Climbing up out of Soatá was fun. 

The ears popped with the rapid ascent.

 

The main road heading west is a small dirt affair, devoid of traffic. In two hours I saw just three motorcycles coming the other way. There were more cows being walked along than motorised vehicles. 

 

It reminded me vaguely of Victorian high country scenery, with quiet rural lanes joining scattered cattle farms. Some shaded parts were slightly slippery, but on the whole it was a relaxed morning's puttering along.

 

An old grey mare chomping without tether nearby a lookout spot reminded me of Michelle's horse Smokey from her teenage years. 

 

 

I elected to bypass San Gil, said to be a central spot for adventure tourism. It all sounded a bit hectic. Instead San Gil's smaller neighbour Barichara was mine for a couple of days. Barichara is also Colombia's most beautiful town.

 

One of the main attractions is Camino Real, a 5.5 km trail to Guane. The trail harks back to Spanish colonial times. Calling it cobblestones would be a stretch - more like lumpy rocks laid down. 

 

Guane is a quaint town. On every corner were vendors eager for the tourist peso, selling the usual jewelry that's all over Latin America plus artesan creations and even fossils. The museum was more impressive than expected, particularly a room with over 4,000 fossils. 

 

All was serene until tourist busses arrived. They had the music full blast, tooting horns and all seemed to be enjoying themselves. Perhaps they'd had an eleven o'clock tipple.

 

The climate here is starkly different than that of the Boyacá state of a few days before. Gone is the wet chill, replaced by clear heat. Local clothing has changed to suit: no more woolen ponchos and woollen hats.

 

It was a darned hot sweaty walk back uphill to Barichara, warranting a soothing beverage in the hammock that night.

 

Barichara looks down on the Chicamocha canyon, the country's deepest. Surely it's getting dull for you dear reader with never ending big landscape photos. In the flesh, they're not dull. Continual "oh wow!" moments.

 

Leaving this cute little sight seeing pullover brought disappointment: my reading glasses were elsewhere. I was bummed, mostly because they'd been liberated from Emerald Village Pharmacy by Kirsten while working there. I'd had them for a couple of years and were almost equal to the $hundreds prescription pair. Sentimental value.

 

There followed a funny game of finding a cheap replacement pair. The first pharmacy gave directions to an optician. I struggled a bit to comprehend but the pharmacist was patient with his idiot customer. His instructions seemed to lead to a second pharmacy. They had two pairs, neither of which unblurred the written page. Once it was obvious she wasn't getting a sale, the lady pointed over the road to the optician. Surprise surprise the optician didn't sell cheapies but instead referred to a variety store a few blocks away. Winner! and only $4 AUD.

If I ever lose my helmet, sunglasses, socks or sanity, this emporium has the lot.

 

 

It seemed there was more space around that wasn't necessarily inhabited. Perhaps time to find free camping spots again, just as we'd done motorcycling around Australia: find a quiet dirt road, hide behind some trees, the bike and tent are small anyway. Out of Zapatoca pine plantations looked promising. They make a great campsite, being soft underfoot, sheltered and easy to hide in. Problem was, no access tracks jumped out.

The map showed a wiggly minor track down the river. Ok, let's go have a look. En route another "oh wow!" lookout had a convenient cafe. The fitting thing to do was chill out with a bag of chips and a beer.

 

The track got narrower until only a single path worn by motos was evident. River access was stymied by a "Private Property - No path" sign. Hmmm ... what to do? A grassy plot on a bend was the answer. A farmer walking his cow down the hill exchanged a friendly wave. 

 

No problem sinking a tent peg - the bovines had left plenty of soft spots.

 

What a tranquil night. My heart was full sitting there watching Venus show her beauty, followed progressively by the stars. Lightning flashed so far away there were no thunderclaps. Bit by bit, terrain that had appeared barren on the other side of the canyon came alive with lights. They were like earth bound stars. Sandwich dinner was nice, too.

 

A fellow rider had pointed out that the headlight was flashing on and off. High beam was fine, just low beam crook. Turns out a wire on the connector was broken open and the copper touching only sometimes. How could that happen? It's hidden behind the tiny fairing and shouldn't be stressed.  

Oh well, time for a trip into into Bucaramanga. The thing about the cities is that while they're often grimy, loud kinda ugly places, they have stuff. Perky kid Camillo was efficient with his soldering iron, installing a new H4 plug on the spot. Nice young fella too.

 

The Bush Pig and its gringo looking rider are a constant curiosity for local folk. A crowd at the auto elec shop had all the usual questions: How long have been in Colombia? Where are you going? All the way to Argentina?! On the moto?! By yourself?!

