Author: bens game

Hiking The CDT – Part 1 – Glacier Park

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I was looking for something to do once upon a time and pulled out a book called the ‘Worlds Greatest Adventure Treks’. In it a large series of treks around the world for those who’s minds would wander.  I learned within a hour or so of reading that hiking has a season in most places, dictated by cold, heat and rain. In the time slot coming up for me was the CDT, most hikers were already on trail walking North from the Mexican border, but the book hinted that at the start of June, one or two battle hardened warriors with nothing to live for have the gall to hike South. I could be that guy!

For those unaware, the Continental Divide Trail is a trail that runs from the Mexican Border approximately 3000 miles to Canada, following the water divide of the Rockies. In many places, one side of the path drains to the Pacific, the other side to the Atlantic. It is recommended for hardened vets of the hiking world. I remember being told a comparison to the other USA long trails while on it. The Appalachian trail is like a kitten, gentle, places you can order fast food to the trail and a good many people to hike with. The Pacific Crest trail like a grown cat, fun to pet but can bite and scratch once in a while. But ‘the Divide’, it’s a raging mountain lion you’re holding by the ears’. I do wonder how hard it really is in comparison to the others, having no time on them. But my experience was the best of my life

It started a month or so before, reading up on this trail, there were things called resupply packages people would prepare months in advance, I didn’t have time to sort these. My food preparations were made in Seattle to cover me for the first 4 days mainly consisting of powdered potato and M&Ms. The maps, I was too late to order good ones. I printed off 800 miles of trail on my computer on letter sized paper that seemed to make the bulk of my hiking pack. The low print quality wasn’t great, but I knew there had to be real maps out around the national parks so I wasn’t too concerned.

  I bought a two season sleeping bag with the thought I can wear extra clothes if I am cold. A pair of Merrell Moab Ventilator shoes, reputedly great for hiking but the bane of my life most the time I wore them, a titanium cup and spirit stove for cooking, and a new waterproof top. The pack all in weighed non too much. I had a spare pair of socks, a warm top, and lots of micropore tape to fix myself. I also had an adventure time hat that looked befitting for any budding angler.

I arrived in Glacier Park Ready but feeling kind of stupid. I booked into a hostel for a few days to get used to the area and get my bearings. I didn’t want to push to hard in these first days, a few months before I had a herniated disc in my back so painful I couldn’t take one step forwards without pain shooting through my butt and down my leg. I accepted coming out here was a risk and if on day one I had to abandon the trip, at least it would have been a scenic break. I met a guy called Axle, who had just ran a half marathon nearby and we decided to do a few hikes together. It was nice and chilled hiking in the overpowering pine forests. It felt high on the resin smell. After a few days I decided it was time to start. I picked up a permit and stuck my thumb out at the roadside to hitch to the trailhead. Committed, hiked in.

The first day was 20miles. Not a big target, but a good first day. I passed most of it clapping my hands and shouting ‘Hey Bear’ to ward away fear until the sun began to set. Climbing over a pass as the sun began to set I raced down thinking of making camp before nightfall. Then, it happened… what my parents told me would be the death of me weeks before, the fear I said would not happen. In a clearing, on the middle of the trail Beelzebub incarnate, a monstrous Grizzly Bear. I felt feeble and small. The canister of bear spray i bought in the town seemed pointless. I wondered how quickly it would charge through the red mist. How quickly it would tear though my skin to the bone and chuck me about. How my family would read the headline the next day, that was it over. Gone.

The bear did not charge, but after a few seconds or minutes, he turned and walked off into the forest and quiet filled the air. Just like that, most the fear I had felt vanished. I was buzzing. A grizzly bear! I jogged along silent but ecstatic. The last mile to camp passed fast, arriving at the camp there were others. I told them of the Grizzly bear encounter. ‘Your first one hey?’ came the response.

I woke the next morning in the dark, made a coffee then rushed to catch up with a hiker called Oldschool. A precise man with  a love of the outdoors. He was also hiking the Divide and we agreed to hike together the next days, I was feeling relieved to have someone to hike with while in grizzly country.  We hiked into St Marys and grabbed a hot drink from the hotel before heading out into the rain and thunder. Call it reckless, most hikers will stay indoors for lighting, but to hike thousands of miles in the same season, the safety margin is cut. We gained elevation, up into a whiteout into the freezing cold, and away from comfort. Early in the season snow still covers the trails and as we came up through the alpine flowers it soon became hard to navigate. On a steep hillside, the path disappeared into white hardened snow. A quick check of our general direction on the map,  We put on crampons, brought out the ice axes and started across.  It felt like hours and thunder rumbled overhead. I remembered reading once upon a time snow is a poor conductor of lighting and I kept telling myself this. We climbed quickly to the top of the pass and descended just as quick away from the rumbling monsters. The walk down was long but at the end of this day camp would be welcome and the sooner the better. We arrived at camp in the dark. Pitched up on Oldschools pitch (I was ahead of my permit) and slept. We agreed it would be good to have another early start. Each days rations I packed into individual ziplock bags, trying to vary the chocolate, potato and what ever treats I had for the day to keep it exciting. I liked this system of organisation. the food lived in a dry sack i would hang up the trees at night.

The next day was wet. The paths overgrown, fresh green vegetation soaking me, like walking through a river of ice. It was painful, but liberating to be out. The miles ground by with the underside of my feet aching. Each stop I would take off the shoes and socks and let them breathe. Full well knowing the depression of putting back on wet sock in ten minutes would be miserable. For lunch the small stove would come out and into the cup would go powdered potato and a few sprinkles of bacon bits for flavour. Another pass to climb, followed by a long descent, a short break then another climb, almost hypnotic, all thoughts leave and I keep walking. Towards the evening we come across a Moose, I had never really considered what to do if there was a Moose, so I stood bemused. Like most wildlife, it weighed me and Oldschool up, paused, and walked away. It seemed to move the whole forest around it as it forced with ease through the trees. We reached camp, pitched up and went to sleep.

