No Service

A family journey in the depths of the Ecuadorian highlands

Words: Michael Dammer
Photos: Marcela Restrepo & Michael Dammer

As we pedal over the continental divide, roughly above 4100 metres, I check my phone to see the last little bar of signal, completely disappear. I can't deny that a feeling of hesitation momentarily takes over. Here we are, Marcela and myself, with our two little boys, Koru (7 years old), Antu (4 years old) and Lila (our dog) embarking on another adventure into remote lands.

I grew up in rural Ecuador with no electricity or phone service, to make a call we would have to ride our bikes or horses to the nearest phone cabin. With my parents being avid explorers themselves, I learned to understand fairly young that out in the wilderness you are on your own. Even in recent years, I had gotten into long, committing expeditions without any means of communication - so being disconnected and far from modern life's conveniences and safety, is not a foreign feeling.

As we start the descent on the eastern slopes of the Andes on our heavily loaded bicycles my mind involuntarily keeps ringing a warning signal. Many questions pop up. Do we have all we need? Are we pushing it by taking our two little children into such exposed terrain? Is our planned itinerary too hard for them?... I don’t even bother answering these anymore; I close my eyes briefly to allow my focus to shift. I can see Koru and Marcela gaining speed as we pedal into the unknown; I take a deep breath and ride behind them.

Antu, who is seated behind me on our loaded farm bike (our big cargo Fat Bike), is quick to point out the mortiño in season - a local blueberry speciality right on our path. This settles my mood. Their unquestioned trust of how we flow as a family, of how normal these settings are for them since day one, reassures me that this is how we move. This is where we function best.

With modern technology it has become hard to find places where you are not somehow connected. We have learned to rely on electronics to give us a safety net if things go wrong and that has changed the way we approach adventure. Most of the time, we are one click away to call for help and respond or react to happenings far away from us.

Here, that does not apply to us anymore; as we move further in, we will be in a continuous NO SERVICE zone for the next four days. Our planned route follows a network of cattle trails and double tracks for close to 100 kilometres which, divided into 4 days of riding doesn’t sound much, but once you consider the terrain, the altitude and our family pace, it's a recipe for a pretty memorable expedition.

The riding is hard and technical for the first day and a half, we often have to push our bikes on tricky single track that is conveniently lined by blueberry bushes that don’t go unnoticed by our two little cubs. Dodgy river crossings, a few dead ends and wrong turns, basking in equatorial Andes river water at midday, and star gazing at night with a cup of warm soup in our bodies after a good day's ride, are just a few highlights. Long stops for stretching and playing, and early nights by the fire reading Roald Dahl's Matilda, mark a slow and natural rhythm to our days.

At some point we pushed our bikes for 3 hours on a merciless hill. Antu observed us perplexed for a few minutes from the back of the farm fat bike. It didn’t take long until he realized that he needed to help me push as well. Koru, exhausted after the first hour of impossible biking, walks slowly uphill pushing his bike while Marcela and I take turns helping each other with the heavier bikes as we contemplate what a gruesome maze we got ourselves into.

Finally we hit some 4x4 tracks and leave the valley behind to climb back up to the pass closing our loop. Excited to finally 'get out of the hole', after a few hours of climbing we encounter a small truck loaded with friendly Piñan locals who were so surprised by our dirty and happy faces that they had to stop, take photos and share sugary snacks with us.

Beat and in awe of this little feat as a family, we sat atop the last rolling hill to soak in the view before our last descent. As we biked down, my 'dormant' phone suddenly made a 'beep' for the first time in days. The familiar sound made me realize how liberating it was to pack phones at the bottom of the drybag on day one and enjoy the hardships and joys of being in remote lands with our kids. Life becomes so simple.

For us adults, experiences like this connect us to an undeniable instinct of peaceful awareness and they offer a much-needed brake from modern pace. For our kids, the gift of becoming familiar with the intimidating silence of the mountains and embracing the unknown with confidence and respect, helps nurture priceless tools for their lives.

All this, and much more, only reassures us that the moment we hit a NO SERVICE zone, some pretty awesome memories are forged.