November 18th to 30th

I just couldn't be more relieved!!

This is not what I was expecting in Colombia, the standard of dentistry is amazing here - if you have the money to pay for it that is! Dentistry is private and there are a range of services available to suit all budgets. Not all of them look quite like this. I was also not expecting Marinella (our hotel receptionist) to come in 3 hours before her shift starts to personally accompany us to her own dentist to help fill out the forms and explain the situation. Many thanks go to her. The third thing I did not expect was the look of horror on the dentist's face as she began her examination....

This could be worse than I thought!

But it's not the treatment required that has her in shock; more the quality of previous treatment. She's very diplomatic, but I manage to tease out of her the fact that she is really very unimpressed with the standard of British dentistry. Some of the materials - like the mercury I have in my face were banned in Colombia 15 years ago. Furthermore she is curious as to why a couple of broken teeth I have are untreated. My NHS dentist refused to touch them saying 'nothing to worry about'. Worse is the fact that an X-ray reveals parts of broken tools left in another tooth after a root canal back home. Indeed the infection that now has me in agony is down to a botched repair job on a broken crown.

Turns out I need a weeks course of antibiotics injected under the tooth before I can have two root canals followed by two new crowns. Lucky me! It also turns out that in contrast to the 'jack-of-all-trades' dentists back home, here in Colombia everyone specialises. Marinella's dentist refers me to a specialist for the root canals and I will see another specialist for the crowns. The downside is that it looks like we will be staying in Popayan for a bit longer than expected.

It's not all bad - Popayan is a nice place to while away a bit of time. Iglesia Ermita on the hill was originally built in 1546...

Popayan is a fastidiously well maintained old colonial town with any number of whitewashed historical buildings and imposing churches....

Many impressive municipal buildings have amazing gardens in open courtyards....

At 1800m (6,000ft) the temperature is near perfect, but most importantly Popayan was declared a UNESCO city of gastronomy! The food and restaurants here are amazing. It would all be perfect, but for people insisting of sticking needles in my face.... and the incessant rains....

After four trips to various dentists, it's time for a break. I need a week for antibiotics to weave their magic so we decide to head over the mountains for a side trip to San Agustin. The ride involves a 3200m (10,600ft) pass over the Cordillera Central on a rocky road through Volcan Purace National Park. It also passes through the last stronghold of 'FARC', Colombia's notorious People's Army who make occasional guerilla raids throughout the area. With slight trepidation we head to the hills....

The first 28kms are mercifully paved as we begin the climb to 'Coconuco' through a series of steep climbs and sweeping descents through dense pine and eucalyptus....

The plan is to relax in the hot volcanic thermal baths set against a mountain backdrop but once again the day ends in deluge. Plans change and we settle for a cold shower and some Colombian TV. True to form, the next day is damp and drizzly but it's difficult to be too despondent as the scenery improves a notch or two, steep cliffs draped by waterfalls....

After Coconuco the Tarmac ends and the fun starts. Weeks of endless rain have turned what should be a hard packed dirt road to a quagmire that slurps at our tyres like sticky brown glue. The going is incredibly tough and it pays to stop and scrape a few pounds of clay-like gloop off the tyres every mile or so....

Once we enter the narrow mouth of the Cauca valley the gradient steepens and it's not just us struggling on the slippery surface. The road is totally blocked by two cement lorries heading for a quarry in 'Palatara'....

The one on the right is lodged against the earth bank at the roadside and leans at an alarming angle. There is real concern that the sodden ground will give way and it will crash down to the valley floor 200 metres below. The second wagon attaches a thick chain to try and haul it's stricken partner free, but only serves to polish the dirt floor as it's smoking tyres spin and gain no traction. At one point both become stuck and there is no room for even a couple of bikes to pass. We lose over an hour whilst one truck slowly inches itself free. The other is just abandoned on the hillside.

Rounding a corner we see another wagon overloaded with human cargo sink it's wheels into the soft rut on a cambered bend. It's outside wheels lift briefly and the whole thing threatens to topple as people jump free just in time to restore balance....

We are starting to have our doubts about this road as we climb out of the valley leaving stranded vehicles behind....