I woke in the night to the sound of crushing and thumping, what could be making this sound? The nylon skin keeping me from the outside felt thin. I slept uneasy. I asked Oldschool in the morning if he heard it. To which he replied it is probably a bear, they sound like a drunk man stumbling about when they forage. We packed  up our small camp and carried on upwards. Today there would be two passes. Walking over compacted snow we gained height in a large bowl aiming for where we knew our pass was. I was loving the alpine trees and spaces. I raced ahead and waited at the top of the pass for my friend to catch up. We knew in the next valley was a small store next to Two Medicine lake. A few hours hiking brought us to a welcoming owner who was in awe of what we were attempting, we received free breakfast wraps, as many as we could eat, and free coffee. I wasn’t expecting this but was told it’s know as trail magic. People who see what you’re attempting and want to help. We set off replenished with a final short pass to climb and from the top could almost see the hostel a few miles off. This was the end of the first leg. Glacier complete. It felt easy. Three days and the first hundred miles in. I was sore but happy, my back was holding up and I would have a beer to celebrate at the hostel. I booked in, did my laundry the next day and studied the next section of hiking so I knew how much food to buy from the small store in town.

Ramblings Of Nervous Energy

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I have been sat the past five weeks locked down in Spain unable to leave the house. I’m not unhappy about this, the opposite is true, I’m quite fortunate in fact.  Things have been sedate but peaceful. The weather one expects when in Spain has been absent and instead I have had been subject to days of mist and downpour which has given me time to collect my thoughts.  What thoughts you ask? Well, sit down with a cup of tea like the good chap or Lassie I know you will be and let me dispense these thoughts.
Part uno.  Most people I know of are growing up and taking steady jobs, along with a mortgage and paying attention to what will happen in 40 years when they retire. This old cockle of life has told them that this is indeed the plateau life comes to. The main and only hinging of their life to which all energies should be focused. Sensible, inevitable and pointless to refute.
Part Dos. A good many of the Stars, idols or what ever we like to call them in life, or specifically with reference to my life and interests, have gone. The life span of mountaineers and adventurers is often snuffed out too soon, the people in their prime leading the way. It raises the ethics of what is this pursuit worth when balanced against life. I know when I tell people what I like to spend my time doing they don’t see a rational man in front of them but an idiot, who hasn’t weighed up their future final years or immediate years that could be. A great folly.
 I was reading a conclusion to an interesting study today. One by the American Cancer Society. 127,000 Healthy people (no underlying conditions at the time of signing up) were questioned for the study over a course of over 21 years. After 48,784 of them had passed away, a connection was made between sitting average of six or more hours per day and a 19 percent increased risk of dying from any of the mentioned -cancer, coronary heart disease, stroke, diabetes, liver disease, peptic ulcer, digestive diseases, parkinsons, alzheimers,nervous disorder and musculoskeletal disorder. While the study notes this is not the cause of death, and it is wide open to interpretation, I think it does show whether you believe in god or evolution, our bodies are not designed or evolved to be desk jockeys. We are not meant for a corporate machine sitting still like a good boy monotonously processing data only stopping to eat or sleep.  The risk to life increases with the hours sat. Sat at a desk hoping for a pain free retirement but failing to reach it, thus never really living their life.
I have spent a good while not working and travelling or just doing the things I enjoy. When I do work, I work hard, or as hard as I can. I don’t hold much in the way of possessions, I never have a fancy car, usually an old banger of a van, but I have experiences I wouldn’t change for the world. After the 2008 financial crisis and carpentry dried up, I spent a long while on a road bicycle cycling, it brought me joy the whole summer, I wore out bearings and components, replaced them, and wore them out again. I worked at an outdoor centre part time for a while and spent every spare minute I had hiking, running, climbing or kayaking,  then after a while working again I went to Australia and spent a good deal of time on beaches and going around national parks. After a year when it was over and I came home, I had a good part of the following summer off work going to festivals and camping and just being me. The following year I tried the Royal Marines for a few weeks, and after leaving, decided a few months later to hike a trail I read about as a kid in a book called ‘The worlds greatest adventure treks’. I hiked 2400 miles of the CDT at a blistering pace and had never been more content in life. It wasn’t the aim, but it is what I did. A couple of years later a cycled roughly along the same route but climbing peaks I could only dream about as a child. I then met Karli and kept going. We drove down through Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama, onto Colombia. We hung around there a while having a blast with friends before shipping the car back to the states, Spending spring and summer in Colorado then heading off again to Colombia to cycle tour North to South. The plans have rarely gone perfect, but the freedom of adventure has not stopped. We jumped across the pond and have skipped back and forth between Britain and Europe climbing and hiking at every opportunity. This has taken ten years to cram in this fun, and only skims the surface.  The point is my life hasn’t fit into a regular life standard for most people, but when my joints are worn out in another 40 years. When arthritis has set in and the cartilage has gone. When I am forced to retire like the rest and I am down to a state pension alone,  I can finally sit down. I can sit and write a book about the life of retirement from age 18. I can write about 60 years of adventures if I am so lucky to get so many. I can write of the hardships, I can write of the lows, the Highs not experienced in the ‘common hours’. I can write of the beautiful people I met along the way.
I don’t want to live normally, I don’t want to be enslaved to a car payment, I don’t want your insanity, I don’t want your two weeks out of each year to make it worth it. I don’t want the lie that is sold every day.  Have you ever read the book and been inspired by the man who took a steady job in an office, saved for retirement, then retired? That will not be my book when it comes to the curtain call.

