My bike collapses

I exited the city at the place I wanted and still had to pedal uphill for some time. There was a 10km tunnel I was approaching with the bike. Everybody was telling me that I couldn’t go through there but still I was riding on. I had my bike repaired (again) in Medellin. The rear rack had been welded and was finally sturdy and stable. Problem solved in my eyes. When I was one km from the tunnel entrance, climbing on the road and thinking about how passing the mountain through the tunnel must feel like when uddenly I heard a metallically sound. Was it the bike? Everything was looking good. I drove on. 15 meters after that my rear rack was askew after a screw had decided to loosen and quit. I had to weld it for 1,50€ and the mechanic didn’t even manage to tighten the screw right. Fucking shit. So I removed a screw from my selfmade packs to fix the rack temporarily. But for sure I would need a proper repair. That was about to happen in the next village. Before that I had a very steep descent to finish. And long, steep descents mean a lot of adrenaline for me, when Iḿ threatened, that my bike will collapse at any moment.

And I wasn’t through this unpassable tunnel yet. Next obstacle. When coming closer a security was already nervously running towards the road who thought I must have missed the “cycling prohibited” sign. No possible passage here. So I had to switch back to hitchhiking, with a truck. Worked well. I also survived the descent. More or less. My improvised bike packs had been fastened on the rack with hangers (Model Double-Hanger). Two hangers for each box. One had already broken and the second side I lost on this descent. Me, again, improvising. A string will do it. The motorcycle workshop fixed the lost screw for free. Well equipped to continue. The broken packing box was to be dealt with later. Is there anything working on this bike? I couldn’t care less, had to move on.

Sweltering heat, I had again arrived in the jungle. Antiquia, provincial capital. As I exited the town I considered buying something to drink. I was thirsty. But to much on edge to stop. I decided to continue first and get something to drink on one of the many shops alongside the road. There were so many shops in the past everywhere, should not be a problem.

Dying of thirst

The problem was I had no proper map. The one I carried had no elevation lines. Otherwhise I would have figured that in front of me was one of the worst ascents of my whole route waiting for me. I climbed up the mountain for some time. It was hot, and strangely there was nothing here. Plain nothing. Usually each mountain had some shops or something, but here – nothing. At some point I was done driving and continued by pushing my bike. I was quite fast like that to be honest. I am not the specialist for ascents, especially with this shitty bike and 20kg of stuff on my rear end.

Even pushing started to be quite exhausting after some time and I had to stop for a break. All over with sweat, completely overheated in the middle of the dead-zone. Where the hell is that beverage kiosk?!? I felt like cold ice tea and started fantasizing about all the awesome, cold drinks I could have. But that didn’t help and I had to continue to push. My mouth was getting dry, my spit failed to materialize. My head had to be purple by now. Since about two hours pushing and even after the next curve no sign of civilisation of consumerism. Everywhere next to the road I was seeing empty cups and bottles. Carelessly thrown out and I really considered stopping and sipping the rest of one of those bottles. That was the level of my thirst. Had I only bought something in the city. Going back was no option. Not two times that same road. I rather die of thirst.

At some point I passed a door with a Moto-Taxi in front of it. Behind it a path led into nowhere. I couldn’t recognise anything, no house, no doorbell. But the moto-taxi was open. I saw my chance, checked the cabin and there I saw it: A transparent plastic bottle. Not sure whats inside. Opening, checking the smell… chloride … well, water smells like chloride in Colombia, that could be it. A first sip, yes, it was water. Lukewarm water. I drank 4/5th of the bottle and put it back. My salvation. I was so glad and greedy drinking that I swallowed up and had t spit some water out again, while coughing. At least some water. It improved my overall situation. After that my suffering continued, the mountain seemed without end.

Darkness was approaching and I decided to stop a car to get out of that area. Didn’t take long and I had my pick up. Funny, here in Colombia hitchhiking with a bike seemed to be easier than without. We continued for another 10 km uphill, I was so happy not to be walking there on that continuing ascent but to be inside that car. He dropped me in the next village. Lightening covered the sky and a thunderstorm approached. I got me some bottles to drink, yeah lots of bottles with different, cold delicious liquids and then I checked in at the next hotel. Camping with that weather was not amusing and after being crushed by that day so much I was longing for some calmness.

