travel

The Most Powerful Prison Is Our Own Mind

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I’m sat on a warm autumn evening at the chart table of our boat. The warm glow from the red led switches providing a dim light. Listening to the cooker come on and off as I wait for dinner to heat. Tonights dinner- a beef stew Karli slow cooked today. The companion way is open and I can hear the wind howling through the shrouds of the sailboats around us. The remnant of a storm that will have kept many sailors up along the Atlantic coast the night before.

We entered this marina to escape the uncertainty of anchor. We have never had a bad experience at anchor. Karli and I have owned this boat for 4 years now. Which means for 4 years, the stresses of countless storms have kept us up at night. But we have never dragged. Yet.

When we launched our boat, it was the last job of the day. Moments later the staff in the marina finished for their Christmas holidays. We tied up the boat on the dockside and hoped we had done a good enough job. When darkness came, so did the wind. On the edge of the river Lune concealed in the safety of Glasson Dock the wind built up. It howled and screamed through the rigging of the boats still in the water. The boat heeled over the whole night, rocking aggressively with each gust. It was unsettling. The creaks of rope as they went tense. At around 3am, exhausted, I started to sleep. Then the rain came. I woke to look out of the front berth into the saloon. Water dripped down from multiple points. This was the culmination of three months of working 7am to 10pm trying to get the boat restored and ready. It was a low point. We hugged as we went to sleep.

The next morning we woke exhausted and started assessing the damage. Our beautiful butterfly hatch had delicate gutters made of glued teak. The glue had given up and offered an unhindered passage for water to the inside below. We had been told ‘All boats leak’. We set about covering the deck with a tarp over the boom so we could get it dry and fix the problem.

Every day from there had some form of lesson to learn of being a boat owner. The old paraffin stove in the corner burning all day most of the winter, keeping the saloon warm, as outside became colder. In January, the inner dock froze, creating a white ice up to the edge of the boat. This would occasionally wake us in the night, as ice tightened to the outside of the hull, and wind would rock us. The gravelly sound of ice scraping the waterline. I would get up and walk over the iced covered deck to break the sheet up with a long wooden boathook. The cold wind cutting into the waterproofs I had loosely thrown on.

The day we left Glasson Dock was a calm day at the start of May. The tidal range in the area is quite high (around 7m/23ft), and when you leave, there is no turning back. The tide sweeps you out. For our first passage, three good friends came to help and keep a watchful eye, with the promise they would only provide guidance if we did something questionable. The passage went well. But from the following morning, we were alone. We dropped our friends off on shore, and set off towards the North Channel, and Scotland. The sailing and working out tides was simple business. You look it up in a book. You read the pilot guide. You check the weather, you plan the route, and then execute.

Sleeping in a new environment however, brought stress. Each time a new sound was encountered in the night, I would get up and walk around the boat. Searching for the source, trying to glean what it meant and if something needed doing. Even tied to a swinging mooring had an initial disorientation. I would wake in the night, look out the companion way and see a different shore to when I went to sleep. Before realizing the boat had swung with the tide and all was well.

As we sailed South, every night at anchor would be beautiful, but as the wind grew stronger, the doubts would set in. Back in Glasson Dock, we prioritized buying the best anchor we possibly could, and put off fancier upgrades in place of paper charts, books and basics. We settled on a 25Kg Spade anchor.

Over the past years we have met many a boat that have dragged anchor. We have seen many drag anchor. We have had tales retold of ‘that day’. But through every storm, our anchor has held solid. We hope this trend continues, though we bet one day we will drag. Its unsettling to see stick figures running up and down the deck as a boat drifts slowly backwards, hoping to catch themselves before the boat runs aground or strikes a second or third boat. It always coincides with rain that stings the face as I take a look around.

I have also spent many nights sat in the saloon in full waterproofs waiting for the moment I dread. With an anchor alarm set, repeatedly looking at the weather models wondering when the worst will pass, or when the wind will veer giving a new chance of pain. Standing and looking out the windows, wondering which other boat is about to lose its grip.

Tonight I am sat after enjoying a home cooked meal, safely tied up in a marina, knowing I will sleep the night. It’s a relief.

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’.

