Ibague's Finest

October 26th to 29th

We meet Omar when he spots us from his car riding through heavy traffic into Ibague. He calls us over to check we are OK and assures us his friend will give a good price in his hotel. Somewhat sceptical (we often get 'very good price' offers) we follow as he slows the traffic to a crawl so we can keep up with him. This offer turns out to be very much a good price as we occupy our sumptuous room for just 30,000 Pesos ($US16) and I cannot guess at the discount he has got for us. After the valet(!) has whisked our gear upstairs we relax on the balcony with fine furnishings and city views....

Omar turns out to be a champion cyclist who spent years travelling the world, riding in competitions and also commentating on major events for Colombian radio. He interviewed all the greats and worked all over Europe, including of course, The Tour de France. He's really interested in all thing bici and practically adopts us during our stay in town.

By association we seem to have acquired celebrity status and the valet accompanies us to show us the restaurant Omar recommends. Omar meets us an hour later and explains he has been busy speaking to a friend in a bike shop to get my seat fixed and also the sports reporter from 'Q'Hubo' newspaper to set up an interview! He seems to know everybody in town and works his cell phone to help smooth our time here.

We deposit the bike with 'Nezario' the guy who just happens to maintain all the bikes for a local Ibague race team and I get to meet the director of sports cycling who arranges all the training and race meets plus a couple of the racers. Then Omar takes us for dinner and refuses to let us pay for anything. He's a fantastic guy, interesting and intense and Sue tries to get a word in edgeways before the soup course....

Next day we meet reporter 'Ronal' and Omar drives us all to the bike shop to pick up my bike for a photo shoot, while Ronal starts the interview. Unfortunately - same old problem - the bike shop cannot source a seat post anywhere despite trying to call in a couple of favours. Not to worry though, the local machine shop has taken measurements and is milling a shim to size as we speak!

Riding back to the hotel the interview continues and despite it being a day off, we 'get in character' loading up our bikes and riding through city streets for video and stills. The demands placed on celebs these days....

It's a hectic day as Omar moves and speaks like he's on a sprint in the last leg of a race. As he drives he gesticulates wildly and the car meanders out of control across the road whilst he looks at me or worse, at Sue in the back seat. I stare fixedly at the road - hoping he will follow suit, and I sympathise with the pedestrians being skittled out of the way. It's definitely a British thing as the Colombians just seem to take near misses in their stride and don't even notice....

My knuckles are white!

Early next morning the hotel corridors reverberate as Omar arrives - bellowing 'Maaaarteeeeen' to make sure I'm awake. A trained radio presenters voice really carries!

He comes bearing gifts! A brand new cycling jersey and a full page spread in the morning paper....

We visit Nazario in his shop and he's come through for us as well.... a freshly shimmed, standard sized seat post. He also spent two hours freeing up the bottom bracket that had also frozen solid after our boat ride. Total cost.... nada. Muchas gracias amigos....

If anyone needs a top notch service in Ibague - Nazario is the man...

Nazar Sports Bike - Carrera 5 No.21-27, Ibague

After picking up the bikes, the boys are off to play. Omar takes me on a tour round the town and on a 25km climb straight up into the hills through a series of tiny villages through to an incredible river valley. The man can really ride and for me - a guy more used to a more measured touring style, his maniacal sprints on the steepest sections are exhausting. I cool off in the river in my shiny new shirt....

The views are spectacular....

The ride back to town is a helter skelter dash back down some dirt tracks mixed up with a detour along some single track.

With built in obstacle course.... The track follows a water pipe bound for the city water treatment plant. Some are a bit leaky, wet and treacherous. There are five to cross and the drops are around 20 feet. Omar makes it look easy....

In between we put on a bit of speed....

Back in town, I get a tour of Omar's apartment and a glimpse into his life as a reporter when he shows me through his memorabilia from all the big cycle races through Europe. It's an impressive collection!

No time to lose, we pick Sue up and again, Omar insists on buying lunch, then drives us to his family's Finca just outside town. Ibague is built on a sloped section of land and sprawls for a good 10 miles. Dropping for 12 miles to the finca, the climate changes noticeably and it's much warmer. The Finca is maintained by a live-in couple who prepare it for family get-togethers at weekends and it's a fantastic getaway....

