A beautiful little university city with lots of book stores, cafes, and a nice central market - the perfect place to spend some time eating and sleeping - the sort of place I could live.
I stepped out to find an electrical plug that screwed into a light socket because my room lacked outlets, a common problem, and on my fourth or fifth electrical store found what I was looking for plus a nice array of fishing supplies. I had sent my fly rods home when I realized they were not getting used . . . but after passing over river after river in the Amazon Basin I regretted not having a fishing rod and I am headed for endless trout country through the Andes - bolete mushrooms and trout are a wonderful combination. Oswaldo was an avid fisherman, understatement, and after thinking it over for a day or two I returned to buy a lightweight spin setup. Initially, he treated me like a novice but when looking over his Mepps lures I made a comment that endeared him instantly. I said, "I do not think dots make any difference, fish are not that smart,"referring to the blades, "presentation is more important". "De acuerdo!," he replied, "you are a fisherman." Then we talked fly fishing, fish, and I told him about the mighty Susquehanna River that I stand in 3 days a week. A great transaction and I bought exactly what I needed. And I learned some new Spanish fishing vocabulary.
Before leaving town I purchased a PVC tube for the rod at a hardware store, and the reel et al fit into a small tupperware making for a compact setup. I look forward to sending fishing photos to friends at work again!
I rode out of the valley Loja sits in for my last few hours of pavement in the weeks to come passing through a series of small communities including Vilcabamba, enough said there . . . I don't care if Lonely Planet likes it - I do not actually have a guide book.
The next few days would entail rough dirt roads through little towns, if anything at all. I slung my hammock and camped at the top of a pass just beyond Vilcabamba. I fell asleep by 8pm and woke around 5:30am to lay in while the sun rose. Within 10-15 kilometers of riding the road
turned into a raw gash through the mountains at the small town of Yangana. 80% of the traffic was dump trucks working on the road creating a hellacious washboard on the inside of turns and raising clouds of dust - reminded me of the suffocation deaths of the 1930's Dust Bowl. The road would have been largely empty if not for the road work. 
The scenery was amazing and the climbing continuous, each descent was followed by climb that rose yet higher. Grinding along at 7 kph I wondered why the hell can't I go any faster?! But I realized I had been steadily climbing since the Amazon Basin and was somewhere in the neighborhood of 9000+ feet at the top of climbs . . . less oxygen equals less strength equals less speed. Views like this made me realize I had a lot of climbing to do . . . but at least 
construction ended. I had a long downhill through a cloud forest type environment into the river valley where the small town of Palanda sat. I assumed it was a cloud forest because of large Gunnera crowding the, already narrow, road and an abundance of epiphytes.
I checked into the small Hotel Merino and everyone was pretty damn curious also it was Saturday afternoon and a lot of men were pretty damn drunk. After the sun set the party really started and continued until dawn but as the sun rose the church choir started and the streets cleared of drunks . . . mostly.
The style of drinking was Andean meaning you shared one cup and a single large beer, pour yourself a small serving, drink it then pass the beer and cup along, when the bottle is empty open another, repeat. Also, drinking is for getting drunk, as in I can barely walk drunk, not for just having a beer. This is something to keep in mind if you are invited drinking - it is going to be a long time drinking and impossible to keep track of how much you drink. Anyhow, I always travel with earplugs so the ruckus did not bother me. Next destination was the border town of Zumba. I was not sure how far away it was but I knew the road was in worse shape, it was about two hours by car, and closer than Yangana - nobody knows actual distances. 
The road was wickedly steep at times but thankfully the altitude was lower - coffee growing altitude, so about 2000 meters. Bags of coffee beans were stacked everywhere or were laying out drying on tarps.
I followed the river valley until climbing up over a ridge to descend into another river valley then climb over another ridge to Zumba. 
I arrived and considered moving on to the Peru border which was close on my map but everyone said it was a 1.5-2 hour drive on very poor roads . . . so 3-4 hour ride time and I had less than 3 hours of light after eating. Zumba was friendly and I spent the my Sunday afternoon meeting locals. A nice farewell to Ecuador. Also, I had a good view from the hotel roof of all the mountains to come.
The town was slow in the afternoon and I chatted with an old man sitting on the street who showed me his artifact and fossilize tree collection. We shared some of his local fruit liquor that was extremely tasty. The artifacts were 2-3000 years old including carved stone offering bowls, small human figures, faces, seals, weapons, tools - all for sale. Archaeologists flip over the selling of artifacts because they are removed from their context and destroy any chance of understanding their larger cultural context. However, if you are poor and they are just sitting in caves in the hills and people pay money for them . . . not the first time I have been offered artifacts. I was wondering about getting food later in the evening because everything was closed but after the sun went down everything reopened and people came out onto the streets. I was even able to buy beer on my last Sunday in Ecuador from a woman in a small store.The next morning shortly after leaving town I sliced my mountain bike tire on something in the road. While black flies ate me alive I patched the tire and repaired the tube - hopefully it is good for the next few thousand miles. The next 25k was short, steep and wet without much between Zumba and the border except a couple very small towns and military
check points. After 2.5 hours riding I crested a ridge and looked down on the border with Peru!
Talk about a quiet border crossing. Ecuador had one officer there working on his motorcycle and Peru had three officers but the migration official was taking a long lunch at home and the police officer was napping. I sat and chatted with a Portuguese woman agronomist (in Spanish), had
lunch, drank a beer, and waited for everyone to wake up. I finished up my Peru paperwork by 3:30pm and woke the police officer to stamp my Andean immigration card - he did so in his underwear. I was not going to make San Ignacio that day so I stayed at a small hotel in Namballe, Peru, ate dinner, and chatted with a pair of drunk brothers before going to bed early. I woke early, noted some new bed bug bites (itchy little bastards), reinforced my sliced tire with an exterior patch, and headed out for San Ignacio. Wow . . . I know I said this for each day but the road got worse. Big pot holes, mud, and lots of stones - I am very happy with my big wheeled Salsa Fargo and fat treads! These small steep mountains are real killers. More livestock in the road, as well.
I noticed a lot of small sluicing operations in the river around every bend you hear one motor fade and another motor come in - I assume for gold. After more dirt roads and long climbs I finally arrive in San Ignacio to take a much needed break. I am checked into a small hotel with a restaurant downstairs and wifi for $5/night - no private bathroom but that is ok because the water is usually not working . . . who wants that stink.
