Tatacoa to San Angustin (the long way…)
June 29, 2011
It’s taken a whole lot longer than expected to get to San Angustin – a town famed for its megalithic structures and religious monuments in the southern district of Huila.
The main road will shuttle you there in five hundred and fifty relatively direct kilometres – perhaps five or six days riding. As soon as you hit the backroads though, the gradients ramp up and pavement, more often than not, crumbles into dirt. But as so often seems to be the case, the rewards for taking the road less travelled are rich. Incredible hospitality, dramatic mountain scenery, mile upon mile of gravity-defying coffee plantations (and with these, invitations of endless cups of the best Colombian tinto) and a true, off the beaten track feel.
This is some of the best backcountry touring I’ve experienced, and shows Colombia, a truly diverse and beautiful country, at its very best.
Leaving Neiva, we turned off on a back route around the Lago de Betonia. It was tempting to stick to the main road, avoid some hills and make up time, but the lure of the road less travelled won through. It turned out to be a good move.
It was baking hot. The road climbed, steeply in places, before rounding a bend and unveiling this view.
Dripping in sweat, we stopped off in Iquira for lunch, guzzling glass upon glass of fresh juice that comes courtesy of our set meal - the ever dependable comida corriente - from this characterful little joint.
Colombian bike culture. I like the belt. Nice safety feature.
Then pavement turned to dirt, and we looped our way closer to the craggy peaks we'd first spotted far in the distance.
And closer still... Until they were towering above us.
Blissful riding.
Quiet.
The ride between Iquira and Pacarni compressed some of the best views into just 13km of dirt track.
It rounded off the show by meandering its way to the mountain settlement of Pacarni.
I guess the residents of Pacarni don't see too many gringos (as we're often mistakenly called). Our dusty arrival attracted some serious eyeballing, and a sizeable crowd quickly materialised to observe us eating an arepa, the colombian corn cake staple. This particular one was stuffed with cheese and drizzled with pineapple jam...
There's a distinct spike in military activity in these parts, and the south in general. These posters remind people not to sympathise with or aid the 'terrorists', namely the FARC. It's not always easy though, with pressure, often violent, tugging at village communities from both sides.
Then it was back to pavement, with those same incredible views. It felt like we'd uncovered a hidden Colombian gem. One of many, no doubt.
We were lucky with the weather. Storms occasionally threatened but never materialised.
Shortly out of Tesalia, while scouring a fenceline for entry to a field, we were invited in by Albert and his family to his fincita. More wonderful hospitality ensued. A handful of juicy lemons, and the obligatory jet black shots of tinto, were gifted to us as we prepared to move on the next morning. A photo session ensued. As you can see, I'm a vertitable giant in these parts.
Bearded trees lined the road into La Plata, a raucus little settlement busy with country buses, jeeps and motorbikes.
A long, slow grind on a dusty, rough and tumble road led us out of La Plata. Before long, the scenery started to ramp up in drama again, with far reaching views over the tightly interlocking Rio Plata.
In this region, local transport takes the form of these colourfully painted buses, called a Chiva. They're wide and squat like Hummers, with no glass in the windows. One side is open, for easy access of people and their piles of cargo. And rain and dust...
After refuelling in La Argentina, we pulled over and asked to camp in this old, sprawling finca, sharing a field with a curious horse.
A couple more curious neighbours. In the evening, reinforcements arrived. A gang of kids came by to chat, bringing with them bread rolls for the morning. Photos were taken, to be posted on 'Face'. Who would have thought that social networking would have reached even the most remote folds of the Colombian mountains...
The next morning, I was awoken by a gentle 'Buenas Dias' from outside my tent. A coffee growing neighbour, Isidro, had come by.
Of course, he brought a mini bucket of fresh, organic, sugary black coffee to jump start the day.
Isidro invited us for a tour of his small organic finca, where the minutae of the coffee growing process was explained to us. It takes a couple of years to prepare the plants and soil for organic status. But the rewards are a natural, chemical free land and a generous price from the European, American and Japanese coffee buyers. The ultimate aim is to achieve the coveted 'Tasa de Oro' award. The illustrious Golden Cup had been bestowed upon a finca close to San Angustin the year before, which seemed to be a great source of inspiration for Isidro.
Chickens and old coffee beans provide the fertilizer.
In amongst the rich, organic mulch, we admired the worms as they wiggled about their work.