Omar smashing me at one-on-one basketball....

Next day we ride out towards Armenia that sits at roughly the same altitude (1,500m - 5,000ft) as Ibague on the other side of the Cordillera Central. The pass over the top is the famous 'La Linea' - second highest pass on the gruelling cycle race 'The Tour of Colombia'. It tops out at a cloud skimming 3,200m (10,650ft).

Omar insists on seeing us off and of course wants to try riding the beast....

Frankly it's a shaky start and I'm a little nervous. After a 17lb race bike - this 175lb super tanker takes a little getting used to....

Omar, being Omar though, with his oversized cojones is soon overtaking 22 wheelers on blind bends....

One thing a touring bike is good for is going fast downhill - all that weight just keeps on pushing and I think he is starting to enjoy himself....

There are two big climbs on route to Cajamarca where we plan to stop for the night and progress slows as the going gets tough under a hot sun....

At the half way point Omar and I swap bikes and I think he has gained a new respect for our tour. He looks to me; then the bike, and keeps repeating 'just too heavy... too much weight'. I think it's just a bit frustrating for a true racer, used to being able to up the effort and put on a sprint to suddenly learn that these bikes just don't respond to hitting it hard. It's a patience and slow grinding kind of game.

Once back on his mountain bike, the racer in him comes to the fore again and he's all energy and shouts of encouragement. It's a bit alarming on some of the steeper bends when the bike suddenly gets weightless and kicks on a bit as he lends a helping shove....

As we reach the outskirts of Cajamarca, Omar suddenly remembers he has a business to run that he has been neglecting all the time he has spent with us....

Omar - what can I say.

Thanks for everything. To take four days out to show us round and help us out with everything was just amazing.... not to mention picking up the tab for food as well! The rides around Ibague and to Cajamarca were truly memorable and even by the high standards of Colombian hospitality you are an absolute diamond.

If you ever get to England.... you know how to find us....

Thor's Hammer

October 23rd to 26th

Sometimes it takes a Colombian a few hours to size you up before getting to know you. We are packed and ready to leave with the dawn when Margarita the hotel owner stops us for a chat. She is joined by sister Magda and daughter Melissa and suddenly we are on a guided tour of their land which proves to be quite extensive....

Behind the fruit orchard is a 'vivero' or nursery for a range of unusual plants and trees. We sample fruits we have never even seen before like 'Lima' - that tastes like a cross between orange and lime. 'Guanabana' is a huge green prickly fruit the size and shape of a rugby ball.....

We are given one that must weigh about 20lbs which is too much to carry so Margarita juices it for us with milk. It's totally delicious!

We eventually get away by around 11am and the heat is building, but it's not a problem as the road we are about to take falls off the edge of the 'Cordillera Oriental' range into a deep river valley over a thousand metres below....

At the Northern tip, The Andes split into three fingers that spread through Colombia and on to Venuzuela like a giant hand. Now there are three ranges - The Oriental (East), The Central and The Occidental (West). The Magdelena river valley that we are dropping into divides the East and Central ranges, a flat grassland at around 300m wedged between peaks that soar over 5000 metres just 40 miles away.

It's an intense kind of landscape!

The descent is a dizzying series of rapid hairpins with spectacular emerald hills rearing up around us....

In 6 miles we loose around 3000 feet and the temperature is noticeably warmer. Towards the bottom we enter a sheer sided canyon and the sun struggles to penetrate down to road level. The air feels like it's trapped between the rock walls and is torpid and densely hot. We ride beneath the 'Devil's Nose' and along the fast flowing Sumapaz River towards the Magdelena....

Passing through Melgar I cannot resist snapping a helicopter mounted at the roadside....

Turns out to be a bad move as the guys on the gatehouse are not amused about tourist cameras around military bases. They call me over for a chat as Sue, unaware of the situation, rides off into the distance. Four of them surround me and it's all a bit intimidating, armed as they are with assault rifles and sub-machine guns. I show them my other photos to prove I'm not on a spying mission and try to explain that wearing coloured Lycra and riding a fully loaded touring bike is not the best way of going undercover.... luckily they see the funny side of it and don't shoot me!

