Back on the Road, Bribes and Bye-Byes

3rd November – After more than 7 months in Bogota, I’m on the road again. It doesn’t feel like I have been travelling, I had a job, paid rent, played football with friends, and even frequented a local divebar. Preparations were more fluid than the first time leaving from Canada…I knew what things I really didn’t need, which things I did, and the only thing I had to do was get rid of some of the junk I’d collected in 7 months. The goodbyes were a little different. In my time in Colombia I met a special girl who made it quite hard to leave. It was a comfort to know it was only a temporary goodbye. When I left from Canada, I was riding south to wherever for however long. This time I’m planning to be in Argentina selling the bike by New Year’s. Another difference for now I’m travelling solo, which I only ended up doing for about 5 days out of the first 5 month leg.

First day mission was Cali, ETA: 8 Hours, no problem I’ll do it in 6! It took me an hour to get out of Bogota, giving me lots of time to reflect on the amazing friends I was leaving. Once I was out of the city, I was very quickly reminded of what it’s like to be on new roads, new curves, new towns. I noticed my riding style was so used to sneaking through endless taxis and motos, that I had forgotten how to enjoy these freeflowing roads with the occasional semitrailer. It was like playing frogger for 7 months and then switching back to MarioKart. Don’t worry.. it didn’t take long to come back. I started looking at the scenery, taking in array of new smells, things I had missed in the smog of the city. The roads shot me around unknown corners, into valleys racing alongside whitewater rapids, twisting up mountains kissing the clouds and then winding down again.

For a first day, it went pretty smooth and made good time. At the top of one mountain, I did lose a pad from one of my bake pads and went without rear brake bads heading downhill for 5 minutes until the brakes pressurized and I could use the metal of the pads to get me by.

Arrived to cali, looks like a nice town and I’m sure the salsa until dawn parties are great, but the first full day on the bike in a while has taken its toll and no party for me tonight.

4th November -
Goal today Cali to Pasto (Colombia). Once again I’m making good time, the weather is warm and perfect for a ride to the border town of Pasto. My brakes are weak but I’m getting by, that is, until my bike chain snaps in where you could describe as the middle of absolutely nowhere. I’m on a downhill so I coast as far as I can, a farmer tells me there’s a town 1 km further. I push up a small hill and coast another km. Not a town in sight just another harsh incline. Shit. I strip down for the hard work ahead and start pushing. Fully loaded Im pushing about 370kg uphill. The sun is shining and I needed rests every 30 metres. A passing truck driver pities me and calls the roadway service (police) to come pick me up. I wait 10 minutes but there’s no sign of them. A colombian on a bikie pulls up and offers help. I roll back down to store my bike next to a shack and entrust my motorcycle in the hands of Sylvia, who has lived there for 40 years with her chickens (probably different chickens) and does something with the palm trees. I never got the Colombians name on the bike, but he took me into town which was 15 minutes further down the road (so much for 1km) and bought a cheap replacement chain. All he would accept for his help was a slice of watermelon (I had some pineapple). To get back I got into a coop taxi with some locals and there babies, they were quite confused when a gringo folded into the back.

The whole thing set me back about 3 hours. 3 hours of daylight that I didn’t have. Southern Colombia is known for its unstable security due to the guerilla paramilitarists with the amrbands. I asked each person their opinion on the safety of the roads (its common for them to hold up busses or motorists at night). Everybody in the town of El Burro said more of less it was dangerous the later you left for pasto… after 10pm where its quite dangerous. If I left I would get there by 8pm. I hoped these guys really didn’t clock in to there highway robbery shift until 10pm. I left town, checking in with a truck of cops on the edge of town. They asked if I was the gringo with the injured bike. They had looked for me, but not far enough out of town. Oh Well. They told me, ‘Sure, Pasto is safe, the problems are here.’ I found that pretty amusing as I rode off into the dusk. The last 2 hours in the dark were tough, slow and steady. I made it eventually and for the second day in a row, had really earnt a beer.

5th November- Pasto, a city of people who are the butt of lightbulb jokes by other colombians. When I asked a employee of the hotel to take a video of my hotel exit I found out why. It was a a large beautiful hotel, it’s hayday was probably in the 70′s, with a large central courtyard and huge 14ft ceilings in each room. They had graciously let me store my bike on a landing halfway up a flight of stairs, which I had the joy of riding down in the morning. The young man took my camera with eagerness and stood directly at the bottom landing in the middle of the stares. Amused, I asked him to move back, which he did promptly taking two steps back. By this time I realised what I was dealing with. Anyone familiar with gravity would not be standing where he was. After a couple of minutes we eventually positioned him right, but he stopped the video halfway through, so you won’t ever get to see this classic footage!

