Last Day in Quito

Jeff and I are the only guests left at Rumiloma, so Ossy gives the staff the day off. We Uber to a lazy breakfast near Quito’s version of Central Park—Parque La Carolina—where families stroll, joggers jog, and two exhausted climbers inhale eggs like like they wronged us in a previous life.

We wander down to the mercado artesanal in La Mariscal and buy every gift item we’ve been eyeing for two weeks—and several we hadn’t noticed but apparently need. I even buy a big blue llama bag to haul home my loot. It is gloriously ridiculous and instantly essential.

Back at Rumiloma, I get an odd, intrusive urge: go for a run. Maybe it’s the altitude hangover. Maybe it’s nostalgia. Maybe I’ve finally gone feral. The weather is perfect, so I jog—slowly—up the steep road behind Rumiloma. We’d walked it on our first day, winded and wobbly. Now I run it three times. The grade tips past twenty percent, but my legs feel like they’ve been turned in a forge. If only I was on the U.S. Postal Cycling Team or Team Sky, I could have banked this precious blood to mainline before some future adventure. Maybe this blog is the next best thing: banked memories like this one that I can upload when I need it.

I miss flushing toilet paper. I am tired of repacking every day. I miss my family. I am sick of being cautious about food and water. I miss brushing teeth in sink water (I know, Brian, it’s perfectly OK). I am tired of stinky, damp clothes in my bag. And I wouldn’t change a single thing about this trip. Thank you Ossy, Pablo, my new climbing amigos, and everyone at Mountain Madness!