Before you could say 'What a strange, but remarkably apt way to spell crosnts' breakfast was eaten and we were hiring a couple of bikes for a day riding in the Andes. I had initially been concerned that the safety of my bike would not be up to scratch but my fears were soon allayed when I saw that it boasted not one but two wheels – complete with a brake on each. It was a state of the art machine – at least in 1972 it was.
The seat could only have been less comfortable if it was made of marble but at least most of the trail we followed was downhill. We stopped for the odd hike to a waterfall and a 120m high cable car ride suspended by a piece of wire I would not normally have trusted to hang a shirt on. After 20km we reached a small town, had a beer and hitched a lift back to Banos fearing that only Lance Armstrong would have made the uphill return trip.
Back in Banos we decided that the perfect way relax after the exertions of the morning was a gentle hike up the volcano. What I hadn't bargained on, and what my tourist map failed to mention, was how steep the hike was – if you are having to hold onto rocks as you ascend, that is not a hike – it is imminent death. We managed to avoid death by falling, and only suffered death by embarrassment as we were constantly overtaken by Ecuadorian pensioners hauling oak trees to the summit. I blame the altitude.
After such an arduous day, and as the night descended, we headed for the much touted thermal baths to revitalize our limbs. As I slipped into the volcanic pool the thought that slowly came into my mind was 'Is this how a lobster dies' . It transpires that the water temperature is 48 degrees, which is exactly the temperature I like to drink my tea at, however, I had no wish to be the tea bag.
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