Alausi and the Nose of the Devil
Sitting on the small balcony in front of our room and still half asleep, I stare at the small whisks of steam rising from the rim of my cup, filled with dark, strong coffee. The temperature is cool and a slight wind drifts a mixture of aromas from burning coal to roasted something to a sweet smell of roses towards our sitting spot and a small hummingbird with a long blueish green tail feather takes his morning drink from a beautiful white tropical flower. Complete peace is what I feel at the moment, the quiet, the breeze, the snippets of memory from our ride so far, our friendships that are developing, the trust in each other, my hands, warmed by cradling my cup of coffee, muffled voices in the background somewhere, thoughts of my family, Wendy, the love of my life and the peace of God that passes all my understanding.
Today’s plan is to have a morning break from riding and instead take a train ride down the infamous “Nose of the devil”, a 12 mile stretch of tracks part of the Trans-Andean railroad built in 1901, and leading along a mountain with almost perpendicular walls, zig-zagging down (or up) a 500 meter elevation change. Sadly, more than 2500 workers, mostly Jamaicans and Puerto Ricans who were brought in for the building of this this crazy stretch of tracks lost their lives during the building process and at this time, I am not quite certain if I even want to board the old train that will take us along sheer cliffs, rocky ravines and hair raising corners, but that is the plan. After a good breakfast of eggs, toast, jam and more coffee, we head down a narrow alley skirted by easter egg coloured buildings with no dedicated sidewalk which requires us to dodge cars, motorcycles, pedestrians and trains while making our way to the train station only about a mile down the road.
After a few chats about the safety of our undertaking, we board the bright red, old, wooden railroad cars and decide to stand close to the doors, just in case!!?? With a jolt, our train is set in motion and seeing a railroad worker sitting at the very front of our car, outside of the passenger compartment, precariously dangling his legs about a foot above the tracks and calmly directing the pushing locomotive with hand signals to go on, does not instil much confidence in the safety program of this railroad. Bouncing back and forth we make our way down the steep mountain and I am amazed at the sheer confidence of the builders to even attempt such an undertaking to build this connector. We all laugh and joke about the tracks being so bouncy and the sheer drop off only inches from our wheels but a quick scan of everyones hands reveal white knuckles which leads me to believe our conversations are more out of fear than social etiquette. Reaching the bottom of the valley we are greeted by a group of dancers in their beautiful bright red and blue traditional clothing and we have an hour to visit a few houses that have been built into the cliff face during the building of the tracks and we would love to stay longer to explore the area but a sharp whistle from the conductor is the unmistakable signal for us to return to the train and to head back to the top. It is about 13:00 by the time we pack our bikes and our trip to Cuenca will take the rest of the day and about 5 hours of travel time. Heading west to Sibambe and over the next mountain pass and along route 47, we ride in beautiful weather and little traffic but a road that can lull the driver into carelessness. With beautiful blacktop one moment and washed out and missing road at the next and large boulders strewn into the roadway by a slide, we weave our way up one side of the mountain and down the other. The beautiful scenery makes me think of home and how much I would like to have my darling by my side, but long days in the saddle, driving through rain and shine, through hot and cold are not so much on the menu any more for my dear wife, who has ridden thousands of miles with me, clinging on to my side and keeping me company. After 59 years of riding motorcycles, I can truly say that she has been the best pillion ever! She seems to be weightless behind me and only when she falls asleep while we ride, do I notice her as her helmets starts to clang again the back of mine, prompting me to slap her leg to wake her from her slumber.
With Egle our guide stepping up the speed, I pass Jason and Paul and the two of us have about 10 minutes of “spirited” riding, leaving the rest of the group behind. Fun! We pull into Cuenca by about 17:00, unpack and walk the town and have something to eat. Cuenca, whose populations dates back to around 8060 BC, is now famous for its beautiful textiles and hat making. In fact, the straw hats, sold around the world and known as Panama Hats, are made by artisans in the city of Cuenca. With its generally warm days and cool nights and basically only two seasons, wet and dry, we experience beautiful mornings and wet riding conditions in the afternoon and evenings and I am glad for my Klim riding gear that has kept me dry all along. We all enjoy this amazing city until around 22:00 at night, learn about each other and this beautiful country we are privileged to visit and finally return to our Hacienda to get our well deserved sleep.
