We left Los Banos del Incas via a back road and made our way to Jesus; from here our true Peruvian dirt road experience would begin. We had found a few blogs that highly recommend the route we planned to take and with excitement we attacked the first 28k climb. This excitement quickly faded as we realised what we had got ourselves into. I’m not sure if our bikes were just too heavy or if we were of the wrong set up, i.e. this route was more suited to bike-packers rather than fully loaded toures, but the fun factor diminished quickly. The road to start with was steep and loose but just about manageable, Jess would disagree, she found the loose fist sized rocks, that had a habit of hanging out on the switch backs where the road really kicked up a few degrees, were far from rideable and before long our snail like pace was rather embarrassing. Jess, not confident to ride the loose stuff opted to walk whenever she caught sight of a nasty rock, and I must admit on more than one occasion I was forced to join her. Although our progress was minimal, we were making progress, we were still able to ride some stretches between the bends, this was until we left the “main road” to follow the GPS track we had loaded. Here we followed a much smaller trail that had our hope rising that maybe now we would start riding some of the good stuff, and for a very brief spell we were able to average at least 7kph. This did not last long however. Before we knew it this trail, which we thought was the old road, became even worse. With no regular traffic the loose rocks had migrated form the switchbacks and now covered the whole trail. Pushing became a challenge in itself and our cycle trip started to run the risk of becoming a walking holiday. The silver lining of this no longer used trail was the abundance of camping spots and after maybe 5km of back breaking pushing we decided to give it up as a bad day and get some much needed sleep, hoping that in a new light we would have some divine inspiration and figure out how we were supposed to ride this terrain, that or somebody would take pity on us and leave us some shiny fat-bikes to play on. The next day we had no such luck, no new bikes fully equipped to deal with baby’s heads (I think this is what the cool kids call this kind of terrain) and no divine inspiration. In fact, Jess, suffering from the lack of oxygen available to us at our lofty altitude, she blamed me for using it all in the tent, had had a terrible nights sleep and on top of that she now had chest pains to add to her list of ailments, never a good sign, especially when so far from any means of transport or help. Not one to give in easily she was determined to see the end of this climb and with only 7km left she was confident she could at least push that far without collapsing on me. So with slightly less gusto we returned to the trail and rode a whole 200m before we hit an obstacle, well an obstacle bigger than the damn rocks we were trying to ride over. The old road it now turned out was no longer a through trail, a nice new barbed wire fence had been strung up to really make this point clear to anyone thinking of getting past. Knowing how far we had come we weren’t about to be beaten all that easily though, we found a loose section and with some slight repacking we were able to slide the bikes under the fence, haha, fully loaded touring bikes 1 – nasty horrible rocky road…well, we stopped counting how many points this route had already won over us, but this was definitely a small moral boost for us. For another short spell we were able to ride, and in sections we found ourselves enjoying what we were on, again this was always interrupted by the loose rocks that would bounce and spit your bike any which way but the way you wanted. I found myself picking my bike, and myself up many a times after a stray rock would kick me left, letting me think I had just about rescued it before another would spit my right or stop me dead altogether. My woes were nothing compared to Jess though who with any deep intake of breath would be in pain, not ideal when the trail was so physically demanding and the fact that oxygen was not in great supply. After another moral sapping length of time we encountered another section of fence blocking our way luckily this section was easier to shimmy our bikes under and from here we hoped the road would improve, which luckily it did, a further 2km, at probably our fastest pace and we were at the top. We now had a downhill to reward us for our efforts. We had also decided that a hospadaje was in order to let Jess rest up. The downhill wasn’t all that easy, nor all that much of a downhill, and hospadajes didn’t exist in this section, apparently they don’t get many tourists to generate a need for them. Before we knew it we had past the last hamlet and had begun to climb once again, with no option for a night in a bed, and Jess being to stubborn/proud to try and hitch, “I’ll be better in the morning,” was her response to this suggestion, “I just need to sleep it off!” Knowing better than to argue we found a tucked away spot, set up camp, cooked and got an early night. A tough two days behind us but hopefully a better day to come. As we have become accustomed to in Peru we were awoken to blue skies and the sun beating down on the tent, Jess had managed to get a good night sleep and was practically a new woman. With 7km of dirt road climbing ahead of us she was positively chipper as we saddled up. Still far from easy we managed to ride most of the road and made good time to the top. All we could see now was downhill. Not that this would be fast, the road was still horrible and anything more than 13kph felt like I was going to be shaken of the mountain, but at least it took a whole lot less effort to generate these speeds. With achy fingers from the effort of braking we rolled into the largest town we have seen on this route, this was the town we were directed to when we asked for accommodation in the previous villages; today however we were only stopping for lunch. Jess had her eyes set on Cajabamba, our intended destination before bad roads and ailments slowed us down. Before I knew it we had completed another long, slow, twitchy decent and we were a mere 25km from the town. The deal was we would stop at the first hotel or accommodation we saw, as long as it wasn’t a 5 star luxury resort, sorry Jess I don’t care how ill you are we cant afford it! Luckily for me I didn’t need to have that conversation, there wasn’t a single place to stay until we got all the way into the town. I’m not sure how Jess managed it, by the end I was hurting and desperate for a room and I had been fit and well the whole way, Jess just kept on going though and as we rolled in to town it was her setting the pace while I tried to hold on to her wheel
After finding a hotel and refuelling with some coke and biscuits neither of us cold muster the energy to set up the stove, a quick trip out the hotel and we were rewarded with fried rice and an early night.
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We crossed the border on a damp horrible day; we left the horrific climbs behind and crossed onto smooth gentle climbing tarmac. Ecuador needs to take a leaf out of the Peruvian road builder’s handbook. With gentle grades came longer climbs however and our first day was more of a stamina test that we were accustomed to. Although not steep we still found ourselves floundering on some of the climbs and the constant rain didn’t do much to help. Our first night in Peru was spent in a cheap hotel that was most definitely an ex-jail, not the nicest of places but the prices are refreshingly cheap compared to Ecuador. Our second day saw us rewarded for all the previous days climbing with an amazing 20km downhill, again a perfect gradient that meant we barely had to touch the brakes or the pedals, every tourer’s dream. With the decent however came the tropic like heat that we haven’t witnessed since Brazil. A few roadside fruit stalls were greatly appreciated, especially for their freshly squeezed juices and there shaded areas to take a break. The rest of the day was slight undulations that saw us smash out over 110km. Memories of Asia came flooding back with the heat and the countless rice paddies we were passing by; only the palm trees marked the differences. It was almost a perfect day until Jess got a puncture 5km from were we were aiming, this was made worse by our pump choosing this moment to seize up. In the last 2km the bike became un-rideable and we were reduced to walking pace, our plans to camp went out the window and we found another cheap hotel for the night. Unfortunately for us the whole town was experiencing a power cut and as our room had no window we would have probably been better off in the tent!! Morning broke and still no power so breakfast was had by torchlight, at least there was sun streaming in downstairs so we were able to fix the puncture and change my brake pads. With what is hopefully the last of the bike maintenance for a while we hit the road, a short boat ride and our first stretch of dirt road and it was onto the start of what we had been told was a very gentle uphill, a gentle uphill that we would be riding for the next 180km. We mentally prepared ourselves for a tough and slow few days but the uphill never seemed to materialise; I mean, we could see the river flowing next to us in the opposite direction but the road felt flat the whole way. After 60km, a distance we thought would be tough for today we found a perfect sandy beach and decided a rest from the searing sun was well deserved, we hid the bikes from the road and made the most of afternoon heat. All was looking perfect for a great nights camp when just as the sun was setting a lorry pulled off the road and out jumped 6 guys with shovels. They were here for the sand and were just as surprised to find two cyclists hidden away as we were to see them. As we tried to make conversation and explain why we were here they became concerned telling us that it is dangerous here and that we should not camp. “Dangerous from whom?” “The fisherman” they explained, “They come here at night and will not be happy you are here, they will rob you”. Quite as to why some fisherman would want two touring bikes is beyond me but they seemed adamant that we should not stay, they offered us a place to camp in their home and a lift there in the back of their truck once they have finished their sand pilfering. Our bikes were expertly loaded into truck and we were driven 6km back the way we had come, we were shown to a covered yard and told we could put our tent here, we were also given food and drink and then invited to a party. Not wanting to seem ungrateful we accepted the invitation and followed our new friends to a neighbouring home. Turns out it was 9th Birthday party. The small room was filled with most of the village and before we knew it we were giving an impromptu English class to the children. We were then handed hymnbooks and a bible and the party started. Now I’ve been to my fair share of parties and this one did not look all that fun for the children, the birthday boy sat in the middle of the room looking bored and yawning while passages were read from the bible and hymns sung at him. Eventually we got to the good stuff, I was excited to show my musical statue skills or my musical chairs talents but non of these games occurred, in fact no games occurred. Everyone in the room hugged the child one at a time and then the food came out. As I say, not the best child’s birthday party in my opinion but each to their own I guess; I would love to show them a kid’s birthday party in England and see their reactions. We were served rice pudding and popcorn then cake that the child’s face had been shoved in, we then got fried rice; an unusual mix, but as I say, each to their own. By now it was well past our bedtime, a crazy 10pm and we hadn’t even brushed our teeth, we felt such lightweights being outdone by a bunch of children but then again, they hadn’t just cycled 60km uphill. In the morning we decamped and said our thank yous and made our exit, back up the 6km we cycled the previous day, not before they had loaded us up with breakfast of rice and potato type vegetables. The day continued in much the same way as the previous, gradually gaining in altitude as we rode along the river valley and as we came to camp o-clock Jess opted not to ask at a farmers house if we could camp in their lovely field for risk of having to endure another birthday