Camillo's offsider wanted to know if the trip cost much, then in the next breath did I want a girl? Ah, the rich gringo ...

 

The loop up to Bucaramanga and back down to back near Zapatoca was a whole day affair. First up was a high-attention-required tar zig zag road down to the Sogamosa River.  

 

Told you they love their Renaults.

 

For a laugh, I chose minor roads back south again. Google Maps takes some convincing that these thin grey lines are really the best way to go. All those software engineers in California are usually right though - they might be low mileage, but geez they take an age.

 

The reward for the extra hours is unexpectedly interesting terrain. Initially dirt tracks wended their way between elephant's eye high crops. 

 

Watching a truck pull a car out of the mud entertained a few of us.

 

This time the zig zag down to the river was a loose rocky path. More than once I questioned whether I was on the right track, but Mr Google kept reassuring me.

 

Atop the otherside while looking back at where the road had gone, Christian rocked up on his Honda XR150. Again, I tried to answer his curious questions and ask him a bit about himself.

 

I was hanging out for some water. He led the way to next town Betulia. In earlier countries a "panaderia" is a bakery, but in Colombia they're really a tiny convenience store. Each town has many. At the end of each day, folk sit around drinking beer; they let the stubbies collect on the table, so it's clear how much to pay at the end.

So we did the same. A local reporter interviewed me, requesting a plug for his town ... that I'd been standing in for fifteen minutes. It was like the old joke about Aussie journos: "So what do you think of Australia?" as the international celebrity is stepping off the plane.

 

Cristian introduced his mate Jhon (yep, correct spelling - remember the "H" is always silent in Español).

Next day Jhon led the two of us along a minor track.It was straightforward riding, but the way it was cut into the mountainside again prompted fond memories of teenage trail riding with dad.

He is proud of his Kawasaki KLX250 and rightly so. It's an unusual model in this land of smaller rudimentary bikes. The lightweight dirt bike with its modern suspension is a good choice for these parts - much better than my beloved but overloaded tractor.

We eventually reached a national highway where we shook hands. Jhon had been generous with both his time and thoughtful conversation.

 

The only bummer was that the goal of Medellin was now just thay bit further away. It was a boring slog on the highway towards the country's second largest city.

 

When the rain came I took shelter in the carpark of the road maintenance authority. It seemed a good lunch opportunity so out came the bread and salad. While chomping away, three official looking folk came over. I always expect a bollocking when I'm squatting in someone else's place, but it doesn't ever happen. Sure enough, they were just on a fag break. Like most, they were curious and friendly.

I asked about their work, they asked about mine. After hearing I'd been a computer programmer one asked if I knew anything about Oracle. I admitted that Oracle had been my employer for a year. Cue laughter and miming of dragging me to their office.

 

Geez that highway was terrible. Fumey trucks, the usual potholes and so boring in a straight line. Maximum speed signposted was 80kmh, with other signs 60, 40 and 30 at times. No idea why it changed, but it didn't matter. We all did what we wanted anyway. Double lines? Pfffft ... a high adrenaline game of passing traffic without being passed in turn.

 

Many Colombian roads are tolled, but motos are exempt, having a dedicated moto bypass lane to the right of payment booths. Nice. It saves the sunglasses/gloves/pockets/cash fumble of Mexico.  

 

 

I initially landed in Puerto Buyacá but found it disturbingly raucus. Puerto Triunfo, 45 minutes further on in the dark, was far more appealing. In the balmy evening folk gathered in the main plaza: an exercise class, a handball game, kids riding scooters and families dining.

 

A "ricarepa" - mix of chicken, cheese, corn et cetera inside a char grilled corn casing - was so yummy I had a second. All cooked while one waited on a charcoal fired plate. Oh boy, so full.

The town was beautifully tranquil ... until there were two adolescents punching the snot out of each other in the street. A small crowd watched.

 

Just up the road is the former hacienda ("estate") of Pablo Escobar. Okay, like you I knew his name but didn't otherwise know much about him. Do yourself a favour and read a summary of his life. It's astounding. He livened up a few US parties though.

He imported four hippos way back alongside other African creatures. When things went sour they were released. They now number anout 200, making a huge ecological mess in the river.

 

Nowadays, Hacienda Napoles is a tourist attraction part zoo part Jurassic Park themed.

 

A R1200GS rider gave a thumbs up and smile before making a suicidal truck passing maneuver, the big German twin honking nicely. I bag those machines as overweight tanks, but sheez sometimes that power would be nice.