Naranjo De Bulnes, such a cool peak
waking to coffee
tea on the Cornwall Coast
where on earth looks like this, taken in Colombia south of Bogota
My feet after 900miles on the CDT
in the heat of the climb
karli and henning chillin out at an anchor

Part B on the Way

 

Pico Uriellu

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So, Becoming bored of France and desiring more mountain in my life, we decided to pop on the highway and drove on. Spain just exploded into coastal mountains, sweeping highways bringing us in and out of coves and bays and ultimately beer that seems to taste better.  Aiming vaguely for a national park called Picos De Europa we found it had a peak treasured by Spanish Mountaineers, Pico Uriellu or Naranjo de Bulnes (Orange of Bulnes).

Its sounds uninteresting but let me tell you more- The peak is 8,264ft from sea level, which is close by. To get to the peak you need to carry your climbing gear up through the 6,500ft of Spanish summer which lands you at the base of something special. It isn’t the biggest peak in the area, but with a 1739ft headwall it’s a head turner. There are no footpaths up this one.

Pico Uriellu on the hike out

I should say at the beach below we met a nice guy called Henning who was passionate about getting out climbing and wanted to join us, and naturally, having some spare camping gear, we were more than happy to oblige. We started the hike in the middle of the afternoon because we like to suffer and it seemed a good idea. 1000ft below basecamp Karli threw up all the food and water she had eaten on the way in and the paced slowed. It can’t have been pleasant but seeing the end was near, she carried on. Arriving in the evening outside the mountain hut we loosely pitched the tent and settled down to a terrible dinner of packet pasta and nuts. It’s up there among the least appealing meals, bland, bad tasting, the kind of food you might not feed your dog but for some reason choose to eat on your holiday. Sitting below the intimidating face was pretty cool as it turned red in the setting sun. We had reservations about coming to climb it on a weekend and the queues that might form due to its popularity, but all would be well.

The secret and ease to the climb for us was, if we went around the back and scrambled 500ft up to the South Face, it would be much shorter. Our route was called Directa de los Martinez, Named after the man who climbed the peak Solo in 1904 and consisting of 490ft of easy climbing peaking at 5.7 on the Yosemite Decimal system (US climbing grade), followed by 400ft of exposed steep scrambling to the summit. There were a couple of climbers on route already which was nice as we had no guide book, just a phone picture of a page taken in a coffee shop way down below. It’s my first time climbing trad on limestone, hence the picking of an easy route, and it didn’t disappoint. Short but so much fun. The sun came around half way up and reaching the last bolted anchor , we put the ropes in the bag and scrambled up to the top; hitting the ridge at lunchtime, the ground dropped vertically 1000ft from where we had just come, and straight down 1700 the other way. With other climbing teams on the peak, the descent using the rappel stations was slow but allowed us to take in the views a little more. Arriving back down to our packs dehydrated after not really drinking any water and with it being 2pm and again hot, we began the slow descent down to the car on a long winding path.

karli and henning chillin out at an anchor
me eyeing up the route before beginning
the mountain hut below the face
rappelling back down
views for miles
the start of the descent towards the chain anchors
sport climbing today a few miles further on

I have to admit something, after spending time in the states and central, I have started liking the America climbing grading better than the UK grading system. It just seems easier, less wording, almost digital compared to analogue. We are now doing some sports climbing in Valles Del Trubia. Thats all for now

🙂

 

Europa Report

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Its been a while, since the cycle tour stopped still in Southern Colombia. Its stopped after weeks spent in a hotel room ill to an alarming point. At first the thought of a week off would see us well, then we would set off. After a week of not improving and being toilet bound the thought came of going to a doctor, while trying every drug from the local pharmacies. Prescriptions are not required in Colombia so anything is available. The drug that fixed us in the end after weeks of illness was conveyed to us as a drug that will kill everything in out guts. We took it according to the vague guidlines of the pharmacist. After taking it we googled it and found the combination we were given was banned in most the world due to the very nasty side effects caused. The severeness of the vertigo effect was horrible, I couldn’t make it the meter from the bed of the hotel room to the door, making it to the bathroom was no fun. Me and Karli were stuck on the bed wondering if we needed to go to hospital with the double realisation we didn’t know the address of the hotel room, the number to call or how we would convey the problem over the phone. The whole day and night was spent doing backflips as the room span violently. Knowing this was the side effect made it less painful just closing eyes and riding it out. A couple of days later the diarrhoea had stopped but motivation was lacking. It felt like half the cycle tour was spent ill. We also read about a series of climbing fatalities in Peru in the days around, this really put a damper on our spirits. We decided to stop the trip.   When we were well enough to travel we took the bus with all of our gear back to Bogota It was a long slow journey despite the lightning speed the buses drive. A few more days and we were in the states.  I know this won’t be the last I will see of Colombia or South America, there are plans to return and continue. I love it over there. But for now circumstances have changed.

We couldn’t spend time in the states as my Visa only allows 6 months out of each year and I had already maxed the 6 months the last time, so we flew on to the UK. We waxed a lot of money flying us, our bikes and gear out of South America short notice, then even more money moving us and the gear onto the UK. Touching down in mid December to darkness at 4 pm and continual cold damp rain was quite sobering. We moved into my older brother Mikes’ house for a few weeks while deciding what to do next. Over Christmas I bought a van and we moved into the Travel Beasts house for the next 6 months. With buying the van, business insurance and just the general costs of living the debt after the flight climbed up. It was good fun living with best friends but at 6 months Karli’s Visa for the UK was also maxed.

It was a hectic 6 months of work and very little play, we only made it out for one ice climb, a few scrambles/hikes and a couple of rock climbs while back. The month before going was spent trying to help the travel beasts with their Landcruiser project and before we knew it was time to go again. A hastily converted van giving us comforts of life inculding insulation, power sockets, a leisure battery, double burner and sink, draws, cupboards for clothing, a double swivelling seat soon sank more money but the feeling was it would be worth it.  We swung by a castle on the way south, had a few days on a beach in Cornwall then boarded a ferry for Roscoff, France. We have three months in Europe and a modest but steady online income to slowly recoup our expenses and get us onto the next trip.