It's beautiful easy riding, along smooth, flat tarmac past the ranks of crops that grow beneath the shadow of the Central range....

When disaster strikes.... The welded repair on my seat post from Costa Rica gives a brief 'Crack', then gives up the ghost depositing my seat in the road. That's not a good sign.... By now it's boiling and we are in the middle of nowhere. I ride on with the seat strapped to the back of the bike and remind myself, mantra like 'do not sit down! do not sit down! do not sit down!....'

Riding such a heavy bike standing up is exhausting! Worse than that, I can feel the frame flexing as all my weight is on the pedals. I'm just glad it's flat here, otherwise this would be a non-starter in this heat.

We reach the junction between 'Espinal' and 'Flandes' and a group of locals tell us Flandes is much the closer, but that they would not go there. We have no choice, but I can see what they meant as we hit the main square and it feels like the worst of Central America again. Litter strewn streets and the stink of stagnant water. Prostitutes and raggedy people hang out on street corners with nothing better to do than stare, blankly into the distance. For the first time in Colombia, this does not feel safe at all!

I enquire in a hotel which is obviously more used to renting by the hour and when I come out Sue is surrounded by maybe 15 guys. Looks bad, but appearances can be deceiving and they are as friendly as can be. Sue's already explained the problem and a couple of them jump on bikes and show us the way to a bike shop. They can't help as my seat post is a European size so the guys ride on to check with a local workshop and find us a slightly more upmarket (read slightly less seedy) hotel.

What follows is a bit of a trial for me and I'm sorry I didn't trust this place enough to take a camera....

Salt from the boat crossing from Panama has fixed the stump of my seat post solid and it will not budge from the frame. In a dingy, dimly lit back-street workshop not much wider than the door frame we get to work. This is not a high tech solution.... The bike, upside down on a bench with the post gripped in a vice tightened using a three foot pole, what follows may invalidate my bike's guarantee.

Three guys set about wrenching the bike backwards and forwards using the frame as a lever to rotate the post in the frame. You would not believe how much force this took. Standing on the bench, two of us were hauling the bike upwards while a third manfully rotated it using all his strength, the seat post stubbornly giving up a millimetre at a time. Ten hot, sweaty minutes later - the air full of curses in both Spanish and English, it finally came free.

Next job - to join the broken parts of the seat post together by driving a solid piece of bar into each half.... using a lump hammer so large it is normally only wielded by Thor the Norse God of Thunder.

I could not watch!

Seeing a 25lb lump hammer smashing repeatedly into bits of the trusty steed that has taken me from Argentina to Peru and from Canada all the way to this grim place of torture.... I think I wept a little....

But I have to hand it to them.... in true South American style.... we did finally get a solution.... all be it a temporary one.... and a very, very ugly looking one....

Anyway - that was how I spent my birthday.

It definitely felt good to leave Flandes and head to Espinal. Espinal is a bigger town and we're hopeful of getting a better fix as there's a bike factory and several shops there. Unfortunately it's Sunday and we kill a day waiting for everything to open. We book into somewhere more appropriate to belatedly celebrate a birthday....

After trailing round all the cycle shops in Espinal (there are six of them) I am now convinced that you can't get a replacement part of this size anywhere in the Americas. It seems strange that Thorn chose such a non-standard size when building a bike designed to travel the world, especially when their bikes are obviously so well thought out. It's a minor criticism of an otherwise, near perfect machine, but.... could do better.

Reluctantly I have to ride to Ibague and hope for a better solution there. I know this repair will not last long and I'm not even sure it will get us the 60kms (40 miles) to Ibague.

We roll out along the flat valley that is just perfect for big agriculture. With a 12 month growing season of high rainfall and strong sunlight the land here is just a food making machine.... with the help of some real machines on an industrial scale....