In distance we manage just 20kms, in altitude it's well over a thousand metres for the day when we roll, cold and exhausted in the freezing rain into Paletara; a small village centred round it's cement quarry. Strangely the woman in the restaurant cum guesthouse tells us there are no beds available despite the truckers outside assuring us there is room. Confused we make our way to an old outhouse that will rent us a hard wooden pallet in a communal room for the princely sum of US$2. The chickens that strut in and out of our room plus the burnt out bus in front are an added bonus! Fortunately there are no other guests - but there is one little helper who helps me prepare hot tea to stave off the chill....

It's a surprisingly cold night. We are at around 3000 metres (10,000ft) and breath is clear on the air as we wake to a misty morning....

Amazingly the mist burns off in a warm sun and we see our first blue sky in about two months. It's like somebody just came and switched the lights on and the landscape changes before our very eyes. All of Colombia has looked stunning, but there is such a transformation in direct sunlight. Suddenly there is shadow and there are little pockets of darkness nestled in the earth's folds. The whole landscape pops dramatically into three dimensions. It's been so long since we've seen it, it's a lovely surprise and we are rewarded with some clear views of Vulcan Purace's majestic cone....

High up on the 'Paramo' (high altitude grass lands) the road levels off and finally tops out. Our speed picks up, and now we dance our tyres between deep, water filled pot holes. This unusual habitat is densely populated by low bush, grasses and a strange flower found only here and parts of Northern Ecuador. The 'Frailejone' is a relation of the daisy - sort of a giant mutant cousin or something and thousands of them clump in waterlogged fields as far as the eye can see....

The day's ride is just a joy, blessed as we are with good weather - a real bonus at this altitude. We see maybe half a dozen cars and next to no people - it's the way cycle touring is supposed to be; just us, the bicis, some incredible landscapes, strange vegetation and a challenging road....

We do catch several glimpses of army encampments in amongst the bush though - evidence of the ongoing guerilla war taking place behind this placid Arcadian scene.

We drop short and overnight in some slightly less 'interesting' accommodation before taking the final leg into San Agustin, once more under grey skies. After our huge climb, we enjoy 60kms bumping and bouncing our way downhill through the rain, with the last part back on smooth, smooth Tarmac. A final sting in the tail is the steep climb up above the Magdelena River into town....

San Agustin is a UNESCO world heritage site of a little understood pre-Colombian tribe whose legacy was a series of burial sites decorated with carved megalithic sculptures. With time to kill before my next encounter with a needle and a drill we're off to explore some ancient culture....

Rain, Pain and Sugar Cane

November 12th to 17th

The weather never really clears, just grey drizzle interspersed with heavy downpours. The rainy season should be coming to an end now in Colombia, but if anything it's intensifying. But, we can find no more excuses to stay in a cosy hostal in Salento and finally leave under pregnant skies.

Just 2kms out we are forced to stop for running repairs to Sue's brakes....

We cross the Quindio valley once more under a canopy of arrow straight eucalyptus trees choked by creepers with vivid orange flowers....

Then the heavens open and people scatter using whatever means of transport available to get out of the incessant rain....

Once back on the main Highway, the ride is a long, steady descent as we roll off the side of the Cordillera Central towards the broad Cauca River valley. We make good time as first Armenia, then Calcedenia then Sevilla fly by.

The descent continues....

From the cool pine and eucalyptus scented air, past the coffee and passion fruit plantations we drop through ever changing growing regions and the air begins to warm noticeably. Evidence of Colombia's ancient railway network criss-crosses the road and rivers as it meanders alongside the highway....

Constructed to move coffee and banana crops it now lies unused and falls slowly into decay. Sadly, old steam locomotives are more likely to be seen decorating parks than hauling cash crops to market....

Disused rails arrow off into the distance....

We pass out of the coffee region and into cattle country....

And finally to the Cauca. The broad flood plains of the Cauca River sit at an altitude of around 1000m and at this latitude the sun is fierce and the air hot. The long rainy season makes this ideal ground for the next cash crop we encounter - sugar cane. As far as the eye can see fields of tall grasses sway in the breeze interspersed by devastated brown scrub where the woody stalks have been cut down and harvested. The scene stretches off towards the distant Western mountain range and a mirror image is repeated on the other side of the road towards the Central range....

