DOWNHILL BIKING - SUCRE

I went on a downhill biking tour just outside Sucre. It was really intense. Probably the most technically difficult riding I’ve done in my short riding career, but really fun. we did four course, all of which were on very, very dry dusty roads, occasionally also used by heavy trucks. There were many jagged rocks littered along the road and we even had to cycle through a river at one point. I felt it was much more difficult and dangerous than Death Road, but it was also more rewarding and a ton of fun. Half of our group of six had accidents. One English lad just about broke his wrist on the first run so was out for the day. Another girl did a full summersault over the handlebars and landed in the dust, which was quite impressive. But the award for most spectacular spill went to me. Like the idiot I am I went off the course to find ‘jumps’. I ended up in a tricky spot and to get back on the course there was a steep drop of about eight feet. Was there looked like enough gradient to cycle down it, so without hesitation (or sense) I dropped down it. But of course it was far too steep and as soon as my front tyre hit the bottom I was catapulted in a spectacular flip over the handlebars and onto my bum. Unfortunately where my bum landed there was a cactus living. It was truly like something from a bad comedy movie and the next scene involved one of the girls very graciously plucking cactus needles from my behind.

DEATH ROAD

Today I cycled Death Road. El Camino de la Muerte has been labeled the most dangerous road in the world for over thirteen years now. With an estimated 200-300 deaths each year, it of course, has become a tourist attraction.Prior to coming to La Paz I had decided not to go anywhere near this place. I had heard horror stories of other backpackers with busted faces, broken bones and other unsavoury injuries, not to mention the three tourists reportedly killed in the last three weeks as they attempted this route on mountain bikes. Add to this the fact that I'm obviously not too sensible when in comes to biking (see previous entry: Still Stupid) and I think there is sufficient cause to chicken out of this one death trap.But as fate would have it, I couldn't get a flight to the jungle until this Friday which left me with one free day and no plans. So I found the cheapest travel agency I could, checked out the bikes and booked my potentially last ever activity.It turned out to be a really amazing day. There were only four of us in my group, three Israelis and myself. The Israelis were all pretty hardcore, two were semi-pro bikers and one a bike guide back in Israel, so we wasted no time bombing down the sixty-nine kilometer stretch of cliff-clinging dirt road. Most of the road lacks guardrails, is only one lane wide and has vertical drops of up to 2000 feet. Add to this the mud, fog and potential of landslides from above and we had an exhilarating day. Breakfast, snacks, lunch and relaxing poolside siesta afterwards were all included for for the shocking price of thirty-four dollars. Our young guide Johnny was also really cool, but I often felt he was more concerned about popping jumps for the camera and doing wheelies though the puddles than about keeping us alive.And since this was such a dangerous outing, for once in my life I took it seriously and prepared properly. I did NOT go out drinking until five in the morning (because it was NOT my friend Tim's last night in South America. I did NOT guzzle the strongest local beer I could find until I couldn't see straight. I did NOT sleep in and have to be woken forty minutes late by some girl from the travel agency who had magically found my room and bed. And of course I did NOT do the first part of the road steaming drunk and the last part terribly hungover. Because of course I am too sensible to behave in such a way.

ROAD TRIP TO URUBAMBA

I took a road trip to Urubamba this weekend with my friend Carol. We set of early Saturday morning on the eighty kilometre trip. The first part of the journey is a grueling one hour up hill road out of Cuzco, made all the harder by starting at an altitude of 3500M. So we cheated and took a bus for this part (with our bikes precariously balanced on the roof).
From where we got off the bus it was pretty much all downhill or flat, and thus, much more enjoyable. We had great weather and wonderful views as we cycled into the heart of the Sacred Valley. The only downside was that the rental bike Carol had got a total of four puntures (obviously a very old inner tube) so we spent just as much time repairing it as we did cycling).For lunch we stopped in a town called Calca for guacamole and nachos lunch before attempting to carry on to Urubamba. But with a third puncture and twenty kilomtetres left, it didn't look like we'd have time to repair the tyre and make it to our destination before it grew dark. So we had to jump in a colectivo (minibus jammed full of people) for the last part of our journey. In Urumbamba we stayed in a lovely hostel with a great garden running down to the Urubamba River. And on Sunday, another beautiful day, we returned to Cuzo

Fixing yet another puncture.A bus shelter en route.

