I raced a mountain bike to Machu Picchu.
I scraped my creative brain for a more impactful start to this story. Did I harness the spirit of a forgotten Incan warrior and tackle the Andes mountains powered by the sun god Inti? Perhaps my flawless traverse of the Peruvian countryside brought me to Machu Picchu only by the grace of Pachamama? Or maybe it was the alpaca I ate 2 nights before the race? The alpaca curry that our host in Cusco recommended I avoid as my presumed sensitive, foreigner guts couldn’t handle the local fare on day one at 11,152’. A twisty turn of prose to begin an adventure story in an enchanted land seems appropriate and yet I landed on the simple sentence above. Why? Read it again. I raced a mountain bike to Machu Picchu. Paulo Coelho would struggle to twist a tale more spectacular sounding. Hemingway eat your heart out. I. Me. Just a guy. Raced to Machu Picchu. It’s as absolutely stunning in person as it sounds in words. Let me tell you why.
The Andes are massive. Coming from Colorado I’m no newbie to high elevation. Topping out on Columbine during the LT100, pedaling over the Continental Divide twice in a single day during the Breck Epic, or shouldering my bike to the top of our coveted 14ers for a rowdy, rocky rip are all high altitude challenges deserving credit. However simply walking around Cusco in the days prior to our race start reminded me that all scales can be broken. My highest high (topographically speaking…) to date barely scratches the base of the Andes I found myself surrounded by. Victor and I exchanged quizzical looks as we trudged up the two flights of stairs to our first hotel room. “How are we supposed to race bikes when we lose our breath in 2 minutes of stairs,” he asked. Sleepily I shrugged. Silently I agreed.
Before sounding the panic alarm we committed to the same strategies we implore flatlanders to follow when they meet the thin air brought to you by lazy trees in Colorado’s high country: increased hydration, electrolytes, stomach settling foods like ginger and kombucha, and rest. I’d score us a solid 3-out-of-4. Who can rest when in a new city? Like a toddler I bounded around town taking in all of the new sights, smells, and tastes available. Cusco is a bustling hub of all things commerce, transit, history, and adventure. We had a fancy lunch and a hole-in-the-wall dinner. We gazed upon towering walls of gold leafed carvings in the main church and I sat as a young barber buzzed a locals-do-it-like-this race appropriate haircut on my gringo head. We may not have rested as advised but we sure fell in step with how the best international MTB races must be approached: eat local, move local, think local, and become a local. Full speed ahead.
Fortunately the Peruvians have our backs. Most meals end with a complimentary tea drink made of either muña or emoliente garnished with a sprig of Andean horsetail. Also recommended is mate de coca. Peruvians have been chewing on coca leaves for centuries and when in Peru…
Riding bikes. We are here to ride, nay, we are here to race bikes. A couple of days spent testing our bikes on an ill-advised metro ride at night and then a “let’s go this way” short ride that ended with us buzzing through open-air markets, through ruins, onto the race course, and finally down-hiking our bikes on dizzyingly tall sets of stairs for nearly 3 hours exhausted our free time and we readied ourselves for the challenging race ahead.
The Machu Picchu Epic:
5 Stages
140 miles
17,300’ elevation gain
Highest Point: 14,000’+
Lowest Point: 9,500’ (excluding Machu Picchu on Stage 5, 6,500’ elev)
Daily Ride Time for Lead Riders: 2-4 hrs (excluding Machu Picchu on Stage 5, 45 min.)
Racer registration delivered the atmosphere we’d enjoy over the next 5 days. Walking onto the terrace at the Hilton Garden Inn Cusco I nearly bumped into an alpaca being led casually around the area by a traditionally dressed Incan woman. A few pets of that soft wool and a glance into the soulful, docile eyes turned the curry still working its way through my guts. I ate that cute stuffed animal. It sure was easier the night before while swimming in curry sauce…. Past the alpaca a chef was hosting a master ceviche class for racers and over the speaker the voice of the Machu Picchu Epic outlined some tidbits for the coming days, amped up the crowd, and called out local riders to have their photos taken. Lively and unique fail to capture the scene and just as I settled into line, scanning the racers around me with stalking eyes, the skies opened and dropped hail. A hail storm. I guess we are over 11,000’ high and if it’s going to be hail then hell yeah.
That bit of storm proved to be the only time we dealt with adverse weather all week. However a storm of another variety began brewing during registration.