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

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

Eposide 3- The Pollo (chicken) Strikes Back

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We spent three days in Santa Marta in a small hotel not daring to venture more than a few feet from the toilet. It seems the roadside chicken we’d eaten the previous day had been seasoned with E coli. Food poisoning doesn’t give the nicest day of riding so we decided to be smart and stay still.

The hotel in which we stayed was down a small corridor between two buildings protected by a sliding steel gate. Down the corridor was Guille, the owner, a happy man who seemed excited to see us. We explained we weren’t well and would be staying a few days. The rooms in the hotel were up a spiral staircase that seemed to be grasping on to the broken concrete mounts at the top for dear life. Into the room the walls were painted a mixture of yellow, blue, white, and the cutting of the paint giving a good 2 inch overlap where the roller had been extra zealous. we paid an extra dollar (totaling $15 per night for two of us) for air conditioning and found the hotel would run out of water each morning for a hour or two. If the toilet was used before the water came back on, it was a case of ‘do not go in there’. It was painful being this early into a tour and being so sick, but we still have a year ahead of us.

Dosing up on pepto-bismol we began convincing ourselves we were feeling better, and, three days after it started agreed the following morning we would chance roadside diarrhea, depart early and cycle up the pass that would take us along the coast.

leaving the mountains the scrub begins
banana plantations
coastal views
climbing the pass

The road would slowly rise up through thick tropic forest giving way to views down the valley. From sea level to 1300 feet, it was early, cloudy and nice and cool so progress was easy. I was ahead of Karli by a couple of hundred yards and had a short but interesting conversation at the top with two locals in which they asked me something, and I not understanding either nodded or shrugged my shoulders until her arrival. On coming down the other side we started hitting the tourist trail hard. Bus loads of backpackers were dispersing on their exciting adventures, signs were appearing written in English. Meals that would normally cost three dollars were costing ten. This was my worst nightmare, but with an advantage of knowing there would be accommodation in every town. We cycled round 40 miles with some beautiful coastline to the next tourist town. Again the nightmare hit, locals greeting us in English, shops selling trinkets for twenty dollars. We pulled up to a hostel that had no A/C and took a room in the back , in a more traditional style hut with a thatched leaf roof and rather large spring in the floor right were the bed was centered. Everywhere we go the locals are amazed by one; the fact we are cycling from one town to the next, and two; the bright yellow trailer on tow the likes of which they have never seen, but think is so cool.

shade under a tree in the heat, it was a mistake to wheel the trailer this far, note the big thorns in the foreground
leaving the mountains the scrub begins
a toll booth with cycle lanes beside

Yesterday we cycled 56 miles into Riohacha. A terrible days cycling, which started on rolling hills with a headwind. This soon changed as we hit the flat lands, the temperature climbed to 95F and the headwind steadily rose to 18-20 mph with gusts undoubtedly beyond. It was rather like trying to cycle into into a giant loud hairdryer the whole day. There was no visible sweat, just crisp dryness and a lot of heat. It would be bad enough on a day out ride, but with the panniers and a trailer between us; aerodynamics weren’t great, this was little fun. We took breaks every 15 miles under the shade of the odd tree sitting carefully between the two inch thorny growths and cacti. (this gave the first of the trailer flat tires, carelessness on my part). Things are beginning to get barren, and as the land becomes barren, the homes and roadside shops stop. As we cycled my eyes were fixed on the paved surface looking for steel-hard thorns being blown in clusters by wind. There weren’t many locals cycling this road. Towards the end of the ride entering the town was a small shop selling cool bottles of pop.

The last leg of our northbound journey is towards Punto Gallinas (northern most point) with headwinds up to 26mph. Which will be a true grind test. It is nice knowing the prevailing wind will make the ride back South easier. This is averaging the smallest mile per day tour I have done. Normally 60 to 110 miles a day is pleasant- we are currently averaging 25 mile per day (though cycling around 45), but considering the heat, the lost days to food poisoning and the daily headwind dragging us down, it’s not too bad. Soon we turn south west and the wind should be behind us for a couple of months.

little puppy i fed
breakfast
me having an early afternoon nap after discovering spare time

We do have the option of turning south right were we are now and going straight to Bogota, but what’s a tour without a little suffering? 😉

one last break in the shade with 10 miles to go
the thorns i pulled out my shoes in the hotel room
our little hut complete with a holey mosquito net

A Clip Too Far!

