Lesson One: Salt water eats everything. Lesson Two: Every 6 weeks of riding is equal to a year of normal of use. In summary, everything is breaking but it’s still better than SalesForce.
Sailing around the San Blas islands was amazing. 5 days on the water island hopping oboard a 74’ sail boat with a great group of people from around the world.
The islands resembling something you would draw as a kid. A little white sand beach accompanied by a single coconut tree providing shade for a hermit crab. Surrounded by crystal clear water full of fish going on about their day.
The food was great, I had a top bunk and life was good. It’s amazing to be in the middle of the ocean with no light pollution or able to see land. Just alone in the darkness, a feeling that can go from cool to creepy extremely fast.
Living was easy and the only stress was getting the bike on and off the boat. A task the crew had done hundreds of times but was terrifying to watch as my baby was dangling off the dock balanced by a single strap.
And again in Cartagena, this time lowered onto a 15 passenger dingy. Secured to the dingy by the weight of sitting on it and a few others holding any part they could grab. Luckily the seas were calm in the morning and we were able to get it back on land easily.
It was a great day landing in Cartagena Colombia. Not only had I officially made it to South America but I was meeting a group of long time friends who came down to visit. The familiar feeling of home on a different continent.
Upon landing in Colombia and getting my bike on shore I was pulled aside by the captain with some, news. The laws had changed in the last few months and it was now illegal to import a motorcycle on anything except air cargo. From what I understand the customs office was so overwhelmed by people coming around the Darien in all sorts of vessels they put an end to it.
Thinking to myself, well that would have been nice to know before I sailed 5 days from Panama.
Good news: I still had possession of my ‘illegal’ bike. Bad news: I had to figure out a way to get it legally imported.
An agent was recommended and spoke to him once I had my passport. He proposed two options. Option one, wait until Monday until his “friend” was working. Option two, go to the customs office alone, play dumb and roll the dice and under no circumstances tell them I came on a sail boat.
I elected for option one and decided to kill the time with my friends.
We had an AirBnB booked in the old part of town with a beautiful roof top to enjoy and catch up. They also brought me new supplies for the bike and my computer which was amazing and so thankful.
These guys saved me a small fortune in the supplies they brought. Lots of things break along the way, things I didn’t even know could break are destroyed. I know it was a bitch to pack a radiator in a check bag but damn do I appreciate it.
It is nearly impossible to get what they brought and if not impossible, prohibitively expensive. Except Gore-tex waterproofing spray, that is illegal to import into South America and impossible to buy.
The new parts felt like Christmas and my friends were Santa.
We spent the weekend exploring the city and catching up. It was so nice to not have to play the 20 questions conversation when meeting someone knew. We all know each others stories and just needed to fill in the new stuff since we saw each other last.
Upon parting ways I had my work cut out for me to tackle to problem of customs and installing all the new parts. Cartagena is hotter than the surface of the sun and I didn’t have the space to rip the bike apart to complete the work I needed.
I was being lazy and needed time to nurse my hangover. In addition the agent who promised to help me import the bike was dodging me and was radio silent.
Once I arrived at my new hostel on Sunday I spotted a high end motorcycle rental shop. Figuring if anyone knew what to do about customs and getting the bike repaired these guys would.
Their initial suggestion concerning the customs paper work was fuck it. Carry a bunch of $20s and if the police stopped me hand over the money to the cop before he has a chance to ask for any other papers.
I wasn’t satisfied with the answer but appreciated the candidness.
In response to a good mechanic they new a guy who specialized on Kawasaki’s. A rare find in South America because Kawasaki’s are so expensive due to import taxes.
It was early in the morning and they weren’t busy yet and had to go to the shop for their own rig. They just got back a four passenger UTV from some guy who rented it for a week and raced around with his crew of hookers. Based on the damage, the guy had a great time.
Instead of giving me directions they grabbed the keys and told me to follow them. Racing through the streets of the city we arrive at the mechanic with the attention of everyone in the area.