The first person to come over and ask to take a picture was appreciated. Well, they were all appreciated, but when one became 2 and then several I felt the pressure building. A woman told me her son had instructed her to meet me and take a picture. Another racer, Alfredo, politely asked me to take it easy and not tear everyone’s legs off on Day 1. I appreciated his joking manner but the pressure grew. I had come here to compete and thought I’d have a fair shot to do well but outside of Singlespeed racing I’m rarely a favorite. While I painted on a huge smile, kept my energy high, and made sure to meet everyone who showed interest at registration I walked back to the room and told Victor, “looks like I have an expectation to live up to here.”
Expectations can destroy a racer’s effort. If not handled well they can place a pressure on performance that strains a racer’s ability to overcome setbacks or to feel free and the more free a rider feels the smoother a rider rolls. At the same time expectations can pull from an athlete a performance yet to be seen. An ability yet to tap. The razor’s edge of how expectations can affect an athlete can be tough to navigate. As I settled onto the massage table that evening I committed to enjoying the attention. If I handled it just right, if I stayed true to myself, and if I promised to enjoy every minute of the experience no matter my race results then I could plan for these expectations to pull out my best. I smiled confidently upon this realization and moments after I warmed my race spirit the masseuse slid hot volcanic stones down my hamstrings. Everything is lining up just right.
The Race Bits
Feel free to scroll past if you’re here for Peru and could care less about MTB racing.
Head down. Balls out. Full speed forward. No Ride Around. That’s the strategy.
By the time I’d taken stock of what had happened after the neutral start ended on Day 1 I was alone. Off the front. I’d been waiting to explode. I’d been waiting to race. And unleashing the monster felt so damn good. For the first 15 minutes I pulled the field up a pavement climb winding to the top of the mountain. A few racers popped by and then fell in line and I challenged every curiosity to stay in check, stay focused ahead, and set the tone. We banked left at the top of the first climb and my computer indicated a short dirt road rise before our first descent. Raising out of the saddle I attacked the rise and then let the bike go. I pointed it and took the first double track turned singletrack turned field road at full gas. Looking back over my shoulder all I could see were Peruvian hillsides and… nobody else. Dropped ‘em.
The US, home to vast networks of singletrack trails supported by local, state, and national organizations, offers the best MTB skill riding opportunities in the world. At least in the world I’ve been lucky enough to ride in (16 countries and counting). Domestically we have more opportunities to hone our singletrack riding skills than most countries especially those in Central and South America where weather wreaks havoc on terrain. So looking over my shoulder felt great but I knew that my strengths were lopsided and when the route ticked up I’d be losing ground. No sooner did I reach flat land did another racer catch up. Later in the week we’d end up ending race stages embracing one another in bear hugs but today, Day 1, I narrowly looked sideways. I didn’t want to show any weakness. We rode side-by-side dodging a sheep and then more sheep. Neither of us willing to pull brakes as we blasted through the entire flock. “Lo siento!” I hollered over my shoulder. I couldn’t help but laugh and the rider challenging my lead position shared in the smile. We, Antonio Ortiz from Spain, and I were having a damn good time.
Then he was gone.
Then another passed by. Strong rider. Smooth pedaling. Confidently poised on his bike.
And another.
The 5th rider passing me seemed to know the climb. I was rolling blind but I know my strengths and I know my deficits. If I could keep my heart rate just above where I wanted, meaning push beyond comfortable but not completely blown, then I’d limit my losses and be able to make up some ground on the descents and flats. What goes up must…
There’s downhill. Then there’s screaming downhill in the Andes. I debated on bringing along a GoPro but the camera would fail to capture the awesomeness of it all. These massive peaks towered over me as I BMX skid around loose gravel corners and pushed speeds over 25 mph connecting switchback turns and fully exposed roadsides. I knew I was moving fast but without fully knowing what lay ahead I kept myself in check. I doubt the shepherd I blasted past earlier would be too helpful if I air mailed it over a cliff edge.
Bouncing between descents and flats I drew closer to the finish line and when a rider appeared ahead I chased and ate the rabbit. I crossed the line in 4th place overall and right on pace with my estimated finish time of 2 hours. The race transports our provided waterproof backpack to the finish area each day so I changed into my mandatory Ripton jorts and checkered Vans. There’s a bit of a flex when other racers see you already cleaned up and changed by the time they finish and though I’m here to make new friends I’m also here to race. Razor’s edge.
Victor arrived a short time after and we loaded up in the shuttle vans for transport to the racer’s lunch in the nearby village. And this brings us to the greatest highlight of the entire event: This is a physical, emotional, and CULTURAL experience in Peru. The organization has traditional ceremonies at each start line, traditional food served at each finish line, and local restaurants introducing us to local cuisine each afternoon. While we spent each morning racing, we spent the rest of the time basking in the wonder that is Peru. This was very special and something I’ll remember more than the following race story.