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‘When you have time to think about how far your falling, its a big fall.’

After setting off on the  chance we might be able to get the next room ferry, then finding that we wouldn’t be able to catch the next roro ferry, we decided to head back to La Mojarra which was an hour away for some more sport climbing. This time we pushed a little harder, climbing 5.10s and the odd 5.11. It was brilliant fun. I also took a rather large fall, the first in a while. In the picture below I fell from where I was in the pic, to just past the dark pocket at the bottom of the picture. I fumbled at the clip, attempting to clip from a tiny crimp, putting up rope, dropping it, pulling more rope, then realising my hand barely had the crimp and I would be off before my hand was back at the gate. I decided to fall. While falling, it crossed my mind I had been falling quite some time (normally a fall is over before you realise its begun. Eventually the rope went tight and I let out a big ‘Wooooooh!’. A few minutes later I re-climbed the route, realising instead of holding the crimp an arms reach away there was a very easy to hold jug right next to the bolt. O well.

 

Karli also challenged herself leading every 5.9 of la Mojarra in a single day, and adding a couple of 10’s for good measure. It was great to be back with Chris and Nicole, pushing each other to climb other routes and taking plenty of falls along the way. La Mojarra is bolted in a perfect bolt before the crux manor sport climbers love, making falls safe and comfortable.

 

Each evening we have had the menu in the restaurant down to a fine art, picking the best value beer and hot food for the lowest price. Halving the bill compared to last time. Above are a few pics of the La Mojarra setting.

 

We are now a day out of Cartagena, getting ready to ship the vehicle back that will set in motion a series of events leading to us cycling South America.

A Place Full Of Unnoticeable Masters

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“Behind the rock in the Dark probably hides a tiger, and the coiling giant root resembles a crouching dragon”. – An old Chinese Idiom, referring to a place full of unnoticeable masters. I feel this is fitting to Suesca as I climb up through the Spanish Moss cresting a roof.

The route still on my mind is L.P. The guy that put the route up said its a 5.7 but needs the head of a 5.9 leader. After asking locals later it’s part 5.7, parts 5.8 and a bit of 5.9. Our first attempt ended at the first loose band of rock below the roof and questioning if indeed we were on the right route. It started with a dihedral, then overcome a bulge to a crack and up onto a ledge, about 30meters. The severity of this supposed 5.6 pitch made me question what was to come. It resulted in a rap down and going to get some more Beta. The modest route had an easy weakness through if you knew where to look. After asking a friend we went back the next day.

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The second attempt, after confirming we were supposed to go through the frail loose band went better.  From the ledge you weave through the poor rock to pull a large roof, climb a second corner that becomes slightly overhanging with the odd hand jam, to another belay under a roof, about 30 meters. The cover picture is from the second belay looking at the second roof. 2nd pitch- A belly crawl along a canon and then a fine balance flip over with good exposure to climb the roof . From there it’s two long pitches of easier ground 5.6-7, dropping to 5.4 the higher you go. Good protection with  great views, the belay on top is a series of chicken heads (little forms of sandstone you can tighten slings around) strung together in a that should do it kind of manor. All in around 130meters. The thing is, most the 5.9 sport routes in the area are easier than this was. It humbles you. The stone lords keeping you in your place. But is brilliant fun, one of the best routes here.

Many talented climbers come here saying they will climb a certain grade, and certainly they climb a grade or two beyond my own ability. But come back at the end of a day with a tail between legs and shell shock from the run out protection and bolts, combined with words to the effect of ‘Im sure that 11a is actually a 12’. But out of dejection rises a strength and enjoyment in the coming days, and a respect for the guys that first climbed here.

We are back in Suesca after a week over christmas around La Mojarra, a sport climbing venue. La Mojarra was an opposite to Suesca but a welcome break. Good, safe bolts that are maintained, and mainly very overhanging. Which was cool and safe to fall on. And what’s more, after running out of 8s and 9s, all the 5.10 grade climbs attainable and feeling like the grade stated. And made me feel like pushing more to 11s.

pics- La Mojarra. friends Chris and Nicole having a play.