party, instead we did battle with bushes and shrubs to camp in a hidden spot just off the road. I also convinced Jess, 1: due to the lack of space in our small area we had cleared 2: because the ground was so parched and dry, it obviously hadn’t seen rain for weeks, and 3: it was still really hot, like, really hot… that we didn’t need to put the waterproof fly on; we would sleep just in the inner tent. Turns out I was wrong. I awoke at 1 in the morning to the refreshing mist penetrating the inner tent as the rain fell outside; a frantic rush as I tried to make our tent as waterproof as possible with a torch, at least I wasn’t too hot anymore, and I also got to have a shower I so desperately needed. We awoke to a very sorry looking sight, my late night attempt looked even worse in the light of day but it did keep the worst of the rain of us, luckily is wasn’t too heavy nor did it last too long; however everything was most definitely damp. With this we decided that a rest day was in order, one for washing and two for drying. We pushed on and made it to Leymebamba after struggling up the final 14km, not sure if it got gradually steeper or the legs, knowing a rest day was fast approaching, just began to weaken. Either way it was a welcome sight as we crested the final small climb and found a hostel that promised us space to dry our tent and a warm shower. With a rest day in our legs we were ready to face the final stretch of the climb, 30km of steady uphill before we would be reward with a huge 60km of downhill. Unfortunately both Jess and I seemed to have been struck down by some rogue lettuce we had eaten the night before, the 30km was somewhat hampered by countless toilet stops when unstoppable rumblings began. It was at this time we promised ourselves we would now start being more careful with what we ate, we have lost faith in our water filter and since getting sick in Quito it feels like we have never fully recovered. The climb was long but never overly steep and at one point I was called to the aid of some local farmers and a not very healthy looking cow who… well, I wasn’t really sure what they were doing but I offered my assistance as best I could, this involved a rope that I presumed was attached to a calf still inside the cow. With the four of us pulling and the cow obviously not happy eventually we managed to remove the head of the baby, the farmers looked pretty pleased with the effort but I wasn’t sure if this was the goal, either way I felt I’d done my good deed for the day and feeling slightly nauseous Jess and I were back to turning the pedals. We crested the hill, wrapped ourselves in many layers, took a few quick snaps of the panorama that had opened up before us and then began what we had been looking forward to all day. Usually the downhill’s are over all too quickly but this was a different story, it just kept on going. Eventually with the temperature sky rocketing we plataued in the valley, here our progress was hindered due to work on the road, the only bridge across the river was closed until 6pm, not fancying a ride in the dark we opted for a guesthouse, unfortunately this was a further 2km downhill, great for today’s ride but less than ideal for tomorrow where we would be climbing for 45km, 47km now! La Balsas was hot and sweaty. At an altitude of 850m it was a world away from the temperature at 3600m we had descended from, we now understood why many cycle tourists try and tackle as much of the climb ahead of us straight away trying to find the cooler temperatures of higher altitude before calling it a day. We opted for an early start to the climb, 1: The bridge was only open between 6 and 7am and 2: We wanted to make the most of the cooler morning temperature. The climb was everything we expected it to be, hot sweaty and long; yet stunning at the same time. Jess, still struggling from the lettuce tackled it with gusto but as the day continued and the number of toilet stops skyrocketed her energy levels wavered. The road, ever present above us, showed we were still some way from the top but with a rare flat space we asked a local farmer if we could camp for the night. As we cooked watching the sun set over the mountains we new we must be close to the next downhill and some replenished snacks. From here the climbing became more rolling giving our legs chance to recover somewhat before the next assault. Still as the day wore on I found myself struggling, this day in theory shouldn’t be as tough as a constant uphill but I found my self constantly having to dig deep to re-catch Jess’ back wheel, my speedo, which usually ticks up faster than I think is normal seemed to be stuck in the 40km’s bracket, a much needed Coke helped me get over my cyclists block if you will, but as soon as my speedo reached our daily goal of 60km I was quick to suggest places to camp. We eventually settled in the shell of a half built house, we didn’t understand much of what the old toothless gent was saying to us but he was more than happy for us to set up in his not yet finished home. .We awoke to the call of nature which is a struggle when your camping in someone’s front garden and with both of us dashing around to find a secluded spot we were up and cooking before our usual wake up call. We didn’t manage to leave though till well after 8 as we were inundated with curious children on their way to the local school, seems as our home for the night was on the school run and everyone was intrigued as to what a couple of gringos were doing in these parts. Finally on the road and once again we were closer to the top of the climb than we had realised. 12km later and we started the rolling decent, not quite as nice as the 60km we had experienced but still a nice change for the legs. Before we knew it we rolled into Banos del Inca and rather than pushing on into a bigger city we called it a day in the first decent priced hotel we could find.
We made full use of the adequate; I think this is the best we are going to get in Peru, Wi-Fi and the general act of lying down. With Jess almost better we opted to take an extra day in the hope that she would be back fighting fit again and ready for the next part of Peru Our intended 3 days with Sofi turned into a week and our hopes of making quick progress through Ecuador went out the window. We left feeling weak and drained but decided a training ride to 3700m would be a perfect way to get us back to full fitness. Leaving Quito was no easy feat, it took us all day and in our weak state had us questioning if we were ready to be back on the roads again. Our Spirits were lifted however when we met four Venezuelans, they had left Quito at 4am! They were also heading to Laguna Quiltoa but were hoping to make it in one day. Knowing it was at least another 120km away we wished them luck and carried on at our dwindling pace. That is until we overtook them on one of the longer climbs of the day. We never did see them again; we hope they made it though!!! We did see our first bike-packers, they are kind of like cycle tourers but with no panniers and a super light weight set up, they even had a dog that carried its own backpack. It was like being back at school again and not being part of the cool crowd. It’s easy to see the draw of this style of riding but for the next 15km climb all I could do was wonder how they fit all the necessary kit for long term trip. We finally arrived at Laguna Quiltoa not after a roadside fix of Jess’ bike. After 11 500km her gear cable decided that it was one climb too many and gave up on us. A bodge it fix had jess riding with two gears, luckily we managed to make it her two easiest gears so that she had a chance on the ever increasing gradients. Even this wasn’t enough though as the last 2km went to an ungodly gradient and a horrible head wind that had hideous similarities to Patagonia. A quick down hill and we started our second climb, realising we were never going to make it over both in the remaining hours of daylight we set up the tent and prepared for a frigid night at altitude. Over night the wind had intensified and as we rode the many switchbacks it seemed we never managed to benefit from a tail wind. We were struggling and moral was at a low. The combination of wind and uphill forced us to an intensity where everything grated on us; there was no room for thinking about anything else but the horrific climb and the devilish headwind we were battling with. The smallest things began to grate on me; a car playing it’s music loud caused on outburst of profanities, my jacket hood catching on my helmet had me nearly throwing it on the side of the road. We were both battling internally as well as externally and everything was out to stop us climbing this vertical wall of hell. Its funny how a combination of elements can cause such a crash in our mental state. I can honestly say I did not enjoy this part of our trip, it had me more than ready to throw it all in, all over a silly little climb (well, not so little). As far back as I can remember this is up there with one of my toughest days on the bike. It’s times like these though, when we are struggling and probably at our lowest, that make us appreciate the rest of the trip. If it weren’t for these tough days then the awesome days wouldn’t be quite as good. Upon making it back to the main road we had a tough decision to make. With the last few days taking slightly longer than expected and the week in Quito we were well and truly behind schedule if we wanted any chance of riding and camping on the Salt flats of Bolivia before the rainy season kicked in then we were going to have to take a bus. That being said we didn’t feel like we had given Ecuador a fair chance on the bikes. In the end we gave in, we would bus to Loja and then ride the next 3 or 4 days to Peru, from here we would have made up some of the time we had lost while still getting some extra miles in. We also still needed a bike shop to fix Jess’ bike, the only one we had found didn’t stock cables long enough. Loja, we hoped could solve that problem. After having to wait around for a day we were finally on our way, the only problem was we arrived in Loja at 4am in the rain. With no other option as we couldn’t find anywhere to stay we settled down for an uncomfortable few hours in the bus station before we could make our way to the bike shop. By midday we were eventually on the road making progress in the right direction albeit a little sleep deprived. Whether it was due to the lack of sleep or just not thinking on our ride to the border I managed to drop my front wheel into a grate while trying to check a hostel price consequently bending my disc brake. Seems that no matter what we try, getting out of Ecuador quickly just isn’t an option. Worst part was the hostel was crazy expensive, even more so when you add the cost of a new disc!! We made our way to the first bike shop in Vilcabamba we could find to be told they didn’t have the parts and I was going to have to go back to Loja, ideal. With that we found a cheap hotel and the next day I was on a bus back to the bike shop that had fixed Jess’ bike in order to get parts I needed. Back on the bus and with the bike fixed we were ready to leave. However on the bus my stomach began to grumble, sweat started to pour and a strong urge to find a bathroom materialised. We were not leaving Vilcabamba today. The next day I was feeling better and we left the hotel and began the first climb, 6km and just as we crested the hill and I flicked my gears into the big ring to make the most of the downhill we had yet another problem, my gear cable decided that after all the fun we had with Jess’ cable it wanted some of the same. Queue us turning around and heading back to the bike shop. By lunch my cables had been changed and once again we were ready to ride but with us loosing so much time we took a local bus to our expected evenings destination. From here we pushed on and made it to within a days ride of the border, all that was left was the steepest climb yet. Pushing was a challenge and we saw our speed crash to barely moving, Ecuador really wasn’t letting us go without a fight. As we finally rolled into the border town we were 1 week behind schedule but with all the problems we had encountered and the roads we had ridden we were happy with that. It feels a shame to have missed a huge chunk out of Ecuador but we are excited to ride some of the famous Peruvian dirt roads. Fingers crossed we won’t need any more buses and that the rainy season holds of until December for us!