Dear Colombia, you don’t only break me, but my bike as well

The next day started with light ascents on the high plains until I reached another descent two hours later. The broken bike pack had been provisionally fixed at the hotel. They didn’t even have a screwdriver so I had to tighten the screws by hand. It was quite ok since I was using locknuts. Pity that the condition of the road was getting worse. Gravel track. That was all I needed. I was more slow going down then going up because I had to be extremely careful not to drop into road holes or kill my rims on the sharp stones. I heard that 2 people from Chile were cycling the same path one day behind me. Maybe we will meet.

At some point going downhill as the road was better again a truck passed me and again I heard that strange, metallic sound. Was it me? Soon I realized: Yes, it was me. Of course. The second hanger of the already damaged box had left the team. Again improvising. I carried that sailing rope and with that I tied the box to the bike on both sides. A little unstable but good for now. I had no idea on how to really fix that. I finally went until Turbo like that. Looked like shit but was sturdy. Like running a marathon with a broken leg and only one shoe, but still making it through the finishing line.

It was 4 pm and I stopped to enjoy a malt drink. It was all over Colombia, called “Malta”. Some kind of malt beer. Lot’s of sugar, good energy. The high mountains were behind me and I was riding along a river for quite some time now. Short chit-chat in the next village on how to continue? Will it will stay flat? Nah, nah, only small hills, but pretty much a flat road. 40km to the next village. One of the younger ones tried to articulate that it would rise a little in between and then down to the village. Steep rising? No, no, the granny at the shop assured me. Plano, plano ‘till the next village. No problem with the bike. So I was calm since steep ascents were the last thing that I wanted to fight that day. I started bikng biking.

Marco Pantani Memorial Event

And so they dismissed me towards the steepest ascent that you will find between Medellin and Turbo. 2200 meters I had to climb, straight over a mountain pass as I was about to figure out. Not only the last day climbing was still aching in my bones but it was getting late and I was tired. Luckily not knowing what was in front of me. That’s always better. So I rolled, the road left the riverbed and the altitude slowly rising.

Actually this was the moment when I really learned how to climb steep roads with the bike. The strategy is very simple. Reduce speed a little in between, to take rest while climbing, but always stay in the seat. 15-20km I was pedaling, without a break, straight through. I entered the clouds at some point and it started to rain. It was moist. On the pass the road was winding on the same level for some kilometers before the long descent started. It was marvellous to stand on the highest point. I knew it would nly go down from here. And I made it without pushing half of the way! Beast mode! I was proud of myself.

Those exertions were rewarded with a hotel, at half the price of the one the day before. About 5 €. The nights in the hotels were terrible. Somehow, the South American hotels are frequented 24/7 by people what I conceive as very exhausting. Chatter all the time, doorbell amidst the night, people enter and exit and the TVs of my neighbours are constantly on maximum volume. TVs became my number one enemy. Shows only shit and is always noisy. But there was an internet connection. Where I checked the upcoming route and figured that the following day would have two terrible high mountains waiting for me. I had been nowhere near through the Cordillera, as i hoped to be after those two days of suffering.

What rainforest feels like

But then relieve! Ha! The website that I had used was flawed. The next day was hilly but the last mountain I had definitely crested the day before. My constantly present companion would from now on be the rain. And it’s not called rainforest for nothing. It was no real rain but constant drizzle. Relentless drizzle. From that day on I was constantly wet. Not wet enough for the moisture to go through my backpack but enough to evaporate steam during the water breaks. Still it was a rather relaxed day with an early evening approaching at the end as I was about to enter a thunderstorm that was in front of me.

I decided to eat out at a fancy restaurant and pitch my tent. I was happy to find a wooden structure with roof. The whole night was full of thunderstorm and rain and the shelter very much appreciated. On the next day there were only 100km left to Turbo. Mostly flat. No ascents. Wonderful. I really enjoyed cycling there. Although it was raining all the time. The first 40 km I had covered in about 2 hours. Breakfast. Destiny put me in a restaurant where the Tour de France was streamed on TV, the final 40km steep ascent. They were twice as fast as I had been and they cycled through the Pyrenees, full of super-steep ascents and dangerous downhill roads. When the winner was clear I saddled my bike again. Here I come world! Touring through Colombia.

The last kilometers to Turbo had the potential to make up for a lot that had happened on that tour. But no, of course not. About 25km before the city several huge construction works had decided to hang around on the road and together with the rain it created a lot of mud. A feast of mud. And trucks rushing past me throwing mud in all directions. My bike and I received a covering of mud. Mud madness. Thank you Colombia. Always up for some pleasure. I also really enjoyed cicyling with you!