The mechanic speaks a bit of English and my new friends act as a translator. Since I am with these guys he can have it done for me by the next afternoon. Fantastic news! I am assured it is in good hands and we take off.
I ask these guys about the agent I am working with and they know him, in fact, everyone I meet knows about this guy. I can’t figure out if he is really that well known of if he’s got his hand in everything.
On the way back to their shop I get a call from the agent. He’s back at the docks and told me to meet him with the paperwork and money. I fill in the guys and have them drop me off.
Now I have seen a lot of corruption along my travels especially in SE Asia and it has always worked out in my favor. I was the big fish in a little pond in previous situations. I learned quickly I was a little guppie in the ocean that is Colombian bureaucracy.
Arriving at the docs my guy is surrounded by government officials and his foreign clients. He tells me to wait a few mins and his secretary was going to personally escort me to the offices to get this sorted and apologized for any confusion.
Well alright, it has been a shit show so far but looks like we have some progress. His secretary doesn’t speak English but she didn’t seem interested in small talk anyway.
She flags down a taxi and we travel a few blocks to the customs offices. I hand her all of my documents and she quickly makes an additional copy of some forms.
I’m not given much instructions and just follow her into the offices. Upon entering the building the room is full of people waiting for their number to be called. We don’t grab a ticket, bypass the front counter, and enter the door that leads to the offices. Circumventing waiting of any kind.
Like a mother to her little kid she tells me to sit and not move. Placing me at a random desk with some woman completing paperwork in-front of me. She runs the paperwork around to various people in the office collecting stamps and signatures.
I am asked no questions and look beyond out of place.
It was the first time I missed the government processes of the United States. I was certainly in a privileged position but if you weren’t, you would never get anything completed. While the DMV sucks, there is a process and while it might be confusing, you don’t need to bribe people to do their jobs.
Eventually the signatures are gathered and the packet is completed, except one last piece.
I am approached by my handler and a customs guy in a vest. They need to check the VIN number on my bike and asks where it is parked.
Using google translate I tell them it’s at the mechanics shop and immobile. They look at each other and make a call. Five minutes later we are outside getting picked up. Me, the customs inspector, and the secretary. A tinted truck pulls up and the agent is inside.
I’m not sure what government employee of any country makes house calls but I gave him the address and off we went. Upon arriving at the shop the owner and the agent know each other and clearly have done business together.
Another 5 mins and I have my paperwork completed. The bike was ripped apart but looked fine and was assured it would be completed by the following afternoon.
Relieved and relaxing at the hostel I get a message from the agent. We missed a step, I needed to go back to the offices for the last stamp that they had forgotten about.
Not sure if this was a shake down or he was telling the truth, I grudgingly returned to the docks at breakfast.
I took a seat and he told me to relax as it would be a few mins.
At his table I saw the same customs agents from the previous day but had more time to observe what what happening.
One end of the table, a stack of paperwork needing signatures and stamps from the three guys wearing their government vests sitting and chatting, on the other end of the table a stack of completed paperwork.
Like an assembly line, the first guy grabbing the top packet. Quickly paging through, checking a few items, the equivalent of a $20 bill paper clipped to the signature page. Snatch the money, put it in his pocket, scribble the signature, THUD - stamp the page. Pass to the next guy who would do the same thing until the signed packet was placed on top of the finished pile sans any paperclip money.
Eventually my friend from yesterday arrives and we head back to the customs office. Again we head into the offices and find the all powerful final stamp.
The stamp the paperwork lacked was a time dated seal to verify the paperwork was legitimate. The problem being, it was the day after, the stamp had changed.
Not to worry, they cracked the stamp open, rotated the numbers to match, put it back together. THUD THUD. And with a smile I was finally on my way.
Shortly after I got the message from the mechanic the bike was finished. I finished up my errands for the day and met him at the shop.