Getting our stamps into Ecuador was a whole lot easier than getting our stamps allowing us to leave Colombia, within a matter of minutes we had both been processed, our details put into the system and the all important stamp punched into the passport; we were even given a nice little map to help us on our way. As we stood rather perplexed at just how easy this was, and hoping that finding some food would be just as easy, we spotted another fully loading touring bike. Michael, a guy from Poland, was on a 3 month whistle stop trip where he was aiming to do some crazy miles in a crazy number of countries. We rode into the first town together, all of us in search of food and supplies for the road ahead. Straight from the border, Ecuador gave us a taste of what she has to offer with a cheeky uphill. We had heard from other cyclists that Ecuador was not a fan of switchbacks, opting more for the straight up and steep approach to hills; this small initiation wasn’t even a taste of what we had to come over the next few weeks though. Over lunch of bread, cheese and Mayonnaise, while sat on the floor outside of the supermarket, us cycle tourists are classy folk; we discussed routes. Michael, with his huge distances was looking at heading straight down the Pan-American highway all the way to Quito; we however were looking at doing as little on this route as possible, opting for a back road we had been told about that would take us almost parallel with only slightly more distance added. Michael liking the sound of our alternative route, even with his very thin wheels, decided to join us, at least for a few days to see how it went. The road turned out to be an amazing choice, one of those, “haha screw you busy highway, I’m king of this road” moments. The road was climbing, but so far it wasn’t too steep, and the scenery was amazing, all helped of course by perfect weather. Michael, it turns out was a bit of a dab hand at the whole photo and video making and we soon got to see him pull out some of his unexpected gadgets, and to my excitement he even had a drone with him! After far too long playing and taking photos we realised we hadn’t covered anywhere near as much distance as we wanted, and we were supposed to be trying to get through Ecuador as quick as possible! With failing light we were on camp spot lookout; this proved harder than usual, as flat land spaces were not very common. Just as we were beginning to prepare ourselves for a tough ride in the dark we scouted a spot that can only be described as less than ideal, the best of a really bad selection. It may have been flat to look at but the physical act of walking across this area was near impossible due to the vegetation, attempting to sleep on this terrain was going to be a challenge. We pegged out the tent as best we could and mentally prepared ourselves for a hellish night, our Thermerests did an impressive job of making it almost sleepable as we wrapped and curled our bodies around what can only be described as babies heads, in-fact no, they were bigger than babies heads, we were attempting to sleep on full size human heads and it didn’t make for a great night. Morning broke and our previous days good weather was also a thing of the past. The clouds had rolled in and it was starting to look a lot like rain. A quick breakfast, no easy feet with very little flat ground to balance a stove and water for the all-important first coffee of the day, and we were back on the trail. We set off slightly bedraggled after not the best night and as we slowly climbed the weather did not help our mood, wind and drizzle soon had us wrapped up and battling the cold, wishing that every bend would reveal the top. Eventually, after what felt like far more than the measly 10 km we had climbed we topped out 3700m in a cloud. What a difference a day makes. We donned every layer we could and prepared ourselves for the frigid decent, luckily we couldn’t go too fast due to the road conditions so the wind chill factor didn’t increase by too much. Once again though as we often find in these situations, the adverse weather conditions bring about their own majestic beauty. We may not snap as many photos or fully appreciate just what we are experiencing at the time but looking back it always seems worth the pain for the experiences we had, perhaps this is why we keep putting ourselves in these places questioning our sanity… Materialising below the cloud line the good weather returned along with a good road surface and an overall happier, smilier mood. In our euphoric states, and probably enjoying the downhill a little too much, we missed a turning and descended an extra 6km only realising our mistake as we joyfully ate our jam and crisp sandwiches, this had a somewhat sombre effect on lunch as we realised we know had a 6km climb on our hands. The rest of the day saw us make no more navigational errors and finally descended into the tropical like conditions that you experience when not stupidly high in the mountains, this mornings freezing decent on cobbled roads was just wishful thinking now that we joined the Pan-American highway, even in the brief section of shade we found, nothing could cool us down. Our camp for the night, although flatter, was also lacking the wow factor of the previous night. Hiding a mere 5meters from a main highway in a sugar cane field doesn’t make for the most atmospheric camp, or quietest. Michael was a little happier down here, turns out he didn’t have a sleeping bag and camping at the headache inspiring altitudes we were at the previous night meant not only couldn’t he lie flat but he was also awake shivering for most of the night. With an early start planned and the prospect of our first night in Ecuador in a real bed we pushed big and made it to Cayambe. This had been our aim since crossing into Ecuador as from here we were going to try and ride and old rail trail all the way into Quito, it promised to cut out any nasty steep climbs by making use of the old bridges and tunnel systems, there was a very rough guide but not much information existed for riding it from so far out but we were hoping that it wasn’t going to be too difficult to follow a set of steel parallel lines on the ground! Michael who had already forgotten the cold miserable night in the mountains was only too keen to ride another back road and agreed to join us for the next few days into Quito before we said our goodbyes. Unfortunately illness struck and he was up all night ensuring he got his full monies worth from the hotel bathroom. The next morning he looked dreadful but was still keen to at least try and ride his bike, turns out these Poles are tough cookies, I would definitely have taken a day in bed rather than get on my bike if I felt anywhere near as bad as he looked! We found the rail trail and set forth following the haphazardly placed steel line that would hopefully take us to Quito. Gradually we climbed but the gradients were gentle, as huge sections of hills had been removed to enable the train to keep climbing. All was going well and we thought we were onto a winner, if this carried on we would make Quito with no problems at all. Unfortunately this wasn’t to be the case; before we realised it we found ourselves on a stretch that was becoming far more overgrown than we had bargained for, we pushed on confident that the entertaining riding would soon return only to find ourselves at a dead end. The bridge that once carried the trains now laid at the bottom of a gorge forcing us to retrace our steps, pushing back through what we now realised was more of a forest than a path. From here it was a short stint on the main road but our morals had been sapped, Jess was also becoming to the mystery illness that was hindering Michael. Both parties were rather subdued as we fought our way back on to the trail hoping the worst was behind us. Our hopes were mislaid, the bushes and thorns grew thicker and we were forced to don waterproof trousers and long sleeves, gloves if possible, anything to protect the exposed flesh from the might of the thorn bushes. At this point most sensible individuals may have turned round and opted to take the highway, giving up the rail trail as a good memory. Not us however, whether it be the bad night’s sleep or the zombie like state Jess and Michael found themselves in but we just kept pushing, forging a new path for any other stupid cycle tourists that may want to indulge in some self punishment. At least they would have some form of path broken for them!!! After 6 long KM of pushing, swearing and at one point a huge sense of humour failure on my behalf we emerged, literally having been dragged through a hedge backwards, machetes would have been better for the stretch of trail we had just attempted rather than bikes. With the trail becoming rideable again we made the most of it and began a great decent that saw us make up some of the time we lost playing in the huge hedgerow but the further we went the more Jess’ health deteriorated. With tiredness and illness taking its toll we found ourselves a secluded spot in a farmers field hidden from view of the road. With the tents up both Jess and Michael retired early leaving myself to reflect on the days adventure and cook for anyone who could face food, dinner for one it was! Darkness fell and I felt confident in us achieving a good nights rest, as far as stealth camps go we hadn’t done too bad. Well until the farmer arrived that is. I was awoken to a shout of “Que mas?” (what’s up?). Great it’s dark and we are now going to have to pack and ride on, what time even is it? I scrambled from the tent in a sleepy disorientated state using my best Spanish to apologise and try and explain what two tents were doing pitched in his field. ‘Disculpe, disculpe; Mi Novia es muy (imatetes being sick as I don’t know the word). La calle es muy difficile y nosotros somos muy cansado. Vamos. Roughly translated as sorry sorry my girldriend is very (sick). The road is very difficult and we are very tired. We go. The farmer didn’t seem too phased by finding us and insisted we stay, “tranquillo, esta bien” and with our brief conversation over I crawled into the tent to grab whatever sleep I could before light. It was at this point jess informed me it was 11.30pm What kind of farmers start work at this time? When we rose in the morning the famers were just finishing up. Tough shift. They pointed us towards some clean drinking water and wished us a safe journey. With this we were back on the road, Micheal and Jess still not feeling great but the prospect of making it to Quito and for some rest spurred them on. The trail only got better from here on and slowly it became more built up. Amazingly the last 20km was a recently restored purpose built cycle trail. What we didn’t realise was that this trail would drop us 10km out of Quito at the bottom of a huge mountain with no other way in than a main highway. It was here we said our goodbyes to Michael, he had decided enough was enough and that the prospect of cycling up the mountain was too much for him in his weakened state, he was going to stay at the bottom. Jess and I, having arranged to stay with Sofi, our friend who we cycled with in Colombia took the climb head on. This short stretch is, stand out, the most horrific riding I have ever done, from navigating the crazy roads of Ho Chi Minh to the worst roads in Brazil. This tops them all. Never have I felt so close to death. The climb was steep, the lanes were narrow, the shoulder was non-existent and the traffic was heavy. Everybody squeezed far too close and when a bus went past that actually scrapped my panniers causing a rather nervous wobble between falling into the drainage ditch on my left or under the wheels of the next vehicle on my right we decided enough was enough. We found the best spot we could and put out our thumbs praying that some kind soul would take pity on two stranded cyclists. Luck was with us and after 30minutes or so a pick-up pulled in and offered to take us where we needed to go, turns out they were heading one block away from our final destination so they dropped us at the door of Sofi’s house.
