I leave Tumbes at 9:00 a.m. on a good road, and spend two hours at the border. As I cross into Ecuador, the countryside changes from barren desert to tropical jungle, with good paved roads all the while.
Machala is the first town I reach in Ecuador, but it’s early afternoon so I decide to carry on to the big city and port of Guayaquil, about four hours away. When I get there, I take a look around the city and get chatty with a couple of young policemen, who bunk me down at the local police station. Then they put on their civvies, arm themselves with revolvers, and take me out on the town. I spend two nights here.
The local Transport Police insist I use their facilities to service my bike. Somewhere here I lose my New Zealand fleece-lined mittens—bad timing.
I depart and head for Quito. I’m riding through the lowland jungle, with no traffic and narrow, sealed roads. There’s jungle on both sides of me. Suddenly, I get a severe pain in my left foot. I pull over and unzip and remove my boot, expecting that I’ve been bitten by a deadly spider or scorpion. To my relief, I find only a bee.
I leave the sun behind and start up the mountains to Quito. It’s a very cold and damp ride, thanks in large part to having only regular gloves instead of warm mittens. The mountains rise to 15,000 feet; the nearby Mount Chimborazo peaks at 20,702 feet. The weather has slowed me down and I arrive in Quito after dark, feeling very cold and damp. Two local girls take me home for a meal, and then, when looking for accommodation, I am invited by the local police to spend the night in their barracks. I get one puncture, fortunately before the rain. It’s an old patch that lifted—not good.
The police at the barracks are up early, and therefore, so am I. There is a long concrete wall with concrete tubs on either side, each with a very small mirror and a single cold water tab. There’s no roof, all open air, and in the open parade yard policemen are shaving and washing for the day. They have brown uniforms and jackboots. I pack up and am off downtown to a café, Café con Leche, where I have a cheese sandwich.
I meet a Canadian university student, Robert, who is studying mycology—the study of fungi. I meet his flatmates and they put me up for a few days, which I spend looking around the city and meeting people.
I meet a friendly motorcycle dealer, Earnest Mateaus, and we adjust the gearbox and replace the engine oil. I also purchase a rear inner tube. I have now done 8,200 miles from the start.
Robert asks for a ride over the border. I am reluctant, but he is a very light build and will only be carrying a very small side-bag, so I agree.