The bike looked great, the salt water washed off and new parts installed. Without a translator I Wasn’t able to ask the questions I wanted but at first glimpse the bike was fine.
I paid him and made my way back home. I learned an important lesson once leaving.
Another rule I have been told a million times from others travelers is never let your bike out of your sight. If the bike is getting worked on, be there watching. I learned this lesson the hard way.
At first ride the bike was working better than when I dropped it off and felt confident whatever they did was sound. They are the mechanics after all. I am just leaning and would have gotten in the way.
That evening as I was packing the bike I started noticing things were, off. It was as if it was put together with tape, things just fell out of place. First I noticed the tank bolts were missing and it was just hanging over the frame attached to nothing.
With such a heavily modified bike, there is a sequence to assembly and disassembly. A tribal knowledge that only I know. It’s annoying but with a few bolts I could fix it myself. My confidence in their work was diminishing though.
Leaving early the following morning I set off toward Bogota through the Chicamocha Canyon and the country side close to the Venezuelan border. It was a beautiful ride and amazing scenery.
Colombia has such amazing landscapes and Ecological zones due to the three separate Andes mountain ranges that split the country. Also due to the conflict with the FARC which ended recently after decades of civil war, many of the areas I have been traveling only recently have been opened.
Climbing and descending the mountain passes was amazing. It was rainy which lead to many landslides making things difficult but I was enjoying the riding.
Eventually the bike starts to go. Lacking any sort of throttle and dying in moments when it shouldn’t. That night I start to dig in and see the quality of work the previous shop did and am appalled. Kicking myself for not checking things before paying.
Fixing what I could with he tools and parts I had the following morning making it to a shop in Bogota who I had been speaking with over the last few weeks.
They had the tires I wanted and the South American rep for the company came to meet me and thank me for choosing Mitas. Really nice reception and great shop. I told him after my experience in Nicaragua that I would only be using their tires and appreciated the compliment.
In Bogota I took some time to play tourist and discover the city. It was cold ~50 degrees and rainy but I preferred it to the 90 and humid environment of the coast.
While running one my my errands I discovered the final surprise the last shop left me. Bogota traffic is horrendous and extremely congested. Stuck in traffic the engine temperature starts rising, I start to see smoke and soon my leg is soaked. Not again.
I quickly get out of traffic and am surprisingly close to the shop I was at the previous day. The bike expels all its fluid onto the road surface and I am left scratching my head surrounded by a growing crowd of onlookers.
I figured the radiator had been punctured again but couldn’t understand how. Using my knowledge from the previous situation I get the bike running and limp it over to the shop a few blocks.
They are surprised at my return and show them the problem. Luckily the owner was there who spoke English. He is incredibly helpful but due to their work load can’t fit me in with a mechanic.
He asks shops around the area if anyone has room for me and everyone is booked. I tell him I think I know the issue and know how to take the bike apart but I need shop space along with a few tools.
I offer to pay him for shop space which he refuses and he quickly clears an area for me to work. Telling his guys to keep an eye on me, help me if I need it, and get any tools I require.
Ripping the bike down the frame I get the radiator off quickly. Confused I see the residue of burned coolant but it was brand new. My friend brought it from the states when I met him in Cartagena. Unless it was damaged in transport I don’t know how it could have been damaged.
A radiator shop next door pressure tests it and thankfully there are no punctures or holes. He points to a faulty cap. Replacing the cap I reassemble the bike. It’s good news the radiator isn’t damaged but a faulty cap doesn’t sound right either.
Starting it up and seems to be running well, then like Niagara Falls the bike and floor are soaked as the fluids leave the bike again.
Looking at the drips it seems as if it is leaking from multiple places. And then I spot it, a bracket was installed incorrectly and due to vibration has now cut through the hoses. A final gift from the shop on the coast.