A plug at the bottom of the barrel allowed its essence to be drained. The way Isidro enthused about its goodness, I was almost temped to have a sip.
Coffee beans being cleaned.
More inner workings.
Isidro's wife and son. When we bid them farewell, a couple of arepas (corn cakes) were gifted for the journey, supplementing the hefty bag of granadillos, plantanes and yucca another neighbour had piled upon us just moments earlier. Yucca sure is heavy.
Then began a long, at times tortous climb, passing immaculately kept coffee fincas along the way, clinging to the lush hillsides.
This father and son wanted to offer me yet more 'tinto', but my nerve endings were already buzzing from the many cups I'd had in the morning.
Hands etched with folds and scratches of years of picking, come rain or shine.
Up and up we wound our way, past a settlement with more billiard tables than people.
Road steepness is rarely conveyed in photos. But this final stretch had us off the bikes and hunkering down to crest the pass.
By now, we were well above coffee planting altitudes. in its place were fields of Lulu, a sharp-tasting fruit popular in Colombia for juices.
You can eat it unsweetened, with scrunched up eyes and puckered lips. A little honey takes the edge off.
Finally, the road topped out amongst dense, fern covered forest, before ejecting us out the cordillera, the Serrania de Minas, on the other side.
After such a tough graft, the long, sinewy descent felt all the sweeter.
One last end-of-the-day mountain blip led us to Salado Blanco. As we were toiling up the final climb, Alex and his wife passed us by on their scooter, and invited us into their home/funeral parlour business. There, we were given beds of the night, fed copious amounts of food, electronic gadets were recharged and our clothes were washed. As if this wasn't enough, they set about preparing us a pack lunch in the morning. First, some banana leaves were plucked from the garden, with the nonchalance one might take some tin foil from the kitchen drawer.
These were lightly cooked to seal in the odour and taste.
Then, these massive leaves were fashioned into a bowl and rice heaped in.
Some eggs too.
No Colombian can do without a few chunks of meat, of course. Arnaud had mentioned he was a vegetarian, but this seemed to fall on deaf ears.
The bundle is wrapped.
Like an edible, ecological christmas present.
Alex's wife Erika, and their child Sharon. Thank you!
Back on the road. From Salado Blanco, the track plummeted back down again through lush vegetation to a tumbling river, before beginning yet another climb.
Roadside flowers, spilling out like a narrow, colourful corridor.
All manner of shapes and sizes.
Many medicinal plants are grown in family gardens, like this aniseed.
Coco leaves, used medicinally, as well as for other less salubrious products...
An alpine-like feel on the climb to the settlements of Bordones and Isnos.
Another prime camp spot. I could hear this 170m drop waterfall, Salto de Mortino, from my tent. Entry cost 50 cents, and that included our camping fee!
Don't look down. The viewing platform, jutting out over the chasm, was built to Latin American (wobbly) standards.
Arriving in San Angustin. Woohoo! Finally the end of a nine day journey.
San Angustin is famed for its pre-Colombian burial chambers, terraces and carved figures.
The stone figures have been gathered from all over the surrounding hills; now they all get to hang out together in the park. Positioned as guardians at the entrance of the funeral rooms, some are more than 4 metres high and weigh several tonnes, A number of them have been heavily restored and look a little on the pristine side, while others are worn smooth by the ravages of time.
Not a great deal is known about this north Andean civilisation. The carvings have been carbon dated to AD1-900, the Regional Classic Period.
More frogs, this one crossed with a human. It's thought its position pointing in the direction of the Fuente de Lavapatas is important.
The Fuente de Lavapatas, a religious water feature, running over a series of carvings set into the rock.
They're hard to make out now, but you can see them on this diagram.
Before they were discovered by archeologists, some carvings were used by locals as pillars to support their houses. Good use of recycling!
More Colombian colour co-ordination.
This skinny Daihatsu is from 1978 and still happily bounces around the backroads.
Mad Max?
San Angustin is very much a cowboy town, and come the weekend, horses are tethered up outside the various bars, orr to random lamposts. Here's one cowboy loading up the equivalent of the family SUV...
... with beer.
Next stop, the (in)famously rugged Macao to Pasto road… 600m to 2700m, on dirt!
