mountain bike vs volcano: cotopaxi and chimborazo

we bookended our trip to the galapagos islands with two days of mountain bike riding down two massive volcanoes: the glorious cotopaxi near quito, and the equally glorious chimborazo near that abortion of a city riobamba. the similarities: both started in the snow, both days left us with bruised and aching arses, and both groups were made up of awesome people that had at least one hot english guy in them that left g and i breathless.

the guide for the cotopaxi ride was called diego. on a colombian beach 11 years ago, i clicked with a man called diego who invited my friends and i to his bar and offered us free drinks, free marijuana and even a free woman (said chattel was thrown onto my lap). when i rejected the human offering and told him that i was gay, he turned on me like a cut snake and kicked me out of the bar. ever since i've been much more upfront with my sexuality, and i've treated with suspicion anyone called diego. that is my story. despite this, diego the cotopaxi bike guide was just fine.

there was a (freaking) blizzard atop cotopaxi when we started, and with snow and killer winds, but only cotton ladies' gloves, our hands were threatening to auto-amputate at the wrist after about 30 seconds of crazed riding. within 20 minutes, however, things got a bit warmer, our hands defrosted, and the rest of the ride was just magnificent: a steep descent along a winding dirt road, a cross-country section in an alpine valley, and a final sprint down a dirt track that was so bumpy it rearranged my internal organs and almost flattened some external ones.

chimborazo was another story altogether. we started with a quick climb to a hut at 5000m (glorious!!!) and then had a short 8km ride down a dirt track through the moonscape of the volcanic highlands filled with camel-like animals and wildflowers, before driving to the start of the old pan-american highway and hooning downhill for 42km through valleys, villages and fields. wowsers!

that's about all i have to say about the rides. they were just really, really fucking good, a highlight of our time here in ecuador. i did make one observation though. in each group there mere mortals (g and i included), and then there were gods. these gods were always young men - diego was one of them, but there were others too. and whilst g and i got the knack of going over dips and corrugations at high speed and felt pretty proud of ourselves, just when we thought we had reached the terminal velocity for a human being on a bike, one of these gods shot past in a blur of colour and laughter - sometimes not even hanging on to the fricken handlebars - and left us gasping.

what is the difference between a man and a god in the world of the mountain bike? the fear. once you reach a certain age, injuries tend not to heal but to linger forever. at that point the cost of a protracted recovery outweighs the thrill of losing control, and unless you're fucked in the head, you can no longer afford to fall, and you develop the fear. michal, a middle-aged polish guy that was on the chimborazo ride with us summed up the fear perfectly:

i will fall: i know that i will fall. and when i fall i will roll, and i will keep rolling. sometimes i will be rolling alone and the bike will be rolling behind me, and sometimes the bike and i will be rolling together, but we will never stop rolling.

so i'm old now. i'm balding, i'm hurting, and i've got the fear. but you know what? i reckon i've just entered my golden age. this is the golden age of ondrej, and i'm intending to milk it for all it's worth. peace to you all!