But still I had made it. What came later you might already know. Cleaning the bike, selling the bike. Trading my Colombia Bike Outfit for a boat ride. Going towards Panama. Cycling is definitely off my “ToDo”-List. And next time I will use a more stable bike, better equipment and easier gears. I would cycle relaxed alongside a river instead fighting through the colombian mountain ranges. It was donkey work but epic! Been there, done that. Checkmark. Get up from the puddle of mud and continue.

Der Beitrag By bicycle through Colombia (3) – Last stage to Turbo erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.

I went back to the village. Wanted to hitch to the street and had spotted a nice bar where I could imagine having a beer. It would be two beers. And sausages. In the end it was quite a gathering around me. All the possible specialists inspected my bike. At some point the bus passed. The swarm intelligence occured and escalated quickly. The bus was stopped and negotiations started. Taking bike okay? “Descarga”, disassembled. Before I could have said “Hi” the people had chopped up my bike and stuffed the bus with it. The stress nearly made me forget to pay my 2 beers and the sausages. So we’re riding the bus to the next bike workshop. It’s an emergency and officially I am not hitchhiking. That’s me, whitewashing it.

Well, I enjoy riding busses. I do not do it often and to me it is the peak of comfort. I was kind of happy and satisfied. But didn’t hold for long. After 15 minutes one of our tires blew up. Seems like kismet had to catch up on something with my life. 25 years without blown tires. Now it was coming for me. I couldn’t explain this. It was the 4th accident of that kind within the last 3 months. Story of my life at this point. Switching the tire was adventurous since some blasting idiot had screwed a female screw of wrong size on one of the screws. And we didn’t have a fitting tool for that. We had to stop a helpful trucker. After that we could fix the tire and continue.

In the bike shop in the nearby town the boys changed my tire for roughly 1€. There was no new rim, but we could at least analyze the problem. I had had a big hit on the rim and now it had the shape of an egg instead it being round. But: the bike was working. And I was finally in some flat lands. Behind the first of the three mountain ranges that I would pass here in Colombia.

Me, like a bird with tailwind

I rode. With tail winds. In the evening sun. Along the highway. 10km, 20km, … dusk arose. I was cycling into an ecstasy at the end of this breakdown day on this flat, beautiful road in the nice evening atmosphere. Warm wind blowing around my nose. Thomas D. – Rückenwind was sounding in my ears through invisible headphones. Pure serotonin gluttony. I was so happy and had an awesome drive. Satisfied from being “on the move”. I made 35km until I found myself at some kind of service station where I had an opulent dinner from my last coins whilst watching Copa Americana (Chile – Uruguay, nice game, many red cards and entertaining escalation at the end of the game). In the end it was a superb day. All in all I had done 90 km. Only that sleeping seemed to be a problem still. I was awake. 3 days of cycling and no sign of exhaustion. My organism was super active. Like after my Pilates lessons. So this should be a good sign….

Next morning, searching for an ATM. Since I never carried more than 20€ with me I had to get money every day. I started around 8 and it was still cold. That would change soon. Additionally I was going straight for the next mountain range. That again meant: Promising crispy ascents and mountain tops. And pushing. A lot of pushing. Taking a break. Drinking. Pushing further. In between I was hating this shit trip and decided that I should arrive in Medellin the upcoming day. Not another day of this donkeywork. Then I continued pushing.

Contribution to general mental enfeeblement

Somewhere inside a small shop on an ascent I was having a break drinking Coca-Cola whilst the news were on the TV. “News” do – in Colombia – not really deserve that name. It’s more a reality soap. Here a robbery, there a drug lord caught, a crying mom next to a picture to her kidnapped daughter and at the end everything repeating. They don’t show other things here. Quite contrary, each story, as uninteresting as possible, is squeezed until it’s flat. Feeding myself all day with that shit I am, of course, under the impression, that this country is incredibly dangerous. I felt a little like laughing because the news were so cheaply made. But also sad since it had nothing in common with reality. Another episode to the downfall of watching TV and its contribution to public stupidity. Cheers.

Upcoming terrain: “rather flat”

During the next robbery on TV I took the chance to ask around about the upcoming road. It should be 15 minutes uphill, a short descent, up again at some point continuing “rather flat”. I decided to continue pushing to enjoy the flat part afterwards. And then hitchhiking. It wasn’t far but about 25km ascent to more than 2000 meters of height. I was very seldom so much without motivation. But I want step back, not that cheap. That’s why I am torturing up the two last ascents. The way down led me to a bridge, sincerely guarded by the local military recommended as a safe point in the guerilla jungle.