Route Thoughts:
Neiva to Betania to Yaguara to Iquira. Paved, easy going initially, then increasingly steep in places. Iquira to Pacarni, unpaved and incredible. Pacarni to Tesalia to La Plata, paved and very scenic. La Plata to La Argentina to Isnos, unpaved. This section includes some herculean climbs, particularly from La Argentina, through the coffee plantations and over the Cordillera de las Minas. Isnos to San Angustin, paved, big descent, then a climb.
In this chapter, Arnaud is mistaken for Japanese and I’m likened to Jesus (by someone who’d had a revelation that the saviour would return to his town, no less), as we leave Bogota and make our way to the star-soaked Desierto de la Tatacoa, en route to the Ecuadorian border.
Finally escaping the clutches of Bogota after a hearty departing lunch with our hosts, we battled through the capital's sprawling fringes for a couple of polluted hours. That evening, our campspot was perched on the lip of a seemingly never ending descent, with this cloud inversion as our end-of-day view. It was good to be back on the road...
Gone were the flash BMWs of the big city (I even saw an Aston Martin), replaced by my favourite quirky, colourful jeeps. I like the matching wheel hubs on this one, and the strategic, colour co-ordinated parking.
Peligro! Danger! Thankfully, Colombia has proved to be quite the opposite. A country of overwhelming hospitality, we've camped almost every night of the trip - generally on the land of a ranch or finca - and been welcomed in at every moment.
People love to stop for a chat, and finding out our stories. Like Horatio, who flagged us down in the street and took us to eat fruit and meet his family. Drawing us aside, he also informed us the end of the Earth was scheduled for December 24th 2017. According to his three vivid dreams, Europe would unfortunately not be faring well. Christ would be returning to his village, Agua de Dios, a former leprosy colony.
More tasty roadside treats. A fresh catch, strung up like a wiggling pendulum.
Leaving paved backroads behind, we picked up a dirt road towards Suarez. It ran parallel to the main highway on the other side of the Magdalena, Colombia's longest river and the source of all the flooding back in Mompos.
Although was good to be traffic-free again, our track turned out to be hotter, rockier, dustier and more rolling than we'd hoped for. Across the Magdanela, it looked temptingly flat.
Still, our bone-rattling route led us to the little community of Ato Viejo, where we pitched our tents in the football field.
A group of villagers had soon gathered, including Raul, who brought eggs and a spring onion to add to our meagre supplies. We chatted for much of the evening, learning about the FARC (the leftist revolutionary army that still pocks the mountains), and his stint as a coco leaf picker. The next morning, he appeared bearing yet more gifts: 'tinto' (coffee), delicious lentils with rice and juicy and a couple of plump, organic mangos.
Just as we were leaving, Arnaud was asked for one last glimpse of the contents of the Pod, namely the Marvellous Primus Multi Fuel stove. This device has been the source of much interest, and no doubt envy, wherever we set up home for the night.
Even though it meant leaving dirt behind, we were advised to cross the river at Ato Viejo and rejoin the main road, as the area we were heading for was a Zona Roja - a Red Zone. Guerilla strongholds are constantly shifting, so it's hard to know whether or not it would have been an issue. We decided to heed their advice.
Luckily, traffic on the highway was light, and there was a shoulder to protect us from the ancient Ford and Chevy trucks that clattered by. I'm no fan of counting down the miles on a strip of pavement, though at least we could make up some 'lost' time in backroad investigation.
It also offered to benefits of Ride By fruit stands that promise endless refreshments. The two massive, baby-head sized mangos we bought were even peeled and chopped up for us. The contents seemed to almost half fill a carrier bag. It was culinary bliss. Every piece was a taste sensation. At the risk of sounding obsessional, I need to stress how amazing these mangos were...
Another new fruit, Anon. When they're ripe, they almost fall open in your hand. Sweet, but a little fiddly to eat with their black seeds that need to be spat out. Raul had already given us half a dozen (set to rippen at different times over the ensuing days), so our supplies did not need to be replenished quite yet.
Nor did we need the spikeyness that is the Guanaban, which makes a lovely fruit drink.
Had we been in the market for a druids hat, however, this would have been the lady to see.
Once more, Colombian hospitality has proved to be overwhelming. These (brakeless) bicycle riding kids directed us to the football pitch in dusty La Victoria, where we camped for the night. By the time darkness had fallen and we were cooking, I counted 35 faces, gathered in a tight knot around us, transfixed by our every move. Ice cold beakers of juice and a mango were our gifts for the evening.