We have also been back to our secret valley for some bouldering. Boulders seem to have sprouted from the ground since the first visit and every corner turned is another problem. The friction on this rarely climbed rock is bril and with a cool breeze chalk barely needed. To top it off we have probably averaged seeing one other person up there over 4 days.

Life has been nice and slow of recent, getting up, waiting for clouds to dissipate around 9-10 then climbing.  Every other day resting. I decided with the amount of beer drank last year I could have been ten times the climber had I not. So this year so far the tally stands at 1. I’m keeping to that until at least this eve.

Yesterday we climbed with a Austrian friend who after an easier route, chucked up a 5.11d top rope for me to flail on, after getting back down stating he thinks its more 12. I tried, and fell, and tried , and fell, then quit. Ill be back for it.

Another more interesting post coming tomorrow. Maybe.

 

 

Valle De Los Halcones

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Once upon a time when I started this trip I was like a lone wolf, bounding across the meadows and mountains.. Then I met Karli, and we were two misfit wolves driving across the desert and mountains. Then Chris and Nicole came along, and we were a pack of wolves looking for bad ass climbs….

Knowing the Suesca main crag would be busy We decided to concentrate a weekend on the Valle De Los Halcones. According to the guidebook the land was private and all the bolts on the area had been cut off by the land owner due to climbers making a mess. Fortunately for us an American and another English lad, Jason and Sam, were living in Suesca and said we could park at their house right on the edge of the valley and they knew the land owners. They invited us to talk to them and after a brief few minutes of talking Chris had made it clear we would be careful and take everything out we brought in. The owner permitted us to enter the valley for 2000COP each (about 60cent each or 40p).

We grabbed our packs and headed over the rise into the valley. It felt nice to have a short walk in again. Despite going running most mornings including this one the small rise had me breathing hard. It could have been the pack of climbing gear and a 6 litre bottle of water and the 9000ft elevation, but hard work felt hard.

Entering the valley was like entering a lost world. Crazy knowing a mile away were hundreds of people climbing on top of each other. We walked around a while and found a big slab worthy of a play. All the bolts had been cut or removed so we ran a rope to a boulder further back and set up a top rope for the morning.

The start of the problem was hard. Real hard. First I tried, then Chris, then Karli, we all failed. The crimps were too small and shoes just weren’t holding. Nicole came next and some kind of witchcraft happened, she just cruised to a higher point. But was again stumped. The line was hard. Not being dismayed we all took a turn overcoming the hard part with some aid and climbed higher. The top 2/3rds of the boulder were awesome. Small crimps combined with good footholds and a couple of flake holds leaving a dyno to the top for a rounded edge.

Screenshot 2017-12-06 at 7.40.47 AMScreenshot 2017-12-06 at 7.41.28 AMScreenshot 2017-12-06 at 7.42.12 AMScreenshot 2017-12-06 at 7.42.34 AM

We took it in turns going for the top. I took the chance while not on the rope to run around to the top and lean over to get these shots.

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sequence of climbing to falling. quite cool I think

After a while and getting the whole sequence linked we moved further down the valley to relax while climbing up and down some vertical/slightly overhanging but easy crag. At the end of the day we were all pretty beat and cold and headed back to town for 60cent beers and soup.

With thanks to Das_Karlo, Burritocharmer and Olas_y_montanas.Screenshot 2017-12-06 at 8.31.50 AM

Psyched

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Climbing over time becomes more than a sport. It becomes a personal edge of determination and certainty as you stare into the abyss of darkness knowing you will come through. (Sometimes that abyss is quite big and scary)

It becomes the cool steady head of a gun-slinger in the wild west outnumbered ten to one but knowing his hand is faster and aim flawless. I remember when i started climbing, it was just before dawn, the air freezing, crisp and sharp. Staring at a crag my friend was leading me to, wondering how i would climb that seemingly impenetrable fortress of black rock piercing the sky all around me. Did my friend not know gravity worked heavily against me? I felt scared, but i have remembered that day for the past 14 years.

As time went on, i realized if one treads lightly, slowly but surely , there is always a secret corridor nature will permit you to pass through. tens of thousands of years of glaciers, storms and weather creating small flaws of beauty that allow me to pass in the blink of an eye. Seeing it in the fragile delicate state. Knowing eventually it will all be gone, and maybe in a few years the route I climbed will be gone forever. Only lasting in memory.

