From sunrise to sunset, through sudden drops and moments of awe – this truly is riding on the edge
It’s not going well… “This can’t be right,” says Alissa, exhausted as she unclips the panniers again so we can squeeze our motorcycles around boulders in the road. Huge landslides from the recent storms have destroyed the trail, leaving it covered in rocks, with chunks of mountain blocking our path and sections missing. Nobody has been up this way in a long time. Our gear is soaked in sweat, the going is painfully slow, we’re alone, running out of water and losing light. But it’s the only way out – and we have hours ahead of us.
We turn a corner to find our track washed away with a thin slice of mud on the edge of a cliff to ride over. I just about make it and then hear Alissa scream behind me. Her back tyre slips and the bike starts to fall. Somehow, she manages to hang on and save it before they both go. We take our helmets off, our faces caked in a paste of dirt and sweat and look at each other. We haven’t been this tired since Siberia six years ago. But it’s funny how you keep going in these situations – until one of you nearly falls off a cliff, and only then it’s “maybe we should stop now?” We’re not going to make it out before dark and make the call to camp…
In between a rock, a ferry and a hard place
This is not where we expected to be tonight. For the last few days, we had been staying in a beautiful 100-year-old Colombian coffee farm owned by a friend. After a few days, he put us in touch with his cousin, Julian. The cousins and their families own a mining company and two mountains connected by a river. Julian met us in a nearby town, took us out for breakfast and then for a ride on his private land. As we were about to leave for our next destination, Julian suggested that instead of going back on ourselves and around to get to our next town (roughly four hours), he could open up his mining ferry for us to get across the river. Once over, he has a private road leading up and over his mountain that we could use.
The road is gated at the top, not open to the public and the only access from here is via his ferry. But all we’d have to do is make it to the ridgeline and the gate, which the miners reckoned would take an hour (the chin-scratching should have given us a clue). We crossed the river and the road turned hard – fast. But the ferry was opened especially for us and then closed again and that was it. We were alone with no way back and no choice but to push on.
Home for the night
Finding a place to pitch isn’t easy. We can’t camp on the trail because rocks could fall on our tent, so we keep going until we finally find a bit of track with a protruding flat cliff edge far enough away from the mountainside. The worry now is that the edge might collapse during the night. Either way, it’s not our main concern; we’re more worried about water as we’re down to our last litre and rationing it.
On the bright side, it’s not dark for long. Our tent flashes like a techno-rave as thunder and lightning rip through the sky. We lie awake contemplating how this happened. We shouldn’t be surprised, though. Since we landed in Colombia, we’ve had a string of close calls. And most of them have involved cliff edges…
End of the road
A few weeks ago, Alissa asked what I wanted to do for my birthday, so I found two trails on the map separated by a river and suggested we try and cross it. Again, it didn’t go to plan.
The single-lane tracks were overgrown and covered in knee-high rocks.
Alissa fell behind trying to get around a boulder and I checked my mirrors to make sure she was alright. The second my eyes returned to the trail ahead, I nearly threw my heart up. I grabbed the brakes, squeezing for life and stopped just before the road ended. A gigantic landslide had completely swept away the trail, leaving a long vertical drop in its place – and that was nearly the end of my trip. It seemed like a fun way to turn 37 at the time though.
A little nudge
If I had gone down, at least it would have been my fault and I wasn’t pushed. A week before I was stuck behind trucks barrelling along a steep and sandy mountain road. The truck in front slammed on its brakes, creating a cloud of thick yellow dust before disappearing into it.
As I waited for it to settle, another truck appeared through the same haze. To my right was a steep drop and now to my left was the oncoming truck’s cab inches from my helmet. The driver smiled with a shrug as if to apologise for what was about to happen. I nodded, knowing what that meant and immediately leant the full weight of the bike onto my right leg. I clenched my teeth as my boot pushed stones down the cliff. He squeezed through with millimetres to spare and then bang – his back end hit my pannier and the CRF and I started turning sideways…
I fought the ’bars, nearly ripping them out of the clamps for what felt like a lifetime. The pushing finally stopped and he trundled off with a friendly toot toot! of his horn, leaving me
see-sawing on the edge.
