Monday, April 21, 2014

Peru - The 2013 Inca Avalanche Downhill Mountain Bike Race with a DJI Phantom Drone


Still Lost in Peru




Quick Links to Aerial Videos

Ditch Day 1 
Pumamarca Ruins
Ollantaytambo Through 2 Wheels
2013 Inca Avalanche Race Start
The Riot

Last year I had the opportunity to film a downhill mountain bike race in Peru with a drone. The drone I had at my disposal was an iPod-like quad-copter called the DJI Phantom. The small, white, remote controlled quad-copter is about the size of a dinner plate and flies a Go Pro Hero HD 3 camera.  It has DJI's Naza GPS-enabled stabilization system. I modified it with a custom vibration absorbing camera mount, meticulously balanced props, and a video downlink that displays a live camera feed to the pilot through virtual reality goggles.

The DJI Phantom



In typical fashion, I had no idea if I was going to actually make it to Peru until a few days before the race. The first flight from Denver to Houston was on a brand new United Airlines 787 Dreamliner. I managed to chat up the pilots for a tour of the flight deck and crew rest quarters located in the ceiling above first class. The view out of my blue tinted window of the composite wing flexing upward was awesome. I love carbon fiber!  On the connecting flight to Lima I managed to land a seat in first class. It would to be a stark contrast to what I would encounter in Peru.

Brand New United 787 Dreamliner


Flight Deck


Heads Up Display


Crew Rest Quarters Located in the Ceiling Above First Class


Composite Wing Through Blue Tinted Window


Day 1


After a night in Lima I caught a TACA Airlines flight to the mountain city of Cuzco. After getting off the plane I found the most legitimate looking cab driver around and negotiated a fare to Ollantaytambo, our base of operations. I had been warned of cab drivers in Lima delivering tourists to thieves, who would then rob and strand them. Traveling alone with a giant pelican case, I assumed I would have a target on my back. When my cab driver started driving the wrong way out of Cuzco, it aroused my suspicions. There was only one road to Ollantaytambo and we were not on it. As I questioned him, he pulled into a sketchy alley next to a van with four guys in it. I was instantly ready for action. Odds were he was just trying to give his brother, who had no cab permit, some business, but I wasn't taking any chances. He said, "Senor, you have to go with my brother." To which I replied, "No way Amigo, we made a deal! You take me to Ollantaytambo or back to the airport." We argued back and forth as the men approached, looming in the rear view mirror. Time was of the essence. I mustered the most violent look I could and peered deep into his soul. I locked my door, moved close to his face, while putting my right hand on the car key (still in the ignition) and said "Make them go away now or else!" We had a brief but intense standoff while he pondered my bluff. Then he said calmly, "Okay my friend, I take you to Ollantaytambo." He yelled in Spanish to the men and they eventually retreated. My act was all for show, but it worked. Talking to a local expat named K.B., the cab driver was most likely just passing his brother some business. In hindsight, I agree.  I probably over-reacted, but I could not risk the drone getting stolen.

Descending into Cuzco





Landed at 5:26 a.m.


The cab driver and I continued the remainder of our drive to Ollantaytambo like best friends, as if the whole abduction thing never happened! Soon the chaotic streets of Cuzco gave way to lush yellow wheat grass against a backdrop of snowcapped Andes Mountains. After two hours we rolled into the town square of Ollantaytambo. I had no clue what my contacts looked like, only that I was looking for a gringo named Chris. He was staying at K.B.'s bed and breakfast. After harassing a few gringos I found the real Chris. He was Yeti pro downhill rider Chris Van Dine, also known as CVD. He was rolling with Cannondale and Red Bull athlete Aaron Chase, Giant pro downhill rider Katie Holms, videographer Rich Van Every, and a crew of other top notch riders and photographers from all over the world. They had all converged on the small Peruvian hamlet for the Inca Avalanche Enduro. The downhill race would start at a hypoxic altitude of nearly sixteen thousand feet and descend along ancient Inca trails nearly ten thousand feet back to Ollantaytambo.

