Written by on September 5, 2019

Los perros locos

Ecuador

“I think I may kill a dog before I leave Ecuador,” I told Liz over the phone one night. 

Kidding, but only sort of. Maniacal barks and snarls are the soundtrack to the backroads of Ecuador. I can hear them coming before I even see them, as if my bicycle emits a special odor attracting canines from miles away. They hurdle fences, plow through creeks, leap off ledges, and in a moment, they are sprinting alongside my back wheel, lunging at my heels. 

Sometimes, they slow at the edge of their property when they realize I’m just passing by, still howling to let me know that I’m not welcome should I ponder returning someday. Other times, they keep up the chase until physically unable, snarling and baring their teeth, each step leaping closer and closer to my spinning ankles. 

On a sandy road, passing some decrepit shacks with no evidence of humanity otherwise, I was surrounded by a pack of hounds so intimately that I almost fell while trying to maneuver my bike between their drooling jaws. Shortly after escaping, I stopped to catch my breath and check the map, and realized I had taken a wrong turn. I would have to turn around and go back uphill through the pack of mongrels again. The howls grew furious when they realized I was returning. I tried to ward them away by unclipping one foot from the pedal and waving it at them, but I lost balance in the sand and toppled. Now crouched on the ground, I waved my knife in a circle like a maniac, screaming back at the dogs. They kept their distance, but didn’t cease their furor while I struggled up and jogged away, pushing my bike with one hand while still waving my knife psychotically with the other.

“I might have to buy a BB gun,” I told Liz. She laughed nervously.  

My concern over these crackpot curs would be less if it wasn’t for rabies. Despite the $900 I spent on rabies vaccines before the trip, treatment still requires getting to a hospital as soon as possible to receive additional booster shots. The nurse told me I would have to do this after any bite, regardless if I knew whether the dog had rabies. The disease can be fatal in humans once symptoms develop, so there’s no time to wait.

Would they really bite me? Or am I being irrational, I wondered. I doubted the ability of a dog to catch my calf in its jaw midair while I am pedaling furiously. Nonetheless, I read a comment in a facebook group dedicated to the bikepacking route I am following that a fellow cyclist had been bitten and had to seek medical attention, delaying his trip by two weeks. 

I tried to give them the benefit of my doubt. I tried to imagine that they were, in fact, cheering for me. After all, what do humans do when they want to sound support for athletes? They scream and shout! What do humans do in big bike races like the Tour de France? They run alongside the riders! Maybe I’m not the enemy of these dogs – maybe I’m their hero!

This strategy fell apart when the dogs showed me their teeth. Barking could be cheering, chasing could be adoration, but I couldn’t dissociate growling and chomping from hostility.

One day, a shaggy, smaller-than-average black mutt came close enough that I could feel the humidity of its breath matting the hair on my calf. With a quick pivot of my foot and a thump, the dog was on its back on the side of the road, several feet away, its snarl instantaneously reduced to a sob. The whimper was musical. My foot pulsed with the satisfying sensation of striking a soccer ball perfectly from the laces.

“¡Diles a todos tus amigos perros, no moleste los ciclistas!” I shouted vengefully as it scampered away.

But as the satisfaction faded, a sour aftertaste emerged. Did I really just kick a dog in its face?

Suddenly, I thought about Jemi, the dog of my friends Ryan and Trisha back in California. Jemi is a panicky pup and barks psychotically whenever any guest enters their house, particularly me. But after some attention and maybe some spoonfuls of peanut butter, Jemi usually calms down a bit and is a lovable member of their family.

I kept picturing myself having kicked poor Jemi in the face. I thought, Ryan and Trisha will never talk to me again if they know I kicked a dog for barking at me!

More barks interrupted my thoughts. Two more were chasing me. Patience, I told myself. I stopped my bike. They stopped chasing. I stared at them. 

“Hola, perritos.” 

They backed off a few feet and I watched them bark, trying to interpret their anger. Then I pulled out the loaf of sweet rolls I had tied to my handlebars, and tossed a couple pieces in their direction. They sniffed the bread curiously for a moment, and then devoured it. When finished, they looked up at me. Quietly! I tossed them a couple more. Before I knew it, the dogs were sitting patiently on the side of the road next to my bike and my loaf was gone.