After a worker told me that there will not be ” any flat” but only hilly terrain I unsaddled. Finito! Fuck that shit! Now: Back to good old Hitchhiking. Good decision. A closer inspection of my rear brake showed it had loosened. And that didn’t increase the anyway poor safetyness of my bike. The brake was working but was hanging towards exodus trying to stealthily get off the bike. It took only 15 minutes and a Pickup stopped. Where headed? Medellin. Hitchhiking with the bike: nice and easy. He even had a special platform for transporting bikes where I mounted my front wheel.

His name was Juan, he owned several fruit farms and was producing juice. A young man, had his first daughter born 12 days before, spoke English quite well and was impressed from the journey I had behind and in front of me. I enjoyed the ride in the evening sun with my brain promising me a shower and a bed. 4 days of cycling, sweating, same clothes, that was too much, even for me.

As we entered Medellin the first thing to recognize was size, it is a big city. Also it is within a valley surrounded by mountains and steep ascents. To my surprise many sporting cyclists were fighting their way up here as we arrived in the city in the evening. Juan dropped me at one of the steep roads down to the city. I just had to roll down the mountain. Well…just roll down…. My rear light had been lost since its first use in Bogota. But light is overrated anyway. Compared to brakes. Of which I had only one left. When I realized that, my enthusiasm to ride down there dropped even steeper than that road.

I had to make 2 breaks on my way to the city, cooling the rims. I got lost at first but then I realized, that I didn’t even have a plan where I wanted to go (maybe a hostel?). Tried to find an internet cafe but no chance. I had a burger at a street food snack bar. Something I really enjoyed was that I could cycle anywhere with my bike, to any part of the city without thinking about distance. I liked it to be that flexible. At a restaurant above a car workshop I found a cheap room. I was the only guest. I only checked in because there was a Jazz-Session going on one block further and I hadn’t had live jazz since more than nine months. I was whacked from the tour but still not tired. Because cycling is like doing Pilates and youre so fucking active and it is for sure good for the body…….Or rather, I was so tired, that I wasn’t tired anymore. The only thing left to do here: drinking and smoking. With Live-Jazz in the background I slowly sedated myself until drop into bed at some point. It worked.

Der Beitrag Cycling through Colombia (2) – For the sake of variety flat tire erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.

First problem was the route. While dropping into fixing the bike I completely forgot to get a decent bike map and check out a passable path. There are several tools on the web to do that, bikemaps.com, openstreetmaps.org or other programs, especially for cycling tours. Especially figuring out steep ascents is useful for a good planning. I had tried to check that out. But I failed. Well, in the end I didn’t give a shit and just took of. I checked google maps on how to get out of Bogota, wrote down the first 6 Villages to pass, jumped on the bike and *puff *I had become a touring cyclist. What a feeling. Pure freedom. Not relying on anyones kindness. Just ready to go whereever I want. That was the first impression.

The catastrophic planning cost me my first day. Not only that I left without a map but also trying to purchase one on my way out of Bogota were both no good decisions. I managed to get that map somehow but at the same time I had completely lost my orientation. After approx. 30 min discussing at a police station I had an average of an idea and started leaving the city on the slip road. Dusk had approached as I finally left crossed the city boundary. Checking for a place to sleep. I found out quickly: On the bike you are pretty free in movement but you can’t just jump over a fence and sleep in someones backyard. More movement, less flexibility. In the evening it is more easy on foot. Still I found a spot on a small hill next to the road. Since I had no lock I had to find a spot where nobody would zapzerap my new randonneur.

Ups and downs of a journey

It was a cold night. Still on 2000m altitude. What I knew: It was raining. Thick, dark clouds welcomed me in the morning. My second day of cycling. I didn’t know, that there was a steep ascent for the upcoming 3 kilometers. Starting the day with a pleassureful climb. I had no breakfast. I had no idea of the ascent either and had started cycling into the blue. I had to get off the bike and push at some places. Sporty cyclists were passing me. Without any luggage. I wished to be able to be that light. Never travelled with a packed bike. It is a very different experience. On the “mountain”top there was a small restaurant and I enjoyed some fried eggs – sunny side up – chocolate cake and coffee. Then downhill.