Karli’s first surfboard
hard at work on morning
me i guess
waking to coffee
Cornwall
tea on the Cornwall Coast
spiral staircase in a castle
cutting a hole for the roof vent on the van
solar power to help keep charged on the road
an english forest

At present we are living in Quiberon on a quiet beach car park surviving off fresh baguettes, cheese, wine and all the other fresh veggies and fruits. Things we will have to endure in this barbarically sunny place with a tedious fresh morning breeze and ground coffee. Its a suffer fest out here.  The van is packed with two surf boards (newly aquired and brilliant fun), two kayaks, a bicycle, the climbing and mountaineering equipment, the tent, basically everything we own combined for a summer of fun and work. All around the area are Old Bunkers from WW2 and its quite spooky to walk around them seeing the damage from shells and bullets.

graffitti now covers the old shelter
a machine gun hole covering the entrance
the inside to the sighting tower blasted

Something more interesting here tomorrow……………………

🙂

The Eternal Slog Of the Pointless Kind

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After leaving Suesca we have started making terribly awful but fun decisions. The first was taking a tiny mountain road the locals said might not be advisable. We were warned as we camped at a horse ranch where we ate dinner the evening before, that even though the FARC situation was over, the road our satnav chose was an un-policed road and until a year or two ago was risky. But, was probably OK now. The owner of the ranch also admitted it would avoid all traffic and we would probably see no cars.

The road started with a climb to 9000 feet then plummeted down. Our presumption was we would be at 1200 feet before lunch with little to no pedaling.  The dense cloud forest at the top was, I will be honest, scary.  It was unpaved road with concrete at the steepest points on hairpin corners and some very large drops to the side. I quickly found going down such a steep road on a bike with a 50kg trailer is a terrifying ordeal where either my brakes were fully applied but the bike would accelerate into the whiteout with no idea if it was a cliff edge or road ahead, or my back wheel would lock up and trailer try to jack knife me. It had me ready to jump off the bike if needs be in a few places. The hideous squeal of straining brakes and fast repeating sound of spokes creaking and twinging under strain. I even put on my helmet in fear of a wipeout. After descending a few miles and settling into the descent as much as one could, there was a smell permeating its way through the air to us. It was not just a passing smell, it was strong and went on for miles. The forest stank of Cannabis. We didn’t see any people, but we couldn’t see much of anything. I remembered watching documentaries a few years ago about the remote mountain areas in Colombia and imagined just what was hidden up the hundreds of small mountain valleys departing the road side. The owner of the ranch may have been right about the road. But we descended down unhindered.

the picture doesn’t ever do justice .

At about 5000 feet and with great relief we were spat out onto a paved road above a town, and quickly joined a main road we could have taken around the mountains. We followed the road and expected to have brunch at around 3500 feet. Unknown to us, at some point on this road, for this day, the traffic was changed from two-way to one way. It was bizarre, one second we had cars going our way, we rounded a corner, patched a tube on our trailer and suddenly to our confusion the traffic was flying uphill in both lanes. We couldn’t work it out, all the signs were in our direction and we were told at the next town down the traffic would be normal again, but there was no other way to the valley bottom. It started raining heavily. We decided we were in as much danger trying to cycle up in the rain as cycle down so carried on down the narrow shoulder. The shoulder soon gave way to road works and excavations, a crazy barrier hopping operation ensued. We were sprinting from one gap to the next between zooming cars. The next town was less than a mile but in heavy traffic it took hours. On reaching the town it was chaos with officers trying to direct the overwhelming number of cars. We found out this redirection would last until 7pm. Deciding it was enough danger for the day we booked a hotel and rested. The next day was easy and far less scary.

A couple of easy days riding and 150miles brought us to the edge of the Tatacoa Desert. Ahhh, deserts, the hot dry places that support a disproportionate amount of flies and cause untold amounts of saddle sores. Fortunately this one is small, more a dry valley bottom, but at 32c (90f+) and Cacti about, I guess it qualifies as Colombia’s second. We had the option of a beautiful straight paved highway or a dirt road off to the side. Being bad at decision making we took the desert road. What could have been an easy mornings ride to town turned into a hilly sandy gravel slog. I am thankful this desert was not as big as Colombias’ Northern desert and would be over quick. A lot of the road was covered in small river stones on hard base, which cause a lot of wheel spin problems cycling uphill. Imagine a hill of marbles and a trailer trying to pull you backwards. This results in frustration and after grinding to a halt then attemping to push the pile of steel and climbing gear up hills, with feet then in turn slipping back down. There were some cool tunnels near the start of the road in which light did not shine and I presume gave the overhead bats a nice home. Towards evening we reached the touristy part of the desert (there is a paved road in from the south) and decided to reside the night at a mud bath and spring. This was a nice break but in the morning while we packed, I was eaten alive by tiny flies. My legs speckled all over like some form of chicken pox that went into over kill.

The Daunting Task Ahead

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We are getting ready to depart Suesca and set off South. I’m nervous.

Its great fun picking challenges and seeing them fall. But sat here I’m feeling so small. We are about one tenth of the way into the ride miles wise. But The climbs ahead are huge. The mountains even bigger. To a terrifying point. As a bike ride alone, its big. With the huge weight being hauled, its colossal. While in the hostel this morning I was talking to a french man who was backpacking and hiking about the country. He said he and his friends left the climbing gear at home but hire it where they can because its awkward hauling it around.  An easier way to do it, and a fun way.

