So there I was, about to be showed up by my boyfriend’s mom. Definitely not a situation I would wish upon anyone. I look up to Dusty’s Mom immensely, and in many ways she’s the vibrant, spontaneous, energetic role-model I aspire to be. Except that I’m none of those things. My strengths lie in chilling hard, moving at a slow pace, and quietly soaking in my surroundings while sipping on a warm beverage. So when Dusty’s Mom brought up the idea of going on a half day mountain bike ride, I grew a little quiet. Don’t get me wrong… I love a good adventure, but I always have to get over my hesitant and lazy alter ego first.
All the anxieties began to stir within me:
But I haven’t mountain biked in years
There’s no way I’m in shape…
What if I fall off of my bike and tumble down the Peruvian countryside, eventually coming to a stop thanks to a grazing llama? That’d actually be pretty rad…
After much internal debating, I succumbed to a little good ol’ internal peer pressure. I replied with a reluctant yes, immediately feeling the butterflies for the day to come.
We left from Ollantaytambo, an extremely charming town which is the gateway to Machu Picchu, nestled in a small valley surrounded by ancient Incan ruins (charming as F). Before we began biking, we had a long uphill drive deep into the remote Peruvian countryside. After about an hour of incline, we reached the top and an incredible 360 view, the Andes surrounding us on all sides. It was damn beautiful.
And then the two hours of downhill mountain biking began. Whatever the opposite of an adrenaline junkie is, I’m that. I don’t really like going fast down things, it makes me feel uneasy and out of control. I had my hands clutching the brake the whole time, which is quite literally my speed, made more noticeable by the audible high pitched squeak made when the brakes were on… which was the whole time. We passed beautiful fields dotted with llamas and farms, locals in traditional dress tending to their fields, always with the beautiful snow capped peaks rimming the horizon.
After hours of downhill which had literally shook my body to its core, we arrived at our destination – the little village of Patacancha. The people of Patacancha do not speak Spanish, but Quechua, as they identify to one of the few remaining pockets of indigenous people in South America. We were there on a Sunday, the day of their weekly market, and we literally rolled in just in time to see it unfolding.
Oh man, did we stick out! Roughly 100 townspeople there for the market seemed to all have their eyes on us. Here we were, Patagonia clad Americans, as white as can be, with a big camera hanging around my neck. I felt like we were intruding, but I also couldn’t bring myself to leave. Their traditional dress, the beautiful countryside, I was intoxicated by the scene and had to shoot it, no matter how many stares I was getting. I felt bad that I couldn’t communicate to ask if it was ok I was taking their picture, but I did my best to put a huge smile on my face for people as I walked around the market taking pictures.
Some were not having it, they chose not to respond to my smile. But what could I do? I couldn’t stop.
Our next stop was a beautiful weaving cooperative, where we were able to see some incredibly bright and beautiful traditional textiles come to life. I walked away with a lovely scarf myself – How could you not?!
If you’re going through Ollantaytambo on your way to Machu Picchu and decide to give yourself a day to check out the area, I highly suggest finding a way to experience Patacancha, whether on bike or two feet. It’s breathtakingly beautiful, and is an incredible glimpse into the lives of this indigenous community, which is becoming ever more rare every day. It sticks out in my mind (and in my photo library) as one of the more beautiful and memorable trips of my life.
Unfiltered Travels 
These are beautiful photos. And seems like your bike adventure was worth it in the end.
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