The Drive to Ollantaytambo


Descending into Urubamba


Motocarro Taxis


The Sacred Valley


Arrival in Ollantaytambo


My Hostel






After a brief introduction, I hopped into one of three crowded vans and we headed into the hills for the first day of filming. On the way we stopped for food in Urubamba. Chris led the way through a maze of aged rock structures to a local market that had the Peruvian equivalent of anything anyone would ever need. We managed to source at least a dozen chicken sandwiches for the people in our van and much needed caffeine for me. I was running on three hours of sleep at best. 

Loading Up to Ride and Film


Back in Urubamba Looking for Food



The Market



Vegetables, Kittens, and Babies




Fruit Smoothy in a Bag


More Sugar



Our final destination was a small canyon located on a mountain bench above the town of Maras. It was a picturesque location with rich green grass contrasting exposed red dirt. The snowcapped, nineteen thousand foot peak of Sahuasiray in the Cordillera Urubamba Mountains stood watch across the valley. We got to work digging jumps out of the natural features of the shallow canyon. Digging a trail out of a dirt wall at twelve thousand feet on only a few hours of sleep got my heart rate up, but I was committed to the mission and my new friends. I did my best to honor the Inca ethos of hard work. In Incan culture laziness was punishable by death from being pushed off a cliff! Our work became a race against the sunset, with us finishing in enough time for one filming run in rapidly fading light. The day was a success. Sleep came quickly back at the hostel.

Cordillera Urubamba Mountains


The Ditch



Aaron Chase Being Admired


Flying the Ditch


Sleep!


DAY 2

Morning School Bus in Ollantaytambo



Sleds Waiting to be Ridden


Morning Street Dog Pic


Day two was all about getting off the beaten path for some gritty, organic, riding sequences highlighting the history and culture of the area. We loaded into our van with driver Jose (who I would get to know well), and headed north to a cluster of Inca ruins called Pumamarca. It was a small group of crumbling buildings nestled into a terraced ledge above the confluence of two narrow valleys. On the way up we crossed a small bridge constructed of lashed logs. As we crossed it, a little boy who could not have been more than six years old ran out of his rural rock house. He ran along the side of our van until we stopped, then shadowed us as we filmed. It can be hard-living in Peru, but I couldn't help but wonder how idyllic the childhood of the newest member of our crew might be. No electricity, no Play Stations, no processed first world food, just the lush hillsides of a fantastic landscape and the ruins of an ancient culture literally in his backyard. His future certainly held struggle and hard work, but happiness is not circumstantial and hard work is good for the soul. 

The Road to Pumamarca


Our New Sidekick




Patacancha Valley


The Phantom


Pumamarca Ruins



Aerial exploration of the steep valley walls, lush terraced ledges, and castle-like structures of our location via video goggles was a transcendental experience. Maximizing the dreamlike, aerial perspective to capture both riders and scenery while not crashing took my multitasking to the next level. Our six year-old sidekick was fascinated by everything we did. I’m sure he was used to tourists transiting the area, but four crazy gringos riding downhill bikes definitely made an impression. Once I started flying the drone his mind was really blown. I hooked up an external monitor so he could see the magic of flight first hand. I even made a few passes over his house to which he responded with ecstatic joy. The rest of his family, who were plowing a small field with an Ox, was less amused. 

Aerial Exploration of the Pumamarca Ruins



Katie, Aaron, and Chris Between Shoots


Jose and Our Sidekick


Aaron Sighting Lines


Ancient Stonework


Parting Shot of Our Sidekick


Lunch in Ollantaytambo



Siesta



The rest of the day was spent hanging out and filming in Ollantaytambo. It was the practice day before the race. Lots of riders funneled through on their way to pre-ride the course giving the town a festive atmosphere. Chris hatched a plan to build a jump in the town park for the next night's post-race party. Aaron scouted a set of stairs that would make for a good urban riding sequence. I set up at the bottom, cueing the riders to ride down them on my call. After harassing a rooster and blowing the minds of some more local kids, I hovered the drone just below some power lines. Flying on goggles in the tight space, was a huge mistake. I clipped a power line, sending the drone crashing into a grassy knoll. Experiencing the crash in first person perspective caused me to stumble comically as the drone tumbled out of the sky. To add insult to injury it landed in poop (of unknown origin). The Phantom's propellers are thin plastic, so the power line was undamaged. After a thorough decontamination and a new propeller, the drone was as good as new and flying later that night.