A couple of years ago I was hiking the CDT southbound in the States. After tearing away at the trail for a month, I sat down at the top of a mountain alone, off in the distance all I could see were more mountains and ridgelines after all the peaks and ranges I had already covered. I tore away at that trail with every ounce I had, from dawn till dusk a burning fire inside. I covered about 1000 miles and had barely chipped at it. I sat there feeling so small. It was wonderful. I had so little but it was brilliant. I accepted that it couldn’t be bullied into submission, It made me so content. I woke each day with bloodied toes blisters, painful plantar fascia(the bottom of the foot being strained too much), a slow hobble start to each day. Wet half frozen shoes and river crossings to make the blisters burn. Meadows up to my chest covered in dew soaking me through. Its sounds awful, but it was beautiful. Once it was accepted it became easy.

The point I’m trying to poorly make is, I don’t think anybody could call hauling a trailer up a few thousand feet enjoyable, but there is joy to be had in some far off places when the suffering is accepted . Karli was just looking at the ascent we have to do to the Ecuador border- according to Gaia GPS 73,000ft of ascent. I can hope its wrong. We have to cycle up Everest twice and it still will rise 15,000 more feet. Just to get across Colombia. Ouch.

“I learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours”. – Henry David Thoreau

Doing the average things can be nice and comfortable. But trying for something more, facing insurmountable odds, even if it were to fail will bring more joy and emotion than you could ever know before setting off. Old Henry is right. Viva la expedición.

 

 

 

Back to Climbing

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We arrived in Suesca after a slow ride over a couple of passes from Villa de Leyva. An extra 6000ft of climbing, but relatively easy and broken up with an overnight stay beside a railway line with a curious cow for company. I had mixed feelings about Suesca this time. We have been here a week and climbed a few routes. Nerves have been getting the better of me. Though most the trad has been 5.6 (US Grade) and like walking up a staircase, the harder routes i didn’t lead (5.10+) felt real hard. I supposed due to training on a bicycle in the states instead of climbing for 6 months I am now like a heavy legged small armed tyrannosaurus , but slightly fatter.  One favourite route from last time we were here used to have a large undercut hold 15 foot off the ground. Now it lacks that hold and a large rucksack sized block of sandstone sits at the bottom of the crag, which in turn as it fell, has loosened a couple more holds, slightly nerving. This day also unleashed rain as we were finishing climbing, with lightning striking the top of the crag repeatedly with supersonic booms. We had been talking about taking a shower at some point and Suesca gave us a cold one in style.

our pet cow for the night
a rather wet walk back
spot the karli way below

After letting the rope dry a day or two we went out with the aim of climbing more technical routes and work on crack climbing ability, something I really don’t do well. A local guide having a day off joined us and introduced us to a slightly overhanging crack he lead and with a fun technical crux I fell off repeatedly. Its always nice to have someone push you on a route you wouldn’t have otherwise climbed and encourage technique.   My body feels pretty beat up now.

a view of the crag from the other side of the valley.
elvis the hostel dog in Suesca
Karli chilling at a top out
an enthusiastic cyclist came out his house to give us sugary treats for our trip, we enjoyed these over a couple of days
cycling up and over from Villa de Leyva

Along the way even in the first thousand mile we have been passing some brilliant national parks we would loved to have visited. But, the limitations on them put us off. With an increase in outdoor users creating more wear parks like Cocuuy have been closed almost permanently. This park used to have a one week hiking trail through beautiful paramo and alpine environments. Now it is limited to two half day hike for which you have to pay a park entry fee, have a guide and purchase insurance. This isn’t quite our style of park. The Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta rises from sea level to 17,000ft. But is virtually closed to tourists, there are a few trails for multi day hikes with a couple of local companies (including trips to the lost city Ciudad Perdida ), but the general consensus is it climbing peaks can’t be down without the help from the locals and the indigenous people who are suspicious of outsiders. They control the trails and the area has also been the point of ‘tourist taxes/kidnappings with gorilla groups. Though the problem is for the main part over, we decided to skip it with the aim of bigger mountains down the line with free access. Seeing how parks are ran in different countries does give me a real appreciation of the free park access back in the UK. I think the U.S. national park system giving back country users very cheap access is brilliant, and the free National forest system even more so. I guess in countries with a newly evolving outdoor scene are going to have a rougher start, but is good they are trying to control damage.

Over the past week my sleeping bag has been loosing feathers at quite a high rate. The little nicks and cuts I have neglected for so long showing white blossom each morning. The corners of the tent looking like a fox made it into the coop. My efforts to re-stuff the fluff back in are futile and yet- I haven’t dug through the bags for the repair tape we have hauled since we began. I think today might be the day I repair it, but then again, I could just climb instead?

25,000ft and Rising

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We have crossed the first thousand mile mark and with 25,000 vertical feet of cycling uphill, and have arrived in Villa De Leyva (7000ft). I’m sat here drinking wine out of a box contemplating the next 25,000. There was a rather large pass from sea level to 8600ft that added a fair chunk to the climb, this followed a rolling ridge line with great views. So the total climb was around 11,000 feet of gain, followed by another drop to 5000ft then three thousand feet of climbing which landed us here at a nice cool 7k. Confusing but imagine two steps up, one down for every foot of elevation gain. It is the start of the Andes I guess and only gets bigger from here. We are a day or so cycle from Suesca, a nice little climbing village we visited a year ago and decided to come back by. The scenery up here is like the Lake District, my home mountains, but with slightly bigger hills.