Wish I would have seen that earlier but hoses are cheap. The guys run to another shop as they don’t have any on hand. Returning with a much larger tube, one from a Nissan. No one has my exact hose but this one looks kinda the same and it is the same diameter. I chop it down and fit it on.
Bike starts up and no more leaking. HOOORAAYYY
I clean up my area and thank the guys for their help. Only charged for parts I am confused and asks why it is so cheap. He shares that he has the dream of traveling south on his bike as well. He hopes when he gets the opportunity to make his trip that when he is in need, some stranger will help him too.
I thank him and pay the more than reasonable bill. I say good bye to the guys and start up the bike, put it in gear, give it gas, and it dies. Did I stall it? Two, three, four, more times, it dies as soon as I give it gas.
It was late and these guys want to go home. I wheel it back and we start to tear into it again. It has been a long day for all of us and tell him we should leave it for morning but they insist that we figure it out.
Can’t say we ever figured out the problem but beating it with a screw driver and hammer a few times got it to work. We conclude that the salt water must have corroded something in the fuel system. It works now, but for how long is the million dollar question.
The average motorcycle is driven 3000 miles per year. On my current pace I am riding an average of a year every six weeks. Things are breaking because it is time, these would be normal maintenance items normally spread out over 6 years condensed into less than one. More things are going to break, it’s just a game of getting ahead of it or rolling the dice.
Leaving Bogota I made my way to Medellín. A big group of the friends I met on the boat have been there studying Spanish and figured it would be a good place to celebrate my birthday.
I split up the drive and stopped at a small town along the way for the night. Wasn’t much happening but I needed a haircut. I found a barber shop with a bunch of kids working in it. I Was like an alien and they had many questions which I stumbled through.
I showed them a picture of my motorcycle and they got excited talking about the bike and traveling through all the different areas. They added me on instagram and asked me questions about my posts.
Seeing the picture on Everest they asked if it was in the United States. They had never heard of Mount Everest or Nepal but wished me well. I spent dinner remembering how lucky I am for this time and to be seeing the world. And how different everything could be.
Arriving in Medellín was great. Certainly my favorite big city in Colombia I have seen. It was a busy weekend due to a festival and accommodation with parking was sparse. Eventually finding one in a small neighborhood.
Relaxed atmosphere, large room, and a hostel cat that napped in my bed. Really awesome place, I couldn’t have asked for more.
I turned 30 on Friday August 3rd and spent the day playing tourist in the city exploring and going on tours. Not getting many opportunities to sight see it felt productive and was happy to be active.
There was no doom and gloom around the birthday. No morbid feelings around entering my 30s. 20s were over and they were a good time. 30s will be good too, just different.
That night I met up with my friends at their hostel and they got me a cake which was an amazing surprise. Really great group of people and happy I got to spend it with them.
I really enjoyed Medellín and had an amazing birthday. If I would have told my 20 year old self that at 30 I would be homeless and unemployed, I wouldn’t have been able to picture this.
Recalling thoughts from my 24th birthday I reflected on how much has changed or rather developed. When I was 24 I thought how much had changed in the six years since turning 18. College, studying abroad in London, getting in trouble with the law, old friends and relationships, moving to Atlanta, moving to Denver, Hashbrown, getting a job, developing a sense of hope and that the future might not be terrible but it still might. Optimistic that I couldn’t have foreseen how things developed and excited albeit scared what 30 might bring.
Now reflecting on the six years from 24 to 30. Learning the importance of mental health, getting out of debt, getting in trouble with the law, starting to understand finances, Burning Man, my dad dying, old friends and relationships, choice, traveling, quitting my job, selling all my things, traveling around the world for over a year, understanding that the future is my present responsibility.
Somethings stayed the same, somethings I need to work on, somethings I improved upon. Surprisingly I’m not dead or in jail. I don’t have a job I hate, or a life I am trying to escape, I would say I am the most positive I have ever been. Learning that it is a strength and not a weakness like I previously believed.
