There is a concept in stochastic modeling called a “burn-in” period, where you don’t consider the first 10% or so of iterations because there is too much volatility before the system finds its steady-state.
The term “burn-in” is not statistical in any sense, but borrowed from the electronics industry, where components of a system are stress-tested before being placed in service. This testing process is often conducted at elevated temperatures, pressures, and voltages.
When I asked Tom, one of my favorite riders so far (Toronto, documentary film writer), who cycled Cairo to Cape Town and Tuktoyaktuk (very very far north in Canada) to Panama City, earlier how long it usually takes to get adjusted to a tour of this length, he replied calmly with his gentle wisdom: “give yourself roughly two weeks.”
Stephan and I forget to pickup our laundry in Medellin before the laundromat closed, a rookie mistake, and consequently started an hour behind the convoy the following morning. Fortunately, it meant we could ride on our own pace and enjoy a little coffee stop before we ascended from Medellín’s urban cradle.
For a country of its reputation, the coffee, or tinto, has been more a miss than a hit.
“All the good coffee’s in London.” Says one of the other riders at a later coffee stop.
“The past few days [from Medellin to Bogota] have been some of my toughest cycling days ever.” Says Jim, one of the more experienced riders.
We covered close to 550km and climbed over 11,500m of elevation, and I’ve been stunned by the incredible landscapes Colombia has to offer.
Although some of these hills take your breath away (in every sense), I’ve been more overwhelmed by the generosity of strangers that we’ve encountered, such as Monica-Sanchez - who invited me into her home and offered me some watermelon and coffee, or Carlos who offers me some bananas and refuses to accept any money.
“Colombia es para todos…nuestro país es lida” (Colombia is for everyone. Our country is pretty). Monica says to me after our photo, as she wishes me a safe journey.
“Everyday brings a new challenge.” Says Avi, my new roommate for the few hotel nights we have in Medellin and Bogota. Avi is quirky, and the type of person that likes to be the first to enter a room, or a campsite.
“When it’s not the heat, it’s the hills, and if not hills, rain, or headwind…” he says.
We have several back to back days where we face enormous climbs and I swallow the pain and keep moving at my tortoise-like pace up every hill. Our most grueling day started with hours of climbing on slippery gravel roads until a peak elevation over 13,000ft as we climbed into the clouds.
Several riders are defeated by the altitude, one slips and breaks a rib, another gets hypothermia, and a few get in the truck because they couldn’t feel their fingers well enough to brake on the descent.
I think of how the FAA requires the flight crew to use oxygen if a flight is between 12,500 and 14,000ft and lasts more than 30 minutes…how long have we been at 13,000+?
“Are your ears popping?” asks me Paul, as we climb together, stopping for tea to warm up halfway through the climb.
It is freezing at the top of the mountain, and I am the last to arrive to the campsite that night, at 6:05 pm, close to 9 hours of riding for the day.
“Well done not getting in the truck today, Mark.” Avi says to me.
“I’m proud of you!” He says.
“I didn’t do this for you, I did this for me.” I want to say, I’m cold, sweaty, and hungry and not in the mood to chitchat. But, he wasn’t done with his pep talk —
“Keep pushing yourself. Every time you get in the truck you make it easier to get in again and again. Your limits are only in your head…”
Despite his quirks, I hate to admit there is truth to what he’s saying.
Most of the riders are in bed by 7 or 7:30 that night, but I find my way to the nearby hot springs and reflect on the day and how I completely miscalculated what starting a climb from 2,500 meters above sea level feels like compared to starting one at sea level.
“How did you feel with all the altitude?” asks Jairo, one of the staff, a day out of Bogota.
“I definitely struggled…” I reply, if it wasn’t already obvious.
“Wait a bit…in Peru some spots — up to 6,000 meters!” he says.
When I ask Klaus, the oldest of our jovenes group, if he’s ready for our final ascent into Bogota he replies coolly:
“It’s just another hill.”
The cycling culture in Colombia has been incredibly impressive, but nothing beats riding into Bogota on Sunday morning after a long climb into nasty headwind. It didn’t feel like just “another hill” pushing through the headwinds, but we arrive at the top of the climb with leagues of cyclists, many cheering, celebrating, and socializing at the sides of the roads with beers and coffee.
Finishing that climb was the most euphoric I felt since we started. Our reward from the climb was racing downhill for an hour or so into the city on a road that was closed only for cyclists until 2 pm, on the day the Copa America final was to played, and the energy around us was incredible.
We race past Colombians sporting their yellow, red, and blue jerseys, balloons, hats, on every street corner…, and although Colombia loses later that night, the vibe in the city is unforgettably electric.
Bogota is rougher than Medellin, larger, and less organized. Like a bigger brother who’s not a stranger to tragedy.
However, I am thrilled that my parents and sister were able to make it for the rest days, and we are all blown away by the city’s extraordinary culinary scene, and (at last) very good coffee.
We descend out of the city on a series of serpentine gravel roads. Leaving Bogota was our 14th day of riding.
The last 14 days have been tough. We have all struggled from the long days, from the weather, insect bites, from missing our loved ones, and missing comforts we take for granted, like warm showers, clean beds, and sleeping past 5 am.
Although there are some moments on these beastly climbs when I feel burned out, I try to zoom out from the moments and consider the weeks, and trust Tom, that we’ve been burned in.
