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05/17/2008
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Descending
Everest
9000 metres down in 48 hours
Words and photos Grady Semmens
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It was James Wilson who decided to do the math. To those who know him, this wasn’t
a surprise. “So how high is Mt. Everest, almost 9,000 metres?” James
asked nobody in particular as we sipped our morning java on the rooftop patio
of the Olaza Bed & Breakfast. “And the last two rides we’re
looking at doing, we’ll end up descending about 5,000 metres in one day
and almost 4,000 metres the next,” he continued to think out loud.
“That’s like riding from the summit of Everest to sea level in 48
hours. I’m psyched!”
Darren (LD) Gregory rounds a bend on the 63-kilometre gravel
road descent that was Part One of the mission to descend Everest in 48 hours.
So there it was: The theme for the final two days of our two-week mountain biking
trip in the Peruvian Andes to celebrate Wilson’s 40th birthday. Go big and
then go home, would have been another way to put it, since that’s exactly
what we did. The word “epic” only begins to describe such an undertaking
because not only was it two days of epic riding. It required two days of epic
traveling, epic driving on the part of our shuttle drivers and epic planning to
pull off. In hindsight, it’s kind of amazing it actually came together.
We pulled out of Huaraz on the morning of Nov. 22 - a bit sad about leaving
our beloved home base but excited about what lay ahead. The day promised crystal-clear
skies and superb views of the snow-covered peaks. Our trusted driver Robin transported
us west on the main highway out of town and up the Cordillera Negra to the pass
at 4,016 metres where the road drops towards the Pacific Ocean.
Jeff Boeda shows off for some local kids on his way down the
5,000-metre descent from Huaraz. Wipeout to follow.
After turning onto a gravel road at the crest of the pass, we drove a few kilometers
across the barren high plains or altiplano. There we stopped at a wide patch
of road and Robin told us in his broken English that we were at the start of
the ride.
Our friend, Peruvian mountain bike guide Julio Olaza, had arranged all the
details but he chose not to join us on the day’s ride, which led to an
air of uncertainty for our departure. We had no map, nothing but the most basic
Spanish skills and only the vaguest idea about what we were embarking upon.
Following our new motto, “when in doubt, go down,” we followed the
road as it sloped towards the top of a massive valley of steep hillsides striped
by terraced farmland.
James Wilson heads off on the last section of crazy doubletrack
on the second-last day of riding in Peru
The ride got exciting right off the bat, putting to rest any concerns
that a day of grinding our big rings on doubletrack might not cut the mustard
for a bunch of Canadian singletrack hounds. Hemmed in by a jagged rock face
on the right and a sheer cliff on the left, the single-lane road presented enough
lumps, loose patches and blind corners to keep all five of us yelping with glee.
And if the seemingly endless descending started getting dull for a moment, all
it took to be re-inspired was a stop to admire the green hillsides and the jagged
ridgelines of the glaciated Cordillera Huyhuash.
Two-and-a-half hours of descending later we reached a fork in
the road where the sag wagon stopped. Robin loaded our bikes back on the roof
for the 45-minute, 1,000 metre climb up the narrowest, scariest road yet. The
descent continued from the village at the summit.
LD pauses to admire the view on the two-hour Santo Domingo
de los Olleros ride.
“Who built these roads, why did they build them and why the hell are we
driving on them?” were the immediate questions we had after stumbling out
of the van, trembling with happiness that we had avoided a dreaded bus plunge
on the sketchy roads. The 63-kilometre downhill then continued for another two
hours. We dropped into a hot and arid canyon where silver-tipped cacti were the
only inhabitants to be seen along the serpentine road that eventually bottomed
out at a raging river on the valley floor.
From there, the journey continued with a three-hour drive along the bumpy road
that emerged from the canyon at a small town at twilight. We bought beer and boarded
the bus that took us on the four-hour drive on the Panamerican Highway to Lima.
