Blog 4: Ancient Incan Quad-biking

14th November 2023

By the time my first excursion out of Cusco came around, I'd adjusted to the jetlag, but wasn't sure if I'd adjusted to the altitude. I was comforted by the fact that the Quad Bike tour to Moray and Maras would at least be several thousand meters downhill from Cusco, in the so-called Sacred Valley, the site of most of Peru's most significant Incan ruins. The ruins are considered sacred today, hugely significant to the local population and of course a UNESCO World Heritage site.

The Moray and Maras; the names sound like characters in a nursery rhyme. The Moray is the site of a significant set of agricultural terraces built by the Incans. The Maras is a series of salt-harvesting pools picturesquely perched on a ridge in the Sacred Valley. It's just a coincidence the names sound similar. I chose a Quad bike tour cos it sounded like it'd add some adrenilin to what was probably going to be a stunning day anyway. And it did.

The tour guide arrived as I was half way through sipping my first coca tea in the foyer (rude). He led me around the corner to his van and we wound our way through Cusco progressively picking up my fellow quaddies, including some Crazy German Guys (CGG's, they're a special breed of person), and a bunch of Birmingham nurses. There were others too, about 15 of us in total. I was expecting young people, so no surprises they were all back-packery age except me, the Crazy Older Guy.

We took off in the bus on a route out of town that would become very familiar over my stay in Cusco - climbing up steep cobbled streets first, to even higher elevation, to some of the poorer districts on the surrounding hills, then through the 'New Town', where a lot of (fairly dodgy) construction seems to be underway. Finally the descent begins, and after driving across a fertile plain, the sides narrow, dramatic peaks appear on left and right and you're in the Sacred Valley.

We drove for about an hour before turning off the sealed road onto a dirt road that ran through open farming coutnry and a succession of fairly scruffy looking farming hamlets. While driving along a scruffy street in one of these scruffy hamlets, we swung left sharply into a driveway and there in a private yard in front of us were the Quad bikes, all primed and lined up ready to go.

It was a big operation, we were handed over to the Quad Biker Gang Leader and introduced to two other Quad Biker Gang members who would be riding with us to keep our Biker Gang together. We were given free bags of coca leaves to chew to help with energy and altitude, but I had already been substance-abusing that substance, so I was something of a Gang Leader.

We were allocated to our bikes, given crash helmets (one size fits all), and then the leader explained the gears and brakes (always brake BOTH front and back wheels) and the method for indicating through the convoy that we should drop or raise a gear (using our fingers). I'd like to say we covered the other safety features but there were none. I got the leader to take the photo below of me, then after that it was literally START YOUR ENGINES (easy) and we revved our way out of the yard to go kick arse in the Sacred Valley.

Actually, not right away. We were made to do three circuits of a paddock over the road first, to ensure the gang had the hang of it. It was a deeply potholed track so it was good education in the ability of quad bikes to accommodate all kinds of potholes without rolling. We also learned there is no reason pretty much to use 1st gear, or 2nd gear, for that matter. Third gear is very forgiving.

After that we were totally off to kick arse. After stopping at a shop to buy suncream and water, obviously.

The route initially took us over fairly rough dirt roads out of the hamlet and into the open countryside. As we got the hang of operating the bikes at fairly high speed (let's say 30K), the Sacred Valley opened up around us in the form of a towering range of mountains to the south. The gear change communication method through the convoy worked quite well, although I was last, and by the time the signal reached me it was no longer relevant. Being last meant I could experiment with shortcuts, as well as revving the guts out of 3rd gear, who was to know. It also meant I could hang back out of everyone else's dust and speed up to catch up when they began to slow down. All in all I was satisfied with being last. I also did quite a lot of stand up work, which I noticed no one else did. I found out later the leader had said no standing up; but again, being last, who was to know.

After about 25k of this badass bikie behaviour, we reached the Moray site. The terraces extending down into a pit were way more impressive than they looked on the website. Those Incas knew a thing or two; each of the terraces was capable of supporting a different type of potato, 140 kinds in total, along with other crops such as quinoa and corn. The varieties were fine-tuned to the altitude, and that is why there is still a massive variety of vegetables available in Peru. The wacky Germans took crazy photos of each other pretending to jump into the giant hole formed by the terraces. Crazy wacky Germans.

I was still finding walking uphill at altitude quite challenging, my pulse would race and I'd feel like I weighed a tonne. I was careful about hopping back on the quad bike with my head spinning, but one of the joys of quadding is you quickly forget how you're feeling in the adrenalin rush. After 30 minutes or so wandering around the UNESCO listed site, we hopped back on our bikes and took off again. By now we all had a bit more confidence and reached speeds of up to 35K. The Germans tried some jumps until one of them almost came off, did a jacknife (which takes talent on a quad bike) and was soundly told off in Peruvian by one of the helpers.

After another 25 minutes of high-speed high-jinks, we were led into a scruffy hamlet and to my surprise ended up in the scruffy yard we had started from. The quad biking was over, apparently, and by the general sheepishness on the part of the Germans, they may well have been to blame, although I can't be certain, as no further correspondence was entered into.

The trip to the Maras Salt mine was thus by bus, not bike. It didn't matter, when we got there the sight of the white settling ponds covering the hillside like white rice paddies was both extraordinary and fascinating. The salt ponds are thousands of years old, and are fed by a mineral spring nearby. Incans farmed the salt here (those Incas, I tellya) and after the Spanish arrived, a small cohort of families has run the salt ponds, harvesting salt from their allocated ponds in a kind of closed collective. We could see people moving from pond to pond performing maintenance as we watched; presumably they were members of the families.

The salt mines made me keen to see what salt tasted like, so in the market that lined the path to the viewing terrace, I bought a packet of salt and tasted it. It tasted like salt. I bought a sample pack to bring home to Australia for my family to try.*

A great day, awesome scenery and fun, too. There's not much more I can say about the salt mines at Maras, except that they were intensely picturesque. For that reason, I'll let my photos above do the talking.

*Postscript: They all said it tastes like salt