While it is important to consider the future, obsession about the future and past never allows you understand your actions in the present. The very actions that dictate the outcome of the timeline you are worried about.
Understanding that expectations can be a slippery slope and there is no failure only reactions to unmet expectations. I am still a work in progress but accepting that has cooled the anxiety.
Heading south from Medellín I entered the coffee region. A Colombian rider reached out after reading the Nicaragua article offered to show me around and planned out a day of riding for us. He also suggested an overlanders only hostel in the country called SteelHorse.
Meeting people from the internet has become more and more common lately. It’s kinda weird to be honest but it’s also awesome.
Reaching out to the hostel they told me the road was rough getting there. I’ve heard a gravel road be described as rough and didn’t think much of the warning. Upon arriving in the general area of the hostel I see what they meant.
The road was being paved and was impassable sans a small rebar track 10cm wide on the right side. The workers told me to turn around and I decided to wait until they were done for the day and then give it a shot.
As I was waiting one of the owners appears from behind a large mound of rock on a small dirt bike. “Oh hey!”
She was heading into town and gave me the cliff notes on the situation. It was passable but it was a battle between the workers and everyone trying to get through. They were not making it easy and after some pleading they agreed to remove some equipment which was blocking the way.
It was a sketchy traverse down and she helped me carry my panniers down the hill as the path was too narrow for my bike to fit.
Arriving at the hostel, it was worth it and I was thankful for the suggestion. A beautiful farm house situated on the hill. All sorts of animals call it home and the rolling hills surrounding it looks like the Microsoft Windows background picture.
There aren’t many guests at the moment due to the road condition and I have a dorm room to myself. The hosts are an English couple and the food is fantastic.
They traveled for nearly 2 years on motorcycle before deciding the buy this place and call it home. Creating the place they searched for during their journey but never found.
This place will make it into a movie or a book someday. It will go down in history and will be synonymous with overland travel. The guest book is full of the most famous instagram travel accounts. After spending a few days here I can see how and why this will be a destination.
In the morning I met with my Colombian instagram friend in the town square. We were excited to meet each other and he said he had a great route planned. I definitely underestimated and he undersold how awesome of a day it would be.
Recently completing the trip to Ushuaia he is now back working and splitting time between Miami and Colombia. his girlfriend completing her masters. Planning their next trip which will be traveling North to Alaska.
They showed me around the small coffee towns of the area and treated me to every meal and drink as their guest. He was a strong rider and after a tour on the asphalt said we would be heading off road.
Since the recent peace agreement with the FARC huge portions of Colombia have opened which were too dangerous to enter in the past. Threats of kidnapping being the largest danger and they were good at it. The FARC territory is deep in the mountains and now new roads and areas are being discovered for the first time.
We were heading to an area that has not been mapped yet and was previously unreachable due to the FARC controlling the territory. It was amazingly beautiful.
Spending 12 hours riding through the mountains through every type of scenery imaginable with great company. It was a day I won’t soon forget.
Upon the top of a hill Marcello brought out his drone while we had some lunch. Capturing shots and videos of us on top of the mountain and surrounding areas. After a few minutes of flying some people appeared from a trail to see who we were.
Friendly and smiling asking us about the bikes and the drone. Sternly and with a smile, instructing us that it would be best for everyone if we kept it on the other side of the mountain.
I didn’t understand a word the guy said but my friend did and we made sure to abide by the strangers wishes. Beautiful areas out there but clearly still with some secrets.
Towards the end of the day we ran into two other riders who were on their way to SteelHorse. Both fixtures in the adventure riding space and both of which I already followed on instagram.
It was my first time meeting someone who I had certainly looked up to through social media and inspire travel via motorcycle. Really nice people, approachable, friendly, and relatively normal or at least compared to my new normal.
While the bike worked well for the most part the previous day, I decided to rip it apart and figure out previous issues. I couldn’t think of a better place to try. I don’t know what I am looking for or what is broken or how to fix it, but something is off and I want to learn.