Great road trains of between four and six wagons thunder past us loaded with cane sugar....

The cane will be crushed and boiled in huge vats to extract a sweet sticky brown liquid that is solidified into blocks reminiscent of building bricks called 'Panela'. Roadside cafes serve pint sized soup bowls of hot panela with a soft creamy cheese - 'Panela con Queso' for about US$1.50 and it's a fabulous cyclista pick-me-up.

We cover the 250kms to Cali in three gloomy rain sodden days. Cali is the largest city in the south of Colombia with over 2.25 million people. Large Colombian cities and touring bikes do not mix well, so we decide to ride on. Stopping to check the map we encounter Alfonso in his truck. He decides the best way to navigate the city is for us to follow him whilst he shows us the way. We proceed to bring the city to a standstill as he crawls at bicycle pace through the congested city streets. At intersections we have to weave through stationary traffic to find the cause of the delay is Alfonso who has blocked the road in his parked truck to allow us time to catch up. He's oblivious to the gridlock behind him and couldn't be more helpful to us even offering us a bed for the night if we chose to stay in Cali. For the sake of other motorists we decide to head on and leave the blaring horns and traffic chaos at the city limits.

Thanks Alfonso - muy amable and my first truck escort through a major city....

After Cali we leave the flat river valley and begin the 800m (2650ft) climb up to Popayan, the capital of the Cauca region. Fortunately the road is shaded as the climb is hot from this low altitude....

Unfortunately I've been suffering on and off from tooth ache for a couple of weeks. After Cali it suddenly flares up mightily leaving me pacing the streets of a small village Mondomo at four in the morning. The prospect of finding a dentist in Colombia for some fairly major work on two of my back teeth filled me with a kind of dread and is a nightmare I've been trying to avoid at all costs. So, I have been taking the approach that if I ignore the pain it will just go away.

Not so!

Sleepless nights of rocking, groaning and praying to a god that I do not really believe in during the wee small hours suggests that my nightmare will now come to pass in Popayan.

Just a note of tooth ache....

What is it really all about?

I mean from an evolutionary/survival-of-the-species point of view.

I get the whole concept of pain thing.... that does actually work and serves a useful purpose.

Stick your hand in a fire - I guess you need to know about that pretty sharpish; pain is a fine messenger.

It goes like this.... Fire-> Pain-> Move hand PDQ -> Lesson learned - no more sticking hands in fires and the species gets to survive a little while longer - job done!

That's good pain....

But tooth ache is different!

It's just a bit too evil in my opinion.

Consider the cave man - awash with his new found fire/pain educational experience.

Now he has tooth ache!

How does the triumph of sidestepping the being-burned-alive scenario translate?

What is he supposed to do now?

Invent Novocaine?

Toothache just doesn't seem to fall into the whole burn your hand, useful category of pain - it just hurts and I don't like it!!

Grumpy thoughts of a sleep deprived man in pain I guess and we roll wearily into a wet, grey Popayan and set about finding a dentist with strong drugs and hopefully a not too rusty set of hammers and pliers

Of Birds, Beetles and Tortoises

November 3rd to 12th

Heading out of Armenia, we take a short detour up to Salento village. Deep in Colombia's coffee region Salento is famed for it's laid back lifestyle, it's artisans and the beauty of the Corcora Valley that it sits atop.

The scenery on route is pretty good too....

And it's not just coffee as we head past endless abundant fruit orchards and plantations....

Salento is a tourist town and all those cameras and wallets need protecting. It's not just fruit lurking in amongst the trees. We spy the glint of watchful eyes; the bright white contrasting starkly against the black background of camouflage cream hidden amongst dense shrubbery. Occasionally they blink - and completely disappear!

Others are more overt, keeping a 'high-vis' presence by marching machine guns along the narrow lane that drops down to the Quindio River....