Then we were back on dirt and heading for the Tatacoa desert. This location, as our guidebook informed us, is the best places in Colombia for star gazing, and the backdrop for one of Shakira's early music videos.
Back to the land of parched plains and pointy-fingered saguaros, a world away from the high altitude, pine covered topography of the last couple of weeks. From beaches to Amazon to desert to mountains, Colombia is a country of incredibly diverse ecosystems.
It was like being on the Great Divide mountain bike ride again. And that's a good thing.
Traffic...
A local diner. Love the decor.
On offer were these banana-leaf wrapped Tamales (rice, corn, peas and lumps of chicken). A heartily filling meal for less than a dollar.
Breakfast came served with this fresh lemon juice.
Temptation... All those dirt roads...
Big skies.
Arnaud opens it up as we head into the Desierto de la Tatacoa - the Valley of Sorrows.
I could have been back in Arizona, looking out towards giant, termite-like mounds of sculpted ocher sand and rock, within which sprouted islands of cacti.
Close to the observatory (where we later watched a ringed Saturn glide across the sky), we met these two Colombian bike tourers, who told us about a cool hangout, El Penon de Constantino. Just few kilometres away down a dirt road and across a rickey bridge, it was worth checking out despite the baking heat.
The dirt road...
The rickety bridge.
And the hangout. My 5000 pesos (less than three dollars) covered a spot for the tent, a tasty guayabana juice on arrival and use of this refeshing pool. We even had the fine company of footloose and fancyfree hitchiker Gabrielle, who had travelled down from Canada.
With more romantic company than Arnaud, and I might have upgraded to one of these groovy little huts dotted about the land.
Not a bad spot for a dorm.
Perched up on stilts, it was simple and open plan.
I'd have been delighted to spend the night here, looking straight out into the desert upon opening my eyes.
But the alternative was even better. A finer camping spot I could not have hoped for...
Route thoughts:
There are two roads out of Bogota. We took the older one, via La Mesa, which we were told would be quieter. Then we cut away from the main road via Agua de Dios, picking up a dirt track parallel to the main road towards Suarez. This proved to be rough going and potentially sketchy security wise, so we took a boat (1000 pesos/50c) across the Magdalena and hopped back on the highway. Before Neiva, we turned off onto a dirt road, via La Victoria, to El Desierto de la Tatacoa. It’s well worth the detour for peace, tranquility and star gazing. From there, a paved backroad lead all the way to Neiva.
The last push from Villa de Leyva to Bogota…
A couple of hours from Villa de Leyva lies the village of Raquira, known for its colourful murals and tourist trinkets.
Nice hat, lady.
Muy Colombiano.
Chilling out in the main square.
A long and meandering climb took us over a distant ridge and back onto dirt again.
There were few settlements along the way, just remote pottery works guarded by yappy dogs and the odd fincita.
Then it was easier going, along an undulating ridge with far reaching views. Again, there was very little traffic, the odd passenger-laden jeep bounced by with a wave and a blast of the horn.
Arno, Hermon and one of his daughters, standing on the septic tank Arnaud unknowingly camped upon. Hermon is a foreman in one of the vast, grungy, coal mines that pock the landscape between Guacheta and Lenguazaque, pumping noxious fumes into the air. This short stretch can't claim to be the most beautiful riding in the country, but it reflects another side of Colombia.
Leaving our lumpy, and a touch smelly, campsite for the road again.
Likewise, deserted-by-day Lenguazaque wasn't the picture perfect settlement we'd become accustomed to.
Stained with soot and lined with bars, it was a real miner's town.
Still, the hills all around were beautiful.
Yet another climb...
And yet more idyllic riding. Colombian backcountry touring is definitely up there with Mexico's Sierra Madre trails.
The descent towards Hato Grande.
There goes Arnaud and his pod - which is actually called Bob.
A tempting camping spot. This one smelt better than the last...
Taking a break at a dusty junction. Our Mapas de Ruta road atlas became a little patchy in these lesser-travelled parts, so local insight - which might just be a vague swipe of the arm in a general direction (Derecho! Straight on!) - was relied on.
The main square in laid back Nemocon, famed for its salt mines.
And the Salt Cathedral in nearby Zipaquira. Proudly sponsored by Coke.