Setting up my work station I organize my tools and methodically remove the parts off the bike. The owner of the hostel isn’t a bike mechanic but we have a similar bike and asked for some advice. Offering me any tool or part he had for me to use.
Later in the afternoon when I thought I had ruined a critical rubber part, one of the other riders came out to see why my bike was in 1000 pieces. He is a professional bike mechanic and has ridden around the world.
I confess to him that I really screwed up and am way over my head. He assures me I didn’t ruin it and in fact within 20 mins the rubber would return to normal.
Laughing at me with his look changing from ‘how did this clueless moron get this far’ to ‘this guy might be a moron but at least he wants to learn’.
We spent the next few hours talking about my bike, things to lookout for, things to buy, and general tips for the road. He wasn’t grabbing a wrench but was certainly there for any questions I had.
Getting the bike back together and running is always a feeling of accomplishment. Having it feel like it is running better than when I started is even better.
We got talking that night about how they like life on the road and how they got started and keep it going. Money talk is a pretty common topic on the road. You can size up someones rig and guesstimate how much it cost but the interesting question is how they keep it moving.
I have yet to meet someone who says they inherited the money or are a celebrity but passive income is the name of the game. Rental property seems to be key coupled with keeping the average cost per day traveling low.
Certainly an element of math involved to understand what it costs to travel. But once the formula is figured out, it becomes your creed.
I spoke before about a type of traveler that had a Chicxulub event. Something that happened in their life that changed them forever and life was never the same. An event that changed the course of their life or course corrected their life.
We spoke a bit about the choice to leave home or life as they knew it. There is always an event, but I believe the actual event to be the unimportant part of the story, it’s the lesson or impact that it left.
I find it more common than not, it is the realization that life is a choice. That there is more to life then sharing suicide memes and laughing at how horrible the present is. The realization that life is a choice has the greatest impact, it just has varying catalyst.
It’s fine and great to find humor in a bad situation but it isn’t ok to blame the state of the present moment on something else besides your choice of not changing it or even attempting to change it.
I am having growing difficulty being empathetic when I hear others complaining about their present situations while taking no steps to look at how they arrived at the present. The inability to understand that their choices in the past put them in that situation. Along with understanding that nothing will change in the future without making choices in the present.
It was described to me as understanding that life is a choice is ‘getting it’. I have certainly drastically changed my perception and perspective in the past two years and now ‘get it’. But can’t help but think about times in the past when someone told me I didn’t get it or I told someone else they didn’t ‘get it’.
In the situations I was told I didn’t ‘get it’, was that person attempting to convey getting the ‘it’, that life is a series of choice? Because when I told others they didn’t ‘get it’ I sure as hell wasn’t alluding to decision making of choices. Merely repeating an insult that hurt, but didn’t know why.
At SteelHorse I got a crash course in gathering information about dirt roads that need to be found. Debating where to go and when to leave one of the other riders gave me an all day route close by to where we were staying.
The route was similar to the ride earlier in the week but went deeper through newly opened FARC territory as well as through the national park that has all of the famous wax palm trees - Colombias national tree.
I decided to stick around an additional day and explore a bit longer.
Leaving early I made it to the tourist town of Salento for breakfast and some food for lunch. Departing from town along some mountain bike trails.
The views were incredible and again the riding was awesome. The trail was rough at times but without all the extra weight of my gear the bike was able to easily handle it.
I spent 7 hours exploring the switchbacks of the Colombian mountains overlooking the villages below. Views that were unavailable to anyone except the FARC and their hostages a few years ago.
The farmers and villagers curious about my presence and catching their attention as I past through. Eventually finding a place to have lunch along the side of the trail. A rancher leading his horses tips his hat to me with a ‘buenas’. A few moments later returning and throwing me a few oranges he grabbed off of a close by tree.