Arriving in the town was a little of a downer, both in elevation and morale. Getting in late and tired a pack of dogs managed to rip a pannier off Karli’s bike as she was riding, it now has teeth holes pierced in the sides. The dogs aren’t all bad. Yesterday we adopted a stray dog that wanted petting and it followed us around the streets and shops as we became regular tourists for a few hours. Its quite shocking that between the two of us we can survive on about 30,000pesos a day (10dollar, or 7GBP) in most places in Colombia but soon as we join the regular tourist trail, that will buy breakfast at best. Maybe we have become complacent but it was quite funny watching ‘Gringos’ walking around with backpacks on their fronts wearing Panama hats and travel trousers. Backpacks are worn on the front to prevent pick pocketing/pack slashing in risky places.  Its a wonder its done here where the locals are friendly and whole town warm and inviting, compared to back home in big cities that I would be worried about.  We did find a local that wanted to show us around so dropped the panniers and trailer for the day, drank a beer then went for a ride to some small lagunas for sunset, followed by beer in the square til we were tired. (P.S we rode back in the dark with Karli at the front with one bike light, the local in the middle, no lights; and me at the back with a reversed headlight on red.)

Normally bike packing I would have a tarp sheet to sleep under, a pad to sleep on and a two season sleeping bag weighing in at 600g. Combine it with a titanium cup, a spork, a spirit-stove, a synthetic insulated jacket and spare pair of thick socks my gear would tip the scale at around 3-4kg (8lbs), plus a backpack and food. I hauled this nice light weight the length of the rockies climbing along the way and it was a blast, nice and light. This trip is a little different. The potential extremes alone covering temperatures from over 38c down to -30c (100f- -20f) requiring heavier duty sleeping bags. High winds requiring a stronger heavier tent. Cold weather mountaineering clothing combined with technical, double boots for extended duration in cold. Hauling a mix of Sport climbing and mountaineering equipment. This trip is going to push the limit of our gear. Its going to push the bikes, instead of aluminium or carbon, strong but malleable steel that can take the punishment of the extra weight. This all adds up to a spectacularly hideous weight I will not say. But anybody out there with climbing experience can guess what the weight is like.  Right now this is a cold weather, high altitude expedition in a warm place. But the mountains grow around us like a waiting menace, the cold is coming. We opted for a two wheel trailer to take the brunt, it removes a lot of the strain of balancing a loaded bicycle. I suspect It will suffer a slow agonizing death over this trip, gravel road after pothole after speed bump (really popular in this part of the world).  I don’t suspect much we have will survive the whole thing. So far its doing well for how roughly we have treated it.

I think the worst thing for wear will be us. Every day on the bikes our bodies get stronger, fat burns, the heart rate lowers, the reach becomes greater.  But each time I look in the mirror I see an aging man staring back. Unrecognizable. Sunburned, weathered, beaten and wrinkled. I feel bad for a second, but then I look at my girlfriend and think, at least I’m not looking as bad as her.  Life goes on.

Colombia’s Northern Heat

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Well, a week on and we have cycled hundreds more miles. We have sweat, a lot. From the moment we get on the bikes in the morning our clothing soaks through. The pungent smell we have made warns locals of our presence downwind long before they can see us. Despite the constant washing of clothing and ourselves at night in the showers of hotels we are being forced to take it to the next level and buy washing powder. My heart is torn by the 30cent I just spent on it. I wish i could tell you its all beaches and beer and smiling faces but reality is reality. Sweat mixed with grease mixed with rain and dirt.

early morning the clouds gave us a little longer in the shade
just before sunrise cycling out of town, karli just visible
localized flooding during a downpour
rain
a quick beer break as it downpoured (still hot)
trying to keep ahead of a lightning storm continually rumbling

We have cycled some of the areas they advise not to go, and although there is a very large military presence with regular checkpoints every few miles, we have been told by locals and the soldiers it’s because we are so close to Venezuela’s border, and it’s safe here. At one point we sat on a concrete block under the shade of a tree and a few seconds later a couple of soldiers came out the brush to say Hi and see what we were doing. After they walked back in we realized watching us in the trees, camo’d up was an entire squad. They were all rather curious. Certainly every local we have spotted has waved, tooted a horn or said ‘good day’. Sometimes it’s a bit much, one horn of encouragement can be nice. But every single motorcycle, car and truck honking and waving becomes a little repetitive, like a builder jack hammering concrete on the only day you get off. With a hint of ground hog day, as it happens every day, again, and again. I wonder how Bill Murray would like this ride.

shiny new trucks
old fuel station melting into the hillside and forest
local going for water with pack animals
forest lining the roadside, can you spot us?
a break from the green tunnel
temporary road closure as they fell trees, working quickly they tear them apart and clear the road

Being from Britain I despise the heat and can’t say it was my favourite bicycle tour, but with hotels with A/C starting at 8 dollar a night, the nice one we are in right now costing 10 per night, I can’t say its been all too bad, more like a nice tune up for the actual tour which starts the day after tomorrow.

It’s been a lot of rice, plantains and a serve of meat for breakfast, second breakfast, lunch and dinner. Each morning I have worked on my caffeine addiction, starting the day right with a bottle of Vive Cien, the local energy drink. I feel like with a little work the whole day could be powered by it. Stuff of the future.

soup starter
truck stop for breakfast one morning
salad????????
food glorious food
breakfast of champions

The road leaving Uribia (the north) started off nice for one hundred or so miles, deteriorated rapidly when hitting a main trucking route, then built to a nice single lane highway with a reasonable 4 foot hard shoulder to cycle on. The truck drivers are rather considerate of cyclists, possibly because most Colombians have started life on a bike and know what its like to be so small and vulnerable. They give a wide berth to the dismay of oncoming cars who are nearly forced off the road. The buses on the other hand are the devils spawn. The give a loud honk from a distance to warn you they are coming and do not slow for anyone, it was scary last year driving some of the passes here and seeing the same buses overtaking going down a narrow pass road on a blind bend. We also witnessed a head on crash with one last year. This was on my mind most the time.