A steep climb out of that river valley takes us into Salento and I begin to check out the hostels and residentias for a bed. Just as I am striking a deal, I notice Sue in conversation outside with two men and it seems we now have alternative arrangements.

Edgar is a local who has divided his time between native Colombia and the States where he has worked for 40 years. As he is building a home in town, he states, we would be fools to pay money when we could stay at his place for free. After upsetting the hostel owner with news of this turn of events we gratefully follow Edgar to our new digs.

Shortly after we're taking the tour of the town and being introduced to most of it's residents.

Edgar with Sue at the incredible viewpoint overlooking the impressive Corcora Valley....

It's a lovely little town constructed from brightly painted wood panelled dwellings....

Set around a large plaza bustling with the usual food vendors and jeep style taxis that ferry a never ending stream of visitors in and out of the valley....

Edgar is a problem solver. Once he has taken care of the accommodation issue, we explain our hunger and he whips out his cellphone and gets on the case. Within minutes, someone somewhere is heading to market to acquire trout, fresh from the local rivers. Elsewhere, a cook is heading to a friends house to prepare sauces and bread.

Bemused, confused, we arrive a hour later and the table is laid with one of the finest feeds we've had in quite a while. The trout is amazing - done in a traditional mushroom sauce and the house is full of people and life. We never get to fully understand the connections between the many visitors and Edgar, but he's obviously a popular guy. It's a relaxed atmosphere as people come and go and it's an entertaining and unexpected day as we finally make our excuses and retire to our new, borrowed home.

The builders wake us as they arrive early the next morning and make busy with the loud music and the bashing and hammering. They are extending Edgar's house as he makes it ready to bring his family from the US to enjoy his retirement here in Colombia.

In town there is a fiesta to celebrate 40 years since the inauguration of the school. Children parade in traditional costumes or fancy dress representing the various regions of the country....

Next day, we ride down steep side to the valley floor and head upriver. The road turns to dirt as we climb, then to a rutted track and finally a bridleway where we abandon the wheels and head on on foot. Various guides explain the way is too difficult, but they just want to hire out horses to carry us like lazy tourists up into the hills.

We hike a trail past forests of Palms that thrive here in a unique habitat. The 'Wax Palm' - tallest of all palms is Colombia's national tree. Unique to the Corcora Valley, these trees take a hundred years to grow to their full 50 metre height and cannot be found anywhere else on Earth. From a distance these tall towers make for an odd looking skyline. Their slender trunks, denuded of foliage save for that modest, almost apologetic explosion of green at the ends, gives them an odd look of being only partially created. Up close they are strangely magnificent, towering rigid and strong!

But I still can't help thinking that from a distance, the land looks like a toy medieval battleground, peppered with the opening salvo from an army of archers....

It's a unique habitat for insects and birds as well as the trees. This enormous stag beetle is the size of my hand and it scared the bejeseus out of me as it wobbled it's uncertain path through the air towards me, wings droning like the stricken engine of a propeller plane.

Yes! These things can fly....

The trail is obviously a well used one, being a three foot deep trench of mud in places. There used to be a series of bridges criss-crossing the river along the route, but the humidity and copious rainfall soon dealt with them....

Now a series of slippery bamboo poles provide a makeshift solution....

Deeper into the undergrowth....

The reason for the trek is a Hummingbird sanctuary set up by a couple living fairly remotely at 1000m above the valley floor at the end of of this two hour trek. They are undoubtedly pleased to see us, especially when they discover Sue brings cigarettes - they had both been dealing with the craving and weren't looking forward to the five hour round trip to the corner shop.

All that time I spent trying to get a decent humming bird shot! The problem was that they were here all along - there are literally hundreds of them. As we arrive a fffrrraaabbbb sound signals one of them taking an interest in my bald head as it hovers just six inches away. One actually brushes past my arm as I get my camera.

Some are more cautious and won't come too close, but this little guy is fearless even allows Sue to briefly tickle him under the chin....

This one is less happy - blowing a raspberry at the exorbitant fees for the bathroom....

There are several different species and it's bewitching watching them hanging in space before twisting and teleporting to a new location and hovering eerily once more....

