carnival

My first real ride in the area took place with a "guide" through a "tour agency," but I use those terms lightly. The tour agency scene in Cuzco is from what I observed, comprised of a small group of serious tour agencies that own their own bikes and have their own guides, and then a larger group of free-lance guides that work for any number of agencies and try their damdest to get your business, largely on the street.

"Hey, my friend, want a tour? Machu Picchu? Inca trail?, Hey, where are you from? Hey, what's your name? Hey, how are you doing my friend? Want a tour?"

I learned by experience that these guys can be friendly, but are usually just annoying and they don't provide too much real information. So, eventually we found a tour agency that had some respectable hardtails out front and a helpful manager that assured me that there were some worthy trails in the valley.

The next day we set out on a tour to Lago Huaypo (3550m) and Cruzpata. It was Sunday on the day of carnival and the line for the public bus was immense. After finding a private bus to throw our bikes on top of, we were on our way to the trail by 9am. We were with our guide, Americo, but I got the feeling that it was his first time on the route. He wasn't too confident on the trail. He had some excuses about not having his own bike or something, but he didn't seem too professional. He didn't wear his helmet, and he refused to go down most of the single track. I had to convince him to get off the road several times and try some other trails. What I did find were some worthy steeps and technical trails and smooth jumps.

On our final decent we entered Urubamba (2875m), a small town one hour outside Cusco in the Sacred Valley. Carnival was in full swing. The locals were poised outside of their house on the street ready to dump buckets of water on some gringo bikers passing through. And drenched we were. Carnival involves throwing water and sometimes other liquids and or foods at each other with the general goal chaos and mischief. We came prepared. Nate and I bought two cans of spray before entering the park. Inside, traditional dances were going on, groups of 20-40 guys were forming an army of water, making laps to the pool to fill up their buckets and then returning to ambush the crowd. We drank Chica, a beer brewed from corn in the highlands since Incan times, from huge plastic kegs.
And the trails were sweet.