 

Common knowledge is that Medellin has gorgeous women, neck snappingly so. Maybe I need to get further into the city (*).

 

Medellin is striking visually ftom a distance, especially as one comes zooming down the twisty highway out of the hills.

 

Up close, if didn't seem so beautiful. 

On the inner roads there are unbroken lines of motorcycle/scooters between cars. Traffic merges and turns by every vehicle pushing ahead for every inch they can get. There's no road rage as everyone is in the same situation. High focus.

 

At night I found it mildly interesting, spoilt only by choosing a recommended hostel in a nightlife precinct. So loud and overpriced.

Admittedly I don't get out much, but I've never been anywhere so full on for lights and volume. It was a struggle to find dinner without 120dB music.

 

 

Medellin is well known for its two wheeled culture. You should see the moto focussed precinct where I bought new tyres. A few blocks were crammed with stores and workshops. Bikes were parked two rows deep on either side, machines in pieces on the footpath, pedestrian mayhem everywhere. 

Can you spot the bush pig in here?

 

This was outside my chosen store. Inside it had a dozen sales people moving spare parts, each staff member having three or four customers queued up.

 

The new rubber was fitted in their workshop out the back. Their blokes were quick but boy they were cavemen. One tube was left without a valve cap, again the chain adjustment was out left to right (6 notches different between the snail cams!) and the rear brake hose kinked sharply. Disappointing. 

 

 

Near Guatape is a bloody big lump of granite named Piedra del Peñol.  

 

Climbing its 708 steps gives a brilliant view.

 

It's literally an "exit through gift shop" experience - sellers are half way up, on top and in the car park.

 

Guatape itself is highly geared to the tourist. Being so close to Medellin, it's awfully busy. Buildings are colourfully painted. Streets have quirky individual themes.

 

For a change I chose to camp at a private camp ground some 15km beyond Guatape. This place has a big old grassed area on a bend in the river. Cooking a simple meal on the ground was a joy. It was nicely peaceful listening to the rushing water all night.

 

Deliberately taking minor roads across mountain ranges was slow but fun. A Wikiloc route started easily enough through flat agricultural land.

 

Glad I didn't have to take the old bridge on the left.

 

Almost imperceptibly the path narrowed and the hills increased.

... until there was almost no path. The locals were puzzled.

 

An unusual roadside rotunda made for a pleasant lunch spot. I called home to wish Kirsten well on her birthday.

 

Another day, another drop. During a small rest in the shade, the bike decided to have its own nap. Sheez, I wasn't even touching it.

 

 

Riding conditions vary hugely here. For example highway 60 between Bogotá and Medellin is chockers with heavy transport. A lovely curvy road with awesome vistas ...

.. but it's slow and stinks. 

 

Highway 56 is also between those two cities. At 3:30pm Mr Google told me the 78km to my planned destination would take 3 hours. Surely not? That's a national highway - a thick the line on the GPS - it must be quicker.

It was a goat track, a rough cut mountain road. It mostly didn't make sense to get above second gear. Fuel consumption died in the bum as a result - 112 miles to reserve instead of the usual 200 in cruise. Half a litre of petrol from the camp stove got me to the next servo. Just.

It got dark and the pace slowed heaps. It was hard to spot the rougher rocks and holes by headlight. 

 

All in all, I'd made some dumb decisions that day, getting fixated on a target. It would have been smarter to seek a hotel where I'd been at 3:30pm.

 

The next day roadworks forced a 2.5 hour wait. New drainage was installed as part of landslide mitigation works. With the road cut up, no one could travel either way.

Oh well, kick back with an early lunch, absorb another Spanish podcast, snooze in the shade. All very relaxed. 

Until all of a sudden folk were running for their bikes and cars. The mad rush was to let traffic from both sides pass, before they dug up another section. Our traffic controller was whistling, waving her arms and yelling at me while food, cutlery, underpants drying in the sun et cetera were hurriedly stowed.

 

The towns all share a pattern - a main plaza has a cathedral on one edge. The cathedral dominates the skyline. It's nearly always stunning to look at. Around the plaza are many panaderias where townsfolk gather socially. Other retail business sit in adjoining streets.

Pueblo Nuevo was one of the smallest towns yet, of only three main blocks. Unusually its plaza is lawn. A couple were installing Christmas decorations. 

 

Same pattern just on a different scale - Jardin's plaza and cathedral were pretty.

 

I'm writing from a most unusual house nearJardín, where Jorge had made me welcome. More on this next time.

 

* Confirmed: sore neck after Medellin.