Today I went out climbing, like most the past week, to Suesca, Colombia. The day started like every other, around half ten Karli and I grabbed a coffee for 30 cent from the local coffee shop. We tried to meet some friends up for a climb on a remote crag, but found only barbed wire and no trespassing signs blocking the way. After two hours of trying and seeing the day slip away we reverted back to the main crag of Suesca. A climb we picked out a few days earlier was on the agenda. Nothing too technical or trying, graded to 5.6(MVS). A three pitch route following some blackish sandstone up a chimney, up a corner, then over some open area.

a young climber top-roping to the left of our route. the redline shows our line and the first belay

It looked straight forwards and like an easy afternoon out.

Upon arriving at the base the start of the climb was occupied by a guide and group. Which left us two alternates- 20 meters of 5.7 with no protection, or 20meters of 5.8 with protection. (protection being climbing hardware placed in cracks to arrest a fall). The 5.8 sounding harder I weasled over to the 5.7 a few feet away. We geared up and I started up timidly, so far the trad routes of Suesca have been harder than graded. After 5 meters I stopped and looked at the rock, would it be the same as some of the previous routes with a vicious sting to stump me 10 meters up? I had a quick assessment – full of pockets, small cracks and features. Not that dis-similar to some nice climbs back home. I focused on the rock and forgot about the potential of a fall.

I started climbing.

Its been a while since i felt the same certainty of outcome. I was enjoying each easy move, feeling for good, positive holds or gentle pinches and precisely placing my fett like a doctor might use a scalpel. its a while since i felt at home on a climb. Aftrer linking up with the 5.6 route I made a solid belay and brought up Karli. The next pitch looked ominous. A dark cathedral like corner, vertical and seeming to overhand slightly at the top. Not an average 5.6 but the holds looked good and the conrner offered a perfect fist sized hole every step. I used a single cam which i bumped up a couple of times (due to having only one adequate sized cam) to just over half way, before deciding its security would not be required any higher and climbing straight up would be easy. At the top of the corner the route opened up to great views and a decently large belay ledge.

Karli coming up the last few meters of the first pitch

The final pitch was an entertaining mix of steps. Ledges, small slabs and small roofs from weathered stone but full of pockets. Holes, sculptures of ghouls and gargoyles and fine crisp flakes of sandstone that would snap with the most delicate touch. It was smooth climbing and the odd runner for safety. It was joy. At first I though the final pitch was only 5 meters but it went on for about 40 meters. On the top I chose a solid anchor, sat down and brought up the slack rope.

I was Stoked, I think that is the first time I have used that word. This is what climbing is about. Not the hardest routes, but the beautiful ones.

Being Wild

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While visiting anywhere there is always somebody trying to get money. In Suesca it was in the form of a local standing at the roadside asking for money for where we were parked, when we enquired about camping he asked for 30,000COP , about 10USD. This might seem reasonable but to prolong travelling, free is always better. We drove up the far side of the valley to a small disused quarry where the local farmer said we were welcome to stay. Once there we deployed the tarp to gather rain water and save more money, look at that majestic water gathering machine. Jealous ain’t you!?. Saved 70cent in the days water bill right there.

 

sunrise
the edges of the tarp are strung in to ensure no potential water is lost
morning view

This place has also given us spectacular evening lightning shows. Consistently on the other side of the valley which is reassuring as we camp on top of a vehicle with great lightning rods poking out in all directions. Its incredibly humbling each time there is a strike that looks like it will destroy any tree building or structure in the way. It puts us in our place.

 

Back down in the valley eating costs little. 3 dollars can buy two people a decent meal consisting of a couple bowls of soup, a plate full of rice, chicken, plantain, salad and fries, and a couple of fresh fruit drinks. add evening meals cooked ourselves for 3-4 dollar and daily living is cheapIMG_20171122_140246.jpg

Add to it one of my favourite outdoor stores (decathlon) is down the road in Bogata selling low cost outdoor wear and equipment for any sport and the cost of living compared to Central America seems to have halved. My reccomendation to anybody travelling who likes the outdoors is skip central and get to South America!!

Anyhow, bye for now 🙂