K.B.'s Bed and Breakfast


Ollantaytambo Through 2 Wheels
(with a drone crash at the end)



Post-Crash Prop Balancing


Dinner
(the cat was just a guest)


Town Square


Late Night Football Match


Day 3 - Race Day

Day three, Saturday, was race day. Chris had abandoned the race to finish his mission of constructing the ten-foot kicker and landing ramp in the town park. His first load of lumber was stolen, but he managed to source another load and adapt a set of bleachers into a landing ramp. With the help of Kiwi pro downhiller and master jump builder Kelly McGarry they got it done just in time for the post-race party.  Meanwhile Aaron, Rich and I loaded into the van with Jose for the first heat of the race. 

Morning Street Dog Pic


Loading Up Bikes


Me Fueled by Red Bull


Rich and Aaron Pre-Race


The Drive Up to Abra Malaga




The race start was at 15,580 feet on the mountain pass of Abra Malaga. My job would be to get aerial footage of the start. I was a little worried about how the Phantom would fly in the high altitude’s thin air. Then we literally drove into the clouds. As we hiked up a little jaunt to the race start, the cloud base lifted but ice pellets started falling. On a short test flight the Phantom flew great, so I hovered at the base of the clouds and readied for the mass start. The gun went off and calamity ensued. Riders were throwing elbows and knees jockeying for a good line down the alpine tundra. There was no trail, just exposed moss-covered slopes that funneled into a terraced Inca path below the road. I was standing on a small hill directly in the line of fire, but somehow managed to avoid getting caught in the chaos. In seconds the battlefield had cleared. All of the riders had vanished below the slope except for a few with minor injuries or mechanical failures. 

2013 Inca Avalanche Race Start



Cloud Base


Locals Posing with the Phantom
(they insisted)


Me Doing My Thing




As Jose and I rallied back down the road, the former mountain bike racer in me was pretty bummed I wasn't riding, but the racecar driver in me was even more bummed that I wasn't driving. It was an asphalt ribbon of pavement that snaked through exposed cliffs, tight switchbacks, and around turns of every kind of radius. It could have been a World Rally Stage. At the bottom we picked up the boys and repeated the shenanigans. 

The Drive Back Down


Wishing I Had a Race Car


Race Course Crossing the Road


Spectators




After the second heat the finish line transformed into a full-on party. Locals and riders formed a crowded mass of people cooking recently sacrificed animals over open fires, children washing bikes in the creek, and racers stoked to have survived the Inca Avalanche. As the sun set, the party moved to the town square where the crowd grew from hundreds to over a thousand. Music blared from a balloon filled stage while prizes were thrown out into the crowd. The Mayor of Ollantaytambo rallied the masses and gave out awards to the race winners. It was too dark for decent Go Pro shots, but the bright LED lights on the bottom of the Phantom were a perfect complement to rally the crowd. I did a couple flights low over the bleachers and a virtual wave of cheers ensued. 

The Finish







Bull Fighting Back in Town



Pinkuylluna Ruins at Sunset


Kids Playing on Chris's Landing Ramp


The Awards Ceremony




After the awards ceremony, Chris's hard work came to fruition. The police had set up a roadblock and the crowd moved to the jump he and Kelly had been building all day. Chris and So Cal freestyle rider Wil White took turns hucking the kicker to the cheers of a crowd that became more excited with each jump. Back flips and 360's were the weapons of choice to rile the crowd and throw down as if there were X Games judges watching from a nearby roof. I flew a couple of batteries on the Phantom behind each rider, but the lighting was too dim for anything of production quality.

Chris Throwing Down


Day 4 - Sunday


Sunday was a day of exodus. Aaron and Rich packed up and headed for home. The flight loads back to the U.S. didn't look that great, so I decided to spend another day on location to film with Chris and later Dirt Rag reporters Stephen Haynes and Matt Kasprzyk. I took advantage of the smooth morning air to film the Ruins of Ollantaytambo. We headed back towards Urubamba to shoot in the slopes southwest of town. In the sky, fair weather cumulus clouds were popping like movie theatre popcorn.  I watched a paraglider launch from a peak to the south and wished I had a hang glider at my disposal. 