I guess the only fly in the ointment are the voracious insects and a couple of small airfields provide defence from the air. The sky drones with ever present crop sprayers that rain down chemical death....

After crossing the valley of food, the road attacks the Cordillera Central head on....

Ibague sits at around 1500m (5,000ft) so the day soon changes to that upwards grind we know so well. This route forms part of a training run the racers take from Espinal through Ibague and on to the much revered 'La Linea' topping out at 3200m (10,600ft). Cyclists being a sadistic lot, they always choose the nastiest, steepest sections of road to race on, and that's our route too. The road does get pretty steep in places as it hugs the mountain side....

We meet one such cyclist 'Cristhian' on the last few miles into Ibague and he slows down to ride alongside us. Typically Colombian, he is friendly enough to sacrifice his hare pace and slow down to our tortoise speed.... until a phone call from his dad lets him know he is late for lunch and he rides off to meet the family. Adios Cristhian, con mucho gusto amigo....

Riding into the city centre, a guy in a car stops me to check everything is OK.

And so we meet Omar!

And that's a whole chapter in itself....

Driving Madness

October 18th to 22nd

The plan is to leave Ubate, make a quick 30 mile dash to Zipaquira and spend the afternoon touring a gigantic underground salt cathedral. Plans change as we enter the main plaza and bump into ‘Carlos’. I ask him about cheap hotels and he turns out to be the most helpful person in the universe insisting that we accompany him on foot. The hotel room is not quite ready so we find ourselves in his living room meeting the family for coffee and biscuits while we wait.

The room turns out to be on the fouth floor which is tricky with our bikes and gear. Carlos takes it as a personal failure and steels himself to find us the perfect accommodation. The next one is not suitable for reasons unknown - I know not why as I never even got in the door! Carlos is on a mission now and strides confidently to his next candidate. He decides this is OK and I am glad he is satisfied as we unpack the bikes.

No time to shower, he insists on a guided tour and bolts from the building pointing out landmarks with one hand, greeting locals with the other. He seems to know everyone, and now, by association so do we. His local restaurant is now our local restaurant as we meet the proprietor and promise to return.

Apparently there’s no time to eat, as he’s already moving on towards the salt cathedral. He’s a really nice guy, but by now we are both starving and cold in our wet cycling gear and have to insist on returning to the hotel to change and get food. I swear I thought he would accompany us into the shower....

Like most Colombians we have met so far, the willingness to help out strangers is truly amazing. Carlos makes a couple of phone calls and is genuinely apologetic when he can’t change an appointment the following day so he can show us around Bogota and bids us farewell!

By the time we’re fed and watered it’s too late to make the most of the cathedral so we wander around Zipaquira instead. There are three huge plazas in this modest sized town; all with fine buildings, the central one with exploding palm trees like fireworks frozen in time....

The salt cathedral is in the third largest salt mine in the world with Canada in top spot; Poland second. It has been worked for hundreds of years originally by indigenous ‘Muisca’ indians who traded valuable salt over a wide area. Due to modern techniques, only 100 people work the mine today, mainly as demolition experts. To soak up a bigger work force someone had the bright idea of openening up the mine to tourists during the day. Miners only get to blow stuff up at night.

Hewn from giant rock faces are 12 massive carved representations of the stations of the cross. Deeper in the mine are three enormous man-made caverns containing a cathedral large enough for 8500 people. It’s incredibly impressive and there’s even a cinema with 3D videos explaining the geology and history of the mine....

The smaller chapels off to the side are atmospheric with dramatic lighting on the rock walls....

There’s an underground bar here for after services and as it’s so difficult for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven, there are ample shopping opportunities to buy locally mined emeralds and relieve yourself of any unwanted cash. An underground shopping mall - they have thought of everything!

From Zipaquira we decide to ride around the capital, Bogota. There is nothing we feel compelled to see there and the thought of riding into a city of nearly 9 million people, given the exhibition of driving skills we have seen so far fills us with a kind of dread.

So, Zipaquira, Chia, Cota, Funza and Mosquera. A series of small towns pass us by as we circumnavigate the city. Towards Soacha, the land climbs again past stone and gravel mines up the side of a steep sided valley....