Jeff Boeda leads the pack through the desert. Note bandage on
the leg from yesterday's crash while catching air in front of local kids.
5:30 am came far too quickly the following day, when a bright red bus pulled up
in front of our hotel to take us on our final ride. As expected, the bus was already
half-full of local riders who were keen to ride since a bunch of gringos were
paying for the shuttle. Known locally as the Santa Domingo de los Olleros Trail,
the ride was labeled the longest singletrack descent in the world by Bike magazine
in 1995 and is now well-known among Peru’s growing mountain bike community.
“I like to do this ride a couple of times a year,” said Humberto,
a 24-year-old Lima law school student who skipped a day of classes to ride with
a bunch of Canadians. “I know the driver. He calls me when he’s driving
up there to see if I want to come along,” he said.
Peruvian shuttle: A bus that seats 12 comfortably, with DVD
player, for the 3.5 hour drive out of Lima. Sweetness.
Eager to check out our rigs and practice their English, the Peruvians helped
load our gear and then chatted us up as we hit the road for the 3.5-hour climb
into the moonscape 4,000 metres above the sprawling Peruvian capital. The conversation
in the bus received a big boost when the drivers slipped The Collective into
the DVD player and the North Shore boys began cheering for their favorite hometown
riders and telling the Peruvians they ride the same trails as the likes of Andrew
Shandro and Wade Simmons.
We eventually arrived at an abandoned-looking settlement at the
at the apex of the road where everyone wasted little time in suiting up and
hitting the trail.
As promised by James and Jeff Boeda, who rode it 10 years earlier, the ride
was completely amazing and should be classified as one of the world’s
“must do” descents.
Can you say "singletrack"? Jeff Boeda strikes out
on the ribbon of singletrack below Santo Domingo de los Olleros on the 4,000-metre
descent above Lima.
After a short climb over a ridge beside the road, the singletrack
weaved through sections of sharp rocks and wheel-grabbing sand and dropped into
the town of Santo Domingo de los Olleros – “the town where the men
make pots.” We had a short break in the town’s main plaza where
gangs of school children gawked at our bikes and strange outfits and then we
rode to where the downhill began in earnest.
The dirt track clung to steep hillsides covered in cacti, dipping
over water channels and following natural ledges before spilling steeply down
to a lookout. From there we could follow the ribbon of trail as it stretched
out along the ridgelines below as far as you could see.
The final stretch of rugged Peruvian singletrack.
The trail then turned into sections of deep sand and slickrock, where you could
hang back and watch your fellow riders turn into tiny black specks in a matter
of minutes and then bomb recklessly down to try and catch them before they disappeared
entirely from view. Stopping again a few kilometers down, the air stank of burning
brake pads as we noticed that we all had grins that we couldn’t wipe off
our faces.
Two hours and 20 kilometres later, our 10-person group hit the valley floor
where we gathered under a shady ledge to have a snack and rave about the descent. We
then rode down the dried mud creek bed, catching air off little ledges and rolls
along the way. After about five kilometers we emerged onto mud flats at the
head of the valley. We rode in pace lines into the incessant headwind from the
ocean as we passed golden sand dunes, followed by a wasteland of burning garbage
for the last 15 kilometres to the rendez-vous point with the bus.
Looking back up the mud flats that provided a final hammer-fest
at the end of the Santo Domingo de los Olleros ride. Good thing our lungs were
still acclimitized to 3,000 metres. 15 kilometres into a headwind never seemed
so fun.
Our 9,000-metre mission complete, we headed to one of the beaches on the outskirts
of Lima for a quick dip in the ocean. This was followed by beer and ceviche and
then a final night out on the town with Humberto.
We agreed it was the ultimate way to celebrate anyone’s 40th birthday. And
now James has 10 years to plan for his ultimate 50th celebration.
Think riding in Peru could be your cuppa Pisco? Check out
chakinaniperu.com
Check Grady's first article from Peru here.
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