“Diles a tus amigos perros,” I implored my new friends, “no moleste los ciclistas. Por favor.”

Unfortunately, I have not captured any photographs of the perros locos. I’m too busy trying to get away. So photos below are totally unrelated.

In Guamote, I stayed at my most expensive lodging yet- $50. This is a special place, founded by some Belgians to help fund community programs for the impoverished indigenous local population, such as English classes, small business operations, computer literacy, day care, and other things to help locals become more successful in their traditional agricultural lives. The money from the hotel goes straight to the programs. I spoke with the Belgian administrator for awhile – she was nice enough to chat late on a Saturday night (not that there’s anything else to do in Guamote on Saturdays). She stressed how disadvantaged the indigenous are because of their inability to own land or obtain education until agricultural reforms in the 1970s. “Only one generation removed from slavery, effectively,” she called it.
It was also a really nice place, especially compared to what I’ve been staying in. The hotel had lots of local art and a restaurant serving really good Ecuadorian food. She said that they have been crazy busy all summer. I asked, who comes to Guamote? The town itself holds no appeal and if I weren’t limited in the mileage I can ride in a day, I would have passed it by without a thought – in fact, I had hoped to arrive in the next town of Alausí, but didn’t manage. She said both chartered tour guides and families frequently stay there as a home base while exploring Chimborazo or the other mountains nearby, or as an overnight when traveling between popular tourist destinations like Quito, Cuenca and Baños. The woman said she hoped to hand off operations eventually to the Ecuadorian women working there, once their English and their business acumen was good enough.
I hit the highway the next day. The next section of the trans Ecuador mtb route didn’t seem particularly appealing and it was a good opportunity to make up some time.
The highway meant a lot more civilization! Including the bustling market town of Alausí.
I wished I could have spent more time in Alausí surrounded by all of the colorful characters.
Such as this woman carrying a screaming piglet.
With more civilization, comes better food. Ceviche de chochos (the beans from the pretty purple flowers I saw around Quilotoa) from a stand on the street.
And one of my favorite South American fruits, pitaya (or, pitahaya in Ecuador)
Humitas (like a tamale) and Quimbolitos (sweet like a pastry!)
Despite the highway pavement being more efficient, it was not more flat.
The long highway day ended in El Tambo, which was pretty ugly other than its central plaza.
El Tambo’s main draw was nearby Ingapirca, Ecuador’s largest Inca ruin.
This would be my first glimpse of what I expect to be many run-ins with the remnants of Inca culture.
Ecuadorians are certainly proud of this place- I’d heard about it many times from locals as a must see. But I also heard from northbound travelers that it doesn’t compare to the ruins in Peru.
Ingapirca wasn’t a particularly significant settlement for the Incas, moreso it is a good example of their roads, baths, terraces, and architecture in a more rural environment than the spectacles of the Sacred Valley and Cusco.
So far, all I’ve learned about the Incas is their brutality. They conquered the various tribes in Ecuador in the mid-1400s, only shortly before the Spaniards arrived. Many historical accounts from indigenous Ecuadorian perspectives talk about them in the same light as the conquistadores. Some tribes, such as the Cañaris of southern Ecuador, where Ingapirca is located, even sided with the Spanish in the conquest because they thought they would be liberated from the Incas. More on the Incas to come in a later post.
Signs at Ingapirca were in English, Spanish, and Quichua. Quichua is the Ecuadorian dialect of Quechua, the language of the Incas. These languages are still spoken in rural mountain areas of Ecuador and Peru.
Ingapirca also provides many opportunities for selfies of the whole family.
From Ingapirca, back on the Trans Ecuador MTB route, I followed a rail trail through tiny communities. Just before El Tambo, my highway had merged with a busier highway coming from the major coastal city of Guayaquil. So it was good to be back in the quiet country.
On the outskirts of Cuenca (a larger city and tourist destination), I hopped on a beautiful, flat bike path along the Tomebamba River for about five miles. Great way to cruise into a couple-day break.
You know you are back in the city when…
Cuenca’s colonial city center and beautiful churches earned it UNESCO heritage status. More on Cuenca to follow.