Todo loco - Mountain Biking in Ecuador

July 2024, once again an explorer trip - the biggest one so far. Always on the hunt for the best enduro travel destinations in the world, it was organized by FlatSucks and supported by Endura, Simplon, and Komoot, with a small crew heading to the South American country of Ecuador.
The result was a trip that was both epic and crazy. But read for yourselves what photographer Max Dräger has to report.

I am left breathless as the sun sets into an almost endless sea of clouds to my right. I follow Markus, who trails long, warmly illuminated dust clouds behind him, along the wide crater rim in a rush of endorphins and adrenaline. On the other side, the triangular shadow of the Guagua Pichincha swallows the 2-million-strong city of Quito.
The crowning finale of our two-week journey of discovery along the "Avenida de los Volcanes," the Avenue of the Volcanoes, through Ecuador. A trip without great expectations but full of surprises. Not least because we blindly placed ourselves in the hands of our two guides. And let me tell you this much already: Este and Cuevo, like most people here, are pretty "loco.

Our adventure begins in Cumbayá, a suburb east of the capital, where Cuevo runs a small farm that serves as our accommodation for the first two nights.
A breakfast of scrambled eggs, passion fruit juice, yogurt, and granola (naturally all homemade) is the perfect opportunity for Markus, Fabi, and me to get to know our guides. In the eyes of Cuevo, whose real name is José, and in Esteban's words, there is a palpable sense of excitement. The two friends grew up together in Ecuador and haven't seen each other since Esteban emigrated to Austria in 2020.
After we finish setting up the bikes and take a few spins on the home trails, our driver Victor picks us up the next morning. With that, our crew is complete for now. Time to go north!

Admittedly, we are a bit puzzled when the bus rolls into the driveway. We had expected a large pickup, off-road van, or something similar. Instead, a small gray tour bus with the melodious name "County Deluxe" stands before us. While Victor mounts the bikes crosswise on the roof using a custom-built structure, we take our seats on the 16 seats inside.
When we arrive at Laguna Yaguarcocha near the town of Ibarra in the evening, we are amazed once again: Instead of staying in a hotel or guesthouse, we stay in large, tipi-like tents directly above the lake. Jacuzzi under the open starry sky included.

The next day, after a short shuttle, things get serious for the first time. With the words "Watch out, it's loose and has some pretty deep ruts!” Este rolls ahead of us into the trail and disappears into a massive cloud of dust on the wide ridgeline.
The description is spot on; we find ourselves in a labyrinth of ruts of all sizes. We can't quite keep up with the pace set by our Ecuadorian friends for now; instead, we're busy just trying to keep both feet on the pedals. Not so easy when you're almost blind in the swirling dust kicked up by the rider in front. Holy shit... pretty loco!
But with every meter in the powdery sand, we gain more confidence, and by the second run, we can’t stop cheering. Like a bobsled track, the trail winds along the sandy ridge, inviting us to drift, patch, and play! Only after nightfall, under the glow of our headlamps, do we roll through a long, winding canyon back to the bus.

The following day, we comfortably reach the trailhead again by bus, which Victor skillfully maneuvers onto a grassy knoll. Daniel, the mastermind behind the trails in Pimampiro, points enthusiastically in all directions, explaining the various lines, all of which descend about 1,000 meters in elevation and typically take him and his crew two months to build.
They are really good enduro trails with berms, small jumps, steps, and tight corners—almost like home. Just as we start feeling a bit too comfortable, Daniel stops and warns us: "If you go straight, you enter a very steep and exposed ridge with little grip and no room for error. Have a look first!”

Okay, really steep. So steep that the bottom, roughly 100 vertical meters lower, isn’t even visible. A mini-Rampage in the middle of nowhere. Full concentration and a bit of self-confidence are immediately required.
Este is the last to roll into the section, true to his motto "Be scared or be loco," moving along quite quickly. My breath catches as he suddenly goes over the handlebars, his bike flipping multiple times before finally coming to rest on a small ledge. In an absolute no-fall zone, he actually managed to crash without falling off the ridge. That was close!
Maybe a full-face helmet would have been the better choice for this trip after all?!

Before we approach the highest mountain in the country, Este and Cuevo show us another volcano. A turquoise-blue lake fills the crater of Quilotoa, which we circle halfway on the bike before we enter a network of trails that leads us right through the small villages on its slopes.
The indigenous population here lives minimally and relies on arduous agriculture. A woman sells us a few bottles of cola when we take a break. It’s a strange feeling to be riding a bike that costs many times what this woman earns in a year.
But the people don’t seem unhappy—quite the opposite. A few children proudly show us their family’s guinea pig farm, Fabi gives a boy a short ride on his handlebars, and Cuevo always has some sweets for the little ones. A wonderful encounter!

On our journey along the "Avenida de los Volcanes," the country's highest mountain naturally cannot be missed. At 6,263 m, Chimborazo is a true colossus that majestically towers over the landscape. Due to its location on the equator, the summit is the closest point to the sun on our planet.
We first approach the mountain from the east side, where an old friend of Esteban runs a small hut at 4,100 m. Rodrigo is a passionate mountaineer, has stood on the summit of Chimborazo more than 40 times, and has lived up here for 36 years. There is simple food and Canelazo, a homemade liquor. The entire evening, we listen intently to the 68-year-old's stories about life in Ecuador's highest altitudes.

