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....

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....

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....