Day 2 started with a similar climb as the previous stage but exited the park in the opposite direction. We’d been warned that Day 2 had much more technical singletrack and a few noted sections that posed great risk to riders. Translation: one hell of a good time on the bike for a couple of guys from Colorado.
I stayed at the front but knew my biggest efforts would need to come when things got tricky. 20 minutes into Day 2 and I’d already landed on the strategy that’d work for the rest of the race. 1) Minimize losses on the climbs by riding just below threshold (145-150 bpm HR). 2) Attack every flat and descent without any limitation. 3) Stay ahead of on-bike fueling with CarboRocket, fully loaded. With those guiding principles I rode some amazing singletrack not aside, or around, or near, but directly through Incan ruins. Peru trumps the US in a major way with regard to history. You want to see and feel the land once home to the empire considered to be the most successful centrally organized economies in history? Well don’t stand over there you silly American used to silly National Park rules! Get over here. Get IN IT! Oh you ride mountain bikes? Hell, just cruise on through and feel free to jib off that rock wall there. It’s lasted several centuries so I don’t think you’ll hurt it any.
With my jaw dropping at the terrain we were racing through and my strategy firmly set I rolled across the Day 2 finish line in 3rd place, just seconds behind 1st and 2nd. I should’ve caught them on the last downhill! It was a rowdy, rocky, hold on to your teeth kind of descent!
Race Stories in Hyper Speed:
Day 3 repeated the Day 1 climb and instead of tearing off with something to prove I settled in and relied on my strategy. Unlike my competitors, I wore a pack and carried a single bottle. This gave me 4 hours of hydration and fuel. Before the start line I noticed most only had 2 bottles and they admitted they don’t drink that much while racing. Flabbergasted I pushed away any doubts about my decision. I’ll take fuel over any weight advantage every single time. So they dropped me on the climb and I rode solo most of the climb. We’d gain nearly 5,000’ in the first 12 miles and finish with the same long descent from Day 1 and an even longer flat finish. One by one I reeled in those who tore me apart on the climb and I found myself in second place by the time we exited the challenging riverside singletrack. We’d ridden past 3 alpine lagoons and a river. We’d pedaled up and over 14,000’ elevation all the while being towered over by peaks pushing to nearly 18,000’. The Andes are huge and I’d thought I conquered the day until I looked at the remaining route and saw we had 8 miles to go. 8 miles?! I thought I had 2nd place! Wait… I do have 2nd Place. It’s mine to lose and with that I set my jaw and found my threshold and pushed just past it. The final 40 minutes of the stage pressed me up against my limit and I found some of my best racing. Clamoring up the cobblestone road into the ancient town of Ollantaytambo, with my heart thumping in my throat, I found the finish line and Antonio waiting for that bear hug. 2nd Place on the day and now 2nd Place Overall.
Day 4 fed the beast inside me. The beast craving gnarly, booboo, secret stash singletrack that forces less thinking and more doing. Less worrying and more carefree careening. In short: Full Send. Per usual I held on during the 4 mile climb out of town but lost 5 or 6 positions to those spry mountain goats. But their reign over me was short lived. The route crossed a river and then it got real interesting. Incan footpaths became my runway and I pressed the gas hard. Passing one, then two, then nearly all of them puffed my ego and reminded me how much I love racing hard terrain. Where other racers walked I simply hinged back and let the bike smash around, through, and over. Where other racers braked I closed grip on my bars and trusted the bike. At the bottom of the long, technical descent I’d dropped the field and could just make out the neon of Antonio’s kit ahead. He was within reach. He’s close enough to think about making a move. And then… he was gone again. His shared love of technical riding diminished the strength I had over the rest of the field. I could hardly focus too much on the gap because I was being directed around blind corners, down cobblestone alleyways, and over wooden bridges connecting to the complex and vast ruins that make this town so special. Flashing through the aid station without a need to stop, I had my pack on for this stage, got me to the final climb and the end of the stage. Just a bit to go. Well, more than a bit. 18 miles actually. 18 miles of mostly flat terrain. If I thought I had to dig at the end of Day 3 then I’d need to do more than digging to hold my position. I need to start drilling. So I did. For the next hour I drilled my legs and only once could see a chase group of 3 closing in on my position. I drilled deeper and they disappeared. Fortunately the 18 miles dwindled down to 3, and then 2, and then as I thought I’d done it. I’d held my position. I glanced back and 2 riders were bearing down on me. Looking ahead I saw a traffic situation developing. A tour bus, 2 cars, and a rickshaw shone bright brake lights and in a desperate attempt to keep my position I swerved left, then right, and left again in a cloud of dust. I shifted my hands away from my grips and directly onto my bars, straddling the stem, and drilled the deepest I’ve ever gone. 162, then 168, then 172 bpm heart rate. Exploding back up the cobblestone climb and around the two bends in the road brought me back to the finish line. 2nd Place on the day and Overall. What’s more? I hit my goal of putting 5 minutes onto 3rd place. He’s a climbing machine and with one day left, a climb only stage, I needed that gap. Could I hang onto my overall position? I hoped so.
