The engines wake before dawn in Quito; cooler air bites at your cheeks as the city falls away and the Andes open like a page of broken ridgelines. You climb toward Quilotoa’s rim where the crater lake holds a greenish hush, then descend through highland valleys with the Illinizas peaks shadowing your line of sight. By day two the ash-dark cone of Tungurahua pins the horizon above Baños, rivers daring you toward whitewater and canopy lines. By mid-tour the road gives way to humid, green density — Misahualli’s rivers and forest pressure forward, alive with calls.