Into the tunners we went...
Begun in 1950 and updated at various points, the Salt Cathedral is an underground Roman Catholic Church. It's made up of a vast labyrinth of surreally lit cloisters and towering prayer rooms that burrow 180 metres deep into the earth.
Not for the claustrophobic.
Various side temples are to be found down darkened corridors. The Salt Cathedral is an active place of pilgrimage; three thousand people gather in the main hall on Sundays.
Closing in on Bogota. From here, we were back on pavement.
Luckily, a cycle lane shielded us from the trucks that rumbled past for much of the way, until things became more of a frenzied free-for-all closer to the city.
There, we were lucky enough to be put up by friends of Arnaud for a few wonderfully restful days. We ate like kings. This plate of traditional Ajiaco was rustled up upon arriving, made with rice, chicken, cream, olives and corn on the cob, infused with a herb called guascas. Delicious.
Banksy-style, street stencils.
Nadie gana: No one wins...
Murals on Septima, one of the main throughfares through the city.
The mean streets of Bogota. The city is considerably safer than it used to be, though there are plenty of parts best avoided, and pickpockets are a'plenty.
Discover your city - and how better to do that than by bike? The reason I wanted to be in Bogota at the weekend was to experience `Ciclovia´.
Ciclovia is event where a large portion of the city is closed to traffic between 8am and 2pm. And this isn't just a one off - it's every Sunday and festival day. The scheme was introduced in early 80s, currently covers 120km of routes and is being repeated all over Latin America. Incredibly, it's used by 30 per cent of its population - some 2 million people. It does beg the question: if metropolises as vast as Bogota, Caracas and Guadalajara can do it, why don't we see this in European cities?
Everyone was out and about. Young and old, bikers, runners, bladers and skaters, all taking to the reclaimed streets without fear of cars hurtling by. An amazing, inspiring scene.
There, we also met up with the Bike For Water crew, who I'd ridden with out of Mompox. Dutchman Michael was sporting this new mohawk for the onward journey.
Plaza Bolivar, the main plaza in downtown Bogota.
In the bike vein, Maria Clara, who we've been staying with, drew me these lovely sketches. Each serves as a reminder: to be present in the world (and not like a zombie), to think about what I am experiencing, and not to be forgetful. I'm always leaving behind my helmet, mitts, sunglasses, power cord, so now I have a checklist... Listo! The chicken bus, bellowing a cloud of Wa Wa, is the name of my trusty steed, from the Cuban slang for buses. These missives are now afixed across my handlebars.
Ciclovia is all about promoting improved, clean, city transport, a healthy lifestyle and closer communities. Various squares offered events such as aerobics and yoga. It's also chance for a little enterprising business too. Juices and snacks were on sale on every corner, and streetside mechanics were at the ready to patch up that fearful puncture. So no excuses!
Talking about enterprising individuals, this is just one of the hundreds of streetside operators who rent out mobile phones, seen here hanging with umbilical-like chains. It's 200 pesos a minute - about 10c.
Later, I went for a forray in the Candelario district, a beatnik part of town replescent in colourful colonial era houses, in various states of disrepair.
Cli(Che).
This little kid was completely engrossed in a word play puzzle.
The Botero Museum, named after the Colombian artist Fernando Botero, born in 1932, and famous for his rotund portrayal of both day to day existence and current events (like his 2004 exhibition on the violence from drug cartels).
Pareja Bailando, 1987.
Mujer Delante de Una Ventana, 1990.
A typically plump Mona Lisa, 1979.
Bogota has some great museums, which are free or very cheap to enter. This little display in the Coin Museum made me think of the movie, Night in the Museum, where everything and eveyone comes to life after dusk...
Lastly, the Museo del Oro. I'm no museum nut, but this has to be one of the best I've visited - so much so I went twice. The bargain 3000 pesos entry fee (less than 2 dollars, and free on Sunday) makes it extra enticing and inclusive.
It's simply packed with stunning, intricate pieces from across Colombia - beautifully displayed too. Like these, made in pressed waved by the goldsmiths of the Eastern Cordillera. More on this fascinating place later...
Biking (and Hiking) to Villa de Leyva
June 11, 2011
After our mountainous toils to Duitama, Alonso, Arnaud and I decided to kick back and take it easy to the next port of call, Villa de Leyva. We were ready for a day off the saddle and were looking forward to reaching a town that’s considered to be amongst the most beautiful in Colombia – so much so that it was declared a national monument back in 1954 to embalm its colonial architecture.
