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ECUADOR
CONTINENTAL
DRIFTER
Riding “The Devil’s Nose” by Elliott Hester
click
on photos for more images of Ecuador
Belching
clouds of black smoke from Riobamba to Sibambe, the antiquated
locomotive hauled our 6-car train past snow-capped volcanoes,
across wide verdant valleys, and through the rocky corridors
of the Ecuadorian Andes. The ride was slow, tedious, and
at times uncomfortable. But due to the unique location of
my seat, the views proved to be more stunning than on a trip
through the Swiss Alps.
Instead of sitting inside the train as you would normally
expect, I sat with 40 or 50 tourists on the roof of the train.
From our precarious perch on the corrugated metal train top,
we ducked tree branches and billowing clouds of soot, our
eyes widening as the train descended a 3,000-foot wall of
solid rock known as El Nariz del Diablo, The Devil’s
Nose.
 Much of Ecuador’s Trans-Andean Railway (a vast railway
network that once ran from Guayaquil to Quito) has been rendered
useless by Mother Nature. Torrential rains from the 1982-1983
and 1997-1998 El Niños caused massive landslides that
damaged the railway line. Today, only three sections remain
operational: a 37-mile segment connecting Quito and Cotopaxi
National Park; a 27-mile stretch between Ibarra and Primer
Paso; and the mountainous 5-hour, 62-mile excursion from
Riobamba to Sibambe.
Roof-riding on the Riobamba-Sibambe line is not only allowed, it’s encouraged
by the Ecuadorian Ministry of Tourism. Each year, thousands of visitors vie for
position atop the train. From this perspective, the Andean vistas can be best
appreciated.
Hoping to claim a good spot on the roof of the train, I purchased my ticket at
Riobamba station 45 minutes before the scheduled 7:00 a.m. departure. Even so,
after climbing one of the iron ladders attached to the side of the train, I hauled
myself onto the roof and found a group of 30 German tourists sitting there.
A narrow catwalk runs the length of each train car, providing a flat surface
upon which to walk along the arched roof. Moving along the catwalk, I jumped
to the next car and sat in the corner against the 12-inch safety railing.
Rooftop vendors picked their way through the splayed bodies, selling hot coffee,
Oreo cookies, lollipops and a variety of packaged snacks.
 Foregoing the snacks, I paid $1 to rent a seat cushion. This proved to be a godsend.
At precisely 7:00 a.m. the whistle blew, and the train lurched forward. Wedged
between the metal roof and my fragile posterior, the cushion turned what could
have been a bone-rattling 7-hour journey into merely a bumpy one.
We chugged away from Riobamba, waving at pedestrians who looked up and waved
back. Stray dogs ran after the train, barking on cue. Flat squares of farmland
became impossibly sloped as the train rolled through the foothills past the outskirts
of town.
Above it all, Chimborazo loomed like a photo on the world’s largest postcard.
The snow-capped volcano, Ecuador’s most prominent peak, stands over 20,000
feet high. Due to the bulge here at the equator, Chimborazo’s peak claims
the distinction of being the farthest point from the center of Earth.
On more than one occasion, the train squealed to a halt and a team of workmen
disembarked. Shovels in hand, they cleared dirt from the tracks (residue from
minor landslides).
The train chugged forward, moving from one highland village to another. Each
time we approached, the engineer blasted the train whistle. Uniformed school
children bolted from class to wave at the roof riders who tossed lollipops in
return.
 We passed undulating fields, precipitous ravines, mountains carved from a misty
sky. The scenery was beautiful, to be sure. But after moving past the highland
town of Alausi, a hamlet of old colonial buildings and cobblestone streets, the
train ride literally took my breath away.
At the turn of the 20th century, when this portion of the Trans-Andean track
had been completed, it was heralded as the world’s most amazing achievement
in railway engineering. Instead of building the tracks around The Devil’s
Nose, or tunneling through it, a team of engineers led by North American William
Shunck decided to build over the massive mountain of rock. The result is a rollercoaster
ride through the Andes.
Employing a series of switchbacks, the train chugs forward and then backward,
forward and back, descending from 8,500 feet to less than 6,000 feet in a matter
of minutes instead of hours.
With only the safety railing between the roof-riders and a seemingly bottomless
ravine, the train spiraled down the narrow outcropping on the near-vertical mountain
face.
It’s a rush you’ll never get on Amtrak.
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