Morning Street Dog Pic


Rich Throwing Gang Signs


Breakfast


Ruins of Ollantaytambo


First Shooting Location


Cumi's Popping



The aerial filming opportunities at the trail weren't that great, so we decided to cut it short and meet up with the Dirt Rag crew. On the drive out of Urubamba we drove through a massive crowd that was angry with the residents of a newly formed shantytown on the southern flank of the valley. As we headed back down I could see smoke billowing in the distance. It was the dark ominous smoke of man-made elements burning, that of structures being consumed. After picking up Chris we drove down the pass and saw the entire shantytown on fire. The distant roar of an angry crowd echoed off the rock walls above us. Nestled in those cliffs were the displaced residents of the town who decided to lob rocks at us. Watching angry fedora-wearing Peruvian grandmas lobbing disturbingly large (cantaloupe sized) rocks down on us would have been comical if the situation weren't so tragic and they weren't so frighteningly accurate! We moved out of artillery range and naively decided it would be a good idea to film the land dispute by flying the Phantom over the open flames and the angry crowd. The shots were amazing. I made multiple passes over the crowd, unknowingly enraging them with each pass. In the distance I suddenly heard Chris yelling "Land, land, we got to get out of here!" I looked down to see him running up the road toward my position. The shape of the crowd had an amorphous quality, kind of like a giant octopus straddling the hillside. An angry tentacle made up of with war paint-wearing rioters had broken off and was rapidity closing in on our position. They were running fast, but the Phantom flew faster. I got it on the ground, threw it in the back of the cab and squared up to face the onslaught. We were vastly outnumbered, but had no option other than to face our aggressors. The guy leading the charge was a young male, very athletic, but smaller than me. I could probably take him, but a hundred other rioters followed. I tried to use my body to shield the cab from the crowd, while yelling uselessly in English. It didn't work. He ran through me like a striker running through a defensive midfielder in a football match. His goal was the Phantom, which he easily grabbed out of the open window of the cab. As he did the Go Pro sheared off the vibration dampeners and hit the ground.  Chris scoped it up and shoved it down his shorts. Everyone's attention was on the drone. I yelled in a heightened (unflattering) state, but they ran off with it. In seconds it was over. When I fly the drone, I mentally submerse myself in the flight. Crashing down from the aerial perspective into the center of a riot was a violent shift of worlds. All I could think to say to Chris was "Go get it." To which he calmly replied "Okay."

Ominous Smoke from the Riot





Angry Villagers



Chris put his full-face helmet on and walked into the center of the crowd, which had retreated back down the road. I waited near the cab, partly in shock and partly amused by the grandmas still (dare I say - gently) lobbing deadly rocks at me. Their aim was as accurate as ever, but I was safely out of the kill zone. Through our own naivety, we had just become entangled in local politics. Chris came back and said they wanted the footage. After all we had just been through, we decided that we had earned the right to the footage, especially if it might help those recently homeless grandmas. We swapped a blank card into the camera, dodged more rocks, and walked down the road into the crowd. Screaming rioters immediately engulfed us, but we remained stone-faced and calm. We gave the leader the SD card and he nodded to the guy who grabbed the Phantom. It was carefully wrapped in a blanket like a baby. The care that they had gone too was almost comical. It was a testament to the character of the Peruvian people. Even though there was virulent disagreement on both sides of the dispute, there were no guns, I didn't see anyone seriously injured, and we (and even the Phantom) emerged unscathed. I have sterilized the footage to remove close up shots of anyone involved so as to remain neutral and respectful to the local geo-political issues involved.

The Riot



Still in disbelief from the events that had just unfolded we got back in our cab, drove through the crowd and found lunch. Our cab driver managed to sneak us into a 4 star resort in Urubamba. It was another shift of worlds to be sitting on fine leather, snacking on appetizers just minutes after staring down death in the face. I also unwittingly broke a golden rule of travel in second world countries; I ate at a buffet (cue foreshadowing background music).

