Saturday Apr. 7, 2007
Luis, Ivan and I left Cali early to make the 600-ish km (373 mi) ride to Medellin. The scenery was typical Colombia beautiful and the second half of the trip was full of tight mountain twisties.
I was enjoying riding at a comfortably quick pace with my new BMW friends and we were nearly at Medellin when I hit a drop in the asphault (caused by an eartquake or landslide) right at the apex of a fast left-hand corner. My rear pannier contacted the ground hard and I was sent wobbling accross my lane to the right-hand shoulder before I could bring it back under control. It turns out I had reduced the tension on the rear spring while riding through the rough streets of Cali without a load and had forgotten to turn it back up. The combination of lower spring tension, riding fully-loaded with two guys that weren't and the unexpected bump caused my pannier to contact the road.
Thankfully, Ivan knew a good shop that would straighten my bent pannier and twisted rack to just about as good as new. Ivan was incredibly helpful and not only drove me around town while my bike was being reparied, but also introduced me to the great guys at Ruta 40 (the BMW moto dealer) and even gave me a tour of their museum to see the famous 'fat' artwork of Botero.
While at Ruta 40 one day I met a Russian on a BMW GS1200A named Vladimir. He also started his trip in September 2006 and had ridden from his home in Mosco to Morocco, down the very difficult east coast of Africa, flew to Buenas Aires and then up to Colombia in his relatively quick world-tour. He was raising money for a charity he started to help injured riders in Russian who couldn't pay for medical services. Vladimir is an incredible guy who I got to know better when I returned to Medellin after visiting Cartagena. I'll have more about him later, but be sure to visit his website (www.motopeople.ru) and use an online translator to read about his story.
After only a couple of days in Medellin I joined some of the guys from the Suzuki Super Store in Cali on a ride to Cartagena and the coast near Venezuela - the northern-most point in South America. It was a nice change to ride with some company and since it was the very popular and expensive Semana Santa (Holy) week; a great time to split hotel costs. There were four of us riding bikes and Juan Carlos - the owner of the store - brought a few others in his small truck.
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The second day of our trip north was a long day that started in the rain. We arrived to a remote beach in the dark hoping to setup camp, but instead found ourselves struggling to ride in the soft sand. We decided to turn around, get back on the highway and stay in a hotel in the next city. Before we got back to the highway, while on a small service road, Juan Carlos somehow rolled his truck a couple of times. Luckily, nobody was hurt and our long day just got a whole lot longer. We rolled the truck back onto its wheels, replaced the oil that had poured out of the engine and gathered all the broken bits and pieces before continuing to the nearest city another hour down the road. When we pulled into Riohacha the truck overheated so we had to stop and wait for it to cool down while adding more water. Amazingly, while waiting on the side of street beside this bashed up truck, a group of guys in a pickup truck (most sitting in the box drinking Scotch) stopped. They were friendly and wanted to know all about what happened and if there anything they could do to help - including providing shots of Scotch to anyone who would take them. When the police van going the opposite direction stopped I thought for sure everyone was in trouble, but all they did was make the owner of the truck turn it around and park on the other side of the road.
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These guys weren't going to let a little thing like a wrecked truck get in the way of their holiday plans though. So the next day we continued north (with a rented truck) toward the miniscule coastal town of Cabo de la Vela located in the uncomfortably hot and humid Guajira Peninsula.
While riding in, three of us went down slowly when the dry, desert looking sandy gravel gave up its concealed layer of mud just below. It was so humid, that the mud on my bike never dried in the 4 days we were there.
We camped on the Caribbean beach under a shelter made of thin wood strips, which definitely helped. But between the heat, humidity and lack of facilities I was ready to leave after two nights. Guess I'm just not the 'lay around in the sun all day' type afterall.
Interestingly, allmost all the gas in the towns and cities near the Venezuelan borders was drastically cheaper and typically sold from jerry cans. That was because it was carried in from Venezuela where gas costs pennies a liter.
Everywhere you look out here you can see that life is tough. From the incredibly sad and decrepid houses in the middle of the windswept, cooked landscape to the transport of live goats strapped to the back of bicycles (I thought they were dead too - until he rode across a set of railway tracks and they complained bitterly).
It was allot of fun spending the week with my new friends from Cali. They were always laughing and joking about something or other, and I wondered when the last time was that I experienced this kind of silliness in my on country where people seem to be so serious all the time. And even though I wanted to, for some reason I just didn't possess the ability to be as light hearted as they were. Here they were; ordinary people with ordinary troubles in a country with all kinds of extra-ordinary problems, laughing at everything and not allowing anything to interfere with their happiness - I was envious.
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So after a few days at the beach we finally headed west (getting my second punture in the rear tire) to Cartagena. It was a modern city full of touristy apartments, restaurants and beaches, but more importantly, the most beautiful Spanish colonail old-town I've ever seen. It was located at the edge of the city behind tall stone walls - actually coral I think - with some cannons still in place atop.
Seven of us split an expensive apartment for a few days while enjoying fresh fruit breakfasts and rich Juan Valdez coffee that would put Starbucks to shame. It was a beautiful place to visit, but the heat and humidity made it impossible to imagine staying there any longer.
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