The Hunt for El Dorado
In search of the perfect singletrack in the Atacama Desert
By Mike Brcic
Sacred Rides Mountain Bike Holidays
"Pancho, where the #$%^ is the trail?" I yelled at my Chilean guide, former amigo, and now nemesis. We'd set our from San Pedro de Atacama, in the middle of the driest desert in the world - the Atacama - in search of a trail that was rumoured to be one of the best in the world.
Now we were waist deep in thorn bushes, in the bottom of a narrow canyon, with no idea when or where the canyon ended. The ‘trail’ that we had begun following 3 hours back had started promisingly, a sweet ribbon of singletrack cut into the side of the canyon, following the Puritama river in northern Chile. We’d stopped by a tiny hotspring, laughing and sure that we’d found our singletrack Shangri-La, bathing in the warm waterfall underneath the rock. Now the trail was exacting its revenge on us for being so cocky. Smooth dirt had become razor-sharp boulders and unrideable stretches of thick vegetation that tore at our jerseys and exacted bloody sacrifice from our legs.
After another half hour, we pulled the plug. The canyon widened just enough for the steep walls to become climbable and we scrambled our way out of the canyon tired, beaten and disappointed. Not to mention thirsty – we’d run out of water halfway down the canyon, not expecting the 10-km ‘ride’ to take this long. We found our way back to the awaiting van and endured the 1-hour ride back to San Pedro in Silence.
Our El Dorado – the lost singletrack of gold - was proving to be more elusive than we thought.
El Dorado is a mythical city of gold, rumoured to be somewhere in central Guyana, buried deep in the thick jungle. For decades, archaelogists, explorers and treasure seekers have been beating paths through the jungle in search of fame and fortune and a page in the history books.
Our El Dorado lay somewhere in northern Chile, in the Atacama desert. We were in search of gold too, just a different sort: the brown, dusty sort that welcomes our two-wheeled steeds and gives us the means to explore the world about us. Singletrack is to a mountain biker what food is to : a passion, a raison d’etre, a calling. Our guide Pancho had heard rumours of singletrack in Northern Chile so sublime that no one would speak of it. Our attempts to glean information from the locals had ended in frustration and many dead-ends. Either the locals in San Pedro didn’t know, or they weren’t talking.
So here we were, day three of our Atacama hunt, and we’d turned up no treasure. Sure, we’d visited some incredible places, remote Mapuche villages, hotsprings, lagoons, spectacular desert scenery, and even a pair of circular swimming holes known as the Eyes of God. The Atacama desert is easily one of the most spectacular areas in the world.
But no singletrack. The local maps showed routes crisscrossing the valleys and mountains like spider webs, but these were mainly dirt and sand roads and the occasional doubletrack.
We’d already spent five epic days of riding around Santiago and Valparaiso, areas that my Chilean partners knew well. We’d ridden super-technical trails in the shadow of Mt. Aconcagua, the continent’s highest peak, ribbons of smooth dirt in the lush jungle, and rip-roaring ridge rides in the Valle Delqui. I was here to meet with my 2 Chilean partners and set up a new tour for Sacred Rides. Since neither my guides nor my clients want to ride roads, we were in need of some singletrack to give us a reason for coming to the driest desert in the world.
Looking around at these mountains and volcanoes, some over 6,000 m, I knew there had to be gold in them thar hills. We’d already seen hundreds of llamas, alpacas and vicuñas, plenty of horses and a smattering of donkeys. All those animals needed trails to walk on, so why couldn’t we find them?
On day 4, we awoke at the ungodly hour of 4 am to temperatures hovering around the freezing mark. We packed into the van one more time, in bleary-eyed silence. Today we were going to a collection of geysers and thermal vents collectively known as El Tatio. We drove through the desert in thick darkness, the moon already down and the stars out in full glory. I looked up, searching for the Southern Cross, but I have no idea what it looks like and neither did my companions.
2 hours later, the sun started poking out from behind the horizon as we neared the geysers. We’d been climbing steadily since we left, and Eduardo’s altimeter now read 4,300 m, over 14,000 feet. It was nice and warm in the van but outside looked cold and harsh. We arrived at the geysers as the sky exploded with pink and yellow colours.
It was like a scene from a sci-fi movie. The landscape looked lunar, with barren peaks and steam vents littering the horizon. There were only a few other people around at this hour: a lonely and cold security guard and some random vendors. The security guard was bundled up in a massive parka – this didn’t bode well for our underdressed group of bikers.
I stepped out into the freezing air. I checked my thermometer a few minutes later – minus 8 celsius. We got the bikes out and hit the dirt. Absolutely stunning, but an hour later, we’d still found no singletrack. We resigned ourselves to soaking in the hotsprings, but by the time we got to the swimming pools, the only one of us brave enough to jump in was David, our writer.
“I know a great trail through a canyon. There is seengletracks there,” our guide Pancho said enthusiastically. “There is also natural hotpsring there too.”
We hopped in the van and drove along the surface of the moon for an hour before coming to a lookout over the canyon. Across the chasm, we could see the remnants of ancient cliff dwellings carved into the side of the canyon. Below, a river cut through the gorge, with lush greenery on either side that looked positively foreign to this barren landscape. It looked like an oasis paradise in this otherworldly place. As I scanned the canyon, my eyes spotted the faint outline of what appeared to be… yes, a trail! Maybe Pancho wasn’t lying.
