HEAVEN & HELL IN ECUADOR
Following ancient Inca paths and cowboy trails, Thomas Vanderham and Scotty Laughland hunt for trail gold in darkest Ecuador
Incan trails, cowboy ranches and spectacular, cloud-shrouded volcanoes – Thomas Vanderham and Scotty Laughland take a trip through exotic Ecuador in search of the country’s best riding spots
As the plane taxis towards the terminal in Ecuador’s capital city of Quito, I’m somewhat perplexed. It looks nothing like I’d imagined, but then again, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. It’s a relief to finally escape the ‘germ tube’, ready to explore the ancient Incan trails that thread through Ecuador’s deep jungles and up its high, volcanic peaks. Our crew for the week consists of Thomas Vanderham, who’s jetted down from Canada, and Scotty Laughland, who’s travelled over from Scotland with H+I Adventures. We’ll be relying heavily on our guide José and his invaluable local knowledge, as well as our driver, Victor.
We set our alarms early and are up at the crack of dawn for a date with Infiernillo – ‘Little Hell’. We leave the urban sprawl of Quito behind, crossing the equator in the process. After dousing ourselves with mosquito repellent, we’re quickly thrust into a landscape shaped by a violent volcanic past. These days, it’s a less fiery affair around the dormant Pululahua volcano and the fertile soil teems with cattle, as well as the odd alpaca.
The vegetation grows ever taller until we’re submerged under the canopy, joining an ancient path once used by the Incas, for our first taste of proper Ecuadorian singletrack. This trail snakes through dramatic contours as we dive into the dense green, brushing through the undergrowth and surfing a layer of powdery volcanic loam. Scotty and Thomas are carving high and low off bankings at every opportunity, before we’re briefly spat out of the jungle into a lunar landscape littered with smooth rollers and rises. Thomas’s persona changes as he catches the scent of a blank canvas – he sniffs out his line and duly clears it with his signature nonchalant, smooth precision.
Picking up the trail once more, we pass an old brick oven that had once supplied the grand buildings of central Quito, but is now abandoned and part-swallowed by the surrounding jungle. Heading deeper into the valley, the vegetation becomes thicker and we begin to comprehend the meaning of the name ‘Little Hell’ as we’re eaten alive by mosquitos. The sticky humidity is stifling and inescapable, but the suffering is thankfully short-lived as we’re flung into a final flurry of wild switchbacks down to the river. Here, like a game of Tetris, we somehow fit six riders and their bikes into an old pick-up truck, which coughs into life and grumbles its way out of the valley.
FANTASY TRAIL
In stark contrast to yesterday, today we’re riding in an arid desert landscape. It feels like a different country, yet we’re only a few hours down the road. The vast expanse of Chota’s hills makes it look like it’s covered in a network of veins, with the various moto and enduro lines cut into the hillside visible from miles away. “Where’s the trail?” I mutter, sarcastically. “Wherever you want it to be!” replies José with his usual wide grin, before bolting off down towards the ridge. I follow, feathering the brakes all the way – the terrain and environment here is like nothing I’ve ridden before.
On a flat-out traverse, the trail’s moto heritage becomes apparent as we rattle through a section of death-grip-inducing whoops. For a brief moment I’m living the supercross fantasy, until I watch Thomas casually manual and double a whole section, bringing me firmly back to reality. Both Scotty and
we dive into the dense green undergrowth, surfing a layer of powdery volcanic loam
Thomas get a little too close to the cacti lining the trail, and have to painstakingly prise needle-like thorns from within rear tyres and between knuckles.