Or so we planned.
Of course, the temptations of further adventure got the better of us, and after learning of a short that cut that followed the Rio Iguaque, we embarked on what was to become one of the finest dirt road and singletrack descents I’ve ridden for some time. And one of the most punishing hike and bikes out the other side…
The beautiful, quiet village of Sotaquira, perched on top of a hill, felt a world away from the busy dual carriageway between Duitama and Tunja.
The main square, with obligatory, picture-perfect whitewash church.
Sunshine at last! Morning view from our campspot just beyond the village, perched on a lip of grassland and graced with a soundtrack of deafening cumbia from a nearby, makeshift cowboy bar.
Some well used milk churns awaiting collection. We spotted these all along the backroads in Boyaca; they doubled up as seats for locals awaiting their collection.
This part of Colombia is riddled with blissfully quiet backroads. And, for once, our chosen route was relatively flat.
These are the kind of journeys I love. Traffic was scarce enough for sublimely mellow riding, broken only by the odd motorbike or jeep that we flagged down to check directions.
More fresh milk awaiting collection. Two women presided over this this neat, Russian Doll-style set of canteens. As they sat and chatted in the sun, it seemed a far cry from the massive dairy farms in Europe.
Locals sporting the latest in poncho fashion.
Ribbons of dirt draped over the hills, set to dramatic mountains.
The boys: Arnaud and Alonso.
Poncho power. A crowd had gathered to cheer these men on, and with them came a real feeling of community.
Then, it was time to say good by to our Colombian amigo. From here, Alonso was following the main road back to San Gil, to make it home for work the next day. I'll miss his company.
The quickest option would have been to ride down the main highway to Arcabuco, before following a backroad straight to Villa de Leyva. But it was hard to turn down the distant dirt track that wended over the hills to the other side of the valley...
Indeed, the views were worth the extra climb, set off magnificently by clouds that swirled above us and deep shadows that blotched the land.
We stopped to chat to this group waiting for a bus at an unmarked junction. The sun was out and everyone was smiling. It was hard to imagine how riding in Colombia could get much better.
The dirt track rolled on, skirting neatly around the mountains.
It was the second junction that was to prove to be our downfall. Common sense dictated that we should press on and enjoy a relaxed afternoon in Villa de Leyva. But two passers by seemed relatively convinced there was a rideable shortcut that would lead us right into town. 'I've walked it in two hours, right to the main square,' bragged one. Apparently a bridge had been damaged by the flooding. But was it rideable? Panniers and trailer were scrutinized and an affirmative verdict was reached. We told there would be a short climb up which we might have to push, but no more than that.
It started easy enough...
We flew down this descent. Incredible riding.
That just went on and on and on...
Prime camping potential.
It was hard not to linger...
Then the trail narrowed down to some sweet singletrack.
Before being engulfed by a swollen river.
A little swampy in places.
Ah ha. This would be the broken bridge.
A balancing act. Still, nothing we couldn't handle.
Then, crunch time. We encountered this steep and loose stone staircase. It went up...
And up... Conditions worsened, and by this time the heavens had opened, thunder was clapping loudly all around, and our path had become a raging torrent of murky water. It was so steep and slippery we had to shuttle the bikes, trailer and gear separately, rather than pushing them up in one herculean go.
Our cut through across the range. The pin shows the position of the 'bridge'.
Thankfully, we came across a mountain refuge with this shelter, a perfect spot to dry out and spend the night. It wasn't quite like the R&R we'd imagined in Villa de Leyva, but we were gratefully to have a makeshift home.
The next morning we arose early, ready to tackle the descent, It went down...
And down. Would have been fun without panniers and a trailer...
Finally, our 'bike-able' trail, which really was no more than a rough footpath, emerged out of the steep-sided gorge back onto a jeep track. Relief...
Villa de Leyva at last.
First things first. In Colombia, most restaurants will serve up a cheap and filling Comida Corriente. This compromises of the following: 1/thick and warming soup.
2/hearty platter of food - in this case eggs, rice, vegetables and plantanes.
3/jug of natural juice, such as panela - sugar cane. All this set us back 5300 pesos, or about three dollars, and left our bellies content for the rest of the day.