I made my way to the border, through more endless windy country roads, stopping off to see the nothing short of spectacular cathedral of Las Lajas, which is nestled in the pits of a deep valley. Being in Colombia for 7 months had its visa issues. I renewed the visa for myself at one point for an extra two months but quickly lost the motivation to keep going back. Also, to renew the bike visa I would have to go back month by month and pay renewal fees to keep the bike legally temporarily imported. My bike was 6 months overdue and I was 4 months. No problem, I road straight past the colombian offices at the border and across the bridge into Ecuador. The immigration official was efficient and spotted the lack of an exit stamp from Colombia. A setback, and he seemed quite duteous and wouldn’t give me an entry stamp despite my reasons. I walked back to the bike the get ready to start bribing the colombian guys to give me an exit stamp, but an official came out and called me to a corner to speak. Obviously playing the helpful guy of this scenario he asked what my problem is, as if he didn’t already know. When we started talking business he said $200, I said $20, he said $100, I said ok $50. He said no and I said Ok the colombian guys can make $50 or you can make $50 and started walking to the bike. He asked for my passport. 5 minutes later I had my stamp and I was on my way. In the end, compared to the renewals for myself and my bike, I had saved quite a bit. The bike import guy in Ecuador gave me no problems and I made it to Quito by nightfall.

Ecuador did not wait around to show me what its got. The Pan-American highway was amazingly beautiful and well-kept, shouldered by 4000ft valleys on one side and impossible cliffs on the other. I don’t know if these things are coincidence, but I usually don’t see this sort of thing. I saw a jeep on its side which a group of locals quickly turned upright with a rope. I saw a boy a bike get hit by the side of a SUV as it swerved out of the way. I saw a scared man hide behind a policeman because he was being chased by a boy-girl couple yelling things, and countless Ecuadorians trying to cross the street when they REALLY really should not be crossing the street. They could use some look left, look right, look left again education. Made it to Quito and found the hostel I wanted (Secret Garden) quite easily with a bit of luck. Quito is huge, and you can see the immenseness from the terrace of this hostel, a view I’ve never seen anything similar. A city built in the hills its like a wavy ocean covered in lights.

6th November – In the motivated mood, I pressed on for the “6 hour” ride to Montanita, a party beach town on the cost of Ecuador. The landscapes were unbelievable, mountains, disregarded in western countries are used for agriculture, creating a patchwork quilt-like effect over the mountains. The lamas and the children play by the side of the road, while the mums carry the babies in their tote-bag backpacks. By lunch I realised although I had chosen the shortest route on the map, it is not used by buses for the time it takes to get through the mountains. After 7 hours of riding at 4pm I was done. I was ready to quit.

The fun and the adventure had gone. My ass felt like it had done a 3 year prison sentence and every speedy bump in every village made me groan. I remembered this feeling, it came to me at the end of my 3 day ride through backcountry colombia at the beginning of the year with Justin. Except this time it was just me. What was I going to do? stop and go to sleep in the dirt? Maybe talk nice to a goat so I could share its barn? I had to keep going. The sun was setting fast, I felt like I was in a race with the sun for the horizon. The road was the worst kind, asphalt but extremely potholed, you can go fast, but at any moment you body jars from the shock if you make a wrong move. It pushes your bike, your mind and your body to the limit. I knew the coast was close but where was it????? I remembered how the backcountry in colombia had hardened me up and made me the rider it was, I remembered it was one of the most memorable sections of riding I had. I kept going. The God of mp3 shuffle shined on me and played Rage Against the Machine, ACDC and the likes kept me going. 4 days of riding 9 hours a day was pushing me to the limit. I decided not to get food until after dark, so I could get as far as I could before sunset. My shift lever gave me problems and I got mechanical help in a town I have no idea the name of. When I stopped for dinner at 8pm I was exhausted, completely fatigued. The owner cooked up some delicious fish which tasted like I was at the beach, and told me just 45 minutes more.

Nearly there, keep going. I was climbing the coastal highway when the fog set in. Not like any other fog I’ve seen. It slowed me to a crawl. I could not see the trees passing beside me, I don’t even know if there were trees. I could see 3 metres ahead. I crawled my bike along the yellow line in the centre of the road. I thought to myself how lucky the line existed, as the roads I’d been on all day had never seen paint. I had never been as interested in paint like that since I worked for Sherwin-Williams. Two seconds after that the line disappeared. It was a strange feeling… the feeling of movement was lost… my speedometer read 30kmph but I felt still. It was extremely creepy and I felt like somebody was going to tap me on the shoulder. I nearly ran off the road into the bushes a couple of times. I wondered how much further I could be pushed…

I saw a sign 60km to montanita and I pushed through the drizzle to this town I’ve heard so many good things about. And good it is. $1.25 for a beer, $2.50 for dinner you can’t go wrong. I’ve taken my first rest day here and have enjoyed the peace. My ignition button is not working and it’s not the battery or any other reason I know about. So because there is no moto mechanic around these parts I will be heading to Peru tomorrow with the help of any lucky person who is willing to give me a push start! It feels enriching to be back on the road again, and after 4 days on the road, I feel like I’m just getting started.