This though resulted in a change of road choice, there is a really cool Canyon called Chicamocha we planned on cycling, a vertical 5000ft similar to the grand canyon but smaller. Cools views but with a dangerous narrow road during, before and after lasting around 100 miles. Something we could do without really. Instead, we have cycled further south on the main route (boring, humid, sweaty, and noisy with wagons) and have pulled off on to a much quieter road that goes all the way straight to 9000ft. We are currently at 600ft, and the base of the climb after 20 miles of what could be described as a perfect touring road. Climbing this will drop us straight into beautiful views, intermittent lightning, and cooler days where we can start camping properly. While hotels have been nice, it feels like we spend the time either cycling or between four walls, quite a disconnect from the enviroment around us.

I learned this week the difference between enchilada and ensalada (anybody surprised its taken me this long), after ordering what I thought would be a nice filling meal what came was a light chicken salad. Mainly salad. This was soon rectified when we left the restaurant, rounded a corner to the main square and found it came alive after nightfall with really tasty, really cheap food. They always say don’t go out at night, but when in Rome….   Basically go to eat when the locals eat, say 7ish and there is good food. Go before and its slim pickings of the expensive kind.

The last few days have been half shaded with clouds rolling over which is a nice break from the sun and puts off heat stroke and exhaustion for a few more hours. There have even been a couple of very short, but very heavy downpours in which we struggle to see more than a dozen yards, only to cycle out of it and find sunshine baking us again. When we clear the top of the mountain we expect the living cost to be about 15 dollar a day for both of us. Right now with hotels its around $25. We also expect much nicer coffee. Thats all for now.

climbing a small pass on the main route
perfect road the last 20 miles with a cool windy bit further down
im really not sure what to call this
plantation roadside
ranchers

Cycling to Punta Gallinas (The Northern Tip of South America)

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The worst ideas in the long sad history of bad ideas are normally realized half way through doing whatever it was you set out to do. In this case it was realized 6pm after a strenuous day cycling a desert and finding the cheap bags of water we dragged with us had bust open, reducing our capacity and soaking our pillows (fleeces) in the process. Not only lost water where we needed it the most after 35c and high humidity, but the fact I had hauled dead weight that slowed us through the day, only for it to evaporate away at the end of the night leaving us with nothing. Welcome to the Punta Gallinas Cycle.

We start from Uribia, a bicycle shaped town and the last town before Punta Gallinas. The town revolves around the bicycle with bike taxis, the market assembling on the back of load carrying trikes and a lot of colour. Hotels cost about 20-24 dollars a night, which is high for us, but more than compensated by the cheap street food and decent meals for three USD. The local guides told us it wasn’t possible to cycle there and certainly the bemused looks from locals made us sure it would be a full micro adventure on our big South America adventure. We rose early as the market was assembling for the the day to gather supplies needed for the trip. We left our climbing equipment at the hotel telling them we would be back in three to four days. We had been used to buying heavy duty 6 liter bags of water to keep us hydrated but at this hour, the vendors were not open that held them. So we substituted them for light duty 3 liter bags which, though looking frail and not ideal certainly were water. We supplemented them with 4 large bottles of water that would form our turn back point (24l), the point at which water was low and if we couldn’t purchase any more we would head back. All in around 50 liters. This figure sounds crazy, but in the heat and humidity we decided we needed 6 liters for a days cycling between us, plus 6 for properly rehydrating overnight. We stocked up on food the only way we knew how- potato chips, sugary gummies and bread, vaguely counting the calories and deciding ‘that should do it’.

teaching the local kids chess, they loved the ‘check’ part
tasty street food
bicycle taxis heading into the market
vehicle loading up to head out
loading with water in the trailer

Leaving town the sky was overcast, the temp warm, but not hot, and the wind already getting up. We had an easy 30 miles on a gravel road parallel to a rail line before crossing into the scrub and start of 4 wheel drive trail. We sat to eat our lunch of potato chip, only to find my front tire was flat when we were ready to set off. This was to be a theme of the next couple of days.   The area was mainly cacti up to 8 feet high creating a dense desolate dry forest with plenty of thorns and needles on the ground making bicycle landmines. Some trail was hard packed and easy, but interspersed with sandy patches that were soul destroying. The hope was it would stop around every winding corner. It didn’t stop the wheels turning , but was hard going. I slightly regret not buying the fat tires for the trailer but most the time it did well.      (The bicycle tires we picked are Schwalbe marathon mtb 2.4″ with a good smooth rolling tread on the center but some reasonable traction for the rougher stuff, and with some puncture resistance, though I don’t think any tire has puncture resistance to match the size and hardness of thorns out here.)

goat heard

As the hours churned by, one wheel rotation after another, we felt progress was good. The occasional 4×4 would stop to ask where we were going and advised that it’s a long long way on a bicycle, even for a four wheel drive. It was nice knowing we had a decent reserve of water taking pressure off this thought. As each three liter bag was emptied, we checked progress and knew we were on track perfectly for water there and back. The whilst Karli was behind me she noticed drips coming of the trailer. On inspection, needle sized holes had sprouted and were soaking the t-shirts and socks placed to cushion them. We quickly drank the water we had and filled our bottles with the bust bag. So started the system of dealing with leaks that would repeat over the next two days.

To our surprise, there are people living out here, though on what I cannot imagine. Everything is brought out on wagons . Due to the boost in tourism going to the most Northern Point, the locals had started blocking the road with toll stations made of shredded tires, old clothing, and anything else they could get their hands on. There must be around 40 attempts at charging 2000 pesos (60cent) making this probably the most expensive road in South America mile for mile (based on no supportive facts) but also the worst. We realized pretty quickly though that they listen out for cars and when they hear them an armada of kids come running at them with hands held out and quickly pull up their makeshift rope to bring vehicles to a stop. Unfortunately for them we were not cars and made no noise so we were just chased by kids often. A few roadblocks we did as the locals and rode around them on the motorcycle pass gap.