Our decision not to brave Bogota traffic is vindicated as we see several incidents on this narrow, twisty road....

The truck infront is being overtaken by the white van when it pulls out past the roadworks. The white lorry coming in the opposite direction is being overtaken by the maroon coloured 22 wheelers which is being forced off the road. The smoke behind the white van is from his screeching tyres as he, the lorry and the 22 wheeler all skid to a halt to avoid a head on collision.

But only just!

Just beyond the ‘Do Not Kill Cyclists’ sign a bus takes the blind bend neck-and-neck with that transporter which brushes past Sue. 'Peligro’ means Danger - cos it’s a liquid bomb full of gasoline....

We see several such incidents and stop for lunch to calm down when we see some of the results being taken away to a scrap yard on the back of tow-trucks. Colombian driving is becoming a bit of a concern....

Incredible views though....

But not for long....

We crest the hill and all views, incredible or not, disappear completely. The world is grey and scary. Somewhere out there lurks a maniac behind the wheel, careering blindly into the fog. It’s not a comfortable experience picking our way back down the hillside as we desperately try to drop below the blanket of cloud cover....

Eventually the world reappears and we relax slightly. Then the world disappears again as heavy black storm clouds roll down off the mountain and it begins to pour. The rain is torrential and again, at this altitude it’s frrreeezing. Above a petrol station we spot a couple of rooms and I enquire within. My heart sinks when it’s only 15,000 Pesos (US$8). For once I really wanted to pay more as that would mean a hot shower, but it’s waaaay too cold to ride on and the roads are submerged and trecherous. There’s no food here either, but on seeing the state of us, the station owner kindly promises to ask her brother to bring extra for supper.

There’s nothing worse than an icy shower when you are already cold, but it does save on water! The stove comes to the rescue again as I make a flask of hot chocolate, and then leave it on to heat the room.

That rare pleasure that is unique to cycle tourists - putting on damp, soggy lycra the next morning and squeezing feet into sopping wet shoes. Lovely! Happily the day is warm and clear and the road winds on downwards towards the heat.

You can always tell when you have lost altitude as buzzing things start to bite. This guy is so interesting though that I swapped him a sip of my blood for the chance of a picture. It’s hard to begrudge the pretty ones....

Temperatures rise dramatically as we drop down the valley to affluent looking ‘Silvania’, an upmarket artisan’s town where the roadsides are lined with local handicrafts....

We climb away from the hills that Bogota sits atop....

Through the enchanted forest where the purple headed Tree Ents live....

On to ‘Fusagasuga’.

Fusa ga-sa what-a-guga??

What kind of name is that for a town?

What a waste!

A name like that should really be saved for some sort of epic, apocalyptic self assembling super weapon in a video game. Like a super bazooka! But bigger! And way more scary!

A Fusagasuga!

I would play that game!

Disappointingly Fusagasuga turns out to be just a stunning holiday destination perched along a ridge overlooking a deep canyon. Prices are out of our range starting at 70,000 Pesos for the cheap seats and rising sharply from there. Luckily there is a toll booth on the road and I have a hunch that a hotel just the other side would not be able to get away with such prices as the Bogota crowd would not pay to drive through the toll and check them out.

It proves to be spot on and suddenly, just 100 metres down the road we get an absolute steal for 30,000. There’s a balcony with views down the canyon to the river 600 metres below and best of all a private pool as no one else is here....

Oh yes! This all makes up for wet clothes and a freezing shower last night....

A Cheesy Finish

October 15th to 18th

After backtracking to Villa de Leyba, we might as well change our route further and take in another couple of traditional Colombian towns, Chiquinquira and Zipaquira. We hit the dirt and head across country....

We knew it was coming after the drop out of Tunja and we endure some steep climbs to regain that lost altitude. We stop at a roadside shop to take on some water and watch a local pushing his bike around the hairpin we just rode up. Seeing us, he stops to chat and I am again questioning my command of Spanish as within about two minutes of us meeting he seems to be selling me a Finca. He's willing to move out and live with his brother if we only hand over what he explains is a very reasonable sum. He genuinely looks confused that we won't immediately drop the tour and follow him home to check what we are buying. In a final attempt to seal the deal he throws in a sweetener by assuring us in a conspirational whisper that coal has just been discovered on his land. Hmmm tempting....