And downhill. And downhill. And further downhill. All in all 40 km! I`d never stop to go downhill. I was rolling towards the center of the globe. I wasn’t too happy about it, to be honest, since I could figure that any meter downhill would be another meter uphill somewhere. On the way from Bogota to Medellin you have to pass two mountain ranges. Down the one, up the other. The descent wasn’t really “back down from the mountain ridge”-tour but rather a “down in between – fun HAHA and now fuck yourself”-descent with an upfollowing “Marco Pantani-Memorial”-ascent.

Pieces of trash…

Going down I had my first troubles with the equipment. The start of a long series of problems. My pannier rack was groaning from carrying 20kg and got loose. It obviously had to check in at the next bike workshop. Also my rims got hot. Pretty hot!  But I had to brake. It led to several stops in between waiting for them to cool down. For the first time in my life I understood what disk brakes where for.

I found a bike workshop. For 2€ they fixed the rack, filled my tires with air and removed a bump from one wheel. I had those bumps in my wheel. You could call it deformities. It felt like cycling on eggs. My handlebar felt like a sedated jackhammer after the descent. The problems in the front wheels were fixed, the ones in the back had the same problem but could be ignored. Further down.

At some point the fun was over. The profile changed and where I was rolling smoothly down before became an abnormally steep ascent. Soon my batteries were empty and I had to start pushing the bike… for approx. 4 hours. Later I checked the road on Google Maps – the ascent was for about 20 km and conquered about 1000 meters in height. Pure hate and impossible to cross with this parody of a touring-bike. Maybe I was just a lazy rag and to weak. I had finally realized that I was in the middle of the mountains. And probably I wouldn’t manage to have the “great country for cycling”-Experience.

Following, another descent. It was just going up and down all the time. After 15km of splendid rolling it was getting dark and I had to check for the next sleeping place. I had spotted a nice meadow and asked some people if I could stay there. They didn’t know where the owner was but said it would be ok. The easy way. Neighbor decides what happens on your property. The last 3€ were spent for something sweet, orange juice and 2 liters of water and then I went to bed. When you go by bike, you get fucking hungry and need a lot of energy. Being on a budget at the same time is very stupid. I would need some time to find that out.

Terrorising Trucks

This night was probably my worst night. On my whole journey. My tent sat three meters next to the main transit road between Medellin and Bogota. Trucks were rolling 24/7 past me. The floor vibrating, the engine brakes roaring. Especially the older trucks manage to make as much noise as a starting airplane. Hold me awake the whole night. At some point I used toilet paper as earplugs but it helped only little. In general I am not so demanding when it comes to sleeping spots and noise levels. But there is a difference between sleeping besides an annoying Helene Fischer concert and sleeping directly inside the Mosh Pit.

Besides I made another discovery. Even after 10 hours of cycling I was anything but sleepy or tired. My whole body was glowing from the blood rushing between heart and muscles. The pump was working well. But I couldn’t relax a bit. I know that from at home when I was doing my every monday Pilates training. The same excitement. That can just be a good sign. Doing well body, hey?

Day 3 starts. I finish the final 5km of the descent and find myself within a sunny colonial town called Guaduas. Holiday was in the air, the sun was happily shining and the surroundings called for fresh pressed orange juice or cool beer. Rice and beef with coffee. I called it breakfast. My relaxing-me took the chance to have a 30 minute break before my ambitions and nervosity were able to convince everybody to continue. Just after another Coke. Sun was burning already that morning.

I had two options and consulted the local intelligence to make up for the missing map. Finally I decided for the road with fewer ascents. Still, at the city boundary, a short but hefty asshole-ascent was waiting for me. It was already 11am. Sun showed itself from its best side. I was sweating with maximum fluid loss and in between it was so hot that I was freezing. “Like sauna Stefan, like Sauna”, I tried to calm myself over the wonder about the bodily reaction. Really weird experience. It was so unbelievably hot. But it it was at least going downhill after that.

I was always careful going down because I couldn’t trust my bike. I knew it was shit from the first few meters I did with it. I was prepared for everything. Blowing tires, loosening of the rack with subsequent destruction of my rear spokes, breaking of the frame or just the classical accident with deadly head injuries. So I braked busily going down. I thought about checking the rims but it should be fine, yesterday they withstood a much longer descent. Well, another day another descent. At some point a bang and rear tire went farewell. To my surprise the bike kept stable on the rim and I managed to brake. No accident, still lucky, but tire broken. Here the tour came to a first stop. Although the day had started so promising. I was in the middle of nowhere with a blown tire, had a repairing kit but no air pump. So I went back to hitchhiking…

Der Beitrag By bycicle through Colombia (1) – The Mosh Pit erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.