Intro
The morning in Ayaracra began with a sharp, high-altitude chill and the quiet hum of a village living entirely off the sun. I rolled out onto a gravel track under a wide-open sky, trading the predictable pavement of my digital map for a local’s promise of a better view.
The Solar Morning and the Digital Lie
- I spent the first hour of the day waiting for water to boil in Pedro’s kitchen. His wife explained how their life functions around small 100x60cm solar panels—one per house, just enough to keep a single light bulb glowing after the sun drops behind the ridges. There is no grid here, no background hum of electricity, just the occasional clatter of gravel shifting under a stray alpaca. I used that hot water to hydrate a massive bowl of porridge, knowing I had a long stretch ahead.
- When I went to say goodbye to Pedro at 9:00 AM, he was adamant. He pointed toward a rugged track splitting off into the hills. He told me it would take me straight through the heart of the Bosque de Piedras. My Komoot route, carefully plotted back in Oyón, suggested a paved road with a negligible 60-meter climb. Pedro’s route had no data; there was no signal to check the gradient or the surface. I chose his ‘mystery’ route, assuming the distance was similar. It was a gamble against the algorithm.
The Vertical Tax of Local Knowledge
- The climb started almost immediately, and it wasn’t the 60-meter bump my app had promised for the main road. The gravel was loose and dry, and within thirty minutes, the gritty texture of volcanic dust had coated my teeth and settled into the creases of my cycling gloves. Every time I crested a rise, another steep pitch appeared. I watched my head unit pass 100 meters, then 200 meters of elevation gain. I’ll admit, I cursed the decision to trust a man who likely walks these hills with the lungs of a condor while I struggled with a loaded touring rig.
- The clatter of gravel against my down tube was the only sound for miles until the landscape began to distort. The hillsides weren’t just grass and dirt anymore; massive, weathered limestone pillars began to erupt from the earth. By the time I hit 350 meters of climbing, I was deep inside a natural stone city. The frustration of the extra effort evaporated as I realized the paved road would have bypassed all of this. I was riding through a labyrinth of giants.
Monsters in the Rock
- By noon, I was weaving between formations that looked like frozen waves and jagged teeth. I passed a hidden alpine lake where a few local families were having a barbecue, the smell of charred meat drifting across the water. Official signs appeared eventually, identifying specific shapes in the stone—a ‘Frog’ perched on a ledge, a ‘Condor’ with its wings spread. It felt like cycling through a prehistoric graveyard.
- I reached Canchacucho at 2:00 PM, my legs heavy from the unexpected vertical work. I found a small eatery and ordered chicharrón de alpaca. The meat was lean and salty, but the real highlight was the scent of seasoned tea served alongside it—a warm, herbaceous aroma that cut through the mountain cold. I sat there for an hour, watching the light shift over the rocks, grateful that I hadn’t stuck to the efficiency of the highway.
Alpaca, AI, and Picarones
- The final leg into Huayllay was a relief—a smooth, paved descent followed by a gentle climb with almost no traffic. I rolled into town at 5:00 PM and checked into the Hotel Bristol. The room is basic, but it has a desk, which led to the strangest contrast of the trip so far. While my riding gear was still covered in that gritty texture of volcanic dust, I sat down to review an AI management pitch for a friend in Germany. One hour I’m navigating a stone forest that’s millions of years old; the next, I’m commenting on neural network scaling strategies.
- Hunger eventually drove me back out into the plaza. I found a side-street restaurant for a double-carb dinner: a thick vegetable soup followed by mashed potatoes, a fried egg, and a massive mound of rice. To finish the night, I stood by a street stall and watched a woman flick dough into a vat of boiling oil to make picarones. The clatter of gravel from the morning was replaced by the sizzle of frying dough. I ate them hot, dripping with syrup, while the temperature outside began its nightly plunge toward freezing.
Overnight
I stayed at the Hotel Bristol in Huayllay. It provided a solid base to clean my gear and catch up on digital life after the remote stretch from Ayaracra.
Reflection
Local directions in the Andes are measured in beauty and landmarks, not meters of elevation; the ‘short’ route will always be harder, but the data on my screen can’t account for the value of riding through a stone forest.
Route summary
- Date: 2026-05-18
- Distance: 43.74 km
- Elevation gain: 552 m
- Elevation loss: 562 m
- Duration: 7 h 59 min
- Time in Motion: 4 h 30 min
- Average Speed: 9.7 km/h