The next few days in Quito were not much fun. The mystery illness finally caught up with myself and left both Jess and I bed ridden for the next 4 days. We even took a trip to the doctors and got ourselves some antibiotics. All that was left to do was rest and make as quick a recovery as possible! We managed to get out of Bogota with very little trouble and started a huge decent down to 300m. It was from here that we decided rather than take the main road we would take a smaller road that ran directly parallel to what we had planned, what’s the worst that could happen? This road was the best worst decision we could have made. Ok so it wasn’t the longest climb in the world, but it was a hell of a lot tougher. Our smooth tarmac road quickly turned to boulders and our expected 3600m peak was surpassed, we topped out at 4200m. On route we became friends with a road maintenance truck that was also heading to Manizales, they were even taking the same amount of time we were. Their job for the next two days was to take photos and survey the road for damage from the volcano, in the end we proved too fast for the workers, either that or the road was so bad they had too much surveying to do. The road in typical Colombian form was brutal yet beautiful. We were cycling past volcanoes so I guess the road and weather conditions do make sense. The higher we climbed the worst the weather got, soon we were riding through rivers and eventually it felt as if we were actually riding in the river. We encountered very little traffic, the locals here still use horseback to move goods around as the road isn’t suitable for trucks and motorbikes, I would argue it’s barely suitable for bikes but at least the horses leave a considerate amount of space when overtaking! After a full day of riding uphill in horrible conditions we were graciously given shelter by a farmer in his potato shed, we pitched our tents shivering, cooked and turned in for our highest night yet, 4100m! We awoke to find the rain had passed but we were still very much in a cloud. We donned wet socks and shoes and climbed into our waterproofs, happy we had splashed the extra cash to buy decent ones. Before long the weather turned again, this time sleet and hailstones, well we might as-well give the jackets a real test! It wasn’t long before we realised we had conquered most of the climbing and now seemed to be traversing around the mountain/volcano enjoying brief spells of downhill. These downhills were no faster than our climbing due to the road conditions mind. We finally descended out of Los Nevados national park and hit tarmac once again, from here it was all downhill. One last route choice error saw us taking a road that we hoped would avoid us having a small climb into Manizales, as a consequence we were thrown back onto boulder roads rather than a smooth strip of tarmac we could have been riding. After what felt like forever we emerged from the forest trail we had descended on with numb hands but to oxygen saturated air, funny how under-rated breathing is... Our route had been a whole lot different than we had expected but one that I definitely don’t regret, the scenery was amazing and even though we couldn’t see Nevado del Ruiz we were always aware of its dominating presence as we climbed towards its peak. We now realised that we were a little behind schedule so opted to keep to the main road in order to get some big days in our legs. We made good progress, helped by the huge downhill from Manizales, and within 4 days we were once again venturing back into the mountains. We pushed big on our final day deciding to spend the night at some hot springs we had been told about. We peddled hard, battling tired leg and a failing mental state, we were on our 9th day straight of tough riding and we were really beginning to feel it, the idea of arriving at camp and being able to sit in some hot springs was the much needed motivation to get us up the ever worsening road. We arrived to be told it would be 60 000 pesos to camp and enjoy the hot springs, not the 15 000 we had been expecting to pay. With heavy hearts, and legs, we turned around and retreated to find a suitable field to pitch our tent. No matter how tired we were not willing to pay that much to camp. Luckily a small shop was happy to let us put our tent in their garden for the night, no hot springs but we were entertained by a very inquisitive little girl who didn’t seem to understand why our home was made of material! The next day saw us climb and climb and as always seems to happen in Colombia the road once again went to nothing more than rubble. With an excruciating slow pace and sideways rain we must have looked a real sorry state for at the top of one of the climbs a truck pulled over and offered us a lift to within 20km of our final destination. In the last 10 days we have turned down no fewer than 3 offers but it was here in the wind and rain, worrying about whether or not we would find a spot to pitch our tent for the night we gave in. The last 5km into San Angustin were straight uphill but we met enough road cyclists on the way who kept us motivated with their cheers and woops. One man even asked if he could ride Jess’s bike, which she was more than happy to offer as that meant she would ride his lightweight machine, however, he couldn’t even get started, the weight was too much for him. In hindsight learning how to ride a fully loaded touring bike on a 10% gradient wasn’t the best idea! It was also in the last 2km that a cyclist stopped and offered us a place in his hotel. He promised to meet us before the top, he was going to the bottom and back again and seeing our pace was confident he could do it before we could make it to town. With the added motivation of impressing yet another cyclist Jess turned on the pace and as the heavens opened once more we rolled into the town ahead of our new friend. We took shelter in a petrol station and waited for him to catch us. We were hoping to stay in a Casa de Ciclista in San Angustin however we were informed that the farm had been sold and no longer opened its doors to wet tired cyclists, lucky for us the cyclist we had met was true to his word and acted as a personal tour guide through the streets to his front door. Now that's a great service... We finally trundled into the hotel, cold, wet and tired, when a crazed man came running through the rain splashing through the puddles with little regard, turns out he and his partner are also cycling, coming from Alaska, and we are the first cyclists they have seen in South America, in his excitement at seeing us crawl past a bakery they were in he chased us down for a chat. Our hotel host invited us all in for coffee where we spent the next hour chatting about each other’s journeys. The owner of the hotel also explained how he wanted to make his place somewhere cyclists would come to, he offered us a discount and spoke about his own cycling experience. It is always nice when you arrive to a hotel and they don’t bat an eyelid at our filthy muddy bikes and our soaking wet bags. We now plan to spend a day or two recovering before we make for the Ecuadorian border! We took a day longer resting in our hotel and with it waved goodbye to 4 new friends. The crazed Austrian man (who turns out isn't crazy when he's not sprinting down streets in the rain) and his wife joined us in our hotel as well as a couple form Canada, we promised to do our best to make up the distance and ride the famous "el Trampolin de la muerte" together. With fresh legs we managed to make the distance up in the first day, I think the 4 other cyclists had gone slow to allow us to catch them, still, we felt pretty good with ourselves for smashing the distance and now becoming a touring group of 6. In Moccoa the Austrians had been told of some waterfalls that shouldn't be missed so we opted for one more rest day before we hit the notoriously tough tramplin road and with it went to check out some waterfalls at 'Fin Del Mundo' national park. With yet another rest day in our legs and the bonus as riding as group of 6 we were ready to face our challenge. The 'Trampolin de la muerte" started out gentle but wet. This stretch of road is known for its horrible weather so it was to little surprise that we were getting wet so early on. Slowly the road deteriorated and with it came our first river crossing. Jess was first to tackle the obstacle and if it weren't for a submerged boulder she would of made it across successfully. Unfortunatley said boulder stopped her in her tracks causing for a rather damp foot, and lower leg.. I was then up, learning from Jess' mistake I took a different route and navigated the torrent without putting a foot down, however, the river was so deep that it didn't make much difference to how dry my feet where. From the opposite bank we watched and cheered as the rest of our merry party made their own attempts at getting across, and just as Jess and myself, all ended up with wet feet. From this point on our luck with the weather changed, maybe the adventure gods were satisfied with how we had risen to the challenge of the river crossing and rewarded us for after a rather long lunch stop, we found a perfect shelter, not easy when there are 6 of you, the rain had subsided and the sun was starting to make an appearance. For the rest of the day we rode through breaking clouds with the ever changing vistas appearing and reappearing. It was here that we realised why this road was so spectacular. With the nicer weather our pace slowed, every bend offered a photo opportunity that couldn't be missed and before we new it we were in a rush to find somewhere to pitch our tents before the sun dipped below the mountainside. As we slowly climbed we spied some phone masts that promised to have at least some flat ground and although boggy we were able to pitch our tents in an almost horizontal position and enjoy the last of the suns rays as we cooked our evenings meal. The next day all norms and standard operating procedures had returned. It was wet and damp. We packed and saddled up ready for a rather different day on the bikes. The more we climbed the wetter it got and eventually we couldn't get any wetter. It was tough going, luckily riding as a 6 meant there was always at least one person to raise moral and keep our spirits from dampening too much. Lunch was a disappointment as the restaurant we had heard about, with a promise of a hot drink, was closed. The only ones who didn't seem to bothered by this was the Canadians, they took to showing off some of their dance skills to warm themselves up. Our day continued in much the same way, the unrelenting rain, the tough road conditions, and the ever changing emotional state. This road was showing its true colours and at times everyone of us wondered why it was so famous among cycle tourists. Was it sheer bravado and being able to say yes we were tough enough to do it, machoism if you will? Was it for the off chance of days such as the previous one where the views were spectacular? Or are we all, as cycle tourists, just slightly saddistic in the fact we like to earn our reward and get that rush at the end of some tough and challenging route? I can honestly say if it was only Jess and I on the route we would have probably taking the first car to offer us lift, being