It’s really hard to get a purchase on these conditions – just as I think it’s beginning to click, the trail bites back and has me scrabbling to regain the front end and steady the ship. The talcum-powder-like dust is getting thicker as we descend, becoming axle-deep in places and almost liquid-feeling in the way it’s displaced by our tyres. Beginning the climb out of a canyon, we discover our drivetrains haven’t been enjoying the dust bath either – they’re making noises I’ve never even heard before. We don’t prolong the torture too much though, because soon the afternoon sun will be beating down, which calls for us to retreat into the shade for the rest of the day.
we hit top speed on a trail barely wider than our tyres. blind rises and rollers ignite that indescribable feeling we all crave on two wheels
ASHES TO ASHES
We’ve driven into the night for our first taste of hacienda (traditional estate) life at El Porvenir and, next morning, the sunlight reveals its full splendour. The thatched roof drips with dew as the sun glows on the pink walls, and some chagras (cowboys) are tacking up their horses as I stroll across the courtyard. “Did you see Cotopaxi?” José asks over breakfast as he points towards the sky. I haven’t, but as my eyes scan the clouds I catch a glimpse of a white ribbon of glacial ice in among the grey. The 6,000m-tall volcano seems shy and reluctant to reveal her true beauty, for now at least.
At 8am sharp we set off for Cotopaxi, who continues to flirt coyly with us from between the clouds. As we drive across the flat plains, the grey lifts, to reveal the sort of clichéd volcano you’d draw as a kid – snow-capped and everything. We feel like kids at this moment too, our eyes glued to the windows, scouting lines down the ash fields and lava flows. At the top, Thomas takes the plunge first, carving with casual ease through the Mars-like landscape and pulling up at the bottom to watch us follow behind like lemmings. I can feel the ash spraying up my shins and it’s the most peculiar feeling I’ve had on a bike, more akin to skiing than MTB. I find it difficult to trust the shifting surface beneath my wheels, but as I grow in confidence and push into the turns I realise there’s endless support. We regroup at the foot of the slope, unsuppressable grins plastered across our faces. A flash of lightning and rumble of thunder signal our necessary departure from the open hillside. The rain begins to bounce off our skin, but it’s soon replaced by hailstones as hard as ball-bearings, which rattle around us as we funnel, heads down, towards the ridgeline. Our attention turns to just getting back to the van, given that we’re all soaked to the skin. José, however, has one more surprise in store.
I watch Scotty and Thomas disappear over a rise in the distance and into oblivion. Streaks of blue and red flowers flash past in a blur as we hit top speed on a trail barely wider than our tyres. Blind rises and rollers ignite that almost indescribable feeling we all crave on two wheels. Skidding to a finish in disbelief, we struggle to gather our thoughts and string an intelligible sentence together. Our faces say all that needs to be said. “That was all-time,” Vanderham mutters, shellshocked. “That’s what we call ‘Heaven’s Ridge’!” exclaims José, rightly proud of his local trails. Heaven by name, heaven by nature.
MIDNIGHT COWBOY
The task for our penultimate day is to circumnavigate Cotopaxi to the remote hacienda of El Tambo, for a true taste of chagra
life. After a few uncomfortable hours cooped up in a pick-up doing little more than walking pace, we decide to pedal the rest of the way. It’s a different style of riding from the rest of the week – there’s less emphasis on gravity and more on simply soaking up the environment of Ecuador. We arrive just as Gerardo, the resident chagra, is saddling up to round up the cattle for the evening, disappearing over the horizon and returning 10 minutes later accompanied by a chorus of disgruntled mooing. Soon after, he hurls a lasso around over his head then effortlessly picks out one of the cows to give it a quick check, before sending it on its way. This may be standard life on the hacienda, but for us it’s a whole new world and it’s enthralling to witness someone so skilled at work.
cotopaxi is turning pink in the morning sun, steam puffing from its crater
CAMPFIRE BLUES
The deep, inky blue of nightfall has taken hold and we’re sitting around the fire with a bottle of whisky. Gerardo turns his hand to the guitar and plays until the dawn begins to light the horizon. It’s time to turn in. After a few hours’ sleep, with a heavy heart (and head) I venture outside, where the world is beginning to stir. The cows are being milked against the awe-inspiring backdrop of Cotopaxi, which is turning pink in the morning sun, steam gently puffing from its crater. It’s a peaceful end to our journey through Ecuador, where the riding has been so thrilling and so frantic.
In truth, I didn’t know much about the country or what to expect before arriving. It was only when we began to travel and ride through the countryside that the true colours of Ecuador revealed themselves. The memories of Heaven’s Ridge and witnessing the chagras’ way of life on the haciendas will stay with us all for a very long time.