SUNDAY ROAD TRIP

I took a solo road trip on Sunday. Despite being a little tired from Saturday’s hike and then dancing until four a.m. I was very eager to try out my new wheels.
There is a town called Pisac, also famous for Inka ruins, some thirty-three kilometers from Cusco. I acknowledged that sixty-six kms was far too much for my first day on the bike, especially at an altitude of over 3500 M.
‘I’ll just cycle in that direction and see how far I get before I am tired’, I said giving myself a wink in the mirror.
The initial hour or so was a battle as it was all uphill. First I had to carry my bike up about two hundred very steep steps just to get onto the road. And then it was a forty minute uphill slog along the same road I had hiked on Saturday.But once I passed the Inka site Tambomachay the road flattened out and my mood lifted as my heart rate slowed. The weather was amazing bright and clear with just a few clouds in the sky, and supposedly quite unusual for this time of the year (it’s now rainy season).
About an hour and a half outside of Cusco the road began to descend deep down into a valley. It was so much fun flying down the curvy road at high speed I barely acknowledged that I would have to cycle back up every steep kilometer that I flew down. It wasn’t until I a village at the bottom of the valley that I realized just how far down I had came, not to mention the number of kilometers I had covered.
I stopped for a bottle of Inka Cola and to wipe the the tears from my face (due to the high speed and wind, not the thought of cycling home again) and asked some locals how much further it was to Pisac. A taxi driver told me it was about ten minutes by car so I reckoned on about thirty on my bike. I hoped it would be either flat all the way, or even a little up hill to make the return journey easier, but not having the vocabulary to ask about gradients and altitudes I just thanked my new and highly amused friends for the cola and set of again.
To my pleasure and dismay the next fifteen km or so was also all downhill. The sun was hot and high in the sky and the breeze as I bombed down closer and closer to sea level made me feel very free. There was one point during this euphoric downhill race on the virtually empty road that I acknowledged just how far down I was going and how extremely difficult it was going to be to return by the same road. But it felt so great racing down into the valley surrounded by beautiful lush mountains without even having to turn a pedal that I said to myself ‘to hell with it. I’ll just keep going. And if it’s too hard on the way back I’ll just jump on one of the occasional buses that are passing by’. But inside I knew that I would be too stubborn to take a bus back, that I would see that as a sign of failure. And so down, down, down I went eventually arriving in a valley at the town of Pisac. A pretty town from a distance with a long and wide river running through the centre. But of course up close it was poor and basic like most other parts of Peru. In town I strolled through the market and then found a restaurant on a side street for a (very mediocre, but cheap) lunch. And then another bottle of Inka Cola for the energy I knew I would need for the thirty-three km journey back.
I then sat by the river for half an hour to rest up and let my not-properly cooked rice digest. I got really sleepy and would have loved to lie down and doze for a while, but I was pretty certain that if I did there would be a good chance of walking up bikeless.So I wearily dragged myself up and forced the thoughts of a leisurely bus ride home out of my head. I cranked the tunes on my MP3 player and started the ascent. Just as I left town groups of bus drivers were touting tickets back to Cusco at very tempting prices and other bikes were clearly visible strapped to the roofs of the small buses. But I just smiled and cycled on past.The next four hours were the most physically demanding that I can ever remember doing IN MY WHOLE LIFE. Thirty-three kilometers, most of which was uphill and some of that very, very steep (see picture of roadsign). I climbed over 1100 metres and at times could hardly even keep up momentum in first gear. The beautiful views were forgotten as I panted for oxygen in the thin air and forced my thighs to continue with the grueling task of which they were so unaccustomed.
I wanted to give up many times, especially as every bus and taxi that passed beeped their horn to let me know I could jump aboard. During the last hour and half the sky clouded over and I became too saddle sore to sit down and too tired to stand up on my bike, but still I refused to quit or even push the bike for a few minutes. I was stopping every five minutes for a break and to regret not bringing any snacks.
There were road markers every kilometer from Cusco, so as I neared the city they counted down to zero. But this was mostly cruel and disheartening as I was already exhausted with 28 km to go.
As I reached the outskirts of Cusco, the ascent ended and the downhill began. Almost delirious with exhaustion I was glad when the rain started and hid any tears of relief that may have appeared.
Fifteen minutes later, wet and hardly able to move I staggered into my room and collapsed in bed.

NEW WHEELS

I just bought a mountain bike a few days ago. It took two days of shopping around and negotiations (in terrible Spanish) to get the bike I wanted for the price I wanted. But I finally found a cool front suspension aluminium frame mountain bike that I like. It needed about ten new parts before it was rideable, but even with all the extra stuff I was able to get it for 440 soles (about 75 pounds). So now I'll be taking some road trips and doing some mountain-biking to keep me entertained during the Lent drought.

HIKING PHOTOS

I went for a solo hike yesterday. I climbed Kurikoma-san (the mountain near my town) again. Although the weather at the top was terrible it was nice on the way up. I took a few snaps.