Day 5. The Finish. The Grand Reveal. Machu Picchu.
Just getting there could’ve been the complete adventure. No need for a race stage. Here’s the timeline of what it takes to MTB to Machu Picchu and a glimpse as to why the simple sentence that started this story carries weight.
SUNDAY 2PM: Disassemble and pack bike into bike bags for cargo transport to Machu Picchu.
MONDAY 5AM: Walk to Inca Rail train station in Ollantaytambo.
9AM: Check into hotel in Aguas Calientes (also referred to as Machu Picchu Pueblo)
10AM: Collect bike bag and reassemble bicycle.
11:30AM: Lunch
1:30PM: Race Start
5PM: Disassemble and pack bike into bike bags for transport back to Cusco
Everything the race organization provided was comprehensive, smooth, efficient, and well executed. The wrinkle outlined above is simply the necessary hoopla in order to experience a once-a-year, never done before experience. Visitors of Machu Picchu gain entry one of 2 ways. 1) purchase a bus ticket for the 5 mile, 1,500’ ascending road to the entry gates. 2) walk up the ancient Incan stepped trail. You can take an even uneducated guess as to what over 95% of visitors choose. The 3rd option? Race the Machu Picchu Epic MTB Stage Race as this is the only time that bikes are allowed to not only climb the switchback route to the gates but after marveling at one of the Wonders of the World, what goes up….must come…
The twisting route to the start line on Day 5 came together without incident. To great fanfare and local support we pressed off the start line in a controlled mini loop around town. It was chaotic and engaging and exciting and lucky. Lucky because while we introduced hundreds of variables the tired race field nobody went down, collided with a pedestrian, or bungled the pack riding. We came to the base of the climb and stopped. With less than 5 miles to the end of the Machu Picchu Epic and only 5 minutes ahead of Eberth who held 3rd place but destroyed me on every climb over the last 4 days I looked skyward before closing my eyes to look inward. There is nothing to hold back. In less than 30 minutes I’ll be at the goal line and I have the chance to write the finish. How do I want the story to end?
Above threshold heart rate one more time. Just beyond what I thought possible, one more time. An expectation turned inspiration. One more time.
We pushed off and the race began. Antonio and I rode on the final as we rode on Day 1, side-by-side. His effort high and his front wheel pulling ahead only for me to counter and let my wheel take lead. Back and forth in a silent simmer we slowly turned up the heat. Eberth sat just behind. Not too far back and not too close. I put 90% of my total focus into staying smooth and strong but the final 10% kept eye on my competitors. I knew they would attack. I just didn’t know when. With the 13 total switchbacks dwindling to under 8, then 6, I tightened my focus and heightened my senses. The attack should be any minute. With the 5th switchback behind us Antonio pressed ahead and I wasn’t sure I had the gas to go with him. Eberth was my primary concern so I let Antonio glide away and coiled my remaining energy. The strike would come at any minute. Testing myself I clicked into a harder gear but remained smooth on the pedals. Eberth slid back just a bit but then burst to catch back on. He wasn’t attacking. One more gear. A little more power. Now, with only 1 switchback ahead I knew the 5 minute lead was secured but who would take the stage? He is the climber. I am the tech-crazed descender and power pedaler. He should have the edge but as we rounded the final switchback and our names were hollered out by spectators I heard only one voice: “sólo faltan cuatrocientos metros” — 400 meters to go! Exploding from my saddle and clicking the two remaining gears I emptied my heart, my effort, my love, my everything into the pedals and snapped the band on Eberth. Finishing only 10 seconds behind Antonio, 10 seconds ahead of Eberth, and 2nd in the Machu Picchu Epic!
Before I think about racing or riding bikes or traveling or living I think about adventuring. For me the adventure brings together the unknown and the willing. The new and strange. The limitless and boundless approach to each day wiggles with an uncontainable energy when on an adventure. I seek that feeling not only when abroad but I look for that in some small way each day I wake up. Adventure = Life. This race brought adventure to my eyes, ears, mouth, skin, and soul. Peru is a special place on this planet and the people I met both in the race and outside the event surpassed even the beauty of the Wonder of the World. Thanks to the support of the event I felt a part of that energy, not just a spectator. Peru, the Incan people, the soft woodwind music, and the light gliding over an empire lost but not forgotten, to all of it, thank you. You are truly special.
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