Leaving Ecuador

We were heading back to Peru, where drivers want to kill you, chickens that want to die and dogs sleeping in the road that clearly don’t care either way. 

 

The roads in Ecuador were spectacular pretty much since 30 kms out of Macas on the edge of the amazon. Once I battled thru the road construction that is. The road, winding up the eastern slopes of the Andes, was wet marbles in heavy cloud. Finally the roadwork finished but then the surface was still slippery slick and unpredictable asphalt until we breached the pass at around 3300m. The fog finally parted at the behest of a fearsomely cold and gusty wind to reveal a scene taken directly from the glens of a Scottish tourist brochure. We didn’t stop to sample the waters as the ambient temp gauge on the dash had slipped below double figures some time previously. But this same wind had also dried the roads to allow full use of the tire sides.

A very nutritious meal!

could be the Scottish Highlands!

We carried on thru villages and valleys taking sometimes 40kms to cross a valley 2kms wide and 1 km deep. We passed the Nariz del Diablo, failing to see the fabled engineering feat but marvelling at the sheer valley walls and endurance of a couple of bicycle tourists we waved to. As the sun got closer to the mountain clad horizon we hit traffic and negotiated our path into Cuenca. The GPS again the saviour in cities, whose otherwise clear grid patterns have become a labyrinth of one way streets. We found our digs after a nice chat with a chap who would have loved to have bought a DL650 but the high import taxes of Ecuador adding another 40% onto the price I paid in Australia. I had to drop a pannier to get the bike into the hotel courtyard which made a perfect site for our first South American oil change.

 

Finding an oil filter was mission impossible so I had to use the one I was carrying. My preference would have been to hold on to the spare for a place where civilization would not be so civilized but the hour wasted in the search was forgiven in response to finding two of my favorite consumables, tapas and micro-brew!

Cuenca flower vendors

The next day was a long one, but still on great roads towards the border. First up was a high and cold pass out of town but then things started to warm up. The layers started to shed like a drying onion. Finally we were warm after almost 2 months or more of cold conditions. I made the statement that I would rather be sweating in my suit than shivering in the rain. Let’s see if that comment holds up!

 

Macara was better second time around. A nice parrilla followed by a midnight banging on the door by a seriously misguided fellow tourist. I think she will consider carefully before knocking on doors after 10pm in the future!

 

The border crossing went smoothly. The customs guys in Ecuador only checking my papers on my request and telling me that I could return to the country at any time in the future, against some advice I had received on the forums. The Peruvian fellow epitomized the differences in the countries. Indolent, sloth, grumpy and argumentative versus easy-going, professional and facilitating.

 

All things considered it was an easy crossing, given my experience now of a sample size of two, both at the same place! 

 

The decision not to cross south of Vilcabamba was sealed the day prior when we hit the deck near Loja. Rounding a corner I first saw the landslide from the right hand side of the road. I had about 4 seconds to make a decision, a veritable luxury in motorcycling terms. What to do? The rain had turned the dirt into mud but I saw plenty of tracks through already. So far the road integrity in the wet was good. There were 3 options: hit it hard and fast and pray to the gods of momentum; get in a good road position and speed, grab the bike with the knees and stay clear of the front brake; or stop, hopefully in time in a wet corner. In the 2 seconds of luxury I decided on the middle option, ride it straight and with good velocity, around 30-35kmh. I was off the brakes and on-line when we hit the change in the road colour. I don’t even know how far into the slick we got before we were down. A low side fall that finished with the rear of the bike closer to our destination than the front. It was a calculated decision in a pressure situation based on zero experience. In my own defense we could barely even stand in the mud without slipping, a fact we discovered maybe too late! But we were fine, the bike no more than muddy but my confidence had gone back to primary school being bullied by Paul Jennings in the playground! Let’s just say that the next 20kms set no lap times!

A bit muddy after the spill and this is after I have cleaned myself up!