Anyway if we do change our minds and decide to become miners some time in the future, we still have his phone number. We buy him a beer and leave him in his quest to find a passing traveller looking to make their fortune with the black stuff.

The climb continues on roads varying from billiard table smooth, to pot-holed patchworks of previous repairs....

As ever in South American countries there are various shrines to our lady dotted alongside the road. Fastidiously painted and maintained, many are curiously decorated with headlights taken from cars and motorbikes....

It's not just us feeling the cold at these altitudes. A tethered donkey peers out from under his shaggy fringe and shares our snack of fruit. Dressed in his warm coat, he looks like a cross between a horse, a llama and a grizzly bear with enormous oversized ears.

Finally we finish the climb as the road levels and snakes through mixed woodlands....

Before the land opens out again in clearings used for pasture. Colombia's dairy industry is immense and has been the main use for land stretching all the way back to Cartegena where we first arrived....

One bemused looking cow scowls at the getaway bike used to whisk her milk away.

Smallholders, often with just a handful of cows collect and store their milk in traditional milk churns for pick up by collection wagons from large processing plants. They have daily rounds to each farm and measure each collection using a dipstick, before settling up the account in cash. Generous rainfall creates rich pasture and each beast can deliver around 50 litres (12 gallons) a day!

Round the corner and back to civilisation....

Chiquinquira is famous for it's beautiful central plaza and impressive basilica....

Even more incredible is the interior....

The riding from Chiquinquira is fabulous. Gently rolling greenery, reminiscent of Shropshire in England or the Welsh valleys. The weather feels distinctly British as well - cool, grey skies threatening imminent rain that fails to arrive. Perfect conditions.

Colombia is cycle crazy and it being a weekend, we share the road with countless racing bikes. It's obviously a serious business and in stark contrast to these guys who just couldn't be friendlier when they're off the bikes, when they ride, they simply ignore you. The game is to get them to wave and catch it on camera.....

Not this time....

Laguna de Fuquene looks like it has been drained. Despite steady rain, this seasonal body of water takes months to fill again after the dry season. Now is the peak of the rainy season and it will continue to rain here until January. Then the water can slowly seep through the land and eventually percolate into the lake lifting the boats once more. Ironically it will be much fuller in the dry season....

Alms for the poor? Funny how the alms never reach the hands of the poor living in the heavenly shadow of the magnificent Gothic church in Ubate....

Ubate is the self-proclaimed dairy capital of Colombia and we stop in a local 'tienda' to buy some milk. It's a Sunday and the place is in the midst of a buying frenzy; nothing it seems stands between a Colombian and his fine cheese at the weekend. The queue at the counter is five deep and it's a real scrum to get to the front. Before we can utter a word, a huge block sample is thrust in our direction by the proprietor who is manically trying to keep up with demand.

It's more door-wedge than cheese-wedge and practically a meal in itself! Others are diving in and indulging themselves, so; 'When in Colombia....' as the mis-quoted saying goes. The cheese is OK, but the 'Dulce de Leche' - a sweet creamy, caramel concoction is absolutely amazing and we take the cheese and a large pot of that as well. They don't sell milk by the way....

We're pretty restrained as others are lugging great cheese wheels and bucket sized pots of Dulce de Leche away with arm loads of bread and cakes. For each person leaving there are two more waiting outside.

We're a bit bemused and left wondering - did we miss something? Do these people know something we don't? Should we be hoarding cheese as well before the great shortage?

Lunch...

I really like Sundays!

This is a truck scene on a Sunday.

Seeing huge 24 wheelers four and five abreast is not unusual in Colombia...

I just prefer to see it when they are parked up rather than heading straight towards me round a blind bend....

Five miles to a hot shower in Zipaquira, quiet roads, perfect weather, two wheels and a wheel of cheese. Doesn't get much better than that. Especially with a view like this....