The people are friendly and are still getting used to the new faces visiting their country.
While the day was long it doesn’t seem as long on the dirt as it does on the pavement. The constant zigzagging of cars wears you out. Out in the country the time goes by easy and you are able to take in the views.
Returning to SteelHorse I was happy I made the decision to spend the extra day trip exploring a different area of the region.
After packing my things and sharing some beers with the other riders he asks if I want a few more that will take me the rest of the way to Ecuador. I was thrilled I would have a few more opportunities to enjoy the country before leaving.
The next morning with my new plan I left early again, this time loaded down with all my gear. Looking at the map my destination sat in between two highways. The dirt trails cutting through the mountains.
I could feel the extra weight immediately, preferring the previous day and slimmer load. Leaving the paved road and entering the local trails as I expected. Not much to see yet but confident it would be a nice ride.
Not 15 mins after setting off the paved road I encounter a steep rocky section. Looking exactly like the type of road I hate; steep dirt rutted out with large shale and rocks, I fall every time.
The first section I ride through fine and climb over. Riding along the elevated trail in the middle I lose my line and slide into the rut running along the side. Able to keep my front tire elevated my rear wheel slides into the rocks and gets stuck.
High sided on the trail and unable to move I get off the bike to plan my way out.
As I am taking a picture of the stuck bike I hear something behind me.
-Click- “Amigo!”
I didn’t see anyone as I entered and turning around I see no one.
Staring at the brush for a moment I see the silhouette of a man behind a large banana leaf. I wave to him and then he takes another step forward and I see he’s pointing a single barrel shotgun. His skin completely covered besides his tattooed hands, with a t-shirt wrapped around his face.
Realizing quickly what the click from moments ago was.
Putting my hands up and with my limited Spanish I tell him I am sorry and I will get out of his way.
Asking where I am going I show him my map and route. With the wag of his finger he tells me not to enter. Leaving the way I came as the only viable option.
I apologize for trespassing and tell him I will be out as soon as I get the bike turned around.
Responding with “es tranquilo” coupled with the breaking and unloading of the shotgun shell. Chuckling, I see that it is cool and he doesn’t see me as a threat.
I’m not sure what he is guarding or who he was waiting for but it wasn’t me.
Mounting the bike I try to get out of my rut only to dig my back wheel deeper. He hops down from the hill to give me a hand.
I motion that if he can steady the rear I can lift the front up and around. Shouldering his shotgun he grips the bike. I can see tattoos covering his hands and wrists who’s origin I can only guess.
He’s not a large man but he was in control and I know he could have killed or robbed me very easily. No one would have known out there and he would have had a really nice new bike.
Quickly I lift and rip the front around with my new amigo holding the bike so I can mount it.
Hopping on I start the bike and wave goodbye in my side view mirror. Chill guy, most definitely could have ended differently but it didn’t. I think I scared him more than anything else. Thinking ‘who the hell is dumb enough to make so much noise on my land’. Only to find a lost dumb gringo attempting a trail outside of his skills.
The next opportunity with service I message my friend and tell him of my experience and share the location. He tells me he got turned around by the military in an area close by. There was a car bombing and double murder by joint FARC and cartel forces earlier in the morning just south of where I got turned around. Apparently the area turned extremely hostile in the past few days since my arrival.
I can’t be sure if my new friend knew of the danger ahead and was protecting me or he just wanted me off his land. Either way I got lucky or something is helping steer me out of danger. I have gotten lucky too many times during this trip to believe it is random, there is a reason for these experiences and a reason I haven’t been dumped in a ditch yet. That being said, I’ve also learned it is different than believing I am invincible.
I have one week left in Colombia, most of which will be spent riding south through the rest of the country. It’s a beautiful country with a recent interesting history. I’ll be crossing into Ecuador next week and meeting Amelia in Quito where we will travel to the Galapagos! I am very excited for Ecuador and to see her and to swim with an iguana.
-Joe