Incidentally, the panela comes in roughly hewn blocks like these.
While we're on the subject of food, other interesting observations and tastings included these sweet gelatine treats, made from 'pata de rez' - cow's feet, as far as I could understand.
Then it was time to explore the backstreets.
Potter around with the locals.
Check out the old Land Rover Santanas that bounced over the cobbles.
And catch the approach of a storm from Villa de Leyva's impressive square.
The town was founded in 1572 and is situated at 2100m high.
Its Plaza Mayor is apparently the biggest cobbled square in Latin America.
Villa de Leyva is also steeped in revolutionary history. Here's Antonia Ricaurte, a hero of the Colombia's War of Independence. Known as El Chispero, the Spark Lighter, he went on to blow himself up to help win the battle of San Mateo, in what is now Venezuela.
More food. I'm on a health drive at the moment, and managed to procure some organic oatmeal, nuts, raisins, almonds, maki and toasted quinoa. A great start to the day.
And finally, the trip to the local bike shop for a nose around and new inner tubes.
San Juan de la Montana – from San Gil to Duitana
June 7, 2011
The ride between San Gil to Duitama crosses from the department of Santander into Bocaya, via the range of San Juan de la Montana. Said to be one of the most beautiful regions in Colombia, Boyaca is particularly lush, mountainous and rugged – no wonder it’s the breeding ground for some of the strongest Colombian cyclists, like road rider Feliz Cardenas and mountain biker Leonardo Paez.
It was a tough but beautiful journey, and I was lucky enough to share it with both Belgian bike traveller Arnaud (who I’d ridden with in Panama) and Alonso, a young Colombian cyclist we’d met in San Gil through the biking hospitality network warmshower.org
The venerable Ford F series trucks with which I've have shared the backroads across the Americas have petered out in Colombia, to be replaced by these character old Toyota, Suzuki, Nissan and Daitatsu jeeps. Loaded with people and goods, they bounce, rattle, slip and slide their way up the rutted, muddy mountain roads.
Available in a palette of appealing colours...
Nissan Patrol. Circa late 20th century.
Complete with triple action windscreen wipers.
Old timers chilling out in the square in Charala.
'Water is Life. It's the future of our children.' I've seen signs like this throughout my travels in Latin America; the advent of water privatisation is evident all around.
We were headed into colder country, and accordingly, the supermarket seemed to have stocked up with packets of chunky hot chocolate.
Amigos del Mundo.
Arnaud and Alonso, my biking companions over the next few days.
Alonso had offered to show us a backway to Duitama, his hometown. I'd impressed upon him the importance of riding dirt trails, and sure enough, after a short stint on pavement, it was back to the good stuff.
Ah... Backcountry roads. No traffic. This is the kind of riding I love.
Landslides, appearing like giant molehills, are regular occurrences in this part of the world. Bulldozers prowl the mountains to flatten them down.
Senor Alonso fuelling up in a hole-in-the-wall store, with its broad selection of potato chips and Coca Cola.
Arnaud, his spacepod-style trailer, and a gang of kids with their makeshift go-cart. Pretty precarious on these helter skelter mountain roads...
The guardian of our local lunchspot, where a hearty bowl of soup, some fresh sugar cane juice and a plate of chicken and rice set us back less than $4.
It was tyre changing time in Encino. The number of tyres I've gone through is seems to be a source of real intrigue to Latin Americans. Arnaud had been hoping to eek out 20 000kms of life from his Schwalbe Marathon XRs, all the way from Alaska. But to his chagrin, it was not to be. With close to 17 000km on the clock, it was time to fit a new pair. A crowd of onlookers gathered to observe this momentous process.
Including these giggling schoolgirls, and a random passer by who wanted to be in the photo.
More quirky mini-jeeps, this one in need of a handbrake it seemed.
Me, Senor Alonso and a muddy Troll.
Talking of mud... (photo by Arnaud De Laveleye)
The afternoon downpour sweeps in... This year Colombia's rainy season has been particularly harsh, thanks to the El Nino effect.
Into the undergrowth we delved...
And up and up we pedalled... From Encino, it was thirty eight hard kilometres to the top of the pass.
Only horses for company round here.
Every turn revealed an increasingly rugged mountainscape. We almost had the place to ourselves.
This rickety bridge lead us to a pasture where we camped for the night, readying ourselves for the final push.
