Fear mountain

You know you’re having a tough day when you decide crying isn’t an efficient use of your energy stocks. It was day two cycling in the Andes and the 76km climb from Cayambe to Cahuasqui felt quite frankly, impossible. Man walked on the moon but he had a fancy spaceship engine to get him there, all I had were 2 wobbly legs, 1 apple and a will that had all but deserted me. Knuckles white and lungs held hostage by the altitude, my heavy heartbeat echoed off the creviced valleys as I ploughed up another incline.

Few Ecuadorians own a car and I saw a Quichua Indian in traditional dress waiting for a bus. His lean and wiry frame, the product of a life spent scratching an existence within the longest continental mountain range in the world. Females cycling solo in South America get a lot of attention and my recent mugging in Argentina was raw in my mind. He stared at me with black emotionless eyes but let me pass without comment.

That was when I heard footsteps and glanced back to see him sprinting towards me. A panicked flurry of pedalling did little for my acceleration and with a cliff edge on one side and a nearing assailant on the other I had nothing left to give and nowhere to go. 8 months of cycling across 3 continents had all come down to this single moment.

I braced myself as I felt his strong hands grip my rear carrier but instead of knocking me to the ground my bike was propelled forward. I looked back in bewilderment as the little man’s legs hammered the asphalt, pushing 110kg of bike, bags and me uphill. At 8200 feet in the Andes my attacker had become my angel and I laughed hysterically at the ridiculousness of his spontaneous gesture. At the summit he waved goodbye, his traditional white hat sitting lopsided on his beaded brow.

Elation replaced exhaustion as I reached the hilltop town of Urcuqui. Soaking in the 10000-year-old Chachimbiro thermal springs that night I reflected on my day and smiled as the mountain of fear I’d been carrying washed away.