in a team, none of us could abandon the others and so we pushed on. Just as hope was fading and we were resigning ourselves to a long slog in the dark we came upon small town where we were offered a classroom to camp in. Again for most normal people this would not have been anything to get excited about, we were sleeping on the floor in a room with more than one broken window, but for this bunch of soaked and cold cycle tourers it was just as good as any hotel.. The small shop even offered home cooked meals, something Jess and I declined, a few too many nights in a hotel meant we opted to go budget and cook for ourselves while the others gorged. The next day dawned not bright and sunny but there was a definite lack of rain, we dressed in cold damp kit and carried on with the previous days climb, moral slightly better after a warm(ish) nights sleep. Within 4 km we had done it. We were at the top of the final pass and from here it was down to warmer, and hopefully drier, climates and also tarmac. We descended to a town called Colon and here we stopped to warm up in some of the hot springs, we were also able to make use of their function room to try and dry as much of our kit as was possible. Im not sure they knew what they let themselves in for when they offered the 6 of us the use of the room. Maybe it was the fact that we had fully taken over this room that, with a little sweet talking from Phillip, and a small extra charge, they allowed us to remain there for the night. With good wifi and ample room to hang tents and clothes once agin we were in cycle tourists heaven, I did feel slightly sorry for the cleaners that were going to have to deal with the aftermath of our stay however. After spending 5 days with our new friends it was time to say goodbye, with our timescale a little tighter than the others we needed to put in some bigger days and so off we set hoping to be in Ecuador within 3 days. The route didn't let up and before we knew it we were crawling our way up one of the longest, steep climbs we have done to date, everything was screaming at us to stop and wait or the others but on we pushed. Eventually, after 3 long days we made it. We rolled up to the border control and locked our bikes under the watchful eyes of the Colombian police. from here we were to queue and spend the next 2 hours waiting in line for our exit stamp. Our time in Colombia has been amazing, I would go as far to say it has been one of our favourite places to cycle, ok joint favourite, the Carretera Austral still holds found memories for us. 6 weeks has passed and with it some amazing backroads and some new friends, it's nice to be back on the main cycle touring route and hopefully Ecuador will be just as good!
We made a hasty retreat from Venezuela, a country that in our short time there deteriorated rapidly, Merida, the so called safe part even began to feel tense and with the riots becoming ever more violent and an incident that saw us lose our waterproof jackets at gunpoint we opted to pay for a ride to the border rather than risk anything else. Our trip to the border wasn’t without incident, corrupt police demanding money and our driver having to take back roads the whole way, apparently the main road isn’t safe even for Venezuelans, hijackings are common. We were dropped off at the border and hit another problem, “bikes aren’t allowed through this border crossing” We knew it was closed to vehicles but had been told that we would be fine with bicycles, apparently you are only allowed to pass on foot. The fact that we were pushing our bikes had escaped this soldier. We begged and pleaded explaining how we had no money left or time on our visa, we also told him we would carry our bikes as luggage if we had to. Finally with permission from some higher-ranking officer we were allowed to pass, a full baggage x-ray, no easy task for touring cyclist as we have so many bags and we were allowed to leave. Now to just get that exit stamp and we would be safe. Next problem, turns out you don’t get your exit stamp at the border like most places, oh no, in Venezuela you actually get your exit stamp from an office in the centre of town. Back into Venezuela it was! After 15 minutes of cycling around trying to find said office we were then sent away to get a photocopy of the exit form, paper is in short supply here along with food and basic medical supplies. With a photocopy acquired and the designated boxes filled and ticked we finally got the much sought after stamp and once again made for the border. This time we were able to pass through with ease and finally put an end to our Venezuelan chapter of the trip, not before one final problem mind! As we crossed the bridge that separates Colombia and Venezuela a barrier has been set up to prevent any vehicles getting through, this barrier however also hindered friendly cyclists. A quick drop, slide, push, pull, wiggle and kick the bikes were under and we were officially in Colombia. PHEW. We were welcomed with the biggest smiles by the Colombian military and overall friendliness. We let out a huge breath that we hadn’t realised we had been holding. Funny, 20 years ago it was Colombia with all the problems, now we couldn’t be more thankful to be here! It’s a shame for Venezuela that one man can cause so many problems, at the moment the UK is divided over our decision to leave Europe but after being in Venezuela this really isn’t all that horrific position to be in. Cucuta was our first stop and with it a supermarket, we were like kids in a candy store, this supermarket was fully stocked, after 2 months of struggling to find bread it was heaven to see full shelves. We spent at least 2 hours trawling the aisles making excited squeals at seeing food for the first time in two months. With the availability of food and our childlike innocence over what the monetary value was of anything we spent way too much and loved every minute of it. Our first evening in Colombia was spent feeling slightly ill after eating way too much of everything! It was in Cucuta that we hoped to buy new waterproofs, turns out this city doesn’t have everything. Upon further research it turns out we wouldn’t be able to buy a decent waterproof until either Medillin or Bogota, not ideal as these are both a good few weeks riding away! We left Cucuta excited and raring to go, I felt strangely naked not having a waterproof at hand, coming from the UK I have been brought up to always have a waterproof, even in the middle of summer! Our first day in Colombia was a brutal awakening into what lay ahead. Hills, or should I say mountains! Mountains that were even more difficult after spending a month off the bikes while we learnt Spanish, my Spanish is still terrible by the way… We rode uphill all day and eventually after failing to find any flat land for a tent a man took pity on us and invited us into his home, we slept in his kit room and later learned that he has a friend currently cycling around Colombia; so take note any of my friends back home, if you see anyone with loads of bags on a bicycle looking knackered offer them some floor space or even a chocolate bar, I guarantee you will make their week! The next day we left to carry on climbing, here we were met by another friendly Colombian who insisted we stay at his home for the night, we were going too slow to make the next 20km to the summit and it was too cold and wet for us to be stuck out. We accepted the offer and were treated to another example of Colombian hospitality, Jess has never eaten so much; food was being forced upon her as she was told “Eat, you need to be strong for tomorrow, big climb” We rode out with our new friend who had agreed to ride to the summit with us so that we didn’t get lost. A few hours later and peaking at 3300m we said goodbye to our new friend and rode on into the rain, not having waterproofs really sucks, especially on downhills! The day was up and down until the last 50km which saw us take an amazing downhill into Bucaramanga. Here we met our first official warm showers host and spent two days letting our out of condition bodies recover from the shock of all the uphill riding we had been doing! We also got advice on what route to take from here. It was here that we learnt that our old friend Jose, one of the two Brazilians we rode with in Patagonia, was also making his way through Colombia; it was agreed we had to try and meet up ride at least a day together if possible. With a deadline to meet Jose and a route set before us we were off. Unfortunately, in true South American form Jose quickly realised he was going to be late to our agreed meeting point. That gave Jess and I ample times to go get lost on some Colombian backroads. Our first day out of Bogota saw us in the saddle for 12 hours, so much for taking our time! The route we had been given led us to Zapatoca, a mere 73km away. Only problem was the huge valley we had to cross to get there. With a road layout worthy of the Tour de France we descended down to a river before commencing the climb, our timing wasn't great as we were attempting this 25km climb in the midday sun. We slogged and groaned and eventually rolled into Zapatoca just as the light was fading, an amazing ride and one that had earned us another rest day with another Warmshowers host! Unfortunatley we have very limited pictures of this route as while in Zapatoca I managed to format my memory card... We tore ourselves away from Zapatoca, a small town we loved, our warmshowers host herself had arrived and never managed to leave, she was from Belgium but fell in love and now lives in this small out of the way town. We left on dirt roads and the scenery was amazing, however with it came yet more climbing after, of course, we had made a decent to the valley floor! If you ask any Colombian where to go, somewhere along the way Barichara will crop up, with time to spare we took a small detour and stopped by for lunch, although very quaint we weren't blown away with the small town, in fact, we preferred Zapatoca, something about all the tourists here spoilt it for us... With our fill of tourist stop done for the day we headed back to the dusty roads in search for somewhere to camp. Often on our round about route, usually when trying to ask for directions, we hear "Por que? Es muy duro, es muy lejos" "Why this way? It's very hard, it's very far!" We try to explain that these harder and often out of the way roads offer so much more to us. One such road was leading to Duitama, a brand new highway had been built, 100km around the mountains and we could be there within a day or two, our road, a dirt track, used only by the farmers that lived and worked in the mountains we were riding into would take us a whole lot longer. We rode up a boulder field, laughing to ourselves at the route we had taken and second guessing ourselves on how we would descend if the road didn't improve. After what felt like hours of riding/pushing/bouncing up the road we spied an old farm sitting on top of a hill, we secretly hopped that this would be the top, however we knew full well we still had a lot of climbing still ahead of us.. We crawled to the gate praying to the adventure gods that the farmer would allow us to pitch a tent on some flat piece of land we had seen as we approached, The farmer saw our sorry