We kill a couple of hours watching the show. Hummingbirds are quite territorial and several aerial dogfights break out as they try to protect their air space and food supply ducking and diving at impossible speed.

Finally, with the skies looking ominously heavy and with only a few hours of daylight left we leave all Sue's remaining cigarettes to our incredibly grateful hosts and head back down to the valley floor where the bikes are chained to a tree. A mad four hour dash, chasing the rapidly fading light sees us back in town.

Exhausted we arrive back just as Edgar turns up to invite us out for a horse ride.

A horse ride??

I do check to make sure, but it's definitely dark now!

A horse ride??

Are you crazy??

Apparently so! It's a normal Friday night out here in Salento apparently. Just you, a few buddies a huge hip flask of whiskey and a pitch black trek on horseback along the valley's trails. Sadly we have to decline. Whiskey, total darkness, rocky trails and my first time on a horse in 30 years just doesn't sound like the kind of tale that can have a happy ending.

We head into the square to watch maybe 30 guys charging and chasing and performing tricks before they head out though. Crazy, crazy people!

Next day dawns wet windy and ugly as we pack up and say thanks to Edgar for the loan of his house and an introduction to family and friends. I keep saying it - Colombia is home to just the most amazing people!

The weather though is less friendly; it really is freezing cold and miserable, and we don't get too far. Just a couple of kilometers out of town is a gringo hostel with wi-fi, hot showers and comfy leather sofas and a large library of English books. The shiny lights from the windows is just too tempting and like moths drawn to the flame we go in - posting a new record low for a day's ride.

I'm (almost) ashamed....

A couple of days escape us as the rain first settles in and then just hammers the ground. Happy of the excuse, Sue and I revel in the book collection and It surprises us both just how much we've missed a good read. We don't carry books, relying solely on audio books which just aren't the same.

The rain moves into it's third day, then a fourth and we're actually feeling guilty enough to head out, when suddenly all that guilt just gets washed away.

A familiar thud-thud sound approaches - definitely a single cylinder motorcycle engine, and a big one at that. Wait a minute, that looks familiar - nobody carries that much kit - but it can't be.

In walks Victor a Canadian guy we met on the 'Stahlratte' crossing from Panama and suddenly we don't feel all that slow and guilty after all. We've been here for days, and yet we still arrived under pedal power faster than this guy with an engine. It's great to see him again and yet another excuse to stay another day.

Victor a diamond fellow and the world's slowest traveller with the most equipment on his 650cc tortoise....

Seen in Salento considering an upgrade to something faster....

Fantastic seeing you again buddy and good to catch up. Maybe see you again in Ecuador.... if you can keep up....

The End Of The Line

October 30th to November 2nd

‘La Linea’! The Line...

From the looks of doubt and confusion we elicit in the restaurant the night before and now the looks of outright horror we are getting from locals as we pass them on our heavily loaded bikes.... I am starting to worry.

We’ve done some big passes before and it’s only 55km (35 miles) to Armenia, but we’re starting to get a bit spooked by ‘La Linea’. It’s around a 2,000m (6,650ft) climb to the summit and I gather it’s a little tough in places. We steel ourselves to get the job done.

Incredibly the near vertical walls of the Bermellon river valley are cultivated. Wooden stakes are driven into the soil to reduce land slides and look like tiny tooth picks in a patchwork pin cushion from this vantage point...

We start to hit standing traffic and upon reaching the toll booth, we are told the road is closed due to a landslide and also a couple of accidents. It all seems like old news to these guys and I get the impresion it’s a common occurance. Colombians are a relaxed lot though, and stranded drivers seem to see it as an excuse to just chill out and meet the guy in the next car.

They are also enterprising and several canny vendors speed their wares ahead of the queue to make sales. A trolley of ice cream zooms past us behind a motorbike and I’m half expecting the wheels to come flying off! Surely it wasn't build for this kind of speed....

For us this is fantastic as we can ride around stationary traffic in peace. No grinding engines belching acrid fumes into our oxygen starved lungs, and best of all no need to worry about kamikaze drivers...

The line of stranded trucks snakes and coils around the mountain side, the head of the beast waaaay down in the valley below....

