Jardín ("Garden") is also Colombia's most beautiful town, according to tourism guides.

A state wide end of year sports festival was being held in Jardín, making accomodation hard to find. After visiting a bunch of "sorry señor"  places, I reserved a cabin via the interwebs a few kilometres out of town. Blowed if I could find the place. I asked at a house where it might be and the fellow immediately offered a room there as he had plenty of empty beds.

 

So I got to meet Jorge, a most interesting man. 

He was born in Colombia, grew up in Venezuala, worked in Florida but returned to his homeland. He has been restoring stonework of the town cathedral. In fact, he had a cruical meeting with the bishop to seek additional funding that week. We found it easy to talk, perhaps being of the same age but also through having some common views.

 

The house Jorge was renting from a friend was a curious creation. All made of timber, some bamboo, some planks, some roughcut tree cross sections. 

Objets d'art adorned every surface. 

eg. Shower water ran from a giant ceramic leaf and hand basin water from an upturned cup.

 

All easy on the eye and the hissing river peaceful at night, but horribly impractical being open with no windows. Mosquitoes and little bastard "no see 'em" insects wrecked any exposed flesh, with mad scratching for days after.

 

Jorge cracked 60yo, so I bought a fruit cake from a lady walking around the town plaza.

Jorge: Did she have a basket and big boobs?

Gavin: Sí

Jorge: That's Dora.

Small town.

 

La Garrucha is a cute rudimentary cable car running up from town to a lookout and restaurant. The enclosure runs on two cables, with a third pulling it uphill. Gravity does the work for the return. Simples.

 

It was pretty pokey. These two cute couples, their cuter doggy and I were a little squished.

 

The new tyres are good, better in wet and mud than the Mitas E-07s they replace. Metzler Enduro 3 Saharas are the contemporary version of OEM tyres on my old 1981 BMW R80G/S, so a bit of a sentimental choice. They carried my then-girlfriend-now-wife and I plus all our crap around Australia without complaint. They should do well on the lighter Suzuki without a chubby passenger.

 

Usually cities get under my skin pretty quickly. Manizales was a cow to cross at the end of the day; a few navigational blunders didn't help. However, I rather enjoyed wandering through suburban streets at night, seeing how folk celebrated Christmas. For starters the city was awash with colourful lights. My golly I hope the bloke who invented the LED gets royalties. It's incredible how ubiquitous they are. On top of all these colours were fireworks - common in Latin American cities on any night.

 

Most houses had candles on their pavement. Often in Christmas themed cardboard boxes, sometimes just plain candles, sometimes kids with sparklers, sometimes electric. Best of all, folk sat outside in the balmy air chatting together.

 

Is there a timing discrepancy here? The photo doesn't show it, but virginal Mary has a cross on her chest.

 

Colombia is blessed with volcanoes. Volcano countryside is exhilarating to ride in - all those craggy slopes, mysterious mist covered peaks, the sheer enormity on show. 

 

Los Nevados San Ruiz at 5,321m is an active volcano. Because it last erupted in 2023, visitor access is tightly controlled.  Motorcycle riders  are obliged to abandon their iron steeds for a guided bus, yet drivers can take their car?!?

Most of the scenery was grey moonscape. I found it a bit dull, but admittedly the rapid Spanish explanations from our guide went right over my tiny head. 

 

A group of Colombian moto riders in the bus seemed to ignore the old anglo man. I found this surprising, as most other rides usually show curiosity, until suddenly they all wanted a group photo together. The questions, chat and smiles followed. I love the strong Colombian moto culture.

There were never ending Wow! moments leading up to Los Nevados. Each bend brought a new fascinating perspective. Yet again, I got frustrated not being able to capture it visually. 

 

The zone between the trees and permanent snowline is known as the páramo. It has these unusual plants, Frailejones.

Nearby was the country's highest highway, a delicious twisting piece of grippy  licorice cut  into the hillsides. Loads of fun.

 

Money matters continue to amuse. The Aussie dollar can go such a long way in Colombia. The hotel I've enjoyed the most (not necessarily the fanciest, just the one with facilities I like) cost $10 AUD a night. Staying a second night they knocked $1 off.

In Murillo I was amazed that a great latte cost only $1.33, then I noticed them for $1.16 at a different cafe. The following day a rather fetching lady in Libano gave me a terrific latte for $1. Her establishment was comfortable and well appointed; how could she stay in business, or even afford that nice makeup?

 

Nice to see many eucalyptus trees. Love that familiar bark.

 

In 1985 volcano Nevado del Ruiz erupted after 69 years of quiet. Over 23,000 people in Aremo died when landslides triggered by the eruption engulfed the town. Nowadays the site is a ghost town. Empty buildings sit next a major highway; it's surreal having the quiet empty buildings next to roaring traffic.