Things were slowly becoming more sparse and sandier. Half way through the day we passed a military checkpoint searching a water tanker for illicit goods. They seemed befuddled by our being there on bicycle and untrained for the circumstance, letting us pass with a confused look. On we rode through the burning sun. The cacti soon gave way to open pans where the full effect of the headwind was felt, a good 20-25 mph with gusts of 30, it was hard and hot. Our sweat mixed with the dirt creating tan mud on our legs. Salt crystallizing on our clothes where the heat baked them. Despite the cloud cover the temperature was still over 30c/90f.

pushing out of some of the deeper sand
one of the mud/salt pans at sea level

We took a break at the edge of one of the pans.

‘Karli?’ I asked as we sat back to back for support.

‘Ye?’ came the response a few seconds later.

‘Have you ever felt like you were cycling across a desert?’. to which we both chuckled a little.

IMG_0564

big flat pan at sea level, the sea water of an inlet not far off to the side.

The flat open areas were a welcome break from the cactus watch but the winds took a bit of the joy, struggling to make much more than 10mph. We took a wrong branch at one point and upon turning barely had to pedal to get back to the junction. Off to the side of the hard packed track was a thin crust that would start sticking to the wheels if we ventured off. Towards the end of the day and feeling pretty beat by the heat, we picked a half rock/ half sand dune to make camp beneath, that would keep us reasonably out of sight. Using the bikes and rocks to stake out the tent, we chucked our pads inside and sat down. We had covered as a conservative guess 52 miles (not accounting for the twists and winds of the road). This was disappointing. We knew it also meant a second day just like it. Opening our panniers we then found two nearly empty bags of water and two soaked fleeces- our pillows for the night. With a sigh we lay them out to dry and ate dinner, a combination of potato chip, bread and biscuits and drank the rest of the bust bags. At least we would be well watered. The night sleep was uncomfortable and for the main, the sleep part lacked. When the alarm went off at half 4, I knew it would be a slow day. Rationality might have said turn back, you just lost more water, but we still had a few liters till we hit the turn back point. Sometimes good surprises happen. Today is cloudless, and the full intensity of the sun piercing down.

We set off to find the remnants of more roadblocks. We came to a fork that offered a choice of what was on the map, a road through the ocean, we were guessing a wetter pan, or a hilly alternate with more cactus. We chose the hilly way not wanting to risk turning back. What followed was probably close to type 3 fun, with the odd little downhill on which we still had to pedal into wind. (Note Karli’s hat sinched tight and flapping up in most of the pictures).

taking a breather
cacti
some of the better road out there

Some time in the afternoon we came to a small town that sold cold drinks and some provisions for 2-3 times the value back in Uribia. I don’t resent prices like that, It was pretty nice to have some cool pop unexpectedly in the middle of a scorching day but it did raise the question would we have enough for more water on return? We didn’t expect to need cash in a desert. On we rode eventually moving onto the return supply of water, I was glad to be drinking some of the 24 liter (52lb) I had hauled behind me.  I would like to say it made me faster, but heat and a bad night sleep make anything worse. We passed a tanker who stopped and asked.

“donde van? Punta Gallinas?” To which we replied “Si.”

He smiled and said we were almost there, it’s just around the bend. This was the best news all day. But the reality was that bend was 10 miles of soft ground and a final climb up to the costal cliffs. This was tedious, hot, grinding labour. Like a filthy headache that just won’t give in. The heat was getting to us both. That sickly taste of knowing you can’t keep going like this. Checking every mile watching them slowly count down on the map. We arrived on top of the cliff around 3pm. On a rock was painted the words Hospedaje with an arrow. We headed straight for it.

view of the sea from the hostel
hammock and a beer were in order

Arriving we ordered some food and a couple of beers, relieved to be in some shade. With the sea in sight, I didn’t feel the need to walk down and put my feet in, that looked like more work than it was worth and the beer that looked like it was stored under a chicken coup was more welcome. The hard part was done. Now, with a tailwind we rode downhill 5miles back to camp.

cacti

I sat at the roadside for probably the tenth time that day to assess my punctured tube. As the day wore on and frustration built over either completely disassembling to put a new patch on or just pump it up for another few miles, it was getting a bit sickening. We decided we had done the hard part. But with a failing pump, a tube with a needle wielding ghost in it and low on water we conceded we could hitch a ride out. The next morning before dawn we saw lights coming over the cliff down to us. It was a local making his once a week run to Uribia. He had already picked up a couple of guys and three goats for the market. He was happy to give us a ride if we bought him an Empenada in town. Seemed like a pretty good deal. I thought it would detract from the adventure, but with no guarantee of other vehicles that could help if things went downhill, we hopped on. It was kind of fun but also with a hint of ‘this is scary am I going to die being flipped from the wagon as we hit sand on an adverse cambered corner.’? I wondered if I would realize? Would it be fast? Would I be paralyzed and have to send Karli to the hotel with the bikes while waiting for rescue? Would they chuck me in with the goat like a carcass? Before I had considered much more we stopped to pick up a lady and her kid (making it 4 people in the 2-seater front) plus a mile further on a farmer and his dozen goats off to market. It was a bit odd to have someone pass me goats by the bound legs and hauling them up and in. It did feel honest. Though the last goat had eaten a lot and wasn’t easy to pick up.

crossing one of the pans in a 4×4 was a little easier
guess how many goats?

The first few miles the farmer that joined us spent re-organizing the heads and necks so they wouldn’t suffocate, after which I was surprised they all seemed to go to sleep, only to hit a bump in the road and they would let out a horrific long wail. I am happy to say by the time we reached town and unloaded the goats they were all still alive and after a quick bit of business the original three goats seemed to be sold to the herder of the many. For how long they would stay alive I do not know. What I do know, is that our lunch that day tasted very fresh. So concluded going to the most northern point. Our panniers covered in dust and goat poop the can no longer join us in the hotel room. While we could have got a ride to the northern point and cycled South, this seemed more fun and worked out well.

NOW SOUTH TO THE ANDES!!!IMG_0527