We dropped in on the trail in high spirits. The trail was über technical, with rocks and sand all over the trail. After 5 minutes we arrived to a small pool in the river. “This is the hotspring,” said Pancho. “let’s go in!”
Covered in dust and freezing cold, I needed no encouragement. We jumped in and Pancho took us to a small waterfall that created a natural Jacuzzi. Soaking in the warm water, enjoying our rustic massages, we were amped at the promise of the trail ahead. Things were looking up.
Within minutes of getting back on the bikes, our bubble burst, the air deflating out of our hopes like air coming out of a flat tire. The trail became a gnarled mess of sharp rocks, thorn bushes, thick brush, and steep unrideable boulderfields. We battled our way thorugh this for an hour, before I finally asked Pancho if he’d ever been on this trail before.
“Well, no, not really. I hike to hotsprings with my girlfriend many time,” he admitted in his imperfect English. “But I never bring my bike.”
As we climbed out of the canyon, I mused silently and broodingly. Perhaps there is no singletrack to ride in this part of Chile. Perhaps our 20-hour drive up here was all for naught. I began to question just what the hell I was doing in Chile.
Nonetheless, San Pedro de Atacama has some awesome restaurants, so we decided to make lemon juice out of lemons – or more accurately, epic Chilean wine out of fermented grapes – by getting gassed up on Cabernet and a gourmet dinner. We had one more option to check out the next day, and we weren’t ready to give up our hunt just yet.
Heck, even Columbus didn’t find the New World until his 3rd try.
We’d heard a rumour about some mountain biking trails in an area called the Quebrada del Diablo – the Devil’s Gorge – and spent the rest of the night in search of information. No one, not even the local mountain bike rental shops, had heard of any trails in the area. We had nothing to lose, so we decided to leave early the next morning and do battle with the devil.
We set out at 8:00 am after a big breakfast of omelettes and pancakes. Full of energy and wine-fueled bravado, we started climbing out of town. Riding past rustic villager’s huts and massive sand dunes, we came to our first stop, the Pukhara del Quitor. Quitor is an ancient village that was first taken over by the Incas as they expanded their empire southward, then later by the Spanish as they attempted to conquer the New World. Now all that remains are brick walls and ghosts. We rode past, too focused on our goal to bother with history lessons.
The road took us past some caves, which we stopped to explore. Singletrack in there? Nope. We pushed on. After half an hour, the road brought us to the entrance of the Quebrada. The promised land, or so we hoped. The road began climbing, twisting through the serpentine mazes of sandstone formations and dunes. I scanned the sides of the road for signs of a trail we could ride. The scenery was stunning, the best we’d seen so far. In the distance, we could see the snowy peak of Licancabur, the area’s highest volcano, over 6 km high.
We climbed higher and higher, finally reaching a tunnel. The tunnel was bored right thorugh the mountain and judging by the size of the tiny light at the end, it was pretty long. The inside was full of sand and rock, and eerily spooky. We emerged into the brilliant sunshine on the other side, to an area Pancho recognized as the Valle Del Muerte, the Valley of Death. Massive sand dunes surrounded us. It was a scene straight out of Road Warrior – a desert that could swallow you whole, never to be seen from again.
Discouraged, we were about to turn back when I looked upward and spotted a faint ribbon of lightly coloured trail against the backdrop of the mountain. Could this be it, the road to El Dorado? Excited, I asked my companions to wait while I ran up the trail a short distance further.
I ran up the trail, only to find… more trail. And it looked rideable. I called to my fellow explorers to follow up the mountainside.
The trail climbed for a few hundred metres, then topped out in a small saddle. With excitement building we rode through the saddle and emerged on a barren hilltop plateau. Two Inca ruins broke up the smooth landscape, and across from us, the trail lead up a small hill, further to the heavens. We pushed our bikes up, a spectacular valley emerging below us. As we reached the top, the most magnificent sight I’d ever seen unfolded before us. A ridge, unbroken and unpopulated, stretching as far as the eye could see, a thin ribbon of white tracing the ridge’s contours like a finger in the sand: the pot of gold, kilometers and kilometers of singletrack, disappearing into the distance.
Was it a mirage? We were in the desert after all, and the heat was starting to play tricks with my head. I kept riding, but sure enough, the trail continued to assert its identity as bona fide trail. Not wanting to jinx it, I continued on for a few hundred metres before letting out a big yell. This was it, the lost singletrack we’d been looking for!
We continued on, following the trail for several hours. On one side, a steep dropoff led down to the Puritama River gorge, with spectacular sand formations, massive dunes, otherworldy sights and sounds (the wind was howling up here). On the other side, a flat plateau stretched to the horizon and the mountains of the Andes. By the time we got to the end of the trail, our wildest hopes had been confirmed: this was one of the best trails any of us had ever ridden. Patrice, our photographer, was as giddy as a schoolboy, taking snaps as fast as he could.
“This is epic!” he shouted. I could only nod and agree. This was by far the best trail I had ever ridden. We had found El Dorado.
We set out the next morning at 2:30 am to catch our morning flight back to Santiago and our flights home. Pancho returned back to San Pedro a week later to continue the explorations, and found several more epic trails in the Quebrada area.
We’re still waiting for our mentions in National Geographic. No word yet.
Mike Brcic is the president of Sacred Rides Mountain Bike Holidays. If you want to join him for a few epic rides in Chile, Peru or BC, visit their website at www.sacredrides.com.