 

There is great suport for adventure riders in Latin America via WhatsApp groups - mechanics, paid accomodation, riders offering a spare bed, good tracks and much more. 

One of the most pleasurable three days so far was spent between Ibagué and Salento, courtesy of a WhatsApp group suggestion. An entertaining dirt road snaked its way past deep valleys. Many were covered in the "wax" palms, at up to 60m the world's tallest.

 

En route, I camped at a family farm set in the caldera of Volcano Machin. 

 

I loved this little bloke. He hung around my tent most of the night, lying in a cold fire ring for some reason.

 

Theirs was a true Old McDonald's with every creature imaginable.

- horses

- cows

- donkeys

- chooks

- ducks

- geese

 

A sow with big belly and engorged nipples looked to be "in the family way", until aha! that's why! Half a dozen gorgeous wee piglets keen for a feed.

 

I've previously mentioned aguapenala, a hot drink based on unrefined cane sugar. It's often accompanied by a block of cheese, which is put into the drink. The farm made their own cheese.

 

A morning hike to a lookout on the rim was ace. The farmhouse was so tiny from on high. 

 

Back on the bike, it was up on the pegs fun getting to Salento, the bike floating along with a comfortable burble, easily soaking up mild bumps and muddy patches.

Just had to stay switched on for other traffic.

 

Salento is - ah gawd, here we go again - Colombia's prettiest town. It is highly touristic with many European accents heard in the plethora of bars and cafes. 

Fair enough, but I'm a bit past that scene. 

Remember the cookie cutter towns with their central plaza and cathedral?  I forgot to mention frequent homage to the great liberator Simon Bolivar - a statue or at least a street name.

 

Retracing steps back past Volcano Machin to Ibagué was even more fun.

 

This section invited attention. That mesh in the foreground is actually an upright barrier guarding the freshly laid concrete, leaving a narrow single track next to the drop. No target fixation Gavin.

 

The bike has been acting up: reluctant starts from cold, poor/inconsistent idle, stalls pulling up to a stop and rough running. It hasn't changed suddenly, but has crept up over several days. Valve clearances? Poor fuel? Carby blocked? Worn internals? Sunspots? Dunno yet.

 

"There is no wifi but there is beer that makes communication easier"

 

The Tatacoa Desert in parts reminded me of outback South Australia with dry dusty roads, albeit on a much smaller scale. 

It's actually a tropical dry forest area, not a desert. Some areas are grey coloured.

Other areas are red.

 

This tough little guy wouldn't budge.

No wonder - his missus seemed to be guarding a nest just up the hill.

 

Tatacoa has several astronomical observatories.  A night visit to one was enjoyable, despite high cloud cover. What made it was an excellent spiel from Nicholas, an enthusiastic biologist/astronomer, particularly when the talk went backwards and forwards with his audience. 

The geometry and relative perspectives of heavenly bodies seemed to puzzle some. For example, why observing near the equator was an advantage, being able to view more of the sky. I found these varying understandings curious. I suppose we all have our own backgrounds :). 

 

A bike sporting a Peruvian flag went past slowly as I packed up all  my crap. Down the road we waved at each other and stopped. This led to a chain of events that has completely changed my trip.

Patricia left her home Lima, Peru three months earlier for parts north. She's travelling solo on a Yamaha FZ150. 

 

First up, we had a soft drink and chat then swim together. Having limited common lingo made for much tapping into Google translate. We still managed to learn about each other's family, travel plans et cetera.

 

This strong moto culture mentioned earlier is more than just Colombia, more like South America as a whole. Patricia has many contacts for "motopasadas" - homes where travelling riders are welcome.  We stayed in Neiva with Mauro.

 

They live close to a busy city street. Our chatting was interrupted by screeeech! crunch!  A crowd gathered in an instant around the car and scooter that had collided. The phones were out. Within two minutes FOUR ambulances were on the scene. It was all confused, but it appears a baby being held on the scooter was crying in an ambulance.

 

Minutes after the scene cleared, a brain bendingly raucus bike screamed down the road, its rider in a horizontal plank. He seemed to be emulating Rollie Free on the Vincent setting a land speed record at Bonneville in 1948. Land speed records are always a two way average. Shortly afterwards the same bloody loud bike screamed up the busy road in the other direction, the rider still doing a plank. Insane.

 

Mauro's wife runs a beauty salon at the front of their abode. It was suggested that Patricia and I share the spare bed. Um no thanks. I dossed on the salon floor. 

Despite being close to a busy city street sleep came easily. Rocky the dogalog gave good morning kisses.

 

Security is automatic for most Latin Americans. Warnings to NEVER leave ANY posession on the bike have been made repeatedly. Homes and businesses are always heavily gated, often topped by razor wire, spikes or cut glass if a brick wall. We moved in and out of their home many times moving luggage, the gate being locked every time, even if we were standing directly outside.

