The Road To Machu Picchu: Part Five - Anything Is Possible

I started Day Two free of my nemesis.

One of the porters graciously took my backpack off my hands and carried it to the next campsite. Best twenty bucks I had spent in years. All I had to take with me were my camera, water bottles, and a plastic trash bag full of random things I would need for the hike. This was the same trash bag I wore on my feet the night before to keep my socks dry from my soaked sleeping bag. I was too tired to care.



Before setting off, our guides Juve and Whilder gathered the porters (all twenty of them) for a quick introduction. These porters are nothing short of phenomenal. All from Cusco and its surrounding towns, all incredibly warm and friendly, and all freakishly athletic. One of them completed the ENTIRE Inca Trail in less than four hours. No kidding. We were in the midst of greatness.

Juve advised us throughout the night before and the morning of, go at your own pace. If you need to go slow, go slow. If you need to take a break, take a break. I planned on doing both. Wholeheartedly.

Here's why you'd probably want to take your time; You start Day Two at an altitude of 3,100 meters (10,137 ft). You then proceed to scale a whopping 1,100 meters (over 3,300 ft.) to the top of first pass, affectionately known as Dead Woman's Pass.



And there she is! Start on the right. See how it kind of makes a face? Just work your way to the left. And yes, it gets quite cold up there.

ANYWAY, with nothing but me and my trash bag, I set out on the trail. And I went slowly. Slowly. Oh so slowly. Just me, my friend Tammy and our assistant guide Whilder, taking our time. And despite moving as slow as molasses, despite carrying absolutely nothing on my back, despite one of the porters even taking my trash bag away from me and leaving me empty handed, I was still huffing and puffing, trudging up that damn pass.

I developed a sort of rhythm on my hike; I would take twenty to thirty paces and rest for ten to fifteen seconds, taking gigantic deep breaths and frequent swigs of water. I even looked up from the trail to take in the scenery. I had nearly forgotten I was in the middle of the Andes!



Lush vegetation and serene little creeks running down the mountain. Llamas buried high on the slopes looking for grass to munch on. The sense of tranquilidad dominating the scene. I would've taken it all in more, but the guides warned us that staying too long in one place will leave us shivering in the cold. And I started to lose some feeling in my hands. So I pressed on.

Twenty steps, rest. Twenty steps, rest. Deep breaths, deep breaths. Porters passing me with their exortations ("Vamos, amigo! Vamos!"). Fifteen steps, rest. Ten steps, rest. The Dead Woman started to get bigger and bigger. Yet so far away. Five steps, rest. Rest some more. Rest some more. I couldn't feel my hands. My head started to hurt. My stomach started doing backflips...

...and then I looked up.

The whole group was there at the top of the pass, shouting words of encouragement. I stared at them for a good thirty seconds, not knowing if I should thank them or tell them to shut up. "One last push!" They yelled. So I put my head down. I attacked each step like my last, slamming my walking stick down with each step. And somehow, some way, through some Divine Miracle, I made it to the top of Dead Woman's Pass.

And then I did what most manly men do when they reach the top of the First Pass of the Inca Trail; I pumped my fist, gave the people in my group a high-five, retreated to a quiet place at the top away from everyone, and wept. For a good minute or two. Straight up bawled. So much so, everyone else in the group started to tear up. So I hear.

I'll tell you why I wept. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I could do what I had just done. And I knew that it would be tough going the whole way. There was even a part of me that thought there was no way I was going to get to the top. Either my body would shut down or I would just quit. But I stretched myself, always pressing forward, never quitting. I didn't care how long it would take me, how many muscles I would pull, how many bones I would break. I was getting to the top. And there I was, at the top. A city kid who never walks anywhere just made it up Freaking Dead Woman's Pass. It was a dream realized. A goal achieved. An improbable, damn near impossible goal. And I did it. Nobody could take that away from me. And nobody will.

I was weeping tears of felicidades. Because if I can make it to the top of Dead Woman's Pass, then damn near anything is possible.



Anything.

To see my modest picture collection of Day Two of the Inca Trail, go here.