The other side
Back in the tent, we’re finally treated to longer periods of darkness between the flashes of white. As my heartrate slows, I start to relax and thoughts of crumbling cliffs subside – allowing the other side of Colombia to flow in…
We’ve been here for over a month already and started from Bogota (we flew our bikes over the Darien Gap from Panama). We quickly left the city and headed for Cocuy National Park – one of the few places in the world where you can find glaciers in the tropics. The higher we rode, the better it got.
At around 3700m we rolled through a paramo – a high-altitude desert found in the Andes full of weird flora and fauna that has adapted to the cold and wet conditions. We keep going through the mountains higher into the clouds until the trails become jagged and we zip up our jackets and feel frost on our noses.
But it’s not all wild mountains. The towns here are out of this world and our favourite Colombian hobby is finding dirt roads that connect pretty pueblos (towns).
Pueblos
We ride past men sitting around drinking coffee on street corners wearing big black sombreros and old brown ponchos. The houses are colonial in style and often all painted the same bright colour.
Each beautiful town has its own church and little main square lined with shops and cafes. Hot chocolates, salty cheese, tasty empanadas and cakes at every stop.
We stay the night and chat with locals, and in the morning we load our saddlebags with food, our tanks with fuel and head back out to explore.
Colombia is mesmerising and ever-changing the more we ride. From the tallest palm trees in the world to dry tropical forests, baked red deserts, green mountains and stunning little towns scattered throughout.
Wake up
The sun breaks and thoughts of pretty pueblos disappear as we’re woken by a dozen goats sniffing our tent. With dry mouths, we’re packed up and blasting up the mountain within minutes – the ridge firmly fixed in our sights.
Two more hours pass until we hit a barbed wire gate marking the private road’s exit. We get through and 20 minutes later find a viewpoint with a little cafe. The owner is confused as to where we came from because there’s only one track in and out to his cafe and we appeared from the bushes. We couldn’t explain; we just needed eight bottles of water, three Cokes and two fruit juices.
Home stretch
An hour later and we’re sitting in another little town square, sipping coffee and watching the world go by. We get some strange looks just sitting there next to our bikes covered in so much dirt and smelling like old goats, but the looks are always followed by friendly smiles, inquisitive questions and welcomes.
We’ve fallen in love with Colombia and don’t want to leave – cliff edges and all. Chasing pueblos and crazy roads has become an addiction. On the way to the border with Ecuador, we squeeze another off-road route in and detour for one of the most dangerous roads in the world: the ‘Trampoline of Death’, but after everything we’ve just ridden, it’s like riding a freeway.
The addiction calls for more but we’d need years to properly explore it. Just as well; out of the nearly 100 countries we’ve travelled in, Colombia is the first we’d seriously consider living in – one day…
Renting
There’s a great selection of motorcycle rental and tour companies in Colombia. You’ll find a decent choice of motorcycles and it’s very easy to rent here. Simply fly into Bogota or Medellin, pick up your bike and go for it. We recommend going with colombiamotoadventures.com
Paperwork
Australians can enter Colombia visa free for up to 90 days. To rent a motorcycle or join a tour you will need a valid motorcycle licence. We also recommend purchasing personal travel insurance that covers you to rent and ride abroad.
When to go
Colombia has two seasons: rainy and dry. The dry season runs from December to March and June to August. May and October tend to be the rainiest months, but we rode through October and had excellent weather. Being an equatorial country, Colombia’s weather doesn’t fluctuate much, making it pleasant all year round. There are six regions and you can switch between them if one is rainy.
Who are Andy and Alissa?
Andy and Alissa packed up, sold everything and left the UK on 1 January, 2018, to motorcycle round the world indefinitely. You can follow their adventures on madornomad.com
