The best trail in the world

Ask me to name my top 3 mountain bike rides - ever - and I'd be hard-pressed to come up with just 3. When your living involves finding the best rides in the world, they all tend to blend into one, magnificent whole. But once in a while something comes along that stands out so clearly, a ride that begs superlatives like 'best ever.' Yesterday's ride was one of them.

Richie, Robbie, Cory (from Ride Guide TV) and Paul (photographer) left in the morning to visit Machu Picchu, and Wayo - my Peruvian partner - and I decided we would go for a nice cross-country spin. Shooting a TV show involves endless stopping and starting while the cameras set up, so we were itching for a real ride.

"I know a great trail up that way," Wayo said, pointing past the houses of Ollantaytambo to a narrow valley. "It's very nice."

Wayo is a master of understatement. What transpired over the next 4 hours was nothing short of nirvana.

We climbed up a dirt road out of Ollantaytambo and soon passed through a small village. Farmers stopped us to ask where we were going and to shake our hands. Soon we passed a slope intercut with massive terraces. "Inca terraces," Wayo said. "They are over 1,000 years old." We would be riding on top of them on our way down. Wow, I thought.

After an hour of climbing, we stopped in a small village to have a snack and get out of the increasingly vigorous rain. As we waited the rain out, two small children came up to us, curious about these strangers in their midst. I guess they were about 4 or 5, one boy and a girl. They were the cutest children I think I've ever seen. More superlatives.

A few more minutes and we dropped into the trail, climbing past local farms on what were Inca trails hundreds of years old. The trail got steep in parts, necessitating pushing our bikes, but I was so stunned by the scenery that I didn't mind the exertion (later I would find the exertion not so easy as we reached 12,000 feet and I got altitude sickness).

We followed a riverbed up a valley, looking for a way to cross to the other side, where an ancient Inca ruin sat on top of a hillside, our ultimate goal. The trail was beautiful: smooth, sweet singletrack, perfect for cross-country riding. After a half hour of climbing, we realized that there probably was no bridge and we would have to return back down and ford the river. The descent was all hoots and hollers, eyes glued to the narrow trail. The trail was only about a foot and a half wide, with a neat little dropoff on the right. We reached a small farm and asked the owner how to get across. He pointed down to the river, looking at us like we were loco.

We forded the river handily, then climbed about half an hour to the ruins. Wow. These ruins sat on top of a ridge, overlooking one of the most scenic valleys I'd ever seen. "Wayo, I think this is the most beautiful places I've ever seen," I said. He nodded and smiled in his laid-back way. I wanted him to jump up and shout with me. It was one of those moments when you feel most alive, most in sync with the universe. I could feel the apus, the spirits of the mountains here.

The ruins, Wayo told me, were the home of the first Inca king. They are over 1,000 years old. I ran my fingers over the rock walls, imagining life here a millenium ago. There was still hemp rope holding together wooden beams, and some of the structures looked like they could have been built last week. Chalk one up for Inca ingenuity.

We finally tore ourselves away from the ruins and prepared for the descent. The ruins sat on top of a terraced slope that had been softened and molded buy time: perfect mountain biking. We raced down the slope, jumping off terraces into the October sky. I was in awe, like I'd never been before.

After a few minutes we reached the trail, screaming alongside houses and farms and terraces. We rode down a hundred-metre-long staircase that predated Columbus by about 500 years. Then we reached the terraces. The trail on top of our terrace was intermittently smooth and technical, perfect for a couple of cross-country freeriders. Sheep dotted the terraces and cows mooed in the distance. We seemed to be the only people in the valley. My skin shivered with glee.

The trail got progressivley more technical, with bigger rocks to negotiate, but we were so high on this ride that we passed through them easily. We reached another set of terraces, even greener than the last, and dropped a few hundred feet quickly down to the road.

The last section of trail meandered through backyards and along a river, finally spitting us out in the narrow streets of Ollantaytambo. We reached the hotel and my altitude sickness finally overtook my adrenaline and I collapsed in bed, content and satiated with the most incredible ride I'd ever done.

Mike