As we get higher, truckers begin cheering us on, clenched fists punching the air from their cabs. Car drivers line the roads giving us the thumbs up and buses of school children whoop and chase along with us. I’m starting to feel like I’m in an ultra slow motion version of the Tour de France. All fears of the ride slip away as the day takes on an unlikely carnival atmosphere.

It’s (almost) fun!

Winding higher that begins to change as we hit the cloud base; all heat leaves the day and a soggy blanket envelops us in a chilling, wet hug....

Then the clouds burst and the developing sense of fun is washed away in rivers. Drivers reclaim the warmth of their vehicles and study the rivulets of rain dancing across their windscreens. The mood of resigned patience slowly begins to crack as windows steam up and claustrophobia sets in. Cars start jockying for position, jumping the queue and the tension begins to grow....

It’s a pity about the weather as it would be a beautiful ride under blue skies past waterfalls that line the roadside....

The road climbs more steeply for the last few miles in what must be a cruel test for the racers. With the top in sight, it is a final sting in the tail; demanding a last, lung busting, leg melting assault on the summit.

Unfortunately (for us) the roadblock ahead seems to have cleared and four hours of pent up agression comes to a boiling head. The traffic snake begins to uncoil and normal Colombian driving standards are re-established....

Fifty metres from a blind hairpin, the centre line of the road is at the extreme right of the picture. At times five trucks run neck and neck and vie with each other to cause the next head on collision. It’s like a wild stampede of spooked animals blindly running with the pack. All sense of self preservation has gone in the blind panic to be mobile again.

Traffic coming the other way is often forced to stop and watching the efforts to sort it all out is amusing as more trucks pile into the snarl up from both directions. Travelling at 3mph, we seem to be the fastest things on the road as we glide serenely past the madness.

Finally, after a gruelling four and a half hours we conquer the mountain....

It’s a brief celebration as, much to the amusement of the truckers, we strip change into dry clothes and layer up for the descent. It’s freezing now in howling winds and driving rain!

Normally, once the work is done, the drop side of the pass is a grin inducing, tyre testing reward for all that altitude gained as it is cashed in and swapped for big speed.

This descent is a slow, finger numbing, teeth chattering test of cold temperature endurance. The road is slick with the slimy residue from the landslide and vehicles chuck up a spray of fine grit and dirt - turning us into extras from the set of a mud-man movie. Tyres fight for grip on roads turned a liquid brown from the clay soil and brakes are near useless in the wet sludge.

We stop often to warm up and are saved when we happen upon a ‘tinto’ vendor. These guys have carts stocked with thermos flasks full of a hot, sticky coffee/sugar solution. It’s just what we need as we grip hot plastic cups and try and get the feeling back into our frostbitten fingers.

Eventually we pass the landslide and the road clears of slippery mud. Then we breach the cloud cover and the air warms up a tad....

It’s 25kms (16 miles) straight down! We ride the snake....

Three miles shy of Armenia we check into a room in Calarca and set a challenge for the cleaner with our soaking wet, mud encrusted gear.

La Linea is finally defeated.... but only just....

It’s a tough, tough ride, demanding a rest day afterwards to sooth heavy legs.

Calarca is a good place to rest up as there is a guided tour of a nature reserve with a huge butterfly house....

With some rare species....

And tropical flowers....

Next day is a short ride into Armenia. We only stop for a quick look as the lonely planet largely dismisses this city as being just a place to change buses.

Once again, the book is wrong, but that is hardly a surprise as it doesn’t even mention Calarca and one of the best nature tours in the country.

To be fair, nothing about Armenia is outstanding, but it is a good example of a typical Colombian city. The people are once again amazingly friendly, swamping us as we ride into the square. After satisfying the curiosity of maybe 20 enthusiastic interviewers, one of them leads us to a cheap hotel. Insider knowledge saves us a bob or two.

Scenes from a forgotten city....

Modern art, modern cathedral....

Statues reach for the new heights set by a rising skyline....

Amidst the street chaos....

A family takes an outing....

While BMX dudes check out the street food....

During another tough day at the office....