Fargo Brook Times, Andean Edition: Field Trip: Chilcapamba-Morocho Roads by Bike

Feeling my rear tire begin to drift laterally on the gravel road, I pulled up to a tall curb, flipped my bike, pulled the wheel, and sat down. I sat on a corner at the edge of the town of Quiroga, 25 minutes north of Otavalo, where the tiled street meets the gravel-dirt road. As is my ritual, I first pulled one of two spares from my pack, unscrewed the nozzle and began to inflate it by mouth -- a partially inflated tube is much easier to pack into the tire, is less likely to pinch, and since you only need a few pounds to get it going, mouth-to-tube works just fine. Having prepped the spare, I moved onto the problem tube.

"What happened?" a man asked in Spanish. He had been talking on the phone on the corner, and apparently wrapping up his conversation, he turned his attention to the curious gringo with the dissembled bike and parts spread over the sidewalk. He sported an oxford shirt and a Windsor cap.

"Oh, a flat tire -- I get a lot of practice changing tires on these roads -- rocks, dust, cabuya -- lots of things are hard on tires." While I went about my repair, we chatted a bit. Where was I from? Why was I here? The standard questions, the practiced responses. It occurs to me now that there's a very fine line between heavy existential inquiry and small talk.

"You're living in Otavalo?" he asked. "You want to buy a house in Quiroga? I have one for sale up the road." I assured him that one house in the US was enough for me, and that we were happy renting in Otavalo. As he was saying this, another 60-something gentlemen came up. The two men, obviously acquaintances, shook hands and exchanged greetings. Then they turned their attention to me.

"What happened?" the second man asked. The first filled him in on the details.

"Look, he has everything there in his backpack." Sometimes I don't mind being a curiosity. The new tube installed, and the wheel replaced, I pulled out my pump and began to inflate the tire. The two men turned to each other. "See -- he has everything there!" The second man took it in again and nodded his approval.

Other than when they're driving, no one seems to be in a big hurry in Ecuador. A breakdown of any sort is treated casually. A flat tire on a car, and the family is going to settle in and wait. Chances are someone will walk up selling some food. And on top of that -- as far as I can tell -- there is no such thing as an appointment. In other words, no one really has to be anywhere at any given time, so why wouldn't you just chill?

To these guys, I felt like an Indy pit crew. Having fully inflated the tire, I packed everything back into my pack -- including the tube I will patch and use again, assuming the snakebite isn't too bad. I righted the bike, hopped on, waved goodbye to the guys, and tore off down the hill.

I'd just come down the Chilcapamba and Morocho roads above Quiroga. The roads eventually lead all the way up to Lago Quicocha, a volcanic cone lake high in the paramo, just below Volcan Cotacachi. So far it has been one of my favorite rides, for the friendly people along the way as much as the beautiful scenery and tranquil, traffic-free streets.

Like old-school mountain-biking, however, many of my rides involve heading up, sometimes for hours... and then heading down. The descents are a lot of fun. The rains have just started to come, but prior to this week, Northern Ecuador had been excessively dry. As a result, some of the roads had inches of deep dust in pockets. Hitting these patches on a descent is close to skiing, but on ice without edges. The rear of the bike drifts left or right -- the best thing to do is to hold on tight and look at the end. Fortunately, they are never too long.

While there is no uber-groomed single-track, many of the cobbled roads have footpaths on the grass margins, which also make for some exciting descents. You have to keep an eye out for chickens and tethered pigs, as well as approaching dogs -- all features of life and mountain-biking here. With an eye out for livestock, sometimes you lose track of the cobbles, and hitting a patch where the stones are turned up, or worse -- missing, it's easy to get pinch flats. Pinch flats occur when the rim bites into the tube, usually after a lot of force is pushed into the wheel. The worst kind, snakebite, so called for the fang-like "incisions" in the tube, are irreparable.

Given that I am 200 pounds, my bike is a hard-tail (no rear suspension), cobbled roads are uneven, and that I like to go fast on a descent, I am bound to get flats. No matter, it gives me a chance to take a breather, talk to people, and hone my tube-patching skills.