state discussed with his wife and replied with "no, you can't camp...but would you like to stay in a room, we have plenty!" We spent the evening being fed on oranges from his land and taking in the amazing surroundings we found ourselves in. When we asked if it was ok for us to use our stove he told us there was no need, his wife was already preparing our dinner. We later learned that this farm wasn't his, he only looked after it for the owner who lived in Bucaramanga, we weren't too bothered though, we were just happy to be sleeping in horizontal position rather than in one of the slopping fields! We left in the morning after once again being fed and loaded up with oranges, we were assured that the climbing was somewhat easier form here on out. Our run of good luck with farmers continued and we managed to sleep in various fields and gardens along our backwards way through Colombia, we were also getting lucky with the weather, we seemed to be constantly running away form storm clouds all the way to Sogamoso where once again we took a day to recuperate with a warmshowers host, I was even given some Spanish lesson from their 3 year old daughter I don't think she was too impressed with my conversational skills however. Some more short days and yet more friendly locals allowing us to camp in their fields and gardens, as well as some more 3000 plus meter mountains and finally we arrived at our agreed meeting place with Jose. Our route to this point although long and winding had been some of the best and most interesting riding we have done in South America. The hills are tough and by far the highest we have climbed so far but we have loved every minute, ok not every minute, I was pretty miserable on a decent in the rain but other than that it's been all good. We may now be behind schedule but it was worth it; it was a pleasure to ride with an old friend again and hear his tales from the road. For 3 days we were a foursome again and it was just like being back in Patagonia all those months ago, all too soon though we said our goodbyes as we entered Bogota. Jose was to catch a flight to Panama to continue his ride to Alaska and we were finally going to get ourselves some waterproofs, sods law dictated that on this last day we would get truly soaked in a downpour that lasted longer than the average rain shower we had become accustomed to!!! Silver lining, at least it was our last day an not the first… Turns out waterproofs are expensive, especially when the pound is so bad due to the whole leaving Europe thing but after the previous days soaking we were willing to pay over the top for decent waterproofs, we also knew we had some more high altitude passes to cross and we didn’t want to be there without something we could rely on to keep the worst of the weather out. With our shopping spree done in Bogota and our brief ride with Jose over it was time to make some distance towards Ecuador. We now head towards Manizales and with it the world's longest climb. From there we pedal hard and head to Ecuador!!!
After bussing from Ciudad Bolivar we opted to try and venture into Merida, a small university town that sits at 1600m in the Andes, It has been awhile since we have been in or seen any real mountains and with Venezuelan buses not being great for bikes, especially the buses that would take us into Merida, we decided to try and find our mountain legs. We had 160km to climb to Merida, easy! What we didn’t realise was that between ourselves and Merida stood a 3600m pass. The first day was a mix of long gradual climbs with some short downhill’s to rest the legs, we even rode a stretch with some local cyclists, this went a long way to assuring us that we were now much safer and had gotten away from the dangers we had been warned about. No longer did everyone tell us horror stories, in fact everyone seemed to think it was a great idea what we were doing, they did keep mentioning 'montaña' i only wish they had made it a bit clearer just how big the 'moñtana' was! We managed 78km the first day and we had already reached 1600m, must be pretty much flat tomorrow… We managed 30km the next day. The road kicked up and never relented. We climbed into the clouds and for most of the day couldn’t see more than 10m. Every small village we passed had us convinced we were at the top yet the road never gave in. We found ourselves short of breath, we were limited to riding no more than 400m before we hung over our handle bars gasping for breath, the only thing that kept us going was the knowledge of a certain downhill that couldn’t be too far away. At a lofty 3600m, the highest we have ridden this trip we crested the hill, cold and wet we started our decent. Now the problem wasn’t lack of oxygen but lack of warmth, we were not dressed for high altitude riding in the rain so opted to take the first hotel we found to try and warm up! A warm shower and a long time under a thick layer of blankets and we had re-heated, our legs wouldn’t be re-fuelled for another few days though. The next day we awoke to clear skies but donned long sleeves and waterproofs non-the-less, memories of our time in Patagonia where we rode everyday wrapped up came flooding back. The next 50km was every cyclists dream, small mountain villages all passing us by in a blur as we free wheeled all the way. The weather was warming and we had surpassed yesterday’s distance in a blink of an eye. It wasn’t all down hill into Merida, we had a last 8km climb that was tough on depleted legs but we knew we would have a few days at least to recover before we had to ride out of here. Merida is a cool little university city nestled at the foot of a range of 5000m peaks, one of which we were hoping to climb however the weather dictated that we would instead go on a trip to Los Llanos to try and see an anaconda as well as countless other crazy animals they have down there. We climbed aboard an awesome Toyota land cruiser and retraced our steps back over the mountain, it was a hell of a lot easier this time round though, our driver even recognised us, he had seen us a few days earlier crawling up the pass as he drove back from a tour. We had an amazing trip and got lucky in seeing every animal we came to see, from an anteater to the legendary anaconda. We were even lucky enough to see an anaconda wrestle a crocodile. It was on this trip we learnt how cheap Merida is and taking this into consideration we have decided that we are going to take a month off the bikes here and take some time to try and improve our Spanish. Our original plan was to do this in Colombia but for the cost of one person to have group lessons in Colombia we are both able to learn and pay for accommodation here. So that’s it, for the next month we are going to be students again. We have got ourselves a room for 2 dollars a night and we have found ourselves a teacher. Who knows, maybe the next post will be in Spanish…
We received our visas with no fuss and no sooner than we had left border control the scaremongers started to tell their tales. You can’t ride your bike through the forest; people will cut your head off and take your bike… We opted to nod, agree and promise we wouldn’t before riding off to Santa Elena. I quickly dismissed the guys’ story as nonsense, why would they chop my head of to start with; surely they would just shoot or stab me, rather than have the messy ordeal of decapitating me. Jess however wasn’t finding it so easy to ignore the stories and after months of hearing horror stories of the country this was just more evidence to her that we may have made a bad choice! Before riding into Santa Elena we had to change some money with the countless touts who line the road on the way out of border control, it was here we realised just how big of a problem money was going to be. Any new country is always a little disorientating at the start, for us anyway, and we always struggle to get our head around the new currency and prices, Venezuela was no exception, in fact it was even more confusing because, as a tourist you change all your money at the black-market rate, the only problem was we didn’t know the said rate and being white and on bicycles we stuck out like sore thumbs as western tourists! Not wanting to be completely ripped off and knowing we had to get some money we opted to linger near one guy while he did a money swap with a Brazilian tourists. After trying to guess how much he was given we felt that he was a trustworthy fellow and did the dead. We exchanged about 20 dollars of Brazilian Reals, two paper notes, what we got back was insane. We received two bricks of 50’s which we quickly stashed in our panniers feeling like we were millionaires we rode off. It was nice to be back on the bikes after 3 weeks of boats busses and trekking but riding straight from the bus meant we were not in the ideal clothing, still we managed to roll into Santa Elena and get into a posada (cheap hotel), ok so there was no water in the bathroom but hey, after Brazilian prices this was great! Santa Elena was not what we were expecting, not that we really new what we were expecting, only this definitely wasn’t it. We had been told that Santa Elena was very touristy in Venezuelan terms and that a lot of westerners dared to venture this far into the country to climb Mount Roraima, before making a hasty retreat back into Brazil. We however could not find a trace of tourism. Nor could we see any other tourists. We put this down to first night in a new country-itus and retired for the night with a promise of finding the tourist hub come daylight. Long story short there isn’t really a tourist hub. We found one street with a few backpacker hotel/hostels and managed to get ourselves booked onto a trek to climb Roraima. Next problem was paying for the trip, 175 dollars each is a crazy volume of cash so a border run back to Brazil was in order to stock up on money to exchange. Mount Roraima was an amazing trip that was well worth the money, even if we did bump into another group coming down who had managed to cut out the tour operator and find a guide direct paying only 100 dollars for the same experience. I have trekked all over the world and nowhere I have been has been like the summit of Roraima, it is truly is another world and even though our run of amazing luck with the weather in the mountains ran out and we didn’t get a clear day, or a day without rain for that matter, it was still unbelievable. 