Lunch
(and later my undoing)




Our Cab Driver


Desert



After lunch we met up with Stephen and Matt in the canyon where we filmed on day one. Chris shoveled the finishing touches of a jump, while the Dirt Rag crew and I scouted the filming locations. Stephen’s girlfriend Mary lost her balance at the rim of the canyon and fell straight down the wall. It was a fall that would have made Hulk Hogan blush. A quick vital sign check revealed superficial facial cuts and a broken wrist. We had no first aid, but I was able to splint it with electrical tape and plastic Phantom propellers. Ibuprofen was the only pain relief available, but I didn't once hear Mary complain. Chris managed a dozen runs off the kicker before sunset. It had been a hell of a day, filled with highs and lows.

Mary's Broken Wrist Splinted with Propellers


Dirt Jump Video will be posted soon


On the drive back from filming I relentlessly marinated our crowded taxi with catastrophic, superhero-strength gas. The imprisoned occupants of our cab gasped for relief and fought for open windows. Even the cab driver angrily yelled at me in Spanish. Trapped in the hatchback section of the wagon, I could do nothing but laugh demonically at the onslaught. I should have realized that karma would soon repay me for my olfactory crimes against humanity. It started at 2:00 am. I woke up with a fever and crippling pain in my stomach. It was the worst food poisoning I have ever had. I worked out a deal with the stabbing pain in my abdomen. I would remain in the fetal position as often as possible if it would kill me with a tiny bit of civility. I held true to my end of the bargain, but the pain didn't keep its word.  By dawn I had settled into my fate, digging deep into my misery tolerance with every breath. It was the beginning of an arduous travel day back to Cuzco, Lima, and a red-eye flight to Houston. 

Gassing the Taxi



I said my goodbyes to Chris and the remainder of the mountain biking contingent loitering around K.B.'s bed and breakfast. I could taste death spreading through my body. Arguably the best course of action would have been to seek immediate medical attention. Instead, I loaded myself (in the fetal position) into the back of a cab for the two-hour drive to Cuzco. If there were to be any abduction attempts on this cab ride, my only request would be that they dispatch of me quickly and give the location of my shallow grave to my family. After the first sequence of curves on the mountain road, I thought about asking the cab driver to do that anyway. It's not murder if you have my permission! In Cuzco it only got worse. I had long ago emptied my body of any nutritionally beneficial elements. I was alone, dehydrated, and delirious. I checked in and stumbled to the departure area with, literally, my last bit of strength. I found a relatively clean nook and curled into the fetal position, hoping in vain that the pain I had negotiated with would suddenly find integrity and uphold its end of the deal. It didn't happen. I looked up and through the blurry haze saw an oasis of relief. It was a large orange bottle of Gatorade beckoning to me from a small coffee stand. I didn't have the strength to move, but maybe if I rested for hours I could muster enough strength to crawl over there and buy it. I fantasized how it would transform me like Popeye after a can of spinach. Then my hopes came crashing down. The coffee stand only took soles (Peruvian currency), and I had given my last bit of cash to the cab driver. I fell deep into a pit of despair. This is how it would end, on the dirty floor of this lonely airport. I didn't care. I was ready for the pain to end. I closed my eyes and the sounds of the world faded away.

I came to hours later (luckily I had five hours to wait before my flight).  My luggage and Pelican Case remained under my contorted body.  Slightly reinvigorated, I made my way to a restaurant beyond the coffee stand. Toast, orange juice, and green tea gave me enough energy to clear security and board my flight. I sunk back into a coma on the way to Lima.

At the Lima Airport I found a pharmacy where I was able to purchase some ridiculously strong (and probably illegal) medication. I got the second to last seat on the red-eye flight to Houston. When I sat down I told the lady next to me "I don't want to alarm you, but there is a slight chance I might not survive this flight. Don't worry, it's not contagious." It alarmed her! The drugs kicked in and I faded into blissfully deep sleep. I woke up when we landed in the U.S., amazingly recharged. I remained weak for a few days, but had thwarted death for the last time on no less than one hundred and twenty hours. It was an epic trip! For a whole new crew of mountain bikers, it is about to start all over again. The 2014 Inca Avalanche is less than a month away!