The path behind me.
The path ahead of me.
Harsh winter. The remainder of a sign after a long frozen winter.
Colours and patterns on the path caused by the hot spring waters (I think :o))
Mountains and clouds.
Still snow. June 9th and there was still tonnes of snow near the top. These poles mark where the path usually is. Very helpful when the mist gets dense.
After the cold wet hike I went to my favourite hot spring, Kurikoma Sanso, to warm up.Note: This photo of Kurikoma Sanso is from http://www.akitakurikoma.com/

DEWA SANZAN

On day two of our trip we got up early to the sound of the waves. After sausage, eggs, bread and coffee we drove east to climb a couple of mountains.
(Ryuta cooks up some breakfast)I'd heard of a trail leading from Yodono-san to the summit of Gassan (the highest and most famous mountain in the prefecture). Supposedly a demanding but extremely beautiful four hour hike to the top we were keen to check it out. We were told the day before at the tourist information that the trail would not open for another month due to the snow. However knowing the Japanese tendancy to be overly-cautious I thought we'd give it a go. Arriving at Yodono-san we were shocked at the depth of snow still lying. Two men working there told us 'muri' - impossible, and warned of landslides, falling through the snow and underlying rivers and waterfalls. But what really turned us off the climb was that there was no path to be seen anyway. Nothing. Only snow and soft slippery mud on the hills.
(The gates leading into Yodono-san)Not to be disheartened we asked around for any other options to get to the top. Again we only got 'muri' as a reply. Everyone seemed adamant that it was too early in the season to climb this beast, and would rather we waited until the summer when the mountain is full of people.
(Even with Ryuta's fluent Japanese we couldn't understand this strange kanji and carried on with our journey)But we knew there was a ski-resort on the other side of the mountain. It's open right up until July, such is the amount of snow fall in Yamagata but with no other options left, we drove an hour to the resort. Again we were reminded of the dangers when we arrived. But we did meet one youg guy. So we decided to give it a shot.
At the resort they insisted we buy a lift ticket and ride the lift before hiking further. I dont really know why since the path under the lift was very walkable. So as soon as we were out of view from the lift attendant, Ryuta jumped off and I followed. From the top of the lift we knew we were to go in the direction of eleven o'clock. At this height the clouds and mist were already around us so we hadn't many points of reference.
(From the top of the lift there was only snow and mist)We hiked for an hour and eventually came to the summit.
Unfortunately it was the wrong summit. The mist was really heavy, but we knew we were in the right direction. We just didn't know where Gassan's summit was or how to get there.
Looking around trying to get our bearings I spotted a solo skier in the snow below us. Ryuta slid down to him and asked if he knew how to get to the top. 'Two hours that way' said the skier, pointing into the mist.
('This is were we met the skier. He pointe to the middle of this photo.)So off we went, not wasting anytime.
The next two hours were slippery and confusing as there was no visable trail most of the way and we tried scaling the snowy hills to save time.
But after a grulling two hours of hiking through scrub, sliding through snow and hoping we were going in the right direction, we made it to the summit.
(Exhausted at the summit)It was well and truly worth it. In the moments that the mist dissapated and clouds blew aside the views were stunning. Panoramic views showed we were right in the heart of the mountains (and had a long way back). After hot cup noodles and rice balls we passed out for forty minutes. Awaking refreshed and energetic we really felt like kings after achieving our three summits in two days goal. We headed down the mountain sliding on our jackets to save time. But as the clouds once again settled all around us we got so lost all clue of direction and couldn't even find our own footprints. But that's another story for another time.
(The view from the top made it all worthwhile)

YAMAGATA PREFECTURE

West of where I live, on the Sea of Japan, is the prefecture of Yamagata. It has some beautiful nature and scenery including a famous mountain range called Dewa Sanzan. A friend and I took a trip there last weekend for some hiking and camping before the rainy season starts. It is an amazing place.

After our three hour drive west we hiked to the top of Mt. Haguro. It looks like a pleasant in this photo, but in real life, it's a gruelling 2446 stone steps to the top. I tried counting the steps to see if the guidebook was correct. After 300 we stopped for a brea and realising there was over 2000 more ahead of us (plus the return trip), I gave up on counting and enjoyed the scenery instead.
After the hike we found an empty beach (but for one fisherman) and set up camp. The weather was amazing and drift wood a plenty, so we lit a campfire, hit the beers and waiting for the sun to set over the sea. Below is Ryuta exhibiting the effects of one too many hot whiskeys just after sunset.

Drunk or not, Ryuta was still able to cook us an awesome dinner over the campfire. Sausages, eggs, and yakisoba noodles. (My responsibilites were keeping the hot whiskies)