5 days and 6 nights of trekking and we were back and ready for a rest day. We transferred the rest of our money and got tips on what was to come from a guy we met on our tour that has been in Venezuela for 2 months. A few more horror stories about the police check points and a headache on how to pack all the cash we had been given into our panniers and we were ready. The Gran Sabana is a stretch of road that leads through a national park in Venezuela, a road that if we wanted we could have paid to have a jeep tour along. Aha, looks like bringing our bikes to Venezuela was a good idea after all! The road was pretty spectacular with stunning views of Mt Roraima as well as countless waterfalls and places to camp. For 3 days we rode feeling relaxed and wondering where all these horror stories had come from. Even the police check points we came to were fine, in-fact the police and the military were amazed to see two cyclists and were always keen to chat and give us water if we needed. At this point I would have been moaning about how our route seemed to be always climbing, moaning that the extra 4kg of cold hard cash was weighing us down making it tougher, or moaning about the incessant headwind that never gave us a break… That is until we began a downhill that didn’t stop for 28km, not a gentle rolling downhill but a steep aggressive downhill that I have little doubt would have killed us if we were coming the other way, so yeh, I’ll just keep hush about the other stuff. We did feel slightly guilty as we euphorically descended. We definitely hadn’t earned this treat but rarely as a cyclist do you get such a gift and we weren’t going to complain or send it back. Little did we know that this downhill actually marked the end of our little trip through the Grand Sabana and we were now in bandit country as they say. Km88 crops up in most places to avoid in Venezuela, in fact everyone had told us not to go there and if we did not to stop. What we didn’t realise was that KM88 was the first big town we would hit after the Grand Sabana which has only one shop in which to try and stock up at! With no other option we made a quick trip to the supermarket, Jess did the shopping while I played body guard to the bikes. I would like to say that the feeling of unease was due to the stories I had been told of the place. The gentlemen that spoke to me were nice enough, just the same as anywhere else we have stopped and not once was I threatened or intimidated while waiting for Jess to get whatever food she could find like I was told I would be. Jess however will say that this town was very intimidating and she was starting to feel very uneasy. The next few days were not amazing cycling. Jess, who had made a classic error and read up on what was going on in the country, was now not enjoying herself due to fear. I was doing my best to tell her it was all rubbish and that so far we had encountered nothing but kindness, this was until we were passed by a pick up truck full of masked men who were heavily armed, the look of fear and the reaction from the people around told us this was no joke, we made a quick trip back to our hotel and locked our door! Camping since leaving the Gran Sabana was also very difficult, the country is experiencing a huge drought and most of the rivers have dried up, getting water during the day was an issue, that and we didn’t feel comfortable sleeping outside. Even hotels were running out of water and we were often limited to an hours use of water per day, we made the most of our water filter during this hour so that we had water for the road the next day! Although the riding was not amazing we were starting to feel slightly more comfortable on the road and in towns, we had managed to get off the main drag and had started cycling towards the hydroelectric dam, from here we knew we had two more days until we reached Ciudad Bolivar and from there we could re-asses and see how we were feeling regarding our safety. All was well; the road was amazing, very little traffic and the scenery was the best we had seen since leaving the Gran Sabana 5 days before. All too soon we arrived at a security check that turned out to not be a security check. Our intended road past the hydroelectric plant was closed. With a lack of water the company were worried of protests so had closed the road both ways, unfortunately no one had thought to mention this before we rode 84km to the dead end, ok maybe they did but with our awful Spanish we hadn’t seen any obvious signs saying closed! The guy who worked for the dam took pity on us and said he would speak to his supervisor and see what they could arrange; we were shown to a bus stop inside the gates and given fresh cold water for our troubles. After about 15 minutes a police pick up slowly approached, the military guy with AK47 to boot marched out and began a heated debate with them, some pointing at us and head shaking later the police car drove through the gates turned around and slowly left. Jess and I being the polite cyclists we are, waved them off wondering what was going on. The military guard then preceded to commence full lock down on the gates and told us it was no longer safe to leave. The dam worker also came out rather flustered and asked us if we had seen these police before. Before we knew the supervisor’s boss was with us telling us we need to load our bikes into the back of his 4x4 so he could drive us through the plant. It was on this drive that he told us those police should not have been at the gates especially with 5 men in the car, he told us all they were interested in was us. He told us with all seriousness that these police wanted our bikes, money or worse. From here we were not allowed to leave and spent the night in the house of a lady who worked at the opposite control gate to the one we tried to come in through, she fed us, did our washing and informed us that in the morning they would find a truck heading to Ciudad Bolivar that could take us and our bikes.
The more I think about the situation the stranger it becomes. We have had no trouble with the police and have found them all to have a genuine interest in what we are doing and our bikes. The police in the car didn’t not try to intimidate us and when we waved at one police officer, he waved back at us. However, the panic and the fear from the military and the workers at the dam was very real, the way they locked the gates and put our bikes in his car was all done out of fear. I’m not sure if there was a huge misunderstanding between the staff and the police, however if this was not the case then we just had a very lucky escape from becoming one of the horror stories we have heard all too often out here. After the incident Jess put her foot down and probably for the best we decide to bus to Merida, a town in the mountains that we had heard nothing but good things about. We spent a few days in Ciudad Bolivar looking into Angel Falls, the highest free falling waterfall in the world, but after being told the drought had reduced it to nothing more than a trickle of water that wasn’t even reaching the bottom we opted to save our money for something else. The buses in Venezuela were not as nice to our bikes as the Brazilians but we made it to Barinas with the only minor damages done to the mudguards. From Barinas we have nothing but mountains ahead of us. The start of the andes, the decision now is o we get back on our bikes or play it safe.... Our final month in Brazil has continued to be as impressive as our second month. The quiet roads continued and a few more boat rides thrown in for good measure. We left Tamandare hoping that we would somehow find a way across Rio Formoso without having to do the 60km added extra that our map was showing us. So far we have been able to catch countless boats of varying size and craftsmanship in order to stay as close to the sea as possible. We set of early hoping to catch the fishermen before the headed out to sea but all too soon we realised this was not a fishing type area. We slowly followed the road round thinking we had missed our chance to hop over the 5 or so km it would be to the other side and had resigned ourselves to a long day in the saddle that would see us make very little forward progress. This was until we crossed a bridge where we saw a number of small boats moored up. Jess showing great enthusiasm persuaded me to try and negotiate a lift. A few confused looks and some laughs later and we had a man who was willing to take us for a small fee. 15 minutes later with some shocked faces when the boat driver attempted to lift our bikes singlehandedly on to his vessel we were off. He dropped us at an old pier and helped us navigate the more run down sections before leaving us to continue our trip. We witnessed our first day of rain for over a month and learnt just how different this last month could have been if it wasn’t for the amazing weather we have become accustomed to. The dusty back roads we have been seeking out and enjoying so much turned out to be rather less entertaining when lightly damp. The surface became hungry to suck our wheels in and more often than not we were riding threw small lake size puddles. By the end of the day our legs and bikes were putting up some pretty strong complaints so we opted to give it up as a bad day and get in a cheap posada (Brazilain Hotel). The next day the sun returned but our bikes were not in a great shape. A quick roadside clean and we were off again, this time thankfully on drier roads that were once more fun to ride. It’s days like this that make me wonder how people do this day after day. How do their bikes keep turning, ours were in such a bad state after just one day of wet muddy riding, if the conditions hadn’t changed I don’t know how we would have kept the bikes in working order! We enjoyed some good stretches of road from here out but the adventure gods were keen to make us earn our Km this week as no sooner had the roads dried out than we began to hit stretches of sand that forced us to get off and push. Our road became more of a single track with a few boat crossing thrown in and eventually we found our way into a small town where we decided again to call it a day and rest. Luckily we found a perfect place right on the beach were we could watch the local surfers rip it up while we lazed around in the many hammocks. Thinking we had met every challenge the adventure gods had thrown at us, and not wanting to cycle 10km to a main road we thought we would try beach riding once again, low tide was at 8 am which gave us a perfect opportunity to be well on our way down the beach straight from our hotel room. Again we were punished and although the scenery was stunning the riding became impossible, 12km of pushing we made it back to compact dirt. With a horrible climb out of the town we had arrived in and feeling thoroughly deflated after a long days push we decided that we should get a hotel and recuperate. Two tough days and our bikes were in need of more than the quick road side clean we had given them, luckily our chosen hotel had an outdoor shower so our bikes got a bit of a treat in the form of a full wash down. The next day we were able to make decent progress once more with bikes that no longer screamed at us with each pedal stroke. With better roads came increase in traffic, still the odd 4x4 was bearable even if they did make us wait for the ever entertaining boat crossings, at least it was easier for us to get our bikes on and off these ones! We continued seeking out quiet roads and beaches as we slowly got closer to Fortaleza, we managed to camp on another beach, missing a nesting turtle by no more than 50m while we slept, getting to the beach involved some waiting around as we misjudged the tides and arrived too early to ride! Our route led us past sea cliffs and wind farms, past small villages that left us wondering what it is the locals do every day and even past a cycle touring club who were visiting from Brasilia. Unfortunately I had another spate of stomach related problems which left us stranded in the middle of nowhere in a woman’s hotel. This wasn’t the worst thing in the world as breakfast was amazing (for Jess, I wasn’t