A curious neighbour.
A curious neighbour's curious sheep.
The next morning, it was straight back into the climb. Unremitting.
Steep, tight switchbacks, of the kind of hadn't ridden since the Guatemalan Highlands.
Road texture.
When the clouds lifted, valley views materialised.
We paused for breath in a roadside store selling little more than beer and biscuits. The track we were following wasn't even on the Colombian Cartographic Institute's road atlas, let alone this local wall map.
Arnaud overtaking a turquoise Dodge milk truck, collecting produce from the outlying villages.
In fact, we only passed through a few communities, and these were small and sparsely populated.
Damp and drizzly, this was real poncho country - or ruansas, as they call them here.
Always smiling. Nuestro amigo Colombiano. Alonso works all day to fund his evening university classes. He hopes to ride down to Argentina one day.
The veil lifts... More mountains...
To our delight, this poncho wearing motorbike rider assured us we were a mere ten minutes from the top. But it proved to be yet another Latin American broken promise... I'm not sure why we ask really, as numbers seem to take on a different reality here. The Colombian Ten Minutes, as we called it, roughly equates to an hour or so GMT.
Finally we were within eyesight of the crest of the pass and stopped at this small roadside shrine. Its weather-tattered flags, snapping away in the wind, reminded me of the Himalayas.
Instead here, it was marked by a dozen painted tyres and decorated with car headlamps.
As we neared the top at 3600m, these intriguing, high altitude, cacti-like plants appeared all around...
... like an army of invading aliens.
I crept closer to try and establish contact...
After all our toils, a muddy dirt road fed us 12 kilometres back down the mountain to Belen. Here's Arnaud after taking a tumble.
Battle wounds.
The pod survived.
Duitama at last... Night had long fallen by the time we made it to into town. For the final, precarious 17km road descent (mined with cavernous potholes and a landslide), we were joined by two of Alonso's friends, Reinaldo and Martin. The next morning we were fed vast quantities of replenishing food, before headed off once more towards Villa de Leyva in the afternoon.
Porcelain Rocket
June 2, 2011
I’ve just got my grubby mitts on a lovely new Porcelain Rocket framebag for the Troll.
Since moving over from the Thorn Sterling frameset, I’ve been really missing the extra storage space, especially as the Troll can only carry two water bottles, and the position of the eyelets doesn’t cater for larger cages, like Minoura and Topeak’s 1.5l models.
Besides, framebags are an ideal way of making use of all that dead space, centering cargo and providing organisational pouches for stuff I want to get to easily.
For long distance touring, they add a lot of versatility. I can jettison my panniers and still have a setup with ample space for day rides, or ultralight multi-day trips with the extra seat pack and handlebar bag, like the Arizona Trail.
I’d also add that with this system, there’s nothing strapped onto my rear rack, making loading up quick and easy. And there’s nothing to work loose on rough descents – which always happens, no matter how well you bungee things on.
There’s a couple of potential downsides. It’s best not to leave anything valuable inside if you’re parking up your bike, and there’s a little extra surface area in crosswinds. Neither of which have proved to be an issue yet. Lastly, framebags are water-resistant, but not waterproof.
I like the versatility of this system. Running a framebag, seat pack and top tube pack means I can drop my panniers and embark on lightweight, singletrack side trips.
Chunky waterproof zips should stand the test of time. The framebag can be split into an upper and lower compartment, with internal, adjustable dividers and mesh stash pockets to keep everything stable.
The top compartment is ideal for camera lenses, but for now I've filled it with a 3 litre water bladder, running a hose up to the handlebar. The advantage to this system is that I'll no longer be drinking from crud/shit covered water bottles. The disadvantage is that it'll be harder to keep tabs on how much water I'm going through.
I'm using the lower compartment for food, including delicious granadillas.
There's also a slimmer compartment on the non-drive side ideal for maps, and a separate stash pocket that'll fit a multi tool, or similarly-sized knick knack.
Framebags are custom made for each frame, so you can tweak each framepack to your own design. Great quality needlework and a nice tight fit.
The top tube pack is ideal for stashing snacks, an MP3 player, sunglasses and gloves.
The expandable and surprisingly capacious seat pack is home to my tent, grounsheet and waterproofs. It acts as a good mudguard too.
Ready to roll...
And out on the Colombian trails...
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