With our bikes locked inside the gates, some just washed undies/socks/shirt were left on the bike to dry overnight. Oh no! said our host - a thief might reach in to grab them.  They were moved. I need those jocks.

In our Aussie home, our front door key wouldn't fit into the lock one day. "I'll get around to that" was said. Maybe ten years ago. We're a bit more relaxed about it all than here. It's a bit strange having this constant security concern.

 

The use of motorcycles continues to fascinate. Amazing cargoes are carried with two wheels and only 150cc. One of the best was a string of steel concrete reo rods, maybe 4m long. The rider somehow had them attached to a handlebar, the rods trailing along on the road.

All manner of people combinations: solo, two up, mum+ dad + kid in between, or kid in front or behind or four at a time. Often only the rider wears a helmet, sometimes all, sometimes no one.

 

One thing leads to another. Mauro gave two moto amigo contacts further down the road. 

The first was Pedro, a terrific fellow living near Pitalito. The two nights together were a highlight.

Pedro lives in a modest abode directly over the street from his ex-wife and a couple of his five kids. He spent eight months riding to Ushuaia, Argentina,  the continent's southern most city. His home is filled with momentos from the trip and other riders that have stayed.

 

He made travel reccomendations with great enthusiasm. 

Peru and Chile's mountainous grandeur, Patagonia, the Carretera Austral and so on have filled my dreams before this trip. Hearing from past travellers is exciting me greatly for what is to come.

It's also starting to dawn just how far there is to go. 

Ignoring the flight across the Darién Gap:

- Durango, Colorado to Pitalito ~6400 km

- Pitolito to Ushuaia ~9000 km

Ok, the crow hasn't been taking this journey. All the same, the wheels will have to round lots of times yet.

Pedro led a tour of local features.

 

The mighty Magdalena River runs for over 1500 km. Here high in the Andes it is only 2m wide, while its mouth on the Carribean coast is over a km wide.

 

Pedro is a music teacher. He also plays trumpet in a Mariachi band. One of his gigs saw him leaving about 5am "to wake up a town". Another gig had him return late because the rest of the band got drunk.

 

He doesn't have to pay electricity bills. 

 

I checked valve clearances in Pedro's driveway; they were within spec, no adjustments made. But! a loose spark plug cap was found. The DR runs a twin plug head. One cap was nice and tight, the other just resting in place but not actually attached to the plug. Could one plug intermittently not be firing?

In Mocoa an awesome mechanic fitted two new caps and a new horn - not functioning since Utah. Still runs like a bag of pooh at times. Oh well, at least I can now communicate like all my fellow riders.

 

Bolivia boasts having the world's deadliest road "The Road of Death". Colombia claims to have much the same in the "Trampolin de la Muerte".  It's a 65km gravel road, cut into the mountainside. Many have gone over the edge.

I had to try it.

Nowadays it's straightforward, cut wide in most places and having many guard rails. The views were beautiful.

 

Mind you, the guard rails have taken a beating. Not surprising when one sees passing strategies used by truck and bus drivers.

 

No YOU go back. These two stared each other down for at least a minute.

 

I just putted along in second, soaking it all up. My lunch stop was so serene, watching clouds swirling up the slopes, waving at people passing and relaxing. 

 

One thing leads to another.  The next recommended motopasada was Mishel's rustic house near Lake Cocha. Upon arrival I was welcomed by artists Alex and Camilla.

They had a commission to help local schoolkids paint a mural. The grand unveiling was tomorrow - would I like to come? Sure.

 

What a great occasion. There were twelve girls and four boys. The kids played instruments to match the sound of the rain, the frogs and so on in stories told by indigenous elders.

After a million thankyou speeches, it was time for the unveiling. 

It depicts a creation story - the young man (daylight/sun) fell in love with the young girl (night/moon), but they were ostracised by family, mountains were made and so on. A gnome like creature is included, who can be seen in the forest somtimes. Plus flowers, ducks, the lake et cetera.

I offered to cook dinner for the three of us, only to find the house's owner Mishel had arrived with two other friends. Six stomachs. Oh well. They seemed happy with "Emerald Surprise", which my mob knows is always a vege stir fry on rice.  This time I went all out, adding some chicken.

A beer and whisky night followed.  

Our host explained that her name came from the Beatles song.  I laughed, telling her that my mum (who'd seen the Beatles when still living in England) loved the song so named her daughter Michelle. I reckon this chick was born a chunk after 1967, though.

 

A last hurrah before departing the country was Las Lajas cathedral.  It all became ABC ages ago. Another Bloody Church. This creation though is exceptional.  

Colombia was just a country to cross in my oringal plans, on the way to bigger things. It has surprised - a rider's paradise, beautiful, incredibly affordable, with generous people.

 

Final thought: I was urged to try the Colombian stuff.

I dunno, it just seems to be the same sugary crap to me.