eating) and she even owned a parrot. The icing on the cake came when she even provided us with dinner and drugs for myself. What a woman. Shame our laptop was broken at the time as this would have been a perfect opportunity to get some serious film watching done! We finally arrived in Fortaleza and went in search of a computer repair shop, turns out the rough roads and beach riding had taken their toll on my Mac and it had decided it needed a break. Some time later and after paying for repairs I’m sure weren’t necessary the Mac is once again up and running. From the computer shop it was a quick dash to the bus station where once again we loaded our bikes with ease and settled in for the journey ahead. We arrived in Belem a hot sweaty mess as the air-con broke half way through our 28-hour bus ride, maybe the adventure gods were punishing us for not cycling this stretch! From Belem we would be catching a ferry boat to the heart of the Amazon, all we had to do was find where said ferry boat left from. Easier said than done. Turns out there are two ports in Belem and one of them is in a part of town that isn’t too friendly. We ended us purchasing our tickets from a travel agent to save us the hassle of having to spend too much time aimlessly wandering around the ghetto of Belem. With directions given and warning taken head of we decided to save a nights accommodation and sleep on the boat the night before it left, we were assured that once on the boat we would be perfectly safe… We made it to the boat after a nervous final km and set up our hammocks ensuring we had prime real estate for our 5 days on the boat. We spent the first night with maybe 15 other eager beavers and spent the next day watching as slowly but surely more and more hammocks were strung up surround our own. At 4 pm we left port and our mini cruise had begun; the next 5 days were spent doing not much. Reading, taking pictures, reading, sleeping, eating, reading… you get the picture. We awoke for sunrise and usually turned in for the night just after sunset. Occasionally we would be boarded by small, ninja like pirates. Luckily all they wanted was to sell us fruits and other goods! It was amazing to see children of no more than 9 or 10 driving boats alongside our ferry while another child pirate attached a grappling hook to the lower decks to secure the boat before the all nimbly hoped aboard; just as impressive was seeing them depart when they had grown tired of us! 5 days and we were in Manaus, the heart of the Amazon and we were ready to head into the jungle. We spent yet more time on boats, this time much smaller and slower mind; and even another night in a hammock! We enjoyed our time in the jungle but we soon realised that we would rather be in the mountains than sweating and being eaten alive in the trees. We saw an array of animals from sloths to river dolphins but the continuous onslaught of mosquitoes meant we were happy when we were able to get back to a hotel room. From Manaus it was onto another bus that would take us to our fourth country of the trip, Venezuela. Another overnight trip and we were at the border, we passed through border control with little fuss, we had made it with a day to spare on our Brazilian visa, and we entered Venezuela slightly apprehensive of what lies ahead. Venezuela has mixed reviews at the moment and the talk of every backpacker we have met is whether or not they are going to this country. We will see what lies ahead once we get our feet on the ground, all we know is that we will be staying away from the north of the country and will be visiting very few major cities!
We left Rio just as carnival was kicking off, too may people and increased accommodation prices convinced us we had made the right decision. North to Cabo Frio we were sure would be more to our taste. Turns out no matter where you go in Carnival it is busy; the picturesque beach towns we had been told about didn’t exist, accommodation was still over priced and we found ourselves constantly doing battle with crowds of tourists all in party spirit’s driving round with music blaring from over sized speakers. We did have one day that tricked us into thinking we had found what we were looking for. Quiet dusty roads, long empty beaches and amazing scenery all around, we were finally getting somewhere. Everything fell into place from stopping for a Coca-Cola that was then paid for by the store owner, to being invited into the home of a local to escape the heat of the day while he filled our empty water bottles with cold water. We were even able to watch English TV, well American Idol, but it was nice to understand what was being said for a change. We finished the day on a high loving that we had finally found the quiet roads we had been searching for, to top this day off we were given a free night in a hotel, the lovely owner said it was her contribution to the adventure. It’s these kind of days that make us realise why we cycle, it’s for these interactions, these random acts of kindness that make our trip even more special. The next day the quiet roads continued with somewhat more effort. First we had to unload and reload our bikes to fit through the fence that was designed to stop motorbikes and cars. Once through we realised that there was a warren of tracks to follow and no way of knowing just which one would hopefully take us where we needed to go. Through a combination of luck and wrong turns we found what we hoped was the path, what we didn’t know was that this path would have another 4 gates, the same design as the first one we had unloaded to get through. It’s ok though, at least we weren’t on the highway! Unfortunately, after we had pushed our bike under the last fence, rather than unload once more, we were back to the main highway and the busy traffic that we had become accustomed to; at least on this road there wasn’t any fences I suppose! We were able to see more of the beaches but we decided that the real beaches we were looking for were still further north. It was time to take another bus. We arrived in Salvador and had to negotiate the busy streets in the dark, not the start we were looking for but we were hopeful. Salvador is a quaint city and we spent the next day exploring the old part, Carnival was now over but evidence of the partying was everywhere. Getting out of Salvador was just as problematic as getting in; busy roads and not a great cycle network meant we were thrust into the hustle and bustle of major city life. Salvador also seems to go on forever, we rode all day and never seemed to get out of this sprawling city. This meant our first day riding was a long one and we didn’t manage to get into a hotel until well after dark, Jess was not happy about this! From here we realised that earlier starts are a must, the previous evenings ride had convinced Jess of this so it was now 6am that our alarm was ringing. The mornings meant riding was more pleasant, fresher and less traffic, we found ourselves finally enjoying the riding, still no deserted beaches but we definitely felt like we were heading in the right direction. The next few days we were constantly looking for roads by the beach, all we found were dead ends and un-ridable roads. We were starting to lose heart and weren’t really sure why we were riding at all. Maybe we should just bus the rest of Brazil, maybe this country wasn’t suitable for the kind of riding we wanted to do. We came to terms with the fact that the endless beach riding with uncountable places to string a hammock and sleep for the night was not realistic. Brazil couldn’t offer us this, at least not where we currently were. Our expectations and hopes were not viable. After a particularly tough day where we had ridden down to dead end roads with hopes soaring only for them to be dashed when we had to turn around we came to terms with our unrealistic expectations. We slumped into a ‘pousada’, a sort of cheap hotel, and decided that we would stop chasing this seemingly unattainable, idealistic image and enjoy what Brazil was offering. We had been so wrapped up in finding this beach that we hadn’t realised that the road was no longer busy. It was smooth asphalt and it was, we realised, stunning. We were winding our way through coconut plantations and we were loving life on a bicycle again. We even found a campsite where we could hang our hammocks for the first time since we had bought them in Rio. With our new found enthusiasm we realised just how good this stretch was, we were getting into small towns early as we weren’t chasing down every side road we thought may lead to a beach. We stayed in towns near to the beach and were able to swim in the afternoons, the 6am get ups were now 5.30am and we were fine with that, we set off early but we finished before the heat of the day baked us. We had found our rhythm for Brazil and just when we had given up on the deserted beaches we got our chance to ride one. We spent what was supposed to be one night with a warm shower host but that turned into three. We were made once again to feel like part of the family, right down to playing Barbie with his youngest child, Jess was in her element, she pretended she didn’t like it but I could see the pure joy in her eyes as she played. Our host told us of a stretch of road that wasn’t a road, we cold get onto the beach and for 40km there would be no roads, finally, we were going to ride the beach. We left Aracaju and made our way to Pitumbu hoping to make it in time for the tides, we would only be able to ride once the tide had gone out, the sand is too soft higher up the beach and as we found out even pushing is near impossible. Once the tide was out far enough we pushed our bikes past the beach dwellers to some strange looks an off we went, we rode as the sun was setting and when we felt like we were far enough away form anyone and everyone we stopped and set up our tent. This was to be our first night wild camping in Brazil, it had only taken us 45 or so days to do it! We awoke in the morning, packed and hit the beach once more, another 21 km of riding and we were at our exit point. Not even the head wind we rode into was enough to blow the smile of my face. From here it was back to the quiet roads, these roads often turning into nothing more than tracks that led to small boats that took us across the many rivers that lead to the sea, a few times we even managed short stretches on the beach once more. I also managed to get my own coconut and break it open, probably a highlight of the trip and something I’ve been wanting to do since we left Ushuaia, its not as easy as it looks though, if I was on a desert island I think I would burn more calories getting into the things than I would get from eating them!!! The last few weeks have been exactly what we wanted from Brazil, ok so we have only ridden and camped on the beach once but the routes we have been on since then have often felt like beach riding. Very rarely do we have to venture to the highway but when we do we know it won’t be for long. I just hope it carries on this way until we reach Belem, from here we catch a boat into the heart of the Amazon!
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AuthorDanny and Jessica living the nomadic dream. Archives
September 2017
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