For Este and Fabi, it’s a tough night; the thin air causes shallow breathing, a high pulse, headaches, and little recovery for the long descents the next day.
On the other side of Chimborazo, we are only allowed to descend the hiking trail from Refugio Carell with our bikes thanks to Rodrigo's presence; however, we should still avoid being spotted by the rangers. Passing small groups of llamas, we finally reach the "Cassarilla" – a trail maintained, like many others, primarily for enduro and downhill (DH) races.
It is in perfect condition, and we practically fly through the landscape. When we reach a village after twelve kilometers, Cuevo stops and knocks at a hut. To support the maintenance of the trail and for using their path, we pay a few dollars.
It’s already late afternoon when we stand at the start of the last trail, with a few steep climbs and about 18 km of trail still separating us from our accommodation near Guaranda. We don’t dawdle, enjoy the scenery shaped by the "Chimbo," and, as night falls, we arrive at Coco’s garden, which feels like a small oasis to us.

After eight days of biking, we are glad to have a "rest day," allowing us to check our bikes and giving us plenty of time for the seven-hour drive to Cuenca in the south of the country.
Victor is up early and gets his bus repaired. The day before, he had discovered two broken leaf springs—perhaps victims of one of the many speed bumps...

Cuenca is different. "More progressive," says Este. More western. The city center is characterized by colonial architecture, and in the hills around the city, the country's wealthy have settled in gated communities and large villas. It almost causes a bit of culture shock.
The approach to today's trail is also different. Instead of parking the bus practically at the trailhead as we did in the past few days, we have to tackle the last 300 meters of elevation gain today in a nasty, steep, and slippery uphill. The descent takes us over meadow trails that are hardly distinguishable from those in the Bavarian Alpine foothills.
As we once again lose a significant amount of elevation on a canyon-like trail, a rider blocks our path around a bend. Luckily, the guys hit the brakes in time, and there was no collision. With my few scraps of Spanish, I piece together that the land and the trail belong to him. A few dollars later, his displeasure turns into a satisfied smile, and the local moves on. Shared trail, just somehow different.

In the evening, we check out Jorge's dirt jump spot, where he also runs his own bike school. It's cool to see how the next generation of "Locos" is already training here.
We also take a few laps around the area and spend the rest of the evening dealing with the second mechanical issue of our trip: Este had severely bent his rim during the city downhill, and tightening the spokes pushed the nipples to their limit. These now have to be replaced through painstaking manual work. The wheel doesn't run much truer afterward, but at least it withstands the stresses of the next few days.

And right away, the next day has something in store for us again: Together with Lenin, whom everyone simply calls Suco, we first ride the Vuelta del Diablo - the Devil's Loop. The highlight is a deep canyon with an exposed path winding along it, demanding full concentration with its exposed switchbacks. Apart from the blazing heat, it almost feels like a classic Alpine adventure ride in terms of the riding experience.

After a small lunch break, things get pretty sketchy. Standing between the bikes, the two of us are on the loading bed of a Nissan pickup, and with Suco at the wheel, we have a rally driver. Unfortunately, not a particularly good one – he races up the narrow, steep track at 80 km/h, slams the brakes, only to go full throttle again the next moment. We cling to the roof rack to avoid being thrown off by the potholes and bumps.
No less rapid, but now with full control over the steering and brakes, we hit the trail: Small canyons alternate with high berms, fast traverses, and perfectly flowing combinations of curves. It's a proper racetrack, and even though we’re not at the starting line with hundreds of other mass starters, everyone is pushing hard. Without a doubt, "La Paz" is one of the best trails I've ever ridden. Todo loco!

The "Shuttle Adventure" category also includes Uzhcurrumi. After a long bus ride, we find ourselves in a small village of corrugated iron huts in the middle of the jungle. It’s humid, the clouds hang low, and while someone on one side of the dilapidated road is butchering a pig, a diligent businessman across the street is packing shrimp into plastic bags and loudly advertising them.
In the midst of this scene, Juan José and his crew load our bikes onto a pickup. More precisely: onto a metal frame on the roof of the pickup. We take our seats on the loading area and skeptically eye the cracked welds and our bikes swaying back and forth as we rattle through the landscape.

Suddenly, the fog clears, and we emerge above the cloud cover – we’re back in the barren mountain landscape typical of the Andes due to the altitude. It’s so windy that during the first descent, the gusts rip my sunglasses off my face, and you practically have to lean into the wind while riding.
A total of eight trails are maintained and optimized here for biking. It’s no easy task, as during the rainy season in winter, the ground is soft, and the often canyon-like paths are heavily churned up by livestock. After the last rain, the ground dries out, becomes rock-hard, and can only be worked with pickaxes and rakes in sweat-inducing labor.
To conclude, we take a long trail down below the cloud cover and back to Victor, who will take us back to our starting point in Quito the next day.