, depending on the source of information, between 100 and 200 km from Cuenca to Loja. We planned to make it in three days, but the altitude and relief of the terrain meant that it took us four days – and it would have been five had we not had to meet Rene, our host in Loja. The mountains certainly didn’t go easy on us. Every day we climbed up 3000m, and that doesn’t even count the smaller hills along the way. During the whole 4 days, we didn’t bike once along a flat road: every downhill of 15km or so was followed by another 15 km uphill. So we would coast downhill for 45 minutes, stopping to take pictures and let the brakes cool down, and then settle in for a hard 2 to 4 hour climb. 

We have covered segments worthy of the great races in the Alpes and the Pyrenees. And remember that our bikes aren’t exactly the featherweights that the Tour de France racers ride on and that they can lift with their pinkies! Our bikes weigh more than 30 pounds with another 65 pounds of luggage, and that doesn’t count the water! And boy did we have sore legs!

The Ecuadorian Andes have been tough to get through, but they are stunningly beautiful. The light is wonderful, and the clouds filter the sunlight in a way that brings out a delicate palette of greens along the “páramo,” the high plateaus in the mountains. Many of the regions that we have passed through are relatively isolated, and the inhabitants are all indigenous peoples, wearing traditional costumes. The first night we camped beside a shepherd’s hut. It was nice to set up the tent again and dust off our camping skills. It hasn’t been safe for us to camp since Mexico, more than 3 months ago. 

There was one unfortunate incident which tainted a little the beauty of our passage through the mountains. As we passed through one village, we heard “gringo, gringa” and pretended, like we normally do, not to hear. But in the next village, the cries started up again, only this time from a group of children, about 10 years old, perched along the base of a cliff. I saw out of the corner of my eye one of kids pick up a stone and throw it at us. We stopped abruptly and I couldn’t help myself from giving them a little lecture. There were two women who watched the whole thing, seemingly impassively…

Sébastien